Path of Bones

by Steven Montano

  “Wait….who was your father?” Kath asked.

  “Jonas Taivorkan,” she said. “The Den’nari advisor to Silver Company, and a friend to Colonel Corgan Bloodwine. They found a secret way into the Black Tower, a way that’s since been sealed. Bloodwine killed Vlagoth. The others went in after he’d died and saw her inner sanctum.” She looked at Kath, and smiled sadly. “You know the story, I’m sure.”

  “Of course,” he said. There were few who didn’t. “Colonel Bloodwine died at Chul Gaerog, and Merrick Avarian passed away a few years later from sickness. I’m…not sure what happened to your father…”

  “He died,” Ijanna said quietly, “defending a minor crime lord named Bordrec Kleiderhorn. Bordrec still owes me for that. He was the reason I was able to sneak into Ebonmark and avoid getting captured.” She watched the Chul. “My father was cursed. All three of them were cursed. They killed Vlagoth before her work was done, so now her daughters have to finish it for her.”

  For a moment he sat stunned.

  “Who told you this?” he asked. “This can’t be true…”

  “It is true,” Ijanna said angrily. “I’ve spent most of my life trying to disprove it. We’re down to my last desperate attempt to find a way out of this. Can you imagine what it’s like knowing you can do something monumentally good if you’re only willing to pay the price and do something horrible first?” Tears welled in her eyes. “Can you imagine what it’s like to be living in a shadow your entire life, knowing that whatever you do is pointless because your story has already been written?” She gritted her teeth in anger. “I’m not a hero, Kath, and I never have been. I don’t want to die…but if I refuse, everyone else will. If I don’t sacrifice myself, magic will consume us all.”

  Ijanna’s words drove like knives through his skin. He wasn’t sure what to say. The wolf song intensified, but the howls were forlorn, afraid.

  “How?” he asked plainly. “How will your sacrifice save us?”

  “The Blood Queen will be born again, in me,” she said. “And she’ll destroy the evil in this world.” Her voice had a dark edge to it.

  “The Blood Queen tried to kill everyone…” Kath said.

  “No,” Ijanna said. “Trust me, I didn’t want to believe it either, but she didn’t. Carastena Vlagoth was trying to destroy something else.” Her red eyes held him locked in her gaze.

  “What was she trying to destroy?” Kath asked hesitantly.

  “A prison,” Ijanna said. “A dark prison that must be opened so the world can live again. Vlagoth entreated the Empires for help, but they refused, because to do what needed to be done required too great a sacrifice.”

  “What sacrifice?” Kath asked. His blood ran cold from the words of the damaged woman who held him enthralled. He’d glimpsed the darkness inside her, and couldn't look away. “What price?” he asked. “Who’s held in this prison?”

  “A Goddess,” Ijanna said. “Your Goddess.”

  Kath shook his head.

  “You’re insane,” he said quietly. “The One Goddess rules from on high. To claim she’s earthbound is blasphemy.” He felt an urge to do something terrible, a violence he hadn’t known himself capable of, and a jolt of pain rang through his skull.

  “You thought about striking me,” Ijanna said, not angry, not surprised. “I’m sorry for the pain – that’s the Veil’s doing, not mine. Our bond won’t allow you to harm me.” She put her hand on his head, and a molten sensation passed down his skin and soothed his pounding heart. The hurt evaporated almost instantly. “The price for freeing your Goddess is a terrible one to pay,” Ijanna said, as if consoling him. She held his hand, and her warmth kept the night’s chill at bay. “I won’t be the only one who dies. In order for her to be free, all of us will lose much that we hold dear.” She took a breath. He felt the sorrow in her words. “This is why I’ve been searching for another way, Kath. I don’t want to die. I’m not too stubborn to admit that, but I know Malzaria isn’t ready for what needs to be done.”

  “I don’t understand,” he said. “How can she…how can a Goddess…?”

  “They’re coming,” Ijanna said, and she released Kath and reached for her weapons.

