Of Bone and Thunder (6 page)

“HOLY FUCKING HIGH DRUID!”

“Did you see that?” the Weasel asked, pointing at the black smoke trail. “They skewered one of the bastards on board.”

Big Hog huffed. “What are you on about? That old rag was spewing out so much smoke you could barely see her when she went over.”

Carny wanted to believe Big Hog was right, but he knew it wasn't going to matter. Command would have seen that from the beach.

“About time the manor born got a taste of what it's like for the rest of us,” Voof said, the satisfaction in his voice dripping with malice. “Let their blood paint the whole mountain red.”

“For fuck's sake, Voof, you're mad, you know that?” the Weasel said. “You keep talking like that they'll string you up by the neck until you're dead.”

“Only if we don't stand up to them,” Voof said, looking around.

Carny avoided his eyes. Voof said what Carny didn't have the courage to say, but this wasn't the time or the place.

“You have something to say, Crossbowman?” Sinte said, walking down the path.

Carny groaned. This would only end badly.

The sound of hooves galloping up the path heralded a new and most likely worsening situation. A gleaming rider on a bluish roan pony came into view. Hoots and catcalls greeted the Seventh Phalanx commander's crippled little messenger, Firl Bristom. His withered legs bounced off the sides of Gallanter like two twigs in the wind. A pair of wooden arms cushioned with leather padding like those on a chair rose up from the front of his saddle and wrapped around his waist, affixing him in place. Bulging satchels and water skins slung by leather straps draped over the pony's back.

“Hey, Squeak, when are you two getting married?”

“Did your mother have any children that lived?”

“Did you see any slyts this time?” Squeak asked, reining in his pony and ignoring the japes directed at him. He wore the simple, sleeveless, waist-length dark green cotton tunic they wore as an undergarment, although his was trimmed with silver, denoting he was part of the command group. He didn't wear an aketon, but perversely, he'd had half sleeves sewn onto the shoulders of his tunic.

He reached up with a hand to adjust his highly polished helm, which had slipped down over his eyes. When he lowered his hand, Carny could see his pimply face was flushed, though whether it was because of the ride or the taunts he didn't know. A nickname like Squeak certainly couldn't help.

“What?” Sinte said, glowering at the boy.

Squeak sat up straighter and threw back his narrow shoulders.

“No need to get snippy, just doing my duty. Commander Weel is kicking cauldrons. He saw the show and put the fire to all the field deputies,” Squeak said. Carny could easily imagine the scene. Weel was forever yelling at the FDs who commanded the Javelins, who in turn blasted the shield leaders like Sinte. And Sinte was all too happy to keep the shit ball rolling downhill.

“And?” Sinte asked.

“And,” Bristom continued, pulling a folded piece of paper from inside his tunic, “by order of FD Rhomy, Second Javelin, you are hereby commanded to turn around and march back up there and not come down until you have something to show for it . . . preferably slyt heads.”

The shield groaned. Carny's stomach grew hollow and he felt homesick. Until that very moment he'd still held out hope that they'd make it back down to the beach before dusk.

“We don't have to listen to this little piece of afterbirth,” Voof said, casually pointing his crossbow at Squeak. “He's just a mouthpiece for those that want to keep us down.”

“Lower your weapon!” Sinte shouted, storming down the rest of the way to stand in front of Vooford. “Keep that shit up and you'll be for the stockade. When you're back in camp, you can piss and moan and scrawl
notes home about how your worthless ass got conscripted and how unfair it is, but when we're out here you will act like a soldier. We only point weapons at things we mean to kill.”

Voof glowered at Squeak, unwilling or afraid to look straight at Sinte. With excruciating slowness, Voof lowered his crossbow, letting the weapon drift in Sinte's direction. The motion was subtle, but Carny knew it wasn't an accident.

Sinte lashed out, punching Voof in the gut. The tall man crumpled to the ground clutching his stomach. “Why'd you do that?”

“The better question is, what lice-ridden harlot gave birth to such a horrid creature as you and why wasn't she put down?” Sinte said, shaking his head. He turned away and looked at the shield. “And what the fuck are the rest of you staring at?! We're still in slyt land here. Face out and keep watch for movement!”

