The Crown of Bones (The Fae War Chronicles Book 2)

by Jocelyn Fox

I slid the toe of my boot into the stirrup and grabbed a handful of Kaleth’s mane as I heaved myself into the saddle. I would never be as graceful as the Sidhe or Vell, but at least I didn’t need a stepping-stool to get into the saddle. Merrick and Finnead fairly leapt onto their mounts.

  Two bright glows dove from the sky, stopping inches short of my nose. To my credit, I didn’t flinch. “Forin, Farin,” I greeted them calmly.

  “We are ready,” Forin said. Farin drew a dagger from her boot and brandished it as proof.

  “Good. Merrick knows the route. Talk to him and then scout ahead, please,” I told the two Glasidhe. Farin saluted me with her dagger and Forin bowed slightly before they zipped over to Merrick.

  Kavoryk appeared, riding a huge, shaggy beast that looked more like an ox than any kind of horse. The battle-scarred edge of his axe gleamed from behind his shoulder. He had a quiver of black-fletched arrows bound to one side of his massive beast, and he carried a spear as thick as my arm. His black eyes glittered as he took in the gathered Sidhe.

  “May your arrows fly true and your sword-edge stay sharp,” Donovan said.

  I nodded. “Safe travels,” I said, because those were the only words that came to mind.

  “To the True Bearer,” Ramel said, pride in his voice as he touched two fingers to his forehead.

  “To the True Bearer!” roared the gathered Sidhe in one voice.

  The Sword thrummed at the Sidhe’s fierce shout, and my hand found its hilt. I drew it from its scabbard in one smooth motion, holding it aloft for all to see. “To victory!” I shouted. The Sidhe roared again, wordlessly, unsheathing their own blades or raising fists into the air. A stream of emerald fire flowed down the Sword as I put my heels to Kaleth’s sides. He wheeled and surged forward, emerald fire streaming from the edge of the Sword like a banner. The thunder of Kaleth’s hooves drowned out the shouts of the Sidhe as we departed, Merrick and Vell and Finnead and Kavoryk behind me, the black Northern wolf beside us, running swift as passing shadows through the darkness of the forest.

  Chapter 8

  After a few moments, the Sword extinguished its emerald banner of fire. I pulled back on the reins slightly, and Kaleth tossed his head but slowed to a canter, smoothing his gait so that I could sheath the Sword without impaling myself. Then Kaleth slowed to a trot, and Merrick pulled his mount up beside us. “You can take the lead,” I told him. “You’ve studied the maps?”

  He nodded. “That’s my specialty—what I studied the most during training, besides swordsmanship and riding and the like. Each patrol usually has a designated navigator. They’re responsible for knowing the maps and the different trails.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that when you asked to come with us?” I asked.

  Merrick shrugged slightly. “I didn’t want you to take me along just to be some sort of guide dog.” He looked at me with his luminous gray eyes. “I wanted you to choose me because you saw me as a fighter.”

  I thought of my first impression, that he had looked too young to have a sword at his side. “You shouldn’t hide your skills. Why can’t you be a navigator and a fighter both?”

  “Most simply don’t see it that way. Scouts sometimes aren’t even allowed to join the main force during a skirmish.”

  I glanced behind us, at Vell and Kavoryk, and Finnead at rear-guard. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t really see any ‘main force’ here, Merrick. I couldn’t relegate you to the sidelines even if I wanted to do that. Which I don’t,” I added, just for clarity.

  Merrick grinned and I smiled back. Then he glanced up through the canopy of leaves overhead.

  “We could travel past sunset tonight,” he said. “There’s a full moon.”

  I thought of Finnead and the ritual, resisting the urge to glance back at him. “Would it be better to travel farther today?”

  “Until we reach the Borderlands, near the River Darinwel, the going should be fairly easy,” the young Sidhe replied. “Nothing our faehal can’t handle by moonlight.” He patted his mount’s neck.

  “Faehal,” I repeated, testing out the word. Kaleth tossed his head. I chuckled. “I guess Kaleth approves of my Sidhe.”

  “You pronounce it very well for…” Merrick stopped suddenly, blushing.

  “For a mortal?” I finished for him, grinning wickedly.

