But the lizard scuffled and bobbed its head up and down, clearly agitated. The ground shook again, this time with greater force, a steady tremble which loosed chunks of sandstone from the walls. The men who were climbing held tight. Chairos looked around, confused, and the men who watched Kruje readied their weapons.
The air filled with the sound of quaking, and the ground shook so hard Kruje was thrown to his knees. The lizard nearly trampled him with its hooked talons and sweeping tail.
He heard shouts from Chairos’ men and other humans deeper in the city. The Phage soldiers at the lowest point of the dune scrambled away from a hole in the sand, a dark orifice of sinking earth which grew larger by the second.
A geyser of black soil and ground bone erupted from the hole. Putrescent ooze sprayed across the sand and vile mud flew high into the air. The wind smelled of grave soil.
Two massive claws pushed up from the ground, each easily the size of a horse. Spindly arms pulled apart the earth as it rose, a massive and ghastly skeleton emerging from a dust womb. A tower of diseased skin came into sight as Phage men shouted out in alarm and tried to get away from the hole. The creature’s circular maws were filled with spiked teeth and bile, its dark eyes were hollow sockets of grim green light and its bony carapace resembled a centipede’s exoskeleton. Bladed chitin plates etched with bizarre runic markings ground together as the monster stretched up towards the dark sky, its many mouths emitting putrefying breath. Worm-like muscles pulsed with purple liquid, and its hide was dark and slick.
The preposterously tall beast towered over the ruined city, a skeletal monstrosity of terrible fangs. Dissonant roars echoed into the dank sky. It held position for a moment before it leaned forward and smashed the ground with its tree-sized arms, crushing a dozen of Chairos’ men beneath bladed fists. Cries sounded as the soldiers scattered.
Kruje tried to pull his hands free but the lizard was frozen to the spot, silently watching with blank reptilian eyes.
Chairos launched a bolt of blue fire up at the Runefiend and struck it in one of its raw and blistered eyes, and even though Kruje smelled burning bone and blistering skin from over a hundred yards away the attack seemed to do little to slow the creature. Flame slapped around its skull, an arctic blue corona. Bone claws and razor spurs swept out as the Runefiend howled in fury, slicing men into flesh and leather ribbons.
Kruje breathed deep. He had to act now, while Chairos was distracted. The Runefiend loomed overhead, but the men guarding Kruje ran towards the battle. He felt the rage boil inside him as he re-lived days spent kneeling in the dark, waiting for the sun to blind him, steeling himself in the cage those moments before the fights. Kar-Kalled washed through him, and wrath burned in his soul.
He only dimly registered the pain of skin peeling from his wrists as he ripped his hands free of the shackles. Kruje tore the chains from the lizard and used them to beat one of Chairos’ men to the ground. Another Phage came at him with a longspear, but Kruje wrapped the chain around the shaft and snapped it, then punched the man so hard in the chest he cracked the breastplate and crushed his heart.
The Runefiend loomed overhead, clawing at Chairos’ men as blue-white flames lanced across its body. The soldiers in the city appeared up on the wall, and in moments a hail of arrows fell on Chairos’ force, cutting down many of those who’d managed to elude the Runefiend’s reach.
Kruje wrapped the chains around his wrist and jumped onto the lizard’s back. It reared its head and hissed at him, but he pressed his legs in and leaned forward, then reached up and found the pressure point under the creature’s neck and squeezed as hard as he could without crushing its throat.
The lizard bolted into the desert, running with such furious speed that Kruje was nearly thrown. He grabbed onto its spines and held on for dear life. Arrows struck the sand and bounced off the mount’s armored skin. Kruje’s blood was everywhere, and it made his grip slick, but he somehow managed to hold on as the lizard raced away from the city.
He glanced back and saw men in the shadow of the now burning Runefiend, a mountain of cold white flames against the backdrop of night.
