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

by Jocelyn Fox

  “It’s the barracks,” I said in surprise. It was as if the map were a wall with the barracks on the other side, and the black mirror in the compass had cut through the wall, allowing us to see the clearing in perfect miniature. “What is that?”

  “A scrying-stone,” Merrick replied. “One made especially for navigation.”

  “There aren’t many that have the skill to work one of those,” Vell said, watching over Merrick’s shoulder.

  Merrick cleared his throat. “Yes, well…there’s a difference between making it work and making it work well.” He took a deep breath and extended one hand, palm down, over the scrying-mirror, obscuring the view of the barracks. Vell and I waited. I hardly dared to breathe. Merrick murmured another word, a word that made me think of dappled paths and night breezes through the trees. The scrying-mirror slid slowly across the map, moving of its own volition. I watched in wonder. The Sword hummed softly on my back, perhaps recognizing Merrick’s skill.

  When the scrying-stone stopped and the black mirror rippled, the image of the faery-ring appeared. My throat tightened as I saw the felled trunk of the dryad’s birch tree. If the poison had killed the dryad that fast…I shook my head and forced myself to watch more closely. The long grasses in the meadow swayed as something moved near the edge of the faery-ring. We all leaned closer, trying to distinguish the slinking form. The creature moved sinuously, skirting the sunlight, lingering in the shadows.

  “Something’s tracking us,” I whispered.

  “It can’t hear us,” Merrick said, but his voice was low and quiet, too.

  Vell said nothing, her golden eyes transfixed with an alarming intensity on the scrying-stone.

  “Vell? What is it?” I asked softly. Did she know what kind of Shadow-creature stalked our trail?

  She remained silent, staring into the scrying-stone. The shadowy creature reached the dead birch tree, sliding through the darkest underbrush.

  “Maybe if I adjust the angle…” Merrick muttered. He put his hand above the scrying-stone, his fingers mimicking a twisting motion. When he drew back his hand, the scrying-stone trembled, its golden casing rattling against the map’s parchment. An image flashed across the black surface as the creature turned abruptly and fled into the forest. I stared at the scrying-stone as it went dark and mirror-like again. Merrick reached out for it, but Vell caught his hand in a sudden, sharp movement.

  “Show it again,” she said in a choked voice, staring at her own pale reflection in the scrying-stone.

  Merrick looked down at Vell’s hand. “You’re shaking.”

  “Vell?” I asked softly. I had never seen the Northerner this rattled by anything, not when she’d fetched me from under the river-tree, not when I had discovered the Sword, not when she was dismembering Skin-wraiths.

  Vell abruptly released her grip on Merrick and stood in one sharp movement, stalking off into the forest, leaving me staring wonderingly after her.

  “She looked like she’d seen a ghost,” Merrick said, rubbing his wrist.

  “What did you see?”

  He hesitated. I waited, the sounds of the forest draping softly over us. Finally he put his hand over the scrying-glass. “A wolf,” he said. “A wolf with amethyst eyes.”

  I sat back on my heels. “Maybe she did see a ghost.”

  Merrick stared at his own hand extended over the scrying-stone. “You should go find her. It’s not safe alone.”

  “She’s got Beryk.” But I stood and brushed the leaves from my knees. I left Merrick as he murmured another word over the scrying-glass.

  I walked through the shadowy forest, resisting the urge to call out Vell’s name. I found her curled against the trunk of an enormous tree, its roots cradling her. Beryk crouched over her protectively, his lip curling in a growl as I approached. Vell had one arm over Beryk’s neck, her fingers tangled in his fur.

  “Hey,” I said as Beryk’s growl rumbled louder. I put my hands up. “It’s just me.” The Sword thrummed a comforting note from my back and my war-markings prickled.

  Vell shifted. “Manners,” she told Beryk in a thick voice as she sat up against the tree-trunk. I studied the canopy of leaves above us as she scrubbed at her eyes with her sleeve. “You can stop pretending that you don’t know I was crying,” she said curtly, voice starting to clear.

