Stronger than Bone (14 page)

(Present Day: 237 Cycles into the Light)

Kelly waited for news from the meeting between the Duke and the King. Supposedly the audience had been granted, although Kelly knew as well as anyone, that the King was completely incapable of such a meeting. The high priest was obviously scheming and Kelly couldn’t wait to find out what was happening. The events taking place here in the next days and weeks would shape the course of their country for many years to come.

As he waited in the hall, Kelly caught the eye of the attractive Lady he had rendezvoused with the other night. He gave her a conspiratorial wink, and she smiled in return, albeit a weak smile
. “I still have it,”
he thought to himself as he stood straighter and puffed out his chest. He looked around the room with a wide grin to see if anyone else was watching the exchanged looks.

Suddenly the doors leading to the Kings private chambers burst open and a very pissed off looking Duke “Hawk” Dennison stormed out. He drove his heels into the marble floor so hard the ladies winced at the sound of every powerful footfall. His face was dark red, in contrast with his white hair, and his fists were clenched in rage. His bodyguards paced after him trying desperately to keep up, but he was a very tall man, and although they were large, they were not as fast. Every few steps they had to pick up the pace beyond a fast walk and run a little. It was all quite amusing to Kelly, although what it might mean for the kingdom, he couldn’t say.

As he walked out of the hall, the Duke stopped and whispered something to one of the Royal Guards. The man nodded and Hawk resumed his fast paced exit. Kelly made a note of which guard the Duke spoke to and turned to see if the priest would be coming out of the King’s chambers as well.

After several long minutes, the high priest emerged from the king’s chambers stone faced and sober. He was followed by a troop of guards as he walked to the throne dais. He stepped up to the throne and turned around, facing the hall. The guards stood in front of the dais, blocking anyone from approaching. All conversations stopped. Everyone was now facing the high priest, waiting for whatever it was he stood ready to say.

“Members of the court,” and he paused for a good thirty seconds. Kelly could not be sure if he was deliberating or simply being dramatic, either way it had everyone hanging on his words.

“Nobles of the Realm, it is my solemn duty to inform you that King Lawrence is dead.” Gasps erupted from around the room, and some near silent weeping. It was all for show of course. No one in this room, and likely no one in the kingdom, loved the decrepit King.

Within seconds voices began to rise as speculation and arguments over succession were aired. The high priest raised his hands for silence. “In the last minutes of his life, and in the presence of Duke Dennison and several other witnesses, King Lawrence made one final and selfless act. On his death bed, he abdicated his throne and gave his crown…” The high priest paused again. This time it was unmistakably done for dramatic effect.

He looked around the hall, making eye contact with every person before saying the last part, “…to the holy church.”

More gasps from the crowd, and the arguing turned to shouts of protest. More guards spilled into the hall as another priest carried the crown into the hall and up onto the dais. It was near chaos in the hall as the High Priest Percival Oglefurth sat on the throne of the Kingdom of Light and was crowned King Oglefurth, Regent over all.

“Oh my…”

(Present Day: 237 Cycles into the Light)

Corvis climbed down from his mount and handed his reins to a private. He tried to hide his frustration with this whole mission, but he was obviously irritated. The private took the reins and quickly ducked out of his way.

Chase was still mounted, assessing the situation, and contemplating their options if things didn’t go as planned.

“Sir, with all due respect…Get your ass down here so we can get this over with.”

“Lieutenant, I’m pretty sure you were there when the villagers told us what this bastard is capable of. Now, I’m getting down off of my horse, but I’m keeping your big head in front of me at all times,” Chase said as he hopped down. He slapped Corvis on the shoulder with a smile and said, “After you big guy!”

“Gee, thanks,” muttered Corvis. He rested his hand on the pommel of his sword and led the Captain and two of the men to the front door. Four more soldiers hustled around to the rear of the cottage.

Corvis pounded loudly on the front door and shouted, “King’s Royal Guard! Open up!”

They waited and listened for the sound of movement inside. Corvis looked at Chase with an eyebrow raised in question. Chase nodded and the two officers stepped off the porch. Corvis gave the command to force entry and the two soldiers that were waiting stepped up onto the porch and began trying to force the door open. They pushed and pulled on the handle. They slammed into it with their shoulders. They kicked at it with their heavy boots. Nothing worked. Corvis sighed heavily and stepped up onto the porch. He put his hands on the shoulders of the two men and stepped between them. He said, “This is a well-made door. Shame…” and he kicked it off the frame with one solid blow. He gave each of the smaller men a pat on the shoulder, as if to say, “It’s alright little man. I know you tried.” They quickly got over their embarrassment and pushed in through the open door, swords drawn.

The soldiers in the back heard the commotion and managed to force their way in through a small window in the back. One of them was still stuck in the window. His comrades were trying to unhook his belt from where it was caught on a notch on the windowsill.

