Path of Bones (17 page)

“
Hello, handsome,” she said.  The drums from unseen musicians were loud and persistent, and she had to talk loud for Dane to hear her.  Her voice was thick with the eastern accent of the sea, which along with her creamy white skin marked her as Raithian, hailing from a city where the sun rarely shone and the citizens turned pale living on a coast trapped under perpetual clouds.  “What will you have?”

“
What’s for sale?” he asked in a half-yell. 

“
Everything you see,” she smiled.  “And a lot you can’t.”  She licked her lips, and Dane’s heart skipped a beat. 

Easy there.  You’ve got work to do. 
He repeated that message in his head several times, trying to drown out the other voice that reminded him he hadn’t been with a woman in months. 

He leaned in closer, and she obliged.  Even with the strong atmosphere in the Scarlet Lair he smelled her skin, like jasmine and honey. 

“I’m here on business,” he said. 

She leaned in as if to whisper something, and to his great surprise she gently nibbled on his earlobe.  A wave of pleasure shot down his neck.

“Too bad,” she said.  “No fun for you tonight?”

Dane set some coins on the bar and moved her hand over them. 

“I’m afraid not,” he said.  The urge to nibble back was strong.  “I’m a busy man.” 

She smiled, and picked up the coins. 

“That’s all right,” she said.  “You’ll be back.”  She slipped the coins into a nigh invisible pouch strung to the belt of her skirt.  “In the meantime, what do you need?”

“
I need to speak with someone from the Phage,” he said.

She gave him a long hard look before she answered. 

“That’s not too smart, handsome,” she said.  “
They
find
you
.  Anyone who thinks different is just asking for trouble.”

“
If you could just point me to one person...” he said.  Dane reached out, took her hand and dropped three more gold coins into her palm.  “That’s all I need.”

“
You’ll need more than that, Love,” he said.  She licked her lips.  “A lot more.”

“
I have more,” he said.  “But I want a name.  Please.”

She smiled crookedly and glanced around.  After a moment she leaned in close again. 

“At the end of the bar to your left,” she said.  “His name is Mazrek Chairos.  Tall, good-looking, black cloak.  You can’t miss him, trust me.”

“
Thank you,” Dane said.  “What’s your name?”

“
Mirren,” she said.

“
I’ll be back to see you later, Mirren,” he said.

“
We’ll see about that,” she laughed, and she went to tend to another customer.  Dane watched her go, imagining her clothes on the floor.  He still smelled the honey-sweet scent of her skin and swore he’d smelled more, the odor that hung in the air after sex.  He felt longing stronger than anything he’d felt in a long time, and for a moment all he could do was watch her as she walked away, eying her every curve, imagining her hair undone, tracing the outline of her smooth skin, wondering what it would feel like to run his tongue up her thighs…

Stop. 
He shook himself to. 
What the hell was that? 
It must have been the air in that place.  Dane wouldn’t have been surprised to learn some subtle Veilcraft was at work in the Scarlet Lair to make its customers even more amorous than usual.  He hadn’t sensed the normal trappings of such enchantments, but that wasn’t really his specialty.  Dawn Knights had only been trained to do two things with the Veil: track and kill.  Reading thaumaturgic currents and detecting trace elements of enchantments were largely out of his reach, though there were a few tell-tale signs even novice Veilwardens could identify, and he’d sensed none there in the Scarlet Lair. 
It’s
s
omething else, then.  Maybe I’m just lonelier than I thought.

As Mirren had promised, Mazrek Chairos wasn’t difficult to find.  He was a tall Den’nari male with bronze skin and short dark hair, a thin and well-trimmed beard and sparkling green eyes.  His teeth flashed white and his smile was broad, and he had broad shoulders and a chiseled physique that lent him the look of a warrior.  His clothing was all black – his cloak, his boots, his finely made shirt and trousers – except for his silver rings, belt buckle and boot straps.  A pair of topless blonde whores fawned all over him, and he clutched their rears in his large hands as they giggled and whispered in his ears.  A Blood Knight in the corner kept a watchful eye, and Dane wasn’t surprised when that Knight stepped forward to intercept him.

