The Road to Death: The Lost Mark, Book 2

by Forbeck, Matt

  With a sharp gesture from Monja, the flap at the front of the tent opened, and a handful of halflings trotted in, carrying a large, brassy basin filled with smoky water. They hauled it up and set it on the table before Monja, then she dismissed them with a curt wave.

  Monja stood on the seat of her chair so that she could look down into the basin from above. Burch motioned for the others to come nearer, and soon Kandler, Brendis, Xalt, Sallah, and Halpum surrounded the basin too, craning their necks to stare into the murky fluid inside.

  Monja chanted something low and soft, words that seemed to slip in and out of Kandler’s ears without stopping to mean anything in between. As she spoke, she held the changeling’s black dagger out in front of her and used it to stir the waters with a flourish. As the waters swirled, Monja kept chanting, and the cloudy concoction in the basin became pale and clear.

  An image began to form on the water’s spinning surface. Monja slowed her stirring bit by bit until the dagger didn’t move at all, and the water seemed as flat and smooth as a mirror.

  A wooden ceiling appeared in the water, and for a moment Kandler thought it was just a reflection. Then he remembered he stood in a tent.

  Monja tilted the tip of the dagger, and the image in the water moved, panning about until it revealed an open window set in a wooden wall. Through the window, Kandler could see torches guttering in the night air. One of them moved from right to left before disappearing from view, and he thought he could make out the form of a sentry in the glow of the distant light.

  Monja moved the dagger again, and the vision in the water rotated about the room, taking it in one piece at a time. A lantern burned in one corner, casting sharp shadows throughout the place. A number of beds were crammed into the room, but only two seemed occupied, long lumps resting in them beneath thin blankets.

  The image in the basin rotated up and looked down on the form in the nearest bed. Kandler heard Sallah gasp as the sleeping face of the changeling spun into view.

  “She’s hurt,” Xalt said, his voice betraying more concern for the changeling than Kandler thought he could have mustered.

  “Not bad enough,” Burch growled. Kandler looked over to see the shifter flexing his hands, popping his claws.

  “Try the other bed,” Kandler said.

  Monja dragged the tip of the dagger an inch across the water, and the image panned straight over the other sleeping form. Esprë lay there below them, a purplish bruise across the bridge of her nose spread out to blacken both her eyes. Her breath came soft and even, though, and she seemed peaceful despite her location.

  Kandler felt his heart clench in his chest. He wanted to reach out through the image to touch her, to stroke her golden hair, to whisper that everything would be all right, but he feared it would break the spell and steal her from him forever.

  “It’s some kind of sick room,” Sallah said.

  “I wonder what happened to the airship,” said Brendis. The young knight had been the last of them to fly the craft.

  Not for the first time, Kandler wondered if the knight felt responsible for it getting away from them and thereby Esprë too. Brendis couldn’t have done a thing to prevent it, but Kandler knew that knights like him often let guilt eat at them. Such feelings motivated some of them to make amends, to repair any damage done. In others, though, the emotion festered, always open and raw.

  “Where are they?” Kandler said.

  Monja shook her head. “The spell only shows me the person I’m looking for, not her location on a map.”

  “Can you move the image out through the window? Just looking around a room doesn’t tell me enough.”

  “The vision centers on the changeling. If she moves, I can follow her. Otherwise … perhaps we can try again in the morning.”

  “No need,” Halpum said. “I recognize that place. Spurbin—one of my best hunters spent a long week there once.”

  All eyes locked on the lathon.

  “It’s the infirmary of a Karrnathi outpost far to the north of here on the border between our land and that of King Kaius. We were hunting a swordtooth titan, a big lizard, tall as a dozen halflings put together. They rarely wander so far from the central lands, but this one was hungry and mad with pain. It lost one of its spindly upper arms in a fight, along with a double armload of its yard-long teeth.

  “Even wounded, the beast was dangerous, maybe worse than ever. It rampaged through one of our hunting camps, killing a dozen good halflings before we ran it off. We tracked it from there, following it north.”

