Path of Bones

by Steven Montano

  This is a terrible idea, Dane thought, but he was having trouble coming up with a better plan.

  The giant blinked his solid white eyes and looked around. He was essentially invisible in the surrounding darkness. Every motion he made rocked the ship. His head was the size of a shield, and the only thing Dane could make out clearly as the giant spoke were his eyes and blunt white teeth.

  “Are we safe?” he asked in his bizarre language. Dane looked around. A couple of city patrol vessels sailed in the distance, and further ahead a number of schooners hauled crates and barrels.

  “Stay low,” Dane said in Vossian. As usual, he guessed he’d actually said “Low stay”, but it seemed Kruje was getting used to his pedestrian grammar. “All right?”

  If chasing Ijanna makes me crazy, traveling with a Voss makes me a complete lunatic. Allies of the Blood Queen during the Rift War, the black giants called the Voss – cruel engineers of Veilcraft, rulers of the subterranean city of Meledrakkar and the scourge of the underworld – were seldom seen on the surface ever since their technology had led to the destruction of Gallador, ultimately leading to the creation of the wastes he and Kruje sailed through now. The Voss were the sworn enemies of humankind, and now Dane accompanied one of them, trying to learn his language and maybe even becoming friends with him. The fact that they’d been forced to escape Ebonmark together certainly had something to do with their traveling arrangements, but Kruje had chose to remain on the ship even after they’d reached safety, and Dane had no idea what to make of that.

  He could still be regenerating, Dane thought. Maybe all of this rest has been so he can regain his strength. Either way, Dane intended to get into the city, and if Kruje wanted out this was going to be his last chance.

  “Where are we?” Kruje asked. It took Dane a moment to translate the words in his head.

  “A city,” he said.

  “Why?” Kruje asked. He watched the Knight confoundedly.

  Dane had to carefully consider his words before he answered. Kruje waited patiently. The Voss was all too aware of Dane’s language limitations, but the way he spoke to Dane told him the giant appreciated the communication, as he used small words and sparse syntax so as not to confuse his human partner.

  “Woman,” Dane said, slowly. “The woman.”

  Kruje nodded. He understood from their prior exchanges that Dane was looking for someone, a friend he was supposed to help. Or at least Dane hoped he’d been able to get that much across.

  The giant pointed at Kaldrak Iyres.

  “Here?” he asked.

  “Maybe,” Dane said. “Not sure.”

  Kruje watched Dane, and looked back at the city. The giant’s ebon flesh was laced with beads of sweat.

  “War nordek con rappes?” he said, his thick voice loud in the night. Dane’s blank stare must have conveyed the fact that he hadn’t understood a word of what the giant just said. He didn’t understand the next sentence, either, but a curse was a curse in any language, and the Voss was clearly annoyed. He pointed at the city, pointed at himself, and then shrugged.

  “That’s up to you,” Dane said in Jlantrian, but he’d already thought of what to say in Voss. “Come with me, and hide. Or go home, alone.” The Voss narrowed his eyes and moved his thick hands in a way that indicated he wanted Dane to repeat himself. Dane did. The giant folded his arms, which were as big around as tree trunks and knotted with oily black muscles.

  “Where would I go?” the giant asked. Dane couldn’t be sure, but he thought he noted the faintest hint of sadness in Kruje’s alien and inhuman voice.

  Dane pointed to the shores, and back down the River Black.

  “Anywhere,” he said. I owe you that much for helping me.

  Kruje looked at each the river and city in turn.

  “Hide?” he asked.

  “Hide,” Dane said with a reluctant nod.

  The giant made a very human sigh.

  Kaldrak Iyres’ water channels had been designed to discourage attacks originating from the lake, and they spread under the city like a spider’s web. Most of the tunnels were wide enough to accommodate sailing vessels and small warships, but their confusing layout made direct access to the docks all but impossible, and it required patience and careful navigation to avoid colliding with the curved walls lined with murder holes, siege weapons and Veilcrafted traps capable of turning even a stout frigate into a flaming husk by the time it reached any place it could do significant damage.

