Cursed Bones: Sovereign of the Seven Isles: Book Five (39 page)

She regarded Alexander silently, frowning and shaking her head as he held her gaze.

“You would risk so much for your principles?”

“Yes!” he whispered.

“I wonder how many other humans would place such value on the lives of two people they don’t even know.”

Chloe appeared between them in a ball of light.

“Lady Bragador, that is precisely why Alexander is the right person to bear the Sovereign Stone. I know his heart, he cannot sanction what you suggest.”

“Which is why I’m offering to do it for him and for the world.”

“Don’t you see, if you do this, My Love will have to stop you, he will have to become your enemy. Please don’t put him in that position. He loves your daughter as surely as he loves me and he counts you as his friend, but he has sworn to protect the Old Law and I know that oath to be true.”

“I count you as a friend as well, Alexander. Would you really oppose me in this?”

“What choice would I have?”

“You are wounded and surrounded by dragons, what hope would you have against me?”

Alexander shook his head sadly. “None,” he whispered.

“And yet you would still oppose me?”

“Yes.”

“You value your principles more than even your own life?”

“Yes.”

Bragador stood and started pacing, shaking her head and muttering curses under her breath. She stopped and faced Alexander, shaking her head in frustration. “I will never understand you, but I will respect your wishes in this matter. I only hope you aren’t dooming the world.”

Chapter 32

“They’re still following us,” Anatoly said, squinting through the brightness of sunlight on snow.

They were half a day away from the town where they hoped to procure snowbell for Magda and they were being followed by a pack of snow wolves, beautiful creatures in thick white fur coats that both protected them from the frigid temperatures and helped them blend into their surroundings. The wolves had picked up their trail a few hours after they’d left the cave and were pursuing, but not as quickly as they could have. Abigail wondered if they were holding back until nightfall and hoped that she and Anatoly would reach the relative safety of the town before then.

“Not much we can do about it except press on,” Abigail said.

“Agreed.”

The snow was deep and difficult to travel through. The rough, rugged terrain forced them to backtrack occasionally to find a navigable path over or around a number of crevasses and ridges. By the time they caught their first glimpse of the smoke from cook fires in town, they were nearing exhaustion. Fortunately, the wolves were still distant enough to pose no immediate threat.

The sun was just setting when they came to one of the northern trading roads leading to the town and stepped onto the hard-packed snow. As late in the day as it was, they encountered no traffic until they entered the town itself. The town wasn’t walled, but there was a high berm of snow surrounding it, probably more the result of removing the snow from the streets than from an attempt to build a defensive perimeter.

Anatoly had taken Alexander’s advice and donned a breastplate emblazoned with Zuhl’s crest and marked with emblems of rank. He strode into the village with Abigail a step behind and to the left, his battle axe resting on his shoulder and an expression of disdain on his face. The market was nearly deserted when they arrived, all of the shops were closed and the vendor carts tarped over for the night, their owners cooking dinner and preparing for bed as the light rapidly faded and the temperature fell.

“There’s the apothecary,” Anatoly said, motioning to the building in the corner of the marketplace with his chin. “Either we wait ’til dark and break in, or we find an inn and hope we don’t arouse enough suspicion to attract the city guard, then come back tomorrow and buy what we need.”

“We’ll wait until tomorrow,” Abigail said. “I can’t justify stealing from the apothecary … she’s not our enemy, she’s just a shopkeeper trying to make a living. Besides, we need some rest before we head back.”

“Fair enough, looks like the inn is down there.”

All eyes turned toward them when they entered the ale hall that served as the main room for the inn. The building was constructed of stone, as were most buildings on the Isle of Zuhl. The stone tables and benches of the ale hall were coarsely chiseled without any artistry, but functional nonetheless.

Most of the people in the room were old men, too frail to stand in battle, yet still possessed of the experience from many battles past. They regarded Anatoly with a mixture of scrutiny as if weighing his mettle were they to face him at their prime and respect for a man who still had battles left to fight.

Anatoly ignored them, striding purposefully up to the innkeeper. “One room, two beds for the night and a hot meal for us both.”

“Two silver crowns,” the innkeeper said, picking up a mug that was already clean and starting to wipe it down with the towel thrown over his shoulder.

Anatoly slapped two coins onto the counter. The innkeeper raised an eyebrow at him and nodded almost skeptically before collecting the coins and calling to his errand boy to fetch a key.

“So what’s your business here?”

“My business is Lord Zuhl’s business and none of yours,” Anatoly said.

“Don’t mean nothing by it, just curious is all. Most of the men are with the army. We don’t see many soldiers up here now days, let alone an officer.”

Abigail noticed several of the men seated around the room perk up with interest. She started casually looking around, locating the exits and finding the choke points in the room where she could fight without being flanked or surrounded.

“Who should I tell Lord Zuhl is inquiring into his business?” Anatoly asked pointedly. Before the man could stammer out an answer he continued. “What is your name?”

“Forgive me, sir,” the innkeeper said as the errand boy approached with a key. “Please, your room is ready. I’ll have a meal sent up right away.”

Anatoly regarded him calmly until the man started to fidget, then snatched the key from the startled boy, motioning for him to lead the way. Most of the men in the bar went back to their drinks as if the encounter had played out about like they expected it would. Abigail was relieved for that.

The room was simple, the food was bland but plentiful, no doubt a result of Anatoly’s gruff handling of the innkeeper, and the door was stout with a heavy bar. Even though the bed was lumpy, Abigail was asleep within minutes of lying down.

Sometime in the night she woke to the sound of pounding on the door.

“Open up!” a muffled voice demanded.