  “Like following a herd of cattle, right?” Burch said. “The tail alone on a thing like that’s wider than a wagon.”

  Halpum nodded. “Crazed as it was, it ran fast and hard but wandered all over the place as it went. We kept a good distance from it, wary of it scenting us and turning to attack. I figured it would run itself out soon enough, then we could put it down. A kill like that is worth a little risk.

  “Instead, the dumb beast ran right at that Karrnathi fort. Fort Bones, they call it. Stuck inside those wooden walls, the soldiers had nowhere to run, and it tore through their defenses like they were kindling.

  “Of course, it didn’t help that most of the soldiers there aren’t more than bones either, tools some necromancer raised from peaceful graves to serve in the Karrnathi army until the moons all fall from the sky.”

  “We met some of their friends in Mardakine the night Esprë was kidnapped,” Kandler said.

  “More meat on those bones,” Burch said. “Stinking zombies.”

  Halpum shook his head. “Karrnath’s always liked recycling their dead soldiers. You don’t have to feed them, and they always follow orders. They’re dumber than a clawfoot, but you can’t have everything.

  “Fort Bones uses only skeletons for its operation. Fort Zombie sits forty leagues to its west, closer to the Mournland. You can guess what kind of guards they have there.”

  Sallah nodded. “It seems that our changeling may have friends in Kaius’s court at Korth.”

  “I always hated Karrnath.” Kandler fought the urge to spit. As an agent of the Citadel, he’d been to the northern nation many times, and he’d come to dislike its leaders, whom he found as cold and merciless as one of their brutal winters.

  “The Karrn aren’t all bad,” Halpum said. “After we helped them bring down that big lizard, they invited us in for a feast. All that lizard meat and only a handful of living Karrn to share it with. We stayed a week, until Spurbin could move again. He nearly lost an arm to the thing. Just lucky it bit him with one of the gaps in its teeth.”

  “Fort Bones, you say,” Kandler said. As he spoke, he looked down into the basin. The waters had clouded through again. “How far north is this?”

  “About seventy leagues,” Halpum said. “You can leave at first light.”

  How long do you plan to keep us here?” Te’oma demanded.

  The changeling had awakened in the Fort Bones infirmary only minutes ago, the sun streaming in through the window, burning the sleep from her brain. She didn’t know how long she’d lain in that straw-ticked bed under its bleached white sheets. It amazed her that she was still alive. When the girl had crashed the airship into the ground, she’d been sure she would die.

  In some ways, Te’oma wished she had died. It would be so much simpler that way. No more working for her shadowy masters, no more mourning for her dead child, no more hoping that she could somehow find a way to bring that child back to life. It would finally all be over.

  Instead, she’d woken up in this strange room, guarded by a pair of fleshless skeletons draped in Karrnathi armor who’d immediately sounded an alarm. When she’d tried to get up, they’d sat on her chest. Weak as a blood-drained cat, she couldn’t summon the strength to resist them, and she’d lay pinned there until the dwarf—Berre Stonefist, the Captain of Bones—entered the room to interrogate her.

  The skeletons still pressing into her with their uncushioned bones, Te’oma had thrashed about, looking
for anyway out. Her eyes fell on the elf girl. As they did, Esprë leaped back as if stabbed, a tiny scream escaping from her lips before she covered them with a delicate hand.

  “Help me!” Te’oma had said. “They’ll kill us both.”

  The young elf had turned her back on her, huddling in the corner, trying to make herself as small as possible in some vain hope that Te’oma might then ignore her. Esprë had apparently heard enough of Te’oma’s lies.

  Her body trapped, the changeling had probed around with her mind. Mentally, the skeletons were empty holes. She might as well have tried to telepathically approach her bedding instead.

  Esprë’s mind shone out like a beacon, tempting Te’oma to attack it, almost daring her to dominate her. The changeling couldn’t muster the effort to break down the young elf’s defenses though. The mere effort wasted what little energy she had, and she sank farther into the bedding, giving up beneath the skeletons’ weight.

  Then the dwarf walked in.

  “How long do you plan to keep us here?” Te’oma demanded.