  “What?” I raised my eyebrows innocently.

  She shook her head. “Don’t ever try to lie to anybody, Tess. You’re a terrible actress.”

  I smiled wryly. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Vell cleared her throat, looking angry with herself. “In any case, I deserve some shaming. Haring off like a soft-brained pup.”

  I couldn’t make heads or tails of that statement, so I just shrugged. The Northerner stood. Beryk shook himself and trotted off into the shadows without so much as a glance at me. “Is he mad at me?” I asked.

  “The wilder the forest, the more he’s reminded of the fact that he’s a wolf. Too long around civilized folk starts rearranging things in our heads.”

  “Ah. I see.”

  “No, you don’t,” Vell replied testily, “but you will soon enough.” She stood.

  I frowned. “I’m just going to cut to the chase, because you don’t seem to be in the mood for polite conversation. What did you see in the scrying-stone, and why did you react like you’d seen a ghost?” I folded my arms over my chest.

  “You know what I saw.”

  “It was too quick for me to be sure,” I said truthfully, lifting my chin as Vell eyed me challengingly. Her mouth tightened.

  “It was a wolf.”

  “Just a wolf?”

  “A wolf,” she hissed, “with ulfdrengr eyes.”

  “Why are you angry?” I demanded as she swept past me, striding back toward the stream so quickly that I broke into an undignified jog to keep pace. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

  “I am not angry,” Vell said, words clipped by her suddenly apparent accent.

  “Then what?”

  She stopped and whirled. I almost fell, stumbling at the change in direction. “Because,” she said, eyes blazing, “I am the last ulfdrengr” She took deep, trembling breath. “I thought I was the last ulfdrengr,” she amended. “And we are not just ulfdrengr.”

  “You’re herravaldyr,” I said. I thought I was beginning to understand.

  Vell nodded jerkily. “And if there are ulfdrengr out there…in the thrall of the Shadow…” Her face hardened. “Then I have failed them. It was my duty to protect them.” She looked away into the shadows, clenching and unclenching her fists.

  “You can’t be certain that they’re enthralled,” I said, but there was still a question in my voice.

  “I cannot be certain…but it is what my instincts tell me.” Vell drew one dagger and tossed it from hand to hand restlessly, the silver blade cutting through the dusk. “Why else would he be tracking us?”

  “It’s the pair? Both of them?” I didn’t know what to call the Northerner and wolf.

  “Yes, it’s the pair. I could see him through the wolf’s eyes. There is something…wrong.”

  “That’s why you think they’re enslaved.”

  “Through some dark sorcery,” Vell growled, clutching her knife vengefully. “I swear by the spirit of my father, I will find a way to release them.” The blade gleamed. “One way or another.”

  I knew with a chill that Vell meant every word. She would kill the other ulfdrengr if she could not free him from Malravenar’s thrall. “I’ll help, if I can.”

  Vell nodded sharply, sheathed her dagger and turned away from me without another word. I followed her back to the stream. Merrick still knelt by the map, Kavoryk’s huge bulk towering over him. Farin landed on my shoulder.

  “There is something wrong,” she said into my ear in a soft, fearful voice. “Something wrong with the map and the scrying-stone.”

  I frowned. “Merrick?”

  “The map,” he said slowly. “There has to be a mistake
.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “It can’t possibly be right.”

  “Merrick,” I said firmly, flexing my right hand. The war-markings were tingling.

  “It’s saying that it will take us at least a fortnight to make it to the edge of the forest.” Confusion edged Merrick’s voice. “I…I swear, Lady Bearer, I swear that the route was three days at most when I checked the maps this morning.”

  “Is it the right map?”

  The navigator gave me a look.

  I put up my hands. “Okay, sorry. Dumb question. I’m just trying to think this through.” I rubbed my arm. “So you have the same map, and last night it said three days, and today it says two weeks.”

  “I checked it with the scrying-stone,” Merrick said darkly.

  “The map changed? Was it switched out?”