  “Well, I don’t know if you’re quite mortal anymore,” he amended.

  I frowned. “What?”

  “Don’t go scaring her with bedtime stories,” Vell said, riding up on my other side as the path widened enough for three of us to ride abreast.

  “You reference legends all the time,” I protested.

  “Legends, not bedtime stories,” she replied. “There’s a difference.”

  Merrick opened his mouth, Vell glared at him, and he shut it quickly, suddenly finding the canopy of leaves above our heads unbearably fascinating.

  “He’s our navigator,” I said to Vell, “so you’re going to have to let him talk sometime. And besides,” I added, “I’m not very easily scared.”

  Vell looked at me. “There are two kinds that don’t get scared at some point or another, Tess.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “The stupid,” she replied, golden eyes suddenly serious, “and the dead.”

  “Right.” I straightened in the saddle. “That very well may be, but I think I can handle some bedtime stories, or whatever it was that Merrick was about to tell me.”

  “It’s nothing you need worry about,” Merrick said a bit too quickly for my liking. “Just a silly scrap of an old tale.”

  I watched the young Sidhe for a few long moments with narrowed eyes. He didn’t meet my gaze. I tucked the thought into the back of my head to pore over later, turning my attention to the forest. Tall, straight trees stood like sentinels on either side of our path, their branches arching regally overhead. The late afternoon sunlight, deepening from gold to bronze, lit the veins of the green leaves and created a latticework of light and shadow on the ground, rippling over the dead leaves and moss as a slight breeze shifted the branches of the trees. I let Kaleth have his head—he knew our path just as well as me. Beside Vell’s mount, Beryk caught the sound of some unfortunate small animal and bounded into the trees liquidly, dark fur gleaming in the sun.

  We rode in silence for a long while, Vell and Merrick and I riding together, then Kavoryk on his huge mount, and Finnead bringing up the rear. I thought about Ramel and Donovan, hoping that they would be able to reach Darkhill with the Vaelanmavar without incident. The Vaelanmavar was a cruel Sidhe, one who preferred using his power for his own personal gain. I suppressed a shudder at the memory of his insistent attempt at seduction. No, seduction was the wrong word…he had wanted to possess me, to own the only mortal who had come to the Unseelie Court in over five centuries. It was as if I was a pretty bauble up for auction, to be sold to the highest bidder, and in his estimation he was the wealthiest buyer. He hadn’t taken no for an answer, but he walked away with a gash across his eye and a torn lip—not the cleanest methods of deterring him, granted, but I reasoned that I didn’t have to fight fair in a game that I’d never agreed to play.

  The forest still stretched along our path as far as I could see as the sun sank lower toward the horizon. The Sword hummed a little in its sheath across my back—satisfied, I understood in a brief flash of clarity, to be on its way to its ultimate use. It saw the Seelie Court as a stepping stone to the darkness it felt seeping into the land of Faeortalam. I shifted in my saddle, attempting to work some feeling back into my thighs. Two dimmed lights flitted overhead, so quickly that I almost missed them.

  “Lady Bearer!” piped Farin as she alighted between Kaleth’s ears, gripping a wisp of his mane for balance. He flicked one ear and then seemed to ignore the indignity of serving as a perch for the Glasidhe. Forin chose to hover, keeping pace with Kaleth.

  “Forin, Farin,” I said with a small smile to my scouts. “What’s the news?”

  “At least
another two days’ ride of forest ahead, if not three,” Forin reported, drifting on an eddy of air like a dandelion seed.

  “We encountered no Dark creatures,” Farin added, now sitting cross-legged between Kaleth’s ears, one small hand buried in his black mane for balance. “But the forest is thick, and we cannot see everything.”

  “I understand,” I said. “Merrick, does three days sound about right to you?”

  “More or less,” he replied. “If we travel through the night, we can make it two rather than three.”

  “I’d rather be out in the open,” said Vell. “They can see us, but we can see them too. All these shadows and rustling branches can make a person jumpy if they’re looking for a garrelnost or some-such behind every tree.”

  I twisted in my saddle, looking back at Finnead and Kavoryk. “What do you think?”

