Path of Bones

by Steven Montano

  The notion of crossing back across the Bonelands and heading south to Chul Gaerog sent frost down her spine. Ijanna recalled the tower from her dreams, tall and dark and surrounded by webs of black lightning and hollow children. It would be her last journey: succumbing to her fate, marching to her own death. There would be no turning back.

  There never has been.

  She wiped cold tears from her eyes.

  “We’ll need to find Gilder as soon as he’s available,” she said. “We still have those Jlantrians on our trail.”

  Kath took watch. Ijanna closed her eyes, wishing herself somewhere else, knowing that when she opened them again she’d still be there, in a blasted ruin at the end of the world, shivering with fear beneath the quaking skies. Doing whatever it took to avoid her fate.

  Fifty-Three

  Kath watched for the pale Bloodspeaker while Ijanna slept. The day faded, but the sun refused to fully set even as the toxic moon rose over the horizon.

  The slaves and servants never stopped working and the songs of labor rang long into the night as wagons and barrels were filled with soil. Workers struggled to pull yet another of the black stone discs out of the ground, and it looked to be arduous work. The slaves were covered with dirt and sweat, their muscles tense and faces stern as they painstakingly hauled earth and broken rocks and pulled on lines to lift the artifact from its dusty grave.

  Kath watched the soldiers carefully. They, like the workers, were constantly on the move, walking patrol or rotating watch. As night fell they lit bonfires and torches; they seemed less concerned with maintaining a low profile than alerting would-be attackers to their superior defensive numbers.

  The majority of the men were mercenaries, save for a handful who kept close to the manor and were likely the remnants of Princess Azaean’s honor guard, and the slavers, who seemed to answer to the man in the defaced priestly raiment. Kath hadn’t wanted to say anything to Ijanna, but he was certain that man was none other than Gallaean Stohrmshrike, a renegade priest who’d started his own crusade against those he considered “unholy” – Bloodspeakers, whores, the poor, foreigners, and whoever else he decided needed to be punished for supposed crimes against the One Goddess. Gallaean had been arrested and tried for murder for starting a small rebellion near Tallon, but even though most of his followers were sent to Hellstone Deep he somehow eluded capture.

  This is just getting worse by the minute, Kath thought.

  Whatever issues Gallaean had with whores didn’t seem to spill over to the rest of the mercenary soldiers, for a good number of dark-skinned and scantily clad figures could be seen among the men, and Kath heard shrieks of pleasure and rings of applause from the tents and in the shadows of the flame-lit building shells.

  The excavation was enormous, and Kala’s resources seemed vast. Crogas, Gallaean and Drazzek Ma’al, the mercenaries and slaves and unholy priests, the whores, the monsters, the siege weapons…it all had the feel of an invading force, like they were preparing to launch a small-scale war.

  What in the One Goddess’s name do those stone discs do? he wondered.

  Kath’s eyes followed Gilder as he left the manor. The Bloodspeaker’s rapid pace made clear that he was in a hurry.

  “Ijanna,” he said gently. She’d fallen asleep on some blankets in the empty building the two of them were camped in. A small blaze provided light. She’d tossed and turned all through her short rest, but at the sound of his voice her eyes shot open and she sat straight up. “Gilder,” he said.

  She grabbed her cloak and secured the thar’koon, which she’d broken down to its individual components so she carried two short blades instead of one long one.

  Kath and Ijanna moved into the street. The air was thick with sweat and smoke and the sky was quickly growing dark; only a raiment of crimson sunlight clung to the eastern sky. They closed in on the Red Hand, who’d camped a few hundred yards in front of the manor, in the shadow of a crumbled statue of some hammer-yielding Dragian hero. Several of the Bloodspeakers had already gathered around Gilder.

  Kath felt Ijanna’s tension. Her eyes kept going to the stones.

  He still had trouble believing her story about the One Goddess. According to her, Kath and thousands of others paid worship to a deity who’d been imprisoned. Part of him thrilled at the notion of what the world might be like if she actually returned, but for the most part the idea terrified him. Mortals didn’t often survive the affairs of the divine.

