Of Bone and Thunder (18 page)

He swung his boot heels back until the upward-curving iron hook on each stirrup caught the ridge of scale running underneath the rag's collarbone on either side of its neck. Firmly secure, he brought his knees in until each touched the side of Carduus's neck. As he increased the pressure, Carduus got the message and slowed his wing stroke, settling them back into level flight.

“Your damn sheet spooked him!” Vorly shouted. “How in blazes are we going to fly if he does that every time?”

“It was a temporary surge, I have it under control now,” the thaum said, sounding out of breath.

Vorly looked behind him past the RAT and saw the rest of Obsidian Flock. He was relieved to see the five other rags with a driver and thaum on each one stretched out in echelon off of his left wing. Despite the sudden move, the flock had stayed tight.

“We'll need to shoot another line to confirm our altitude,” the thaum said.

Vorly reached into the front pocket sewn into his tunic and pulled out his bronze astrolabe. It was a thin, circular disc, a little bigger than his palm, etched with markings, and several smaller discs revolving about a center rivet. He held it up to the sun, squinted, and spun the other discs until he had the altitude of the sun fixed. Doing this on the back of a rag wasn't precise, but it was close enough.

“Eight hundred seventy-five yards, plus or minus fifteen,” he said, putting the astrolabe away.

“Which is it?”

Vorly definitely would have punched a male RAT by now. “If I knew that, I would have said it. Now, what the hell am I conducting again?”

“A crystal pathway check, sir, and you don't have to yell when you speak into the crystal. Your voice will carry just fine at a normal tone. In fact, it's better for the crystal.”

“Right,” Vorly said, turning back to face forward. He unhooked his left boot and gave Carduus a kick on the neck to get his attention. “Scared of your own shadow,” he grumbled. Driving the young rag, a three-year-old
bull, was like walking on ice in the dark. Carduus could go days without a mishap, responding to every command with quickness and a clear understanding of what Vorly wanted. Then there were the days when Vorly wanted to bash the stupid beast's head in with an iron mallet.

With a wingspan of twenty yards and a length of twenty-five, Carduus was still really a calf. In another ten years, however, he'd be of mammoth proportions, maybe even a breeder. That, however, would depend on whether the rag was right in the head.

And whether he, and Vorly, survived.

“Obsidian Flock, I am conducting a pathway crystal check. Can you hear me?”

A series of jagged lines lanced through the swirling cloud on the sheet like miniature lightning bolts. Vorly was leaning toward the crystal for a closer look when a voice boomed from the sheet. “Vorly! This is wrong. This is against the LOKAM.”

Sky Horse Five, Senior Lancer Jaater Potronic, would complain about the weight if fifty silver coins fell in his lap. Vorly just shook his head. “Jate, for the High Druid's sake, relax. We just made history!”

“It feels wrong, Vorly. It's getting into my head and—”

Whatever Jate was trying to say was lost in a sudden babble of voices coming over the crystal. More sets of fingertips appeared on the sheet.

“Sky Horse Leader! Holy Forest, I can hear you!”

“Mercy's bells and bonnets, it's like you're sitting right beside me!”

“—how close do I need to be to this thing? Are you sure it's working?”

“I think I just pissed my britches! Wait 'til I tell the wife!”

“—unbelievable. I can hear everyone! Oh, it's me, Sky Horse Four.” There were so many fingertips tracing lines on the sheet that Vorly couldn't follow who was who.

“I know it's you, Sky Horse Four, I can see you,” Vorly said, waving a hand at Lancer Morsis Rimsma riding Caeraegus, less than a hundred yards away. Rimsma looked up from his crystal and waved back. The thaum behind him kept his head down, working on his crystal sheet.

“Excuse me, sir,” the RAT said, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. “We really should stick to the procedures we discussed. The enemy could
have thaumics in the field as well, which means they might be able to listen in. The chances are very low, we think, but all the same . . .”

Vorly caught her
we think
and found it troubling. Surely the Kingdom's thaums couldn't be worried about a few native witch doctors? “Right, right. Flock, this is Sky Horse Leader. Well what do you know, the RATs got these crystal things to work. Ain't it a crazy world.” Vorly realized he was shaking his head and stopped. “I want a pathway check like we learned earlier this week. Sound off.”

“Sky Horse Two here.”

“Sky Horse Three.”

“—so I touch this—” That had to be Rimsma.