  “In the forest or out in the open, it makes no difference to me,” said Kavoryk in his rolling Northern accent. His shaggy mount shook its head in what seemed like agreement. “Dead is dead and I will kill any who tries to harm you, Bearer.”

  Smiling a little at that, I told the huge man, “You can call me just Tess, if you’d like. That goes for everyone here, while it’s just us and we’re traveling.”

  Finnead eyed me coolly, his sapphire gaze inscrutable.

  “Finnead?” I asked. “What are your thoughts?”

  His handsome face remained smooth and aloof. He rode his pitch-black faehal with unconscious, cat-like grace. “You are the Bearer. You must do what you think is best.”

  Straightening in my saddle, I returned his frosty gaze. “And as Bearer, I’m asking for your opinion, Vaelanbrigh.” I felt Merrick and Vell’s eyes on me. Kavoryk remained silent, his huge mount moving with incredible grace for such huge bulk.

  “Dark creatures tend to move at night,” Finnead said after a long moment, little inflection in his voice. “It would most likely be to our advantage to be moving as well.”

  I gave a short nod acknowledging his words and then turned around, keeping my face carefully blank. If he wanted to be cold, that was fine. I would match him freezing look for freezing look. I would do cold. Hell, I thought, tightening my grip on the reins, I would do sub-Arctic, North Pole in the middle of the Ice Age cold. He would have frostbite just thinking about me.

  “Tess?” Vell murmured, just loud enough for me to hear.

  I realized my knuckles showed white through the skin of my hands, and I relaxed my grip on the reins. “I’m fine,” I muttered.

  Vell tilted her head as she looked at me, then shrugged. Beryk slid out of the shadows, muzzle shining wetly as he passed through a puddle of fading sunlight.

  “Well, at least Beryk won’t want for game while we’re still in the forest,” I commented, trying to steer my mind in a more productive direction.

  “He won’t want for game on the plains, either,” retorted Vell. “He can find game when there’s knee-high snow on the ground and the ground has been frozen for months.”

  “I wasn’t questioning his skills as a hunter.” I put up one hand in a pacifying gesture. “Just…trying to make conversation.” I cleared my throat. The Sword gave another long, low thrum, vibrating through my ribs. I sat up straighter in the saddle, my right hand drifting toward the hilt of my plain blade. Beryk paused, black ears swiveling as he scented the air. He gave a short growl and slipped into the shadows again. Vell unslung her bow and nocked an arrow, guiding her mount with her knees as she scanned the forest warily.

  “There’s something out there,” she said quietly.

  Merrick drew his sword on my other side, and I slid my plain blade out of its sheath, marveling again at the way my hand fit its hilt as if it had been made for me and not loaned to me in place of my broken blade. Farin leapt from between Kaleth’s ears, a dagger gleaming in each hand. Forin remained by my side, his weapon undrawn but his stance alert.

  “Forin,” I said softly, “fly above the canopy, please, and tell me if you can see anything.”

  “Aye,” the Glasidhe scout said. He moved swiftly, disappearing before the sound of his voice faded.

  The wind whispered through the trees. I held my sword in one hand and tucked the ends of the reins beneath my left leg. I wanted both hands free. “Would they attack so close to the clearing?” I murmured to Vell.

  “They’re unpredictable. For the most part because they’re incredibly dull-witted,” replied Vell without taking her eyes from the deepening shadows.

  “We’ve traveled much farther than you might think,” Merrick said quietly, watching the other side of the path. “The forest looks much the same throughout, so it’s deceiving. Our mounts are swift.”

  “How far?” I asked, trying to estimate in my head. We’d been traveling for hours, yes, but it couldn’t possibly be that far.

  “Far enough that no one in the clearing would be able to hear us if we called for help,” Merrick replied with a touch of grimness in his voice.

  I let out my breath slowly. The Sword vibrated in its sheath. I reached back and touched its hilt with my left hand. It quieted a bit.

  “It might be best if you don’t use the Sword,” Vell said, shifting her grip on her bow.

  “If they’re going to attack us now, I’m going to use whatever I need to kill them.”

  “That’s all well and good, Tess, but listen.” An urgency entered Vell’s words. “They might not know who you are. It would be best if they didn’t find out.”