At the rate the lizard was running it would reach the caves in no time. Kruje tried to keep the beast moving in a straight line by slapping it on the side of the head when it strayed off course, but all that really accomplished was causing the reptile to turn so sharply he was almost thrown again. He struggled with the brute and managed to get it back on track, yelling Vossian curses so base he’d later need to make penance to the J’ann just for uttering them. His keen eyes allowed him to follow the trail left by Chairos’ troops and spot the caves in the distance, buried in the side of a dune.
Kar-Kalled faded, and Kruje’s pain returned in a slow tide. He started shaking with blood loss and hurt, and though he knew his wounds would start stitching themselves together soon he was too dizzy to carry on, so when the lizard jumped over a jutting stone the change in direction and speed was enough to throw the giant from the creature’s back once and for all. He landed painfully on the ground, black blood spilling onto the sand, the wind knocked out of him.
He didn’t stop moving. The chain he’d wrapped around his arm was still attached to the collar on the lizard’s neck, and Kruje’s already bloodied hand tore open even more as he struggled to his feet, coughing up sand and dust as he was dragged across the ground. He lurched forward to keep pace and just managed to unwind the chain as the lizard bolted off into the darkness. Kruje kept running, eventually rolling forward down a steep dune and turning end over end until he wound up on his back, his chest heaving and his bloody body coated with desert grime. The world was spinning.
The sand felt cool against his skin. It took Kruje long moments to catch his breath, and as he laid there on his back, his arms and legs spread out and his eyes locked on the starless night. His wounds slowly closed, and he finally stopped bleeding.
He hoped the rampaging lizard had given him a good head start over Chairos’ fleeing men. Kruje knew he was close to the cave complex, though it was bound to still be guarded. He wanted so badly to rest, but he couldn’t risk it.
You’re far from done, Krujiah Helldrakkos. Time to show these miscreants what a Voss prince is made of.
Muscles aching and body pulsing with pain, the black giant stumbled to his feet and started for the caves, confident this was not his day to die.
Fifty-Nine
Wolves. They’re everywhere, a rolling wave of blood fur and cold steam. Paws stamp the ground, teeth shine white in the moonlight. The ravine is full with their splashing grey and black bodies as they howl at the huge moon.
He’s one of them. He tastes the scarlet air, smells the rush of open wounds. Pain flashes across his mind as he charges through a grim and soiled night.
He’s succumbed to the hunger inside.
The others are near. For as many as there are, only three of them are the alphas, the biggest and most brutish of the lot. He smells the other two, practically tastes their presence in the wind. They were distant before, so vague they were just another part of the dream, but all that has changed now.
They’re close. So close.
Which means he has to kill them.
Sixty
He swam through waves of nausea and pain. The cutgate somehow accelerated Dane’s new-found regenerative powers, and he emerged from the other side fully healed. Passing through also triggered his hunger: rage overcame him, and he clenched the hilt of his vra’taar so tight he thought the bones in his hands would crack.
He was on his knees in a low cave, his skin cold against the stone floor. Stalactites dripped algae-colored water, and a low tunnel lined with teeth-like stones led out towards the dank night. A lone torch had been thrust into the ground, and its orange flame cast flickering light on the dark walls.
Every inch of his body ached. His skin was covered with sweat, and the old wound in his stomach throbbed painfully. Dane tried to stand, but something hard caught him in the ribs and knoc
ked the wind out of him. The stone scraped his naked flesh and his vra’taar clattered to the ground.
A Blood Knight punched Dane in the ribs and sternum. Blood dripped from the warrior’s spiked gauntlets as he drew a long dagger to finish the job.
Dane threw himself inside the arc of the other man’s reach and knocked him back with an elbow to the groin, buying just enough time to pick up his vra’taar. Blades clanged and echoed in the darkness of the cave.
The cutgate gleamed crimson behind him. Someone was coming through.
The Blood Knight lunged forward, and Dane ducked just in time – the kan’aar’s edge came within inches of his eye. He jammed the point of his vra’taar through the other man’s mask, pinning his head to the wall.
