Path of Bones (50 page)

What are you doing?
he asked himself.
  You don’t believe in this, in fate, in the One Goddess’s will.  You’ve seen too much,
done
too much to be this naive.

Maybe he was deluding himself.  Maybe the circumstances that had brought him there were nothing more than blind and stupid luck.  Maybe it was his curse to keep on living even though he didn’t deserve to.  But he wouldn’t believe that.

Not today.  Today I have to believe I’m here to do something right.

Kruje, too, seemed intent on finding Ijanna, and Dane wondered what had happened to change things.  He hadn’t gotten the impression that the Voss had much of a clue as to what was happening, and that he was there solely because of Dane, but now he wasn’t so sure.  The giant had seen something, maybe learned something from Chairos that had motivated him. 

They came into the shadow of a low and broken building not far from the middle of Corinth. 

“
Kruje,” Dane said.  The giant leaned close.  The Voss’s skull was nearly the size of a hogshead, and his eyes were as big around as Dane’s balled fists.  Kruje knelt down so they were at eye level, and sweat dripped from his bald head.  “
Thank you,
” Dane said in Vossian, the words strange and scratchy on his tongue.  “
You’ve been a friend.
”  He wasn’t sure how much the giant would understand.  “
You don’t have to come with me.”

Kruje watched him carefully.  His eyes were almost pure white, like a pair of glowing moons, and the dark runes on his skin seemed to run like quicksilver. 

“
You don’t have to go,
” Kruje said, using small and simple words so Dane could understand him.  “
We can leave.  We can live.”

Dane’s chest heaved.  He felt tears in his eyes. 

“
No
,” he said.  “
I can’t live.” 
He looked into the city.  “
Not like this.  Not anymore.” 
He had to set things right, had to prove to himself he was worth something.  Even if he died, at least he could do so knowing he was trying to save a life that wasn’t his own.

Kruje placed a huge hand on Dane’s shoulder.  Though he was gentle it still felt like someone had set a barrel on top of him. 

“
Friend,
” Kruje said.

“
Friend,”
Dane said with a nod.

Thunder rang through the sky.  He looked through the ruins and saw the flames grow brighter.  Heat haze made the morning air shimmer.  Dane pointed down the narrow lane and signaled to Kruje that he would go take a look, and that the Voss should wait.  Kruje didn’t seem to like the idea, but after a moment’s hesitation he nodded his reluctant ascent.

Dane navigated past collapsed towers and shattered statues.  Red mist clung to the ground, and the air was thick with the stain of magic and the sounds of battle as he pushed on towards the heart of the city.

Sixty-Six

Kala kicked Gilder in the stomach.  The pale Bloodspeaker’s scarred face was drenched in blood, as Gallaean and his men had been beating the Red Hand emissaries since the middle of the night.

Thunder rattled the windows of the darkened manor.  Much of the floor  in the lower level was covered with gore that had dried over the course of several hours, and the air was damp with piss and fear.  Kala paced around the room.  Her black lions sat quietly at the top of the steps, magically attuned to her will.  Silence and Phantom were still young but they were loyal and powerful, and they’d ripped creatures to shreds by her silent commands on more than one occasion.

Gallaean’s men held Gilder down while his arms were bound behind his back.  Three more Bloodspeakers cowed on the floor, their mouths hidden behind tight gags to prevent them from Breathing the Veil.  That trick alone didn’t work, not truly, but Kala had spent most of her life researching her weaknesses, learning how best to defy and survive where others failed, and she’d discovered years ago that her own limitless reservoir of Veil energies could suppress the magic of other Bloodspeakers.  She held them in the grip of her power, sensed their hearts beating hard against their ribs, practically tasted the iron in their dark blood. 

Gallaean planted his foot on Gilder’s back and pushed him onto his face.  Kala knelt down and stroked the man’s blood-matted hair. 

