The last man forgot his fear and charged with his axe held high. The reach of Kruje’s weapon was too much of an advantage, and with an easy swipe he smashed the brigand’s head to a pulp, sinking his blade down into the torso. Bits of skin fell to the floor as Kruje ripped his weapon free.
He heard more voices outside. Kar-Kalled slowly faded, and for a moment Kruje was dizzy and stunned. Acid fear boiled through his gut.
Brilliant, Kruje. Now what?
He had to find a place to hide, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good – if the men outside were allies of the ones he’d just brutally killed it would only be a matter of time before more came. His mind raced for a solution.
I could hide in the waters…but how would Dane find me?
Sharp pain exploded across his upper back. Kruje stumbled, his legs failing him. Blood poured down his shirt and went cold against his skin. He reached around to try and pry the blade out when another struck him, and then another.
Kruje fell to his knees. He saw red-cloaked men with featureless masks at the perimeter of the room, each of them armed with strange staves capped with axe-heads. His vision swam and his strength left him. Everything grew darker. He felt like he floated on a sea of swords.
He thought of his home, knowing he’d never see it again.
Twenty
“History is a serpent of flame. It cycles and twists and ultimately connects back to itself, but with the passing of time everything in its grip collapses and burns away.”
Argus mused on Zaroth’s teachings as he made his way through Kai-Ren Thoth, which was unusually busy that night due to preparations being made to entertain visiting merchant families from all over Jlantria. Their power wasn’t as great as it had been prior to the Rift War, but clans like the Thorns, the Ozydians and the Bloodlarks still controlled the silk and spice empires, and they brutally defended their wares and trade routes with private armies and mercenary Veilwardens. Although each visiting family was afforded its own wing of the palace for use during their stay, the main hall on the upper floor was the thoroughfare through which their retainers needed to travel in order to get anywhere useful, and as a result the corridors bustled with activity and noise.
A grand feast was scheduled to take place in just a few hours. Private servants scurried about, bound for the kitchens with special instructions on what their Lords or Ladies could or would not eat or else desperately racing to secure private meetings between their families and any of the various ambassadors, influential mages or members of The Thirteen. The more enumerate palace staff attended to the guests, as well, ensuring the near-royal accommodations were suitable. Everything was done under the supervision of the White Dragon Guard, who in turn were forced to deal with the personal bodyguards and sellswords brought to defend their excessively paranoid employers.
Argus wove his way through the barrage of Squires and handmaidens without really seeing or hearing them. His mind was on other matters...dark matters he had to discuss with the Empress while there was still time.
I just hope she remembers not to kill the messenger.
He ascended the spiral steps to the Empress’s ice-white tower. The staircase was concealed from normal sight by powerful enchantments, and at every moment he felt the chill of the Veil rub raw against his skin. His mood was as dark as his cloak, and his insides were twisted with worry. Argus felt he’d never been particularly good at dealing with stressful situations, and it struck him as mildly ironic that he so often garnered praise for how calm and collected he conducted himself under pressure.
The trip to the Empress’s tower had never felt so long. The dreadful chill in the air made his breaths come hard, and his temples pulsed with pain. The cold night beyond the narrow windows was curiously devoid of stars. Argus’ head buzzed with random worries, like the fact that he’d run out of spiced black tea and had forgotten to give his approval on that part of the next semester’s final curriculum which House Blue was responsible for.
Steel yourself, he thought. Stop acting like a schoolgirl. The heads of the other Houses only allowed a Veilwarden as young as you to step into power because they thought they could take advantage of you, saddling you with their duties while the Empress still expected you to give her research and results. It’s time to show them what you’re made of.
Argus came to the cold stone door at the top of the steps, and the Veilcrafted wards recognized his presence and opened as he approached. He stepped into a cold flagstone hall lined with white curtains; a door of mirrored steel waited at the far end. Two Knights of the Grail Order stood to either side, their golden helms glimmering in the torchlight. Argus saw himself in the door’s reflection as he approached, young and pale, his thick dark hair as disheveled now as it had been the day he’d enrolled in the Academy. His cloak was so black he looked like a raven.
