By Blood Betrayed (The Kingsblood Chronicles) (2 page)

So it was, as he drew close to the room, that he heard a scratching noise, the unmistakeable sound of quill on paper. Grinning tightly, he prepared his crossbow, old habits forcing him to cock it slowly, easing the catch into place so that no sound would betray his presence. When he loosed the quarrel from this bow, it would become a bolt of fire. There was little chance that his target could survive the searing heat which would lodge, still burning, into flesh and bone. Only a countering spell would extinguish the flames before the spell embedded in the crossbow ran its course.

His target was reported to possess a magical sword, but his briefing indicated that it hung on the wall of the chamber, away from the desk. The Trakalan might have to worry about belt knives and throwing spikes, but not the eldritch blade. He wasn’t expecting a response of any kind from his target, however, since at this range he didn’t plan to miss.

Around his neck, the Trakalan wore a medallion, wrought with charms against magics. He now removed it from his shirt, allowing it to hang openly. The diabolistic runes upon it worked only when they were exposed, so he now projected a field that deadened the magics of others. Spells intended to deflect or even reflect missiles would not function. Other spells, that would normally pinpoint an assassin or other attacker, would fail as well.

He took a deep steadying breath, and moved into the corridor that contained his target’s quarters. The scratching of the quill on paper continued unabated. The clarity of the sound led him to surmise that his target was right in front of the doorway, sitting at the writing desk. He whirled around the corner, taking quick aim over the tip of the quill.

Age hampered him now, for his attempt to relax his finger and hold his fire failed. His bolt tore past the feather, which was clamped to a mechanical device that moved it across a piece of parchment. As it passed, it touched the feather and the quill burst into flames, consumed in an instant. The bolt was buried into the wall behind the desk, igniting the tapestry that hung there.

Cursing his luck, and knowing that he had no time to reload his bow, the Trakalan assassin drew his long, curved knives and entered the room, searching for his target. He spotted the young man immediately, seated on a second chair against the wall beside the entryway. The youth, who held a book in his lap, looked dumbfounded, but he quickly shook free of his surprise. The book dropped to the floor.

The magical sword, hilt embedded with precious stones, hung on the wall twenty feet from the Trakalan’s intended victim, who drew his belt knife and rose into a fighting stance. He yelled for help, but the Trakalan knew no one was left to hear him by now, even if his screams could carry beyond the spell of silence.

Maps adorned the walls of the room, and as the Trakalan charged his victim, the young man tore one down, draping its length across the older man. The assassin’s blades made short work of the obstacle, but it provided the boy time to roll back and to the side. The Trakalan briefly wished that he hadn’t sent his partner off to loot, then rushed his victim, knives flashing. Both blades were envenomed, though they didn’t look it, and the merest scratch would spell doom for the target.

To the assassin’s surprise, the younger man didn’t move toward the longsword, now behind him. When the attack came, the boy, ignoring the knife in his hand, reached in past the assassin’s blades, catching the Trakalan’s right wrist with his own, and turned it aside, continuing his motion with the palm of his other hand, and striking the forearm just below the elbow. The assassin continued to turn, propelled by the momentum of their mutual strikes and the strength of the boy’s motion. His arm had somehow gone numb, and he dropped his right-hand knife. The boy immediately brought his knee up into the chest of his attacker, and despite his soft leather armor, the Trakalan went weak in the knees.
Nerve junction
, he thought briefly, before he attempted to slash at the leg of his victim as he stumbled. He was far too off-balance, his remaining knife in the wrong position to connect.
Damn the elf!
the assassin thought, cursing the boy’s teacher. In his fading seconds, he recognized the deadly moves of the elven martial art form known as
aythra
. It was his final thought.

Now, the nobleman struck the Trakalan with his knife, plunging it unerringly into the liver. Between the strike on the assassin’s solar plexus and the knife in his vitals, he went down, his consciousness fading. The younger man took no chances, however, leaving his belt knife embedded in the assassin’s back as he leapt back to grab the longsword. In a smooth, practiced motion, he drew the fine blade without dismounting the scabbard, and continuing the same movement, severed his attacker’s head.

