“It means: Open. Now, do as you’re told.”
She reached for the box again, her hand shaking visibly, and spoke the ancient word.
For a fraction of a second she felt like it might open, but then it recoiled as if it sensed her duress. The little box went suddenly dark and lifeless.
Rankosi snarled in anger, raising his club to brain her in sudden fury, but then mastered himself just as quickly.
“What does he know that I don’t know?” he muttered to himself, staring off into the distance. “He could have simply killed the girl and had the box delivered to him, yet he chose …”
Drogan rolled over, drawing a dagger in a single smooth motion, and plunged it into the heart of the sailor, killing him in an instant. A faint black shadow drifted out of the dying man, floating up through the ceiling.
Drogan staggered to his feet and nearly fell again as he found the bench.
“How badly are you hurt?” he asked, burying his face in his hands.
“My hand is broken,” Lacy said. “He hit you really hard.”
Drogan nodded, gently prodding the lump on the back of his head. “Give me a minute to get my bearings and I’ll see if I can do anything for your hand,” he muttered.
She nodded, looking helplessly at her broken hand.
A few minutes later there was a loud pounding at the door.
“Open up in there,” an angry voice said.
When they didn’t immediately respond, the pounding grew louder.
“Open up, right now!”
Lacy looked at Drogan, then at the corpse on the floor as the door burst open and two men entered, followed by the captain.
“I heard a scuffle,” a sailor said. “Came to you with it straightaway, Captain.”
Lacy thought the voice sounded familiar.
“I’ll not tolerate murder on my ship,” the captain said.
“But he was possessed,” Lacy protested.
The captain eyed her with a confused frown.
“I’ve heard a lot of excuses in my time, but that’s a new one on me. Take them to the brig. We’ll sort this out once we’re sure they can’t do any more harm.”
***
They spent the night in cold, cramped cages that shared a wall of bars. Dinner was a moldy piece of bread and a cup of water. Lacy was miserable. Her hand throbbed with pain that wouldn’t let her sleep. The guard ignored her pleas or threatened her when she didn’t relent.
Drogan just curled up on the floor and went to sleep. She didn’t understand him, but she had to admit to herself that she was glad he was still with her, even if they were locked in cages.
Morning came and two men hauled her out of her cell to face the captain. They took her to a little room and sat her roughly in a wooden chair. The captain and first mate sat behind a table facing her. Both guards took positions behind her on either side of the door.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” the captain asked.
“The man came to our quarters and attacked us,” Lacy said, holding up her broken hand as evidence. “He was possessed by a creature that’s been hunting me for weeks.”
“Possessed?” the first mate said. “By what, a shade?” he laughed.
“I don’t know,” Lacy said. “He tortured me and threatened to kill Drogan.”
“She’s crazy,” the first mate said.
“Perhaps,” the captain said. “You killed a good sailor. He just brought you a meal, now he’s dead. Justice must be served.”
“I say we hang them and be done with it,” the first mate said.
“I’m inclined to agree,” the captain said. “Unless you can explain yourself more … rationally, I will pass sentence.”
“Could be she’s someone important,” one of the guards said, “fine stitching in her clothes and all, good steel in her blade, and she paid in gold.”
Lacy’s mind raced. She thought she almost recognized the voice of the guard, but she was far too afraid of hanging to do more than grab hold of the lifeline.
“My name is Lacy Fellenden, Princess of the House of Fellenden. I’ve been sent by my father on an urgent mission to speak with King Abel Ithilian. If you kill me or my companion, you will face justice, Captain.”
The first mate guffawed, but the captain eyed her carefully.
“Not that I believe a word you’ve said, but I think I’ll leave the dispensation of justice to the constable at port. It’ll be another few days. Until then, I hope you enjoy the accommodations.”
Chapter 8
Time passed. Lacy lost track of day and night in the poorly lit hold. Pain was the only constant. Her hand was useless, but that didn’t stop her from trying to use it out of habit, only to remember a moment too late when the constant aching flared into sudden agony. Her only consolation was that the captain had ordered her belongings locked in a strongbox near her cell. At least she knew where the black box was.
Imprisonment gave her time to think, to recall every word of her conversation with Rankosi. He said that the box contained a keystone, to what she had no idea, but the fact that he wanted it was enough to ensure that she would go to great lengths to prevent him from getting it.
He showed her how to open it, told her the ancient word that she needed to speak, yet it didn’t open when she tried. She played that moment over and over in her mind as well. She couldn’t explain it with words, but it felt like the box was sensing her duress, like it chose to remain closed because she was being coerced.
The implications were staggering.
The proof was in the fact that Rankosi hadn’t returned, even though she was certain he was still onboard. If the box couldn’t be opened though coercion, then she had to choose to open it. That meant he would try to trick her. It also meant she was safe, in a manner of speaking anyway. Rankosi wouldn’t kill her if he still needed her to open the box.
Rankosi had also spoken about Phane, at least she assumed he was referring to the Reishi Prince. From the sound if it, Phane wanted the contents of the box as well, but he knew something about it, something that Rankosi didn’t.
