They heard a muffled shout in the distance. The Sin’Rath and Trajan’s soldiers had found their campsite.
“Lead the way,” Isabel said, hoping she was making the right decision.
Alexander re-formed a few minutes later, the glowing sphere floating over his head.
“Where are you taking them, Ayela?” he asked.
“I’m not sure, I’m following instructions I received in a dream.”
He turned to Isabel. “We have no way of knowing who cast the dream-whisper. You could be walking right into a trap laid by the Sin’Rath.”
“I considered that,” Isabel said, “but they’re so close to catching us that I don’t think they’d bother.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said, transforming back into a bobbling light.
“Me too,” Isabel said, motioning for Ayela to continue.
The Princess of Karth wound through the swamp with unsettling confidence, seeming to know the path as if she’d walked it a hundred times, avoiding water at every turn, even to the point of guiding them across a rope bridge strung between two trees. They would never have found it on their own—it was hung above the mist and accessible only by climbing a tree that had notches in the side, forming the rungs of a ladder.
The bridge was sturdy and well kept, spanning fifty feet between two stout cypress trees at a height of twenty feet from the ground and two or three feet over the mist. Isabel smiled up at the stars when she broke free of the mist and sighed with resignation when she had to descend back into the murky air.
Not long after, Ayela led them to the concealed mouth of a cave, which turned out to be a tunnel leading through solid stone. They followed it for several minutes, winding through the earth until it stopped abruptly at a stone wall. Ayela stopped, placing her hand on the wall in confusion … then the wall vanished, opening into a little clearing. Alexander’s light disappeared when they crossed the threshold, and the mist shrouding the swamp was completely gone, revealing a clear sky above.
An old woman approached, smiling thinly. She wore a tattered robe over her thin and frail frame. Her hair was long and grey, her nose resembled a beak, several strands of jet black hair grew from the prominent mole on her cheek, but her slate grey eyes were clear and filled with intelligence and purpose.
“Hello, Child,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you, though I did not expect you to bring friends.”
She stopped a few feet from Ayela and her crooked smiled warmed, then she turned to Isabel and the coldness in her eyes gave the lie to her smile. Isabel felt every hair stand on end as the woman casually blew a handful of powder into her face and blackness engulfed her.
Chapter 29
“How’s she doing?” Abigail asked, quietly sitting down next to Anatoly. He stared into the fire for several moments before answering.
“Not well. Her fever is only getting worse and I don’t know what to do for her.”
Abigail nodded, looking over at Magda sleeping fitfully under most of their blankets. They had arrived at this cave several days ago, guided by Alexander. It was a large round cavern that looked like it had been formed by an enormous air bubble trapped inside hardening lava. The entrance was narrow, almost too narrow for Ixabrax to squeeze through, but the interior was spacious and dry. It was located in a stand of evergreen trees on the side of a mountain just a few hundred feet below the timberline. Most importantly, there was a hot spring a dozen feet from the cave entrance that melted the snow as it filled the little mountain pool and ran off down the mountain in a steaming rivulet bordered on both sides by intricate and delicate ice formations and bright green foliage. The forest surrounding them provided an ample supply of firewood, but little in the way of food.
There were paintings on the walls of the cave, scenes of hunts and predators from ages long past. Abigail spent hours looking at the primitive art, wondering about the people who had stood in this very place so long ago … but that had been in the first few days before Magda had come down with a fever and become delirious. Now she was worried for her friend’s survival. She and Anatoly took turns watching over her as she struggled to overcome the infection plaguing her shoulder wound.
They didn’t have any healing potions or salve, so they’d done the best they could to clean and bandage her wound. Beyond that, all they could do was keep her warm and provide her with food and water when she was strong enough to take it.
Ixabrax was curled up on the far side of the cave as far away from the fire as he could get. For the most part he was patient, content to sleep while they fretted over Magda. Only occasionally did one of his big, catlike eyes open and assess the situation before closing again.
When Alexander appeared, standing near the fire, both Anatoly and Abigail stood quickly, urgently.
“Where have you been?” Abigail said, almost accusingly.
“Isabel’s been in trouble. I’ve been helping her for the past several days and it’s taken most of my strength.”
Anatoly nodded, looking over at Magda with worry in his eyes.
“Magda’s in trouble, too,” Abigail said. “We don’t know how to help her.”
Alexander scrutinized Magda’s colors, and seeing the ugly base colors of infection, fixed Abigail with a resolute look.
“I don’t either, but Lucky will. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, fading from sight.
He found Lucky in a workroom next door to Mason Kallentera’s expansive laboratory in Glen Morillian. Lucky was busy spooning biscuit batter onto a sheet pan when Alexander appeared nearby.
“Hi, Lucky.”
The rotund mage alchemist looked startled but then smiled broadly.
“Ah, there you are, my boy. It’s so good to see you. I trust all is well. Your leg is healing properly, yes?”
“My leg is healing well enough, but slowly. I’ve come because Magda is injured. She has an infection in her shoulder and it’s spreading. I’m hoping you can help me.”
