David Wells - Cursed Bones

“Yes, Peti,” Agneza said in a mewling voice. “We should eats her.”

“Seize them,” Peti said.

The soldiers started moving forward, entering the null magic field and moving to surround Isabel and Hector, not seeming to notice Ayela sitting off to the side. Isabel made no move to resist.

Trajan approached her and stopped ten feet in front of her.

“Throw down your weapons and surrender. You have nowhere left to run.”

“Trajan,” Ayela said weakly.

He looked at her sharply, noticing her for the first time.

“Who are you?”

“I’m your sister, but that isn’t important right now.”

When he turned to look at the unconscious body that one of his soldiers had placed in the hallway, the true form of the witches caught his attention. He spun to face them, frozen in place and staring in disbelief as the effects of the magic broke.

“That’s what they really look like, Trajan,” Isabel said.

His men were all turning to look at the two hideous witches, muttering and gasping in dismay, conferring with each other to see if their companions were seeing what they were seeing.

“You’ve been under their spell, Trajan,” Ayela said. “Just like our father is, just like his father before him. Our house has been at the mercy of the Sin’Rath for centuries.”

He looked at Ayela again, frowning in confusion.

“You’re not my sister.”

“Stop this!” Peti commanded. “Kill them! Kill them now!”

Trajan turned to face the witches, anger starting to build on his face.

“How is it that you look so hideous when only moments ago you were the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen? More importantly, how is it that I no longer feel compelled to obey you?”

Agneza snarled, raising her hands and unleashing a spell toward him. Blackness, the color of the netherworld itself, erupted from her fingertips and streaked toward Trajan. He raised his hands to ward against the attack … but it simply vanished when it passed into the null magic field created by the Goiri’s bones.

“It’s the bones, Trajan,” Ayela said. “They cancel out magic.”

“They don’t cancel out steel,” Peti said, turning to the unconscious form of Hazel in the hall. “Kill them or I’ll kill your sister.”

Isabel quickly scooped up a handful of rib bones and tossed them into the hallway all around Hazel. Peti tried to cast her spell but nothing happened.

“You’ve lost, Witch,” Isabel said. “These men can finally see you for what you really are.”

Trajan looked back at Isabel, their eyes met and she smiled.

“On behalf of Lord Reishi, I offer the House of Karth an alliance against the Sin’Rath and Phane,” she said, sheathing her sword and offering her hand.

Trajan looked at the witches for a moment, then turned back to Isabel and took her hand. Both of the witches shrieked in fear and rage before they fled.

Trajan picked up a femur lying near his feet and struck it against the floor, testing its strength, before smiling fiercely and sprinting up the hallway after the witches, followed by most of his men.

Before they could close the distance, both witches escaped the null magic field and turned their magic on the corridor ceiling, dark arcs of unnatural energy leaping from their hands, unmaking the very stone itself.

Trajan stopped and scrambled back toward the room, dragging Hazel’s unconscious form with him, as the ceiling in the corridor collapsed under several tons of stone and dirt, burying them alive in the Goiri’s tomb.

“I’m worried about Alexander,” Abigail said.

“He’s got a lot more than just us to deal with,” Anatoly said. “He’ll be back when the time is right.”

It had been a week since his last visit. Magda was almost completely healed, though she still favored her shoulder, occasionally wincing in pain when she forgot about her injury and moved too quickly. Their food was starting to run low and Ixabrax was beginning to grumble.

“We could assault Whitehall on our own,” Abigail said.

Anatoly looked at her reprovingly. “You know better than that. Good information about your enemy is half the battle. Alexander can provide us with near perfect information. Patience is the wise course.”

“Patience has never been my strong suit,” Abigail muttered, getting up and wandering over to the cave entrance. The sky was bright and cold, and there was just enough breeze to add a biting edge to the day. She scanned the snow-covered slope of the mountain, her eyes locking on to movement in the distance. It was so far away that she couldn’t be sure, but the more she looked, the more certain she became-a company of soldiers was headed toward them.

“Looks like we have company.”

Anatoly stood, spinning his axe into his hands. “How close and how many?”

“Looks like all of them, but they’re at least two hours away.”

“Oh,” he said, sitting back down.

“Shouldn’t we prepare?” Magda said.

“I’m not sure we need to,” Anatoly said. “I suspect Ixabrax is getting hungry right about now.”

“True,” the dragon said, “but not hungry enough to eat a hundred men. Besides, I believe you’re all now well enough to ride, so I suggest we leave this place in favor of a closer position, say the crevasse. That way we’ll be in a better position to make our attack when the illusionary wizard returns with his battle plan.”

“Fair enough,” Abigail said.

“We should share the remaining two vials of dragon draught,” Magda said. “Otherwise we could easily suffer injury from exposure over such a long flight in this cold.”

They packed their belongings and donned their fur cloaks. Then Ixabrax squeezed out of the cave and unfurled his wings, stretching them wide before lowering his neck and allowing the three of them to climb aboard.

Abigail couldn’t help smiling at the exhilaration of flight when the dragon lifted off the ground. He flew straight for the company of soldiers marching across the snow field toward the cave, roaring as he passed overhead. Most of the men scattered in terror but one man caught Abigail’s eye. Haldir was leading them to the cave, his arms bound to a stout limb resting across his shoulders and tied to his neck. His torso was bare, red from the cold and from the blood oozing out of dozens of shallow slices cut across his chest. He slumped to his knees as he watched Ixabrax soar overhead with a mixture of vindication and awe.

Several hours later, Ixabrax arrived at the crevasse where Alexander had first found him. They made camp, waiting for Alexander to return and help them plan their attack. After several days, they ran out of food and firewood. Ixabrax left them to hunt. He was gone for nearly a day before he returned with a stag and a fallen log.

“Now I’m really worried about Alexander,” Abigail said while they prepared their first hot meal in days.

Anatoly nodded. “This isn’t like him. Something must have happened.”

“Have faith. He’ll return,” Magda said.

“My patience grows thin,” Ixabrax said. “I have delivered on my part of the bargain, yet your brother is nowhere to be seen.”

“Maybe we should think about making our move without him,” Abigail said.

“We’ve already been over this,” Anatoly said. “Our best chance for success is to wait. Without Alexander, we’d be going in blind.”

“I know the layout of the aerie,” Ixabrax said.

“What about the rest of the keep?” Anatoly said. “The best chance your family has is to wait for Alexander to guide us.”

“I agree,” Magda said. “We’ll free your family, Ixabrax … just not today.”

Several more days passed, everyone growing more restless and uncertain by the hour before Alexander finally appeared.