By Blood Betrayed (The Kingsblood Chronicles) (38 page)

Baring her fangs, Sileth concentrated as she had learned over the centuries of her existence. Barely perceptibly, her hands moved to close the distance to the man’s throat, and he began to chant faster, gesturing with his hands to channel his strike more carefully.

He didn’t have the chance, for the former Companion finally reached one hand through his barrier by sheer force of will. Taking no chances with an obviously dangerous opponent, she crushed his windpipe and snapped his spine with the same gesture. As she eased his body to the ground, his eyes flashed surprise, pain, and terror before the life went out of them. She waited to see if she would have to suffer a deathstrike.

Magic gathered at the moment of his death, but not that of retribution against Ammon’s slayer. Instead, the gate which had deposited him in Mola reopened long enough for his body and several pounds of dirt to fall through.

Damn
, thought Sileth as she snatched herself away from the portal. Mages sometimes had contingency spells to return them to a safe haven after being harmed or killed. Depending on the damage, and on the availability of healing magics, even a fatal wound like the one she inflicted could be undone. Sileth was certain that such a competent and experienced assassin as this mysterious easterner would have such plans in force.

Shaidrak or Réve would have been able to follow him and ensure that he was finished, but Sileth possessed no magic save for the powers granted to her by her status as a daughter of Lilith.

She wondered how long it would be before he could heal and return to finish the job. She knew that the second time, the assassin would come prepared for her. She shrugged and carefully licked the mage’s blood from her fingers. Always practical, she realized that she had no way of changing that which had already happened. With the taste and scent of him at her disposal, she would sense him coming long before he realized that she knew.

The mage’s dart had embedded fully into her chest, and it was excruciatingly painful to draw out, clutched between two of her fingernail-claws. The dart thrower had been very powerful, and the dart itself heavy and steel-tipped. She didn’t doubt that it would have penetrated most breastplates. Neither did she doubt that the poison on the tip would have killed any mortal opponent.

Sileth doubted that Shana knew anything useful about the assassin. Still, the sheriff’s wife represented a danger to the people that Sileth claimed as her own.

Directing a small part of her mind power to dull the senses of the watchman, it was easy for her to reach the sheriff’s home without being seen, nor did she leave even a single footprint upon the sand. She reached out with her mind again once again and deepened Kade’s sleep, as well as those of his neighbors. No one but Shana would awaken, even if she were to scream.

The vampire awakened the sheriff’s wife before immobilizing her. The woman’s terror was immediate, for she knew from a thousand old firelight stories how the powers of the Companions and their lord worked.

“A-ancient one?” she whispered, believing that she knew why the Companion was here. Sileth’s visage was familiar to the Molans, for she came to visit them from time to time, taking part in the odd village festival as if it were the time of her birth. Shana longed to scream, to wake her husband, to run, but these options were taken from her by the power of the vampire’s mind.

“Thou hast broken faith, little one,” whispered Sileth as she sat on the bed at Shana’s feet. Cocking her head, she smoothed the rumpled quilt. “I would know why.” Her voice was deceptively sweet and calm.

Faster than Shana thought possible, the Undead thing that appeared to be a girl of fourteen years moved close, sniffing at the woman’s chest and neck. “And what is this . . . ?” she whispered, trailing her words off into silence. The ruby amulet dangled from her fingers, twirling before Shana’s eye. This time, the gentle flash of its light held no attraction for the barkeep. Sileth’s mind was far more powerful than the charm.

Still, the trinket’s hold on the woman was strong, and she shook her head silently in terror. Sensing that the one-eyed woman was compelled, Sileth reached out mental tendrils which said only, “
Be free.
”

The sharp intake of breath from the tavernkeeper was her only reaction. Shana felt her limbs return to her control, and moreover felt the assassin’s silky hold on her consciousness snap like a dry twig underfoot. She had the sense, now, not to attempt to flee from the tiny vampiress. Her only chance would be to convince the Companion that she had been compelled to aid the strange man.

