Cursed Bones: Sovereign of the Seven Isles: Book Five (40 page)

“What happened?”

“Wolves,” Abigail said, pouring some water from her waterskin onto a strip of cloth and gently cleaning the area around the wound. After she rewrapped her bandage and had a cup of hot tea and something to eat, she went to work on the snowbell vine, stripping the flowers and crushing it slightly before cooking it down into a pulp. After removing the fibers, she set it aside to let it cool and thicken.

She applied a generous quantity to Magda’s wound first and then dabbed a smaller amount onto her leg. There was enough of the salve left for a few more applications, but she suspected Magda would need it all before her wound was fully healed. It wasn’t long before a deep tiredness came over her and she slipped into a dreamless sleep. Anatoly was still awake the following morning. He looked exhausted.

“Did you stay up all night?”

He nodded wearily. “I was afraid the wolves might have followed us, and we have no way of knowing if the soldiers found our trail. How’s your leg?”

“Much better but still a bit tender. Snowbell definitely works, but nowhere near as well as Lucky’s salve. Get some sleep, I’ll keep watch.”

He nodded, going to his bedroll without a word. Before long he was breathing as deeply and evenly as Magda. Abigail got to her feet, carefully testing her leg and, satisfied with her strength, limped over to the cave mouth. She smiled at the sight of a foot of new-fallen snow blanketing the mountainside. The sky was overcast and the air was cold, but more importantly, their trail was completely gone.

Alexander appeared next to her without a word.

“I was wondering when you’d show up again. Is everything all right?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but it could easily be worse. What happened to your leg?”

“Had a disagreement with a wolf,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s nothing that won’t heal. The snowbell seems to work. Magda should be ready to travel in a few days, a week at the outside.”

“Good, I’ll do some looking around Zuhl’s fortress and see if I can come up with a viable plan of attack.”

Abigail nodded. “Some soldiers were snooping around town looking for me. Any chance you could see if they’re headed this way?”

“I’ll be back in a couple of minutes,” he said, vanishing.

Abigail went back to the fire and started heating water for tea. Before it came to a boil, Alexander was back.

“Looks like they’re searching closer to town. They’ve divided up into squads and seem to be looking for any sign of your trail.”

“I doubt they’ll find it after last night’s snowstorm.

“Probably not. I think you’re safe for now. I’ll be back in a few days.”

She smiled at him as he vanished.

Chapter 33

The first thing Isabel felt when she woke was throbbing pain in her head. It took several seconds for her to regain enough sense to be alarmed, then she sat bolt upright, looking around in near panic, pain exploding behind her eyes from the sudden movement.

She was lying on a blanket spread out in one corner of a cozy little cottage. A fire burned in the crudely constructed hearth with a black cauldron warming over the flames. Ayela sat across from the old woman, listening to her every word with rapt attention. Hector and Horace were nowhere to be seen.

Isabel’s weapons were gone. She rose quietly, unleashing her rage to protect herself from the pull of the firmament, but the rage didn’t come. Instead, she felt the all-too-familiar emotional numbness caused by malaise weed. She cast about, looking for anything she could use as a weapon, when the old woman turned and appraised her coolly.

“How’s your head, dear?” she asked, knowingly.

“Who are you? What did you do to me?”

“My name is Hazel Karth, aunt of Severine Karth, though he doesn’t know of my existence. As for what I’ve done to you,” she patted a little pouch at her belt, “I dosed you with henbane.”

“What’s henbane? Have you poisoned me?”

“No … well, not in the traditional sense of the word,” Hazel said. “Henbane is a potent herb. When properly prepared, it renders a person completely obedient for a period of several hours. One under the influence of henbane will comply with almost any instruction during that period of time, then fall into a deep sleep for about an hour as the effects wear off, waking with no memory of the experience … and a powerful headache.”

“Why?” Isabel demanded.

“I needed to question you and I needed the truth,” Hazel said.

