By Blood Betrayed (The Kingsblood Chronicles) (13 page)

“Yesss,” agreed the gryphon. “You will need to keep him warm, ssorsserer. The mountainsss are ahead.” It was already climbing as it spoke, powerful wings ascending in steady, forceful beats.

“As you wish, Gil,” Lord Grey spoke. He hummed a few notes, breaking into a phrase in the Tongue of the Dead at one point. Gem observed the spell carefully, but saw nothing more than an enchantment to hold the cold at bay.

“You don’t have a warmth spell?” she asked when he finished. Lian unconsciously snuggled deeper into the gryphon’s neck feathers in response to the sudden cessation of cold.

“Not per se, Lady Sword,” the skull replied. “My magics arise from among the darker aspects of sorcery. But as you see, there’s more than one way to skin a
veiliarith
, yes? Necromancers often must cope with the chill of the Undead; therefore, we possess some very effective wards against cold.”

The gryphon said, “We are approaching Greythorn. I sshould remove mysself from hiss company sssoon, for I am quite conssspicuouss. I remain in hiss debt and yoursss, Greylord. You may call upon me for hisss ssake and yourss one time.” Gryphons were creatures who could linger indefinitely after being summoned.

They had a reputation as dumb beasts with a fierce hunger for living flesh. Although Lian hadn’t known of the gryphon’s intellect, Lord Grey and Gem were both well aware that the “dumb” part was in error. Gryphons numbered among the most intelligent of creatures, perhaps more intelligent than man. Gem had not known previously that they could secure their riders with supernatural power, but it didn’t surprise her that they possessed some arcane abilities.

“My thanks, old one,” Lord Grey said. “I shall ensure that his blade knows how to call you, lest the boy and I become separated.”

“I think that would be a poor repayment of your own debtss ssshould that occur, Greylord,” said the gryphon, who swiveled its great head again to glance at the pack where the skull lay.

“I didn’t mean to imply that I’d leave him willingly, Gil,” retorted the skull, “but I don’t exactly get to decide where I am carried, do I?”

The gryphon blinked, but didn’t reply. Gem started as she unexpectedly sensed mental contact from the birdlike beast.
You can hear me, yes
? it asked, transmitting a clear mental image of itself.

Yes, I can. You are telepathic?
she asked, mildly cursing herself for stating the obvious.

The gryphon didn’t seem to mind.
Among other talents, yes. You now have my mental signature, which you can use to call me should you lose contact with the necromancer.

You don’t trust him?
she asked.

The gryphon’s mind revealed some amusement.
I have had cause to trust him in the past. I can’t predict what he’s like now. For one that was once human, I could imagine that his long imprisonment might have unhinged his mind.

But I would be remiss in my duty to your charge if I did not ensure that my debt could be repaid. Lian did not have to release me, and indeed could have chosen to compel me to return to the form of a statue. Free of the Tower, however, I am not so vulnerable to the one who bears the Key.

Gem wondered what other powers the Key of Firavon granted its bearer. She had already discovered that the skull had withheld several important aspects of its use, and she was quite certain that there were more.

The gryphon continued,
The Greylord is very old, sword-woman. And even I do not know who he truly is. But I surmise that he was a great and powerful man, and great was his offense to merit such a prison. More than that, I cannot tell you . . . save one thing.

The gryphon’s mental touch conveyed a tinge of guilt. It was apparent that he felt he was betraying, if not a trust, then a confidence.
He cannot employ his magics against the one who bears him, only to aid and protect. You, I should think, are protected from him by virtue of being in the ‘possession’ of his bearer. Further, this prohibition covers only direct magics, and I suspect that he could, for example, compel an Undead to attack his bearer.

This information, I think, settles any possible debt that might lie between you and I, sword-woman
, it finished.

On the contrary, I believe that it places me somewhat in
your
debt
, replied Gem.
You have revealed your mind to me, and my fears regarding your motives are lessened. Additionally, you have given me knowledge which will help to protect my boy, and that I truly cannot repay. Finally, you have borne him away from his pursuers, and for that, he owes you his life, and thereby I am indebted to you for the gift of his life as well.

