Bone Lord 3

by Dante King

  In my mind’s eye I pictured loading the weapon, and I saw a flash of white coming from the ground far below. I almost flinched, because it looked as if the projectile—which was hurtling upwards at an incredible speed, like an arrow loosed at me from a powerful war-bow on the ground—was going to impale me. But then, with a barely perceptible shudder, the bone shard loaded itself into the rail of the crossbow, and that was it. It was ready to go.

  Beneath me, I saw nothing but jagged, steep mountain peaks, which didn’t look like they supported any form of life. So, I picked a particularly vividly colored rock. If I’d been shooting a regular bow, I would have had to take the angle, distance, and wind into account, but I had a feeling that this weapon would not shoot like any ordinary crossbow.

  There was a crack in the skull’s cranium that served as the Bone Bow’s sights, and I used this to aim at the colored rock. When I was directly on target, I squeezed the crossbow’s trigger—and the bone shard was just gone. I didn’t see it in flight, the way I would have seen an arrow or crossbow bolt; there’s wasn’t even a blur of color or a streak in the air. Basically the moment I squeezed the trigger, a puff of dirt and stone shards simply erupted from the brightly colored rock.

  I’d used plenty of bows and crossbows over the years, but none compared in power to the Bone Bow, not even the most powerful war-bow I’d ever shot. And as for aim, no bow in existence came near; there was virtually no drop in the projectile’s trajectory, at least from this distance, and wind had almost no effect on it either; all I had to do was line up the skull sights, take aim, and squeeze the trigger.

  And the best thing about this crossbow, I discovered very quickly, was that it reloaded itself instantly. Before I even thought about reloading, another bone shard had jumped out of the earth far below and loaded itself into the rail of my crossbow. With this thing, I was like the equivalent of an entire division of crossbowmen and archers. My only limit was the number of skeletons in the ground from which I could extract ammunition. Since the Temple of Blood had been the site of plenty of sacrifices in days long past, I figured there’d be more than enough corpses under the ground there.

  I now knew what the Bone Bow was capable of, so I closed my eyes, thought about the fact that I didn’t need it for the time being, and that was that: it vanished from my hands as quickly as it had materialized.

  I was itching to test it out on an enemy, but that would come soon enough. What I had to make use of now were my old assassin skills of stealth and surprise. It was tempting, of course, to charge in there and just start shooting shit up with my Bone Bow while calling up Bone Prisons to trap enemy soldiers, but I didn’t know what kind of magic my uncle was capable of wielding now, or what kind of dangerous minions he had backing him up. I would need to take at least a couple of them out assassin-style, after which I could resurrect them as zombies, or use their bodies to generate corpse explosions. If I could get into the place unnoticed and start picking people off while coming up with some sort of strategy on how to do maximum damage in minimum time, I’d have a chance of stopping the sacrifice. And I might even survive this crazy mission too.

  Night fell, and it was moonless and black. Flying with the harpy soon became almost disorienting; there was nothing around me but darkness—above, below, beneath, everywhere. I couldn’t even see the sharp spires of the mountain peaks. However, the harpy—when it had been alive, at least—had possessed some sort of navigation instinct, I guess because they prefer to hunt their prey at dusk or dawn, in semi-darkness. Something of that instinct remained in the undead creature, and I was able to tap into it to prevent myself from crashing into a mountain side, which would have been a rather anticlimactic end to our whole endeavor.

  As for the direction of the Temple of Blood, I knew that it was due northwest from Lucielle’s fortress, and the fact that it was a moonless night at least helped with navigation; I could see the stars perfectly and make sure I was headed in the right direction. I covered the distance between Lucielle’s fortress and the Temple of Blood in half, maybe even a third of the time it would have taken me riding Fang at full speed, and so when I finally saw a blood-red light glowing on the horizon, it was only just past midnight. I would have plenty of time to plan and launch my attack before the sacrifice happened at dawn.

