Path of Bones

by Steven Montano

  He dug for a long time, and soon his bloodsoaked arms were covered with dust. After a while he passed out there on the ground, the severed head of his baby sister just out of reach.

  Thirty

  Ijanna woke a short time later. It didn’t take her long to realize what had happened.

  I’m sorry, Kath. I’m so sorry.

  There were no words to describe his pain. His physical wounds she could heal, and did. Veil energies poured from her hands and soaked through his skin like warming liquid, knitting his torn flesh, mending ripped muscles and replenishing the blood he’d lost.

  But there was little she could do for the injuries sustained to his soul. Nothing and no one could fill the void left by the loss of a loved one.

  I should know.

  Thunder sounded in the distance. The red night felt suddenly claustrophobic, yet they were as far away from any other living beings as they could possibly imagine.

  The air smelled of blood. Once Kath woke Ijanna gently led him onto the plains beyond the apex of the hill, where they made their way towards a rock formation at the edge of another stretch of twisted desert. Clouds massed up above, and the world seemed smeared in oil.

  They rested near the rocks, at the mouth of a shallow cave. Kath silently stared into the wastes.

  I’ve been the cause of so much pain.

  She watched him, but held her tears in check. She hated herself at that moment. She told herself this could have been avoided if she’d done what the Allaji mystics had raised her to do, if she’d just accepted her fate. More than just her own life was at stake, and every moment she spent trying to avoid her destiny put somebody else in danger. How many had already died because of her, and how many more would die because she refused to do what needed to be done?

  You selfish bitch, she thought. You did this. You killed his family, and many others.

  She remembered her infant son, saw his dead eyes staring up at her. Every day she thought about him. Sometimes she still felt the weight of his corpse strapped across her back.

  Ijanna watched for any signs of trouble. She looked at Kath and hoped he hated her, hoped her magic would allow him that. She didn’t want to lose his company, but she didn’t want there to be any illusions as to whose fault this was.

  Neither of them said a word. His face was a mask.

  Ijanna’s thoughts were so distant she almost didn’t recognize the voice in her head as belonging to someone else. It was just a whisper, a tickle at the edge of her thoughts. A sending.

  North, it said. She couldn’t tell if it was male or female, young or old, for it was more wind than voice. We’ll protect you.

  From what? she thought. The link between their minds was powerful, and though the sender shielded their identity she could tell they weren’t far away.

  Jlantrians, the voice said. They’ve been watching you, but they can’t see you anymore. Something you did damaged the blades.

  The blades? She looked down at the thar’koon. What about them? Who are you?

  A friend, the voice said. Seek us to the north. We march towards a common goal.

  And then the voice was gone.

  Ijanna sat for a moment, her skin flushed with fear. The promise of protection felt far too obvious to be a trap. She looked down at the swords, and cursed to herself.

  Of course they modified the weapons to track you, she thought bitterly. When she’d tapped into the thar’koon’s power so she could destroy the Chul she must have somehow disrupted whatever it was the Jlantrians had done.

  She readied herself to move and looked at Kath, who remained as still as a stone. She wondered if he’d come with her, or if he’d stay behind and die.

  I’m sorry.

  She reached out with her mind, tried to trace the Sending back to its origin. The voice from the other end wouldn’t be easy to find, but after a moment she noted traces, a masked and shadowy presence. She pressed at it with her thoughts, placed pressure on the connection.

  Who are you? she asked. How did you know we were here?

  Silence. Ijanna waited, watching the area. A cold sensation ran down her spine.

  My name is Gilder, the voice said, unmistakably male this time. Our mutual friend asked me to watch out for you while I was here. He’s still grateful for what you did to help him in the camps.

  Ijanna’s heart leapt into her throat. It couldn’t be.

  The man Gilder spoke of was Malath Zayne.

  Thirty-One

  Dane felt a darkness inside him.

