By Blood Hunted: Kingsblood Chronicles Part Two (The Kingsblood Chronicles Book 2)

by David J. Houpt

  Still, the wound troubled him, even though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

  “Tysleth smiles upon us, brother,” said the ship’s captain, his hair as golden as Celewyn’s own. Even given the greatly reduced number of elves in these later days, the assassin had never met Baenriraelin before seeking passage aboard his ship, but what he’d seen of the ship captain so far he liked. How an Avani had risen to command one of the elven fleet’s few remaining warships, Celewyn was sure, was a tale in and of itself, but he knew better than to ask. The story would be volunteered when Baen, as he chose to be addressed, wished to, and not before.

  Most outsiders assumed that because Aesidhe was constant in any land where it was spoken, and that there weren’t separate dialects of the ancient language, that elven culture was the same everywhere. There were similarities between the Silei customs and the Avani, to be sure, but the undertones were quite different. Silei tended to be open with one another, sharing many aspects of their lives with their friends and even some acquaintances. The Avani were very reserved, keeping their thoughts and feelings private except with their closest friends and relatives.

  “How so, brother-captain?” Celewyn responded. They were, of course, speaking in Aesidhe.

  “The winds are strong and southwesterly and the skies are clear,” Baen said with a smile as they watched the waves and the one gull who followed their progress southward. “We should be in Kavris in twenty days.” The captain’s intonation and phrasing implied that twenty was an estimate.

  “My thanks,” Celewyn said. “My business there is urgent, indeed, and the greater fortune was that your ship was headed south when it was.”

  Baen nodded, agreeing with the assassin’s statement. “We’re actually making a fairly regular run, but I take your meaning. We take True Bronze and jeweled goods south, and spices and raw materials for the craft masters back north. Indigo Runner’s master won’t be happy our cargo will reach the Kavris marketplace ahead of his, as it no doubt will affect his selling price, but of course we can’t carry as much of it as he can.”

  “Why not build merchant ships with larger holds?” the assassin asked, mildly curious as to why they were using warships to carry cargo.

  With a subtle glance to make sure the Silei crewmen weren’t in earshot, Baen replied, “The Silei concern is that if they started building larger ships, even merchantmen, that the humans might fear a return of the Dragon Fleet.” He scoffed.

  “Those days are far behind our people, Baen,” Celewyn said matter-of-factly, agreeing with the captain’s derision. “We’ve lost much of the ability to build dragonships.” Iliuthien was carved with a dragon motif, as were all elven ships, but she was not a dragonship. Those vessels were monstrously huge and could project fire upon their enemies from a distance, and at one time, they had dominated all of Tieran’s oceans.

  “I know that, and you know that, and the Silei even know that,” Baen replied with a sardonic tone. “But the Silei don’t know if the humans know that, so they keep our fleet at a certain size, and the ships are ones like my Iliuthien here. It’s a truth that they’re sufficient for most of our needs, so perhaps it’s as well.”

  The sleek elven ships couldn’t project fire like the dragonships, but they were all well-armed with ballistae that threw steel balls rather than rocks or spears. Powered partially by their crew’s magical abilities, the ship’s weapons had a fantastic range, a fact well known by the navies of the various human nations and human pirates alike. They were also well armored, constructed of overlapping plates of penalirin, which resisted the corrosion of the sea and gave barnacles and other sea life no purchase. The elven steel—or True Bronze, if one translated the Aesidhe directly—hull could deflect a great deal of force before giving way, shrugging off most shipboard weapons harmlessly, but was light enough that the ships were agile and easy to handle.

  Human naval architects had tried to duplicate elven shipbuilding practices for centuries without much success, but Celewyn had intelligence that Hyriel’s shipyard, at least, was close to figuring it out, along with the Kingdom of Delsan on the eastern continent. As with the secret of working penalirin, the ever-inquisitive and more populous humans were going to be building elven-style hulls within a few decades’ time. He’d already reported this to the leadership of the three elven clans—the Avani, the Silei, and the silver-haired Vileni—not that there was much the elves could do about it. Their days of dominating the world seemed to be long past.