  Kath looked out through the rocks. Ijanna readied the thar’koon blades as he struck the flint to stone. It took him a few tries, but eventually the small pot of oil caught alight and a sputtering flame rippled to life. The Chul fanned out, moving fast, their curved blades glinting in the moonlight. Seven warriors converged on the rift at the base of the hills.

  Seven.

  Kath reached for his crossbow, and froze. A shadow moved behind them in the rocks above. He’d watched them carefully, yet somehow one of the Chul had managed to sneak away. Even now the shadow made no sound, doubtlessly masked by the Witch Mother’s dark magic. Kath grabbed his weapon and jumped to his feet as the feral warrior tore out of the darkness. He swung the axe and missed, and moments later his vision went red with blood.

  Seventeen

  Kaldrak Iyres was a dreary place. The very atmosphere reeked of desperation, and every brick and block of stone seemed stained with blood. Unwashed children scrambled for food or shelter, and the crooked streets were awash with filth and shit. He’d remembered the terrible poverty, but not how ugly the crime-controlled city was up close, or that it was literally coming apart at the seams in spite of being the seat of so much money and power.

  Dane wound his way through steep and tangled roads on his way to the Scarlet Lair. The lanes were cluttered with refuse and puddles of saltwater, and dozens of storm drains ran thick with streams of briny fluid. The sandstone structures and streets were soaked with ash, and the shadows in Kaldrak Iyres were thick. Dane heard drunken song, noisy children and glass breaking in the distance.

  The city reeked like a machine. Sulfur and oil clung to the atmosphere like a gel, the by-product of bizarre factories where workers smelted ores and processed hundreds of pounds of seafood, the only legal exports the city bothered to produce. The air was heavy with the pasty tang of fish guts and burning metal. Great plumes of grey smoke lifted up in snaky pillars, and the clang of metal on wood as pirate and warships docked in the harbors carried through the night like the toll of broken bells.

  Dane passed dozens of shops and residences and worked his way past vagabonds and drifters and citizens as stained and grimy as the city itself. Most of the stores were traditional, unusual only by their presence in that criminal port: candle makers, glass blowers, basket weavers, butchers, booksellers.

  The signs of murder and corruption were everywhere. Men stood on corners hawking obviously stolen or contraband goods, whores in scant clothing paraded their wares on the same streets where bands of children played, and criers implored people to come and spend their money in dens of gambling, drugs, prostitution and even less reputable services.

  The city was a labyrinth of curved lanes and cul-de-sacs, and the network of streets felt like a spider’s web. Most of the buildings were domed and lined with crumbling statues and decrepit balconies, and every structure showed signs of imminent collapse.

  Dane brushed shoulders with all manner of people in the tightly packed streets, most of them very poor. Children were unwashed and wore tattered rags, but they ran and played in spite of their bruised bodies and gangrened veins. Every woman he saw was either a mother chasing after her children or a prostitute, dirty yet desirable in their array of exotic skin tones and hair color, but their eyes were all frozen, like pools of glass. The men were equal parts Jlantrian and Den’nari, their flesh bronzed from living in the desert clime, and those not donned in the mismatched armor of mercenaries or pirates wore tattered laborer’s outfits and had faces smeared with soot and grime from working in the factories or on the docks, not caring that most of the cargo which passed through their hands was illegal.

  Work is work, Dane thought. I’ve been there.

  But criminals made up the bulk of the population, set apart from the commoners by their equipment and clo
thing but still a varied class in and of themselves. Common buccaneers and sellswords wore leather and chain armor and yielded quality weapons, but they were overshadowed by the fences and loan sharks and pimps and Phage with their hard leather boots and fine perfumed cloths. The more powerful criminals were escorted by crimson-cloaked Blood Knights wearing featureless masks.

  Crime was the way of life in Kaldrak Iyres, and the Phage all but controlled the city and everyone in it. People steered clear of the fearsome Blood Knights and seneschals serving Mez’zah Chorg, the head of the city and co-leader of the Phage with her equal and opposite Cranos Thane, ruler of Raithe. The law in Kaldrak Iyres, such as it was, was swift and brutal, and everyone from the lowliest dregs on the streets to the puppet officials in office knew that their lives hung by a thread.

