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

by David A. Wells

  Hector didn’t waver. He carried Hazel over his shoulder like so much produce until he was before the altar, looking at the remains of his brother. He set Hazel aside and very carefully picked up Horace’s corpse, carrying him to the far side of the room and gently laying him on the floor next to the wall.

  “I wish I could do more for you, Brother,” Hector whispered.

  He strode up to a wide-eyed Hazel and stopped, looking down on her, his expression a condemnation. Then he picked her up and put her on the altar. When she struggled, he sat her up and slapped her across the face so hard that her head lolled to the side. Hector laid her down and started chanting the words engraved on the altar without any hesitation.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Isabel said.

  Hector ignored her, chanting more forcefully, his voice filling the large chamber. Hazel came to her senses and started to get up when she was seized by wisps of black smoke suddenly appearing all around her. She froze in place, paralyzed by her life essence draining away from her and into the ghidora.

  Streamers of energy, most dark and muddy, flowed from Hazel to the stalker-demon until she shriveled up and died, the beast coming alive, its eyes and tail blades glowing with power and murder. It leapt from its circle and ran down the large corridor to the opening in the side of the mountain … and then it was gone.

  Hector slumped to his knees, crying with his head in his hands. Isabel left him to his grief, but Trajan and his men were alarmed by the turn of events. The prince started to approach Hector, when Isabel intercepted him, pulling him aside.

  “What just happened?”

  “Hector just avenged his brother by sacrificing Hazel in exactly the same way she sacrificed Horace.”

  Trajan looked at the platform, then at Horace’s corpse and nodded. “I accept Hector’s motives, but what of the demon? Such a thing cannot be allowed to roam free.”

  “It won’t. Hector sent it to kill Phane,” Isabel said. “Then it will come back here.”

  “Do you think it will succeed?”

  “No,” Isabel said. “But at least Phane will know we’re thinking about him, and that’s worth something.”

  “I have never seen such a monstrous thing,” Trajan said. “How could anyone stand against it, even Phane?”

  “Magic,” Isabel said.

  Trajan hefted his club and looked at it intently. “If magic can defeat such a thing, and if this bone can resist magic, then this club makes me the equal of any wizard or witch.”

  “Perhaps, but all it takes is one well-placed blade and you’ll fall just the same as anyone else,” Isabel said. “Don’t let the power of that club go to your head.”

  “How can I not?” Trajan said. “With this, I can finally rid my house of the Sin’Rath and kill Phane as well.”

  “One thing at a time,” Isabel said. “Just remember, you can still die from an arrow, or a sword, or a dagger, or a jaguar, or from those horrible leeches in the swamp or …”

  “I get your point,” Trajan said, forestalling her with a hand held up in surrender. “Where would you go from here?”

  “After the Sin’Rath,” Isabel said. “I don’t know how many there were in the first place, but Phane killed one, and I watched a wraithkin kill one, and Hazel sent the ghidora after another.”

  “That would mean there are ten left at the most,” Trajan said. “We won’t be able to track the two that traveled with us through the swamp, so I recommend we return to our fortress and see if we can figure out where they went from there.”

  “I agree,” Isabel said. “Do you know another way out of here?”

  “I was hoping you did,” Trajan said. “We came in through the top of the mountain and were set upon by gargoyles, dozens of them. I arrived here with twenty-four men, I have seven left.”

  Isabel looked down the tunnel leading to the opening used by the ghidora and weighed her options.

  “It’s worth a look,” Trajan said, motioning for two of his men to go investigate. They returned half an hour later, describing a thousand-foot cliff marred by claw marks. It was sheer, smooth, and nearly perfectly vertical.

  They returned to the black-and-white room, then went up the spiral stairs to the barracks level, through the dining hall to the staircase on the opposite end, and up. After several flights, they came to another barracks level identical to the one below. Two more levels followed as they corkscrewed up through the heart rock of the mountain. The stair came to an end in a nondescript stone room.

  Beyond that room, they found themselves in a partially collapsed basement. Trajan led them on a path through the debris, following markers he’d laid down as he entered, climbing a partially caved in ceiling to the level above and eventually to an exit.

  “Gargoyles line the walls,” he said, pointing up at the inanimate guardian statues. There were dozens of them. Isabel was acutely aware of her limitations without magic. She would have to fight creatures made of stone with nothing but swords.

  “I don’t like those odds,” Isabel said.

  “Nor do I,” Trajan said, “but I know of no other way out.”

  “Do we know if the bones do anything to them?”

  Trajan looked at the femur he’d transformed into a club. The hilt was wrapped with a leather thong that ended in a lanyard, and he’d begun to carve symbols into the bone.

  “I will go alone,” he said, “draw them out and flee if they’re able to overcome the bones. Remain hidden.”

  Trajan stepped out into the daylight, took three strides and stopped, waiting for the gargoyles to react. He didn’t have long to wait. Seconds later, three woke and leapt off the wall, spreading their wings and diving toward him. The Prince of Karth held his ground, his club ready to strike, preparing to hit the first that got close to him. They lined up, one behind the next. Each evened out into a graceful dive that would bring it down on top of Trajan, one after another.

