Path of Bones

by Steven Montano

  “Who else?” Slayne said with something of a growl. “Bastards. I wish we’d have taken care of them when we had the chance three years ago.”

  “Let’s not broach that topic,” Argus said sternly, and Slayne laughed to himself. “Let’s just figure out what they’re doing out here.”

  “That’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” Slayne said. “Malath Zayne knows a lot of things. He probably learned the Princess’s little secret, and now he wants to be her best friend.”

  “We can’t let that happen,” Argus said grimly. He looked northeast. “Two days, you said?”

  “We’ve made good time,” Slayne said with a nod. “Are you sure we can’t use another cutgate to get closer?”

  “No,” Argus said. “With the thar’koon damaged, we have nothing to hone in on.”

  Slivers of cold moonlight spiked through the clouds, and shapes moved in the distant dark. His short blade felt good in his hand, as did the vra’taar concealed under his cloak. Slayne smelled blood in the wind. He longed to hunt – he’d figured out what had happened to him on the second day of their journey, and after a moment of fear and revulsion he’d realized becoming a wolf was the best thing that could have happened to him. His senses were sharper, his instincts drove him, and he was filled with such an insatiable lust and longing to draw blood it was almost intoxicating, at least once he’d worked through the initial difficult period of learning to deny himself so he could maintain control.

  There’s no one to hunt out here, he thought. He eyed Razel, and thought of Fon. Yet.

  “Well, we have another problem,” he said. “If this is the Red Hand we’re talking about, we’ll have more than three of them to contend with, since the smallest organized party I’ve ever heard of is thirteen. And that’s assuming it’s just one group.”

  “And then there’s the Princess,” Argus added. “There’s no telling who or what she has with her. Gallaean, for certain, and maybe others.”

  Argus kicked the dirt in frustration, and Razel watched him with concern. Slayne saw Jar’rod sitting cross-legged on a rug as he entered one of his strange dream trances. Brutus wandered the hillside, dragging his massive sword behind him, his oversized nostrils taking in the desert smells. The creature scowled as it looked around for something to kill.

  I know how you feel, big guy.

  “You’re not telling us something, Argus,” Slayne said. “Gallaean…as in Gallaean Stohrmshrike? He’s no friend of Kala’s, unless they suddenly have something in common the rest of us don’t know about.”

  Argus breathed in sharply and gave Slayne a deadly look. He clearly hadn’t intended to let the name slip. A bone-chilling aura of power surrounded the Veilwarden, and for the first time that entire mission he felt like he was getting a glimpse at the boy’s true potential. Argus might not have been an imposing personality but he yielded a tremendous amount of raw power, and if he ever developed anything resembling a killer instinct he’d become an incredibly dangerous man.

  “Stop asking questions, Marros,” Argus said. “That’s not what you’re here for.” He looked at Slayne and Razel, and after a moment he laughed angrily to himself. “But I should have told you,” he said. “Even though I wasn’t supposed to.” He sighed, and looked out at the darkness of the desert wastes. “Gallaean Stohrmshrike, outlaw priest and murderer, has recently made contact with a known associate of Princess Azaean’s, a criminal Drage Veilwarden called Crogas the Red.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful,” Slayne said. “Crogas is well-connected. With his resources Kala might have a small army waiting for us.” He laughed, but Argus and Razel didn’t seem to find the humor. “So…what do we do?” he asked.

  “Well,” Argus said, “we don’t know what we’re dealing with yet, but depending on how well the Princess is being protected I’d like to try and capture her without raising an alarm.”

  “That might be difficult,” Slayne said. “This trail leads towards Corinth.”

  “And if Kala has any military forces at her disposal...” Razel said.

  “Then she’ll make sure it’s as fortified as possible,” Slayne finished. “Any idea what she’s doing there?”

  “Opening old wounds,” Argus said, and though Slayne and Razel both gave him questioning looks he didn’t say anything more about it. “We’ll keep following the trail,” he said. “See if we wind up in Corinth, or if Ijanna sidetracks to somewhere else. We don’t know for sure that the Princess is in the city, only that Ijanna is headed in that general direction.”