Carny did as ordered, angling his body to face the jungle while still keeping Sinte and Squeak in sight. The chance of any slyts coming within a mile of the roaring Sinte seemed highly unlikely, but the idea of an arrow in the back was enough to keep his eyes peeled all the same.

Carny pulled his hewer from its scabbard and hacked away at some large, floppy leaves. The eighteen-inch-long and two-inch-wide rectangular blade had only one side sharpened, which Carny appreciated as he bounced it off of ironlike vines and hit his shoulder on the rebound. Unlike a sword, the end wasn't pointed, but instead widened slightly, sloping at a twenty-degree angle from the spine down to the cutting edge. A single, deep blood groove ran the length of the back on the left side of the blade, though the only blood it had tasted so far was his own.

“Ugh!” Carny shouted, backing away as a brown spider with yellow stripes the size of his fist tumbled onto a leaf near his face. He squeezed the grip of the hewer hard and brought it down on the spider, cleaving it in two. He carefully approached the leaves again, ready to attack should any more of them appear.

Sinte snorted and walked past Carny, stopping when he got to Squeak. He grabbed the messenger's pony by the bridle. The mare shied and tried to back away, but Sinte's grip was iron. “It's going to be dark soon. We've been out here since dawn.”

Squeak leaned over the pony's neck, smoothing its mane before sitting back up. He twisted around and grabbed the pair of satchels and water skins slung across Gallanter's back. He grunted with the effort, finally tipping the water skins onto the ground, where Big Hog walked over and picked them up. Squeak motioned for Carny to come over and take the satchels, but Sinte grabbed them out of his hands. “Enough water and food to last you the night,” Squeak said, looking over at Carny and motioning with his eyes at the satchels before focusing on Sinte again.

Sinte let go of the bridle. “Messenger
and
delivery boy. You're making quite a career for yourself.”

Squeak ignored the slight. “Look, trust me on this—you'll be safer up there than down in camp. All the FDs are squawking about it. They don't think it makes any more sense than you do. Rhomy even said so to Weel. I was there.”

That was rather surprising to hear. It was a wonder Rhomy still had his job. Carny couldn't remember the last time anyone had called out Weel.

“It's a lousy deal, but that's the hand,” Squeak continued. “None of the FDs want to report back to Weel that they still haven't found the slyts. And believe it or not, Weel's getting serious thorns from higher up, too. Senior officers and other highborn creatures ride on those rags. Getting shot at upsets them. If any on that rag that just passed by wind up tarped, someone's going to pay . . .”

And Carny knew damn well it would be them. It wasn't their fault. They could send the whole phalanx up the mountain and they still wouldn't find the slyts. He'd been in the Lux three months now and he'd yet to see an armed slyt.

Sinte hung his head for a moment, then looked up. “How's Weel think our camping up there is going to help anything? The rags don't fly over at night.”

“You see the ships?” Squeak asked, hooking his thumb over his shoulder toward the ocean. “Finally got us some mules, hundreds of them. Come first light, Weel's marching them up there to cut and burn every last tree down so the slyts have nowhere to hide. You've just got to keep it secure until the mules arrive.”

“And if the slyts come back?”

Squeak pulled at the reins, backing his mare away. “The other shields have orders to stay on the mountain, too. Black Shield is on the other side of the saddle to the north and Gray Shield is due south. The others will be spread around lower down. If the slyts come back, a few heads would go a long way to putting Weel in a better mood.”

Sinte stared hard at Squeak before finally waving him away. “Get the fuck out of my sight.”

Squeak wheeled the pony around and started down the path without looking back. Carny watched him go, knowing there was nothing for it. They were going to march right up the mountain.

Sinte confirmed his fears. “All right, the sooner we get moving, the sooner we rest. I damn well don't want to be marching around here in the dark. Vooford,” he said, pointing a finger at the soldier, who was now back on his feet, “you walk ST.”

“Fuck that. I ain't walking spear tip. Slyts are all over that mountain now, SL,” Voof said. His voice had the shocked tenor of a wronged man's.

