Path of Bones

by Steven Montano

  A small camp had been set up just beyond a gap in the city wall, and the half-dozen men stationed there made a show of their spiked maces and crossbows. They wore iron shields and Jlantrian armor discolored by ashes and blood. Those sentries watched Ijanna and the others with sadistic smiles on their dirty and unwashed faces, eying the Dream Witch in particular like a piece of freshly caught meat.

  The silent Drazzek Ma’al led them past cracked sandstone walls and old structures collapsing under their own weight. Dark-skinned slaves clad in loincloths and sandals dragged stones and barrels of dark earth from a number of massive holes in the ground.

  Kath stayed close to Ijanna. They walked near the end of the procession.

  “I don’t like this,” he said.

  “I know,” she answered quietly, trying her best not to let anyone hear them, but when in the company of so many Bloodspeakers that proved difficult. She looked ahead at Drazzek Ma’al. The dark-clad figure might have been their only escort, but the show of arms made it clear Kala held the advantage. None of Gilder’s party spoke, but Ijanna was sure they smelled the stain of magic in the air as surely as she did. All of the Bonelands were suffused by an arcane taint – the place had been demolished by Vossian Veilcraft, after all – but there was a particular stench to the wisps of red smoke there in Corinth’s remains, something mercury-rich and coppery.

  “I don’t like this at all,” Kath repeated.

  “I know,” Ijanna insisted. “I know, Kath...I’m just not sure what you want me to do it about it.”

  She had to meet Kala. They couldn’t have come all this way for nothing.

  Ijanna felt Kath’s eyes on her.

  “You should have told me,” he said. His voice was laced with hurt. She didn’t know if he was referring to her knowledge of Malath’s involvement, or Kala’s.

  It doesn’t matter. Either way, he’s right.

  Ijanna was about to say something when Kath quietly took her arm in his hand and nodded at one of the sentries who watched them from a high wall.

  “A few of these troops are using expensive Jlantrian weapons and armor,” he said quietly. “Equipment of that quality is usually reserved for men being sent to fight Tuscars or defend persons of great importance.” He let that sink in for a moment. “People like Kala Azaean.”

  “Could they have bought it on the black market?” she whispered.

  “Maybe,” he said. “But it would be difficult.” He hesitated. “I think these are Jlantrian soldiers, or at least some of them are. I think Kala brought her honor guard, and that worries me. A lot.”

  They walked through clouds of choking haze. Work songs rang loud through the budding night as blood rich sunbeams danced off the faded sandstone structures.

  “I’m worried, too,” she said. “But I feel better knowing you’re here with me.” She smiled weakly and pulled him closer as they walked, looking up into his broad and youthful face. You’re so young, she wanted to tell him. Too young to be here with me. “Thank you,” she said out loud.

  “Don’t,” he said. “You and I both know I never had a choice.”

  “Kath…I remember what you said to me when we first met…about how you really wanted to help me, that it wasn’t just the magic. Do you remember that?” Kath looked away. He seemed terrified and angry, but he nodded, the stubble on his stony jaw laced with sweat. “I saw in your eyes even then that you believed that,” she said. “I remember hearing it in your voice.” I should have let that sickness kill you. It would have been a kinder fate than being tethered to me. “Thank you, Kath,” she said again. He didn’t reply.

  They moved deeper into Corinth, passing between walls shaped like enormous teeth and towers leaning so far it was a wonder they hadn’t toppled. The earth turned dark and moist, not quite mud but difficult to cross, thick with flies and dank red fluid that smelled of decay.

  Most of the remaining buildings had partially sunk into the ground, and the street was riddled with footprints and cart tracks and shallow trenches cut in the soil. Ijanna looked for some clue or indication as to exactly what it was Kala was doing there, but she still had no idea. She didn’t know much about the Imperial Crown Princess of Jlantria except that in addition to being well-loved and somewhat impulsive she was also intelligent and cunning. In any case, Ijanna hoped she’d prove easier to deal with than the Chul’s dreaded Witch Mother.