The telepathic voice of the sword spoke in his mind,
There will be more of them, my boy. Fetch your pack and flee to the passage
. The spirit of the sword named Gem performed the mental equivalent of shaking her head. Whatever magic had been on the man’s medallion had been strong indeed. She had heard nothing; her senses had been dimmed to near-blindness, and her attention had been drawn away from the situation.

Now that Lian, her wielder, bore her in hand, she could use his senses, and magical wards against detection would no longer be able to blind her. The attacker, who appeared to be from one of the western kingdoms, was lying on his chest, his body covering the engraved diabolistic warding medallion. Blood poured from the stump of his neck, and the eyes in his severed head stared sightlessly at the ceiling.

Lian Evanson, youngest prince of Dunshor, moved swiftly to his bed, heart pounding. His auburn hair, parted in the middle, hung straight to his shoulders. He had his father’s dark brown eyes, which contrasted with his mother’s fair face and complexion. Freckles adorned his nose and cheeks, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead and neck. Beneath his white and gold tunic, bearing the royal crest of an upraised sword surrounded by a ring of stars, his muscles were well developed, and he moved with the sure grace attained from long, strenuous workouts.

With practiced motions, he pressed two different parts of the stonework, activating the mechanism of the compartment above the headboard. Inside were a pack and a harness, equipped with a light crossbow and a shortsword. He slipped the harness over his shoulders so that he could easily draw either weapon. Like Gem, the crossbow and the shortsword were enchanted, though their ensorcellments paled in comparison to those of the sentient blade.

The blade named Gem thought,
Tempting to take that crossbow along, but there’s no knowing if it’s been painted with poison or carries tracer magic.
She decided not to distract her charge by telling Lian how powerful its enchantments were.

Once he had the weapons harness buckled, he slung the pack over one shoulder, hefting its substantial weight easily. He crossed the corner of the room to retrieve Gem’s scabbard and buckled that on his waist while he advanced to the entryway.

He tried not to think about the man he’d just killed.

Even though he was confident he knew every square inch of this part of the castle, once-familiar hallways now appeared dark and foreboding. He was so tense that if one of the cats that frequented his bedchamber entered at this moment, he’d likely slay it before he could even recognize it. The terrible silence was by far the worst, as he could feel yet not hear his own heartbeat, nor the hundred other minute sounds that would normally accompany his movements.

I still can’t hear anything
, Lian relayed mentally to his weapon, concentrating on keeping a clear head.
That silence spell is still hanging around
.

Gem projected acknowledgment.
You wouldn’t hear his associates even without the spell. Haste, Lian
. She revealed some of her worry to urge the young man on.  She didn’t want to panic him, but she knew their only hope was swiftness.

Eyes flashing right and left, Lian didn’t detect any more assassins. Following the plan he had drilled with his tutor, he crossed the hallway and found the three-stone mechanism that activated the door to the hidden passageways of the castle. With a sure touch, his fingers released the catch, and the door slid open with a slight scraping of stone.

Guess we’re out of the silence spell
, Lian thought to Gem, with relief. She radiated back assurance. He entered the passage and rotated the latch to close the door behind him, then turned it another half turn, dropping bolts into the mechanism, sealing it. No one could follow him without breaking down the wall or using some kind of spell.

The internal passageways of the castle were legendary in their complexity. There were concealed passages that led to almost every region of the fortress, some of them large enough to accommodate a respectably sized squad of soldiers. These passageways were occupied; Lian could sense this in the very atmosphere. The sound of moving air was joined by men speaking in low, guttural tones. He was able to catch a few words, but they were nonsensical.
Battle language
, he thought. The short, clipped patois was usually specific to each military unit. Battle tongues were comprised of only a few dozen to a few hundred words and were definitely not a poet’s first choice, but they were very useful.

Enemy soldiers in the passages?
wondered Gem, despite her steel nature shaken to the core at the assassination attempt and the invasion of the castle.

