Path of Bones

by Steven Montano

  Two of the cats jumped into the slaves and slashed bodies apart in a storm of blood and limbs. Shrill screams rang out, pitiful and mewling cries. A dozen mercenaries pushed through the slaves, hacking down those who got in their way. The Razorcat’s tongues snatched off heads and their claws crushed skulls.

  Armed men descended on the Razorcats with flashing swords, but the beasts of the Bonelands were stronger and faster, and the mercenaries were hacked to pieces.

  Crogas and Kala both called on the Veil from their separate positions. Crogas was suddenly aloft, floating on an invisible disc of force that carried him high into the air. Kala lifted herself from the ground on freezing wind that rippled her hair and swept her up like she rode on the back of an ocean wave.

  The air crackled with the smell of death. Her lions stayed behind her in spite of their roars, obeying her silent will. Down below she heard Vance order her personal guard to form a perimeter around the manor and wait for his orders.

  Crogas fired molten blades from his hands, and the air burned. The Veilcrafted missiles dodged around Cabal mercenaries until they found the Razorcats. Gritty roars turned to painful hisses as the burning projectiles sprayed the cat’s insides to the ground. Two of the creatures fell.

  Kala’s vision turned red. Spiky tendrils of ebon frost oozed from her fingers. Spectral tentacles twisted around the bodies of two more Razorcats and crushed them, squeezing out blood and guts until the bodies exploded across the ground and covered nearby slaves and soldiers in a nauseating splash.

  Only a few of the predators remained. Drazzek and Gallaean led the next wave of soldiers through a crowd of mutilated slaves in a clang of rushing steel and battle cries. Drazzek’s black armor and white skin stood out in the tide of bodies, and he moved with the grace of a dancer as his raak’ma sliced through a fast-leaping Razorcat and opened it from groin to throat. Gallaean took a claw wound across his armored chest, but he hardly seemed to notice as he swung his heavy flail and murderously bludgeoned the offending creature to a bloody pulp.

  The soldiers mopped up the last pair of cats. In just a few short minutes it was all over, but the price paid was heavy: thirteen Razorcats had killed twenty-seven slaves and a dozen armed soldiers.

  “I hate those damn things,” Gallaean cursed. After the battle he sat perched on a low stone wall and wrapped a bandage around his hairy chest. He had a tattoo of Corvinia’s ankh-crucifix on his right shoulder, though he’d sliced through it with a blade long ago to leave an X-shaped scar over his holy symbol.

  “They’re becoming a real problem,” Crogas said. The Drage spat on the ground. “That’s, what, the third attack in the last couple of weeks?”

  “And the last two came close together,” Kala said, half to herself. “They were one of Vlagoth’s creations. They’re attracted to what we’re doing here, drawn to protect the Scarstones.” She looked at the others. “They’re trying to stop us.”

  Gallaean smiled.

  “Let them try,” he said. “I have no fear of the Blood Queen’s unholy creations.”

  “Soon they’ll be our unholy creations,” Kala said. “I trust you won’t have any problems with that.” She turned and walked away. The bodies were hauled off, and soon the slaves were sent back to work. Those few who complained were put to the sword, and within minutes everything was as it had been.

  Gallaen’s right, Kala thought gravely. We’ll need more workers, and more men. The rest of the Cabal will not be pleased.

  Kala didn’t return to the manor but walked over to where the bodies had been unceremoniously piled. The mutilated corpses were covered with tarps, though later they’d be burned. Blood soaked into the dirt, making it damp and thick. Mangled arms and flayed legs dangled from the pile. Already the stink of the dead hung in the air like a fog.

  A pair of slave girls knelt before the mound of bodies, uttering prayers to the One Goddess. One of her White Dragon soldiers stood watching the corpses with his helmet in hand, silently muttering a prayer of his own. They hadn’t bothered separating the warriors from the slaves – there was no point. They were all to be burned in the end.

  So much death, Kala thought. If only you were here, Mother, I’d gladly add you to this pile, for what you’ve done to me and my kind.