Lucky set the bowl of batter aside and wiped his hands on his apron. “Of course, of course. Does she have a fever? Is she conscious?”
“She’s sleeping fitfully and burning up.”
“How serious is the wound?”
“Zuhl put a spike clean through her shoulder.”
Lucky nodded thoughtfully. “I assume she was injured rescuing Abigail.”
“Yes. I’m sorry, Lucky. You must have been worried sick about her. She and Anatoly are with Magda, along with a dragon named Ixabrax. They’re safe and well hidden but they don’t know what to do for her.”
“Is there any foliage around?”
Alexander nodded. “They’re in an evergreen forest just below the timberline.”
“Old Man’s Beard should be growing on some of the nearby trees,” Lucky said, looking around at the disorder of his workroom. “I’m afraid I don’t have a sample but perhaps Mason does. He’d like to see you, anyway.”
Lucky led him next door to Mason’s workroom. The wizard was sitting in front of the fire reading an ancient book.
He stood with a smile when Alexander and Lucky entered.
“Hello Alexander, or should I call you Lord Reishi?”
“Alexander, please. It’s good to see you, Mason.”
“You, as well. How can I be of service?”
“Do you happen to have a sample of Old Man’s Beard?” Lucky asked.
Mason nodded thoughtfully, looking this way and that for a moment before smiling and winding his way through the tables scattered haphazardly around his workroom and selecting a jar from one of his many shelves.
Alexander examined the strange-looking lichen. It was light green and stringy, almost like thick strands of hair.
“What do you do with it?”
“Crush it slightly, preserving the strands, then place it directly on the wound,” Lucky said. “Wrap a loose bandage around it and change the dressing morning and night, replacing the Old Man’s Beard with each changing.”
; “How long before she starts to show signs of improvement?”
“That depends on the degree of infection, but probably just a few days,” Lucky said.
“Good, how’re you settling in here?”
“Well enough. Mason has provided me with ample space to work and the rest of the wizards are converting a nearby manor house for use as the guild house. Kelvin is there now.”
“I feel better knowing you’re both safely out of Phane’s reach.”
“I wish I could say the same about you and your sister,” Lucky said.
“We’ll manage. Is this place secure from prying eyes?”
“Quite,” Mason said. “In addition to the magic circles surrounding the valley and castle, this level is spelled to prevent scrying.”
“Yet I’m able to enter.”
“Yes, but you bear the Mark of Cedric,” Mason said. “This place exists to assist you, so you’re always welcome here.”
“I hope you’re right, Mason. Phane can see just as far as I can.”
“I assure you, he can’t see anywhere within this valley.”
“I was hoping that would be the case,” Alexander said. “It’s been good to see you both.” Alexander vanished from sight but followed Lucky back to his workshop, reappearing once his old mentor was alone.
“It’s time you started on your next project, Lucky.”
“Yes, of course,” Lucky said, closing the door and dropping the bar in place.
“Start by procuring the necessary ingredients to make a quart of aqua regia.”
“Aqua regia is a very potent acid and difficult to make,” Lucky said. “It will take some time to produce such a quantity.”
“I know, but it’s a necessary first step,” Alexander said. “I’ll check back when you’re ready to make it and let you know the next step.”
“Give my love to Abigail and Isabel.”
“I will,” Alexander said, fading from sight.
***
Abigail was pacing when Alexander reappeared.
“Any luck?”
“There’s a type of lichen growing near here that will help with the infection,” he said. “It’s not far … I can guide you to it.”
Abigail tossed her heavy, fur-lined cloak over her shoulders and picked up her bow.
“Don’t you think I should go instead?” Anatoly said.
“I’ll be fine,” Abigail said. “Besides, I need to get out of this cave or I’m going to go crazy and one of us should say with Magda.”
“Suit yourself, but don’t be too long.”
Abigail trudged through the deep snow in the general direction Alexander had shown her. The air was crisp and clean. The sun fell through the trees, creating a dazzling display of light and shadow on the forest floor. Alexander appeared again after a few minutes of walking.
“It’s up in that tree,” he said pointing, then fading from sight once again.
The snow was deep enough that reaching the ladder-like branches of the fir tree was easy, and climbing to the place where the stringy green lichen grew took only a minute or so. After gathering all she could find, Abigail straddled two branches and took in the scene through the fir boughs. The sparse forest stretched out below her like a patchwork quilt, small groves of trees interrupting the untrammeled snow for as far as she could see.
Movement in the distance caught her eye. Five, maybe six men were headed straight for the cave. Glancing back to the cave mouth, she saw a thin streamer of smoke escaping from the entrance and rising like a beacon into the sky.
“Are you still here, Alex?”
When he didn’t appear, Abigail climbed out of the tree and headed back to the cave as quickly as she could through the deep snow. Alexander reappeared a moment after she entered the cave.
“We have company,” she said.
“Six men, scouts from a larger force farther away,” Alexander said.
“How much larger?” Anatoly asked.
“Company-sized, but I didn’t see anything except soldiers … no drakini, no priests.”
“At least there’s that,” Abigail said, going to the fire and starting to prepare the Old Man’s Beard.
“How soon will they get here?” Anatoly asked.