“What about Hector and Horace? What have you done with them?”

“Ah … the boys are outside chopping firewood,” Hazel said. “Aside from some sore muscles, they’ll be just fine.”

“What did she ask me about?” Isabel said, turning to Ayela.

“Everything,” Ayela said. “Where you came from, who your allies are, your purpose here on Karth, and where we were going. You told her everything.”

“So what now?” Isabel asked, pointedly. “You’ve abducted us, disarmed me, and rendered my magic useless. What do you plan to do with us?”

“First, I thought I would offer you lunch,” Hazel said, ladling stew from the cauldron into a wooden bowl and offering it to Isabel. “Sit and eat. I will explain.”

Isabel took the bowl, still somewhat suspicious of her host, and sat down, trying to shake the fog of pain from her head and focus on the situation at hand. She reminded herself that battlefields come in all shapes and sizes.

“By all means, explain,” Isabel said, making no move to eat the stew.

“The House of Karth has been at the mercy of the Sin’Rath for centuries. Since the men are hopelessly charmed by the demon-spawn witches, the women of our house set out long ago to break the stranglehold they have on our family. That has proven a more difficult task than we imagined.

“I am the last of the true witches of Karth and now my family line is perilously close to its end. I can’t allow that to happen, so I’ve called Ayela to me to become my apprentice. I didn’t expect her to bring you as well, but perhaps that’s for the best. We have common enemies, after all.”

“Then why disarm me?” Isabel asked.

“Caution,” Hazel said. “I’m old and frail. You are young and vibrant. In a fair fight, I wouldn’t stand a chance, so I needed to ensure that any contest between us would be decidedly unfair.”

“So what happens next?” Isabel asked.

“We wait until the demon-spawn and the soldiers who serve them give up looking for you and move on, then you leave and Ayela stays here.”

“Is this what you want?” Isabel asked Ayela.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I think I could learn a lot from Aunt Hazel, but I also think the House of Karth is running out of time. Your plan may be the only hope we have for eliminating the Sin’Rath for good.”

“Don’t be foolish, Child,” Hazel said, dismissively. “If you go to the mountain, you will die with your friends and all hope for your family line will die with you.”

“What makes you so sure we’ll die?” Isabel said.

“Because no one ever returns from that cursed place,” Hazel said. “Few venture into the swamp, even fewer return, but in all my years of living in this place, I have never known anyone to return from that mountain.”

“So others have come,” Isabel said.

“Of course,” Hazel said. “The mountain was known to be a stronghold of Siavrax Karth, the last Wizard King. Legends have grown over the years, telling of fabulous treasures to be found there. I suspect those legends are the product of wishful thinking more than anything else.”

“If you’ve questioned me as thoroughly as Ayela says, then you know what I’m after,” Isabel said.

“Yes, you’re after a myth … a legend that may or may not have ever existed. And even if it did, it has long since decayed to dust. You will find only death on that mountain, and I will not permit you to lead Ayela to her untimely end.”

“Isn’t that her choice?” Isabel asked.

Hazel’s eyes narrowed and she sat forward. “No! She is the last woman of the Karth line, the last who could serve as my apprentice, the last hope for our family to end the influence of the Sin’Rath. She must stay here.”

“But what if Isabel’s right?” Ayela said. “What if we could destroy the Sin’Rath? And Phane with them? Wouldn’t that be worth the risk?”

“This one has poisoned your mind, Child,” Hazel said, gesturing toward Isabel. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, she believes what she says, believes it desperately, because she wants to believe it, needs to believe it. But reality is a funny thing, it doesn’t require your belief to be what it is. And the truth is, there’s nothing but death waiting for you on that mountain.”

“You’re wrong,” Isabel said. “The Goiri was real, its bones are waiting for me up there.”

