It’s too late now.
Anxiety clawed at his gut, for there was still a chance that his involvement with Wolf Brigade’s demise might be uncovered. Karthas was furious, and had already laid a few accusations. It was only a matter of time before a formal hearing was held, and Blackhall wasn’t sure if he’d be able to lie directly to The Thirteen, or to the Empress.
I did what I set out to do
, he told himself.
I rid Ebonmark of its criminal element without endangering the lives of its people.
He could face Cassandra and Malachai knowing he’d made the right decision.
“
Serpentheart
killed a lot of good people,” he told Tyburn. “Harrick got what he deserved.” A couple of field surgeons started peeling the man’s belongings away from his corpse. “Hopefully that will send a message to the rest of the criminals in Ebonmark,” Blackhall said. His own voice sounded cold and hollow.
At last they had the Bloodheart Stone. Blackhall was one step closer to finally going home.
The amulet was supposedly a shard of the infamous Stone of Pain, the legendary monument on which the dark god Nazarathos had bound, tortured and raped his sister Corvinia during the deific conflict known as the Turn of Night. Now the amulet sat on the table in Blackhall’s temporary tower, which had finally been magically relocated to the heart of the city.
Blackhall looked at the Amulet and found it singularly unimpressive – it was just a lumpy red rock, barely bigger than a baby’s fist, set with a cold iron loop attached to a golden chain and bearing a single flaw upon its jagged face.
He enjoyed a sip of mulled wine and sat back in the wooden chair. It was midday, but no one would ever know it from within the tower, which was sealed tight without a single window and felt as dank and dark as the inside of a tomb. Gess had insisted Blackhall continue using it for the time being, as the Veilcrafted citadel was the safest place to store the Bloodheart Stone until they could get it into the White Dragon’s hands.
Too bad this supposedly impenetrable tower didn’t stop the Dream Witch from breaking in and making off with the
thar’koon
,
he thought bitterly. It didn’t matter – he was finally getting the situation in Ebonmark under control, and within a few weeks he’d be back in Ral Tanneth and in Cassandra’s arms.
A stack of letters sat on the edge of the long table. The room was filled with bits of furniture, storage chests and a couple of cots, and during the several weeks he’d spent in the city he, Slayne and Gess had used the chamber as a sort of communal meeting and sleeping area. It had almost been like camping in hostile territory out in the field, only the camp was indoors, and instead of the feel of the night wind on his face and the sight of the stars over his head Blackhall had instead listened to Gess’s snores and stared at a blank black wall.
He sat up and rummaged through the letters, searching for one in particular, and when he found the crinkled piece of parchment he unfolded it and read:
Aaric,
I miss you, in spite of myself. I do hope you’re behaving yourself, and bathing regularly. Not too regularly, mind you – women avoid smelly men, so don’t improve your aroma too much. I’d hate to have to wreak my vengeance upon some young harlot.
All jokes aside, I miss you. It’s been quiet without you here, even with your terror of a son to keep me company, and everything grows cold without you. I keep hearing horror stories about how bad things are in Ebonmark, and I imagine I’d be having nightmares about it if our friend Argus wasn’t kind enough to remind me that Gess regularly reports you’re doing just fine.
But I still want you here. I’ve entertained the notion of bringing Malachai and coming to visit you, but I’m sure you wouldn’t have it…but please consider it. If you deem the risk unnecessary, I’ll patiently await your return. So long as you’re quick about it.
Faithfully Yours, and as Beautiful as Ever,
Cassandra
Blackhall smiled, even though parts of the letter troubled him, most notably Cassandra’s apparent loneliness. They’d never been especially sociable people, but that had actually drawn them together – they shared a desire for privacy, and they both had a distaste for the social parties and gatherings which seemed to be the norm with high society, including the military aristocracy of Jlantria. Her desire to come and visit him also gave him pause. While his heart soared at the notion of seeing her, the idea of Cassandra and Malachai being anywhere near Ebonmark filled his heart with dread. Even with the Black Guild and the Phage effectively removed from the city it was too dangerous for her to come there, as there was still far too much crime; just that week a rash of prostitutes had turned up brutally murdered for no apparent reason, and the City Watch had no idea where to begin looking for the culprit.
That’s not it, though, and you know it.