  “Kala’s there,” Slayne said. “Where else would she be, and what else would she be doing other than digging up Galladorian relics?”

  “Can we alert Colonel Blackhall?” Razel asked, much to Slayne and Argus’ surprise. “If Kala has any sort of fighting force, I don’t think it would be wise of us to get trapped out here without help.”

  “They’ll have to travel overland to reach us,” Argus said. “Even if we can get cutgates working, you can only move a dozen people at a time. Aaric won’t mobilize until it’s clear we need support…”

  “And by that time it’ll be too late,” Razel said. “I think we can agree this part of the plan wasn’t very well thought out.”

  “Utilizing Ebonmark’s forces is meant to be a last resort,” Argus said, clearly exasperated. “We didn’t expect to be running into any military presence, and we still don’t know that we will.”

  “So we really are on our own,” Razel said with a bitter smile.

  “It sure seems that way,” Slayne said. “Shit.”

  They made camp for the night. Argus positioned his tent near Brutus; evidently he could use the Veil to calm the troll enough that it could actually sleep through the night, when normally the beasts had difficulty resisting their drive to slaughter long enough to actually get any rest. While he, Razel, Fon and Jar’rod each kept their separate tents, the dozen Black Eagles bunked up in twos and threes.

  Slayne didn’t want anyone getting too comfortable, as they intended to move out at first light. Kost, Navis and Drayke had first watch, positioned in the shadows with such expertise they would have been completely invisible to Slayne had he not known where to look for them.

  He sat on the side of the hill, his open tent behind him in the shadow of a jagged stone that looked like some sort of misshapen giant’s skull. Slayne chewed on a piece of jerky and looked out across the sea of dunes. The possibility of running into the Red Hand had come as something of a surprise, but the more he thought about the inevitability of killing Bloodspeakers the more he relished the notion. It had been far too long. All his life he’d hunted them. He had nothing against their kind, not really, but men had always put money in his pockets to track and kill them, and after so much time spent doing just that he’d started to view them as less than human. Something about them seemed dirty to him...diseased. They lived short lives to begin with, tainting the air with their soiled magic every time they so much as drew breath. He was doing them a favor.

  Then why in the hell do I hear them screaming in my dreams?

  The hunger was growing. It was getting harder to hold it in, but he knew he had to, at least for a little while longer. There were others like him out there, wolf-hearted creatures waiting in the darkness, and he felt an instinctual drive to hunt them down and kill them. The slaking thirst for blood had put him on edge, but he knew the worst of it would pass.

  He watched Razel, Fon and Malei with a lustful heart and a hard cock, and it was all he could do to contain himself. He badly wanted to rip into them, all three of them, but it would be best if he waited to satiate his hunger on more suitable targets. Like the Red Hand.

  I owe you bastards, he thought.

  He stared out into the hot night. Copper and black clouds hung low in the sky, and the light from orange flames danced across the camp below. Slayne finished his jerky, ate a hard-boiled egg and sipped from a jug of water, hoping to keep his senses clear.

  “Slayne.”

&nb
sp; It was Malei, and Slayne’s throat tightened as she approached. One of the newest members of the Black Eagles, Malei held the distinction of being one of the only non-Jlantrians he’d ever chosen for his team. She was an Islander from Kore’lee, with creamy coffee-colored skin and almond-shaped eyes. Malei was lithe and thin, barely twenty years old, with braided black hair that hung loose down around her shoulders and the moistest lips he’d ever seen. She’d been recommended by Syn, one of his team who’d spent a good deal of time in the Scorpion Isles; Syn was dead now, killed by Azander Dane beneath Black Sun. The first time Slayne had seen Malei fight he knew she was a natural. She was ruthless and calculating, swift and dangerous, with a sweet manner and disposition that in no way betrayed the hardened killer inside.

  He watched her approach, growling at himself for the tightness in his chest and the blood flowing to his prick. He held his cloak ahead of him to try and keep his arousal concealed.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I came to tell you we have the watch shifts covered tonight,” she said. “You can get some rest.”

  “Are you on now?” he asked.

  She watched him, suspicious, but with a smile on her face.

