By Blood Betrayed (The Kingsblood Chronicles) (5 page)

“Why do you think that mages employ people like me?” he’d asked with a grin. “It’s because magic, while tremendously useful and frighteningly powerful, doesn’t always serve. Sometimes, you must hire a tailor instead of magicking up your torn tunic.

“I suppose it depends on where your talents lie, of course,” he’d finished, “because there have been great diviners equal to Firavon the Artificer. I’m certain that if Ashuron the Seer wants to spy on, say, your mother, undetected, he can.”

Elowyn had a great deal of knowledge about the magics which affected his craft, even though his magical abilities were nearly as weak as Lian’s. Lian had difficulty understanding why Elowyn studied an art which he could never master.

Lian knew how to get to the scrying room, though he had never been there. Elowyn had made him memorize the path over and over again, until he could find it in his sleep. Only then had he allowed Lian to see both a map and an illusionary vision of the room’s location. Elowyn had explained that he’d carried an enchanted bauble with him when he’d originally found the room, and it had recorded the way.

Lian had been angry at the time, but he was now confident that he wouldn’t take a wrong turning.

Gem said,
You see? There are reasons for things we make you do.

I know that, Gem
, he replied testily.
That doesn’t make them less onerous. You were born with knowledge. I have to learn things the hard way.

She “nodded” to him. Gem would have traded all of her power and knowledge to be mortal, though she’d never told her charge of this desire. Her existence was a cold one, and most of her perception of the world depended upon her wielder.

Both Lian and Gem were relieved to see only substantial, lesser forms of Undead as they progressed through the eerily vacant Tower. Bones shuffled along the floor, searching for other pieces. Animated corpse-parts, hands and legs and torsos, writhed alongside the skeletal fragments, also seeking the rest of their bodies. The sight of these horrified Lian and made his skin crawl with revulsion, but he had been prepared for their presence.

There had been a profusion of necromancers in the Theocracy, and the residual effects of their handiwork remained to haunt and torment the villagefolk. He’d ridden out innumerable times to assist his brothers and his father in the dispatching of such entities. Most of the “rural” Undead he’d dealt with were more recently living than these examples, however, and had therefore been far more disgusting.

The dry air of the Tower had desiccated the zombies, converting their bodily fluids to powder and therefore preventing the fetidness from becoming overpowering. The villager’s dead who had risen from their graves had dripped with black, decayed fluids, and the stench was so bad that Lian had wished he could cut off his own nose.

As a preventative measure, Evan and Alec had wanted to institute cremation as the routine method for disposing of the dead, but the local priests hadn’t allowed it. Instead, they’d settled on reconsecration of all of the graveyards in afflicted areas, along with semi-annual visits from the court priests to ensure that the dead still rested.

Adrienne disliked her youngest child taking part in these “zombie hunts,” but Evan’s decision had stood. “It’s the responsibility of the royal house to handle emergencies that arise for their people,” he’d admonished her, in one of their rare arguments in Lian’s presence. “In this land, a frequent crisis is the restless dead.”

Now, Lian was rather glad that he’d encountered this sort of Undead previously. He wasn’t sure he could have passed them by, or even stepped through them where they blocked the passageway, if he hadn’t already experienced worse.

Animated corpses like these weren’t, strictly speaking, true Undead. He wasn’t exactly clear on the distinction, but knew it had something to do with how much of the soul remained. Animated dead generally didn’t interact with their surroundings except as an obstacle, though they could be compelled to strike at the living. They were simply corpses whose remaining spark of life had been strengthened to the point of motion by magical means.

Nearly every “zombie plague” he’d ridden out to fight had turned out to be the work of a local witch or lesser Undead who was gathering and deploying the mindless but animate corpses to do their bidding.

Lian didn’t quite understand how a spark of life could remain in a corpse, either. But according to Adrienne, that fragment of the soul that impels and moves the body, the
animus
, doesn’t depart until the remains are nothing but dust. He had been horrified to ponder the idea that part of his soul would be bound in a rotting grave with his body, but that fear had lessened over the years, mostly because he tried not to think about it very often.