The truth of the matter was he wasn’t ready to face his wife, whom he’d loved and cherished and trusted for many years, and who trusted him in return. He couldn’t tell her what he’d done.
Not yet.
He wasn’t the same man he used to be, and he wanted to be rid of this grim shell he’d acquired before he tried to return to his role as a husband and father.
How many fathers did you kill down there?
he wondered.
How many husbands?
He sat and held the bottle of wine. He’d been in the White Dragon Army for a long time and had seen plenty of combat. He’d lost friends and had carried out all sorts of dreadful assignments, but never with regret, because at the end of the day most of his men came home alive and he always knew he’d done the right thing.
So what’s different this time? Why is this so hard?
He didn’t know, and for lack of an answer he just took another drink.
He heard footsteps approaching from below. He’d left the trap door in the floor open but Toran Gess still entered slowly, poking up his head and glancing around to make sure he wasn’t intruding. Blackhall still had his misgivings about the man – Gess was aloof and sarcastic at the best of times, and far less forthcoming with important information than Blackhall would have liked – but he felt pity for the Veilwarden. He’d known men who’d been maimed in battle, and while the physical loss was terrible Blackhall understood the toll on the mind was just as severe. There was something deeply scarring in knowing you were no longer the same person, that no matter what you did you’d forever bear physical evidence of what you’d lost, and would never have again.
Gess seemed to be handling his injury with dignity and grace, which was as much as one could hope for. For the first few days he’d been haggard and even paler than usual, but he’d held his head high and carried on as if nothing was wrong, even though the weakness from his injury kept him in a reserve role until he fully recovered. Now he looked cool and composed, not flushed and out of breath like before, and while it might have been some effect of the Veil Blackhall could only hope he himself would look even half so hale if he was ever similarly injured.
Blackhall wondered if he should help Gess climb into the room or not. Before he could decide the Veilwarden’s body glowed blue as he lifted up through the hole and slowly settled back to the floor, his magic filling the room with a glacial chill. Blackhall saw that the Veilwarden wore a leather cap over his stump.
“
Colonel,” Gess said with a thin smile. He’d been notably more tight-lipped since the battle, though his tone was just as laced with derision as ever. The Veilwarden removed his drab grey cloak and laid it on a clear spot of the long table, then ran his fingers over the Bloodheart Stone. “Congratulations.”
“
That seems like high praise for pulling something out of the water,” Blackhall said.
“
Probably,” Gess said with a nod. “Regardless, it’s done.”
“
It’s done,” Blackhall agreed. “Your Empress has her amulet, and part of your mission is complete.”
“
Thank you,” Gess said with a smile. He picked the amulet up and turned it around in his hand before setting it back down. The artifact seemed to suck the light from the lamp. “I should have been there to help.”
“
We managed,” Blackhall said. “You’re not likely to be doing much until you’ve had time to heal.”
“
There is no rest for the wicked,” Gess smiled. “Or
us
, for that matter. And speaking of which…we have a problem.”
“
Of course we do,” Blackhall said. “Wine?”
“
Thank you.” Blackhall poured Gess a glass of sweet red, an eastern vintage he’d taken a liking to, and the Veilwarden sipped before he continued. “As you know, Argus has his team of hunters assembled, and they’ve already set off after the Dream Witch, but they’ve run into a problem. The
thar’koon
have been damaged, which means we can no longer pinpoint her exact location. The team is now following her the proverbial 'old-fashioned' way.”
“
Slayne and his Eagles are very capable,” Blackhall said.
“
Indeed,” Gess nodded. “They’ve already come across signs of her passage…over a half-dozen dead Chul. Chances are they’ll run into some of those deranged cannibals themselves before too long, not to mention other delights of the Bonelands.”
Blackhall noted the gravity in Gess’s voice.
“The risk was part of the mission from the start, wasn’t it?” Blackhall asked. “That’s why Argus selected such an experienced team…well…except for himself…”
“
But that risk was a calculated one,” Gess said. “The mission has become more complicated. Originally we…
they
…were supposed to use a
cutgate
to transport right to Ijanna’s location after we’d confirmed she’d made contact with Kala, at which point we would deal with them both at once. Now the possibility of transporting into close proximity has been lost, and Argus and the team have to track her across the ruins of Gallador.”
“
A dangerous proposition,” Blackhall said.