  He lay naked on Mirren’s bed, his nose full with the sticky odor of sex. He hadn’t meant to go with her, not really, just as he hadn’t meant to leave Kruje alone in that abandoned blacksmith’s shop for so long. His desires had proved too difficult to ignore, but Mirren had satisfied his cravings for carnal pleasure, at least for a while.

  He wasn’t sure what had come over him. He found himself filled with a sudden hunger that couldn’t be sated. It was getting worse with each passing hour, a buzzing in his brain, an aching in his loins, a burning sensation in his gums.

  Mirren’s soft and ample breasts pushed against his stomach while she slept on his chest. The room was black except for a short candle burning on a table, a dim beacon in the gloom. It was early morning. The sky outside was still dark, but traces of the bloody sunrise crested over Kaldrak Iyres’ walls. The stillness of dawn was interrupted by an occasional screeching cat or shattering glass, cries of pain or the wail of babies. The city was coming to life.

  Mirren stirred. Dane could sense the morning chill outside, but there in her room the air was thick with sweat, and their bodies glistened and clung to one another. He was hungry, and it was no normal hunger. Need possessed him, so sharp it clenched his muscles.

  What was happening to him? Maybe he’d been drugged in the Scarlet Lair with some Veilcrafted narcotic that filled customers with such lustful need they could only satiate it by grabbing the nearest whore and having their way with her.

  No, Dane decided, even though he didn’t put the notion past Chairos for a second. This is something else.

  Mirren pushed forward in her slumber, rubbing her soft and smooth chest against him. Her dark hair tickled against his ribs, and her lips brushed against the old scar on his stomach. Dane stiffened. He ran his hands through her curly black hair.

  What was he so worried about? It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed a woman’s company, and there was a good chance it would be even longer before he’d find another opportunity. Kruje could take care of himself.

  Dane woke Mirren by cupping her heavy breasts in his hands and probing her tongue with his. She smiled as she woke and grabbed hold of his cock; he was so hard he ached in her hands. She took his length in her mouth, ran her tongue along the shaft, her eyes on his as she bobbed her head up and down and moistened him with her full and supple lips.

  Hungry. He was so hungry for her. He’d had her twice that previous night, but he needed more, and after she pleasured him with her mouth for a time he threw her onto her back, moistened her sex by probing gently with his tip until she was wet and moaning with pleasure. He teased her for a bit before he thrust inside her, vicious, relentless. His hips banged against her soft skin with furious rhythm. Her nails clawed his back and her gasps rang loud in his ears. He kept grinding, pounding, and she wrapped her legs tight around him. Sweat poured down his face and pooled between her breasts.

  At last he released inside her with such force he felt like he’d been hollowed. Pleasure ran up his body in waves. He gasped, and Mirren screamed.

  As he lay there afterwards he heard the braying of wolves in the distance.

  Wolves. They chase him across the dead landscape, a place of twisted trees and dark rocks. There are no hills, no mountains, and no life. The sky is flat and blue. Freezing wind scrapes across the ground like nails.

  All he hears is the wolves.

  He smells their musky fur, feels their rank breath. Low and rumbling voices fill the a
ir like poison song.

  They roam the landscape, brethren bound by blood and need. He feels himself drawn to them. They want him to join their ranks, to slice across the wounded earth and hunt by their side. Teeth ripping flesh, drunk on the scent of blood.

  He runs, guided by his hunger. He crosses veldt and scrub, frost boils and burned fields. Mangled trees appear near a blasted expanse of broken stones, and as he draws close he sees that the ground is slick with blood. Pools of gore melt the snow and send up clouds of grisly steam. The smell is sweet, and pulls him forward. He wants to drink.

  He feels eyes on him, cold glares from the darkness of the trees. They, too, want him to drink. To become one of them.

  There’s no point in fighting it. The hunger is great, far too great for him to resist.

  His snout hovers over rich dark blood spouting from the ground like a fountain. It feels warm against his furred toes and dampens his paws. The smell is overwhelming, and drool slathers from his jaws as his stomach twists with hunger.

  But something isn’t right.