  Dane piloted their ship through the twisted tunnels. Lit braziers set in alcoves in the sandstone walls cast blazing illumination, and only the steady flow of wind kept the tunnels from clogging up with dark smoke. The waterways were busy, and it took careful piloting to avoid the other ships coming and going from the docks: sleek Raithian vessels with dark furled sails and black-clad pirates wearing facial chains and scimitars; stout Blackmoon warships, iron-clad boats churning flames from their Veilcrafted engines whose painted crews and well-paid war mages constantly watched for signs of trouble; sinuous schooners out of the Scorpion Isles, fast ships curved like daggers and manned by veiled women with filed teeth and eunuch weapons masters. All of those crafts were loaded down with contraband and illegal goods, everything from narcotics and stolen steel to whores and slaves. Money flowed in and of Kaldrak Iyres day and night, as the city was a major staging point for dark trade to the west and south, and in many ways it was considered the base of power for the dreaded Phage.

  Platinum-scaled fish populated the waters; Dane recalled that it was considered good luck to consume them, and small fishing boats weaved in and out of the traffic both on the Lake and in the tunnels as they tried to pull in a catch.

  They sailed past small docks set aside for prisoners to be pilloried or executed. Diseased and rotting remains steamed in the stale air, and crows nested in the enormous tunnels. Thick blocks of stone washed of color gathered patches of moss and fungus that had spread across the walls like diseased veins. The water itself was dank and muddy and filled with sediment and rust.

  Dane knew that Kruje was getting impatient hiding beneath the tarp, and he wanted to try to avoid coming under close scrutiny, which meant docking the ship as quickly as possible. They eventually lost sight of the entrance and came to one of the ports, which stood beyond a massive archway of pale stone set with carved images of gargoyles and dragons. Piers of dark wood and iron were connected by rickety wooden walkways and rope bridges; dozens of boats of all shapes and sizes were tied to the water-stained pylons. Planks and ladders led up to the streets, which were dark come day or night, for only the uppermost levels of Kaldrak Iyres were actually exposed to the sun. Blazing arcane fires cast a blue shine throughout the cavernous underground harbor, and Phage soldiers patrolled the chain bridges. The ceiling extended hundreds of feet up to a shadow-laden network of dangling metal platforms.

  The buildings off the wharf were constructed from bleached limestone, and everything was dotted with spikes and oddly curved windows. Dane smelled alcohol, tobacco and blood. Sailors and workers milled around the docked vessels, hauling crates of goods, timber and steel under the watchful eye of crimson-cloaked Phage soldiers. The diverse variety of ships hailed from all over northeastern Malzaria, making it so no two pirates or smugglers looked alike, but Dane spied some of Kaldrak Iyres’ citizens in the throngs of patchwork armor and colorful doublets, marked by their customary grey or green cloaks and thick beards or braided hair. Very few Drage were left in Kaldrak Iyres, but years spent cross-breeding with Jlantrians and Den’nari had produced a dark-haired and olive-skinned stock slightly shorter than pure-blooded Jlantrians but still much larger than the diminutive northern people.

  Most of the buildings Dane saw were businesses meant to cater to boatmen and smugglers: taverns and whorehouses, loan sharks and weapons dealers, hawkers, drug merchants and gambling dens. Money and goods changed hands freely, and many negotiations ended with a slit throat or a small battle.

  In addition to the s
tandard Phage soldiers Dane spied a pair of Blood Knights, elite gladiators turned enforcers who dressed in boiled red leather armor and featureless iron masks which left only their eyes exposed. The hardened killers roamed the streets like predators, enforcing the Phage’s will or executing beggars, street urchins and other undesirables with impunity. They wore rare kan’aar – curved shafts of wood with axe-blades affixed to either end – slung across their backs, and they left their muscled forearms bared to display their carefully cast scars, each of which represented a kill.

  Dane steered the boat to a small wharf next to a squat and ugly stone building with boarded windows; he thought it looked like an abandoned blacksmith’s shop. The next closest dock to starboard was broken and badly in need of repair, while the port dock was occupied by an iron cargo vessel whose crew celebrated at a raucous tavern up above.