  “Us?” Berre said. “You’re being a bit generous in your collection of others to your side.” She gestured toward Esprë. “I don’t think our young elf here cares for your extension of the word ‘us’ to include her. A better question would be, ‘How long do you plan to keep me here?’ I’d think.”

  “Let me rephrase,” Te’oma snarled. “Am I your prisoner?”

  A grin crept across the dwarf’s lips. “The bony beasties on your chest weren’t clue enough?”

  “Why?” Te’oma said. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Ah.” Berre flashed a frown. “Then it seems we have a wee difference of opinion. This lass,” she jerked a thumb at Esprë, “claims you kidnapped her from her stepfather’s home on the other side of the Mournland and dragged her out here for the Host knows what reason.”

  “Lies,” Te’oma said. “She’s my ward. She must have been hit on the head in the crash. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

  “Is that so?” Berre raised her eyebrows at Te’oma. “You expect me to take the word of a changeling wearing the symbol of the Blood of Vol—a vile cult that’s been outlawed here in the fair land of Karrnath—over that of an innocent elf maiden?”

  The dwarf leaned forward and whispered to the changeling. “Perhaps it’s you who’s been hit on the head.”

  Desperate, Te’oma used her fear and her fury to reach down deep into her mind and hurl a mental blast at the Captain of Bones. If she could reach into the dwarf’s mind, twist it until Berre saw things her way, she might be able to get out of here yet. She stabbed forward blindly into the dwarf’s brain, hoping to strike something vital.

  Berre fell forward, landing on her knees with a grunt. As she did, the two skeletons sitting on Te’oma reached down and began to pummel her in the face. Her concentration smashed, along with her nose, the changeling felt her assault against the dwarf melt like a sharp-tipped icicle in a hot forge.

  Berre clambered back to her feet, wiping at a bit of blood trickling from her nose. “You damn yourself with your own actions,” she said. “Friendly folk don’t try to fry my brains.”

  The Captain of Bones looked at the two skeletons still sitting atop the changeling. “If she tries to escape, if she tries to harm the girl—mentally or physically—then kill her.”

  Then she turned her attention to the battered Te’oma. “Don’t worry yourself,” she said, menace dripping from every word. “You’ll be relieved of our hospitality soon enough. We’re due an airship with new supplies here shortly. Its captain will be only too happy to take you along with him back where he came.”

  “Where is that?” Te’oma murmured between her busted lips.

  “Korth,” Berre said. “I’m sure Kaius will get a charge out of you.”

  Night had fallen when Te’oma awoke again, a rough hand on her shoulder. The light of a single lamp cast the room in sharp shadows, and for a moment she couldn’t see the face of the person looming over her.

  “Back to torture me again?” she asked, assuming it was Berre who stood over her, framed in the lamplight. Then, as the effects of her long sleep sloughed from her mind, she realized that this person was twice the dwarf’s size.

  “Your friends from Fort Zombie send their greetings,” the figure’s voice rasped. “It’s a pity you didn’t crash a bit farther to the west. You might have saved yourself a great deal of trouble.”

  “Who are you?” the changeling asked.

  The tension left her as she realized that this was the mole from the Blood of Vol that the Captain of Corpses had told Tan Du about as they’d passed through the Karrnathi border on their way to Mardakine so many weeks ago.

  “Here, I am called Ibrido,” the figure said. As he spoke, he backed up into the light, and Te’oma saw a man dressed in a Karrnathi officer’s uniform. His dark eyes stared at her in the lamplight, never blinking once. “That doesn’t matter, though. What happened to your leader and the others, the vampires? We didn’t expect to find you wandering about with a single wisp of an elf.”

  Te’oma thought back to how the people of Mardakine had made quick work of the Karrnathi zombies she and Tan Du had brought with them. They’d thought to overrun the tiny town fast, but they hadn’t realized that everyone of age in the place was a battle-hardened veteran of the Last War. They’d even lost part of Tan Du’s coven of vampire spawn before they’d managed to grab the girl and escape.

