Cursed Bones

chapter 8



Time passed. Lacy lost track of day and night in the poorly lit hold. Pain was the only constant. Her hand was useless, but that didn’t stop her from trying to use it out of habit, only to remember a moment too late when the constant aching flared into sudden agony. Her only consolation was that the captain had ordered her belongings locked in a strongbox near her cell. At least she knew where the black box was.

Imprisonment gave her time to think, to recall every word of her conversation with Rankosi. He said that the box contained a keystone, to what she had no idea, but the fact that he wanted it was enough to ensure that she would go to great lengths to prevent him from getting it.

He showed her how to open it, told her the ancient word that she needed to speak, yet it didn’t open when she tried. She played that moment over and over in her mind as well. She couldn’t explain it with words, but it felt like the box was sensing her duress, like it chose to remain closed because she was being coerced.

The implications were staggering.

The proof was in the fact that Rankosi hadn’t returned, even though she was certain he was still onboard. If the box couldn’t be opened though coercion, then she had to choose to open it. That meant he would try to trick her. It also meant she was safe, in a manner of speaking anyway. Rankosi wouldn’t kill her if he still needed her to open the box.

Rankosi had also spoken about Phane, at least she assumed he was referring to the Reishi Prince. From the sound if it, Phane wanted the contents of the box as well, but he knew something about it, something that Rankosi didn’t.

She fell asleep, playing the encounter with Rankosi over in her mind yet again and woke with a start. The muffled sounds of shouting and fighting filtered through from the upper deck. She and Drogan shared a worried look, each straining to hear what was happening.

Moments later, the hatch opened and soldiers began to stream into the lower hold where the brig was located. They were big men, brutish-looking, dressed in furs and armed with simple yet effective weapons. Lacy recognized them at once—Zuhl’s soldiers.

“Ah, there you are, Princess,” the man in the lead said. He was easily six and a half feet tall with a close-cropped black beard, bald head, and dark menacing eyes.

“I’m Commander Kahl,” he said. “Lord Zuhl has been looking for you.”

Lacy’s blood ran cold. Her face went white and she nearly fainted. All these weeks of running had come to this. Zuhl had captured her at last. She didn’t know why the ruler of the island to the north wanted her so badly, but she was certain it wouldn’t be good.

“Transfer them both to the brig on our ship,” Commander Kahl said, “and be sure to secure their possessions. Lord Zuhl is particularly interested in one of the items she’s carrying.”

“What of the rest of the passengers and crew?” the man to his right asked.

“Kill them all and sink the ship,” Kahl said. “We have what we came for. Once the prisoners are secure, set course for Crescent Bay.”

Lacy whimpered when they roughly locked the shackles around her wrists and she nearly screamed when the soldier grabbed the chain between them and dragged her from her cell toward the steep stairs leading to the upper decks. She watched in helpless horror as the rest of those aboard the refugee vessel were casually slaughtered by Zuhl’s brutes while she was led to the brig aboard the enemy warship. Men jeered and taunted her as she passed them, laughing at her predicament and speculating on how Zuhl might go about interrogating her. By the time the cold steel bars clanged shut on her new cage, she was totally dispirited. She’d failed her father, and she was probably going to die a terrible death.

Lacy Fellenden curled up on the pallet in the corner and cried herself to sleep.

Abigail sat atop her horse, looking out over the snow-dusted valley at the husk of Fellenden City. It was a cold, late autumn day. The first snow had just started falling from a bleak grey sky. The air was still and cold—the city in the distance looked the same.

They had been marching for weeks, thousands of soldiers guarding thousands of refugees. People from all over Fellenden were coming home to the central city of the entire island, the place that once, long ago, had housed the royal House of Fellenden. Now, it was a broken shell of its former glory, yet it was the best place for Abigail’s army to shelter during the winter. Centrally located on the Isle of Fellenden, it gave her strategic options if Zuhl or Phane should choose to attack during the winter, an unwise choice, yet not beyond reason for either tyrant, considering how little they valued the lives of those who served them.

The weather had been cold and clear for most of the journey. Only in the last few days had the sky clouded over. Abigail had prodded her army to move faster, hoping to reach shelter before the inevitable snows began to fall. The soldiers could handle the faster pace, but the refugees could not. They trailed behind the bulk of the army for leagues, struggling to carry all that was left of their possessions to their new temporary home.

“General Markos,” Abigail said, “send half the heavy cavalry forward to scout and secure the city and the other half back to ensure we don’t lose any stragglers in this snow.”

“At once, Lady Abigail,” General Markos said, saluting, fist to heart, before wheeling his horse and tending to his orders.

“I doubt we’ll get everyone inside before dark,” Anatoly said. “Not even sure it would be wise.”

“I concur,” Magda said. “Zuhl is not above leaving a few nasty surprises in his wake to discourage those who might pick the bones of his conquest.”

Abigail nodded, trying to gauge the time of day from the uniformly bleak sky.

“We’ll make camp on the outskirts and move into the city in a careful and orderly manner,” she said. “After bringing these people all this way, I don’t want to blindly walk them into a trap.”

