The Bone Sword

by Walter Rhein

  Denz watched them numbly. He had trained them to a man, as such, his hand never even twitched toward his sword.

  “Take our weapons-master and put him in the cell we’ve prepared,” the earl said casually. “He needs a bit of time to consider what motivates him.”

  Hands grasped Denz roughly and led him away.

  As he was escorted out, he looked back over his shoulder to see the earl casually pulling a head from the cart to examine it.

  “He’s mad,” Denz whispered loud enough for his contingent to hear.

  They said nothing in response.

  But they did not correct him, either.

  Chapter 23

  Discovered!

  Malik watched Jasmine and Noah spar, calling out observations. “Don’t overbalance, Jasmine, that leaves you open for a counterattack.”

  “Patience, Noah, don’t be so sure her loss of balance isn’t a feint.”

  “Excellent parry, Jasmine!”

  Malik smiled as he watched them. He drilled them hard, and saw improvement, but he also noticed they were enjoying the training. It was sharpening their minds as well as their bodies, and the challenge was stimulating both to the children and to Malik himself.

  Their time at the hot springs had been good for the young siblings. They had not wanted for food, and their diet, along with the weapons training, had put some much-needed muscle on their frames. They looked far different than the two frightened children Malik had first met in the cart on the road to Miscony. In fact, during the course of a few short weeks, Noah and Jasmine had made great progress on the path to adulthood.

  “You’ll both be fine warriors very soon,” he commented. Even now, he knew they could handle themselves. Perhaps they wouldn’t beat most true swordsmen, but neither would they crumble when blades were crossed.

  Malik turned his head sharply. The echo of a sound lingered in the wilderness.

  “Children,” he commanded. “Stop!”

  Instantly, Jasmine and Noah put down their weapons and stood silently.

  Malik stayed where he was, head inclined. He stood slowly, unhitching the strap that secured his sword in its sheath.

  “Stay here,” he whispered and then forged through the grass. Noah and Jasmine were left to look at each other in confusion as he went.

  The green vegetation of the thermal area provided plenty of cover for Malik as he slipped toward the noise. His ears perked up, listening for repetitions, which came infrequently, but were nevertheless distinct. At the sound, Malik’s heart sank.

  They were voices.

  As the voices grew louder, Malik’s progress slowed. He pushed aside the branches carefully and peered forward with trepidation.

  He was on a slight rise near the entrance to the warmed area. Several hundred yards before him, snow still piled up on the ground, growing steadily deeper as it stretched off up the mountain.

  Through the snow, a trail stretched into the mist. At the end of the trail, just stumbling forward into the green grass, appeared three figures wrapped in thick furs.

  “By the gods, what is this place?” one of them said.

  “It’s miraculous!”

  The third said nothing. Malik noted he was being held up by the other two and had a thick bandage covering most of one side of his head.

  The trio shuffled forward, away from the snow, and laid down their burden on a soft bed of grass.

  “I think we’ve made it,” one said to the reclining figure in an encouraging voice. “You’ll have time to right yourself now, you‘ll see.”

  “They won’t be finding us here,” said the other.

  From Malik’s vantage point, he could see that all the men wore swords. For a moment, he contemplated. It was possible that the three were Nightshades engaging in an elaborate ruse. If he exposed himself now, and the third was only feigning his injuries, it would be a difficult fight.

  Yet, something inside him told him that wasn’t the case. The wounded man seemed to be in real pain. Malik had seen serious injuries before, and knew pain couldn’t be faked that convincingly.

  Impulsively, he stood to reveal himself.

  “Ho! Friends!” he said waving, hoping to make himself as nonthreatening as possible.

  The two men spun and drew their swords with shaking hands, leaving their companion to slump to the ground. Malik noted their fingers were wrapped in bandages, but the bits of flesh that showed through had been blackened by the snow and cold.

  “Identify yourself!” one of them cried.

  A flicker of a smile crossed Malik’s features.

  “That would give you the advantage,” he yelled back. “Remember that I’m as much in the dark as to your motivations as you are to mine.”

  This gave the men pause. They turned to look at their reclining comrade in confusion. It suddenly occurred to Malik that the two of them might be very young.

  The ailing man gestured to one of them from his prone position, and one of the lads leaned over the body. Words were whispered, but Malik could not hear them. In a moment, the lad stood up and spoke.

  “A few months ago, a man and two children came to a stockade at Elmshearst. We seek that party of travelers.”

  The words evoked a flicker of hope in Malik.

  “How would you know them if you found them?”

  “They gave us their names at the gate, whether they were false names or not, we have remembered them.”

  “And what is your business with these travelers?”

  “Honorable. They are healers and we are in need of their services. They called themselves Neville, Martin and Jessica …”

  “Sturgis,” Malik completed the thought, remembering the name they had given. Below, the boy nodded, and Malik felt the first bonds of trust begin to form.

  “What are your names?” Malik asked.

  “I am Alec, this is Michael, and this,” he said pointing at the still body, “is our father, Gerard, Elmshearst’s captain of the guard.”

  Malik’s eyes widened in shock.

