Cursed Bones (Sovereign of the Seven Isles: Book Five)

by David A. Wells

  “Very well, I will instruct Tasia to remain with your Captain Wyatt and provide him what assistance she can for the time being.”

  “Good. Wyatt’s going to have his work cut out for him,” Alexander said. “On another matter, my leg has healed well enough for me to walk without a cane, not far, mind you, but well enough that I think it’s time to begin making preparations for my departure. I’d like to call a ship to come pick me up, but I wanted your permission first.”

  “Of course, but just a single vessel and tell them to fly the Reishi flag when they enter the Spires.”

  “I’ll make sure they follow your instructions,” Alexander said.

  Bragador said her goodbyes and Anja came to Alexander’s bed.

  “Can we start?”

  “All right, but we’ll start with a knife, you’re probably not strong enough to wield a sword.”

  Anja frowned, shaking her head. “Alexander, I’m a dragon. I’m plenty strong enough to handle a sword. In fact, I want to learn to use a really big sword.”

  Alexander chuckled. “Fair enough, but let’s start with a knife. Many of the principles are the same, but a knife can be easily concealed where a really big sword can’t.”

  “All right, if you say so,” Anja said.

  After a brief hunt for adequate pieces of driftwood and some minor modifications, Anja had produced two wooden knives. In the session that followed, both Jack and Alexander learned that she was not only stronger than a full-grown man, but faster and far more aggressive in a fight than most soldiers. There was a visceral quality to her total immersion in the moment, all of her attention, focus, and intention narrowed down to the present. She moved like an animal, instinctually searching for an opening, an opportunity to strike, lashing out with blinding quickness and spontaneity when an opening presented itself.

  After a bit of instruction and practice, Anja was an equal for Jack one-on-one. Her speed and strength matched his skill and experience. With time and practice, she would be formidable with a blade.

  “That’s enough for today,” Alexander said.

  “Oh, thank the Maker,” Jack said, collapsing onto the ground, lying completely splayed out on the cold stone floor.

  Anja giggled.

  “You did well,” Alexander said. “Think about the things you learned today and we’ll practice more tomorrow.”

  Anja bent down and kissed him on the cheek before skipping out of the Wizard’s Den, humming a tune to herself.

  “Just think, Jack, you’ll be able to tell the story about the time you got into a knife fight with a dragon and lived to tell about it.”

  Jack chuckled, shaking his head. “It would be unbecoming of a bard to tell such a tale about himself, so I rather suspect you will be the hero of this story.”

  “I’m still laid up in bed,” Alexander said.

  “Which makes your role in the story all the more heroic,” Jack said, smiling with mirth and mischief.

  Several days passed. Alexander checked in with Abigail every day, but they hadn’t yet obtained the dragon draught they needed to enter Whitehall. Isabel was still cloaked by the Goiri bone, so Alexander couldn’t find her, a fact that was both a source of worry and solace—worry because he wanted to see her, talk to her, know that she was all right, and solace because he knew she was still alive and Phane wouldn’t be able to find her either.

  He checked in on Lucky every day as well, watching his progress without disturbing him. Once he’d done his daily clairvoyant reconnaissance, Alexander spent the rest of the day with Anja, teaching her to fight. After a few days of training with the knife, she carved a small log into a giant broadsword and asked to start using it instead.

  Alexander agreed, more than anything because he wanted to see this little waif of a girl wielding a sword that most full-grown men wouldn’t be able to handle … and he wasn’t disappointed.

  Anja brought every bit of the strength and speed to wielding the broadsword that she had to the knife, but she was even more aggressive and forceful in her attacks. Jack was no longer her sparring partner—he’d sustained too many bruises and cuts to continue—so Anja practiced by herself against imaginary targets.

  Alexander walked her through each engagement, presenting the imaginary enemies she faced, their locations, armament and actions, then had her explain how she would defend against each attack. Once she outlined her battle plan, Alexander walked her through it, examining how well each step would work, then she would drill her plan.