She fell asleep, playing the encounter with Rankosi over in her mind yet again and woke with a start. The muffled sounds of shouting and fighting filtered through from the upper deck. She and Drogan shared a worried look, each straining to hear what was happening.
Moments later, the hatch opened and soldiers began to stream into the lower hold where the brig was located. They were big men, brutish-looking, dressed in furs and armed with simple yet effective weapons. Lacy recognized them at once-Zuhl’s soldiers.
“Ah, there you are, Princess,” the man in the lead said. He was easily six and a half feet tall with a close-cropped black beard, bald head, and dark menacing eyes.
“I’m Commander Kahl,” he said. “Lord Zuhl has been looking for you.”
Lacy’s blood ran cold. Her face went white and she nearly fainted. All these weeks of running had come to this. Zuhl had captured her at last. She didn’t know why the ruler of the island to the north wanted her so badly, but she was certain it wouldn’t be good.
“Transfer them both to the brig on our ship,” Commander Kahl said, “and be sure to secure their possessions. Lord Zuhl is particularly interested in one of the items she’s carrying.”
“What of the rest of the passengers and crew?” the man to his right asked.
“Kill them all and sink the ship,” Kahl said. “We have what we came for. Once the prisoners are secure, set course for CrescentBay.”
Lacy whimpered when they roughly locked the shackles around her wrists and she nearly screamed when the soldier grabbed the chain between them and dragged her from her cell toward the steep stairs leading to the upper decks. She watched in helpless horror as the rest of those aboard the refugee vessel were casually slaughtered by Zuhl’s brutes while she was led to the brig aboard the enemy warship. Men jeered and taunted her as she passed them, laughing at her predicament and speculating on how Zuhl might go
about interrogating her. By the time the cold steel bars clanged shut on her new cage, she was totally dispirited. She’d failed her father, and she was probably going to die a terrible death.
Lacy Fellenden curled up on the pallet in the corner and cried herself to sleep.
***
Abigail sat atop her horse, looking out over the snow-dusted valley at the husk of FellendenCity. It was a cold, late autumn day. The first snow had just started falling from a bleak grey sky. The air was still and cold-the city in the distance looked the same.
They had been marching for weeks, thousands of soldiers guarding thousands of refugees. People from all over Fellenden were coming home to the central city of the entire island, the place that once, long ago, had housed the royal House of Fellenden. Now, it was a broken shell of its former glory, yet it was the best place for Abigail’s army to shelter during the winter. Centrally located on the Isle of Fellenden, it gave her strategic options if Zuhl or Phane should choose to attack during the winter, an unwise choice, yet not beyond reason for either tyrant, considering how little they valued the lives of those who served them.
The weather had been cold and clear for most of the journey. Only in the last few days had the sky clouded over. Abigail had prodded her army to move faster, hoping to reach shelter before the inevitable snows began to fall. The soldiers could handle the faster pace, but the refugees could not. They trailed behind the bulk of the army for leagues, struggling to carry all that was left of their possessions to their new temporary home.
“General Markos,” Abigail said, “send half the heavy cavalry forward to scout and secure the city and the other half back to ensure we don’t lose any stragglers in this snow.”
“At once, Lady Abigail,” General Markos said, saluting, fist to heart, before wheeling his horse and tending to his orders.
“I doubt we’ll get everyone inside before dark,” Anatoly said. “Not even sure it would be wise.”
“I concur,” Magda said. “Zuhl is not above leaving a few nasty surprises in his wake to discourage those who might pick the bones of his conquest.”
Abigail nodded, trying to gauge the time of day from the uniformly bleak sky.
“We’ll make camp on the outskirts and move into the city in a careful and orderly manner,” she said. “After bringing these people all this way, I don’t want to blindly walk them into a trap.”
Conner rode up, trailed by two Ithilian royal guards. “Scout riders just returned,” he said. “Irondale has fallen without a fight.”
“Blasted cowards,” Torin said, biting off his words.
“Could be they’re biding their time,” Anatoly said, “waiting for the right moment to strike.”
“Either way, Zuhl’s brutes have a warm place to sleep for the winter,” Abigail said. “At least we know where they are.”
“General Kern reports that the Rangers have done some damage to the enemy forces but not enough to make a difference,” Conner said. “He’s starting to lose men and horses to the cold. The snow started falling a week ago farther north and hasn’t stopped since.”
“Recall him at once,” Abigail said. “We’re at a stalemate until spring.”
“For any significant operations, I’m afraid you’re right,” Magda said, “though there are still some things we can do to make life uncomfortable for our unwelcome guests.”
“I’m all for that,” Abigail said with a sidelong grin, “but let’s see to these people first before we go poking Zuhl in the eye.”
***
A week later they’d cleared the city of the wild dogs and other unpleasant scavengers that had taken refuge in the ruins and they were beginning to rebuild. Abigail made the defenses a priority. Even though she knew that stone walls were no match for the kind of magic Zuhl could bring to bear, she felt better knowing that the people would breathe easier when they were surrounded by a stout wall and heavy Iron Oak gates.