“Poor man,” she said to Gilder.  “You came seeking an alliance, and instead you got
me
.  I’m glad you came, though.”  The skin over his right eye was so swollen he could barely open it, and blood and puss oozed from the wound and pooled onto the floor.  “You saved me the trouble of having to hunt down any Bloodspeakers.”

“
You bitch!” one of the other Red Hand shouted, a young man with short dark hair and a face covered in ritual tattoos.  “We came here for a common cause!”

“
You came here because I told Malath I sought an alliance,” she said coldly.  “It was kind of him to have sacrifices so conveniently delivered to my doorstep.”  She stood up and walked over the young man, close enough that she could smell the stain of fear on his skin.  “If it’s any consolation, you’ll die so I can live.”  She smiled, and motioned for Gallaean’s men to gag the youth before he tried anything foolish.

Crogas the Red barreled down the stairs and into the wide room.  Golden sunlight spilled through the scorch-stained windows.  The Drage’s loose tunic displayed his gnarly and hairy chest and Galladorian skin runes, and sweat dripped down his bald pate and into his beard. 

“I thought we were waiting until morning to take them,” he said with his usual sneer. 

“
They tried to enter my dreams,” Kala said.  “It was that Skullborn bitch who came to the city with them.”

“
We should have seen that coming,” Crogas said angrily.  “Just her?”

“
No, there was another,” Kala said, and doubt gnawed in her stomach.  They were so close, but everything was happening too fast.  “A Den’nari male, or at least that was how he appeared in the dream. “

“
Probably one of those same silly bastards attacking us right now,” Gallaean said.  He stamped down on Gilder’s ankle as he lay there on the ground, and the Bloodspeaker howled through his gag and writhed in pain.  “The Phage.”

“
Maybe,” Crogas said.  “They’re putting up quite a fight.  Your men are having trouble with them,” he said to Gallaean.  “Do we have all of the Red Hand?”

“
We will,” Gallaean said.  His brown hair was unbound, and both it and his chiseled and angry face were streaked with blood that wasn’t his.  His priest’s raiment was soaked through.  “Drazzek is out collecting them now.”

“
How many do we have?” Kala asked.

“
Nine.  We could use the last four.”

“
And the woman,” Kala said, but she nodded her satisfaction with Gallaean’s answer.  They needed one Bloodspeaker per
Scarstone,
but they were close now, so close.  They could contact Ghul and link their forces to Crinn’s army under Ironclaw Keep, but if they had the necessary sacrifices on hand they wouldn’t need to.  Crinn’s legions were needed to
hold
Chul Gaerog, not seize it – Kala could do that on her own, and soon.  Her blood ran hot with excitement. 

It’s going to happen
, she thought
. 

Several of Gallaean’s men – scarred and rugged ruffians in dirty chain and leather armor, all armed with broadswords like their priest-captain – came storming into the manor through the upstairs door, past Kala’s open chambers and down the stairs with a large prisoner held between them.  He was a handsome lad with a chiseled face and scruffy brown hair; bruises and cuts colored his stony jaw.  He wore battered leather armor, and judging by the bags under his eyes he seemed not to have slept for weeks.  They held his shackled arms and punched him the kidneys as they brought him to the bottom of the stairs.  He glared at Kala with unmistakable hate.

“That’s no way to look at your Princess,” she said with a smile.

“
You’re no Princess,” he said.  “You’re nothing.”

Kala ignored him and looked to the top of the stairs, where the real prize waited.

Her resemblance was uncanny.  This woman came from an entirely different part of the world and was of exotic heritage – Den’nari and Allaji, if Kala recalled – and her base-born biological parents were as different from Kala’s pure Jlantrian birth as one could get.  Yet even with variations in their skin tone and hair color she and the Dream Witch almost could have been sisters – they had the same almond eyes, the same proud nose, the same aquiline jaws and full lips.  Looking up at that other Skullborn was like staring into a distorted mirror.

