Bonesmith (House of the Dead, #1)(49)
Well, to be fair, he could do something, he was quite certain. And intended to, by the way—but they didn’t know that. And it was thanks to his own dramatics that the bag was ever removed at all. He pretended to lose his balance in the saddle whenever it was on, actually falling once to commit to the bit—and thoroughly bruising his backside in the process—but it meant they let him remove it whenever someone in the party gave the all clear.
Even with the cursed sack, he had a very good guess of their destination, if not the exact route they would take.
It would be nice to get a confirmation, though. “Where are you taking me?” he asked the kidnapper next to him. They’d been riding for hours, and the sun had long since set behind them.
There were always the same two kidnappers nearby: one, grizzled and gruff and prone to speaking in single-word replies. The other was the total opposite: young and green, wide-eyed and handsome.
Leo could use that.
Unfortunately, it was old Gray-Beard who answered. “Quiet.”
Leo rolled his eyes, then put them to good use, scanning his surroundings. They had allowed him to ditch the bag after darkness fell, and Leo had watched as everyone in their party grew tense and wary in the coming night. His own shoulders had hunched, especially when the kidnappers started talking among themselves.
“Think we’ll see her?” the kidnapper in front of Leo muttered, craning his neck to scan the empty road and barren landscape, painted silver in the moonlight.
“You’d better hope not,” said the one riding beside him.
“If you do, it’ll be the last thing you ever see,” said a third from farther up the line, laughing.
“It’s not funny,” said the first. “My cousin’s friend disappeared three weeks back. Swears he saw her in the trees, right near the path his friend had taken. No one’s seen him since.”
“Who is this mysterious woman you’re all so afraid of?” Leo asked.
“Nobody,” came Gray-Beard’s predictable response.
Leo pressed his lips together, then noticed the young kidnapper was watching him. “It’s a harmless question, isn’t it?” Leo asked, keeping his voice low so it wouldn’t be heard over the sound of the horses’ hooves. “Indulge me, won’t you?” He batted his eyelashes. They were no longer golden, unfortunately. They’d stopped earlier in their journey to strip him of every scrap of metal on his body—well, every scrap they could find, anyway. “I’m painfully bored.”
The boy tilted his head, considering. “They call her the Corpse Queen.”
Corpse Queen? Leo racked his brain. He’d studied ancient smith lore, and the name rang a bell.
“Isn’t she the monster that will eat children who stay up past their bedtime? Surely hardened soldiers like you don’t believe such nonsense?”
Leo gave the boy his best grin, and the boy almost returned it before he caught Gray-Beard’s frown and hastily looked away.
Yes, Leo could definitely use that.
The boy didn’t respond, but his expression told Leo that he quite plainly did believe in such nonsense.
Interesting.
* * *
They rode into a riverside town sometime in the middle of the night. It was walled, as all surviving settlements in the Breachlands were, according to his lessons, and they had a garrison, too. Guards greeted them at the gate, as tense as the kidnappers. Mutters of bandits roving the countryside rippled through their ranks, though Leo heard nothing about corpse queens.
The bag was firmly in place again. He could see through the rough weave, though it reduced people to simple silhouettes, a contrast of light and shadow. He’d found a small hole earlier in the day and did his best to peer through it. It narrowed his field of vision to a pinprick, but it helped him make better sense of his surroundings in the darkness.
Bone protections were mounted along the walls of the town, but they appeared old and outdated—a far cry from what he was used to in the Dominions.
“Welcome to Southbridge,” came the sentry at the gate, saving Leo from having to pry the information out of someone later.
He pictured the many maps of the region he had seen in his lifetime. They were near the Serpentine River—yes, he could hear it if he ignored the chatter and stomping of hooves—and were on course to continue south toward the Coastal Road, which led all the way to the Iron Citadel. It was the only destination that made sense.
They were quickly admitted, the town a rundown place that had traces of lost grandeur—wide streets and neat stone buildings in organized rows—that had given way to squalor. Empty houses and heaps of garbage, plus gangs of children everywhere, lurking on street corners and peering out from darkened windows. Orphans, he supposed, though they were too young to have lost their parents to the Breach or the Uprising. He thought of the Corpse Queen and missing people, of a land without bonesmiths to properly protect them. He shuddered.
Guards were posted on streetcorners, moving stragglers along with a forceful hand, giving the place a feeling of wartime, though the Uprising had ended years ago.
They were fighting a different kind of war now, and they had the wrong soldiers.
Wren and her bone blades popped into Leo’s mind. The way she had defended him without question or hesitation, squaring off with a damned ironsmith—completely and totally outmatched—left his stomach tight with guilt.