Dane ripped his opponent’s cloak away and ran as fast as his exhausted legs would carry him down the tunnel and towards the exit. A labyrinth of side-passages led to a deeper cave network. He had to catch his breath, as his lungs felt ready to burst.
He was hunted and alone. He thought of the Bloodspeakers they’d killed in the mountains and wondered if they’d felt this same dread, this same terror, knowing there was no way out. He thought of the children, alone and in the dark as Slayne and his hunters tracked them down, and then later in the camps, hungry and bleeding and afraid, listening to the screams, watching the fires, knowing their time was coming and being powerless to stop it.
Dane leaned against the wall.
You deserve whatever you get, Azander. And much worse.
The pain comes fast, tearing through his skull. Howls rip across his mind like a blast of fire. Anguished roars build in his chest, deep tremors that shake his heart and rattle ice from his soul.
His muscles ripple with power. He feels the talons pushing through, tastes the tang of iron and blood. Musk scent fills his nostrils.
He smells flesh in the night. His hunger builds, an aching in his gums and groin. He curls, kneels, bolts upright. His vision blazes red.
They’re so close. He senses their approach, and feels himself wanting to join them.
He’s back in the camps, running past the flames, chasing the woman as she runs. He smells her blood and fear.
He was a wolf even then. He just hadn’t realized it.
“No!”
He smelled gore in the air, tasted the stink of intestines and freshly ripped meat. Dane doubled over, nearly gagging on carrion scent and bile.
You can’t, he told himself. Don’t let the rage take over.
He saw the boy, dead on the path with the blade in his back. Dead children, burning bodies, corpses twisted in unnatural positions.
I’ve seen the wolf. I’ve been the wolf. I don’t want to go back there, not ever.
Lying in the snow, in that cave, staring out, wishing he could die.
All I bring is death. It’s all I’m good for.
Dane clawed at the ground. He tried to resist the transformation, tried to fight through the urge to give in to that primal call. His muscles were on fire and his mouth ruptured as blade-like fangs pushed against the insides of his gums. His blood send a metallic taste down his throat. Panic flooded his body as he clutched the wall, holding onto the broken rock as tightly as he could.
They’d be on top of him in moments. His only choice was to succumb, to let the wolf take over.
No. I can’t.
Dane felt the cold presence of the Veil. He imagined pale flames sweeping over him, the rancid touch of icy magic. Cold vapors filled his lungs. His eyes burned.
Desperate and afraid, Dane focused on the rip, the space between his world and the Veil, and he sent thoughts into it, pieces of his own consciousness. He filled it with love and hope and all of the things he cared about, as if shunting them through would keep them away from the darkness inside him, the white-hot hate which threatened to transform him into a beast again. He filled the void with memories: his mother and father sitting near the hearth with fresh-baked bread and warm cups of cider while a crackling fire cast light upon the winter-frosted windows; the White Dragon Army marching down the grand avenue in Ral Tanneth, their pale armor as sparkling and pure as a crystal sun, his boy’s heart filled with adulation and joy; his early days with the Dawn Knights, Ghost and Corva and Kraegen and Hask, friends and companions, always challenging one another, always pushing the others to do better, to be better, a family he hoped he’d never lose.
Each of those pleasant memories had some terrible aftermath, a grim conclusion that soiled their purity, but he pushed those dark realities down. He hoped if he stayed focused on those frozen moments that some part of him wouldn’t be sucked down in the tide of bestial rage which threatened to pull him into oblivion.
It worked. His breathing slowed, his muscles relaxed. The pain in his skull faded and his vision returned to normal. The scent of blood was thick in his nostrils and thoughts of slaughter still hammered at the edge of his mind, but there was enough of Azander Dane left for him to resist what was happening to him.
Only a few seconds had passed. He heard voices behind him as the Blood Knights drew close. Dane’s back was to one of the side corridors. Rather than risk exposure out in the open he moved into the darkness of the tunnels, wrapping himself in the thick crimson cloak to try and shield his body from the sullen chill.
