David Wells - Cursed Bones

The members of the Elite Guard had been sent to collect information about Zuhl’s army, his battle plans, and his ships. They were to blend into his army and look for vulnerabilities, striking where they could from the shadows, seeking opportunities to do the greatest harm with the minimum risk of capture or discovery. Each had volunteered. Many would never return. None could be taken alive. All of them had accepted the risks. All of them had suffered loss at Zuhl’s hands. Once through the Gate they broke into teams of three and melted into the vast army that was working to understand the nature of the sudden threat that had disturbed their otherwise mundane morning.

Wearing clothes and furs taken from Zuhl’s barbarian horde on Fellenden, Anatoly and Magda blended in without effort, just two more people in a sea of many. They wound their way through the tents and paddocks, avoiding contact as much as possible. Most of the soldiers were making ready for battle, donning armor and pulling on their boots. Few gave them a second look and most of them only to appraise Magda until they saw Anatoly with his axe resting on his shoulder.

It didn’t take Anatoly long to notice that the men with emblems of rank also carried the finest weapons. Most of the soldiers were armed with mediocre blades and spears, but the officers all carried well-made weapons forged of quality steel. When he realized the significance of their weapons, that they served as an indication of rank, he made sure everyone passing by got a good look at his war axe.

It took most of the morning to reach the outskirts of the army encampment. A few sentries tried to question them but they were dissuaded by Anatoly’s deliberate aggressiveness.

Rather than accept their challenge, he demanded to see their weapon or armor, inspecting it as a superior officer would, berating them for their lack of attention to detail and ordering them to repair whatever defects, imagined or real, that he happened to find.

He strode through the encampment like he was the commanding general and his demeanor was enough to cause most soldiers to look the other way or quickly attend to whatever task was at hand.

When they rounded a corner and caught their first glimpse of Whitehall, the enormous white marble fortress that stood in the center of the city, they came face to face with an officer dressed in polished white armor and armed with a spear of such craftsmanship that Anatoly was actually impressed.

To the officer’s right was a woman who didn’t look quite human. Her skin was tinged blue and almost looked scaled, her eyes were catlike and her fingernails had grown into talons.

To the officer’s left was a man armed with a finely crafted sword and a shield formed from a dragon’s scale.

“You there,” the officer said, pointing his spear at Anatoly. “What’s your name?”

Anatoly stepped forward, Magda began muttering under her breath. “Who are you to question me?” Anatoly barked, facing off with the man.

“I am General Kergen, commander of Lord Zuhl’s army, and I know all of my senior officers by name. You are not among them, yet you carry a weapon of rank … so I ask again, who are you?”

In a blink, Anatoly leveraged the axe off his shoulder and brought it down in a powerful stroke aimed at splitting Kergen’s head in half, but the general shifted sideways just enough that Anatoly’s axe came down on his shoulder plate instead, driving the man to the ground with the force of the blow but not even denting the armor protecting Zuhl’s commanding general. Anatoly kicked him full in the face, sending him toppling over backward, blood spraying across the ground.

The second officer raised his shield and drew his sword in one fluid motion, rushing Anatoly, slamming him with his shield and knocking him off balance. He pressed his advantage with a powerful sword thrust, driving his blade into Anatoly’s breastplate hard enough to penetrate even the most finely crafted steel armor, but the dragon-plate held.

Magda’s shield spell encircled her with protective force and she began casting another.

“Flee, Priestess!” the second officer shouted as he squared off with Anatoly, who had regained his balance and had raised his axe into a high guard.

The woman with blue-tinged skin released her spell. The air grew cold and still, then a thick wall of ice grew rapidly from the ground, completely encircling both General Kergen and the woman.

Magda released her spell, a simple force-push that sent the man facing Anatoly flying to the ground.

A dozen or so nearby soldiers had noticed the fight and were coming to assist their commander.

“Time to go,” Magda said.

Anatoly looked at the man sprawled on the ground, then at the onrushing soldiers and clenched his jaw as he nodded to Magda and turned toward the city.

They fled into the cover of the sprawling mass of poorly constructed homes and shops. The capital city of Zuhl was a study in contrasts. Most of the people lived in squalor, surviving just on the edge of desperation in the city’s outer slums. Their homes were inadequate to the climate, cobbled together from stone or scraps of wood, animal pelts filling the gaps and serving as doors. Yet in the center of the city stood Whitehall, a magnificent fortress castle fashioned from polished white marble, its soaring towers capped in gold leaf, each flying Zuhl’s banner, flapping in the wind.

Anatoly and Magda wove through the city evading their pursuers. Most of the people they encountered were women, children, or the elderly. Every man capable of wielding a weapon had been pressed into service, leaving the most vulnerable of their society to fend for themselves in the face of a harsh environment and a scarcity of food. The people of the city were cowed, dispirited, and afraid. They avoided eye contact and did their level best to ignore Anatoly and Magda.

Shouts of alarm filtered through the frigid morning air from their pursuers, but they were fading into the distance as Anatoly and Magda moved deeper into the city. Closer to Whitehall, the slums gave way to homes and shops constructed from stone with stout wooden doors, yet none were made from the white marble of Zuhl’s fortress.

“We need a place to hole up until nightfall,” Anatoly said.

“I agree,” Magda said. “Perhaps that house would do.”

“Judging from the smoke coming out of the chimney, I suspect someone’s home,” Anatoly said. “I’d rather not kill anyone who doesn’t have it coming.”

“Again, I agree,” Magda said. “Give me a few moments to prepare and I can subdue them without bloodshed.”

Anatoly nodded and she began casting another spell.

He knocked forcefully on the door. “By order of Lord Zuhl, you are commanded to open this door,” he shouted.

A woman timidly opened the door, her eyes wide with fear. Before she could utter a word, Magda reached out and touched her on the forehead. The woman’s eyes closed and she slumped to the floor. Anatoly entered quickly, followed by Magda. An elderly man sat by the fire eyeing them suspiciously, two children peeked around the corner of the doorframe leading out of the main room of the house. Magda closed and barred the front door.

“We won’t harm you if you don’t give us cause,” Anatoly said, pointing his war axe at the old man.

“I’m old and frail,” the man said, rocking in his chair, “you have nothing to fear from me, but my son will be home this evening. If you’re still here when he returns, he’ll gut you both while his sons watch.”

“Come, children,” Magda said to the two young boys in the other room. They stayed where they were.

“It’s all right, boys,” the old man said. “Our guests won’t harm you.” He fixed Anatoly with a look that was both a command and a desperate plea.