  He waited.

  When the first reached a range of about thirty feet, it very suddenly transformed into fine sand and scattered to the ground. The next in line disintegrated as well when it got too close, but the final of the three pulled up and returned to the wall, eyeing Trajan with menace.

  Isabel and her party escaped the walls of the ruins under the watchful eyes of two dozen gargoyles, all awake but all remaining on the wall, thwarted by the Goiri’s bones. When they entered the jungle, momentary relief at avoiding a fight with the gargoyles was quickly replaced with fear of jungle predators. Keenly aware of the dangers surrounding them, they moved slowly through the brush to avoid making too much noise. Trajan assigned one of his men to teach Isabel stealth in the jungle. Using nothing but hand signals, he guided Isabel until she’d learned to move quietly.

  Nearly halfway down the mountain, Trajan stopped and went to a knee, signaling to the man behind him—there were three raptors ahead. Isabel was impressed with how disciplined his men were. She watched and obeyed as well as she could, going to a knee and relaying the hand signal to the man behind her. Within seconds, the entire group was low and quiet while Trajan formulated a plan.

  He waved three of his men to him as he produced a small box and opened it carefully. Each of the three men carefully dipped a blowgun dart into the goop inside the box. Once armed, they melted into the jungle, circling the raptors while remaining downwind, flanking the predators until they could get the shot. Time stretched out. The jungle was silent. Isabel started to wonder. She would be watching through Slyder were it not for the cursed bone hanging around her neck.

  Her anxiety started to build, worry transforming into fear and nearly spiking into panic when the three men finally returned and Trajan motioned for everyone to proceed quietly.

  Isabel’s sudden panic faded away as quickly as it had assailed her. She pondered it while she walked. She’d never experienced anything like it in her life, debilitating fear in the face of … nothing. It was unnerving.

  All three raptors were down and unconscious, felled
by poisoned darts delivering venom powerful enough to overcome even them. They moved past them and reached the edge of the swamp by late afternoon. Trajan cursed when they arrived at the spot where they’d left their rafts. All of them were gone, simply vanished.

  “I have a boat farther south,” Isabel offered.

  “How many will it hold?”

  “Probably seven, plus I have a raft that can hold the other four.”

  It didn’t take long to reach Isabel’s hiding place, load everybody into the boats and cast off. Isabel was more than happy to be leaving the mountain. She had what she’d come for … and the place had been less than welcoming.

  Trajan set a grueling pace for his men, rowing the boat and poling the raft as fast as they could go, without interruption, one team of rowers taking over for the previous team, ensuring that forward motion never stopped. They reached the inner band of high ground late the following day with just enough time before dark to build a fire.

  Trajan sat in front of the fire, the Goiri bone heavy end down between his feet, his hands resting on the pommel. “With this, I could rid Karth of magic once and for all.”

  His men nodded, murmuring their agreement.

  “I could eliminate it from all the Seven Isles.”

  His men stopped nodding and started looking at each other.

  “Magic is not evil, Trajan,” Ayela said. She’d been very quiet since Hazel had been sacrificed. “It can be used for good as well.”

  “It’s too much power to be entrusted to any one person,” Trajan said. “Magic can do terrible things. Look what it did to our family—even to the Regency command staff.”

  “Bad people did those things,” Ayela said. “They just used magic to make them happen.”

  “My point exactly,” Trajan said. “If they didn’t have magic in the first place, they wouldn’t be able to do such things. Eliminate magic and preserve the world.”

  “And how do you plan to eliminate magic?” Ayela asked. “Are you going to start murdering people just because they have magic?”

  Trajan frowned, his state of mind suddenly shifted by the slap-in-the-face tone of his sister’s rebuke. He shook his head slightly as if facing his own statements for the first time and finding them abhorrent. “I’m not sure why I said that,” he muttered, still shaking his head.

  Isabel absentmindedly played with the Goiri bone hanging around her neck while she watched the exchange. She needed Trajan, both in the short term to get where she was going and in the long term as an ally, but his behavior was starting to worry her.

  He quietly excused himself and slipped off into the mist. Not a minute later, he cried out for help.

  Everyone came to their feet, drawing weapons and moving toward his voice. He wasn’t forty steps outside the camp, just beyond the range of sight, and he was completely wrapped up by a giant snake, lying on his side, one arm free, struggling to breathe. The black-scaled monster was easily forty feet long and it had a good eight feet of itself wavering threateningly over Trajan’s head, six coils wrapped around his body and the rest trailing out behind him into the mist.

  Trajan’s men spread out, surrounding the snake, but it hissed and struck, driving them back a step or two. Isabel tossed Trajan her dagger. He clawed around in the dirt blindly until his hand found steel, then came up with the blade and plunged it into the first coil of the snake. The snake flinched, loosening its grip, giving Trajan a precious gulp of air, before tightening around him again.

  He stabbed again, and again. Each time, the snake recoiled but not enough for him to get free. One of his men got too close, jabbing at the snake with a spear. It dodged right and struck, four-inch fangs piercing into the man’s chest in a blink, then recoiling just as fast, leaving the man still standing for just a moment before he realized he was dead and fell over.