Conner rode up, trailed by two Ithilian royal guards. “Scout riders just returned,” he said. “Irondale has fallen without a fight.”

“Blasted cowards,” Torin said, biting off his words.

“Could be they’re biding their time,” Anatoly said, “waiting for the right moment to strike.”

“Either way, Zuhl’s brutes have a warm place to sleep for the winter,” Abigail said. “At least we know where they are.”

“General Kern reports that the Rangers have done some damage to the enemy forces but not enough to make a difference,” Conner said. “He’s starting to lose men and horses to the cold. The snow started falling a week ago farther north and hasn’t stopped since.”

“Recall him at once,” Abigail said. “We’re at a stalemate until spring.”

“For any significant operations, I’m afraid you’re right,” Magda said, “though there are still some things we can do to make life uncomfortable for our unwelcome guests.”

“I’m all for that,” Abigail said with a sidelong grin, “but let’s see to these people first before we go poking Zuhl in the eye.”

A week later they’d cleared the city of the wild dogs and other unpleasant scavengers that had taken refuge in the ruins and they were beginning to rebuild. Abigail made the defenses a priority. Even though she knew that stone walls were no match for the kind of magic Zuhl could bring to bear, she felt better knowing that the people would breathe easier when they were surrounded by a stout wall and heavy Iron Oak gates.

A large portion of the Fellenden family keep had been shattered beyond repair, but part of it was salvageable. Abigail had taken that section as her command post and quarters for herself and her command staff. A single tower still stood on one corner of the keep. Abigail ordered that it be fitted with a guard house and a warning bell. The manor was cold and foreboding at first, but after a few days of work, it started to take on the lived-in feel of a home.

She had taken simple quarters that had probably been occupied by a servant before the attack, but they were close to the master bedchamber that she’d converted into a council hall and strategy room.

Several days after the last of the refugees had been moved into the city, Abigail assembled all of her advisors around the council table. She sat at the head of the table with her sword belt hooked over the corner of her chair. While she felt relatively secure within the keep, she wasn’t about to let the Thinblade out of her sight.

“I’ve received word from several of the other territories,” Torin said. “I estimate another three to four legions are prepared to join our forces. Zuhl’s defeat at the shipyards has heartened many who thought all hope was lost. While there are few on Fellenden who have any real battle experience, many are eager to join the fight now that we have a fighting chance.”

“With our losses at the shipyards, these new additions will bolster our forces to about twelve legions,” General Markos said.

“That should be more than enough to drive the barbarians out of Irondale and into the sea,” Conner said.

“We’ve received reinforcements from the fortress islands,” Corina said. “My wing now stands at ninety-seven Sky Knights, including seventeen witches. Additionally, Bianca has cleared the northern fortress island and established a base of operations there. She is prepared to assist and is already running scouting operations. And Cassandra reports that the wyvern-breeding program is moving ahead and the new class of Sky Knights is ready and awaiting the next hatching.”

“General Kern should arrive within the week,” General Markos said. “Quarters have been set aside for the Rangers, and we’ve already made preparations for stabling their horses. The latest supply shipment arrived from Ithilian today so we should have enough food to last through the winter.”

“Any word from Ruatha?” Abigail asked.

“I’m afraid not,” General Markos said.

Abigail nodded, pursing her lips. Winter had set in, blanketing the majority of the Isle of Fellenden with over six inches of snow and effectively ending any significant military operations. She had turned her attention to the more mundane, yet vitally important tasks of rebuilding Fellenden City and sheltering the soldiers and refugees under her care.

She was running through the checklist of matters to address when the alarm bell tolled. She looked to Captain Sava, who was standing guard along the wall of the big room. He nodded and sent one of his Strikers for a report. Before the man could reach the door, a roar shattered the early evening.

Only one thing could make such a fearsome noise.

A dragon.

The air in the room dropped precipitously as the ceiling crystallized, freezing solid, icicles forming in seconds.

Everyone stood. Magda, Corina, Sark, and Dax began casting spells. The Strikers drew swords and raised shields as a soldier burst into the room.

“A dragon attacks!” he shouted as the arched ceiling shattered, sending blocks of stone raining down.

Anatoly grabbed Abigail and covered her with his body as he shoved her under the table. A rock the size of a man’s head crashed into his back, knocking him unconscious and pinning Abigail underneath him.

Magda’s shield flickered into being, followed a moment later by a force-push spell that shoved a section of ceiling the size of a wagon back against the wall, saving Conner and Torin from being crushed.

Sark turned to wind, barely escaping as several stones crashed into his chair, leaving nothing but splinters.

One Striker managed to deflect a stone with his shield, suffering a broken arm in the bargain. Another took a direct hit to the head. His helmet was undamaged but the force of the blow broke his neck, dropping him to the floor, dead in an instant.

Sava raced to Abigail, shield raised overhead, and took a position over her and Anatoly to protect them both.

Corina staggered back as a large section crashed into her shield, exploding into smaller stones that clattered to the floor.

Dax cast a spell that caught a dozen or more stones that were falling toward him, stopping them in midair, blue sparkling light dancing over the surface of each, then with a wave of his hands, he tossed them harmlessly against the wall.