Shakily, trying not to cry, Shana described to Sileth what had befallen her, and all that she had told the assassin. The vampire’s face remained expressionless during the entire oration, and her body was totally motionless, as if she were carved from stone.

When the tavernkeeper finished, Sileth said quietly, “Thou hast not lied to me, and that is well for thee, Shana Kade-wife. Thou shalt not warn the mercenary nor the
Govesh
, nor shall thee speak of any of this, nor mine own presence, to any. Even thy husband, woman.

“In exchange for thy life, thou shalt enter
my
service. Thy allegiance to the former king is severed, from this day forward. Thou hast become mine own creature, with every breath thee taketh,” these words were spoken flatly, a declaration that brooked no argument.

Even so, Shana swallowed her bile and bravely spoke, “I fear then that thou must kill me, ancient one. I took an oath. One that I foreswore, for the sake of that pendant, but still I must try to uphold it. The king also holds lien on my life, and I can offer you service only upon condition that I not leave his.”

The vampire smiled then, a cruel grimace which did not belong on the face of a beautiful young woman. It was the grin one would expect from a wolf. “Thou hast spoken well, and that is again well for thee. Thou were compelled, and I will leave this amulet as proof to the king.” She took down the small square of hammered silver which Shana used as a mirror, and effortlessly bent the metal into a container to hold the pendant. Pinching its edges shut, she handed the crude box to the sheriff’s wife.

“Open this not, Shana Kade-wife, and remember that thou dost owe me this at the least. If Kolos should move against me, and thou dost know it, thou shall warn the Argesh. Swear this, and we are quit,” the vampire said.

Shana blinked back her surprise at the Companion’s statement. She knew, as did most of the folk of Greythorn, that there was little love lost between the king and his first Companion ever since the time of the rebellion against the Theocracy. She had not heard the slightest rumor that there could be violence between the sire and his vampiric children. She shuddered at the possibility.

“I swear it, Sileth of the Silks,” she said, choosing one of the vampire’s most ancient titles.

Sileth’s eyes softened for a heartbeat in the dim light cast by the risen moons. “Then I bid thee good night, sheriff’s wife. Sleep well and forget this night,” she bid as she withdrew silently from the cottage. She doubted that Shana would sleep again tonight, but she was also certain that she would mention neither Sileth’s visit nor the implied conflict between the Companion and the King of Greythorn.

Kolos chose his servants well, and Sileth knew that this one would be discreet.

Shana’s tale had mentioned that Alan and his goblin companion were seeking passage aboard the
Searcher
, as well as the fact that the assassin was aware of this. With an exasperated sigh, she made her way to the mercenary ship. Stealing aboard, and stretching her powers to their limits to avoid detection, she explored the ship’s hold. After finding several places in which to hide, she left the ship. The tiny vampire woman then reached her mind out to the rats which lived in the village and compelled them to board the vessel in small droves. Turning the concentration of the ship’s watch away from the grey tide which scrambled aboard, she smiled.

At least she’d have a good supply of food for her journey, provided that it didn’t take too long.

Chapter Twenty Three

“Turn the screw and step ye lively!

The day’s older and the waves a’wait’n’.

Weigh the chain and step ye lively!

Wind’s a blowin’ and the tides ar’ ’turnin’.

Turn the screw and step ye lively!

On the quay the lasses a’weepin’.

Raise the chain and step ye lively!

But we t’a sea, n’ae prom’ses keepin’.”

-- Timing chanty common to the Island Kingdoms

The morning sun bored through the slats of the window blind, finding its way to Lian’s face. The intrusion of Rula’s light into the bedchamber woke Lian, but he resisted it. He had not slept well, suffering from nightmares of an unknown enemy which pursued him no matter where he fled. Finally, he stretched, reluctantly accepting the morning’s demands.

Such dreams are to be expected, all things considered
, he told himself. To Gem, he sent,
Good morning.

It is, now that you’re awake and not dreaming
, she replied, giving him a mental hug. She didn’t share his dreams, but she was aware that he’d tossed and turned throughout the entire night.

I’ll have to agree with you on that
, he said, rubbing the back of his neck as he sat up.