They’re down below you somewhere, so it’s a good thing the plan is to go up
, Gem reminded Lian. He could feel her thrum in his hand, and his movements became muffled as if his entire body was wrapped in soft cotton. The shadows in the passageway did not hinder him, since one of the sword’s permanent enchantments allowed her wielder to see in the dark.

He tried not to let his thoughts turn toward the other members of his family, but he couldn’t help it. His twin sister Radiel slept very close to his own chambers, and he could find the way easily, even without Gem’s witchsight. Her own assassin might have blundered somehow, and she could need his assistance! The thought flashed briefly that Radiel’s magical talents might have saved her, but he knew that her attackers would have been prepared to deal with that.

With a great deal of effort Lian forced himself to continue the other way. Elowyn, his father’s Master of Assassins, had drilled him repeatedly about his responsibilities should an assassin make an attempt on his life.

“You must assume that if there are assassins at your chamber, that there are more invading the rest of the palace,” the elf had told him. “You’re the youngest child, and have yet to hold any major post. You’ll be the attackers’ lowest priority, and you’ll likely draw the least skilled among the pool of men available.

“Your assassin might bungle the job, but the others’ won’t, which means that if you manage to escape the knife, you must flee. You’ll have become heir to the throne, all in one moment, and you must guard yourself first. If there are other survivors, later you can return and be reunited. But you are one young man, magical blade or no, and those who would kill you won’t be playing even close to fair.” Elowyn had been forbidding in his instruction. His words, however, were simple truth.

His eldest brother, Alec, had defined the situation differently. “If there’s an attempt on your life, there’ll be good men putting their lives on the line to make sure you have the best possible chance to get away. So obey whatever plan the Old Elf has plotted for you and don’t let those men die in vain.

“Besides, it won’t ever happen, Lee,” he’d finished with a warming grin, “so don’t lose sleep over it.”

He had lost sleep over it, but not because of worry. Elowyn was likely to ambush him at any hour of day or night and commence the “game” of assassin-and-hunted. The stealthy elven assassin would pursue him through his escape routes, beginning the exercise from various points around the castle.

But he’d believed Alec, the crown prince, and hadn’t really expected that it would happen. He’d seen the magnitude of the garrison, and the consummate skill of the warriors, mages, and spies that served his father. They were in one of the most defensible castles in the entire world, and Lian had always believed deep down that he was safe.

Tonight had been a perfect night for Elowyn to test him, what with all of the festivities earlier in the evening. It was the anniversary both of his parent’s wedding and coronation, and parties had been thrown all over the castle and Dunshor City below it. Three quarters of the garrison had gone down into the city to celebrate, and Lian knew that a portion even of the duty forces would be dead drunk by this time of night.

With that in mind, he’d arranged for a trap for his teacher. He’d constructed a mechanical “scribing” device that he hoped would fool Elowyn into striking at the wrong place. Lian had never dreamed that his little trick would deceive a real assassin, but he was sorely glad that he’d built the gadget.

The voices below him were growing fainter as he climbed stairways and ramps, winding inexorably toward the inner wall of the castle.
They don’t appear to be ascending yet
, Lian speculated to Gem.

Or there’s a dozen of them with those silence spells right on your tail
, she tossed back, a little testily.
Don’t drop your guard, and keep up the pace
. He recognized that she was scared, too, and that took some of the bite out of her words.

He arrived at an area where dust and cobwebs covered the floor. Reaching into a crack in the passage wall, he withdrew a short wand. Enspelled upon it was an enchantment that would allow him to proceed through the space without disturbing the debris. He possessed just enough mage talent to activate the spell. Humming softly, he concentrated on the wand and trekked through the dust-choked corridor, choosing a passageway obstructed by several webs. Though nearly blocked by the webbing, he passed through the corridor as if it wasn’t there.

Out of habit, he almost put the wand into the niche at the end of the dusty corridor, where he’d normally use it to return to his quarters after an exercise with Elowyn. Instead, he slipped it into his pack.