  Dane kept his hood drawn as he made his way down the street. He’d left his helmet with Kruje and kept his armor and vra’taar hidden beneath his dark cloak so he wouldn’t drawn any untoward attention. Dane made his way along Blackrock Lane, silently cursing the boy Tolliver. “Two blocks down” had turned out to be a very relative phrase. Each block in Kaldrak Iyres was a confusing series of twists, loops, double-backs and side-treks which took Dane deep into what he imagined was possibly the worst district in an already bad town. There was no pretense there – Kaldrak Iyres’ true nature was on full display. Condemned prisoners hung cruciform on the walls of tall buildings, their remains rotting away. Prostitutes took their customers to smelly alleys and barely concealed corners, and the sounds of ripe fucking and fake pleasure echoed up and down the cracked streets. Brigands casually looted the bodies of those they’d just killed.

  He could see the sky, a thin trace of black lanced through with green moonlight. Kaldrak Iyres had many street levels, and seemed to have been constructed around a central spire or hill. Tall flames flickered from within iron-bound braziers.

  There were numerous side-streets off Blackrock Lane, but most of them just terminated at the end of crooked and forlorn alleys occupied by dark shops or gambling events. The true city blocks were marked by nearly innocuous signs on the side of every twelfth building, or so a young girl told him when he asked if the Scarlet Lair actually existed.

  Dane passed an apothecary with a sign on the door promising fifty gold coins to any man who took a special poison pill and lived, more brothels than he could count (some of them highly unsavory in nature), and an open fighting ring where bare-chested men beat each other to death.

  He’d seen it all before. Kaldrak Iyres was brazen about its criminal lifestyle, and since it was far removed from any Imperial authority the Phage could afford to openly parade its disregard for law and order. Urag Kesh, the holy city-state far to the south, had threatened to take actions against Kaldrak Iyres years ago, but too much hostile territory lay between them – while the Den’nari rulers of Blackmoon could probably be persuaded to look the other way while Urag Kesh’s militant holy orders traipsed across their territory, the powerful criminal city of Raithe would not.

  Raithe is still more dangerous than this place, Dane thought, and he’d spent enough time in both cities to know. It may be quieter about the fact that crime controls their city, but that’s what makes it dangerous. Here it’s easy to understand that enemies are everywhere. In Raithe they smile at you as they push the dagger into your neck.

  Dane hoped Kruje was all right. He was sure the giant knew how important it was for him to keep a low profile, and after so many months of captivity he knew Kruje had no desire to draw attention to himself. But if some vagrants or looters decided to target the abandoned blacksmith’s shop, or if that kid Tolliver went snooping around…

  We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it, I guess, Dane told himself.

  Tolliver told him the Phage controlled the Scarlet Lair, and if the rumors about Ijanna’s troubles with Mez’zah Chorg were true then perhaps Dane could learn more about her once he got there.

  Maybe I can even figure out what the hell it is she hopes to accomplish in the Bonelands. That would just make my day.

  Finally, after somehow avoiding any more wrong turns or trouble on the streets, Dane found the Scarlet Lair.

  The first thing he wondered was how the place got its name, since the squat tower was pitch black and more resembled a mausoleum than a tavern. A red slash like some sort of crude attempt at a claw mark had been painted across the fat wooden door, and foot-long torches sat in sconces to either side.

  A pair of Blood Knights stood vigil by the entrance, which was both reassuring and disheartening – on the one hand it meant the Phage unquestionably ran the Lair, but at the same time Dane had hoped to avoid the Knights altogether. The faceless masks watched him approach as their armored hands tensed around their kan’aars.

  Dane smelled tobacco, liquor, perfume and sweat as he drew close to the door. A few men were on the street behind him – likely merchants or minor city officials – and one of the Blood Knights moved to intercept them while the other waited for Dane.

  “Good evening,” Dane said as nonchalantly as he could.

  “What do you want?” the sentry asked dryly. The face of the iron mask was pitted with runic protections, likely anti-enchantment Veilcraft to keep the man from being susceptible to Bloodspeaker’s mental manipulations.

  “I was told this establishment offered quality entertainment,” Dane said.