He is all that I have left of any sort of family
, she said.

I, too, know the pain of losing kith and kin. My ancestry has long been exploited by the mages of this world and others, and I have lost forefathers and fledglings both. This fate has been settled upon us as repayment for defying our gods,
Gilaeshar said bitterly.

Finished, the gryphon severed the mental bond and applied himself to the task of lifting them higher and higher above the land below them.

Gem pondered what the gryphon had told her. She had heard this legend before, and it did explain why the creatures could be summoned. The other summoned creatures she knew of were largely from dimensions more remote from Dunshor than the one gryphons called home.

Far below them, foothills were rising. Although hidden by clouds, Gem knew that the mountains dividing Greythorn from the Venturi Plain were ahead of them somewhere.

Aloud, she said, “Do you intend to fly through the pass?”

The gryphon shook its head gently. “No. Thingss live in passsess. Ssometimess thingss with netss.” It remained silent for the remainder of the ascent into the mountains, and its two waking companions followed suit.

The wind in the higher altitudes of the mountains was strong, buffeting the gryphon and its passengers. The beast corrected against the gusts almost before they hit, but despite its skill and power, the ride was becoming rough. Still, the one they guarded slept on as if drugged into stupor.

“I mislike the depth of his slumber,” Gem said, concern evident in her tone.

“Sshould I try to wake him?” asked Gilaeshar, turning its head around again.

“No,” replied Lord Grey. “This is normal. Don’t forget that he lost a lot of spirit energy, and his body’s responding to this with a deep sleep. He may be unconscious for several days or even a week.”

“We can’t afford that, and you know it, Lord Grey,” said Gem. “You are familiar with this sort of psychic wound?”

She could almost sense him nodding. “Yes, I am. It is possible to hasten his recovery, but it will be difficult to obtain the necessary materials.

“Moreover, it will be difficult to manipulate them. Telekinetic magics aren’t very common among necromancers,” he observed, then muttered, “Maybe I can animate a small lizard. Lizards have opposable thumbs…”

“You are referring to an herbal remedy?” Gem asked, surprised. She ignored the reference to animating an animal.

“Yes. There are a great many wondrous cures among the herbal lore. A number have been deemed lost by modern-day herbalists, but I have retained a few. For this, we need to locate Holy Wort, and it must be found before dawn. I presume that his kit contains cooking implements?”

“Including a small pot, yes,” replied the sword. “We also packed a small healer’s kit, if you need bandages for a poultice.”

“Useful to know,” said the skull. “We might need the healer’s knife out of the kit, if there is one.”

“I am, myself, familiar with quite a few herbs, but I don’t know Holy Wort,” Gem said. “You’ll have to spot that.”

“Desscribe it, Greylord,” said the gryphon, “My eyess are far better than yourss.”

It occurred to Gem that it wasn’t necessarily true, since the necromancer didn’t use the sight of the living.

Lord Grey, however, said, “You are most likely correct. Holy Wort is a small creeping plant that grows on hallowed ground. It can usually be found spreading its feelers in shaded areas of graveyards, so you should keep an eye out for old temple grounds and cemeteries. Although much of their grounds will have lost their consecration, we may find some Holy Wort growing near a still-hallowed crypt or mausoleum.”

“Wonderful. More Undead,” said Gem, adding, “No offense, Lord Grey.”

“None taken, Lady Sword,” he replied. “I’m a necromancer, and
I
don’t like them much either. I suppose that I’m Undead, technically, but I really don’t regard myself any differently than when I was alive.

“I’m not acquainted with the recent history of this region. Are there any villages that might have such places here in the mountains?” he asked.

Gem thought for a moment, then replied, “Yes, there are a few. If I remember correctly, I once read an account of one that has been uninhabited for some years.”

“Then that’s where we should head, if you’ll be so kind as to direct Gil toward it,” Lord Grey said decisively. His tone was commanding, and Gem caught a fleeting glimpse of the presence he must have exuded in life.