“No, don't touch that!” And that, Vorly realized, was Rimsma's RAT.

“All right, all right, grab some shade. Four here, I mean Sky Horse Four.”

Vorly rolled his eyes. Rimsma was a hayloft without the hay. The elation of a moment ago settled as the crystals went quiet. Only the flapping of giant wings and the creak of leather, scale, and chain filled the air. After several moments, the crystal sheet emitted a voice.

“Uh, Sky Horse Six is here.”

Vorly shrugged his shoulders. “Sky Horse Five, you forget how this works? C'mon, Jate, we're the elders here. You're making us look bad in front of these kids. Sound off.” Vorly pulled back on the right rein, easing Carduus out of line. He put his left fist to the side of his head and then pointed at Sky Horse Two, giving him the lead.

“You can use the device to do that now, sir,” came the admonition over his shoulder.

Vorly cursed under his breath; he'd forgotten that that was indeed possible now.

“Sky Horse Five, can you hear me, Jate?” Vorly said into the crystal. “Aw, to lightning with this.” He turned and watched as Centaurea drew even with Carduus. The two rags held station at fifty yards.

Jate was out of his saddle and turned around waving his arms at the RAT sitting behind him. Vorly couldn't hear what was being said, but it didn't look friendly. Jate finally sat down and faced forward.

“. . . orse Fi . . . ind of probl . . .”

Vorly sighed. He was going to have to have another talk with Jate. Poor bugger just wasn't adapting well to all of this. He turned to look at his RAT. He paused, realizing he was already thinking of her as
his
but couldn't remember her name. “Who's your father again?”

She held up her free hand in a gesture of
W
ait a moment
, then looked up from her crystal sheet. “Yaskar Niorsmith, mayor of Talon Wall. He named me Grunila,” she said.

It didn't suit her. Grunilas were beefy farm girls, all thick in the thighs with round asses and plump breasts.

“You must have been a fat baby, then. I'm calling you Breeze instead. Fits your face better, and all that chattering you do. Now tell me, what's going on with Sky Horse Five?”

If the thaum was offended by his callousness, she hid it well. “I'm picking up interference. The crystal on Sky Horse Five is not aligning properly. It's not riding the plane.”

Vorly turned back and looked at his sheet. Orange, jagged lines traced the path of one set of fingertips. He reached forward to rap the sheet with his knuckles.
Damn thaumics.

“Don't touch it!” Breeze shouted, punching him hard in the shoulder. The air sizzled and pins of fire jabbed into his flesh where she hit him.

“You little bitch,” he snarled, raising his arm to give her the back of his hand as he turned, but he stopped. The air above Breeze's crystal shimmered like a heat haze.

“All thaums on this plane, slide off now!” Breeze shouted into her crystal. “Sky Horse Five, you are slipping between planes and building up a high charge. Ground out your crystal and slide!”

Vorly turned back to look at his sheet. The air above it was shimmering too, and the crystal was now a blur of fading lines. The jagged orange lines, however, remained, appearing to grow hotter as they took on a red hue.

“This is exactly why—” Vorly started to stay, turning back around to glare at Breeze, but she cut him off.

“Shut up! I'm trying to concentrate!” she shouted. “Sky Horse Five, you are in danger. I say again, Sky Horse Five, you are in danger. Ground and slide, now! You're going to discharge!”

“Jate, it's me, Vorly. What the hell is going on over there? My RAT has lost her bloody mind jabbering all kinds of nonsense.”

“—orly! My RAT is trying to put a spell on me!”

Vorly wasn't sure he'd heard him right. “Jate, what the hell are you talking about? Thaums don't do that hocus-pocus shit.” Vorly squinted, trying to figure out what was going on. Jate was out of his saddle again and now had his iron gaff in his hand. He spun around and swung it at the thaum, missing the man's head by inches. The thaum leaned back, crossing his arms over his head.

“Fucking lightning, Jate! Stop that!” Vorly shouted, completely forgetting the crystal.

“Bwiter, get back to your crystal!” Breeze shouted. “Sir, move our dragon closer!”

Vorly felt lost. “We're on the blood line now! You can't get rags any closer. Jate, what the hell are you doing? Drop that gaff and sit the fuck down!”

“Dear Druid! He's ripped out the copper braid!” Breeze said. The horror in her voice set Vorly's skin crawling.