  Suddenly the sight of that blood repulses him. It’s too tantalizing, too much. It’s everything he needs, maybe even everything he’s ever wanted, and it takes every last reserve of his strength to pull away.

  Some part of his mind, some lonely and lost fragment of his soul, knows this isn’t right.

  Fatigue washes over him. Suddenly he feels like he’s been running for days. Ache spreads through his legs, and the touch of frost burns the skin beneath his shaggy coat. Hunger pains rack his body like hammer blows.

  It will all stop, if only he drinks.

  He can’t.

  The blood turns black and stinks of rot. The eyes in the trees move closer. He sees the wolves, and swears he hears them laughing.

  Dane woke, his heart seized with panic. He had no recollection of the nightmare, but whatever it was had terrified him. Sweat glistened down his chin. The candle had almost burned to the base, and the room was nearly pitch black. The air was cold and still.

  He listened. There was someone else there with them.

  Dane quietly uncoiled himself from Mirren, who lay naked and tangled across his chest; she moaned softly as he pulled away, but otherwise didn’t stir. It was still well before dawn, and dark clouds had rolled into the sky. He focused his mind, reached for the razor cold edge of the Veil as he fumbled for his vra’taar. He couldn’t see much in the murk aside from the vague outline of the bed and Mirren’s bureau on the other side of the room. It took him a moment to find the scabbard and unlock the blade guard before he slid his weapon free, which made much more noise than he’d intended.

  The Veil’s cold presence lodged in his chest like he’d swallowed ice. The floorboards creaked. Someone was coming right at him.

  Dane twisted out of bed and collided with an armored body, sending them both to the floor. He warped the Veil to grant him vision, and the features of the room and its occupants snapped into focus.

  He twisted his naked body around and pinned the Blood Knight under him, ripped the man’s mask free and rammed his head against the floor, once, again. Dane raised the vra’taar to finish his attacker off when a wire slipped over his head from behind. He just managed to move his left arm up and prevent the garrote from slicing into his neck; the line tore into his wrist and painfully pulled his hand against his face as another armored figure tried to strangle him from behind. Dane’s windpipe ached with pressure. He tensed his muscles and pushed as hard as he could to get the wire away from his throat.

  The Blood Knight under him snatched the vra’taar away and punched Dane in the stomach with a gauntleted fist. The garrotte was released and he doubled over, and Dane didn’t even reach the ground before he was kicked hard in the sternum. His vision faded, and the breath exploded from his lungs. Blood splashed across the floor.

  Dane glimpsed a third Blood Knight in the room, holding a kan’aar against Mirren’s frightened throat. A boot connected with Dane’s face, jarring his jaw and splitting his cheek. He coughed blood.

  “That’s enough,” said a familiar voice.

  Mazrek Chairos stepped into view. His hand glowed with hot red light. Dane tried to focus enough to grab the Veil, but before he could even gather a thought he was forced to his knees and held tight with a gauntleted fist around his throat. A sharp blow landed in his kidneys, and then another. He tasted bile in the back of his mouth. His left arm shook where the wire had cut him, and blood gummed over his eyes.

  Chairos, dressed in a thick purple cloak, had Drakanna by his side. The Veilwarden’s smile was a mile wide.

  “Did you have a good time, Dane?” he asked coldly.

  Dane coughed through loosened teeth.

  “What do you want?” he managed.

  “To alter our arrangement,” Chairos said. His cold eyes glowed with cobalt light. “As it stands, too much sits in your favor.”

  “Well…” Dane struggled. “We can’t…have that…”

  “No, we can’t,” Chairos said. “So this is our new deal. You’ve studied the information about the thar’koon. Now you’ll use cher’nag to track it down and lead us to the Dream Witch.” They secured Dane’s hands behind his back. He kept trying to Touch the Veil, but it seemed Chairos somehow prevented it.

  The Veilwarden knelt down so his face was level with Dane’s. His coppery skin and wide eyes were stark in the red flame held in his grip. Dane felt heat ripple against him as the mage drew close.