“
In an already deadly mission,” Gess said. “The Empress is not happy with this new situation, and she doesn’t want the team traipsing through the Bonelands without support.” Gess hesitated, and Blackhall’s heart sank. “Ebonmark…”
“…
is the closest Jlantrian city to Argus’ location,” Blackhall finished. “Gess…are you trying to tell me I need to be ready to send troops into the Bonelands? Because if you are, I can’t promise that I won’t punch you.” Gess smiled, and nodded sullenly. “Goddess,” Blackhall said. “Wonderful. We just managed to get the city under control and now we have to prepare to ride off into battle.” He stood up, set his glass on the table and paced the room angrily. His muscles were sore and his brain swam from lack of a decent night’s sleep.
“
We have our orders, Colonel,” Gess said.
“
Of course we do,” Blackhall said through clenched teeth. “Things aren’t like they used to be, Toran. I never used to question things.” He ran a hand over his face, noting with surprise that he hadn’t shaved in days. “I must be getting old.”
“
I’m
already
old,” Gess said. “Try not to worry about it.” He paused, and the silence was tense. “Aaric,” Gess said. “Only a few of us know what happened in Black Sun. It was mine and Slayne’s doing as much as yours, but we did the right thing…”
“
I hear them,” Blackhall said quietly. “I hear them screaming in my dreams.”
Gess watched him in silence. When he spoke again his voice was barely a whisper.
“We had no choice,” he said. “You remember what happened to the Calarri tribesman...what Karthas and Wolf Brigade did to them. I know you do, because you were
there
.”
“
You’re right,” Blackhall said with his head lowered. “I’ll have a Brigade ready to deploy if Argus needs help, but you have to understand it will take them a week to reach him unless you have a giant
cutgate
up your sleeve.” He looked Gess in the eyes. “Toran…how is it
your
conscience is so clean?”
Gess held Blackhall’s gaze. He seemed to be peering into his soul.
“It’s what had to be done,” he said matter-of-factly. “I see no need to be troubled by our decision.”
Blackhall nodded. He looked at the Bloodheart Stone.
“Are you off to present the Empress with her prize?” he asked.
“
She’s sent for it,” Gess said. “I’ll just be holding it for her.” He took the amulet in hand and turned to leave. “I have other business to attend to.”
Gess looked like he was about to say something more, but after a moment’s hesitation he turned and floated down the hole.
Blackhall took another drink. He’d never felt so far from home.
Thirty-Six
Razel grabbed a handful of sand and let it fall through her fingers. Granules burned into her skin, the grains torn apart at a level too small to be perceived by the human eye. The Veil had been used there, and though there were ways to cover such a trail Razel was an expert at locating and analyzing dweomer lines. No matter how hard a mage tried to mask evidence of their presence there was always something to be found, some miniscule trace. One just had to know how to look for it.
“
Anything?” Slayne asked.
She didn’t like the assassin one bit. Slayne was a handsome man, no doubt, but he had a cold and dark demeanor and a blatantly hateful attitude, especially towards women. His Black Eagles weren’t much better, distant and predator-like mercenaries whose cold eyes were as sharp as blades. They all dressed in thick black cloaks to hold off the wasteland winds and dark armor layered with knives and short swords. They made Razel feel uneasy, but she was at least glad they were on her side.
“The trail is faint,” she said as she tried to draw in every trace of residual Veil power she could find. “Messages were exchanged. A Sending...and one of them originated from this location.” She dropped the sand and brushed her hands clean. The blood red aura of the setting sun spilled across dunes and ruined rock towers. The air smelled like pitch, and even with a cowl drawn around her face Razel tasted desert grit and sand.
“
Good enough,” Slayne said. “That means the tracks we found should lead us in the right direction.” He motioned two of his Black Eagles to move on ahead. There were a dozen of his mercenaries, with just one woman among them.
She stood and dusted herself off. Razel had opted against wearing her cloak, settling instead for loose leather armor and a backpack stuffed with ropes, flints and alchemical supplies. She had daggers in each boot and several more on her belt: it was unwise to rely on the Veil alone, she believed, especially when traveling through Gallador.
The darkening sky was thick with clouds. Torchlight fluttered in the wind, and the shadows were heavy all around them. The Bonelands were unsettling in their emptiness, so cold and vast and silent, and while the hunting party was a solid eighteen members strong Razel still felt dwarfed by the vastness of the wastelands. Kaldrak Iyres was only a day’s march to the southwest, but that dismal city of criminals and scum was the only sign of civilization for nearly a hundred miles. They were alone.