Lime deposits and brackish water fell from moonlit stalactites. Dane moved carefully, his bare feet snarling on broken rock. The air smelled of mold and musk, and every slight sound echoed through the darkness. After a hundred paces Dane could barely see his hand in front of his face.
He held the Veil at the edge of his thoughts so the transformation wouldn’t take him. He felt ice water in his veins and a cold aura around his heart, like he’d breathed in frozen fumes. Pain shot through his stomach. He cried out, not caring who heard, wanting someone to hear so they’d come close enough for him to rip their heads from their shoulders. His guts twisted and his muscles tightened. Cold spread through his body and sent him to the floor.
The Veil is burning the wolf’s taint away.
He felt the world pulse like blood pounding through a malformed heart. He was wedged in a fulcrum of sense and thought, aware of everything around him both within those walls and beyond. Blood Knights, Phage soldiers, Drakanna, all coming for him from down the tunnels.
All he had to do was give himself to the wolf.
No.
He held on. Fire burned across his skin, and he vomited violently. He was glad not to see what came out, but he smelled it – blood and viscera, bits of skin and wolf’s hair. His throat burned raw as he spewed the last chunks of animal matter from between his lips. It had grown within him, literally, and had been changing him from the inside out.
The footfalls drew close. Strength rushed back into his body. Dane let the Veil guide his movements, knowing he’d pay for it soon, and that if he held on for much longer it would be the end of him. He gripped his vra’taar and pushed his naked body against the wall, the rock edges sharp against his back. Blood sluiced down his sides and he bit his lip to keep from grunting in pain. He could barely see, but he kept himself pressed against the stone as a torchlight appeared in the darkness. He was lucky – he’d backed into a short crevice, a twisted fold of rock which formed a sort of natural alcove that hid him from plain sight.
Dane held his breath. He realized that he still gripped the Veil, and he’d have to release his hold soon before he collapsed from exhaustion.
The light came into view. Dane jumped forward and swung the vra’taar, slicing through bone and flesh and severing the torchbearer’s arm at the elbow. The man cried out, and Dane grabbed his shoulder and used him to catch the sword of the second Phage soldier. Dane threw the body back, knocked the sword away from the second man and took him down with a blade to the face, spraying blood on the wall as he hacked through jawbone. He left the armor intact.
Angry shouts echoed through the tunnels. Dane desperately pulled the armor off the second corpse, praying he had time. He let the Ve
il go and a wave of exhaustion hit him like a fist to the gut, but Dane bit down and focused, pulled buckles open and slid the cuirass off the body before removing the vambraces and gauntlets. Dane worked fast, taking the soldier’s loose black shirt and pants and hastily throwing them on, thankful that the dead man was roughly the same size as he was. A ridiculous memory of climbing out of a whore’s bedroom back in Savon Karesh came to mind, from early in his days with the Dawn Knights – General Crinn forbade his newest recruits from indulging in prostitutes, and he’d come to hunt them down when he’d learned how they’d disobeyed him.
Dane’s heart hammered. Once he’d donned the clothes and boots he threw the cuirass on over his head and moved deeper into the dark, leaving the torch behind him but bringing his vra’taar, the vambraces and greaves, and a spare dagger.
More torches appeared in the tunnel behind him, and he saw the silhouettes of three men. He ducked into another alcove. Sweat poured down his face as he quickly donned the rest of the black armor. He was so exhausted he could barely breathe.
Dane readied his blade as steps drew close. They’d left the torches behind them this time, so when Dane emerged all he saw were blade-bearing silhouettes. He cleaved into the soldiers and sent two of them to the ground in sprays of gore. A third man came at him, and Dane threw himself forward and flung the dagger, not even sure if it had hit home until he heard the man choke on his own blood as he fell. Dane moved past the bodies and on down the tunnel. Voices and booted feet echoed all around him.
I’m going through all of this for a Bloodspeaker who would likely rather stick a knife up my ass than accept my help. I’ll get killed trying to redeem myself by helping a woman I’ve never even met, and that might just make me the stupidest man in history.
Path of Bones Page 34
