Of Bone and Thunder (55 page)

Carny kept running. He knew what Squeak didn't.

It had always been too late.

“DEAD?” THE BARD
asked. He kept looking out to the valley then back at Carny as if somehow the news was going to change.

The shield stood around Carny. He'd just walked back from the remains of the rag. He didn't see any point in prolonging this. He held up Listowk's rank shield. It was marred by soot and still warm to the touch. It was the second time their Shield Leader had charked.

“The SL is dead. There wasn't much . . . him and the driver are buried out there,” he said, motioning back over his shoulder.

Strained silence filled the air. None of them were new to death, but there were soldiers you knew would never die. They had that glow about them. Shield Leader Listowk was one of those soldiers. He wasn't supposed to die. It was just that simple.

Carny saw the despair. He felt it himself, but he could no longer indulge in that. “Bard, you're LC now. I want a weapons check of the entire shield in a sixteenth. Wraith, that goes for you and your bowmen, too. Strings, hewers, knives, all of it.”

“Listowk's dead,” Wiz said, his eyes misting. “We need some time to—”

Carny slammed his fist against the shield. “There is no more time. The slyts from the Western Wilds are marching. They don't like that we've taken their route east to the coast and they're coming to take it back.”

The winch on the nearest cat began cranking. Others joined in. Carny pointed at Bard and then at Wraith. “Get your men up to the barracks, now.”

Carny didn't wait to see if they complied. He started walking. “Where are you going?” the Bard called after him.

“To see a dwarf,” he said. “Time we got some more firepower.”

MINTER DHIST, SENIOR
flock commander of the sparker rags, sat with Vorly on a wooden bench inside the limestone roost. Vorly had only known Minter a couple of years. He was young, tall, good-looking, and supremely
confident in his abilities. That kind of thing could grate on Vorly, but Minter was also methodical and, above all, practical. He didn't take chances with his rags or his crews.

“Farro says they were crystal-tipped spears,” Minter said. “Punched through the armor plate like it wasn't even there.”

Vorly nodded. “Damn shame. Sorry about your man and rag,” Vorly said. He'd heard one of the shields lost an SL riding along. He hoped it wasn't anyone he knew. He'd grown fond of the soldiers Carduus had been flying around.

“Yikson was a good man. And Windy, damn. He was the runt of the litter, but he threw fire hotter than any of them. Always trying to prove he was every bit as good, you know?”

Vorly did. Rag rivalries were every bit as intense as those among people. It was one of the reasons they were separated within the roost.

Minter looked up suddenly. “Fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't even ask you how you're doing. I know you and the LFC were good friends.”

Vorly waved away his concern. “Thanks. I'm fine. I miss the old bird, but with that temper of his, Walf was living on borrowed time.”

“Scared the living hell out of me,” Minter said. “Meanest son of a—sorry, no disrespect.”

Vorly smiled. “He'd take it as a compliment.” He leaned forward. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about that. With Modelar gone, we lost our ability to go toe to toe with Weel. That's going to be a problem. We need a united front when dealing with that prick. We're both flock commanders, so—”

“Command is yours,” Minter said immediately. “You've got way more experience and the thaums all think you're a visionary. It's my honor to serve under you.”

Vorly patted Minter on the knee. “I appreciate that. Tonight, after all the rags are tucked in, let's get the flocks together. We'll have a few drinks, toast those we lost, and talk about how we're all going to make it out of this.”

Minter turned to look at Vorly. “We're a long way from the coast.”

“You saying the navy won't row up the river to come get us?” Vorly
asked. Rumors were rampant; Vorly had heard the FnC's had invaded the Kingdom.

“Those pond ducks? They spend most of their time patching leaks in their boats.”

“True enough,” Vorly said, standing and stretching his back. “Now, let's go talk to our dragonsmiths and figure out what the fuck we're going to do about these crystal spears.”

“MORE FUCKING FAWNS,” KNOCKERS
said, pulling his unlit pipe out of his mouth and pointing as the fifth new rag landed.