“Any sign of the priest?” asked Chase. Everyone shook their heads, even the guy hanging upside down by his belt. Corvis walked over and yanked the man off of the window sill as the others searched the cottage.

“Hey, over here!” a corporal yelled. He was pulling up a hatch in the floor farther back in the house. “I can see candle light!”

“Let’s go!” said Chase. “Be careful men, and remember, we want him alive!” He stepped ahead of Corvis and followed the first man down the stairs.

“What the hell is this?” whispered Corvis as he descended the stairs. He was looking at the runes on the wall, scribed in something dark, almost black. When he reached the basement floor he forgot about the runes. “What the…?”

The floor was covered in blood. There were two bodies, or rather; there were two distinct piles of body parts. The first appeared to be a boy, about thirteen or fourteen years old, judging from his nearly severed head. His neck had been gouged grievously, and his torso was ripped open. The second was an old man, his limbs had been torn free of his torso, and the parts were piled on top of a robe. This was probably the priest they came to find. His face was gone. The skin covering his skull had been removed.

The first soldier had stepped away from the corpses and was retching in the corner. The others were poking around the room looking for anything that might tell them who or what had done this.

Chase turned a slow circle, looking at all of the runes and figures marked on the walls, ceiling, and floor. “Corvis,” he said. “When we leave here, make sure your men burn this place to the ground, all of it. I want everything turned to ash. I don’t want a single symbol or marking of this evil to remain.”

“Yes sir,” answered Corvis.

“Sir, what do you make of this?” asked the corporal. He was holding up what appeared to be some sort of clothing. No, it was a hat.
“Oh God,”
thought Chase. “That’s skin…burned skin.” Chase looked at Corvis, who cursed under his breath.

“Okay, I think we might need some help with this, and I know a man who might have some information.”

“Lynn,” said Corvis.

Chase nodded and made his way outside.

(Present Day: 237 Cycles into the Light)

“Slap you sister!” cursed Guy as he pulled himself up, yet again. He wandered into an area of the forest with soft, wet ground, and his false leg kept sinking in. He was exhausted and making very little progress. He put his weight on his left leg, and surveyed the area around him. He didn’t want to have to back track, but it was looking like more of the same for as far as he could see in the direction he was traveling. “Slap your sister!” he said again and then sighed. He turned and started the long process of retracing his steps back to solid ground. He did his best to keep his weight on the left leg as much as possible.

Half an hour later he stood on solid ground. “Alright, we have no time for being lazy today, let’s get going,” he said through panting breaths, to no one in particular. Hungry and tired, he traced his way around the marsh one step at a time.

As the light began to fade, Guy started looking for shelter. The terrain out here consisted of a series of rolling hills and gullies, making it easy to find a secluded spot. There were a variety of trees and bushes, some in dense clusters, and some spaced like pillars in a vast hall. Guy looked for a dry place with overhead cover near his path.

He soon found a large conifer tree, situated on a gentle side slope, with low hanging branches and a soft bed of needles underneath. He lay on the downhill side of the tree with his head nearest the trunk. He closed his eyes and almost immediately fell asleep.

An hour later, Death moved quickly through the forest in the dark. He no longer felt pain or fatigue, and after several days, he still didn’t need to sleep or eat. He felt power, energy, and true blood magic coursing through his veins, and he relished it. He pushed himself faster as he made his way toward the estate of Duke Dennison. The man who had hired him had hired others. Someone would have information about where his target was hiding, and they may have reported to their employer. Death would take whatever the man in black and green knew and use it to find Sergeant Hayes. He smiled wickedly as he thought,
“The next hat I make will be from the face of Lynn Hayes and his precious daughter!”

He marveled at how well he could see in the dark since his re-birth. The creatures of the forest scurried away and hid when they sensed him coming. Some were not as observant as others, and they froze in terror when he happened upon them. He didn’t waste his time feeding on the animals. Human blood was the only thing he had a taste for, and the thirst was unrelenting. He mused at how far he had come since that first near-death on the battle field. Each re-birth brought more power and less humanity. This was the second time he had gone through the blood rites, and he felt ten times more powerful than he had as a man.

He raced over another hill and down the gentle back slope. Something caught his eye and he stopped.

A man was sleeping beneath a tree. He could see the man’s legs emerging from under the low hanging boughs. No, there was only one leg. In the place of the other was a wooden leg
. “Could it be?”
he thought, suddenly ravenous with more than a thirst for blood. A thirst for revenge was now choking him, causing him to lick his lips and suck for breath.
“Is this the cripple from the valley? Are there others nearby?”

Death sped off in a widening circle, looking for the girl and her father
. “They have to be here!”
he thought. Finding no others after several minutes of searching, Death turned back toward the cripple beneath the tree. One way or another he would have some measure of satisfaction tonight.