She schooled her breathing and tried to calm her racing heart as she slipped her feet into her boots and started lacing them up. Anatoly looked to her while lacing his own boots. She nodded for him to answer.

“Who’s asking?” Anatoly said with an undercurrent of menace.

“Captain Voss of Lord Zuhl’s home guard. We’re hunting a fugitive, a woman with silvery blond hair. I have a report that just such a woman is sharing your bed, so I say again, open up.”

“Fight or flee?” Anatoly whispered.

“Flee,” Abigail said, drawing the Thinblade and cutting open the heavy shutters covering the window.

“Just a minute,” Anatoly growled, “let me get my pants on.” Abigail was already on the ground and Anatoly was hanging from the windowsill when he spoke. They landed in a dark alley and moved quietly into the night, sticking to the shadows skirting around the edge of the market square, heading toward the apothecary.

“Looks like we’re going to have to steal it after all,” Anatoly said.

“We’ll leave her some coin for the snowbell and the damage I’m going to do to her door.”

They slipped up to the back door and Abigail slid the Thinblade along the doorjamb, cutting the bolt effortlessly. They entered quietly and cautiously, assuming that the shopkeeper was probably sleeping within the building. Anatoly motioned to the bed on the far side of the room where a woman covered in furs was lying, breathing deeply and evenly.

Abigail motioned for him to watch her while she went in search of the snowbell. She moved slowly, with deliberate care, stopping for several moments to let her eyes adjust to the low light before continuing into the room lined with shelves behind the counter. It took several minutes before she found what she was looking for, but she managed to get the jar of snowbell without making a sound. She left five gold coins in its place, easily triple its value, and returned to Anatoly.

The woman was still sleeping but rolled over, muttering in her sleep when Abigail stepped back into the room. She froze, waiting for the woman’s deep, even breathing to resume. When she and Anatoly thought it was safe, they slipped out into the alley and closed the door without a sound before melting into the shadows.

“That went well,” Abigail whispered.

“A little too well,” Anatoly said. “Makes me nervous.”

They moved to the edge of town and made their way along the inside of the berm wall toward the road leading to the northwest but stopped when they saw a squad of soldiers waiting quietly in the shadows on either side of the road. Abigail motioned to Anatoly to backtrack. Once out of sight of the road, they climbed up the berm wall and down the other side, setting out across the snow toward the relative safety of the cave.

“They’re going to pick up our trail,” Anatoly said.

“I know, but there’s not much we can do about that. Besides, they probably won’t notice it until daylight. At least we’ll have time to prepare for their attack.”

“If they come with the whole company, the dragon’s our only hope.”

“I know,” Abigail said.

Dawn broke over an overcast sky, heavy grey clouds floating so low that the mountain peaks in the distance were shrouded in gloom. In the rising light of dawn, the sky started spitting snow in fits and starts as if it couldn’t make up its mind. As unpleasant as it would be to travel in such weather, Abigail hoped it would snow heavily enough to cover their trail.

By
midday
Abigail was entirely disappointed with the weather. The snow came in flurries driven by gusts of wind coming off the mountain, not enough to erase their tracks, but plenty enough to make their journey miserable.

Trudging across a snow-covered plain, skirting a copse of trees, she caught motion from the corner of her eye, but a moment too late. In the next second a wolf had her by the leg, biting hard enough to draw blood, shaking his head back and forth, trying to drive her to the ground. He’d been nearly buried in the snow, all but invisible—and there were more, all coming to their feet now that the ambush had been sprung.

Abigail stumbled back, crying out in pain and surprise at the sudden and unexpected attack, her heart pounding in her chest as she toppled into the snow. The wolf released his grip on her leg and sprang on top of her, snapping at her face and throat. She jammed her forearm into his mouth. He clamped down on her bracer, crushing it into her arm.

Anatoly unleashed a battle cry that rivaled the howling of the wind, startling the rest of the wolves and giving them pause. He charged, driving the top spike of his war axe into the side of the wolf atop Abigail and lifted him clear, tossing his mewling body into the snow.

Abigail scrambled to her feet, unbalanced from the wound she’d sustained but steady enough to draw the Thinblade. Five wolves were circling them, looking for an opportunity to strike. Abigail and Anatoly stood back to back, watching the predators as closely as they were being watched by them. One darted close to them, snapping at Abigail’s good leg, but she met his snout with the Thinblade, stabbing down through the top of his head and dropping him in an instant, sweeping the blade up his spine, spilling blood and entrails across the snow.

The rest were suddenly more skittish about this prey, dancing farther away but snarling and growling just the same. Abigail sheathed the Thinblade and drew her bow, killing the nearest wolf with a single arrow through the skull. The rest turned and fled.

She sat down heavily in the snow, blood oozing from the puncture wounds in her leg. She grimaced in pain while she gingerly pulled her pant leg up and inspected the wound. “This is going to slow me down,” she muttered.

Anatoly went to work wrapping her leg. “I should have guessed those wolves hadn’t given up on us,” he said.

“Didn’t occur to me either.” She sucked in a quick breath, clenching her eyes in pain when Anatoly secured the bandage. “Like to make a coat out of ’em.”

He chuckled, getting to his feet and offering her his hand. She stood, testing the strength of her leg and wincing. “We’ll be lucky if we make it back before dark.”

“Put your arm around my shoulder, I’ll help you.”

They set out, leaving the wolves where they lay, walking into the wind and finally arriving at the cave several hours after dark. Abigail was numb from the cold, except for her leg which burned with pain, every step a jolt of agony. She carefully sat next to the fire and began unwrapping her wound while Anatoly went to work adding wood to the fire and putting water on to boil.

Magda came awake at the commotion, as did Ixabrax, but he only opened his eye, took in the situation and closed it again.