  Chapter Eleven

  It is said that the kossir-teh are related to dragons, but this is not so, for dragons have no relatives upon the world save their own kind. The children of the night goddess do share commonalities with the great wyrms—scaly skin, excellent vision, and magical puissance—but they are no more dragons than they are crocodiles or chameleons.

  It is said that the kossir-teh dwell only underground, for they cannot bear the light of day or even the light of the stars, but this is not so, for their ruined cities dot the surface of Vella, where once a great empire of the scaled folk stood in Rula Golden’s light.

  It is said that the kossir-teh are a weak, disorganized race, that their underground clans are scattered, and that their power is spent. It is said that their day has come and gone, never to return. Those who say these things know nothing of the kossir-teh, for they share another trait with dragons: they are patient.

  -- “The Children of the Night” by Sage Karra, 2651 PE

  “You are certain, Lord Grey?” Alan asked the necromancer as they sat in the cabin. They’d buried the elder Quivell earlier that day after wrapping his body tightly in sailcloth and weighing it down with a length of anchor chain. Qan had sung a blessing over the body intended to prevent it from rising.

  “Illysbane or monkshood, Alan,” the skull said. “No question. Both cause or sustain gastric distress, and the blue tinge of his lips was a clear sign. Quivell was poisoned, and I’d bet on illysbane—the blue tinge is usually more subdued for aconite poisoning.”

  “I’ll agree with his Lordship,” Snog said, picking at a piece of meat lodged in his back teeth. “Quivell’s heart might have just given out, I suppose, but he didn’t die of the wavesickness.”

  “Olivia’s the most obvious suspect,” Lord Grey continued, “but we must not rule out the possibility that Qan or one of the crew may be involved. I don’t see the advantage in poisoning the elder Quivell and not both of them, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t one.”

  Snog shook his head. “It’s probably no’ the crew. I saw the broth being ladled up into the bowl she was fetchin’ for her father and Mr. Alan and I were both eating from the same stock. The hard tack she took was from the same box, as well.”

  Alan said, “Before he took ill, Quivell told Qan this journey was to investigate new markets for his latest goods, but he also told him that he was heading to Kavris to look into accounting irregularities with his agents. She might have been involved with those, perhaps.” He rubbed his chin in thought, unaware of how similar the gesture was to one his father Evan used. Had Gem breath, it would have caught at the similarity, for she was always struck with a pang when her charge did something that reminded her of his parents or his siblings. It happened, she was surprised to learn, even when he did something that reminded her of Elowyn. Though she’d hated the elf for his harsh and deadly instruction at the time, she held nothing but gratitude for him now. The skills and caution he’d instilled in the prince had no doubt saved his life many times over.

  Alan took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “Well, who is responsible is not at issue,” he said. “So long as they don’t try to poison Snog and me, we don’t get involved.”

  “So you’re not going to at least tell the captain?” Gem inquired.

  He shook his head. “We’ve got no proof; Quivell’s body is gone, and none of the ones that handled the body probably noticed the lips at all in any event. Telling him will only put Olivia—if it was her, of course—on t
he defensive, and she might try something excessive and unpleasant if she thinks someone knows.”

  Snog agreed. “I’ve got a charmsong what looks for poison, but if I use it, she might notice it, milord. I’m with you, that it’s probably her, though it’s a brave thing to have done it on a ship in the middle of the ocean. There’s no one to look after her.”

  Lord Grey made a scoffing noise. “Alan’s presence might be the reason she thought it would be safe to go through with it. I doubt the young yeoman warrior from Staikal would tolerate the crew taking liberties with a fine lady like del Quivell, after all.” The sarcasm in his tone was clear but not particularly scathing.