Ijanna Taivorkan was bound and gagged and bleeding from a cut over her left eye.  Even in that state her gaze sparkled like rubies and blood.  Her expression was defiant as Drazzek led her down the stairs and into the sandstone chamber. 

“Welcome, Sister,” Kala said quietly.  “It’s nice to meet you in the flesh.  I’ve heard so much about you.”  She stepped close.  Ijanna stood defiantly.  She was a full head taller than Kala, but she was cowed by the Princess’s power.  Even though it took extended effort on Kala’s part she found she could suppress even Ijanna’s magic, and after a moment panic and understanding dawned in the Dream Witch’s eyes.  There was no question as to which one of them was more powerful. 

“
You came here for help, didn’t you?” Kala asked her sweetly.  “I’m sorry.  There’s no help for you here.  But
you
can help
me
.”  She smiled.  “You’re going to die, Ijanna, so that the Janus Tree and the power of the One Goddess can be mine.”  She nodded at Gilder, who still lay crumpled and bleeding on the floor.  “You won’t be alone.  Your friends will also perish, so I can open the way to Chul Gaerog and claim my birthright.”

A single tear ran down Ijanna’s pale face, pushing its way over dust and dried blood.  Kala wiped it away. 

Sixty-Seven

Ijanna wanted so badly to wake from the nightmare, but she couldn’t.  She’d marched blindly into the lion’s den, and now she and Kath were going to die. 
Everyone
was going to die, all at the hands of this selfish and cruel girl who wanted to be a Goddess, who wanted to pay the world back for the cruelties she’d witnessed from the safety of her white tower.

This is your fault
, Ijanna told herself. 
If only you’d done as you were supposed to and gone straight to Chul Gaerog, Kala never would have been given this opportunity. 
But it was too late.

They took Ijanna and Kath to the street.  Corinth was on fire, or at least part of it was.  Blazes had been set in a perimeter around the wide central district, a ring of red-black flames which thickened the air with smoke.  Kala’s soldiers roamed the streets, ushering the slaves to their pens.  Ijanna heard fighting in the distance, steel and shouts and the crackle of magic. 

The massive pit loomed before them.  There was nowhere to go.  Running from her fate for so long had led her here, and her desire to escape her destiny and cheat death was about to doom not just herself but the entire world.  Ijanna’s stomach filled with ice and her head throbbed with pain.  Every muscle shook, every nerve was stretched to a razor’s point.  She thought she was going to be sick.

She couldn’t talk, couldn’t Breathe.  Kala had somehow suppressed her magic.  Ijanna’s chest was tight, like something had latched onto her heart with smoking claws.  The skin on her scalp felt as tight as a drum. 

Even if by some miracle she and Kath escaped, the Phage were also there in the city, fighting for the right to take Ijanna and give her to that evil bitch Mez’zah Chorg.  And if not them, the Jlantrians were closing in. 

She and Kath and the Red Hand were marched to the edge of the massive hole.  A number of Kala’s soldiers waited near the black pit, standing on a ridge of loose rock which circled the breach like the spines on a creature’s back.  Each of the
Scarstones
had been positioned on its end, forming a perimeter around the crater.  The black artifacts oozed shadows and ebon vapors. 

Ijanna felt the chill of the void emanate from the pit.  It pulled at her, and had always pulled at her, ever since she was a girl.  In a way it felt like going home.

“Ijanna,” Kath said.  “It’ll be all right.  It’ll…”

The priest Gallaean struck Kath hard across the face with a spiked gauntlet.  Blood seeped down the side of his head and drooled from his mouth.

I’m sorry, Kath
, Ijanna thought as tears ran down her face. 
But you’re wrong.  Things aren’t going to be all right.  It’s over.

Sixty-Eight

Dane dodged through half-collapsed buildings and rubble-strewn lanes, carefully avoiding the soldiers who raced down the streets of the ruined city.