David Wells - Cursed Bones

“I hope so,” Kelvin said, replacing the staff and picking up a finely crafted, though slightly undersized dagger. “I call this Demonrend. It will banish any demon it draws blood from. Commander P’Tal tells me it’s balanced perfectly for throwing, but still long enough to wield effectively by hand. I made her from a fallen star I found decades ago. I’ve been waiting for just the right project for that hunk of metal and this seemed perfect.”

“Thank you, Kelvin. I was going to head straight to Karth from Tyr, but I think I’ll come to you first.”

“I hoped you would, as does Commander P’Tal. His wound is all but healed and he’s anxious to resume his duties.”

“I’ll bet,” Alexander said. “Is Lita still following him around?”

“All the way here to Glen Morillian,” Kelvin said with a chuckle.

“He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to miss her when he’s mended.”

“I suspect you’re right,” Kelvin said.

“I hope to see you soon,” Alexander said, fading into the firmament.

He found Lacy sleeping fitfully aboard the Regency warship. Her quarters were comfortable, but there was a guard at the door.

Alexander slipped into her dreams, but not as himself. Instead, he conjured an image of Lacy’s father in the distance, beckoning to her.

“You must go to Ithilian,” he said, in a forlorn, desperate way. “You’re going the wrong way.” With that, he withdrew from her dreams, while she continued to toss and turn. It would be so much easier just to talk to her in person, but Alexander didn’t want to risk her safety by putting her in a position to tell lies she wasn’t able to sell.

***

“Dissolve the material in a quart of distilled water, then add a dilute solution of caustic soda in small amounts, stirring constantly until balance between acid and base is achieved-do you know what that means?”

“I do,” Lucky said, chuckling. “Any alchemist worth his salt would.”

“All right, boil the mixture down until it’s just dry, then add another quart of distilled water. Boil it down again until you have black granules.”

“And then?”

“Then you’ll need an oven that isn’t made out of metal, capable of producing high heat over long periods of time.”

“I’ll consult Kelvin on the matter,” Lucky said.

Alexander faded away and returned to Tyr. He’d started sparring with Anja himself, though at slower speeds than she was capable of due to his injury. His leg was mending well, but it was still sore, especially when he put his full weight on it, so he took it easy while working with Anja to improve her technique.

During these sessions, he discovered that his new precognition was related to threats. If something dangerous was coming his way, he just knew. It first manifested with Anja when she got carried away and forgot they were sparring at half speed. She whirled with her wooden broadsword, bringing the blade around in an arc that would have probably brained Alexander, but he saw it coming a moment before it reached him and was able to duck. Had he been relying on just his all around sight, he might not have been quick enough, given Anja’s extraordinary speed.

She’d proven to be a quick study, rapidly learning basic knife and sword techniques. She still lacked the nuance and deep understanding that came from experience but she was quite proficient at a variety of attacks, blocks, parries, and feints, having practiced them diligently.

Alexander started to feel a pang of loss every time he thought about leaving her, but he knew it was the right thing to do, no matter how bad it felt. He sparred with her daily and his leg grew stronger. Captain Kalderson’s ship was coming to get him and he knew there would be no waiting once it arrived. He needed to be in fighting form by then.

He visited Lacy nightly, sowing the seeds of resistance within her mind, reinforcing her father’s dying command in her dreams: Take the box to Ithilian. Neveropen it.

He checked with both Abigail and Lucky every day to see if they were ready to proceed and he worried constantly about Isabel. She was beyond his reach, immune to magic, unfindable.

After being cooped up in his bed for so long, he started to venture out to the island, walking and exploring with Anja in tow, asking a thousand questions. If felt good to walk again. Even if he wasn’t fully healed, he could still cover some distance before needing to rest.

***

Finally, Lucky reported that an oven fashioned of crystal was complete and ready to use.

“Place the black crystals in an annealing boat and bake them at high heat for two hours. While they bake, visualize all of the impurities burning away, leaving only spinning particles of gold. After two hours, you should have a fine white powder with almost no weight at all … Wizard’s Dust. One ounce of gold will produce enough for one mana fast.”

Lucky swallowed hard, looking at the tray of black pellets, realization of what he was about to do sinking in. “We’re about to change the world,” he whispered.

“Let’s hope for the better,” Alexander said. “You have the whole formula now. Produce enough to meet the needs of the Ruathan and Ithilian Wizards Guilds and the Reishi Coven, but no more. Don’t stockpile any. Make only what you need for each mana fast and only once a candidate is selected. Spread the rumor that another cache of Wizard’s Dust was found in the Reishi Keep.”

“I understand,” Lucky said. “I’ll protect this sacred charge with my life.”

Alexander smiled at his old mentor. Lucky wasn’t one for such talk unless he was deadly serious … or afraid. Alexander imagined it was a bit of both. Lucky had just become the most important man alive, the only man in the world who could actually make Wizard’s Dust, the one man with both the necessary power and the requisite knowledge … and that made him the biggest target in all of the Seven Isles. Phane or Zuhl would gleefully kill him to prevent him from producing Wizard’s Dust, or just as happily capture him and torture him for the formula. Either way, his best defense was secrecy.

“I know you will. I’ll see you soon,” Alexander said, fading out of sight and returning to Tyr and Anja who was waiting not so patiently in the chair beside his bed.

Ixabrax flew low and fast, skimming over the treetops, ducking into valleys and skirting around hills to remain unseen by the soldiers manning Zuhl’s watchtowers. Abigail reveled in the intensity of flight, savoring the cold air on her face and exulting in the falling sensation she felt every time Ixabrax dipped into a low spot. All too soon, he flared his wings and brought the harrowing ride to an abrupt halt, delivering Abigail, Anatoly, and Magda to a secluded clearing boxed in on three sides by steep cliffs. Ixabrax worked his way under the trees to remain as inconspicuous as possible while he waited for Abigail to free his family.

They approached along the stream that fed into Whitehall’s cistern, moving cautiously, maintaining a keen sense of awareness with every step. Magda tapped both Abigail and Anatoly on the shoulder, signaling that they were close enough for her to disable the guards on the nearest tower.

After a few moments, two scything pinwheels of faintly glowing magical force appeared over her head for just an instant before they shot forth, decapitating each soldier without a sound.

“Nice,” Anatoly said … just a moment too soon.

A horn blew from the topmost tower of the keep, followed by a blindingly bright light emanating from the same tower and illuminating the spot where they stood, alerting the entire fortress to their exact location.

“How did he see us?” Anatoly asked, spinning his axe into his hands.