Dane
did
detect magic then, a powerful protective enchantment laid out around Chairos and his women that shielded them from any sort of scrying.  If Chairos wasn’t a Veilwarden, someone watching over him was.

“
I’d like a word with Chairos,” Dane said to the Blood Knight.  He watched as Chairos whispered something into the girls’ ears and made them giggle.  “If he’s available.”

“
He isn’t,” the Blood Knight said. 

“
Even if my business has to do with the Dream Witch?” Dane asked.

He didn’t have to see the man’s face to tell that he’d caught him off guard.  The Blood Knight watched him carefully.  People moved around them, and the music of drums kept on pounding.  After a moment the Knight went over to Chairos.  No words were exchanged but Chairos’ eyes went to Dane, confirming his suspicions that the man was a mage.  Chairos looked back at the Dawn Knight and nodded, then returned to smiling at his girls and pulling them close.

“He’ll be with you shortly,” the Knight said.  “Go and enjoy yourself.  You’ll be fetched when he’s ready.”

Eighteen

Dane was in a sea of flesh. 

He didn’t remember getting on the elevator, but he suddenly found himself descending the metal shaft.  The Blood Knight on the lift watched him with iron eyes until he got off and moved into the pit, where he was surrounded by desperate and hungry men he kept at an arm’s distance.  The air was stifling and the scent of drugs was strong, a mind-numbing maelstrom of aromas.  Dane pushed his way through the throng of merchants, criminals, mercenaries and minor nobles as they vied for position near the dancer’s pedestals. 

He found a spot near the wall where he had a good view of a girl with snow-white hair, dark skin and the sinuous moves of a snake.  She wore nothing but a loin cloth, and with every motion her ample breasts heaved and shook.  It was easy to get lost in the sight of her, to imagine himself there with her, cupping her tits in his hands, pushing himself up into her, feeling the gush of pleasure and tasting the sickly-sweet scent of her sweat and skin…

Dane shook himself to.  His head pounded, and his hands were shaking, but not because of fear: he wanted to lash out at something, anything, wanted to go
take
that woman right there on the floor, but only after he grabbed some random fool and smashed his skull against the floor.  Something seized control of Dane, a razor sharp drive to hurt, to fuck, to release a primal power welling up inside him.  The sensation was so overpowering he could hardly breathe, and it took every shred of willpower to resist giving into those urges.

What the hell is wrong with me?

It wasn’t an effect of the Veil – he’d have sensed such, unless the Scarlet Lair was filled with some new and dire enchantment the likes of which he’d never seen.  Every man in that sweaty and noise-filled pit was enraptured by the women, and Dane knew it would only cost him a few coins to grab any of the ladies off the stage, throw her over his shoulder and take her to one of the nearby rooms so he could ravage her like he was some sort of savage.

Maybe I should.  Maybe that’s all this is, some narcotic enchantment to make every man in here lose control until he has no choice but to give up his coins.

No.  It was something else, and Dane knew it.  The more he fought it the weaker he became.  He had to get out of there. 

He was parched.  He wanted a drink,
any
drink.  Surely Mirren would give him another drink.

Mirren.

His mind filled with thoughts of that trim stomach and luxurious thighs, her moist lips and smooth skin and firm round breasts.  He wanted her so badly he could hardly see straight.

Dane was almost to the lift when someone took hold of his arm.  He started to reach for his
vra’taar
, but stopped himself.  Rage tore through his chest, and he thought he’d explode if he didn’t find some release.

Stop.  Take control.  Whatever this is, you’re stronger.

A Blood Knight – the same one who’d attended Chairos, Dane thought – stood before him.