  What are you looking for, Kala?

  The size of the excavation was impressive. There were easily over two hundred slaves and a great deal of mercenary soldiers present in Corinth. Likely they dug for some hidden artifact or locale, or maybe even a shard of the Stone of Pain, since the ruins of Gallador were supposedly rife with items of magical lore and historical significance. It would have been easy for Kala to fund such an expedition – even as an outcast she was wealthier than most city-states.

  The bloody and beaten slaves had been kept just healthy enough that they could continue working. Their dark muscles strained beneath the weight of stones and shovels as they ripped into the ground.

  Drazzek Ma’al led the silent troop through Corinth’s torn streets. Ijanna saw ruined structures that had once been schools, homes, shops. She caught sight of a decimated doll, so blasted by time and the elements that little more than its head remained. She saw a shattered mandolin, a blacksmith’s hammer, a chair, the tattered remnants of a dress. All of it lay half-buried in the sand, torn up by pick and shovel.

  Large chunks of stone had been piled next to the intersections. Open windows stared out as if possessed of some ghastly and malevolent force, and the shattered building interiors were stained by time and rust. The air was full with the sounds of shovels plunging into dirt and picks striking rock. Dissonant yet melodic work song filled the air, sad and distant, seeming almost not to come from the workers at all but from the city itself, a haunted dirge lifting up from the bone-addled ruins.

  Drazzek led the Red Hand to a sort of central city square, an open and blasted area dominated by a huge open pit larger than the rest. Numerous temporary structures had been erected around the periphery of the hole: tents filled with tables and workbenches, cots and tools and buckets of water and gruel. A pulley system designed to haul massive buckets of soil and debris had been erected over the cavity, and the wheels and gears were badly in need of being oiled. Slaves worked in and around the pit with red and black dust caked to their bodies. Overseers in dark leather armor stood by with iron-clad whips secured to their wrists, shouting and cursing at the workers to move faster. The air smelled of brimstone and burning rock.

  Twelve large discs of black stone, each standing at least ten feet tall, had been wiped clean of soil and secured by wire and chain to a series of iron posts. The discs were rounded around the edges and about a foot thick, wrought of such utterly dark material they seemed to suck the light from the air.

  Drazzek directed the group to the wide steps of a squat and troglodytic manor on the north end of the square. The building was largely intact save for its shattered windows and cracked support columns.

  Ijanna felt an icy presence somewhere within, a deep and cloying chill which made her hesitate to move any closer. She shivered in spite of the oppressive heat, and the longer she watched the entrance the colder she became.

  “What is it?” Kath asked her quietly. Drazzek Ma’al marched up the steps to the battered doors, where a pair of pikemen in Jlantrian uniforms stood at attention.

  “I don’t know,” Ijanna said. The Bloodspeakers of the Red Hand remained utterly silent, but there was enough noise from the workers and the hammering of metal on stone that the two of them could speak without fear of being overheard. Ijanna looked at the black discs. “I think those are what Kala is here for…there’s something about them, something familiar…”

  The Veilcrafted stones were saturated with power, easily dwarfing the energies in the thar’koon, which up to that point had been the most potent artifacts Ijanna had ever encountered. Worse, the magic emanating f
rom the discs was wrong somehow, tainted. Being in their presence made Ijanna’s very soul feel dirty.

  Drazzek Ma’al approached the open doorway to the manor, his cape dragging across the sandstone. The interior of the building was thick with gloom and shadow, barely lit by red sunbeams slicing through cracks in the walls. Gilder followed the Allaji, but halberds crossed and stopped him in his tracks, so he raised a hand and brought the rest of the Red Hand to a halt there on the steps. They stood in the shadow of the ancient building, waiting.

  Ijanna took Kath by the arm and quietly moved them closer to the middle of the group. Gilder saw them and stepped down to speak with her.

  “What do you think?” he asked quietly, his words muffled by the cowl he wore across his scarred face.

  “Impressive,” Ijanna said. “I wish I had some idea what it was she was doing here…what are those stones they’ve been digging up?”