  The Temple was far larger than I’d thought. Whoever had designed it must have been a fan of sabers; there were tall, curved spikes dozens of yards high, like giant canine teeth, extending out in all directions, threatening anyone who dared approach this evil place. The red light emanating from it was not just from the fires that burned around it and on the many curved spikes that rose from the walls; something inside the main structure—which was a huge, pointed dome made of stone—was glowing brightly. There were no battlements, walls, or fences around the temple itself, but that was made up right now by the army camping in the open ground that surrounded the temple.

  The army was smaller than mine—but that didn’t exactly make a difference, since my own army was hundreds of miles away, and it was just me against, well, everyone. Of course, I wasn’t just an assassin anymore; I was the God of Death, and that made one-on-thousands combat very different that it would have been for a regular fighter. I didn’t have to kill all of these guys alone either; I only needed to kill some of them, and then turn them into my own troops. If I made a proper plan, I could kill and turn about a third, maybe even half of these troops before I gave it to the rest of them. Essentially, my uncle’s army would self-destruct—with a bit of assistance on my part, of course.

  I ordered the harpy to set me down a hundred yards or so from the outskirts of the army camp, on the slopes of a huge mountain that towered over the Temple of Blood, a good vantage point from which to strategize.

  My uncle, as much of an asshole as he was, was a half-decent strategist himself, and he had posted sentries all around the perimeter of the camp. There were also a great number of bonfires inside and outside the camp, improving the sentries’ range of vision. The sentries were all armed with bows and, knowing my uncle, I imagined they were good shots too. Of course, that was fact well suited to my purpose; zombie archers were the perfect candidates to kick off my quick-kill count.

  I’d hoped to find a weak spot in the defenses to exploit,that I’d be able to slip through my uncle’s army, get into the temple, and face only him and his oblates. Then I’d have the element of surprise on my side, and get to fight an unprepared archenemy. The futility of that hope was now driven home; I’d have to take out his army, a process that would certainly alert him to my presence and allow him and his oblates to get ready for a fight. At least I wasn’t dealing with a hostage situation; he wouldn’t kill Lucielle, not before the blood dawn, so all the only choice for both of us would be battle..

  I moved quietly around the slope as I observed the army camp from different angles.I would have to move incredibly fast pick my targets well. If I maintained some covered I’d be safe from the archers; they were in a well-lit area, so as long as I didn’t step into the light, I’d be pretty much invisible to them. There were a few nice and big rocks here, perfect for taking cover, and from each I could get in a few good shots with my Bone Bow, take out a dozen or so archers, even those at the other side of the camp with this awesome magical weapon. Then, my zombie archers would already be perfectly positioned, encircling the camp, so they could pour in arrows from every section of the perimeter. All I had to do was kill and turn them fast enough.

  It took me an hour or two to pick out my targets and mentally draw out an action plan and trajectory for after I’d turned my zombie archers. I still had a few hours before first light, but the dawn was approaching and I couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I closed my eyes and blasted my spirit down into the cold earth beneath me, and I was pleased to find that there were many thousands of corpses buried here; I wouldn’t be running out of ammunition for my Bone Bow, or for Bone Prisons, and of cours
e this meant there was also the power of old Death that I could draw on for my Plague Fists, or that I could channel through any other weapon.

  Most, if not all of these corpses were victims of the Blood God, sacrificed to him over hundreds, perhaps thousands of years. It was high time these long-dead corpses had their revenge. These innocent victims were being given the opportunity to mete out justice, a kind of justice only I could allow them to be a part of.

  “All right, assholes,” I whispered as I stared down at the camp. “It’s time for you cum-stains to meet the God of Death.”

  I called up the Bone Bow and felt the weapon buzz slightly in my hands as it loaded itself with a shard of jagged bone, and then I took aim at an archer on the far side of the camp. I was going to shoot the ones far away from me first, because they were harder targets to hit; they looked almost like insects from up here. After I’d taken out a few of the ones at the other side, I’d start shooting sentries closer by.