The Knight’s eyes were unmoving even as Argus stepped up between them.
“I need to speak to the Empress,” he said.
“The Empress is indisposed,” one of the Knights said.
“I need to speak with her,” Argus repeated. “Now.”
“You heard me,” the Knight said.
“And you heard me. Let me pass.” He stared into the Knight’s eyes, suddenly feeling bold. He was tired of being pushed around and underestimated, even if his heart was hammering so hard he thought it would crack through his breastbone. He took slow and even breaths to calm himself and held the Veil at the edge of his grip. Its chill presence coated his skin with an invisible layer of frigid power.
Argus tried not to show his surprise when one of the Knights abruptly moved to open the mirrored door. The air inside the next room was much warmer than that in the hall, and the stark chamber was lined with dark iron. Frosted windows granted view of the eerily blank sky.
Empress Azaean sat in a regal chair of lacquered oak with a thin black book in her perfectly manicured hands. She wore a resplendent robe of cold blue and golden silk, and her dark hair had been curled and teased up in a bun, with two perfectly twisted locks falling to either side of her smooth, pale face. Her lips were the red of rubies and blood.
Azaean’s diamond-hard eyes pierced to Argus’ core as he entered the chamber. The door sealed shut behind him.
The Empress wore sandals encrusted with sapphires, and emeralds dotted her rings and necklace. A small silver tiara sat upon her brow. Raw Veilcraft pulsed around her, darkening the chamber and weighting the air with cold and silence.
She didn’t speak to him for long, awkward moments, but returned to reading her small book with a sour expression on her face. Argus stood waiting. He’d emboldened himself enough for one day – she knew he wouldn’t come to see her if the need wasn’t pressing.
“In a short time I’ll be attending a feast,” she said. “No doubt by now the mummers and bards have already started to entertain our esteemed guests, people like Lord Thorn and Lady Castleberry, the wealthy Rorrick Waters and the dour Erik Ozydian. They’ll eat my food and pretend to laugh at each other’s jokes, make me all sorts of promises they can’t keep and ask for things they know I can’t give. They’ll make subtle complaints about one another while we dine, then more directed complaints when they meet with me later in private.” She marked her page with a thin piece of silk and closed her book, which vanished without a trace. “This vows to be a very, very long knight, Argus,” she said. “So I thought I’d take a few moments and enjoy some quiet…much as I understand you yourself do every morning.”
“I am terribly sorry to disturb your moment of tranquility, My Dragon,” he said with a bow. “I would not disturb you…”
“…if it were not of the utmost importance, I know,” she finished. “I like that about you, Argus. You’re not stupid...but you are a tad predictable.” She stood up. Argus watched as the Veil straightened her robe. “So, what news?”
“I just communicated with Toran Gess,” he said.
“And?”
“He identified the man accompanying Ijanna: a young Ebonmark
soldier named Kath Cardrezhej. Kath was a member of the old City Watch who was later recruited into Colonel Blackhall’s forces, but now he’s considered a deserter. A few nights after he and Ijanna vanished from Ebonmark his family was found brutally murdered in their home. They’d been tortured, raped and cannibalized.”
“I have yet to eat, Argus,” Azaean said. “Is there a point to this report?”
“We have reason to believe they were killed by members of the Chul. Gess believes they’ve been tracking Ijanna for some time.”
Azaean watched him intently. He knew he’d piqued her interest.
“Go on,” she said.
“It seems Ijanna believes the third Skullborn is none other than the leader of the Chul, a woman they call the Witch Mother. Her real name is unknown, and no amount of magical research has been able to reveal it, which lends some credence to the notion that she’s as powerful as Kala and Ijanna. The Black Eagles were able to get her description, and using the Veil I’ve confirmed she is indeed Colonel Bloodwine’s long-lost bastard daughter.”