  “No.” Slayne just nodded in response. “You’re smiling,” she said, her Islander accent faint but there, exotic and enticing. “Why?”

  “Because the game has gotten interesting,” he said. “Stay sharp – we’ll be killing Red Hand before you know it.”

  She nodded, and smiled. Hatred of Bloodspeakers was one of the prerequisites for joining the Black Eagles.

  “Well, then,” she smiled, her teeth impossibly bright, “this promises to be fun.”

  She stepped close, and Slayne grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his tent, closing the flap behind him. She removed her armor in a swift motion. Her loose grey shirt came free as Slayne practically ripped both of their clothes off. Her breasts were small but firm, and her skin was soft and smooth as he ran his tongue from her navel all of the way up to her neck. He was so hard his cock pained him.

  “No matter what happens,” he said into her ear, practically panting, “we kill as many of those black-tongued freaks as we can.” He threw her onto her back, and she moaned and bit into his ear and he pushed inside her. Within minutes of his violent and desperate thrusts the juice of her sex splashed all over his stomach and groin. They didn’t bother being quiet, and before long they were both growling and hissing as they violently took each other there in a camp in the middle of the dead wilds.

  Fifty-Five

  Blackhall pulled himself up from the bed. People had burned in his nightmares, and those images still clouded his mind.

  Another night had passed with practically no rest. The lack of sleep was starting to ail him, and even medicinal herbs and nightshade liqueur hadn’t helped. Blackhall’s vision swam as he stumbled across the chamber; his shoulders were sore and his head felt like a piece of battered tin. Though he’d navigated the room when it was dark a hundred times he still managed to collide with a bench as he made his way to light the nearest lamp.

  This keeps getting worse. He was sleeping less and less, and what little rest he did manage to get was uneasy and plagued with nightmares. The men of Wolf Brigade hadn’t burned, not in the technical sense, but that hardly mattered. Dead was dead, and he was responsible.

  He pulled a loose shirt over his sweaty chest. How long had he been asleep? He still couldn’t get used to the lack of light in the tower, and now more than ever he considered ignoring Gess’s advice and moving himself into an inn or even a bivouac.

  Blackhall saw motion from the corner of his eye, and his breath caught in his chest. A distinct humanoid shape moved just out of the lamplight. He snatched his bastard sword off the table and held it ready.

  “Whoever you are,” he growled, “you just made the biggest mistake of your life.” He stepped sideways across the room. The intruder had vanished, but Blackhall still sensed something there in the gloom.

  How had someone gotten that deep into the tower? He was reminded of when Ijanna Taivorkan had intruded, but Gess had assured him that the Veilcrafted safeguards on the doors had been enhanced, and Blackhall knew for a fact that patrols around the citadel had been doubled since they’d relocated it to the middle of Ebonmark. Not so much as a kitten should have been able to get within throwing distance of the stronghold.

  Blackhall’s pulse quickened and his blood boiled. He moved towards the intruder, dodging around support columns as he went. The light from the lamp only shone so far, but he knew there was little chance of drawing the man out. Moving through that darkness was like walking in a carbon fog.

  “Come out!” he shouted, and at the sound of his voice the intruder shot forward, and Blackhall saw a glint of armor and steel.

  It was a corpse – a dead man in Jlantrian armor, the blue and white tabards dripping blood. The stench of rot and flame blasted across Blackhall’s face. Crimson haze hung around the dead man’s skull, and his eyes dripped burning tar. Blackhall stumbled back, his blade slack in his hand. Fear hammered his spine.

  “Colonel?”

  The soldier was gone, and Blackhall stood alone in the room. His lungs felt ready to burst and his skin was pasted with icy sweat. Though the corpse had vanished he still tasted the stench of soiled blood and corpse rot in the back of his throat.

  “Aaric!”

  Gess stepped up and took Blackhall by one shoulder to steady him. His head pounded behind his eyes.

  It had been a dream, or a vision. He’d imagined the whole thing…but it had felt so real, so vivid. The smell of death, the dripping blood, the sound of the man’s sword scraping against the stone.

  Blackhall sat down heavy on his cot.