A man accustomed to being obeyed. We must remember that, my son
, she thought toward her sleeping wielder.

She said, “If you visualize the mountain as a curved dagger pointing east and the pass as the crossbar, the village I speak of lies perhaps twenty miles east of the crossbar in the middle of the blade. It was, I believe, a mining town before it was abandoned. The account was vague about the reason for its desertion. I don’t know whether it was goblins, some supernatural threat, or simply that the mine played out.”

“What was mined there?” asked the skull.

Gem replied, “Small amounts of
lashthirin
, some silver, but mostly copper.”

“And do you think that miners would abandon a
lashthirin
strike just because of goblins or some vengeful ghost?” asked Lord Grey.

“No,” she answered, chagrined. “They’d have petitioned for a mage, a priest, or soldiers. So the mine’s played out, most likely. I should have reasoned that myself.”

The skull’s tone was rueful. “You haven’t had as much experience with human failings as I have, my Lady.”

The gryphon clucked deep inside its throat, and banked eastward, slipping between crags without fear and seemingly without effort.

Chapter Seven

“Beware the ancient battleground,

Where mages fought and magics flew.

‘Tis there the restless dead are found

Who rise to fight their wars anew.”

-- Nursery rhyme common in Dunshor

Whitefall had once been a thriving town populated by several hundred miners, for its mines had supplied
lashthirin
. Truesilver, as it is called in the human tongue, is highly prized, and can be used for a wide variety of purposes, predominantly magical. It is also a unit of currency in the Southron Empire. One
lashthirin
coin possesses the value of a hundred gold coins of equal weight.

Whitefall’s mines had ceased to produce Truesilver long before the rebellion, although the miners had been able to excavate silver for over two decades more. The quest for additional Truesilver had driven the miners to pursue every silver vein, no matter how thin, to its end. As a result, there had been a staggering number of cave-ins and lost miners. The collapsed tunnels were simply reopened, and any Undead formed from among the fallen miners dispatched.

The drive for the enchanted metal was worse than the lust for gold, for even a miniscule amount of
lashthirin
could build a man’s fortune. A majority of the miners had remained until even the copper veins had been depleted, and some stayed on after that, hoping for the strike that would bring untold wealth.

It was discovered that the town proper was built atop several silver veins, so the miners had tunneled under it. One of the final death knells for the village had been the collapse of the mine shaft underneath the main part of the town. Both taverns, the whorehouse, and the general store had been among the buildings that fell into the gaping hole that had suddenly appeared in the middle of the night when the main supports gave way. The disaster had also swallowed the barracks-style accommodations where most of the miners resided, killing most of the sleeping miners.

As a result, the population of Whitefall had been decreased by more than half instantly, and tales of curses and haunting spirits had combined with the played-out ore to spell doom for the village.

The great scar of the collapsed tunnel was still readily visible, although there were a few hardy trees growing along its edge. Those structures that remained were located around the edge of the original town environs, where the remaining population determined that the under-town tunnels hadn’t penetrated. Rather than buildings, these were mostly rude huts built from the scrap lumber salvaged from the hole.

Two of the structures had signs hanging from awnings, although one hung askance by a single ring. The first indicated that it belonged to the village healer, a member of the Order of the White Hand, according to the symbols on the sign. The White Hand was a religious order that advocated nonviolence and healing, and their priests were welcome in every land that Gem knew of.

The second sign announced a plethora of earthy pleasures available within its building, from drink to companionship. This building had caught fire at some point in its history and been saved, for its walls were singed and burnt.

If this was the town’s only remaining tavern and brothel, I’m sure they all turned out to help fight the fire
, Gem thought to herself sardonically.

There was an extensive cemetery located outside of town on an overlooking hill, where oak trees had been planted long ago. While they had managed to grow to over fifty feet tall, the trees had not exactly thrived here. Their trunks were gnarled and twisted, and they appeared rather sinister to Gem. Most of the grave markers had toppled, but there were a few still standing.