David Wells - Cursed Bones

Abigail stumbled back, crying out in pain and surprise at the sudden and unexpected attack, her heart pounding in her chest as she toppled into the snow. The wolf released his grip on her leg and sprang on top of her, snapping at her face and throat. She jammed her forearm into his mouth. He clamped down on her bracer, crushing it into her arm.

Anatoly unleashed a battle cry that rivaled the howling of the wind, startling the rest of the wolves and giving them pause. He charged, driving the top spike of his war axe into the side of the wolf atop Abigail and lifted him clear, tossing his mewling body into the snow.

Abigail scrambled to her feet, unbalanced from the wound she’d sustained but steady enough to draw the Thinblade. Five wolves were circling them, looking for an opportunity to strike. Abigail and Anatoly stood back to back, watching the predators as closely as they were being watched by them. One darted close to them, snapping at Abigail’s good leg, but she met his snout with the Thinblade, stabbing down through the top of his head and dropping him in an instant, sweeping the blade up his spine, spilling blood and entrails across the snow.

The rest were suddenly more skittish about this prey, dancing farther away but snarling and growling just the same. Abigail sheathed the Thinblade and drew her bow, killing the nearest wolf with a single arrow through the skull. The rest turned and fled.

She sat down heavily in the snow, blood oozing from the puncture wounds in her leg. She grimaced in pain while she gingerly pulled her pant leg up and inspected the wound. “This is going to slow me down,” she muttered.

Anatoly went to work wrapping her leg. “I should have guessed those wolves hadn’t given up on us,” he said.

“Didn’t occur to me either.” She sucked in a quick breath, clenching her eyes in pain when Anatoly secured the bandage. “Like to make a coat out of ’em.”

He chuckled, getting to his feet and offering her his hand. She stood, testing the strength of her leg and wincing. “We’ll be lucky if we make it back before dark.”

“Put your arm around my shoulder, I’ll help you.”

They set out, leaving the wolves where they lay, walking into the wind and finally arriving at the cave several hours after dark. Abigail was numb from the cold, except for her leg which burned with pain, every step a jolt of agony. She carefully sat next to the fire and began unwrapping her wound while Anatoly went to work adding wood to the fire and putting water on to boil.

Magda came awake at the commotion, as did Ixabrax, but he only opened his eye, took in the situation and closed it again.

“What happened?”

“Wolves,” Abigail said, pouring some water from her waterskin onto a strip of cloth and gently cleaning the area around the wound. After she rewrapped her bandage and had a cup of hot tea and something to eat, she went to work on the snowbell vine, stripping the flowers and crushing it slightly before cooking it down into a pulp. After removing the fibers, she set it aside to let it cool and thicken.

She applied a generous quantity to Magda’s wound first and then dabbed a smaller amount onto her leg. There was enough of the salve left for a few more applications, but she suspected Magda would need it all before her wound was fully healed. It wasn’t long before a deep tiredness came over her and she slipped into a dreamless sleep. Anatoly was still awake the following morning. He looked exhausted.

“Did you stay up all night?”

He nodded wearily. “I was afraid the wolves might have followed us, and we have no way of knowing if the soldiers found our trail. How’s your leg?”

“Much better but still a bit tender. Snowbell definitely works, but nowhere near as well as Lucky’s salve. Get some sleep, I’ll keep watch.”

He nodded, going to his bedroll without a word. Before long he was breathing as deeply and evenly as Magda. Abigail got to her feet, carefully testing her leg and, satisfied with her strength, limped over to the cave mouth. She smiled at the sight of a foot of new-fallen snow blanketing the mountainside. The sky was overcast and the air was cold, but more importantly, their trail was completely gone.

Alexander appeared next to her without a word.

“I was wondering when you’d show up again. Is everything all right?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but it could easily be worse. What happened to your leg?”

“Had a disagreement with a wolf,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s nothing that won’t heal. The snowbell seems to work. Magda should be ready to travel in a few days, a week at the outside.”

“Good, I’ll do some looking around Zuhl’s fortress and see if I can come up with a viable plan of attack.”

Abigail nodded. “Some soldiers were snooping around town looking for me. Any chance you could see if they’re headed this way?”

“I’ll be back in a couple of minutes,” he said, vanishing.

Abigail went back to the fire and started heating water for tea. Before it came to a boil, Alexander was back.

“Looks like they’re searching closer to town. They’ve divided up into squads and seem to be looking for any sign of your trail.”

“I doubt they’ll find it after last night’s snowstorm.

“Probably not. I think you’re safe for now. I’ll be back in a few days.”

She smiled at him as he vanished.

The first thing Isabel felt when she woke was throbbing pain in her head. It took several seconds for her to regain enough sense to be alarmed, then she sat bolt upright, looking around in near panic, pain exploding behind her eyes from the sudden movement.

She was lying on a blanket spread out in one corner of a cozy little cottage. A fire burned in the crudely constructed hearth with a black cauldron warming over the flames. Ayela sat across from the old woman, listening to her every word with rapt attention. Hector and Horace were nowhere to be seen.

Isabel’s weapons were gone. She rose quietly, unleashing her rage to protect herself from the pull of the firmament, but the rage didn’t come. Instead, she felt the all-too-familiar emotional numbness caused by malaise weed. She cast about, looking for anything she could use as a weapon, when the old woman turned and appraised her coolly.

“How’s your head, dear?” she asked, knowingly.

“Who are you? What did you do to me?”

“My name is Hazel Karth, aunt of Severine Karth, though he doesn’t know of my existence. As for what I’ve done to you,” she patted a little pouch at her belt, “I dosed you with henbane.”

“What’s henbane? Have you poisoned me?”

“No … well, not in the traditional sense of the word,” Hazel said. “Henbane is a potent herb. When properly prepared, it renders a person completely obedient for a period of several hours. One under the influence of henbane will comply with almost any instruction during that period of time, then fall into a deep sleep for about an hour as the effects wear off, waking with no memory of the experience … and a powerful headache.”

“Why?” Isabel demanded.

“I needed to question you and I needed the truth,” Hazel said.

“What about Hector and Horace? What have you done with them?”

“Ah … the boys are outside chopping firewood,” Hazel said. “Aside from some sore muscles, they’ll be just fine.”

“What did she ask me about?” Isabel said, turning to Ayela.

“Everything,” Ayela said. “Where you came from, who your allies are, your purpose here on Karth, and where we were going. You told her everything.”

“So what now?” Isabel asked, pointedly. “You’ve abducted us, disarmed me, and rendered my magic useless. What do you plan to do with us?”