  I breathed in, lined up the distant archer’s torso in the sights of the weapon, and then, exhaling slowly and keeping my muscles perfectly steady, I squeezed the trigger. As soon as I did, two spurts of blood sprayed out of his torso—one erupted from the front of his chest, and the other sprayed out of his back; the bone shard had smashed straight through him. His leather armor hadn’t stood a chance, not against my Bone Bow’s magical speed.

  Before his dead body had even hit the ground, I shot a bone shard through another archer, and then swung my sights onto another as that one fell. Now that the archers were falling, shouts of surprise started to resound across the camp. I didn’t stop to observe what the soldiers were doing, though; I simply kept on picking off targets, dropping them second after second, firing my Bone Bow again and again, my focus razor sharp as I swung the sights from target to target.

  Now that I’d killed about a dozen archers on the far side of the camp, soldiers there were running around shouting out orders and grabbing their weapons, in preparation for the wrong threat: they thought that the attack was coming from that side of the camp, and that there were multiple opponents. I chuckled at the confusion I was causing down there—and it was about to get far worse for those sons of bitches.

  I lowered the bow for a second and focused on the archers I’d just killed, and then I raised them from the dead, feeling a jolt pass through me with every zombie I raised. It was a routine job by now. I hurled my spirit into their collective consciousness, and commanded them to shoot every single person in the camp.

  Now the shouts from the camp turned to screams of terror as the dead archers started to rise from the ground, their dead eyes shining with a yellow-green glow in the firelight. Chaos reigned as the archers started shooting volleys of arrows into their comrades.

  I chuckled again, and left my zombie archers to their business, now turning my attention to the middle-distance perimeters. I repeated the same pattern, shooting a series of archers with the Bone Bow before I raised them from the dead. Finally, after I had ordered these new zombies to pour arrows into their own camp, I went for the archers just below me. They saw the chaos that was unfolding everywhere, but beyond that were clearly incapable of understanding the first part of what was going on. These motherfuckers were about to find out firsthand.

  I picked a target close to me and blasted a bone shard at his head, which exploded like an overripe melon. It’s fair to say that the other archers looked utterly gobsmacked when they saw their buddy’s head popping like a pimple. They didn’t have the time to draw their bowstrings—nor would they have known where to aim them—before I blew fist-sized holes in their chests with a couple of well-placed shots, and turned them on their other buddies as zombies.

  Finally, as anarchy was unfolding in every corner of the camp, I saw him: my uncle came running out of the main entrance of the Temple of Blood, dressed in gleaming red plate armor, without a helmet.

  I could have killed him right there and then; all it would have taken was one shot, and his head would have popped like a rotten egg thrown against a wall. I raised my Bone Bow and lined up his furious, crimson face in my sights. One squeeze of the trigger and he’d be history.

  But I couldn’t do it. I guess I was just too selfish; I wanted to see the look on his face from close by when he died. Not only that; I wanted him to look into my eyes as I killed him and sucked his soul out into Gave Oath. I wanted him to know, in the final, agonizing moments of his life, that I was the one who had brought about his doom.

  “Vance, you little shit, I know you’re out there!” he roared, gripping his triple-headed flail in his hands. “Hiding in the dark like a coward, are you?”

  His eyes were solid red, like those of a Blood Demon, and they oozed blood that ran down his cheeks. I remembered just how potent the red lightning he could shoot from his flail had been even before his recent surge in power, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to give him the advantage of distance by revealing myself now; I needed to get in close and engage him in hand-to-hand combat. I remained silent, hidden behind the rock as he peered through the darkness and tried to pinpoint my position.

  “You idiot,” he roared, his voice his own and the Blood God’s combined, making it sound as if a hundred soldiers were all shouting at once. “You think you can stop us? You think the darkness is your ally? Now, you pathetic little deity of nothing, we will show you our true strength!”