  “So you’re saying…hide the Sword and its power until we reach the Seelie Court.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” she replied.

  “Is a good idea,” rumbled Kavoryk, shifting his huge axe from hand to hand restlessly.

  “I second that,” Merrick murmured from my left, voice taut with concentration.

  “We all agree then.” Vell nodded in satisfaction.

  “Don’t I get a vote?” I asked.

  “No,” said Merrick and Vell together. Vell glanced across me at the young Sidhe in consideration, a small smile appearing for a fleeting moment on her lips.

  “Fine,” I said. What else could I do? I gave the mental equivalent of a shrug and widespread hands to the Sword. Its power turned restlessly over and over, looping between the Sword and my chest like a pacing tiger.

  Forin dove down through the leaves like a stricken bird set aflame. For a heartbeat I thought he had been hurt, he fell so fast, but he halted his plummet with precision just above our heads. “Scouts,” he said urgently. “Three of them.”

  “From which direction?” demanded Vell.

  Forin pointed ahead and slightly to the right of the path.

  “Beasts or man-like?”

  “Man-like,” replied Forin. Something about his voice made a shiver slip down my spine.

  “Are we talking Shadow-walkers, Skin-wraiths, what?”

  Forin hesitated.

  “Forin,” I prompted. I sat back in the saddle and Kaleth came to a halt. The rest of our little band followed suit. I didn’t want us blundering headlong into a trap.

  “I do not know.”

  “You’re one of the best Glasidhe scouts,” said Merrick. “How is it you don’t know?”

  “They move like Skin-wraiths, but they have no master with them,” the Glasidhe replied.

  “Are you sure?” Vell asked sharply.

  “They are alone. I am sure of it.”

  I looked from Vell to Forin and then over at Merrick. “What does that mean?”

  “Skin-wraiths are essentially corpses, reanimated by Dark sorcery,” explained Merrick quickly in a low voice. “But they always have to remain close to their master, or the ties that bind the corpse to the mage’s power are broken.”

  “Magical zombies,” I commented dryly. “Great.”

  “If we were dealing with Skin-wraiths, we would find the master and kill him.”

  “Because the corpses are only animated with his power,” I said, understanding. “Right. Cut th
e puppet strings and they go back to being dead.” The Sword hummed through my ribs. Its circling became more purposeful, as if it anticipated a fight. “The Sword’s getting restless.”

  “Well, tell it to settle down because you won’t be using it,” Vell told me. The Sword’s emerald flashed indignantly. She glanced at it. “With all due respect.”

  “So these scouts look like Skin-wraiths?” I asked Forin.

  “Yes. They’re corpses, I can tell.” A hint of disgust entered the Glasidhe’s voice.

  “But they don’t have a master?”

  “Not within any close distance of them.”

  I looked at Vell. “What does that mean?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “It means,” Finnead said in his smooth, cool voice, “that we are either dealing with a mage the likes of which we have never seen, or that these are not Skin-wraiths.”

  I was almost afraid to ask the question, but I steeled myself. “If they’re not Skin-wraiths, what would they be?”

  “The Dead.”

  Merrick drew in his breath at Finnead’s words. “That’s not possible.” He glanced at Vell, then at Kavoryk. “Is it?”

  “These are dark times,” Vell murmured. Beryk lifted his head, every line of his body tightening as his golden eyes fixed on something deep in the shadows, a low growl spilling out from between his bared teeth. “He smells them.”

  “We must destroy all three,” Finnead said.

  “Whoever they’re scouting for might be able to see through their eyes anyway,” Vell pointed out grimly, “so it might not matter if we dispatch all three.”

  “We destroy all three, to send a message to their master,” the Vaelanbrigh amended coldly.

  Beryk looked at Vell. She nodded at the wolf and he sank into the shadows noiselessly.

  “Merrick, stay with the Bearer,” said Finnead as he slid from his saddle. Vell landed light-footed on the ground without releasing her hold on her bow.

  “They’ll know I’m someone important if you leave me here with a guard,” I pointed out, my stomach tightening.

  “Only if they get to the path,” the Vaelanbrigh replied.