  Even with fear in his heart Kath knew Ijanna had nothing but noble intentions. He couldn’t blame her for trying to escape her own sacrifice. Even the most noted of martyrs – Saint Marklahain of the Mask came to mind, the man who’d been forced to sell his family into slavery so he could journey to the Salt Lands and sacrifice himself to free Corvinia from the Stone of Pain – doubted their faith before doing what needed to be done, and he expected no less from Ijanna. As hard as it was for him to understand or even believe that resurrecting a beast like Carastena Vlagoth would ultimately be the best thing for Malzaria he knew she was doing everything in her power to make the right decision.

  He was less certain of Kala’s intentions, especially considering the criminal company she kept. Even the supposedly idealistic Red Hand, who seemed bound and determined to forge an alliance with the deposed Imperial Princess, came across as little more than a bunch of glorified Veil-flinging ruffians.

  They were almost to the Red Hand’s camp when Ijanna pulled away from him, as if drawn. Kath cursed under his breath and followed as she pushed through the throng of slaves and made her way to the pit, where the workers toiled to draw forth the stone, which was still half-buried in the soil at the bottom of the pit, a steep grade of loose gravel, dirt and scattered rocks. Workers sank up to their knees in the silt, hauling on ropes as they fought to unearth the artifact. They seemed to be fighting a losing battle, for the earth moved almost like quicksand, and even with the winches and ropes secured around the item it wouldn’t budge.

  Ijanna stood and looked down at the stone with fear in her eyes. Kath put a hand on her shoulder, and he was surprised at how icy she felt.

  “Ijanna?”

  Her eyes glowed with ice-white light, and subtle crimson vapors curled from her mouth. Kath moved around and stood in front of her, but her gaze didn’t break.

  “They take us there...” she said.

  “What?”

  “These stones…these Scars…they take you to Chul Gaerog, take you inside Chul Gaerog. Just like they took my father…” The glow faded, and she looked at Kath. “She’s going to Chul Gaerog.”

  “That’s good though, right?” he asked, but clearly Ijanna didn’t think so based on how shaken she was. “It’ll be all right,” he said, not with nearly as much confidence as he would have liked. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  “You can’t stop it,” she said. “Nobody can.”

  Kath wasn’t sure what to say, so he held her shoulders in his hands.

  “It’ll be all right,” he said. “You have to believe that. You have to.” She wouldn’t look him in the eyes. “Let’s go talk to Gilder, and see what he found out.”

  There was no need to seek Gilder out, as he came searching for Ijanna and Kath with the same two Bloodspeakers who’d accompanied him in the Bonelands.

  “We need to talk,” he said. “And not here.”

  Kath eyed him suspiciously, but Ijanna nodded.

  “All right,” Kath said. “This way.”

  Kath led them back across the square, past throngs of slaves and mercenaries who by all accounts seemed prepared to work through the night. Fuel was added to the bonfires, and a number of blazing torches were handed out to several of the slave masters so the workers could see while they continued dragging the black stone from the ruined pit.

  The small group returned to the gutted building where Kath and Ijanna rested. Only Gilder came with them the whole way, leaving his cohorts to stand watch outside – whatever it was he had to s
ay, he clearly didn’t want anyone else to hear it. The campfire had died down, but Ijanna breathed Veilfire and set it floating in the air, a pulsing crystal orb of orange-yellow flame which cast shadows across their faces as they huddled in the corner of the ruined building.

  “How did your talks go?” Ijanna asked.

  Gilder waited what felt like an eternity before answering. His cowl was pulled tight across his face, and his scars and burns looked even more ghastly in the half-light.

  “I have no reason to trust you,” he said at last. “I know little about you aside from what Malath told me…but based on what you did for him, you’re someone I want to trust. Malath seemed convinced you helped him escape those camps not because of who he was but because he was simply a fellow Bloodspeaker in need.”

  “And that’s true,” Ijanna said.