  “Goddess…I’m losing my mind, Toran.” He felt weak and unbalanced.

  Toran Gess waited, watching.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “No,” Blackhall said with a humorless laugh. “No, I’m not. Those men didn’t deserve to die like that.” He’d made mistakes before, but nothing like this. It was killing him inside.

  “I beg to differ, Aaric,” Gess said. “You know damn well what Wolf Brigade was capable of. More than a few innocent people died by their hand. They slaughtered children, then raped the mothers and sisters with the blood still fresh on their hands.” His tone was cold, and his eyes burned with anger. “They were monsters, Aaric. And they deserved what they got.”

  “They were soldiers, Toran,” he snapped back. “They might have been mercenaries, but they were Jlantrians, and they were following orders.”

  “You have to bury it, Colonel,” Gess said. “Before it buries you.”

  “I can’t,” Blackhall said. “I’ve tried. Goddess knows I’ve tried…”

  “What other choice do you have?” Gess asked. “Tell the truth? Expose Slayne and myself? We did what had to be done, and it’s time to move on. The Empire needs you, Argus needs you…your wife needs you, Aaric, and she needs you healthy and sane. Those men died so we could save lives. If you had the opportunity to do it again, would you act otherwise, knowing that Wolf Brigade would have brought all-out war to the streets of Ebonmark?”

  Blackhall stared into the shadows. Would he do things different? Many of Ebonmark’s citizens would have perished in an open conflict, and the blame would have been laid squarely at Blackhall’s feet.

  You killed them to save lives.

  “All right,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s move on.”

  “That’s all we can do,” Gess said. “If you like, I’m sure I could concoct something stronger than nightshade liqueur to help you sleep.” The Veilwarden removed his grey cloak and set it on the table, then poured a glass of thick red wine. He was looking better, and he seemed to be getting more accustomed to using his off-hand. Gess was still somewhat sallow and pale, but Blackhall had known enough amputees in his day to understand he’d always be a shadow of the man he’d once been. Maiming meant the loss
of more than just a limb.

  Gess poured a second glass and handed it to Blackhall. The sweet red was heady and thick, and though his head pounded he found that a few gulps of the vintage actually helped ease the pain.

  “Thank you,” he said. “What time is it?”

  “Just past dusk,” Gess said. “And I’ve got some bad news that’s bound to take your mind off of your other worries.”

  Blackhall ran his hands through his thick black hair. He was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open, but he knew sleep was a long ways off. He took another sip of wine, crossed the room to the wash basin and splashed cool water onto his face.

  “What’s the problem?” he asked. “Trouble with the remnants of the Black Guild?”

  “Some,” Gess said. “Scouts found tracks from about thirty Tuscars plus mounts south of the city.”

  “I know about that,” Blackhall said. “They went north, away from Ebonmark. Good riddance. They’re not our concern unless they come back.”

  “Oh, they may be our concern sooner than that,” Gess said with his usual flippant tone. “Especially if we have to head north ourselves.” Blackhall turned and looked at him. “I received a message from Argus,” Gess continued. “He isn’t certain yet, but he and Slayne fear they may require military support in Corinth.”

  “Damn it,” Blackhall said.

  “Argus says the Dream Witch has joined forces with the Red Hand.”

  Blackhall wiped his face clean and walked back to the table to pour himself another glass.

  “That’s…not good. And they still don’t know what to expect from the Princess, do they?”

  “No,” Gess said. “They haven’t actually located her yet, but Slayne seems to think she’s held up in the ruins of Corinth, and that she has soldiers of her own.”

  Blackhall looked at the map of Malzaria spread on the table and gauged the stretch of the Bonelands between Ebonmark and Corinth.

  “It would take us a week to crawl through Gallador,” he said, “and I don’t have enough men to provide any useful support and still be able to defend the city. More soldiers are on the way from Ral Tanneth to help with the Tuscar incursions, but they won’t be here for another few days.” Blackhall paced the room. The air seemed to grow hotter, and he clenched his teeth in frustration. “But we can’t leave Slayne and Argus out there on their own, not against those odds. What do we need to do, Toran?”