  She worked tirelessly and relentlessly. She demonstrated a kind of single-minded determination rarely matched by human beings.

  That evening, Alexander went to bed tired but unable to sleep, so he projected into the firmament instead. He went to Lucky first and found him sitting in front of the fire.

  “Ah, Alexander, it’s so good to see you,” Lucky said, standing up. “I’m ready to proceed. I’ve processed the compound through the bright green liquid state you told me of and boiled the mixture down to black, brittle pellets.”

  “Good, this next step will require your magic,” Alexander said. “You must dissolve the black pellets into one pint of muriatic acid and boil the mixture, adding more acid every time the mixture falls below half a pint. This process will take ten hours, during that time you must focus your magic on the mixture each time you add acid. As the solution comes to a boil, visualize the gold particles floating in the solution and see them spinning.”

  “Spinning?” Lucky asked.

  “Yes, spinning very quickly,” Alexander said. “I don’t understand it either, but the sovereigns tell me it’s a necessary step for the process to work.”

  “Very well. And once the ten hours have elapsed?”

  “Boil it down till just dry—it should be white as new-fallen snow. I’ll come back for the next step. If the product isn’t white, you’ll have to start over at step one.”

  “Then I shall focus intently on seeing the gold spinning,” Lucky said. “On another matter, Kelvin would like to speak with you.”

  “I’ll go see him now,” Alexander said, fading away and reappearing in Kelvin’s workshop, which was still under construction.

  “Alexander, it’s good to see you,” Kelvin said, turning away from his supervisory role. “I have things to show you. Come.”

  He followed Kelvin into a well-locked and magically protected vault. It contained all manner of items, from weapons to clothes to jewelry, and everything was enchanted to one degree or another. Kelvin selected a staff from a rack of other staves and held it up for Alexander. It was about six feet long, shod in silver on either end, and carved with runes over every part of its surface. It was well-made and potently enchanted, but its bright, pure white colors told a greater story—this staff was made from the vitalwood tree, a conduit to the realm of light itself.

  “I call her Luminescence,” Kelvin said proudly. “Isabel gave me the idea in her fight with the scourgling. The staff will produce ordinary light in varying intensity from a dim glow to sunlight bright, but that’s not where its real power lies. Every few hours, you can call forth the Maker’s light. Near as I can tell, it’s just as powerful as Isabel’s light—it makes people want to stop fighting, disrupts spell casting for both wizards and witches, and it banishes most demons outright.”

  “Sounds like a potent weapon,” Alexander said. “I’m impressed.”

  “The truth is, the wood itself wanted to be what she became,” Kelvin said. “I had a number of other ideas, but every time I picked up the branch, none of those ideas felt right and this one always did.”

  “Then it’s exactly what it’s supposed to be.”

  “I hope so,” Kelvin said, replacing the staff and picking up a finely crafted, though slightly undersized dagger. “I call this Demonrend. It will banish any demon it draws blood from. Commander P’Tal tells me it’s balanced perfectly for throwing, but still long enough to wield effectively by hand. I made her from a fallen star I found decades ago. I’ve be
en waiting for just the right project for that hunk of metal and this seemed perfect.”

  “Thank you, Kelvin. I was going to head straight to Karth from Tyr, but I think I’ll come to you first.”

  “I hoped you would, as does Commander P’Tal. His wound is all but healed and he’s anxious to resume his duties.”

  “I’ll bet,” Alexander said. “Is Lita still following him around?”

  “All the way here to Glen Morillian,” Kelvin said with a chuckle.

  “He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to miss her when he’s mended.”

  “I suspect you’re right,” Kelvin said.

  “I hope to see you soon,” Alexander said, fading into the firmament.

  He found Lacy sleeping fitfully aboard the Regency warship. Her quarters were comfortable, but there was a guard at the door.

  Alexander slipped into her dreams, but not as himself. Instead, he conjured an image of Lacy’s father in the distance, beckoning to her.