  Then Kandler, Burch, and the knights had killed all but Tan Du and herself as they raced through the Mournland. Still, they might have been able to get away had they not encountered Majeeda, a mad elf who had slain the too-rude Tan Du with little more than a gesture. Te’oma had been lucky to escape with her life and even luckier to manage to capture Esprë again. It seemed her luck was still holding.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, waving off Ibrido’s concerns. “I have the bearer of the Lost Mark, and I’m on my way to bring her in.”

  “You seek to reach the court of Vol herself?” the Karrn said. “Illmarrow Castle is a long way from here, and the Lich Queen is not patient.”

  Te’oma thought of her daughter’s frigid corpse. “I know that as well as anyone, but I am determined to see this through. Can you find me passage out of here? For me and the girl?”

  “She is the bearer?” Ibrido stared at the sleeping elf who lay sprawled in the corner. “I expected someone more … impressive.”

  “Can you get us out of here?”

  Ibrido hesitated for but a moment before nodding. “It will take time, but it can happen. Our best way out of here is an airship. Our crew is repairing the one you came in on, but it will not be completed soon. We will wait for the next one to come in later this week. Then we can commandeer it and take to the skies, leaving this pit of a place far behind.”

  “You seem eager to go.”

  Ibrido crept over to where Esprë slept and stared down at her. “With a prize like this,” he said, “I’ll let nothing stand in my way.”

  This is madness,” Sallah said as Kandler reached down to help her up the last rungs of the ladder and onto the wooden platform that swayed high above the Wandering Inn. Looking down at the whole of the nomadic village splayed out below them in the soft light of the breaking dawn, he had to agree.

  Few of the halflings had roused yet, but those who had rushed about the place as if Halpum had set fire to their loincloths. To the east, a massive threehorn lizard, already yoked to an even larger wagon, lowed soft and mournful, as if it yearned to charge free through the grassy, open plains. A pack of bridled clawfoots scratched at the hard-packed earth just beyond it, eager to be off. The Wandering Inn never stayed in one place for long, and already these beasts could sense it was time to go.

  “How does this work again?” Xalt asked.

  Kandler thought he detected a hint of fear in the warforged’s voice as he peered over the unrailed edge of the platform to where the ground spun fifty
feet below. Even to the justicar, the set of long, thin poles that held them in the air seemed like they might snap like lengths of straw at any moment and send them tumbling to the unforgiving earth.

  A westerly wind carrying the faint scent of the Mournland on it—the stale smell of a fresh-dug grave—swept through them, and the platform wavered again.

  Brendis fell to his knees and clutched the wood beneath them, finding purchase on a leather strap nailed there for that purpose. “Humans aren’t meant to fly,” he said. “The airship was bad enough, but at least it was a ship. This,” he stared at the winged lizards waddling about at the platform’s northern edge, their leather collars lashed to it by short lengths of a rope so thin it only suggested that the creatures stay in place. “This is insane.”

  “Fastest way to go,” Burch said. “Clawfoots might take three days to make Fort Bones. Glidewings can do it in one.” The shifter smiled at the discomfort of the others. “Just like riding a horse. Hold on tight. Don’t fall off.”

  “It’s a bit more of a drop,” said Sallah.

  “Hold on tighter.”

  Burch busied himself helping Monja check the riggings on the massive creatures: long leather straps that ran over their shoulders and met other straps coming around their middles, holding in place a thin, molded saddle that rode just above where the wings met the body. One of the lizards stretched out its leathery wings, displaying a stunning wing-span that could have hidden a family of halflings beneath. It opened its long beaklike mouth, exposing rows of tiny, sharp teeth, and squawked at Monja as she tightened its harness.

  “It’s all right, Swoop,” she said. “They’re not that big.” She turned to the others to explain. “They sense your fear. It makes them nervous.”

  Brendis gulped but did not let go of his strap yet. Sallah steeled herself, resting her hand on the pommel of her new sword. It wasn’t one of the sacred, blazing blades of the Knights of the Silver Flame, but it beat out that black dagger of Te’oma’s, which rode on the lady knight’s other hip.