Azaean watched him like a hunter cat gazing upon its prey. He couldn’t help but shift beneath her scrutiny.
“So you were right,” she said. “I’m impressed. What do we know about these Chul?”
“Not much, sadly,” Argus said nervously. “They’re a cult of fanatics who believe that seizing control of Chul Gaerog will allow them to bring about the end of the world. I’ve asked the Black Eagles in Ebonmark to investigate an abandoned manor rumored to have served as one of their lairs.” He swallowed, but went on. “There’s more. Last night Gess pinpointed the location of the thar’koon, just south of Kaldrak Iyres, but when he tried to locate it again tonight he came up empty.”
“What?!” The air rippled so hard around Azaean’s body it nearly threw Argus back. “What happened?”
“Gess thinks the thar’koon were damaged. We’re going to send our team to her last known location.” He took a deep breath. The ache in his chest returned. “My Dragon, I’d like to volunteer to lead the team myself.”
Azaean’s look told him she was surprised. She hesitated, and after a moment shook her head.
“No. Out of the question.”
“We have no choice, Empress,” Argus said cautiously. “Gess and I keyed and set the Veil resonance used to modify the thar’koon. I don’t need to tell you how complicated or dangerous it is to alter existing Veilcraft, especially when it was used to affect artifacts as powerful as those blades. Only Toran and myself are attuned to the magic, and only we two can trace it with any accuracy.” He forced himself to look her in the eyes, and he saw disapproval...and maybe a trace of concern. “Gess is in no condition for this, My Dragon,” Argus said. “He wouldn’t last a day in the Bonelands.”
Azaean nodded. She understood how trying the task would be. The mission would not be a simple matter of tracking Ijanna – she was too far into the Bonelands for any overland pursuit to be practical, so they’d have to use cutgates to reach her, just as Argus needed cutgates to collect the members of the team from all over the southern Empire. Opening a portal was no simple matter: using the Veil to slice a hole through time and space was dangerous, and in spite of their typically superior skills with transmutation and conjuration Veilwardens were generally not as adept at teleportation as Bloodspeakers were. Argus would have to do it not once but several times, and even with implement foci to help him it would still be an arduous task.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this, Argus?” the Empress asked. It was easy to forget how tall she was; even if he weren’t practically cowing before her she still had at least two inches on him. “You’re a fine Veilwarden, my friend, but you’re…unaccustomed to confrontations.”
“I’m ready,” he said, trying to conceal the fear in his voice. They had no other options. It had been foolish of them to attune the thar’koon to only Gess and himself, but neither of them had anticipated Toran’s injury, and the need for secrecy had superseded their desire to ask for help from other Veilwardens of House Blue.
He had no choice. Failure meant more than just incurring Azaean’s anger.
It could mean the end of the Empire, he thought, and the reality of the burden he’d just taken on hit him like a stab to the gut. It falls to me.
“Is your team ready?” she asked.
“Ready, but not assembled,” he said. “I’ll have them gathered in a few hours.”
“Then do it,” she said quietly. “I’ll have Janner follow up this business regarding Corgan Bloodwine’s daughter, and we’ll see if we can’t put an end to her madness.” She spoke quietly. “We have to stop them, Argus. The Chul, the Dream Witch, and my traitor daughter.”
Cold fire burned behind her eyes. The fires of hell.
Goddess, what have I gotten myself into?
“By your leave, My Dragon,” he bowed.
“May the Goddess protect you, Argus Saam’siir,” she said. “May she protect us all.”
Within a short time Argus had his pack ready. He felt he was forgetting something, probably many things, but he tried not to worry about it. The rest of the team would have ample supplies, and if he could master the cutgates they’d have easy access to almost any location in the world, in which case acquiring additional equipment wouldn’t be an issue. Part of him regretted even thinking like that – cutgates were serious displays of power, and every use drained the Veil to a greater extent than most war magic – but if he was going to survive this ordeal he needed to start thinking differently.
If we can’t stop Kala, what I do with the cutgates won’t matter one bit.
