Path of Bones (46 page)

All I bring is death.  It’s all I’m good for.

Dane clawed at the ground.  He tried to resist the transformation, tried to fight through the urge to give in to that primal call.  His muscles were on fire and his mouth ruptured as blade-like fangs pushed against the insides of his gums.  His blood send a metallic taste down his throat.  Panic flooded his body as he clutched the wall, holding onto the broken rock as tightly as he could.

They’d be on top of him in moments.  His only choice was to succumb, to let the wolf take over.

No.  I can’t.

Dane felt the cold presence of the Veil.  He imagined pale flames sweeping over him, the rancid touch of icy magic.  Cold vapors filled his lungs.  His eyes burned. 

Desperate and afraid, Dane focused on the rip, the space between his world and the Veil, and he sent thoughts into it, pieces of his own consciousness.  He filled it with love and hope and all of the things he cared about, as if shunting them through would keep them away from the darkness inside him, the white-hot hate which threatened to transform him into a beast again.  He filled the void with memories: his mother and father sitting near the hearth with fresh-baked bread and warm cups of cider while a crackling fire cast light upon the winter-frosted windows; the White Dragon Army marching down the grand avenue in Ral Tanneth, their pale armor as sparkling and pure as a crystal sun, his boy’s heart filled with adulation and joy; his early days with the Dawn Knights, Ghost and Corva and Kraegen and Hask, friends and companions, always challenging one another, always pushing the others to do better, to be better, a family he hoped he’d never lose.

Each of those pleasant memories had some terrible aftermath, a grim conclusion that soiled their purity, but he pushed those dark realities down.  He hoped if he stayed focused on those frozen moments that some part of him wouldn’t be sucked down in the tide of bestial rage which threatened to pull him into oblivion.

It worked.  His breathing slowed, his muscles relaxed.  The pain in his skull faded and his vision returned to normal.  The scent of blood was thick in his nostrils and thoughts of slaughter still hammered at the edge of his mind, but there was enough of Azander Dane left for him to resist what was happening to him. 

Only a few seconds had passed.  He heard voices behind him as the Blood Knights drew close.  Dane’s back was to one of the side corridors.  Rather than risk exposure out in the open he moved into the darkness of the tunnels, wrapping himself in the thick crimson cloak to try and shield his body from the sullen chill. 

Lime deposits and brackish water fell from moonlit stalactites.  Dane moved carefully, his bare feet snarling on broken rock.  The air smelled of mold and musk, and every slight sound echoed through the darkness.  After a hundred paces Dane could barely see his hand in front of his face.

He held the Veil at the edge of his thoughts so the transformation wouldn’t take him.  He felt ice water in his veins and a cold aura around his heart, like he’d breathed in frozen fumes.  Pain shot through his stomach.  He cried out, not caring who heard,
wanting
someone to hear so they’d come close enough for him to rip their heads from their shoulders.  His guts twisted and his muscles tightened.  Cold spread through his body and sent him to the floor.

The Veil is burning the wolf’s taint away.

He felt the world pulse like blood pounding through a malformed heart.  He was wedged in a fulcrum of sense and thought, aware of everything around him both within those walls and beyond.  Blood Knights, Phage soldiers, Drakanna, all coming for him from down the tunnels.

All he had to do was give himself to the wolf. 

No. 

He held on.  Fire burned across his skin, and he vomited violently.  He was glad not to see what came out, but he smelled it – blood and viscera, bits of skin and wolf’s hair.  His throat burned raw as he spewed the last chunks of animal matter from between his lips.  It had grown within him, literally, and had been changing him from the inside out.

The footfalls drew close.  Strength rushed back into his body.  Dane let the Veil guide his movements, knowing he’d pay for it soon, and that if he held on for much longer it would be the end of him.  He gripped his
vra’taar
and pushed his naked body against the wall, the rock edges sharp against his back.  Blood sluiced down his sides and he bit his lip to keep from grunting in pain.  He could barely see, but he kept himself pressed against the stone as a torchlight appeared in the darkness.  He was lucky – he’d backed into a short crevice, a twisted fold of rock which formed a sort of natural alcove that hid him from plain sight.