  Merrick shook his head. “No.” He passed his hand over the map and the seal of the Unseelie Court gleamed softly from the parchment. “And it hasn’t been tampered with by any power other than my own.”

  “Then how did it change?”

  “One of the beauties of Sidhe maps is that there’s no need to update them. If the navigator does his job and tends to them correctly, they change with the land.”

  “They change with the land,” I repeated. “You’re saying the forest changed?”

  “Not just the forest,” he replied grimly. “The Darinwel, too.” He positioned the scrying-stone over the river marked on the map. “Look.”

  The black mirror showed a gorge, a deep gash like a wound in the land. A black river rife with rocks roared at the bottom of the terrifying cliff, foam-laced and ravenous. My stomach dropped and I hurriedly looked up from the scrying-stone, fighting back vertigo. “It wasn’t always like that?” I asked, swallowing hard.

  Merrick shook his head. “Rivers change, over time…the Darinwel is deeper and faster than when the last Bearer walked Faeortalam, but not like this.”

  “Well,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Obviously, the enemy knows we are somewhere in the forest, whether from the Skin-wraiths or otherwise.” I looked at our small, battle-hardened group. “He doesn’t want us to reach the Seelie Court.”

  “All the more reason for us to be on the road,” Finnead said from the path, swinging into the saddle with languid grace. Merrick closed the scrying-stone’s golden case and wrapped it in a square of worn red velvet, placing it back in his belt-pouch with infinite care. He saw the question in my eyes.

  “Moryn came from a line of navigators,” he said quietly. “He was better with a blade than a scrying-stone, though.” The hint of a smile touched his mouth. “It was unorthodox, but he gave the scrying-stone passed down to him…to me.” His fingers brushed the leather of the belt pouch.

  “Come on then,” piped Farin.

  Merrick’s smile faded as he rolled the map efficiently and checked the straps on the carrying-cases.

  “I’ll take rear-guard.” Vell turned her faehal without even so much looking at Finnead. There was a hardness to her golden eyes as she scanned the shadows.

  I patted Kaleth’s neck and slipped my toe into the stirrup. Kaleth started forward as soon as I had my seat. Apparently the Vaelanbrigh wasn’t the only one anxious to be traveling again. “There’s someone tracking us,” I said to the group at large. Forin and Farin hovered above me, keeping pace with Kaleth. “Keep a sharp eye out.”

  Merrick took the lead, with Kaleth following close behind, then Kavoryk and Finnead, and Vell bringing up the rear silently.

  “You are Moryn really were like brothers,” I said to Merrick.

  “Yes.” Merrick glanced at me. “Forgive me if I overstep my bounds, but do you have any brothers or sisters, Lady Bearer?”

  “It’s Tess,” I said automatically.

  “Tess, then,” he acquiesced.

  “I have a brother. Liam.”

  “Another good strong name,” Merrick said with a faint smile, his eyes glittering in the shadows.

  I nodded, throat suddenly tight. “He’s a good brother. Older than me. Always trying to protect me.” My mouth twisted in a wry smile. “And look at me now, toting this ancient weapon around in a foreign world.”

  “Do you really believe our world foreign still?”

  I paused at the question and shrugged with one shoulder. “Not exactly, anymore. Not since I’ve been bound to the Sword. It knows this land as home, but for me…I still wasn’t born here.”

  “Home is about much more than the land of your birth,” Merrick said with a sage air.

  “Thank you for that gem of wisdom,” I replied dryly. He chuckled, and then we lapsed into silence. I watched the shadows darken around the trees, thorns seeming to lengthen with the approach of dusk. When my stomach growled hungrily, I fished some of Vell’s venison out of my belt-pouch, chewing it speculatively as I thought more about Merrick’s question. I realized that Faoertalam had become just as much my world as Doendhtalam—the mortal world—when I decided to stay and fight in the battle. It became my world as I developed friendships that made it impossible for me to simply leave it all behind. But as much as I thought about it, I couldn’t identify the exact moment when I passed the point of no return. My love for Molly had kept me there at first, but then I had met Wisp, Ramel and Allene; Flora and Forsythe, Emery and Bren, Guinna and Donovan…and Finnead. I wondered if I would ever see them again, or if my road to the Seelie Court and beyond, to Malravenar’s stronghold, was a one-way ticket to my own demise. I straightened in the saddle, drawing back my shoulders. No use talking like that, I told myself firmly. The Sword hummed in quiet agreement.