No
, she thought.
Not completely. But the things we might run into out here are nothing I’d like to meet.
The torches felt like an almost unnecessary risk, as the glow was likely to attract every Razorcat and Runefiend in the Bonelands, but since they couldn’t afford to wait for the dawn they had little choice.
A razor chill hung in the air. Razel looked back up the hill and saw Argus’ black cloak as he and a few Black Eagles inspected the Chul remains. Argus walked carefully, searching by torchlight for signs of anything they might have missed. The shadow of the troll Brutus was visible just over the rise, and even from a hundred yards out Razel could hear him retching – he’d tried to eat the Chul’s bodies, only to discover that their tainted and diseased flesh was something even his powerful stomach couldn’t handle. Unfortunately for the rest of the party Brutus was downwind, and the stench of his inhuman vomit was stomach-turning.
“
How far ahead of us do you think they are?” she asked Slayne, trying to distract herself from the smell and sound of the troll being sick.
Slayne knelt and looked closely at the grey and black dirt; he seemed to have little difficulty seeing in the dim light.
“Hard to say. Less than a day.” He looked at her. “Do we take them on sight?”
“
No,” Razel said. “We watch, and wait, and try to keep Ijanna and her allies from knowing we’re here.”
“
That may be difficult with torches,” he said.
“
The Veil has ways of masking our presence.”
“
Only if you’re a Bloodspeaker,” he said.
“
Not true,” Razel said. He was starting to grate on her nerves. “Bloodspeakers might be better at it, but Veilwardens can scrape by. We might not be as good at making things vanish as we are at blowing them up, but we manage.”
Razel climbed the hill, and felt Slayne’s eyes on her back. He’d been watching her ever since the start of the mission, and while the mercenary might not have been as outwardly frightening as Brutus or as surreally intimidating as Fon or Jar’rod, Razel was convinced he was the most dangerous person there. No one killed as much and as often as he did without taking some measure of enjoyment from it.
Jar’rod was at the top of the hill, seated cross-legged on a rug covered with amber and emerald images of harpies, dragons and melting suns. The Den’nari mystic’s eyes were closed, and he held his palms to the ground. Razel tried not to stare, but Jar’rod was the first “pure” Den’nari she’d ever seen, and she was amazed by how dark his skin was. Jar’rod was in a meditative trance, which evidently allowed him to attune to the world of dreams, where he was as powerful as any Veilwarden…maybe even
more
powerful. Supposedly Ijanna Taivorkan shared some of those talents, though her abilities were much less refined, and the idea was that Jar’rod could track and maybe even spy on her from within the dreamscape.
Fon, the Skinwarper, who could alter her shape into any humanoid form she chose, was also close by. No one knew the Skinwarper origins or the true name of their race, if they even had one – some speculated they were a failed Arkan experiment, while others thought they were from so deep below the world even the Voss knew little about them. Wherever they came from their true forms were hideous, with dragon-scaled hides, mottled grey-green hair, ebon fangs and twisted claws. Those few known to exist preferred to adopt human guises, and not always for honorable purposes. Fon held such a form now, that of a lithe and athletic woman with closely cropped brown hair, a commoner’s shirt and breeches made of drab grey material. She might have appeared defenseless, but Skinwarpers were fierce, and she could likely give Brutus a fair fight. For the moment she sat quietly, shuffling cards and watching the rising moon like she was desperate for its presence.
Argus stepped around a sharded piece of rock and approached Razel. His blue eyes shone in the dim light, and since he’d thrown back his hood his ruffled brown hair blew in the hard wind. Razel remembered gazing into those eyes, running her hands across his skin. It hadn’t been that long ago, but seemed it.
“
Did you find anything?” he asked. He’d been understandably quiet since they’d spoken in Savon Karesh and was all business now, with none of the clumsy flirting or boyish friendliness she knew him for. It was better this way, but memory of what they’d had was still fresh in her mind.
Damn it.
“Faint traces of a Sending,” she said. “Ijanna communicated with other mages while she was here.”
“
Who was on the other end?” he asked.
“
Someone with a very strange Veil signature.”