  Gilder’s pale eyes stayed focused on her.

  “Something to do with Chul Gaerog,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

  Before either she or Kath could respond the sentries at the door pulled their halberds away and a trio of strange individuals emerged from the building and stood at the top of the steps.

  An air of menace surrounded them. Drazzek Ma’al was among them, his pale Allaji skin and stark white hair like moonlight against his inky armor and cape, and viciously curved blades were slung across his back. A short and stocky Drage with a thick beard and crimson workman’s clothes stood next to him, his bald pate covered with swirling runes and arcane tattoos. Ijanna saw a Jlantrian priest, or at least a man dressed as one – he was tall, scruffy and lean, with long brown hair and bloody slashes cut across the front of his priestly raiment and stained armor. The three men were surrounded by steely-eyed mercenaries wearing mismatched leather and chain armor and armed with Jlantrian weapons.

  The air was eerily silent. Ijanna glanced up and saw two gargoyles staring down on them from on high, their hollow eyes seeming to mock the foolish Bloodspeakers as they stood there on the steps. Ijanna smelled the taint of the Veil as the combat-seasoned Red Hand mages drew breath and readied for battle. Ijanna flexed her hands and breathed deep, and Kath’s fingers ran along the haft of his axe.

  A beautiful woman stepped out of the darkness of the building and into the bloody light. Her pale skin was like sun-stained milk, and her long hair was as dark as a midnight sky. Deep red lips shone like silvered blood. She wore no cloak, just dark green leather armor, iron bracers and tall leather boots. She was short of stature and slim of build yet exuded an unmistakable aura of power, radiant Veil energies Ijanna immediately felt a familiarity with, as if they were kin. To Ijanna, looking at this darkly alluring Bloodspeaker felt like coming home.

  “Greetings, Gilder,” Kala Azaean said, her voice resonant and strong. She moved with a serpent’s grace, and her dark eyes glittered like black diamonds.

  “I am your humble servant,” Gilder said with a bow. The rest of the Red Hand followed suit, as did Ijanna and Kath so they wouldn’t stand out. “Malath Zayne sends his deepest regards, and regrets he could not come personally to pay his respects.”

  “I assume important business keeps him away from me,” Kala said with just a hint of malevolent sarcasm. “It doesn’t matter. Please, Gilder, tell your Bloodspeakers to relax. There is food and water, and they are welcome to wait here in the shadows of this structure. You and I have much to discuss.”

  Gilder bowed deeply. Ijanna realized that Kala was looking right at her. It was no surprise – she’d learned when she’d met the Witch Mother that the Skullborn couldn’t mask their presence from one another once they were in close proximity. Ijanna and Kala’s eyes locked, ever so briefly, but after a moment the Princess merely turned away, and Gilder followed her into the building. One by the one the Red Hand rose and dispersed to rest in the shade or retrieve water and food from the tents. The mercenaries scattered, and Drazzek Ma’al and his strange cohorts – Ijanna was fairly certain the Drage was none other than Crogas the Red – followed Kala and Gilder inside.

  Kath led Ijanna away from the building and into an alleyway. They found a quiet place between a low wall and the remains of what appeared to have once been some sort of storehouse, now cracked and open and filled with shattered stone and debris. They had a clear view of the square and the main road and enough cover to stay out of plain sight. Ijanna found some crates for them to sit on, and they had enough room just inside the ruined structure to lay out the sleeping bags. Ijanna had a feeling they could be waiting for some time.

  She seated herself on a crate and stared at the thar’koon, which she laid out across her lap, the glistening black and green steel darkly beautiful in the crimson light. The blades were covered with thousands of intricate runes and glyphs which only a few could understand, among them Ijanna, who’d been taught to decipher dozens of arcane tongues by the mystics of Allaj Mohrter. They’d taught her much, those men: how to fight, how to identify poisonous plants, how to hunt and hide and read and build a fire and interpret Vossian code and the history of every known race and monster every encountered.