  Alan conceded the point. “And doing it on the first night of the dark moon’s flight feeds straight into the superstitions of the crew, so they won’t be looking for some other cause.” He looked around at his companions. “I will try not to overdo my own ‘superstitious’ musings, but please let me know if I’m overacting.”

  Gem said, “You are going to have to continue to be pleasant to her, you know. She’ll be suspicious if you start treating her coldly.”

  “You’re right, of course, Gem,” Alan replied, although he was finding that Olivia’s charms were not quite so interesting any more. “I’ll take care to play my part for that as well.”

  Lord Grey said, “We have something else to discuss, my prince.” It was unusual for the skull to refer to him this way, as they were all working to build habits that avoided precisely doing that.

  Alan raised his right eyebrow. “Indeed, Lord Grey? What might that be?”

  “Your dreams, Highness,” the skull said, as if formality were required for the subject at hand.

  Alan sat still for several moments, then nodded. “You think they’re prescient in nature, don’t you?” The prince had put off talking about his dreams when the sword and skull had approached him in Avethiel, and neither had pressed him, knowing he was troubled by them and that he’d talk about it when he was ready.

  “I’ve always said you’re perceptive, Alan,” the skull said, and everyone in the cabin could almost see the grin his tone implied. “Last night’s dream about Elowyn was of particular interest, and I’m glad you shared it with us.” The prince had dreamed of the Master of Assassins coming to find and help him, but always, he only saw the elf’s hands; the rest was in shadow. In the dream, Elowyn was having trouble reaching him, always a step behind, a step too late, but faithfully following him. Or perhaps, searching for him. It had not been a nightmare, unlike so many of his dreams since the assassinations.

  “I don’t know what meaning it might hold,” Alan said. “Elowyn is dead, after all.”

  “Ah, but you weren’t dreaming of him, Alan,” the skull replied. “You dreamed of his hands, and that might mean the work of his hands, as if some arrangement he’d made to aid you is coming to fruition, or will be at some point.”

  Alan blinked in surprise. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. In the dream, I knew it was Elowyn, so I trusted his intentions, but that’s a very interesting interpretation.” The prince wondered what kind of preparations Elowyn could have made that were capable of finding him through the Key of Firavon and the illusion covering his appearance. It occurred to Alan, however, that Elowyn was the one person on Tieran that knew he had the Key; if anyone could have made such preparations, it had been the Master of Assassins.

  Gem said, “Can we trust his intentions, Lord Grey? They might have interrogated him—or, more likely, some of his operatives—and learned of some of his arrangements to aid Alan, after all.” It was an unpleasant possibility, but a real one.

  “I don’t trust anyone’s intentions completely, Gem,” Lord Grey said sardonically. “But yes, in this case, I think we can trust Elowyn’s intentions. If we assume—as I think we must—that Alan is having sporadic vatic visions, he wouldn’t have felt he could trust Elowyn in the dream.”

  “I take it you mean that if, in fact, the elf’s plans have been subverted, and are now malevolent to Alan, the vision wouldn’t have been the same?” Gem asked.

  The skull answered in the affirmative.

  “You seem pretty familiar with this sort of interpreting, my lord, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so,” Snog observed warily. Though he’d gotten used to the skull’s presence, the goblin scout certainly did not trust the necromancer, and he was cautious to avoid giving him offense.

  “I am,” the skull responded lightly, careful to show he wasn’t annoyed by Snog’s statement. “It’s both a talent and a skill, in that it requires an inborn ability as well as training and experience.”

  “So it is much like sorcery, then,” Alan said.

  The skull made a noncommittal noise. “It is and it isn’t. However, as is true with spellsinging, especially in the early days, a wide margin for error exists. The diviner can easily inject their own prejudices and opinion into the work, coloring the reading in such a way that the true meaning is lost.

  “I have no talent for dreamseeing or clairvoyance myself,” Lord Grey continued, “but I have worked with diviners of many different kinds over my long existence.” He typically did not call it his “life.”