Carny glanced up just in time to see a rag fly overhead. The flights had been coming in steadily for the last several days ever since the night of their battle on the eastern slopes. He went back to fiddling with his crossbow. It seemed wherever they went the enemy hid in the jungle. Arrows and bolts couldn't fly very far through that mess. They needed something stronger. He hoped his visit to the dwarves paid off.

“SL, the fawns. They're here,” Knockers said, a little louder this time.

Carny looked up. There were indeed three new replacements standing in front of him. He laid his crossbow across his lap and leaned back against the barrack's mud wall.

“And who might you three be?” he asked, studying the newcomers. All wore new uniforms complete with greaves, and their aketons still had their sleeves.

“Crossbowman Vin Estow,” the one on the left said, standing up straight.

Carny judged him to be in his late teens. He was tall, close to six feet, with broad shoulders, a dark tan, and a plain, flat sort of face that would probably look bored no matter what the occasion. Large, rough hands held his crossbow in a death grip.

“You a farmer, Estow?” Carny asked.

“Yes, sir. Pigs mostly.”

Carny nodded. “Pig farmer. What about you?” he said, pointing to the short one in the middle. The boy looked fourteen if he was a day. His helm sat so low on his head Carny could barely see his eyes.

“Wizard Third Class Shamt Mosanbark, Shield Leader,” Mosanbark
said. Nothing fit the boy. The sleeves of his aketon hung down to his fingertips and his boots looked like they had room for a family of mice in each toe. “I was in the seminary when they asked for volunteers to learn wizardry and minister to the wounded.”

“A druid in the making, just what we need. And what about you?” Carny asked, looking to the third soldier. The man stood easily, his crossbow slung over one shoulder. His equipment might have been new, but Carny could tell he was experienced in a fight.

“Crossbowman Targus Houff. Was a constable, night watch, Druid Edorlan's Alley,” he said.

A couple of soldiers nearby whistled. Carny had been right. Dead End Alley, as it was known in the capital, was the center of the black market. Rumor was the king paid taxes to the Seven Families there to keep things calm.

“So you decided you wanted to try something easier then?” Carny said, smiling.

Houff didn't smile back. “Something like that.”

Carny kept his smile, but he narrowed his eyes. Houff was going to be one to watch. “So, a pig farmer, a druid, and a king stick,” Carny said, using the slang term for a royal constable. “Welcome to Red Shield. I'm your shield leader. Our barracks are right behind me here,” he said, motioning with his head. “Grab an empty hammock and drop your gear. Knockers, get them set up, then show them around.” He looked back down at his crossbow and started working on the string.

“Is it true? I mean, what they say about an army from the Western Wilds coming?”

Carny looked back up. Mosanbark was looking around, almost as if he expected slyts to pop up and start shooting.

“I don't know any more than you,” Carny said. “Enough of the bastards are here already. Hell, you could be a slyt in disguise for all I know.”

Laughter rang out as the rest of the shield enjoyed the show.

“I'm not a slyt . . . what's a slyt?” Mosanbark asked to more laughter.

Carny shook his head and turned back to his crossbow. “Knockers will explain it all. Now, off you go.”

Carny kept his head down until the sound of boots faded away. He felt
an anger bubbling up inside him.
Why did they have to send Red Shield another pig farmer?
It felt like they were trying to replace Big Hog, not just the soldier, but the man himself.

“Shield Leader?”

“What?” Carny barked, looking up. “Oh, Tryser, didn't hear you.”

Dwarf Carpenter Tryser Abroma bowed. “Lightest dwarf on two feet. My shards call me Butterfly,” Tryser said.
Shard
was the dwarf term for close friend, although it meant more than that to them.

A few members of the shield nearby snickered. Carny shot them a look and they quickly got busy. Butterfly, to Carny's surprise, didn't seem to mind the name or reaction to it.

“Were you able to come up with anything?” Carny asked, noticing the large burlap bag the dwarf had over his shoulder.

“Aye, I did indeed.” He brought the sack down and opened it up, pulling out a crossbow that had clearly been modified. The bow arms were larger, the stock had been reinforced with metal plates, and the string was made from a thicker material.

Carny held out his hands and Butterfly handed it over.