  Kala turned to leave, but a dark chill suddenly gripped her heart. Ripples of fear pulsed through her body, and her skin prickled with dread. Something pulled her eyes to the pile, to something in the pile, one of the bodies. Shaking, Kala Breathed the Veil and pushed corpses aside, gently parting the mountain of dead flesh so she could see what had rooted her to the spot – the corpse of a young man with short hair and a powerful jaw. Her next breath was ragged.

  Tharus was dead.

  She shouldn’t have felt anything, shouldn’t have cared.

  Love is for the weak.

  But she fell to her knees, and tears welled in her eyes. At that moment she didn’t care who saw her as she watched him, remembered his smiling face, all of those years spent at her side, his devotion, his obedience, his touch.

  The world washed away.

  Hours later Kala sat alone in her chamber, her skin bathed in sweat and her eyes fixed on an invisible space in the air. A sense of loss eclipsed her. She’d never felt so alone, not even on the eve of her sixteenth birthday, when the Empress had tried to kill her.

  Crogas and Gallaean avoided her, the former because he didn’t care about her loss and the latter because he wouldn’t have been able to hide his distain. Only Drazzek comforted her, strange, silent, lethal Drazzek Ma’al. The assassin sat with her for her a time and offered her his hand while she cried, and nothing more. No one aside from Tharus had ever done that for her.

  Kala sat alone as night fell, having shed all of her tears. Anger filled her with comfortable heat. Her blood pounded from the proximity of the Scarstones.

  There would be no stopping her. She knew that now.

  When she dreamed that night it was of the faces of those who’d wronged her, melting in a tide of fire and blades, and when she woke the next morning Kala Azaean was smiling.

  Six

  They made their journey in near silence.

  Ijanna had never beheld a place so tainted and foul. The wind-blasted ruins of Gallador were dead lands, a black waste of dust and pestilence.

  Steel clouds filled the sky like lost ships. Ijanna and Kath moved away from the River Black to avoid pirate vessels sailing out of Kaldrak Iyres, and traveled north along the eastern edge of the Razortooth. Dense black forests covered the mountains like fields of shadow.

  Memory of what she’d lost turned her blood to ice, but Ijanna buried her fear and carried on.

  The land was rough and bleak, all jagged hills and fields of razored thorns. They saw the ruined remnants of burned out buildings, and the few inhabited structures they came across were old forts or shanties used by refugees or slavers. They were deep in lawless territory, and Ijanna made clear to Kath there was only one rule in the Bonelands – stay alive, no matter the cost.

  It was near dusk. The sky was muted orange and filled with ribbons of cloud. Everything glowed red as the sun set behind the knife-like peaks. There were few trails, but at least there was cover. Ijanna’s legs had started to cramp, but she wanted to make more progress before they had to camp for the night. The air smelled of something dead, and the black wind whistled like the voice of a dying man.

  Kath, for his part, had been stoic and tight-lipped for the duration of their week-long journey across the unpleasant steppes, hacking his way through brambles that twisted like blades across the foothills. They’d be able to see Kaldrak Iyres within another day or two, but Ijanna had no intention of actually going there. She had enemies in the city, even more there than in Ebonmark, but avoiding it presented them with a problem, which Kath pointed out on those few occasions when he spoke to her: food in the region was scarce, and they’d soon need more of it. Bloodspeakers didn’t have the ability to conjure nourishment the way a Veilw
arden could, and since there was little game to be found Ijanna couldn’t even use charms of beguiling to slow a deer or hawk down long enough for them to hunt game.

  Voicing concern over their provisions was really the only conversation Kath had offered since leaving Ebonmark. Ijanna didn’t blame him – she’d taken him from his world and his family, all for a purpose he didn’t believe in and couldn’t understand.

  How can he, when I hardly understand it myself?

  She wanted to talk to him, to try and comfort him, but she didn’t know where to start. His mother had been stolen away from his family in much the same way that Ijanna had stolen him, and though she hated herself for it there was little she could do. The Veil had bonded them the moment Ijanna used her magic to heal Kath of the magical plague Serpentheart, and to deny him his Veil-driven purpose to protect her would kill him.