“Probably an hour. The smoke from your fire gave you away,” Alexander said.
“We can take the six, especially if they don’t know what they’re up against,” Anatoly said, “but a company is something else altogether. Magda is still delirious. Even if this stuff works, it’ll be days before she can travel.”
Ixabrax sleepily opened one eye. “Let them come, I was starting to get hungry anyway.”
“I thought you didn’t want to help fight this war,” Alexander said.
“I don’t, but your sister and her sword remain the only way I know of to free my family. I’m not about to let a few hundred of Zuhl’s soldiers come between me and their freedom.”
“That evens the odds,” Anatoly said.
Ixabrax snorted. “More than even I would say. Dispatch the scouts and wake me when the rest of the enemy forces draw near.” With that he closed his eye and went back to sleep.
Abigail finished dressing Magda’s wound and then strapped on her quiver. “How do you want to do this?”
“Let them get close enough so none can escape,” Anatoly said.
“All right, let’s go find a good spot for an ambush.”
“They’re following the draw created by the hot spring’s runoff,” Alexander said.
“Good, more vegetation to hide behind,” Anatoly said.
They moved down the draw several hundred feet until they found a place with a boulder just to the side of the tiny little stream.
“I’ll wait behind the rock,” Anatoly said. “The draw is narrow enough right here to prevent them from surrounding me. You take a position on the far side, behind those bushes and target the last man in the squad. Attack when they reach the boulder.”
Abigail nodded and doubled back along the draw so she could circle around to her position on the high ground without leaving any footprints in the snow that might give her away.
The soldiers approached with less caution than was wise, given their quarry. They walked as if they felt no fear, as if the world was their hunting ground and no enemy or predator was their match. Abigail shook her head with disdain. Zuhl’s men were as arrogant as they were brutish, placing more stock in strength and size than prowess and strategy. She nocked an arrow and waited until the point man in the single file of soldiers was a step from the boulder where Anatoly waited, axe held high.
Her arrow penetrated to the feathers through the last man’s head, spraying the clean snow with blood and brain. He fell with a thud. When the other five turned at the noise, Anatoly stepped out of his hiding place and swung his axe, taking the point man’s head with a stroke.
The remaining four men drew weapons as one, shattering the calm mountain air with a collective battle cry. An arrow silenced the next to the last man in line, driving into one side of his neck and out the other, blood dripping from its fletching as it came to rest in the snow along the bank of the rivulet, the soldier slumping to the ground a moment later.
The second man in line attacked Anatoly without hesitation, but without forethought either, his broadsword sweeping from his scabbard and arcing toward Anatoly’s midsection. The big man-at-arms stepped into the blow, allowing the blade to fall harmlessly on his dragon-plate armor as he stabbed the man in the heart with the top spike of his war axe. The next man in line lunged forward into his dying companion, pushing him into Anatoly and sending them both crashing into the foot-wide stream of warm water.
The last man standing took an arrow in the side of the chest, staggering forward a step before going to his knees, blood sputtering from his lips. He toppled into the snow with a groan of pain and resignation.
Abigail was up and running through the snow toward Anatoly. He lay pinned under the combined weight of a dead soldier and the last liv
ing enemy. Zuhl’s man dropped his sword and drew a dagger, angling to stab Anatoly in the face. When he raised his hand to bring the dagger down, Anatoly heaved against the weight of them both, tossing them aside into the snow bank next to the stream with the corpse now on top of the last remaining soldier.
Abigail reached the opposite bank a moment after Anatoly regained his feet, water flowing from his armor. Both faced the soldier, Anatoly with his axe, Abigail with her bow. Seeing that he was beaten, the soldier tossed his dagger aside and spread his hands without making any move to free himself from the corpse still splayed out across his chest.
“I surrender,” he said without any emotion.
“Why should I accept your surrender?” Abigail said
“I can’t think of a reason,” he said, slowly pushing his dead companion off his chest and coming to his knees. “If I am to die here, I would ask that he kill me.”
“What difference does that make?” Abigail asked, incredulously. “Dead is dead.”
“Women are not suited for battle. To be killed by a woman, especially with a bow, is a dishonor, but a clean death at the hands of a man wearing armor and wielding a battle axe, there’s honor in that.”
“These people are all crazy,” Abigail said to Anatoly.
“They definitely have a different perspective on war.”
“Look around you,” Abigail said. “I don’t see honor or valor or glory, all I see is blood and death.”
“You ambushed us, killed us without facing us, attacked us by surprise. You fight like cowards, not warriors. In a face-to-face battle, you wouldn’t stand a chance against me or any of my brothers.”
“Want to try me?” Abigail said.
“You would face me, sword to sword?”
Abigail stuck the end of her bow in the snow and drew the Thinblade, pointing the ancient badge of the Island Kings at his heart. “I’d be happy to. I saw what others like you did to the people of Fellenden. As far as I’m concerned, you all deserve to die.”
The soldier looked at the Thinblade for several moments, confusion transforming into understanding and finally into fear.
Cursed Bones (Sovereign of the Seven Isles: Book Five) Page 26