“Go down and complain to Rhomy if you'd rather,” Sinte said. He didn't yell. He didn't smile. He didn't even move his crossbow, but the entire shield held its breath. If Voof turned and headed toward the beach, he wouldn't make it two steps.

Voof stared at Sinte for several flicks. The noise of the jungle and beckoning rush of the waves over sand made the air seem crystalline. Carny's eyes began to sting, but there was no way he was going to risk blinking.

“Aw, fuck it,” Voof muttered, cradling his crossbow in his arms and trudging up the path. The rest of the shield let out a collective sigh and fell in. Carny blinked and cursed as sweat washed over his eyeballs. Stupid bastard was going to get them all killed.

The four longbowmen in the shield stayed in the middle of the line. With jungle never more than a few feet away, their longer-range bows were of limited use. They wore the standard-issue heavy hewers and nine-inch hunting knives, but if the slyts got close enough that those weapons were necessary, things would definitely be in a bad state.

Sinte stood off to the side as they filed past. When Carny reached him, Sinte fell into step beside him. Without warning, he shoved the two satchels at Carny, who hurriedly grabbed them.

“I sent you up there with Listowk because I figured at least you had some sense.” Sinte's face was inches from Carny's ear. “You got education. Numbers, reading and writing. You spent an extra three weeks in training in shield leader class before you came over.”

Carny started to shrug but realized Sinte was too close to see the gesture. “SL, I'm trying.

“Try harder,” Sinte said, moving his face even closer. “Listowk's losing what's left of his mind. Stupid bastard looks more like a slyt every time we come out here. You'd think he'd be able to spot 'em now that he damn near looks like 'em.”

Carny glanced sideways at Sinte, then quickly turned back. “The slyts weren't there, SL. They must have sneaked back the moment we left.”

They trekked in silence side by side for the next few moments. Carny was just about to offer a joke to ease the tension when Sinte leaned back in to him. “I was wrong about you,” he said, picking up his pace and leaving Carny to stare at his back.

The sound of waves crashing on the beach trailed after Carny all the way back up the mountain.

“EASY NOW, YER GRACE,
ya'll be purrin' laek a kitten with warm milk afor' long, yah?” the co-driver said, looking up from the ground. He held out a three-fingered hand to help Jawn down from the rag. Jawn blinked. They'd landed. He couldn't remember it.

The beast was sprawled flat on the ground, her wings spread out to either side in utter exhaustion. The grass underneath her smoldered as heat poured off her body in shimmering waves. Men wearing heavy leather aprons and elbow-high gauntlets ran forward with wooden water buckets and began dousing animal and passengers alike.

Jawn numbly took the man's hand, suppressing the urge to grimace as his fingers wrapped around the stump of the index finger. The scar tissue over the stump was coarse, like a hard crust of bread. He jumped to the ground and would have fallen over if not for the steadying hand.

“Takes a bit to git yer walkin' pegs under ya agin.”

There was no detectable gloating in his voice. Jawn squeezed the man's hand in thanks.

“I'm covered in blood,” Jawn said, looking down at his clothes.
And vomit.
He was a mess, but as bad as he looked, he felt even worse. The heat coming off the rag combined with the sweltering air of Luitox draped over him like hot pitch. His head pounded and he was on the verge of puking again.

“Bad luck that. Them slyts is gittin' right ornery when we flies o'er. Army kips sayin' they'll go up thar an' clear 'em out, but the lazy buggers 'tain't done it yet,” the co-driver said, stepping smartly to the side as water tossed from a bucket cascaded over Jawn.

Jawn gasped. “Hey, a little warning!”

The co-driver smiled. “Fair 'nuff. Here come two more.”

The force of the thrown water knocked Jawn back a couple of steps. An expletive died on his lips. The nearly decapitated body of the officer who'd sat in front of him was being lifted into a tarp. The men doing the lifting weren't gentle, but they weren't rough, either. They could have been handling sacks of fruit.

“Friend a yours?” the co-driver asked, motioning with the remaining fingers on his left hand.

Jawn shook his head. “Just met him.” He tried to think of something more profound to say. “He threw up on me.”

“More water, then? Puke's a bitch to git out,” the co-driver asked.