  “You must go to Ithilian,” he said, in a forlorn, desperate way. “You’re going the wrong way.” With that, he withdrew from her dreams, while she continued to toss and turn. It would be so much easier just to talk to her in person, but Alexander didn’t want to risk her safety by putting her in a position to tell lies she wasn’t able to sell.

  ***

  “Dissolve the material in a quart of distilled water, then add a dilute solution of caustic soda in small amounts, stirring constantly until balance between acid and base is achieved—do you know what that means?”

  “I do,” Lucky said, chuckling. “Any alchemist worth his salt would.”

  “All right, boil the mixture down until it’s just dry, then add another quart of distilled water. Boil it down again until you have black granules.”

  “And then?”

  “Then you’ll need an oven that isn’t made out of metal, capable of producing high heat over long periods of time.”

  “I’ll consult Kelvin on the matter,” Lucky said.

  Alexander faded away and returned to Tyr. He’d started sparring with Anja himself, though at slower speeds than she was capable of due to his injury. His leg was mending well, but it was still sore, especially when he put his full weight on it, so he took it easy while working with Anja to improve her technique.

  During these sessions, he discovered that his new precognition was related to threats. If something dangerous was coming his way, he just knew. It first manifested with Anja when she got carried away and forgot they were sparring at half speed. She whirled with her wooden broadsword, bringing the blade around in an arc that would have probably brained Alexander, but he saw it coming a moment before it reached him and was able to duck. Had he been relying on just his all around sight, he might not have been quick enough, given Anja’s extraordinary speed.

  She’d proven to be a quick study, rapidly learning basic knife and sword techniques. She still lacked the nuance and deep understanding that came from experience but she was quite proficient at a variety of attacks, blocks, parries, and feints, having practiced them diligently.

  Alexander started to feel a pang of loss every time he thought about leaving her, but he knew it was the right thing to do, no matter how bad it felt. He sparred with her daily and his leg grew stronger. Captain Kalderson’s ship was coming to get him and he knew there would be no waiting once it arrived. He needed to be in fighting form by then.

  He visited Lacy nightly, sowing the seeds of resistance within her mind, reinforcing her father’s dying command in her dreams: Take the box to Ithilian. Never open it.

  He checked with both Abigail and Lucky every day to see if they were ready to proceed and he worried constantly about Isabel. She was beyond his reach, immune to magic, unfindable.

  After being cooped up in his bed for so long, he started to venture out to the island, walking and exploring with Anja in tow, asking a thousand questions. If felt good to walk again. Even if he wasn’t fully healed, he could still cover some distance before needing to rest.

  ***

  Finally, Lucky reported that an oven fashioned of crystal was complete and ready to use.

  “Place the black crystals in an annealing boat and bake them at high heat for two hours. While they bake, visualize all of the impurities burning away, leaving only spinning particles of gold. After two hours, you should have a fine white powder with almost no weight at all … Wizard’s Dust. One ounce of gold will produce enough for one mana fast.”

  Lucky swallowed hard, looking at the tray of black pellets, realization of what he was about to do sinking in. “We’re about to change the world,” he whispered.

  “Let’s hope for the better,” Alexander said. “You have the whole formula now. Produce enough to meet the needs of the Ruathan and Ithilian Wizards Guilds and the Reishi Coven, but no more. Don’t stockpile any. Make only what you need for each mana fast and only once a candidate is selected. Spread the rumor that another cache of Wizard’s Dust was found in the Reishi Keep.”

  “I understand,” Lucky said. “I’ll protect this sacred charge with my life.”

  Alexander smiled at his old mentor. Lucky wasn’t one for such talk unless he was deadly serious … or afraid. Alexander imagined it was a bit of both. Lucky had just become the most important man alive, the only man in the world who could actually make Wizard’s Dust, the one man with both the necessary power and the requisite knowledge … and that made him the biggest target in all of the Seven Isles. Phane or Zuhl would gleefully kill him to prevent him from producing Wizard’s Dust, or just as happily capture him and torture him for the formula. Either way, his best defense was secrecy.