Snog was already awake, climbing to his feet. “Mornin’, milord,” he said, walking over to the wash basin. He poured some of the water from one of the two pitchers onto his face, shaking his head underneath the stream. He then poured the rest into the basin and wiped his face with his hands.

With a grin, he said, “Goblinish shower.”

Lian chuckled and made use of the chamber pot, ignoring Snog’s presence. The privacy of the palace privy was something he was accustomed to missing, with his experience among his father’s soldiers. “At least you didn’t use the pot,” he joked after he finished, moving to the wash basin to clean himself up.

That comment made Snog laugh aloud for nearly a minute. The creak of a board in the hallway outside immediately silenced him, however, and he drew his magic dagger without a sound. Just as quietly, Lian slid over to where he could unsheath Gem.

There was a knock from the hall, and the mayor’s wife said, “Breakfast should be ready soon, Alan. Gil will be down in a few minutes to join you.” The two of them listened to her footsteps withdraw from whence she came.

“I thought I smelled eggs,” Snog said merrily, making his own use of the chamber pot. When he was done, Gem sang a soft song over the leavings.

Snog eyed the blade warily, and Lian said quietly, “She’s rendering our waste unusable to track us, magically at least.”

“Heh,” the goblin grunted, making a short gesture to ward against evil.

By the time the two reached the kitchen, there was already a man there. Big and gruff, Lian assumed that he was the mayor, Gil.

“The boggle can sit there in the corner, if ye don’ mind,” he instructed, pointing to a short stool in the corner of the dining room closest to the outer door. It stood on a small woven mat which had been obviously brought in from the outside.

“If he doesn’t mind, sir,” Lian said, “then I don’t.”

Snog shrugged and went to the stool without comment. He withdrew one of his many knives, fished a whetstone and oil from his pack, and began to sharpen it in preparation for eating. Lian had seen him do this at every meal and had grown used to it, but it had a disconcerting effect on the mayor.

Lian seated himself at the table across from the larger man and then stood to offer his hand. “Alan of Staikal, sir,” he said, implying by his action that he held at least a yeoman’s rank.

The man indicated his acceptance of Lian’s claim to yeomanry by raising himself slightly from his own chair to clasp hands with the younger man. “Gil, Mayor of Mola, young man. Kalra’s cooking improves with company, so you’re welcome here,” he said loudly enough to be overheard from the kitchen in the next room.

“I heard that, you old goat,” the woman said affectionately, as she came through the door laden with a large tray heaped with scrambled eggs, cold country-cured ham, warm bread, and a pot of honey.

A younger woman followed behind her, carrying a smaller tray bearing three pitchers. She set two down on the table and offered the smaller one to the goblin. He looked into it and made a pleased noise. “Milk-curdle!” he exclaimed. “Thankee, lady.”

“Mother said you’d like it,” she replied, revealing no fear or hostility toward the scout. The woman was perhaps twenty years old, and she demurely kept her eyes averted from Lian’s gaze. She wore the knotted bracelet that signified a wedding engagement, and moved with her mother’s sure grace.

The other two pitchers held fresh milk, and Kalra dipped back into the kitchen to retrieve two steaming pots of the black tea favored by Greythorn inhabitants. It was nearly as strong as the eastern coffee which Lian’s father had loved, and had become Lian’s preferred eye-opener.

“My daughter, Lissa,” the mayor said, patting her affectionately on the head as she went by. She smiled at the attention, then dismissed her father to load a plate with a portion of the food. Turning back to Snog, she offered it to him.

Juggling the now half-drunk pitcher, the plate, and his knife, he propped his feet on the rungs of the stool and pressed his back into the corner. Carefully balancing the plate on his leather-armored knees, he managed to find a position from which he could eat and keep an eye on the room at the same time.

The women sat to the sides of the two men, and the four of them said little as the food was divided. Lian was quite hungry, but he begged off a large portion. “The few times I’ve been aboard a ship, my lady, I’ve had cause to regret a big breakfast,” he said, adding, “even when she’s only at dock.”