“Heavy,” Carny said.

“No way around it,” Butterfly said. “I thought about hollowing out the butt, but best to live with it for now. Might try putting some cork in the butt, or that spongy stuff they've been melting and using. Got a nice bounce to it but it's solid. Could be just the thing to lower the weight and take some of the push when you fire.”

Carny worked the firing mechanism. “Feels tight. Hell of a lot of stress on the wood,” he said, looking up at the dwarf carpenter.

Butterfly took the crossbow out of Carny's hands and began turning a screw on a piece of metal plate he'd added to the main stock. “It's got to be tight. You're drawing almost double the weight now. Heavier string, reinforced bow arms and stock. You said you wanted to be able to hit through the leaves. This'll do it.”

Carny nodded. He sensed eyes on him and looked up. Several soldiers from the shield were milling around, watching. Ahmist was front and center. Everyone knew his feelings about dwarves and where they ranked in his world, but to his credit, the soldier said nothing.

“Could you do anything with the bolts?” Carny asked.

Butterfly's eyes sparkled. “I think you're going to like this,” he said, pulling a cloth-wrapped bundle out of his sack and placing it on the table.

Carny unwrapped it and saw ten standard-looking bolts with dark black points on the end of them. He picked one up and held it up.

“Iron? Some kind of stone?” The challenge with putting a tougher tip on a bolt was that the extra weight made the bolt nose down in flight, making it unstable.

“I thought to myself,
Now, what's tougher than steel but flies like a bird through the air?
Rags, of course. So I went over to the roost and nosed around and found these.”

Carny looked closer. “Is that a piece of talon?”

Butterfly nodded. “I seen some flock sharders carting in big chunks of broken granite to use in the roost. Bit of a scrap going on about who gets stone out of the quarry, so ol' Maggs has a few of us keep an eye on what goes where. Anyway, I see them just toss the granite on the ground right in front of the rags. I figured they was going to eat it, but no, they start clawing away at it like it was a toy. Sparks flying every which way. But not just sparks, bits of broken talon, too. Turns out that's how they keep them great claws of theirs so sharp. So I did a little dealing and got me a bag full of the broken pieces. And let me tell you, that stuff is a pain to work with.”

Carny smiled. Butterfly was a talker.

“You try it out?” Carny asked.

“Naw, didn't get the chance. You imagine if one of the higher-ups saw a dwarf out shooting a crossbow? They'd be screaming that the revolution is here.”

While dwarves now enjoyed much of the same freedoms that men did, there remained several huge exceptions. A dwarf could serve in the army, but only in support roles. He could carry an axe, a pick, or a shovel but not a hewer, and definitely not a bow of any kind.

“You did a great job,” Carny said, reaching into his pocket for his small leather bag of silver pieces.

Butterfly waved him away. “You hold on to that. I'm working on another idea. Not ready yet, but when it is, then we can talk silver.” His smile was contagious.

“All right, you're on,” Carny said, sticking out his hand to shake Butterfly's.

The dwarf held out his fist and Carny remembered dwarves “knocked the mountain.” They bumped knuckles, harder than was comfortable for Carny, but he suspected Butterfly had held back.

“Best be on my way. I should have my new idea ready to show you in another day or two.”

“Can't wait,” Carny said, holding up his new crossbow. “Much obliged for this.”

As Butterfly walked away, several members of the shield crowded around Carny to see the modified crossbow. The first to ask to hold it was Wraith.

“Didn't think you cared much for these contraptions,” Carny said, handing the weapon over.

“I didn't; I don't,” Wraith said, turning the crossbow over and getting a feel for it. “This is different.”

“So it is,” Carny said, sitting back and letting the soldiers examine the weapon. “Now we'll have to see how it works.”

ARMS WRAPPED AROUND
Jawn, and he felt a frizzy mane of hair in his face.

“Hello, Breeze,” he said, patting her back. “I hear you're having some trouble on plane.”

Breeze led him away from the rag, talking faster than a hummingbird about the latest developments with the sheets and the interference she was dealing with. Jawn listened, although not with great enthusiasm. He still didn't know what he could do.