  “He took an arrow to the eye, can you help him please?” Alec continued, and for the first time, there was a hint of desperation in the boy’s voice.

  “Wait here!” Malik said, and turned to sprint back to where he had left Noah and Jasmine.

  The fire light flickered across Gerard’s face as he sipped a cup of tea. Besides the snapping of the burning logs, the group was silent.

  Occasionally, Gerard lifted his hand to his face. In the place where his eye had been there was now only a smooth patch of flesh.

  “I’m sorry,” Jasmine said impulsively.

  Gerard’s good eye flickered in her direction.

  Jasmine bowed her head.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t restore your eye. The wound was quite old,” she clarified.

  Gerard smiled warmly.

  “You have taken away my pain and healed my injuries as well as those of my sons. Your power is indeed miraculous.”

  “But it cannot replace what has been lost,” Jasmine said saddened.

  Gerard sighed deeply and nodded.

  “Nothing can.” He patted her affectionately on the back. “But it’s the losses we suffer that forge us into who we are. Don’t lament. I feel no angst over what is gone.”

  Gerard turned contemplatively back toward the fire. His sons, Alec and Michael, sat beside him in utter silence, reverently. Only a few short hours ago, they had dragged their father, on the verge of death, to the small cave that Malik, Noah and Jasmine occupied. Now he was healed, as were they of a plethora of small wounds. They were having trouble comprehending if it was real or only a strange dream.

  The moment stretched on, the chattering of the fire the only sound in the room.

  Finally, Malik broke the reverie.

  “What happened to you?” he said softly to Gerard.

  Gerard’s eye flicked over to the lean warrior. His face tightened in anger.

  “An arrow took my eye,” he said simply. “An arrow
that was shot by a Nightshade under the command of Father Ivory.”

  Malik listened with expressionless features. Gerard continued.

  “They overran Elmshearst and killed the majority of the people who had made their lives within its walls.”

  “Your father,” Jasmine asked haltingly, “the one I healed?”

  Gerard pointed his gaze in her direction. He shook his head slowly.

  Jasmine’s face went white with the realization of what had occurred.

  “They were after me, weren’t they?” Jasmine asked. “You were punished for helping me?”

  Gerard said nothing, he merely held the young woman’s gaze for a moment before looking away.

  The fire light reflected on crystal tears that formed on Jasmine’s face.

  “That’s not all,” interjected Alec.

  Malik turned to look at the young man in surprise.

  “Father Ivory didn’t return to Castle Miscony after they sacked Elmshearst.”

  “No,” continued Michael in a harsh whisper, “he’s gone mad. He’s taken the Nightshades from village to village, deeper and deeper into the mountains. He’s on a one-man crusade against the ‘revolution,’ as he calls it.”

  Malik turned to Gerard for confirmation. The worn veteran nodded.

  “They’re beating confessions out of elderly women,” he growled, “and cutting the right hands off any man strong enough to carry a sword. All to ‘maintain the peace.’” He snorted.

  “No!” Jasmine said.

  Malik bowed his head and sighed in fury.

  The fire popped loudly as the group digested what they had learned.

  After a moment, Jasmine spoke.

  “It has to stop,” she said, “I must turn myself in!”

  Gerard gave the young woman a surprised look, but it was Malik who spoke.

  “You’ll do no such thing.” The words came out in a low growl.

  “But—” Jasmine replied. Malik threw her a warning glance.

  Jasmine, however, wouldn’t be silenced.

  “You’ve heard what’s happening!” Jasmine cried, “It’s because of me, because of my…” she stumbled for a word before finding one that conveyed her feelings “…curse!” she said finally. “I must turn myself in. Only I can stop it!”

  “No you can’t,” Malik responded. “You continue to misunderstand. When are you going to realize that none of this is your fault?”

  He turned to Gerard.

  “I think she needs some assurance,” he said quietly. “Tell her that you bear her no ill will.”

  Gerard seemed startled by the request, but then looked at Jasmine. His features softened as he recognized the conflict that tormented her.

  “I believe you’ve misunderstood me, milady. It‘s true what Malik says, I do not blame you for this.”

  “But, your father…” Jasmine said.

  “My father would have died anyway if it were not for you,” Gerard replied. “You gave me several hours with him that I could not have bought for all the wealth in the world.”

  Jasmine seemed to relax a little, but the tension still emanated from her.

  “But all the violence; all the death.”

  “Father Ivory is responsible for that,” Alec said without looking up. “And the earl is, too, for not putting a stop to it.”

  The men stared into the fire. The light flickered on their drawn faces.

  “It’s dangerous to make such talk,” Malik said with an even voice. “Men have hung for less.”

  Gerard’s younger son made an exclamation of disgust. “They’ll hang us anyway if they catch us.”

  Noah gazed at the three men, then stared with a single purpose into the flickering fire. They were no longer the beaten, broken men they had been upon their arrival. Noah could sense a change—they were united by a common determination.

  Michael’s eyes met Noah’s and, in a flash of excitement, Noah recognized what he was thinking. He shot a glance at Malik and realized the lean warrior’s mind was ahead of theirs.

  “You mean to attack them,” Noah said, barely able to hide the tremor in his voice. “You mean to defy the earl!”