Argus had little experience traveling the wastes between the cities, which was why for years he’d devoted himself to researching the Bonelands and gathering all of the information he could on the dangers of the fallen Empire of Gallador. A week ago, when Gess had lost his hand, Argus realized that information was going to be put to practical use whether he wanted it to or not.
There are stories about fools like me, he mused. Tales of young men gone to chase dragons, thinking they were the heroes when in fact they were the half-wits who wound up skewered and roasted and eaten by the natives.
He was no longer afraid, not truly, and Argus could only surmise he’d either failed to take in the reality of the situation or else had completely lost his mind.
Argus went through the contents of his pack – a bedroll, two full canteens, a compass, flint and steel, a coil of rope, parchments and coal pencils for map-making and notes, extra clothes and a small knife – and thought of what lie ahead. In a way he did feel like those young heroes from the stories, because despite the fact that his stomach was tied in knots he was elated by the notion of getting away from Ral Tanneth. He’d spent most of his life there, and though he was considered one of the most gifted Veilwardens of the past decade he had little experience on the battlefield. His parents were dead, he had no siblings, and aside from a couple of brief romantic relationships he was basically an introvert, with his only social interactions being those he maintained in his duties as the head of House Blue.
I’m four and twenty, he thought. I’m well overdue to get out of here.
In a way his own abilities had kept him from having the experiences he should have had. Normally a Veilwarden was required to serve the Crown faithfully for a period of seven years before they could even be considered for position in any of the colored Houses, and that service generally entailed a very real element of danger, as combat experience was a vital part of a Veilwarden’s training. Argus had been the exception to the rule: his ability to Touch the Veil was remarkable, and at a very young age he’d mastered conjurations and Veilcraft that others with many more years of experience than he still struggled with. Using magic had come naturally to him from the start. He was a true prodigy, and as such he’d been sheltered. The fact that Empress Azaean – who’d hand-selected him to serve as the head of House Blue when Joranna Coldclaw abruptly retired, thereby thrusting him into the fol
d when he was still a novice – was allowing him to lead the mission spoke to how vital it was. He’d been her pet project, the most unique and vital Veilwarden, she’d said, in the history of the Empire.
Sacrifices must be made.
Argus set his pack on the bureau. He dressed in a plain black shirt and trousers, the simplest and most comfortable clothes he could find for the journey ahead. His thick cloak hung on a peg.
A knock came on the door to his chambers.
“Yes?” he called out.
He had two visitors: Dorvan Karn, a grey-haired Veilwarden with countless years of service, and Lestarra Ravane, an attractive red-haired women with pale skin and a voluptuous frame, who up until a few days ago Argus had been romantically involved with. Both dressed in loose-fitting cloaks – Karn’s was grey, Lestarra’s sky blue – and wore the cobalt badge of House Blue, a clenched fist holding a lightning bolt.
“You wanted to see us, Lord Saam’siir?” Karn asked.
“Yes, Karn. I’ll be leaving for a few days, and I’ve informed Her Imperial Majesty that you’ll be the acting head of House Blue while I’m away. Goddess knows you’ll be much better at it than I am.”
They both looked at him in surprise. He couldn’t help but notice the iciness behind Lestarra’s expression.
“This is unexpected, Argus,” Karn said. “Is everything well? How long will you be away?”
Argus watched Lestarra, hoping for some sign that she was worried about him, but there was none.
That’s probably too much to ask, considering what I’ve put you through.
“No,” he answered. “Everything is not well. There’s a chance I won’t be coming back.” The weight of those words hit him like a splash of cold water. “Lucky for me, there’s also a chance that I will,” he added with a nervous laugh, “but in my absence I’m sure you’ll take care of things. I’ve spent the past few days putting everything in order.”
“I’m sure we’ll get by,” Karn smiled. He’d helped manage House Blue’s administrative side for the better part of a decade – there was little doubt he knew more about how to deal with the House’s day-to-day affairs than Argus himself. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
Path of Bones Page 15