Dane held his breath.  He realized that he still gripped the Veil, and he’d have to release his hold soon before he collapsed from exhaustion.

The light came into view.  Dane jumped forward and swung the
vra’taar
, slicing through bone and flesh and severing the torchbearer’s arm at the elbow.  The man cried out, and Dane grabbed his shoulder and used him to catch the sword of the second Phage soldier.  Dane threw the body back, knocked the sword away from the second man and took him down with a blade to the face, spraying blood on the wall as he hacked through jawbone.  He left the armor intact. 

Angry shouts echoed through the tunnels.  Dane desperately pulled the armor off the second corpse, praying he had time.  He let the Veil go and a wave of exhaustion hit him like a fist to the gut, but Dane bit down and focused, pulled buckles open and slid the cuirass off the body before removing the vambraces and gauntlets.  Dane worked fast, taking the soldier’s loose black shirt and pants and hastily throwing them on, thankful that the dead man was roughly the same size as he was.  A ridiculous memory of climbing out of a whore’s bedroom back in Savon Karesh came to mind, from early in his days with the Dawn Knights – General Crinn forbade his newest recruits from indulging in prostitutes, and he
’d come to hunt them down when he’d learned how they’d disobeyed him. 

Dane’s heart hammered.  Once he’d donned the clothes and boots he threw the cuirass on over his head and moved deeper into the dark, leaving the torch behind him but bringing his
vra’taar
, the vambraces and greaves, and a spare dagger. 

More torches appeared in the tunnel behind him, and he saw the silhouettes of three men.  He ducked into another alcove.  Sweat poured down his face as he quickly donned the rest of the black armor.  He was so exhausted he could barely breathe.

Dane readied his blade as steps drew close.  They’d left the torches behind them this time, so when Dane emerged all he saw were blade-bearing silhouettes.  He cleaved into the soldiers and sent two of them to the ground in sprays of gore.  A third man came at him, and  Dane threw himself forward and flung the dagger, not even sure if it had hit home until he heard the man choke on his own blood as he fell.  Dane moved past the bodies and on down the tunnel.  Voices and booted feet echoed all around him. 

I’m going through all of this for a Bloodspeaker who would likely rather stick a knife up my ass than accept my help.  I’ll get killed trying to redeem myself by helping a woman I’ve never even met, and that might just make me the stupidest man in history.

An angry shout sounded from the darkness behind him.  Dane ran, using the dim moonlight to guide him.  If he returned to the main tunnel he could try and slip outside, though he still wasn’t sure that was the wisest plan.  His choices were to either get out in the open where he’d be easy to spot or stay in the caves where he’d be easy to corner. 

I’m fucked either way, I guess.

Dane heard guttural cries and the crunch of bones as he neared the exit.  The sky was dark and starless.  Dunes rolled away from the cave complex, and Dane spied the ruined city in the distance.  Some massive shape writhed and fell near Corinth – a Runefiend, he thought, based on the description he’d read in the Grimmlores – and a battle took place just outside the walls.

But he was more concerned with the combat going on in front of the caves.  A body flew against the rock and crumpled in a bloody heap.  Several cloaked Phage soldiers and a single Blood Knight had surrounded Kruje, who struggled to keep his attackers at bay without the benefit of any weapons.  Deep gashes in his shoulder and torso loosed black blood onto the sand.

Dane moved to help when the hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end.  He sensed movement behind him, heard the razor slice of a blade being loosed, and only barely ducked in time. 

Drakanna’s thin sword cut through the air over his head, and as he turned she brought the weapon down, aimed at his skull.  Her beautiful but scarred face was dark even in the moonlight, and her eyes gleamed with hate. 

Dane fell back and cried out as the blade ripped through his cheek.  Blood flashed in his mouth.  He fell to his knees, blocked her blade with his
vra’taar
and got back on his feet.  She swiped sideways as she dodged past, cutting through his shoulder.  Their blades danced off each other in a shower of sparks.

He growled and leaped forward, bringing all of his weight to bear and crushing Drakanna against the craggy stone.  Their swords locked and her knee caught him in the ribs, knocking the air from his lungs.  Dane brought his forehead forward and cracked her nose, spraying blood across her face. 