  Malik did not share Noah’s excitement. He merely nodded his head once solemnly.

  “Make no mistake,” Malik said, his voice a harsh warning, “the earl believes that he was ordained by Lightbringer to lead. There will be consequences…”

  Gerard snorted. “I would call a healing hand a greater proof of the will of an immortal than the hand that deals out only punishment and death.”

  Jasmine’s eyes met Gerard’s briefly before she bowed her head. The conversation was spiraling out of control, and she did not at all like where it was headed.

  “If we are to defy the monarchy,” Malik said in a low voice, “we must be ready for a response from the Southern kings. And if anything happens to Father Ivory, there will be a response from Archbishop Kale. Armies will come and they will make Father Ivory’s small force of Nightshades seem like a platoon of schoolchildren.”

  The shadows that danced on the walls seemed to take on the shapes of armies marching. Bloodthirsty warriors, coming for them. Unstoppable.

  “They’re going to kill us anyway,” Gerard said simply.

  “If we are to do this,” Malik replied, “then we must be agreed from the beginning. Who shall lead us?”

  Noah saw where this was heading and his mouth dropped open in amazement.

  Gerard looked up and nodded in appreciation. “The people would rally around a queen,” he said with pride, “a queen with a healing touch.”

  Jasmine looked at them in utter shock.

  “A queen? I’m a peasant girl. I know nothing of these things!”

  “Your heart is pure, Jasmine. Simply guide our swords.”

  With that, Malik pulled his weapon from its sheath and kneeled before the young woman. Gerard, Alec and Michael did the same. Noah looked at them in wonder, overwhelmed by the importance of the moment. Glancing around, he quickly scooped up his wooden practice sword and mimicked the others.

  “We offer ourselves as your noble knights and servants,” Malik intoned regally. “Do you accept our pledge?”

  Jasmine seemed to hesitate. “What are you asking of me?” she whispered, as much to herself as to them.

  “That you guide us and tell us where to strike, for in that we trust your judgment above our own.”

  Jasmine sighed deeply. Without a word, she bit her lip and nodded.

  “Shall we stop Father Ivory? Shall we stop the killings?” Malik asked.

  “Yes,” Jasmine replied softly.

  “Whatever the cost?”

  “Yes.”

  “Whatever the consequence?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re willing to bear the burden of this decision?”

  Jasmine paused for a long minute before answering.

  “I am.”

  Malik reached out and lifted Jasmine’s chin with his finger. Tears streaked her face, but there was a remarkable strength in her eyes.

  “Father Ivory has been fearing a revolution,” he said slowly. “Now we’re ready to give him one.”

  Chapter 24

  An Unexpected Visitor

  The Earl of Miscony had more on his mind than he liked. It vexed him. He didn’t like thinking. When he had to think, it interrupted his enjoyment of activities like riding or hunting.

  He urged his stallion across the snow-covered grounds of Castle Miscony. So far, it had been a mild winter. Green grass still poked through here and there after a recent melt. But that was generally the case in the lowlands. It was only up in the mountains where the snow fell heavy and made life a constant misery.

  Up in the mountains where Ivory continued his hunt.

  Up in those miserable, wretched mountains where the peasants insisted on defying him.

  The earl’s face twisted in a sneer as he approached the castle.

  Most assuredly, Father Ivory had sent anoth
er cart filled with hands and heads. The earl chuckled to himself in satisfaction.

  The mountain people were little more than animals. Dirty, uncivilized, uncouth. It took a strong hand to keep them in line.

  Giving them a quick death was an act of mercy, one they probably didn’t deserve.

  The earl sighed as he approached the gates. Inside the walls, he leaped down from his horse and handed the reins to an attendant.

  “There is a man waiting for you in the courtyard, m’lord.”

  The earl sneered in annoyance.

  Who could it be? Father Ivory wouldn’t have returned yet, and he almost never received visitors from the South during the winter months.

  “Let him wait for a while,” the earl snapped.

  The attendant backed away without question.

  The earl suffered himself to be led to the dining hall where a scrumptious feast was laid out. Young girls from the village served him on platters of silver. He caressed their bodies lazily as he chewed.

  When he was finished, the attendant approached him again.

  “The man is still waiting,” he said quietly.

  The earl sneered and sighed in annoyance. If the fellow hadn’t gotten the hint yet, he probably wasn’t going to leave until the earl saw him.

  He stood with a flourish, dropping a girl who had been reclining on his lap to the ground with a thud.

  “I suppose I’ll see him now,” he grumbled, stepping over the girl and marching toward the door.

  An attendant lifted a bearskin robe over the earl’s shoulders as he pushed the large oak doors aside. He made his way down a frigid corridor, finally opening the portal that led to the courtyard.

  It was late in the day. Heavy flakes drifted down from the heavens.

  In the south wall of the courtyard, there was a window that offered a view of the surrounding region. Standing next to it, his back to the earl, was a lean man. The man was apparently unarmed and was not of exceptional height or girth, but there was something about him that radiated power.

  The earl contemplated him for a moment before turning to his attendant.

  “Who is it?” he said in a low whisper.