Abigail worked to free herself from Anatoly, rolling him over and frantically checking his breathing. She could hear gurgling as he struggled to draw breath.

“Help me get his armor off,” she said to Sava.

She gasped when she saw the extent of the damage. The right side of his upper back was crushed, shattered ribs sticking out and bright red blood flowing freely. She sobbed as she fumbled with her jar of healing salve, scooping out nearly all of the contents and spreading it liberally on his back, then gently rolling him onto his side so she could pour a healing draught down his throat.

When she looked up into the sudden silence, she saw that General Markos and two of the Strikers had been killed by the falling debris. The general was crushed under a section of stone that would have killed a horse. He’d died almost instantly. Several Strikers were down, a few were struggling to get back up, some would never rise again.

“Call for a healer,” Abigail commanded.

One of the Strikers nodded and raced off.

“We have to get you out of here, Lady Abigail,” Sava said.

“I’m not leaving him,” she said, kneeling next to Anatoly and cradling his head in her lap. She felt the knot in her stomach tighten when she saw the bright red blood on his lips. He was hurt … badly. Then she heard another roar, and though not as fearsome as a dragon’s, it had a similar quality. She looked up and saw a dozen or more creatures descending into the room.

They were a mixture of man and dragon, each standing eight feet tall with pale blue scales like those of a snake covering their entire bodies. They had bright golden eyes, horns that swept back from their dragon-like heads, and a ridge of spikes running down their backs. They were thin and sinewy, but looked inhumanly strong. Blue batlike wings, a long bone-bladed tail, sharply clawed hands and feet completed the nightmare.

One landed on the table in front of Abigail, its claws gouging into the wood. Captain Sava stabbed at it, but his blade was turned aside by the hardness of its scales. It backhanded Sava, sending him tumbling to the floor, then grabbed Abigail by the arm and started to launch into the air.

She grasped the hilt of the Thinblade just as the creature thrust with its wings, slipping the blade free of its scabbard and slashing up toward the monster. The Thinblade cut cleanly through the beast’s arm and wing, sending them crashing to the ground amidst an inhuman shriek of pain from the half-dragon, half-man.

Abigail rolled to her feet as Sava and two of his men converged on her, forming a cordon of protection with their dragon-plate shields raised high against the threat descending on them.

Another beast landed in the center of the shattered table. It reared back and breathed a cone of icy air at Magda, coating her shield with frost. She seemed to be chilled by the attack, but her shield protected her from the brunt of it. Her spell came quickly, sudden anger flashing in her eyes … a blue pinwheel of force materialized in front of her, then moved quickly toward the dragon-man, catching it in the midsection and cleaving it cleanly in half. Three of its brethren shrieked in fury at the loss of one of their own.

Another flew over Torin and Conner, breathing a gout of frost on them, chilling them to the bone and sending them to the ground, shivering. They were both still alive, but completely incapacitated by the numbing cold. Corina released a light-lance spell at the beast, burning a hole through its chest. It crashed to the ground and never moved again.

Sark caught two of the creatures in a whirling vortex of wind and carried them up and out of the chamber into the dark of night.

Another of the beasts grabbed hold of one of the Strikers with its taloned feet and carried him several dozen feet into the air before dropping him to the ground. He crashed into the stone floor and fell still as death.

Mage Dax was feeding power into a ball of lightning that was forming between his outstretched hands. It was growing in size and intensity when a blue dragon landed on the edge of the hole in the ceiling. It was beautiful and terrible all at once. Abigail saw similarities between this one and Ixabrax. Its rider looked down into the room with calm, almost detached calculation.

Zuhl.

“Take the girl,” he commanded as Dax released the ball of lightning at him. Zuhl directed his staff toward the streaking, crackling ball of electrical power and instantly formed a half-shell protective shield in front of him. The lightning struck it with thunderous force, shattering the shield and hitting the dragon square in the chest. The dragon reared back and looked like he was preparing to breathe frost into the room, certain doom for them all, but Zuhl commanded him to stop and they launched into the darkness.

Three of the dragon-men landed around Abigail. All three breathed frost at her and her cordon of Strikers. They all fell in a shivering mass. Abigail had never been so cold. It penetrated into her bones, paralyzing her with numbness. The nearest dragon-man grabbed her and launched into the sky. She held on to consciousness even as the Thinblade slipped from her grasp, burying to the hilt in the stone floor.

At the same time, two more dragon-men breathed frost at Magda and Corina, forcing them to defend against the attack long enough for the beast carrying Abigail to escape. She watched the ground fall away as the beast gained altitude. It flew to Zuhl, perched atop the guard house on the last remaining tower of the fortress.

“Very good,” Zuhl said as he took Abigail and secured her over his saddle in front of him. He whispered a few words and she felt suddenly warmer, though she was still unable to move. Zuhl pulled a fur blanket over her and launched into the sky, followed by the remaining nine dragon-men.

The last thing Abigail saw before she lost consciousness was Mage Dax launching a bolt of lightning at the trailing dragon-man. It hit the creature, lighting it up with crackling power, then arced through the night to another and another and another and another after that, burning a hole through the chest of each as it leapt from one to the next, each falling from the sky in turn.