Lian was following a corridor that curved around the outer wall of the Tower and sloped gently upward. He knew that this ramp circled the tower thirteen times, reaching all but the highest levels of the mage-king’s fortress. Here on the lower levels of the Tower, the slain had been quite numerous, but the upper levels would contain fewer corpses. Gingerly picking his way over and around the animated dead, Lian quickened his pace. The cumulative effect from the proximity of so many moving corpses was making his hair stand on end, and the revulsion was becoming oppressive.

From time to time as he climbed the gently sloping ramp, he caught sight of shadows that seemed to move of their own volition. Whether they were truly shades of the dead, guardian spirits, or merely illusions spun by his imagination, he gave them as wide a berth as he could. Despite the darksight granted by Gem’s enchantments, the Tower seemed gloomy and dusky, with unseen dangers lurking around every corner and behind every door.

Distant sounds could be heard echoing through the halls and passageways of the massive edifice, including screams and shrieks, making the oppression even worse.

After what seemed to be an eternity of terror, Lian reached his goal, the middle opening into the center of Firavon’s Tower. Gem informed him that it had taken her charge less than an hour to climb the mile-long ramp that represented half of the Tower’s height.

At four places along the spiral incline, the outer ramp leveled off and branched inward to the center section of the Tower along four great, forty-foot-wide halls. Lian was already above two of these sets of hallways on his long ascent; one was at ground level and the second one he’d passed earlier a quarter up the height of the Tower. The arched ceiling of each of the great halls was carved with scenes from one of the four elemental planes. Lian advanced into the Earth Hall, which was the first hall he encountered at the mid-level, traveling clockwise up the incline. The earth element scenes were beautiful, frescos and mosaics of mountains, chasms, volcanoes, gemstones, and other wonders. There was no evidence of the dark and perverse artwork like that which had adorned the mage’s quarters where he’d entered the Tower.

The center of the Tower was open from the ground to about forty yards from the top. At the upper levels, railings, and presumably one’s magical talents, were the only protection against a long fall to a very hard floor. There were numerous stairways, both circular and straight, which crisscrossed the inner chamber of the tower, interconnecting the levels in a complex manner. There was certainly a method to it, but Lian couldn’t discern it. However, he did know which stairwell held the passageway to the scrying chamber.

At each of four specific levels in the Tower, the four “elemental” great halls intersected, bridging the span of the inner chamber. At the junction of each of the four interconnecting bridges was a fountain surrounded by a circular garden area, where the mages could meet and discuss things openly if it suited them.

The center fountain, at the midpoint of the Tower’s height, was larger and more complex than the others, a great work of art in its own right. Legend held, according to Elowyn, that this fountain had been a gift to Firavon from a great earth elemental prince. Then Elowyn had proceeded to explain that nothing could be further from the truth. In actuality, the fountain was hollow, and concealed within it was the scrying chamber. Underneath the “Earthbridge,” contained within the span, was the passageway to reach the chamber.

The enclosed stairwell that hid the access was thirty yards away from the inner opening of the water elemental hallway and appeared to lead up into one of the libraries, four levels above. There was, however, a hidden catch, made of
kaiieilirinelda
, or Red Truesteel, under a pearlescent stud. This material deadened or even blocked the use of magic near it, thereby effectively rendering discovery by sorcery impossible. Once the stud was depressed, the gateway would open exactly twenty seconds later on a different part of the stair. It would remain ajar for twenty more seconds only, and was protected by an illusion so that it never
appeared
to open.

Lian wondered how Elowyn knew of the scrying chamber’s existence, and the method of accessing it, but the elf had never told him.

As Lian approached the central chamber of the Tower, the air suddenly became icy. Lian felt it as a physical blow, chilling him through his clothing. “Oh, shit,” he muttered, tightening his grip on the sword. His arm was already weary from carrying the heavy blade for so long, training or no, but a sudden surge of adrenaline did much to counter his fatigue.