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Dane” Chairos said. “It’s more that I don’t like you. But if you cooperate – if you find those blades for us – then maybe we’ll let you retain use of your limbs.”

  Dane held his gaze. He knew he was only upright because he was being held.

  “What if…I don’t like this…new arrangement?” he asked.

  “Then I’ll have you castrated with a hammer,” Chairos said. “After my Blood Knights rape and mutilate your little bitch. And don’t forget about that lumbering oaf we found down by the docks.”

  It took Dane a moment to understand what Chairos was talking about.

  “You bastard...” he said.

  And you’re an idiot, he told himself. What the hell were you thinking? You never should have come here, no matter what the benefit.

  He wasn’t in his right mind. Dane was used to being reckless, but what he’d done since they’d come within sight of Kaldrak Iyres had been borderline idiotic.

  It’s this hunger, he realized. This need. Something has come over me, tainted me somehow, only I don’t know what it is. And now we’re fucked. Sorry, Kruje. Guess you should have picked your friends better.

  “You’re wondering how we captured your Voss companion,” Chairos said. “That’s strange of you to be traveling with a giant, by the way. A Dawn Knight and a Voss...next thing you know you’ll be sleeping with Bloodspeakers and rescuing Tuscars.” He seated himself at the small table in the corner of Mirren’s small room. Everyone was practically standing on top of each other. The floorboards were covered with rugs and the walls were painted ochre that had been stained with Dane’s blood. “Do you want to know how we captured him?” Chairos asked.

  “You’re just...dying to tell me,” Dane said. “But could you hurry it up? It’s getting cold in here.”

  Drakanna stepped up and punched him hard in the face. Skin burst, and blood shot from his mouth. Tears of pain welled in his eyes.

  “Drakanna will warm you up,” Chairos said with a grim smile.

  The lady Blood Knight was stronger than she looked. Her leather gauntlets crashed against his gut in a series of rapid blows, and when she was done she backhanded him and sent him onto his face. His chest felt crushed. He couldn’t breathe. Dane desperately reached for the Veil, but it was just out of reach, like he’d been trapped beneath the surface of a frozen lake. He was hauled to his feet and punched again. Razor pain shot up his stomach.

  He lost time. Fists landed, bones and leather cracked against his
jaw and ribs. Blood filled his vision. He fell, rose, fell again. Barrages of hurt echoed through his skull. All he could hear were Mirren’s sobs and the sounds of his own pain. Sometimes he saw one of the Blood Knight’s boots from the ground, but then Drakanna started in on him again; other times he saw nothing, just a haze of darkness and blood.

  She might have been hurting him for hours. His eyes were so bruised he could barely see, and his breaths rasped in his chest. Red drool pooled through broken teeth. His arms shook with pain.

  “You can’t touch the Veil, Dane,” Chairos said. He might have said it before – it was hard to tell. “Not while I’m here.”

  Dane realized he was on his back, and he forced his eyes open long enough to see Drakanna raise her hard leather boot and bring it smashing down on his groin. Blood sprayed onto his chest. He folded in on himself as spasms of hurt barreled up his stomach. The mewling cries he heard couldn’t have been his own.

  Chairos’ words floated down at him like oily rain.

  “We enjoy this, Dane,” he said. “Other people’s suffering. It’s like a drug to me. And Drakanna delights in hurting people like you.”

  Dane tried to say something, anything, but all that came out of his mouth were spurts of blood. He writhed on the floor, his vision fading. Darkness swept over him, but a jolt of cold shot through his body and made him cry out.

  “Stay awake,” Chairos said in a calm and quiet voice. He stood over Dane, close enough for the Dawn Knight to see a trace scar near the Veilwarden’s trim beard. There was an oily light behind the man’s eyes, the shine of cruelty. “No sleep for you, my friend.” His expression darkened. “I don’t like Jlantrians, Dane. So rest assured I’m going to make sure you’re well taken care of.” He smiled. “You don’t need to be able to walk to lead us to the thar’koon.”