“
Bloodspeakers?” he asked. Argus looked east, as if he might see them.
“
The aura trail follows the tracks that Slayne’s people found,” she said with a nod. “I think he’s ready to go when you are.”
Argus nodded, and looked at one of the Black Eagles who’d been helping him search the area near the stones.
“Tell Slayne to move us out,” he said. The assassin didn’t look happy about being ordered around by a Veilwarden, but he shrugged and set off down the hill. Argus watched him go.
“
What’s wrong?” Razel asked him.
He looked at her hesitantly.
“About what happened before…” he started, but she shook her head and put her finger to his lips.
“
You worry too much,” she said. “This isn’t about us. That doesn’t belong out here.”
He nodded.
“Good,” he said. “As it should be.”
“
But since we’re on the subject of things that are bothering us…” She glanced behind her. The Black Eagles gathered around Slayne to receive their orders. “Are we sure about Slayne?”
“
What do you mean?” Argus asked.
“
I don’t know,” she said. “There’s something about him I don’t trust.” She looked at Argus to gauge his reaction and noticed him watching the mercenary warily.
“
I know what you mean,” he said. “I only know him through Toran Gess, and I admit he’s…colder than I imagined.” He offered her a half-hearted smile. “I’ll keep an eye on him, but I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Supposedly he’s the best there is at this sort of work, and right now that’s what we need.”
“
Maybe that’s what worries me,” Razel said.
The wind scaled dust across the wastes and gave rise to low funnels of twisted sand. Razel tasted scorched earth and smelled the age of a place long since destroyed. She stood next to Argus and watched as the others made ready to resume their march.
Goddess, I don’t belong here,
she thought.
Argus didn’t either, really, but there they were, out in the middle of the Bonelands in the company of a bunch of killers and freaks, on the trail of one of the most dangerous Bloodspeakers the world had ever seen.
I want to do the right thing. I want to keep Jlantria safe.
She’d always promised to follow in her father’s footsteps, to try and do whatever she could to help, not as a soldier, like him, but as a Veilwarden.
But this is all wrong. I should be with Jareth, planning our wedding, building a new life. I thought I’d left all of this behind.
Razel sensed something at her shoulder, and a chill ran up her spine. She spun round, dagger in hand and the cold twines of the Veil wrapped around her fists. Argus did the same, and his energies crackled with blue fire.
Jar’rod stood there, motionless. He’d somehow come right up behind them without making a sound.
“
Please don’t do that,” Razel said angrily as she sheathed her dagger.
“
Apologies,” the Den’nari said softly. “I’ve learned something you should know.”
“
Did you find her?” Argus asked.
“
Yes and no,” Jar’rod answered. His voice was deep and dark, matching his rune-painted ebony skin. “The Dream Witch has a strong presence. It was easy to locate her in the dream world, and she has great power there, even if she can’t fully comprehend or control it. There’s a wall around her mind I can’t penetrate…at least not yet. Once I can, it won’t matter if she’s awake or asleep, and I’ll be able to uncover her physical location with ease.”
“
Then we continue as planned,” Argus said to them both. “Slayne will follow the trail until one of you turns up something better.”
Argus turned to start down the hill, but Razel saw something in Jar’rod’s wine-dark eyes that told her there was more.
“What else?” she asked the Den’nari.
“
I don’t know what it means,” he said. “I was able to see into her dreams. Even though she’s awake, residual images remain, subconscious thoughts nestled deep in her mind. I saw great power in those dreams...deadly power. Dreams of women and children bound together by the Skullborn mark. Dreams of black lightning. Dreams of a place she’s trying to escape.”
“
What place?” Argus asked.
“
A tower,” Jar’rod said. “Its apex is ringed with barbs, and the ground is scorched black with flames. She means to go there and release something. She believes this is what she must do, even though it will bring great suffering and pain.”
Argus turned away. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.
“Argus?” she asked. “What is it?”
“
Goddess,” he said. “We don’t have much time.”
Thirty-Seven
Wolves. They haunt him, call to him, tease him with rewards of flesh and blood.
He understands now – understands their hunger, their lust, their pain. He’s seen the world as they see it.
The bodies pulse with heat, and the moon is stained with gore.
He smells the others across seas of sand and dust. His sense of them spans rivers and valleys, forests and deserts. They are his brothers.