  Kath chewed his lip. And where was Malath while my mother was being beheaded? he wanted to ask. He looked at Ijanna. Where were you? But this wasn’t the time. Maybe someday he’d ask Ijanna if she’d met his mother, if she knew anything about Malath’s lover who’d been taken and executed by the Dawn Knights, and if that was all they’d done to her. I have to believe you would have saved her if you had the chance. I have to.

  “I need your help,” Gilder said.

  Kath watched him carefully. The Bloodspeaker’s words seemed genuine, but he hated not being able to read the man’s face. Ijanna looked to Kath for affirmation, and he nodded.

  “You don’t trust Kala,” Ijanna said to Gilder. “Even after meeting with her, there’s something about her or this situation you don’t like.”

  Gilder’s cowl twisted into a knowing smile.

  “You’re very astute, Ijanna,” he said. “No, I don’t trust her. I never did, to be quite honest, but we could use her as an ally. Now, after meeting her, I trust her even less.”

  “Why?” Kath asked, but Gilder ignored him.

  “Will you help me?” he asked Ijanna. Ijanna gave him a hard stare, but nodded.

  “How?” she asked.

  “You have abilities that will prove useful,” Gilder said. “You can see into the dreams of others. Malath desperately wants this alliance with Kala Azaean, as her name will lend credence to our cause. The only thing holding this union back is me, because I question Kala’s motives.” Gilder hesitated. “Moreso, I question her sanity. I won’t let this partnership take shape if I think it will put the Red Hand in jeopardy. I also need to know about these men with her: the Drage Veilwarden, the human priest, the Allaji warrior. She’s been very elusive about them.”

  This time it was Ijanna who waited. Kath watched her, watched Gilder, watched the shadows all around them.

  “The power to enter other’s dreams,” she said, “is called dae’vone. It’s difficult, but I can try. I’ll have to wait until she’s asleep, and even then it will only be effective if she hasn’t taken measures to safeguard her mind. Thankfully that’s seldom done, unless she has the gift herself.” Ijanna paced back and forth. Her hood was down, and she’d pulled back her wheat-blonde hair. Even pasted with sweat and grime she was still so beautiful. Kath couldn’t help but lose himself in the sight of her, and he had to shake himself back to the moment.

  Focus, you idiot. We have a long way to go.

  “What will you do for me in return?” she asked Gilder.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “I want to know about the Scarstones,” she said. “Those artifacts she’s ripping out of this city. I have some inkling of what they can do, but I want to know what she wants with them.” She squared up Gilder. “Because I also need Kala’s help…or at least I thought I did. There’s something I need to do, and for all I know she’s doing it for me. But I have to be sure.” She looked pointedly at Gilder. “Do you have the information I need?”

  “Yes,” he said after a moment’s hesitation.

  “Good,” Ijanna said. “If I can use dae’vone to access her dreams, I may be able to find out what I want to know on my own. If not, I’ll need you to tell me. That’s one thing.”

  One thing? Kath thought. Ijanna was growing bold. Good. That’s the only way we’re going to get through this. I’d do best to follow her example.

  Gilder was taken aback.

  “And the second?” he asked dryly.

  “If I’m wrong about Kala, and she isn’t planning to do what I hope she is, then I’ll have to do it myself. I’ll need help.”

  Gilder might have been made of stone, but Kath saw something in those milky eyes.

  “You know what she’s talking about,” Kath said to him. “Don’t you? You know what Ijanna’s mission is.”

  “I do,” Gilder said.

  “Well?” Ijanna said coldly.

  “If you’ll use dae’vone to probe Kala’s dreams for us,” Gilder said, “and if you decide you still need to go and sacrifice yourself in the Black Tower …then yes.”

  “Yes what?” Ijanna asked.

  “Yes, we’ll help you enter Chul Gaerog,” Gilder said.

  Fifty-Four

  A blind man could have followed the trail. Ijanna might have been trying to hide her path at some point, but that was certainly no longer the case. Slayne feared they were being led astray, that the trail had been intentionally left to throw them off the real path, but Razel confirmed their route.