  The Blood Knight stood as still as a statue. Torchlight danced across the silvered mask.

  “Then whoever referred you to the Scarlet Lair gave you tonight’s password,” he said.

  Dane stepped closer. The young men behind him were being turned away by the other sentry.

  Not a good sign, he thought.

  “There is no password,” Dane said, and he held out a handful of Den’nari gold coins. The Blood Knight deftly plucked them up.

  “Welcome to the Scarlet Lair,” he said. He pushed open the door and revealed a crystal fog within. Tribal drumbeats boomed from out of the darkness. Dane stepped into an air that was sweet and moist with the odor of sex, not hearing the door as it closed behind him.

  The wall of smoke cleared and Dane stepped into a realm of noise and flesh. The room was essentially a large pit surrounded by a walkway running parallel to a long oak bar. Most of the patrons and whores were down in the pit, a tall shaft of red-veined marble filled with balconies and alcoves housing individual seating areas lit by candles and braziers. Ivory fumes poured from the mouths of statues of nude women in provocative poses and filled the air with the heady scent of burning nectar. Access to the pit and the private chambers was only possible by using a pair of winch-and-pulley operated iron elevators, each guarded by a female Blood Knight.

  The upper bar level was barely wide enough for two or three people to stand side-by-side. Most of the customers – every one of them male, though of a better class than the dregs Dane had run across in the misty streets – walked with drinks in hand and smoked long pipes burning sweet-smelling tobacco as they ogled the barmaids and prostitutes in the crowd below. Shelves packed with alcohol and drugs lined the walls behind the bar. Dane smelled the pungent and unsettling mixture of a few narcotics he recognized – Hellcrush Powder, Black Lotus Elixir, Dire Mushroom Vapors – as well as a few he didn’t.

  The serving wenches and barmaids were all extremely attractive, wearing bizarre leather tops that barely covered their breasts and long black skirts tied so they almost slid off the hips. Dane noted that each of the women was armed – a curved dagger on the belt, a short sword strapped across the back, a spiked club mounted on the wall. He almost wanted someone to step out of line just so he could see the look of shock on their face when the obviously well trained serving ladies put them in their place.

  The floor below had enough space for nearly two score of people. A dozen small tables and chairs surrounded a number of crimson pedestals on which the women danced. The whores were so smooth and shapely and perfect they might have been sculpted rather than born. T
hey were all nude or mostly nude, wearing little more than boots or gloves or even just a necklace or tiara. Each of the Den’nari women was covered with tattoos, while the Jlantrian ladies were curvy and full-bodied. Dane even saw an Allaji dancer with snow white skin and ash-blonde hair. They writhed and twisted as if entranced, and whenever a dancer came down from a pedestal and was skirted off to an alcove or a private room another girl emerged from one of the tapestry-covered doorways to take her place. Everything happened under the watchful eye of a half-dozen Blood Knights walking a perimeter around the room.

  Dane pushed past a throng of drinking men near the door – they may have worn well-tailored tunics and breeches woven from expensive cloths but they still smelled of beer and piss – and made his way to the bar, where he found space between a well-dressed elderly gentleman in a golden-hued robe and a younger man with a shock of red hair who’d passed out on his seat and somehow hung there without falling in spite of being completely unconscious. Dane signaled for the barmaid, and he glimpsed more drugs locked in a glass case near the floor: Silver Essence, Serpent Dust, even some Madness Jelly.

  The barmaid was stunning, with smooth skin, black and curly hair pulled up into a bun, thickly painted lips and expressive blue eyes. A small silver key dangled down between her breasts, which were ample and only barely concealed beneath a too-tight leather top.

  “Hello, handsome,” she said. The drums from unseen musicians were loud and persistent, and she had to talk loud for Dane to hear her. Her voice was thick with the eastern accent of the sea, which along with her creamy white skin marked her as Raithian, hailing from a city where the sun rarely shone and the citizens turned pale living on a coast trapped under perpetual clouds. “What will you have?”

  “What’s for sale?” he asked in a half-yell.

  “Everything you see,” she smiled. “And a lot you can’t.” She licked her lips, and Dane’s heart skipped a beat.