  This should work nicely.

  The ship cut through blood-dark waters and up to the pier, which was secured to the sandstone shore by thick iron beams. A young boy with shiny golden hair and oversized black clothing ran along the false shore, keeping pace with their vessel.

  “Hello sir!” he shouted. “Could I be of some assistance today?!” His eyes and smile were eager and bright, and his enthusiasm was almost infectious.

  “You can help me get my ship tied,” Dane called back. He’d donned a black cloak he’d found aboard the ship which allowed him to keep his Veilcrafted armor and vra’taar concealed. They needed to avoid trouble if they could. “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Tolliver!” the boy shouted.

  “Tolliver, you don’t need to shout.”

  Dane had already pulled in the sails and neither he nor his hidden passenger were rowing, so the small vessel was moving along at barely a crawl by the time it reached the dock. Dane carefully guided the vessel parallel to the loading platform and tossed Tolliver the mooring line, and the boy tied the rope tight to an eye bolt with amazing speed and efficiency for someone who looked to be all of ten years old. The boat bumped to a halt.

  Dane glanced up and down the wharf and felt satisfied he’d picked a relatively isolated spot. They were in the shadow of the ironclad cargo vessel, which blocked them from sight of much of the rest of the pier. A passenger ship was docked a few hundred yards past the ruined dock to their starboard side, but it appeared to be devoid of any occupants save a couple of ship hands busy mopping the deck. Aside from the blacksmith’s shop and the tavern on the level above there were only a couple of general stores; most of the larger businesses were located either several stories up or on the other side of the massive pier. Dane unsteadily climbed out of the boat, his balance so unsure that for a moment he thought he’d fall headlong into the waters. Tolliver threw out a hand for support.

  “You must have been sailing a long time,” he said.

  “Long enough,” Dane said. He glanced at the tarps, then back at the boy, who excitedly gave the ship a once over.

  “Good ship,” Tolliver said. “What’s her name?”

  “The Dream Witch,” Dane replied.

  “Impressive.” The boy gave him a questioning look. “So, do you need help unloading your cargo?”

  “No. I’ll only be here for a short while.”

  “A short while?” Tolliver asked. “Where are you from? Ebonmark? Raithe?”

  “You ask a lot of questions,” Dane said. “I need to meet someone, and then I’ll be on my way. If you want to help, you can give me some information.”

  “All right,” Tolliver smiled, and he held out his hand. Dane shook his head, reached into his belt pouch and fished out a Den’nari gold coin.

  “How’s this?” he asked.

  “It’ll do,” Tolliver said, even as he eyed the coin suspiciously.

  “Don’t worry, it’s real,” Dane said. “First question: what’s the worst tavern in this part of the city?”

  “What do you mean by ‘worst’?” Tolliver asked earnestly.

  “Worst, as in the one with the most gambling, the most fights…”

  “The most whores?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Dane said. “Those, too.”

  “Then you want the Scarlet Lair,” Tolliver said knowingly. “It’s run by the Phage. Anything you want, you can get it there. You know about the Phage, right?”

  “Are you an only child?” Dane asked. “Where is it?”

  Tolliver pointed to a road sloping up from the dock to the shadow and smoke-filled streets above.

  “Up this street, left on Blackrock Lane, two blocks down. Any other questions?” Tolliver held his hand out in anticipation of another payment. Dane gave him a look and dropped another coin in his hand.

  “This blacksmith’s shop,” he said. “Is it abandoned?”

  “Usually.”

  “Good enough,” Dane said, and he motioned for the boy to leave, but Tolliver just stood there. “What?” Dane demanded.

  “You still owe for me helping you with the boat,” Tolliver smiled.

  “You did it out of the kindness of your heart,” Dane said. “Get out of here.”