“
Come with me,” the man said, and he moved towards one of the passageways.  Dane didn’t want to go – he wanted to take that dark-haired wench with the white hair, or the blonde with the serpent tattoos all over her thighs, or Mirren, especially Mirren, Mirren with her playful eyes and the key between her breasts – but he did his best to focus and followed the Knight, clenching his fists the entire time.  He wasn’t sure what the hell had come over him, but it would be best, he decided, if he removed himself from the sight of the dancers, if he got away from the throng of sweat and drums and ravenous hunger.

The music faded as they moved down the corridor.  The dull pain behind his eyes slowly went away.  That hunger still burned inside him, but not as virulent as before: his hands still shook and his breaths came hard, but at least he could walk, and with every step he felt his self-control gradually return.

It must have been that room,
he thought.
 
He’d never before been subjected to an enchantment he couldn’t detect, but anything was possible. 
All the more reason to stay sharp. 

The corridor rounded a bend and came to a short set of stairs which led up to a landing and a sealed door.  A second Blood Knight waited there, his crimson armor illuminated by the wall lamps. 

“Your weapon,” the first Knight said.

“
No,” Dane replied.  “Not today.”

“
Your weapon,” the Knight repeated.  “Now.”

Dane took hold of the Veil.  It was risky to do so in his discombobulated state of mind, but after a moment of pain and confusion he felt the fire in his soul.  He moved his hand toward the hilt of his blade, felt power grip his heart like a hot gauntlet.

“You’ll have to take it,” Dane said with a cold smile, and he felt something animal within him come to life. 

The first Knight came at him, and Dane moved so fast he surprised even himself.  He  side-stepped the
kan’aar
and spun around with his own blade, taking the head from the Knight’s shoulders with a clean strike.  The body collapsed in a heap at the bottom of the steps, blood spurting from the neck stump.

The second Blood Knight held his double-bladed axe ready.  Dane stepped back, knowing he couldn’t deflect the heavier weapon.  The Knight moved quick as he circled for position, his shoulders tensed.  Firelight danced off the iron mask.

Dane clenched his fist.  The Veil swelled in his lungs like icy vapor.  Cold swept through his gut as a blast of light shot from his hand and flashed into the other man’s face.  The Blood Knight anticipated the move and shielded his eyes in time, but Dane was still able to take advantage of the moment’s distraction to get inside the reach of the
kan’aar
. 

The Knight drew a second blade, a long and curved knife, and Dane was only barely able to push it aside with the back of his gauntlet.  Pain shot up his forearm.  Chest heaving, he threw his weight forward and sank his
vra’taar
into the other man’s chest.  Blood welled around his knuckles and fountained from the wound.  The Blood Knight died silently and slumped to the floor as Dane snarled in triumph.

Two corpses lay at his feet.  Dane took a breath, and stumbled back.  Red pooled around his boots.

You idiot.  What are you doing?

The door swung open, revealing Chairos and two more Blood Knights.  A long office lined with books and statues stood behind them.  Chairos glanced into the hall – Dane felt Veil power radiate from the man like heat from a forge – and regarded the scene with a bemused expression.

“There was no need for that,” Chairos said.  His voice was elegant and smooth, his manner reserved.  His eyes shone with malevolent charm as he backed away from the door and walked into his office.  “Well, come in,” he said over his shoulder.

The Blood Knights stood to either side of the doorway, waiting.  Dane wiped his
vra’taar
off on one of the bodies but didn’t sheath the weapon as he approached the room.  He looked inside.  Chairos had seated himself behind a large mahogany desk covered with odd trinkets: mummified animal claws holding globes of petrified ice, shrunken heads of what Dane presumed were monkeys, cubes and pyramids made of black bone and ivory that seemed to float on their own accord.  The Veilwarden leaned back against a bookcase stuffed with leather tomes and smiled warmly.  The room was thickly carpeted and dark, with motifs of winged serpents and dancing women carved into the woodwork.