A large portion of the Fellenden family keep had been shattered beyond repair, but part of it was salvageable. Abigail had taken that section as her command post and quarters for herself and her command staff. A single tower still stood on one corner of the keep. Abigail ordered that it be fitted with a guard house and a warning bell. The manor was cold and foreboding at first, but after a few days of work, it started to take on the lived-in feel of a home.
She had taken simple quarters that had probably been occupied by a servant before the attack, but they were close to the master bedchamber that she’d converted into a council hall and strategy room.
Several days after the last of the refugees had been moved into the city, Abigail assembled all of her advisors around the council table. She sat at the head of the table with her sword belt hooked over the corner of her chair. While she felt relatively secure within the keep, she wasn’t about to let the Thinblade out of her sight.
“I’ve received word from several of the other territories,” Torin said. “I estimate another three to four legions are prepared to join our forces. Zuhl’s defeat at the shipyards has heartened many who thought all hope was lost. While there are few on Fellenden who have any real battle experience, many are eager to join the fight now that we have a fighting chance.”
“With our losses at the shipyards, these new additions will bolster our forces to about twelve legions,” General Markos said.
“That should be more than enough to drive the barbarians out of Irondale and into the sea,” Conner said.
“We’ve received reinforcements from the fortress islands,” Corina said. “My wing now stands at ninety-seven Sky Knights, including seventeen witches. Additionally, Bianca has cleared the northern fortress island and established a base of operations there. She is prepared to assist and is already running scouting operations. And Cassandra reports that the wyvern-breeding program is moving ahead and the new class of Sky Knights is ready and awaiting the next hatching.”
“General Kern should arrive within the week,” General Markos said. “Quarters have been set aside for the Rangers, and we’ve already made preparations for stabling their horses. The latest supply shipment arrived from Ithilian today so we should have enough food to last through the winter.”
“Any word from Ruatha?” Abigail asked.
“I’m afraid not,” General Markos said.
Abigail nodded, pursing her lips. Winter had set in, blanketing the majority of the Isle of Fellenden with over six inches of snow and effectively ending any significant military operations. She had turned her attention to the more mundane, yet vitally important tasks of rebuilding FellendenCity and sheltering the soldiers and refugees under her care.
She was running through the checklist of matters to address when the alarm bell tolled. She looked to Captain Sava, who was standing guard along the wall of the big room. He nodded and sent one of his Strikers for a report. Before the man could reach the door, a roar shattered the early evening.
Only one thing could make such a fearsome noise.
A dragon.
The air in the room dropped precipitously as the ceiling crystallized, freezing solid, icicles forming in seconds.
Everyone stood. Magda, Corina, Sark, and Dax began casting spells. The Strikers drew swords and raised shields as a soldier burst into the room.
“A dragon attacks!” he shouted as the arched ceiling shattered, sending blocks of stone raining down.
Anatoly grabbed Abigail and covered her with his body as he shoved her under the table. A rock the size of a man’s head crashed into his back, knocking him unconscious and pinning Abigail underneath him.
Magda’s shield flickered into being, followed a moment later by a force-push spell that shoved a section of ceiling the size of a wagon back against the wall, saving Conner and Torin from being crushed.
Sark turned to wind, barely escaping as several stones crashed into his chair, leaving nothing but splinters.
One Striker managed to deflect a stone with his shield, suffering a broken arm in the bargain. An
other took a direct hit to the head. His helmet was undamaged but the force of the blow broke his neck, dropping him to the floor, dead in an instant.
Sava raced to Abigail, shield raised overhead, and took a position over her and Anatoly to protect them both.
Corina staggered back as a large section crashed into her shield, exploding into smaller stones that clattered to the floor.
Dax cast a spell that caught a dozen or more stones that were falling toward him, stopping them in midair, blue sparkling light dancing over the surface of each, then with a wave of his hands, he tossed them harmlessly against the wall.
Abigail worked to free herself from Anatoly, rolling him over and frantically checking his breathing. She could hear gurgling as he struggled to draw breath.
“Help me get his armor off,” she said to Sava.
She gasped when she saw the extent of the damage. The right side of his upper back was crushed, shattered ribs sticking out and bright red blood flowing freely. She sobbed as she fumbled with her jar of healing salve, scooping out nearly all of the contents and spreading it liberally on his back, then gently rolling him onto his side so she could pour a healing draught down his throat.
When she looked up into the sudden silence, she saw that General Markos and two of the Strikers had been killed by the falling debris. The general was crushed under a section of stone that would have killed a horse. He’d died almost instantly. Several Strikers were down, a few were struggling to get back up, some would never rise again.
“Call for a healer,” Abigail commanded.
One of the Strikers nodded and raced off.
“We have to get you out of here, Lady Abigail,” Sava said.
“I’m not leaving him,” she said, kneeling next to Anatoly and cradling his head in her lap. She felt the knot in her stomach tighten when she saw the bright red blood on his lips. He was hurt … badly. Then she heard another roar, and though not as fearsome as a dragon’s, it had a similar quality. She looked up and saw a dozen or more creatures descending into the room.
Cursed Bones sotsi-5 Page 6