  They’d taught her that saving humankind from the Veil would require a great sacrifice, and that in order for the One Goddess to be freed the source of all magic would have to be uncovered. That meant finding the Janus Tree, which in turn meant breaching Chul Gaerog.

  Ijanna fought off tears. It was all too much to bear. There had to be another way. It should have been easy for her to go and speak with Kala – the woman obviously sensed the kinship between them. But how much did Kala know? Would she actually have any information that would be useful to Ijanna? Even if she did, would she be willing to part with it? For months Ijanna had driven herself towards this place, this day, in the hopes that the answers would become clear, that meeting with the last Skullborn would somehow mark the end of her journey.

  But now that she was here she was filled with more doubt and fear than ever. Kala obviously knew something, and Gilder’s answer to Ijanna’s question about the dark stone discs only confirmed her suspicions that the Princess’s purpose in Corinth already had something to do with Chul Gaerog.

  Maybe she’s trying to fulfill the prophecy, Ijanna thought. Maybe she intends to make herself the sacrifice. But if that was true, what was this excavation all about? The call to the Black Tower was direct, a pulling force Ijanna had felt in the back of her mind for years, always tugging at her consciousness, making her look south, forcing her to take routes that would bring her closer to the Heartfang Wastes. Sometimes she’d wake in the middle of the night standing in some strange place with no knowledge of how she got there, watching the southern sky, feeling a need to march towards the Blood Queen’s redoubt. No. Whatever Kala is up to might be related to Chul Gaerog, but she has no intention of freeing Corvinia, at least not by sacrificing herself.

  Ijanna’s heart froze. Could Kala have known she was coming?

  “Ijanna,” Kath said. Thunder pealed through the cloud-filled sky. The world seemed frozen in perpetual dusk. “What are we going to do? I don’t like this. Kala has a small army here, and if those stones are from the Black Tower…”

  “She may be attempting the same thing I am,” Ijanna said, looking out at the stones, feeling their tainted pull even from a distance. Mercenaries gave the artifacts a wide berth but were ever vigilant about them, patrolling back and forth as if they feared someone would actually try to make off with the onyx slabs. “I came here to ask for help, but maybe she’s already beat me to the task at hand.”

  Kath watched the stones and the manor.

  “Well…that’s good, isn’t it?” he asked. “Maybe that means you don’t have to die after all.” Ijanna didn’t answer. Fear roiled inside her, a sense of loss and desperation. Everything she’d done had driven her to this place, and now she feared she’d made a terrible mistake. Kath knelt down and took her hand. “You don’t have to die,” he said again. “Maybe this is the answer you’ve been s
earching for.”

  “I’d like that,” she said. “More than anything. I’d do anything to have my life back. But I have to be sure, Kath. I have to find out what she’s doing here...exactly what she’s doing here. Until I know that, I still have a job to do.” She looked him in the eyes. “If I can’t find another way, then I’ll have to go through with my mission and find a way to enter Chul Gaerog. I’ll sacrifice myself, just like the mystics of Allaj Mohrter foretold.” Kath moved to say something, but Ijanna held up a hand. “I have to believe my death will have meaning,” she said. “Ever since I lost everything in the death camps I’ve been avoiding my fate, searching for some other way, but if I can’t find one I’ll do what I was meant to do.”

  Which means your family will have died for nothing. A tear rolled down her cheek as she stared back into Corinth. The taint in the stones unsettled her. She wondered if it scared Kala, too.

  “I won’t leave you alone,” Kath said. “You know that. But there’s no point in getting ourselves killed trying to figure out what’s going on.” He stood and looked back at the shattered streets. The air was full with the ringing of hammers on stone. “So what do we do?” he asked.

  “We’ll meet with her,” Ijanna said. “She knows I’m here, but she may not entirely understand who or what I am. We’ll see if we can find out what she’s doing without revealing too much about ourselves.”

  “What about Gilder?” Kath asked. “He’s with her now…maybe he’ll learn what’s happening here. We can talk to him before we figure out what to do next. If we don’t think she’s going to help us then we can just... leave.”