  But it doesn’t have to be a death sentence, she thought. Talk to him. But every time she tried he just grunted and made clear he wasn’t interested in what she had to say.

  So they pressed on, awkward and silent. They walked and camped and scanned their surroundings for any sign of enemies or pursuit, but there was rarely anything living in sight. The few pirates or scavengers they’d viewed had all been from afar, and aside from an occasional hawk or vole they hadn’t even seen any wildlife. Even insects seemed to avoid the Bonelands.

  After another hour spent walking across uneven stones and climbing through brush Ijanna was thoroughly exhausted. Since Kath always followed her lead she tried to make good time, rising early and marching for as long as they could. She didn’t know what else to do. Direction had been burned into her mind since she was young, and her desire to find the other Skullborn – and possibly the answers to her questions about avoiding her suicidal destiny – had been reinforced by the thar’koon, those bizarre twin blades which guided her into the heart of the Bonelands. She felt close, so close, to escaping the fate foreseen by the mystics of Allaj Mohrter. They told her she’d heal the world through her sacrifice, and that the only way to prevent a terrible cataclysm was to end her own life and resurrect the Blood Queen. It was a well-guarded secret she imagined would be enough to bring the Empires of Jlantria and Den’nar to the walls of Allaj Mohrter looking for war if it ever got out.

  Ijanna couldn’t accept that fate.

  Who could?

  And yet that path felt right. It was difficult to doubt its validity, what with all of the signs, the prophecies and portents that had been shown to her time and again, the evidence of her power, the dreams, and the many forces who wanted to get their hands on her. She felt guilty for wanting to find another path for herself, guilty that many had already died in her attempts to elude her destiny, but she’d come too far to stop now.

  She had to believe there was some way to be free of her curse. She was one of the most powerful Bloodspeakers to have ever lived, and unlike others of her kind she had a limitless reservoir of power. She would never wonder how many minutes of her life she’d just burned away creating some charm or illusion, never regret those spent seconds as she grew older, wondering what piece of magic she could have avoided just to give herself more time.

  I have my own prison, she thought bitterly. I have a freedom no Bloodspeaker will ever know, yet it doesn’t matter, because in the end I’ll die just like the rest.

  A sense of dread weighed heavy on her soul even now that she finally had the means to track down the last of her kind. What if Kala had no more information than she herself did? In many ways this gambit felt like it was her last hope. Ijanna had already tracked down the other Skullborn, and as a reward for her diligence she’d made a deadly enemy. If Kala couldn’t help her, all of Ijanna’s efforts would have been in vain.

  But would that be so horrible? she asked herself. There are worse deaths than sacrificing yourself for the greater good. People die by the hundreds every day, murdered, starving, diseased. Your death would have purpose. Meaning.

  It didn’t make her feel any better. Ijanna went to sleep every night in the grip of fear. Her nerves were frayed, and it wasn’t just because of the dangers of their surroundings or her desperate hope that Kath would survive his servitude.

  Before long she’d finally have to accept the inevitable. She’d have to accept her fate.

  I can’t. I’m not ready.

  Grim red light fell on the sharp stones of the hills. They ascended a rocky slope overlooking trees so thickly shadowed they looked like ink stains. No soil covered the headland, and the ground was littered with dried pine needles and cracked leaves the color of rust.

  “We need to stop,” Ijanna said at last. Night was coming on fast, and even with the light of the rising moon it would soon be too dark to continue. They’d come across the bones of travelers who’d carried on after the light had faded, their legs snapped sideways in thin crevices and their bodies held tight while Bonelands beasts feasted on their flesh. “We need to find a place to camp.” Her calves flared with pain, and her entire body ached with fatigue.

  Stupid, she chided herself. You should have stopped earlier, not only for the sake of your legs but because it’s easier to make camp when you’re not stumbling around in the dark.