  He began to chant something in a language I did not recognize, as he whirled the flail around above his head. The morning star heads started to glow red as they spun faster and faster in whipping arcs, and soon they were crackling with lightning. I glanced up, and noticed that the stars in the sky above me were disappearing—they were being covered by thick storm clouds that seemed to be appearing out of nowhere. The clouds were not tinged with a blueish purple, though, as storm clouds often are—instead, these clouds were tinged with red. Thunder started to rumble from the growing clouds, and soon it was booming and pealing in earsplitting cracks, while Rodrick’s chanting increased in volume and intensity to the point at which it sounded as if he and the Blood God were screaming.

  “Fuck this,” I muttered to myself.

  I would have to sacrifice my personal satisfaction at watching the life fade from Rodrick’s eyes as I sucked his soul into Grave Oath; if he unleashed whatever he was brewing up, I probably wouldn’t get the satisfaction of killing him in any way whatsoever, as I might be dead myself.

  I took aim with the Bone Bow, lining up my uncle’s face in its sights, and then, with a growl of disappointment, giving up that dream of delicious vengeance I’d had for so long, I squeezed the trigger.

  Instead of seeing his head explode, though, I saw a red flash in front of his face, and a shower of bone fragments. His head stayed right where it was, and he was left unscathed, while my bone projectile exploded into dust.

  “Shit!” I yelled.

  He had some sort of invisible shield around him. Hoping that my first shot might have weakened it, I fired another few shots in rapid succession, but each one simply exploded in a shower of bone chips when they hit whatever magical shield he had around him.

  As soon as I realized my current plan was going to fail, it started to rain—but these weren’t drops of water; they were drops of blood.

  “Goodbye, nephew,” Rodrick yelled after he stopped whirling his flail and chanting. “You have lost, and we have won. We will drink Lucielle’s blood tonight, and our Demogorgons will walk the earth.” He then turned and strode briskly back into the Temple of Blood.

  “Wait, did he just say Demogorgons?” I yelled. “There are more than one of those fucking things?! Shit!”

  Down below, the soldiers were now fighting back against my zombie archers, and through the weight of their numbers they were starting to overwhelm them, despite the high number of casualties my archers had inflicted on them. I needed to kill more of them and raise more zombies—but before I could do that, I had another thing to focus on: my own survival.

 
; The ground around me was heating up, and it was almost like there was a sizzle of power in the air. Instantly, and out of nowhere, instinct told me to dive. I hurled myself to the left just as a massive streak of red lighting blasted out of the clouds above and smashed a crater into the ground where I’d just been standing. The explosion covered me in dirt, but I was safe. Not for long, though—these were no random lightning strikes. They were seeking me out. The only way I’d avoid getting fried by lightning was by getting out of this storm, and into the temple.

  “Goddamn, shit just got a little more difficult.” I scrambled to my feet as the promise of another strike crackled in the air.

  I sprinted down the slope, and just behind me yet another streak of lightning smashed into the ground, blowing out a crater and showering me with dirt and rocks. I didn’t panic as I ran through the storm of blood, though; instead, I shot soldiers as I ran, taking them out and raising them as zombies in the space of seconds, turning them against their comrades in the unfolding battle.

  The storm became worse the closer I came to the Temple of Blood, and the wind howled like a live, giant animal, and the blood gushed down in torrents. The red lightning strikes became more intense, and more frequent, and it was getting harder to dodge them; soon the strikes were missing me by feet instead of yards, which was close enough to hurl me through the air. Sooner or later one would hit me; it was almost as if the lightning strikes were improving their aim every time they struck the ground and missed me. Like they were studying how I dodged them and started to personalize their electric shots. At least I was warned before they struck; when the intensity of the charge in the air around me increased, I knew to veer to the side or jump or dive. Even so, it was clear that there was no way I’d be able to keep evading them.