“I hate to see you throw your life away, dear,” Hazel said, shaking her head sadly. “But it’s clear to me that you can’t be reasoned with, so I won’t try to stop you. You and your friends are free to leave anytime you wish, although I suggest you stay here until the Sin’Rath give up their search.”

“Where are they?”

“Close,” Hazel said. “They lost your trail nearby so they’re circling in an effort to find it once again.”

“What if they find this place?” Ayela asked.

“They won’t,” Hazel said. “This isn’t the first time the demon-spawn have hunted me. We are very well protected here.”

“How so?” Isabel asked.

“Magic,” Hazel said. “You are a Reishi witch. Your coven has always favored magic of a very direct nature, probably because of your use of wyverns as steeds. While direct magic can be useful in some situations, it pales in comparison to the magic of belief. My magic focuses on creating belief in the minds of my enemies. As we speak, my warding spells are influencing the soldiers searching for us, redirecting their attention away from clues to our whereabouts and planting suggestions that will lead them astray.”

“If your magic is so powerful, then why haven’t you succeeded against the Sin’Rath after all these years?” Isabel asked.

“I’m very close,” Hazel said, leaning forward excitedly. “I’ve nearly perfected a spell that will prevent the Sin’Rath’s charms from influencing the men. Once they see the true nature of the demon-spawn witches, they’ll turn against them and the Sin’Rath will be hunted to extinction.”

“So what’s stopping you from figuring it out?” Isabel asked.

Hazel clenched her teeth, scowling with sudden frustration. “It’s complicated. The Sin’Rath’s charms are unnatural, beyond the scope of any charm spell I’ve ever heard of.”

Isabel nodded, feeling a surge of anger well up within her, only to be dampened by the malaise weed. She directed her focus within and found the telltale touch of Azugorath. The Wraith Queen was trying to exert her influence again, trying to provoke a blind and uncontrollable rage within Isabel, but this time the malaise weed hindered her efforts with ease. With a deep breath, she dismissed Azugorath’s attempt at control and smiled at Hazel. “You’re no closer to creating your spell than you were when you first conceived of the idea, are you?”

“What do you know of it?” Hazel shot back. “You’re just a child, an infant without any real understanding of the craft.”

“So teach me,” Isabel said. “Show me why your kind of magic is so much better than mine.”

“I think not,” Hazel said. “You already have a coven, let them teach you. Besides, I have Ayela to instruct.”

Isabel smiled humorlessly. “I want to talk to Hector and Horace. Where are they?”

“I told you,” Hazel said, motioning to the door. “They’re outside.”

Isabel left the cottage without another word, stepping out into a secluded valley surrounded entirely by granite cliffs rising fifty feet into the air. The ubiquitous fog enshrouding the swamp was completely absent, revealing a sunny winter afternoon. The valley was lush with a wide variety of plants that looked like natural growth at first glance, but upon consideration must have been cultivated by Hazel for the sheer variety on display.

Isabel tipped her head back and closed her eyes. Slyder was perched on top of a cypress tree. She sent him into the air, circling higher and higher, trying to get a view of the valley but all she could see was swamp stretching away in every direction to the horizon. It made no sense. Slyder was close, she could feel it. He should have been able to see the valley, yet it didn’t appear to exist.

She followed a well-worn path through the artificial jungle toward the sound of men chopping wood. Not far from the cottage, Hector and Horace were cheerfully working away, splitting rounds of wood and stacking the wedges neatly along one side of the little clearing.

“Oh, hello Isabel,” Hector said. “Mistress Hazel said you’d wake soon. Isn’t this a wonderful place?” He went back to work stacking a round of wood atop his chopping block without waiting for an answer.

“I really like it here,” Horace said. “Do you think Mistress Hazel will let us stay?”

“What’s gotten into you?” Isabel demanded. “We have work to do.”

“I’ll say,” Hector said, motioning to the stack of rounds still awaiting the axe.

Isabel looked at him incredulously for a moment before turning on her heel and marching back to the cottage.