  Kath looked around. The tension between them was unbearable, an almost physical presence. She could feel his fear and resentment in every gesture and sideways glance. He’d stopped offering the advice and reassurances he’d so freely given back in Ebonmark...before he’d learned what it was they had to do. Even with as hard as it had been for him to part ways with his family – especially considering all they’d been through on account of a Bloodspeaker already – it was learning the truth of Ijanna’s mission that had turned him cold towards her. He couldn’t reconcile the notion of resurrecting the Blood Queen, and Ijanna couldn’t blame him.

  In spite of all that, Kath still watched over her, and whenever Ijanna stumbled or fell he was always close by to offer his hand. He moved first into shadowy or uncertain areas, followed her directions without question, and didn’t complain.

  He had little choice but to serve her – the Veil saw to that – but Ijanna didn’t want a slave. She wanted a partner, a traveling companion. Someone she could talk to. Still, she wasn’t going to try and convince Kath that their mission was something he should accept. How could she, when she hadn’t been able to do that herself?

  “This should do,” he said after a few more minutes. Kath found them a shallow cave in the side of a hill covered with stunted trees. Both of their faces were pasted with sweat. They wore simple dark cloaks over their leather armor, and each carried a light pack. Kath’s curved axe was always in hand, while Ijanna kept her short blades concealed near her hips and the thar’koon slung across her back.

  Unlike the deserts near Allaj Mohrter the Bonelands didn’t cool at night, but Kath built a small fire nevertheless. They’d had more than their fair share of cold camps that past week, and the cave would help conceal the flames from any wandering eyes. They’d been lucky to that point and hadn’t had to deal with more than a few wild dogs and some ill-equipped brigands who Kath scared away with his size alone.

  The two of them sat and ate dried bars made of wheat and raisins and drank water from their canteens. Ijanna kept her cloak cinched tight to her throat, not because she was cold but because it gave her free hand something to do. She tried to focus on chewing, but she was so exhausted she kept drifting off. She’d rested little all that week, and what sleep she found was plagued with nightmares of Chul Gaerog. Ever since they’d left Ebonmark the visions had gotten worse.

  Lying down to sleep meant tomorrow would be there, and she’d be another day closer to stepping foot in the Black Tower.

  Am I just prolonging the inevitable? she wondered. She finished her food and looked up at the darkening sky. I’m afraid I’m right, she told herself. I’m afraid that all of this, the thar’koon, Kath, the Skullborn…none of it will mean anything. There’s no escape. I can’t change what’s meant to be.
>
  “Ijanna?” Kath’s voice startled her from her reverie. Tears streamed down her face.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. She hastily wiped her eyes. “I’m…I’m fine.” She looked at him. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Kath looked away, almost guiltily. His eyes were glossy with tears of his own.

  “Yes,” he said wearily. “And no. I’m…” He looked at the ground. “I’m scared.”

  “So am I,” she said, and she laughed nervously. “But you and I…we’ve said all this before.”

  “I know,” he said with a sad smile.

  Ijanna hesitated. The wind picked up outside, whipping loose sticks and stones through the night air. A wolf called from somewhere in the distance.

  “Kath?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry you had to get involved in this. I’m sorry…that I can’t make you understand.”

  Kath threw a twig into the fire. It crackled and sizzled. Something was boiling up inside him, something he didn’t want to say.

  “You’re doing this to save lives, right?” he asked quietly.

  “Yes,” she said. “You have my word.” She pulled a strand of her blonde hair back from her face. Her eyes were tired, and the pulsing glow there in the cave seemed to be the only light left in the world. The air was sticky with smoke and sweat. “I can tell you more, if you want to hear.”

  “No,” Kath said. “Not right now.” He stared at the flames. Dancing light played across his broad face. Even sitting there he was a mountain, a giant of a boy with shaggy brown hair and the burning flames of youth in his eyes. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  There was so much he wasn’t saying, but Ijanna was thankful for what he had said.

  “If it makes any difference,” she said, “remember that what we’re doing out here is to try and find another way...to see if there is another way.”