  We rode as dark fell around us, draping the trees in cobwebs of shadow. Merrick led us confidently even as the path, narrow to start, faded until it was little more than a faint line through the trees. We rode single file as the trees crowded the trail. Kaleth flicked his ears at every sound, alert in the deepening darkness.

  “Riding through the night?” I asked Merrick softly.

  He turned in the saddle. “As long as we have the path, we might as well. We need to make good time, now that it’s a fortnight.”

  “We brought enough provisions,” I said, trying to sound confident.

  “I’m sure the wolf can bring down game, but if we can’t light a fire to cook it, that doesn’t leave us with many options.”

  “I think that the enemy does know we’re in the forest.”

  “But he might not know our exact location. We wouldn’t want to hand ourselves to him on a silver platter.”

  “That might not be the wisest choice,” I agreed. I glanced back at the rest of our traveling party, no more than shadows behind us on the path. “Vell thinks that the wolf and its man are enthralled,” I said in a low voice.

  “So it is another Northerner,” Merrick said. “That might complicate things.”

  “If it was another Sidhe from the Unseelie Court, wouldn’t you feel an obligation to do what you could for them?”

  “Not if they were hunting me down. I don’t take kindly to people who want to kill me.” He bared his teeth in a humorless smile.

  “She doesn’t intend to give herself meekly over for slaughter,” I said in irritation.

  “Forgive me for missing the point.” There was laughter in his voice, subtle but there.

  “Vell said that she’s going to free him, one way or another.”

  “One way or another. That means that if she can’t break the spell—or, I’m guessing, if you can’t break the spell—then she’s going to kill him.”

  “Yes. That’s what she means.”

  “Well, this will make tonight’s watch a little more interesting,” he commented.

  “I expect that either Vell or Beryk will be awake most of the night.”

  “Funny,” Merrick said, “I was told that you were the one with the sense of honor and duty. No-one ever mentioned the Northwoman.”

  I bristled. Apparently there was a side to the good-natured young navig
ator that I hadn’t yet encountered. “No-one ever mentioned you by name, either.” I glared at him, not caring that he probably couldn’t see my anger in the dark. “I don’t care what the opinion of Northerners is at Court. They will be spoken of civilly around me.”

  “My apologies, Lady Bearer,” Merrick murmured, eyes glimmering, and then he turned around, slipping the hood of his cloak over his head in a clear signal that the conversation was effectively over. I glared at the back of his head for a while and then went back to examining the shadows on either side of the path. Traveling in the dark in a forest leaves a lot of time for thought, and I didn’t particularly want to be alone with mine at the moment, but it didn’t look like I had much of a choice.

  We rode through the night, shards of silver moonlight scattered across our path, a latticework of shadows beneath the faehals’ hooves. I began to feel the effects of the second day of hard riding, my body stiffening. My legs hurt, but I’d expected that; it was the soreness in other places that caught me off guard. My sides protested with every compensating movement that I made to keep myself steady in the saddle, and my shoulders and lower back ached from the tension of sitting upright. Slumping in the saddle didn’t do any good, and it looked very undignified besides. The Sword, though, seemed to weigh nothing, its strap across my chest feeling more like a cursory precaution than a necessity. Somehow I wasn’t entirely surprised, and I thanked it silently. It hummed, the vibrations threading through the knots in my tense muscles.

  “There are no faery rings anyplace close to here,” Merrick said finally, slowing his mount to a leisurely walk and then to a stop. Kaleth tossed his head impatiently as the navigator thought.

  “Well, we didn’t expect there to be faery rings to camp out in all the way to the Darinwel, did we?” I said with a trace of irritation.