Reaching down, he grasped the sleeping man by the good leg and jerked him roughly out from under the tree. The man did not even have time to cry out before he shoved a hand over his mouth and bit down on his torso. He laughed as the man writhed and fought to free himself from Death’s grip. Blood spilled from his mouth as he coughed and choked his mirth at the utter helplessness of this weak thing. He brought the man’s wrist to his mouth with both hands and drank deeply, leaving him to flail and thrash without restraint.

“Pain?”
thought Death as he floated in between worlds.
“Do I actually feel pain?”
Guy’s knife was buried to the hilt in Death’s groin, and hot sticky blood was pouring out.
“Is it my own blood?”

Death shook his head, clearing away the euphoria that tricked him into deadly bliss. He leapt back, creating distance. He ripped the knife free and tossed it aside, furious and snarling. Pressing his hat against the wound, he ran away into the night.

Guy lay quietly, head reeling and unsure what was happening. In a small corner of his mind he knew he was dying, but he had severed Death’s femoral artery, and it appeared they were in a race to see who would bleed out first. He slowly pulled his arm in close to his chest and pressed his wrist against his body. He curled up and lay still, trying to breathe, trying to live. Helplessly, he felt the life leaving his body.
“Slap your sister…just get it over with.”

(Present Day: 237 Cycles into the Light)

Lynn was camped within sight of the city walls. He watched the gates and the people who walked through. Guards stopped everyone who entered and checked their belongings. It seemed like the guards were simply going through the motions and not being very thorough. It was more of a hassle than a good security measure. Since Lynn began watching the traffic in and out of the capital he had seen several armed groups ride into the city under banners of various designs. The guards pointed them to the gate tower where they deposited their weapons and continued through without further molestation.

It was nearing nightfall, and Lynn knew he couldn’t find the answers he was looking for out here in the woods. Unbuckling his sword, he wrapped it in his cloak with a few sapling branches, leaving the wood sticking out the ends of the roll. It was not going to pass a close inspection, but it might get past the guards at the gate tonight. The axe was another matter. He hated to leave it, but it was a little harder to conceal, and he couldn’t carry such a weapon openly without drawing a lot of attention. Lynn secured the roll to his pack and swung it over his shoulder. He leaned the axe against the back side of a tree and stepped out of the tree line. He hunched his shoulders and walked toward the capital road.

Lynn kept his head down and mouth shut as he joined with others on the road. He was determined to get inside, but he moved at the snail’s pace they were keeping in order to blend in. As he approached the gate, he changed nothing. Head down and mouth shut he approached the gate. As expected a guard stopped him just outside the gate. “What is your business in the city,” the guard recited.

“Visiting a friend,” Lynn said without raising his head.

He felt hands carelessly pat at his pack a couple of times and then, “Move along.”

He moved along.

Lynn walked straight ahead, only turning when he had to, but always correcting back toward his goal at the center of the city. It was dark when he finally made it to the castle gate. He walked up to the gates and peered though. Apparently at night no guards were posted outside. There was no one here to ask the whereabouts of the Master of Swords. “Tomorrow then,” he thought. Turning around, he headed back toward the city gates. The cheapest rooms would be out there, and he could use a good night’s sleep in an actual bed.

Along the way he passed an Inn called the Gift of Hindsight. The smell of food convinced him to reconsider his plan to stay near the gate.
“If the food tastes as good as it smells, this place might be worth the cost.”
He went inside and asked the keeper about dinner and a room for the night.

A few minutes later, Lynn was sitting at a table near the back when four burly men walked into the Inn and sat down. Lynn quietly pulled his sword from the cloak roll and hid it under the table next to him.

“Here you go handsome,” the serving girl said with a wink. She set a bowl of stew and hunk of bread in front of him, and walked back to the kitchen with an exaggerated sway to her hips. She looked over her shoulder to see if he was looking, and he gave her a disapproving frown.

The four men sat at a table near the door and were soon laughing and yelling as if they were the only people in the place. As they drank, they became louder and at times belligerent. Lynn ignored them as best he could and finished his dinner.

As he stood up to go to his room, one of the men grabbed the serving girl and pulled her into his lap. She squealed in protest, but soon after it turned to laughter. Lynn paid them no mind and went to his room. He closed the door and slid the little table near the bed in front of it. He could hear the Inn keeper yelling at the men to get out, and there was the sound of tables and chairs being pushed around.

Lynn pulled off his boots and lay back on the bed. His sword rested beside him as he fell asleep.

The next morning Lynn took his gear with him as he left the Inn. The keeper, one eye swollen shut, grinned at him and held up a butcher knife. As he walked out the door Lynn noticed the blood spilled on the floor and smeared on the door way. Lynn smiled as he walked out into the street.
“Good for him,”
he thought.