Two more Blood Knights emerged from the caves, their
kan’aar
flashing in the dim light.  Kruje crushed a Phage’s head with his fist, but a spear flew into his side, and another soldier went for his knees.  The giant towered over them, twice as tall and wide as any man, but in spite of his fearsome size and reckless fighting Chairos’ men showed no fear. 

Dane knocked Drakanna’s blade aside, threw her at the Blood Knights and ran to help Kruje.  He came at the Phage warriors from behind, and his
vra’taar
sang through flesh.  Three more men fell, one headless and two gushing blood from their jugulars. 

Kruje was on his knees.  One of the Phage had drawn a pair of knives and was about to go for the giant’s face while another lifted a saber to finish Kruje off, but Dane’s attack drew their attention just long enough for the Voss to reach up, take their heads in his massive fists and smash them together.  Their skulls broke like gory melons. 

Dane motioned for Kruje to run, but the giant took hold of Dane’s shoulder and threw him to the ground as a throwing axe sailed overhead.  He turned and watched as Kruje threw a Phage’s body at a Blood Knight, missing entirely but buying Dane enough time to suck in a deep breath and let the diamond hard light of the Veil pierce through his mind.  For a moment he felt his heart stop as a dark and throbbing beat of cold nearly sucked him under.  Dane smelled worms and grave soil, tasted air so stale it was like he’d been buried.  He hadn’t waited long enough before Touching the Veil again, especially after he’d used it for so long, but it was too late now.

The sand blasted upwards, flying towards the cave entrance like a wave of water.  The Blood Knights were swept up and back, and Drakanna retreated into the cave as the soiled tide smothered the entrance under a bed of sand. 

It wouldn’t take long for them to dig their way free, and even as he’d worked the magic Dane saw more men emerge from the
cutgate. 
He’d bought Kruje and himself a handful of minutes, at best.

“
Let’s go!”
he shouted in Vossian, and they stumbled down the dune and made for the ruins of Corinth, where fires loosed smoke into the ebon sky and the sounds of steel and combat echoed across the wastelands.

Sixty-One

This is insane
, Kruje thought. 
I just ran away from that damned city, and now Dane wants to go
back.

This wasn’t the sort of business that ended well.  Now that he’d found Dane it was time to set things right.  He had to keep the Skullborn alive, but he also had to prevent them from fulfilling their so-called destiny. 

He moved as slow as Dane would allow.  Kruje had to give his body an opportunity to heal, and that was going to be difficult while they were running at full speed.  In spite of Dane’s insistence that they keep moving Kruje could tell the Knight was completely exhausted.  The man always held tight to the Veil, and it was clear he’d used it extensively to free himself from Chairos’ minions.  There was really no way he could have escaped without magic, and even though it was Bloodspeakers who drew on their personal life energies Veilwardens and their ilk still killed a small part of themselves every time they Touched. 

You can only grasp hands with death so many times before it refuses to let go
, Kruje thought. 
Humans could learn from the Voss.  We found that out the hard way.

The giant’s dark flesh slowly wove itself back together.  Dark blood ran hot as regenerative tissues shifted into place, and toxins were ejected from his skin before the wounds sealed shut, cauterized and fused as if by invisible flames.  He felt his muscles re-knit, felt his organs pump blood faster.  Kruje’s strength gradually returned as he and Dane crossed the dunes.  The flames of the ruins ahead and the fires of pursuing torches lit the way.  There was nowhere for them to hide.

He looked at the city.  The Runefiend had been killed, but now sounds of combat rang through the night.  He smelled magic in the dank desert wind, a fused and burning scent like charred meat.  Kruje thought of what lie ahead, and the gravity of their situation.  Those women – whether it was one of them or all three – were capable of changing the fate of the world.  The Kruje had taken every step to try and prevent this day from coming, but since identifying the women had been next to impossible they’d had to settle for making it so the Scarstones could never be found.  Was that why these humans were here now?  Years of careful planning had gone into concealing Chul Gaerog, and now it would fall to an outcast like himself to make sure the Black Tower remained secure.  Deposed and stranded hundreds of miles from the Iron Guard, Kruje – exile, traitor – was being thrust into the jaws of destiny without so much as a shield.