  Trajan buried the knife to the hilt and started sawing across the snake’s body. It started to unwind, but Trajan held on, cutting crosswise, trying to cut it in half, until it tore free and vanished into the swamp. He got to his feet and handed Isabel her dagger with a nod of thanks before retrieving his club and turning toward the fire. He made it just one step before he collapsed, coughing up blood.

  Chapter 45

  They carried him to the fire and laid him down, but that only seemed to make things worse. He seized up in pain, gasping in short breaths, rolling on his side and curling into a ball. His men looked from one to the other and shook their heads in resignation. He’d been crushed by a giant snake. Most people didn’t survive such a thing.

  Isabel walked over and picked up the club, Ayela forestalling any protest from Trajan’s men with a withering glare while standing over her wounded brother. Isabel walked away into the swamp, far enough for Hector’s last healing potion to work. Without it, Trajan would die. With it, he’d be on his feet in a couple of days. When she asked Ayela if they should use it, given Trajan’s feelings about magic, Ayela insisted they use it immediately.

  When Isabel and the Goiri bone were far enough away, Ayela administered the potion, much to the consternation of Trajan’s men. They protested loudly but she ignored them as she tipped her brother’s head back. After swallowing the draught, he fell into a fitful sleep, becoming feverish in the night and waking frequently.

  By morning, he was sleeping soundly and it looked like the worst of his injuries were mended. Isabel kept the club away from him while the potion did its work. She didn’t know if the Goiri bone would stop the potion from working at this point, but she didn’t want to take the risk.

  By evening, he was up and mended well enough to walk. Isabel gave him back his club.

  “Ayela tells me she demanded magic be used to heal me.”

  “Yes,” Isabel said.

  He nodded, frowning. “Thank you,” he muttered, turning away from her.

  They set out the following morning on a maddening journey through a maze of high ground that didn’t often connect. Without Slyder, Isabel felt blind. She’d always taken him for granted, or at least the power he gave her … now she recognized just what a blessing he really was.

  They reached the far side of the high ground several frustrating days later. Tensions were high. The mist was starting to bear down on them, pressing in from all sides like it meant them harm, creating anxiety, fear, even panic. They’d had to backtrack dozens of times and they’d gotten turned around several times, but they’d finally reached deep water. One last stretch and they would be free of the insistent desolation all around them.

  It took a day to harvest the wood for the two rafts they would need and another day to build them. They set out at dawn the following morning, poling across the water with two men working together on each raft to move them at best speed. By dark, they’d traversed the majority of the band of water circling the outskirts of the gloaming swamp, but they chose to tie off to a tree and wait for dawn before proceeding.

  By dark the following day, they were several leagues into the jungle and feeling much better for it. Spirits were high when they stopped to make camp. The chittering, burbling, singing life all around was a stark and welcome contrast to the lifeless desolation of the swamp. Isabel was buoyed by the abundance surrounding her, wishing she could share it with Alexander as she drifted off to sleep.

  The journey to the hidden keep took several days along a path selected by Trajan to be both direct and little used. What it turned out to be was an overgrown game trail. On the second day, two dozen tree rats attacked by surprise, but they all targeted the last man in line, swarming over him, driving him to his knees and killing him in a matter of seconds.

  Everyone watched with a mixture of fear and revulsion, stunned by the sudden speed and overwhelming violence of the attack, until a number of tree rats turned toward them and hissed in challenge, guarding their next meal.

  They moved with more care from then on which slowed them down but also prevented them from blundering into the clearing in front of the cave mouth leading to the fortress en
trance.

  Trajan signaled—four Regency soldiers—everyone went to a knee. He pointed to three of his men and signaled for them to circle the clearing and attack from a different angle, then waited for them to reach their position before silently ordering his remaining two men to follow him into battle.

  All six charged into the clearing without a word, closing the distance to the four soldiers before they could fully process what was happening. Overwhelming force, coupled with the element of total surprise produced predictable results. Trajan reached his intended target first, swinging his bone club up and under the side of the soldier’s jaw, lifting her up off the ground and twisting her head around with such force that her neck snapped, killing her before the blood spray from her shattered jaw could reach the ground. The remaining three died almost as quickly, two managing to get their swords half drawn before Trajan’s men reached them.

  Trajan and his companions entered the fortress cautiously, but the place was dead and still. At the main entrance, Isabel saw the remains of a battle she’d fought in days past. Four corpses lay crumpled around the entrance, decomposing just enough to lend a sickly scent to the musty air, all dead by Isabel’s hand. Several more killed by others were scattered about, left to rot where they fell. In the center of the room was one of the witches, the greatest stench of decay coming from her corpse.

  “So this one is definitely dead,” Isabel said. “If we assume the ghidora killed the one Hazel sent it after and Phane killed Clotus, that leaves ten.”

  “We should make a thorough search of this place,” Trajan said. “If more of the witches fell here, I want to know of it.”

  “You know this place better than anyone,” Isabel said. “I recommend we stick together in case we run into more soldiers.”