  Alan asked, “How long have you known my dreams are foreseeing?”

  “First, I believe that not every dream you’re having is prescient, Alan,” he said. “As to when, Gem and I have discussed this many times over the last few months, as we are concerned over the nature of your dreams. In the beginning, we thought the enemy might be dreamsending against you, which is why we have been maintaining wardings against that sort of thing. That may still be a risk, so I believe we should continue doing so, by the way.”

  Alan nodded. Another man might have been annoyed that the skull and sword had concealed this from him, but he trusted their judgment; had it been important for him to know, they’d have told him earlier. They did try to talk to me earlier, he mildly reprimanded himself. “Do you have any advice for me in regard to the talent?” he asked.

  “Normally, when working with an inexperienced foreseer who has his letters, I recommend they keep a journal of their dreams so they can meditate over their meaning—if a given dream has meaning, for many do not—after the fact,” the skull explained. “In your case, that may be a bad idea, given that such a book would contain indelible clues as to your identity.”

  “You and I have excellent memories, Lord Grey,” Gem said, surprising Alan. “We could act in the role of recordkeepers, and any discrepancies we can work out between us.”

  You’re full of surprises, Alan said telepathically. I thought you didn’t want him getting an insight into my psyche. Aloud, he said, “I need to tell Lord Grey the dreams anyhow, so he can help me interpret them.”

  Gem replied to Alan’s mindspeech, He’s amazingly perceptive, and he’s around you twenty-four hours a day. I believe he already has gained a great understanding of you and how your mind works…and Snog’s mind and mine as well, I would think. If your dreams are prescient or worse, prophetic, we need to know. So we trust him in this as we must trust him in many other things. Gem’s mental tone conveyed that she felt it was necessary but she didn’t really like the idea.

  “I appreciate the trust you are placing in me, Your Highness,” the necromancer stated formally, unknowingly mirroring Gem’s comments. “I shall endeavor to be of the most service I can.” All three of his companions could envision him bowing to the prince.

  “I know you can be compelled, Lord Grey,” Alan said. “It’s unlikely someone would compel you specifically to reveal my dreams, prescient or not, but someone who gains control of you might demand to know my secrets, and the dreams are definitely in that category.”

  The skull thought about that for a moment. “True, but no one’s ever been able to compel my thoughts in my long incarceration, just my actions. There are ways to answer questions, even when forced to utter only truths, which lead the questioner away from certain facts. Unfortunately, I’ve had some practice in doing just that,” h
e said bitterly, his tone implying he was remembering old wrongs.

  Alan nodded somberly. “Let us hope you do not fall into enemy hands at all, my friend. I will certainly endeavor not to allow it, My Lord.” His tone echoed the formality in Lord Grey’s earlier statement, accompanied by a courtly nod of his head.

  He continued, “So we must be looking for some kind of aid that originates from Elowyn, while continuing to be vigilant about giving ourselves away to anyone else. That won’t be easy, but it does deal with last night’s dream. Now, I think we should talk about my earlier ones, at least the ones I remember, should we not?”

  “We should, starting with what you did not share with Gem regarding the dreams you’ve had,” Lord Grey said flatly.

  Alan sat for a few minutes, gathering his thoughts and forcing himself to look back at those dreams that had frightened and upset him the worst. With a short silent prayer to Ushra, the Lord of Dreams, he described the dreams he’d had since the night of the coup.

  The earliest he could remember was a dream of the grand ballroom at Dunshor Castle. In that dream, he’d watched through the night as Rishak and Jisa had spirited away one family member or another from the ball, each of the Usurpers—though they were not yet that in the dream—dancing with and removing the family, followed by guests taken from among Evan and Adrienne’s most loyal and trusted friends and associates. He’d been helpless to stop them from doing this, and he’d eventually realized that everyone he knew and trusted was gone.