Bonesmith (House of the Dead, #1)(45)
“Fine, yes. No undead are the best undead, as far as you’re concerned.”
“As far as anyone is concerned,” he said.
“Not bonesmiths,” Wren replied, flashing him her widest grin. “Now, let’s loot these corpses before we head out.”
“You’re joking,” Julian said as Wren crouched over the nearest body. She located a jeweled scabbard and held it up, examining the stones—surely only colored glass—when Julian marched over and snatched it away. One of the “diamonds” fell off and cracked in two. “What are you going to do with an empty scabbard?”
“Nothing, now that I know it’s garbage,” she said. When he continued to glare at her, she sighed. “Trade it, maybe? I don’t know about you, but I’d like to eat sometime on this journey. Surely jewels still hold value here in the Breachlands.”
“We’re headed to the Haunted Territory. There are no inns or peddlers or kind farm folk to trade with for food and a place to sleep. There is nothing between here and our destination except death.”
“All the more reason to take what we can,” Wren insisted, moving on to the next body. The deathrotted one.
“They’ll have a cache somewhere nearby,” Julian interjected, somewhat loudly. He was plainly uncomfortable with what Wren was doing. “Bandits like them have little safe houses all over the place. We find one, we find supplies.”
“Won’t they be running there as we speak?”
“It won’t be a proper house, just a hole in the ground with provisions. After the stunt you pulled, I doubt they’ll stop running until they reach Southbridge.”
Wren looked up at him. “Does that mean you don’t want this?” she asked, holding up a small black dagger.
He hesitated, then dropped the scabbard and walked over. He plucked it out of her hand, but immediately pulled a face. “Bitter iron,” he said, tossing it onto the ground.
“But it’s black…,” Wren said, picking it up again. Smiths called any variation on their material that they couldn’t touch—like alloys for the metalsmiths—bitter. Steel was a popular iron alloy, so they often called steel weapons bitter iron or bitter steel. Wren had heard bronze called “bitter copper” by coppersmiths, and of course, any material not native to their island was resistant to their magic. So gold, silver, iron—even bones—that came from outside the Dominions were called bitter to the local smiths. In fact, after losing several gold mines to the Breach, the king had deemed that only bitter gold—gold mined outside the Dominions and acquired through trade—should be used as currency. The rest was saved for goldsmith artisans to craft into more valuable objects or stockpiled to ensure its value remained high locally and abroad.
“Enamel, most likely,” Julian said, nodding at the blade. “Either he got played by someone claiming it was ironsmith-made or he planned to play someone else.”
“If you say so.” She dusted off her hands and stood. “You know where we can get supplies? Lead the way.”
SIXTEEN
Julian insisted on dragging the bodies to the side of the road before they set out.
“Bandits are a major problem in the south,” he explained as they searched seemingly random and unremarkable caverns and crevices. “The coastal towns send out local militia in an attempt to keep them in check, and sometimes, when I’m able, I join them. Their movements and patterns are easy to predict. They each have specific territories, and they have to keep mobile, so they can’t be bogged down with supplies.”
Finally he found what he was looking for, uncovering a stash of barrels and crates in a partially concealed cave.
It was stocked with a decent amount of food—mostly dried fish, but there was some cured red meat, several jars of pickled vegetables, plus water canteens they could refill. There was also traveling gear, including a kettle, blankets, and a flintstone.
“It’s cold where we’re going, so grab whatever you can,” Julian said, stuffing a leather pack.
“It’s cold everywhere. It’s winter,” Wren said, though she did the same.
He shook his head. “Not like this.”
Wren considered that. The undead did give the feeling of cold if you came into contact with them—that was why deathrot resembled nothing so much as accelerated frostbite—but she’d never known it to permeate an entire place before. Even the Bonewood was no colder than anywhere else, and it was the most haunted place she’d ever been.
Yet, anyway.
Once they were ready, they stepped out into the night, heading north.
It was the exact opposite direction they’d started traveling, and Wren couldn’t help looking back over her shoulder, wondering if she was doing the right thing. Was Leo okay? Had they unbound him and allowed him to ride a horse, or were they still throwing him around like a sack of grain?
Even if they treated Leo well now, with a Gold Prince in their possession, the demands they eventually made could be lofty and unreasonable. They could threaten Leo’s life and hold the entire Dominions at their mercy.
She stared at Julian’s back, barely visible in the darkness as they climbed over uneven and steadily rising ground.
“There’s a narrow gorge up ahead,” he called over his shoulder. “It slices through the rock and provides somewhat safe passage to the other side. Then we should have a straight shot into the Haunted Territory.”