Before him, rounding the corner from the inner Tower balcony, were two humanoid forms. They appeared to be clothed in hooded robes, though no faces were discernible within the shadow of their cloaks. They chuckled and one spoke to the other in a hissing tongue that Lian did not recognize.

The Tongue of the Dead
, Gem said, thrumming with sudden power. Blue flames licked along her length, flames which Lian knew were anathema to Undead.
These wraiths are guardian spirits, lad.

The two specters glanced at each other, as if conferring about the magical blade. Time seemed to stand still while Lian waited for their reaction. For a moment, they seemed to shrug, then without warning they rushed at Lian with blinding speed. Instinctively, Lian whirled the blade about him, spinning as fast as possible. He felt, rather than saw, the blade connect with one of the spirits, and it vanished, shrieking, in a flash of blue-white light.

The other, more wary, halted outside the silver weapon’s arc. Extending the empty arms of its robe before it, a scythe appeared, shimmering blackly with power.
Greater wraith, this one. Be careful
, Gem said, thrumming a higher note in an attempt to ward Lian’s body against the specter’s scythe.

The wraith bowed mockingly to its intended victim, and Lian foolishly returned the gesture. In that bare instant of distraction afforded by the motion, the wraith rushed him. He raised Gem to parry the strike from the scythe and was surprised as the wraith released it.
Feint
, was Gem’s single, desperate utterance as the spirit reached out with the emptiness that would have been its fingertip to touch him on his shoulder.

He watched the wraith rush back out of sword range as bitter, overwhelming coldness robbed him of his senses. The last sensation he perceived as he fell was the musical sound of Gem’s enraged power, weaving a new spell in an attempt to shield him and the clashing sound of her blade striking the stone. Then, there was only darkness.

Chapter Three

“The moons of Tieran are six in number. The first and most important is the mighty Lushran, whose 28-day cycle delineates the Tieran month. Thirteen times per year, Lushran circles his lover Tiera, who in turn circles him. Lushran is Lord of Power, yet shares power over the tides with Aliera, the second moon.”

-- From Eililiu Aldiesu’s treatise, “Lunar Astrology”

Gods and the Goddess
! Gem cursed as she experienced the failure of Lian’s senses. The flames that danced along her length flickered and died as she tumbled from his grasp. Her awareness of her surroundings dulled, fading to the enchanted perceptions wrought into her steel.

The wraith retreated, savoring the life force which it had drained from the boy, as the sword and prince both crashed to the floor. It had been decades since it last fed upon the living. It felt no urgency, as it no longer had to share its meal with its fellow wraith. There would be time enough to savor the unexpected feast.

***

Lian’s eyes snapped open, but he could see nothing. He could barely feel his arms and legs, but he was glad that he
could
feel them.
Gem
? he asked as he groped for the blade.
I don’t know how you stopped that wraith, but I’m sure glad you did.

Gem’s reassuring mental presence was missing, however. His surroundings gradually brightened as his eyesight returned. The icy feeling in his extremities, particularly his left shoulder, wasn’t receding. It also dawned upon him that he had been temporarily deafened, for he now began to hear animals and voices and the hundred other sounds typical of a town.

Where am I
? he wondered, staggering to his feet. His balance was unsteady, but he could force his limbs to move, save his left arm. Standing required an effort similar to balancing in waist-deep moving water, but he managed it with the help of a nearby wall. He took in his surroundings.

He was standing, or rather leaning, in an alleyway, apparently located just off of the main street of a small village. He was alone in the alley, and it was clear that he hadn’t been mugged, for all of his equipment, save Gem, was in evidence. He recalled fighting the wraiths in the Tower, but after the second touched him, his memories ended.

A pair of armed men passed by on the main road. One glanced into the alley and seemed to look right through Lian; there was no sign that he’d seen the prince. They were armed with crossbows and light maces, and bore a convoluted insignia on their black leather armor that Lian didn’t recognize. Both men were dark-skinned, like the men of Azareh across the Eastern Sea, but their hair was reddish. Although emissaries from many lands had presented themselves at his father’s court, Lian had never seen their like before.