“Tell your thaum fellow to put it—”

Thin staccato bursts of light flashed from Vorly's crystal. He blinked, shaking his head. The air around him pulsed with energy, filling his ears until all he could hear was the beating of his heart. The flock scattered. Carduus banked hard to the right and dove away from Centaurea.

Vorly sawed on the reins and tried to swing Carduus back, but the rag again had a mind of his own. Vorly strained until the muscles in his shoulders burned, but Carduus refused to respond. Looking back, Vorly saw why. Bright orange flames tinged with blue shimmered along the back of Centaurea. Jate was now standing on the back of the rag, the gaff still in his hand. The thaum was flailing at his harness, and then he had it free.

He jumped.

“Bwiter!” Breeze shouted. “No!”

Jate's voice suddenly filled the air. “—burning! I'm on fire, I'm on fire! Mother! Help me. Oh Druid, help me!”

Centaurea shuddered, his huge back heaving up and down. The flames raced down his back and were dispersed by his waving tail. Each downward
pull of his wings sent the flames higher. And all the while, Jate screamed as he burned.

Vorly reached for his gaff with his right hand. He kept the twelve-pound iron bar with a pointed chisel tip at one end lashed to a spike drilled into a scale on Carduus's shoulder. He yanked the gaff free and was ready to hammer Carduus into submission when the screaming stopped.

Vorly turned. Centaurea was descending smoothly, the last of the flames going out. There was no sign of the wooden easels and their crystal sheets. All Vorly could see were greasy wisps of black smoke rising from a hunched form bent over the saddle at the rag's shoulders.

Vorly squeezed the pommel of the gaff until his knuckles ached. “Are we safe?” When there was no answer, he slammed the gaff down on Carduus's scales. The rag responded by leveling out.

“
Are we fucking safe?!
” Vorly shouted, raising the gaff and aiming it at the crystal sheet.

“Yes . . . I don't, I don't know what . . .,” Breeze said, choking between sobs.

“Is this thing going to kill us, too?” he asked.

“Oh . . . no, no it's sa—it's no longer in plane,” Breeze said, her voice as tiny as a little girl's. “You can smash it to pieces if you want. You'll just be breaking glass.”

He looked at the crystal sheet, aware all the time of Centaurea flying serenely beside them. His arm swung back three times, ready to destroy the abomination, but he stopped himself. Finally, he secured the gaff with a leather thong and looked straight ahead. He put his fist on top of his helm, then lifted his arm straight, taking back the lead.

“Roost, Carduus, roost.”

The rag gently banked to the left, slowly descending as he used his innate senses to take them back home.

Vorly spent the rest of the flight staring straight ahead at nothing. Out of the corner of his eye, a bit of charred shadow emitting greasy black smoke followed him all the way. It stayed fifty yards off of Carduus's left wing, never closing, never drifting away. He knew—they all knew—it would never go away.

LEGION FLOCK COMMANDER WALF
Modelar stood on the highest point in the Jomkier fiefdom fifty miles inland from the Luitoxese coast and shivered. Modelar, perhaps singularly unique in all the Lux, wished the weather were hotter.

“Warm, sunny place my ass,” he grumbled. “Give me the Valley of Flame and Damnation when I die. At least I'll be warm.”

Based on his life up to this point, he was fairly certain he'd earned the right to roast for eternity.

Pulling the collar of his tunic up a little higher around his neck, he gazed south. While he was only seventy-five feet above the ground, the view was nonetheless expansive as it overlooked the verdant floodplain of the Hols River. From his vantage point, he could take in virtually the entirety of the fiefdom. The sun, fat and white in a gauzy sky, poured its heat on the shimmering green fields; the wide, undulating river as it bisected the fiefdom on a west–east axis before hooking south; and the groves of fruit and nut trees. It was all so . . . beautiful.

Modelar couldn't have cared less, but he tried.

He was, as he'd just explained again this morning to the joint council of slyt farmers and crown representatives of the Kingdom's Agricultural Mission to Jomkier, not a fucking administrator. Aware that his meaning had become lost in translation—which was particularly frustrating as the crownies in attendance spoke the same language—he emphasized his point by demonstrating the effect of his boot meeting a chair at considerable speed. That a crowny had been occupying said chair was a happy coincidence. Modelar concluded the meeting by shouting at the backs of the fleeing council that if they came back again, he'd feed them to his rags.