  “I know you will. I’ll see you soon,” Alexander said, fading out of sight and returning to Tyr and Anja who was waiting not so patiently in the chair beside his bed.

  Chapter 42

  Ixabrax flew low and fast, skimming over the treetops, ducking into valleys and skirting around hills to remain unseen by the soldiers manning Zuhl’s watchtowers. Abigail reveled in the intensity of flight, savoring the cold air on her face and exulting in the falling sensation she felt every time Ixabrax dipped into a low spot. All too soon, he flared his wings and brought the harrowing ride to an abrupt halt, delivering Abigail, Anatoly, and Magda to a secluded clearing boxed in on three sides by steep cliffs. Ixabrax worked his way under the trees to remain as inconspicuous as possible while he waited for Abigail to free his family.

  They approached along the stream that fed into Whitehall’s cistern, moving cautiously, maintaining a keen sense of awareness with every step. Magda tapped both Abigail and Anatoly on the shoulder, signaling that they were close enough for her to disable the guards on the nearest tower.

  After a few moments, two scything pinwheels of faintly glowing magical force appeared over her head for just an instant before they shot forth, decapitating each soldier without a sound.

  “Nice,” Anatoly said … just a moment too soon.

  A horn blew from the topmost tower of the keep, followed by a blindingly bright light emanating from the same tower and illuminating the spot where they stood, alerting the entire fortress to their exact location.

  “How did he see us?” Anatoly asked, spinning his axe into his hands.

  “Magic,” Magda said. “If I had to guess, I’d say a sensitivity spell.”

  “So much for that plan,” Abigail said, heading toward the grate.

  She slipped into the frigid water, bracing for the sting of cold that never came, thanks to the dragon draught. The grate was made of stout steel bars that fell to the Thinblade without resistance.

  Anatoly entered the passage first, followed by Abigail and then Magda. It was narrow and dark and they were up to their armpits in water so cold they would have already succumbed were it not for the magical protection of the dragon draught.

  Not three steps into the passage, the water several feet in front of Anatoly erupted, spraying everywhere. He ducked his head, shielding his eyes from the sudde
n spray as an explosion rocked the passage. Fine steel darts flew in every direction, emanating from a device that had sprung out of the water and detonated in a deadly shower of well-honed steel. Anatoly’s armor protected him and shielded Abigail and Magda behind him as well, but he had no doubt that normal armor would have been no match for the force behind each needle-sharp dart.

  “What was that?” Abigail asked, working her jaw to pop her ears.

  “A trap spell,” Magda said. “I know similar magic … it’s called a porcupine spell. It’s cast upon a specially prepared item, which is then placed and activated. From then on, anyone who approaches the spell will trigger it.”

  “Can you tell if there are any more?” Anatoly asked.

  “Yes, but it may trigger the security field.”

  “I don’t think that matters now,” Abigail said.

  “Fair enough,” Magda said, working her way past Anatoly in the narrow passage. After nearly a minute of whispering to herself, a wave of hazy blue energy emanated from her hands and spread out down the passage. As it passed over two spots in the water, hidden objects pulsed blue, as did the security field.

  “Looks like two more,” Anatoly said. “I’ll trigger them while you two stay back.”

  Anatoly approached the devices with his arms raised across his face and his head down so his armor would take the entire attack. Once the danger had passed, Magda came forward and dispelled the security field. As they pushed through the water, they heard shouting from behind them—soldiers had discovered their point of entry.

  The sound of the soldiers’ voices faded before they reached the second grate barring the way into the main cistern. Abigail cut it open in seconds and then they were struggling to swim to the ledge surrounding the majority of the cistern.

  After they reached the ledge and helped one another out of the water, they heard the muted roar of a drakini. The water was far too cold for the soldiers to survive, but the drakini had no such weakness.