  Tolliver muttered a curse and moved up the street, eying Dane as he went. Shadows moved in the smoke up the road. Dane stood by the boat, watching the tarp to make sure Kruje hadn’t moved. Crewmen from the ironclad came and went from the deck, and the sound of their raucous celebrating drowned out the drunken song and breaking glass up above. Dane caught Tolliver still standing at the end of the street, scouting for more ships and doing a terrible job of spying on Dane. Eventually Dane got tired of the game and started after him, and Tolliver scurried off into obscurity.

  Goddess, he thought. It’s going to be a long night.

  Tolliver didn’t appear again, and the deck hands on the passenger vessel finally turned in. The men on the ironclad were replaced by a wiry young sailor who curled up in the crow’s nest with a bottle of wine and didn’t even look in Dane’s direction.

  He glanced around. The air was heavy with mist, and though the pier was busy there wasn’t a moving ship anywhere nearby. The ironclad granted their stolen vessel plenty of cover from the bay except for a narrow sliver of space that was only about ten yards wide. It had been nearly an hour since they’d docked, but it was time to get Kruje indoors.

  Dane focused his mind and reached into a realm of cold shadows. His heart slowed, its beat sounding like thunder in his ears. His breaths turned shallow. The raw touch of death crept up his veins like grisly iron smoke as he Touched the raw power of the Veil. Dane held it for just moments, long enough to send invisible sparks across the water.

  A fire erupted out near the entrance to the docks, big enough that heads started turning in that direction but not so large that it would cause any real damage. Thick smoke plumed from the blaze, a Veilcrafted liquid set alight like an oil slick. A few drunken and panicked voices rang out.

  “Kral,” he said quietly. “Voorak.”

  Kruje pushed his way out from the under the tarp and let out a low moan. Dane imagined the giant’s muscles must have been as stiff as boards. The Voss stretched and lumbered forward, using the tarp to cover his body.

  “Voorak,” Dane said again. Kruje had to hurry while eyes were temporarily distracted. If he were a Bloodspeaker Dane could have wrapped the giant in a cloak of shadows or even altered his appearance so he seemed to be human-sized, but Veilwardens and their ilk were incapable of such subtle manifestations.

  The pier creaked loud as Kruje set his weight on it, and for a moment Dane was afraid the wood would collapse beneath the giant’s great mass and send him plummeting into the water.

  This is insane.

  He watched for any sign of trouble. It was only twenty yards from the end of the pier to the blacksmith’s shop, but even though Kruje covered a great distance in a single stride the trip still seemed to take forever. Dane kept imagining a call of alarm ringing out and the Phage descending on them. Worry gnawed at his gut.

  He led Kruje to the front of the shop. The window was
covered with grime, but Dane glanced through a crack and saw a room littered with dust and debris, a cold forge and anvil and some long unused tools. He shouldered open the large door and found the inside quiet and still.

  Kruje reached the shop. The fire raged out on the harbor and the men above were laughing, but the tavern was positioned too far back for anyone to see down to the pier unless they stood right at the edge of the upper walkway, a dangerous proposition for anyone drinking. The giant was able to duck low enough to fit through the wide entrance. Dane pulled the doors shut, sweat pouring down his face. He checked to make sure Kruje was all right and then stepped back outside to look around.

  There was no easy way of knowing if anyone had seen them, but he thought it unlikely. The man on the crow’s nest was deep in his bottle and didn’t even seem to have noticed the fire in the harbor, and the sounds coming from the tavern hadn’t changed. Dane stepped around the corner and glanced up the fog-filled street. Though he saw shadows moving he couldn’t make anything out clearly, and he felt certain the same would go for anyone looking back in his direction. It seemed they were safe, at least for the moment.

  And if I’m wrong, we’ll know soon enough.

  It was risky to hide Kruje in the city, but the giant had made clear his desire to come with Dane on his search for “the woman”, and Dane decided Kuje would be much better off in an abandoned building than lying cramped for a few more hours in the confines of their boat. Part of Dane wondered if they shouldn’t have skipped the city altogether, but it was too late now.

  We need supplies, and I’ll need clues if I’m going to find her. And I am going to find her.

  The notion of not continuing the search wasn’t even an option.