  It had been several days of hard travel. Slayne was happy to have the Black Eagles along – without them to hold him in check he felt certain he’d have killed at least one of Argus’ team. Razel was so self-confident and arrogant she bordered on egomaniacal, and Jar’rod’s mysterious bouts of silence were infuriating, especially since they sometimes lasted as long as a day.

  At least the woman Fon hadn’t done anything to earn Slayne’s ire, at least not yet – he actually appreciated her blunt speech and candor, and he also found her simple manner of dress and lack of a lady’s grooming quite attractive in its own fashion. Truth be told, he wanted to fuck her so badly he could hardly see straight, and more than once he’d considered sneaking over to her tent after they’d bedded down for the night to take care of that urge once and for all. He hadn’t, and as a result his blood boiled and his nerves were on edge.

  Brutus was probably the easiest of the group to deal with, since he didn’t even speak any human language (but he seemed to understand it, at least to a certain degree, the same way a dog or a horse knows which command to obey), and though the troll was unusually hostile even by the standards of its foul breed it followed Argus’ orders without question.

  Argus. Slayne liked the man, at least in the limited dealings they’d had. The head of House Blue was an amateur politician, at best, inexperienced in the ways of the world, and before he’d been handed the reins of leadership for the mission he’d hardly ever stepped foot outside of Ral Tanneth. The Empress made slaves of her most trusted advisors, and Argus’ devotion to her permeated his every action. On the positive side, that same devotion made him confident and bold, and it had quickly become clear that he intended to achieve the Empress’s goals no matter the cost.

  Slayne knew all about that. He remembered his wife, dying. It had been for the best. Not a night went by when he didn’t wake thinking about her, seeing her eyes locked on his as the blade came down.

  She was tainted, and diseased. I did what I had to do. We’ll rest soon, my love. It was their mission, not mine. Dane is the last of the Dawn Knights. When he’s dead, I’ll join you, and maybe we’ll both find peace.

  Slayne knelt in the sand and placed a hand on the tracks. Ijanna and her bodyguard had been joined by others, and Slayne passed that information on to Argus and Razel. Night was falling quickly. The red sky bled to black, and the clouds churned thick and low like a floating body of iron. The wind scaled hard against them. Dark desert and rocky bluffs stretched away in every direction.

  “How many ‘others’?” Razel asked. Her blonde hair and purple cloak rippled in the wind.

  “Three,” Slayne said. “B
ut more have been here. I’d say a party of a dozen or more passed through this area maybe three or four days ago, but just three of them waited for Ijanna.”

  “How far behind them are we?” Argus asked.

  They set up camp in the shadow of a steep hill. Slayne knew Argus didn’t want to stop, but it was dangerous to travel at night, especially with so little information on the creatures they were liable to encounter out there. He saw Keeves and Jarro setting up the tents, and Malei walked a perimeter, keeping an eye out for scouts or Razorcats.

  “Two or three days,” Slayne said. He rubbed some linseed oil over his chapped lips and had his hood drawn tight to keep wind-blown sand out of his face. It was no longer getting cold at night – the deeper you traveled into the Bonelands the hotter it became, even when the sun went down.

  “Any idea who these newcomers are?” Argus asked. He and Razel faced the wind, so he had to fight to keep his hood drawn.

  “Bloodspeakers,” Razel said. “I’m sure of it, based on their Veil signature. Powerful ones, too, or at least one of them is.”

  “They took out a pack of Razorcats without much trouble,” Slayne said as he stood up, his eyes on the stony ruins they’d passed. He was glad Razel had been able to push back the unnatural mists the Razorcats issued from their glands; doing so was one of the only ways to scare them off, and even then it was only the party’s numbers that kept the feline predators at bay. Sometimes even that didn’t matter – if a Razorcat was hungry enough it would take on any number of foes without concern for its own safety. Slayne certainly didn’t want to deal with the creatures.

  I could, though, he thought to himself. Now that I control the wolf inside of me.

  “They used staves,” Argus said, half to himself. “Those are hard to come by.”

  “Red Hand?” Razel asked.