Of Bone and Thunder (31 page)

“Sweet High Druid,” Carny said, his mouth agape. It was a wondrous sight. He couldn't help marveling at its beauty. A soldier on the other rag waved. Carny waved back. Other soldiers waved, too. Carny smiled like an idiot and waved harder.

The soldier who'd first waved at Carny cupped his mouth and shouted. Carny tilted his head, trying to make out the words.

“—time to triple S!”

Carny turned away, his joy evaporating.
Fuck.
There was still a damn war to fight.

He spent the rest of the flight in silence.

VORLY TOOK THE FLIGHT
up to twenty-seven hundred feet and leveled out. He used to judge the distance by timing, counting Carduus's wing beats as they climbed. Then the Aero service introduced sextants shortly after the first rag touched down in Luitox and flying heights became much more precise, if you bothered to use the device. Vorly rarely had. He was a seat-of-the-pants flyer,
was
being a very sad word. He sighed. There was a time in the not-too-distant past when you just took your rag up until you found your spot. But it wasn't just your spot; it was the rag's, too. Compromise was required. Carduus was young and eager to test his strength. He had a tendency to drift up into the colder air if Vorly didn't give him a rap with his gaff.

“Twenty-eight hundred feet, Sky Horse Leader,” Breeze said.

And now it was her spot, as well, and of the three of them, Breeze was the most exacting. She'd tried explaining the importance of knowing their physical height in relation to aligning the aethereal plane, but it went in one ear, drilled through his brain, and flew right out the other.

Vorly grunted. He punched Carduus once. “Ease up. We want to give the poor bastards a smooth ride,” he said, having decided he'd scared them enough with his briefing.

He nudged Carduus with his knees into a couple of slow, wide S-turns so that he could check out the flock. He had done that a lot when the flock first formed but over time had phased it out. His drivers were good, damn good, because he trained them to be that way. Still, with troops on board and a new driver on Centaurea he was erring on the side of caution.

He nodded at what he saw. The flock was keeping good formation, and their passengers appeared to be in check. No screamers and no straps
flapping in the wind suggesting they'd lost anyone. A few of the soldiers were either passed out or praying, but that was fine. They were a lot less trouble that way.

“Sky Horse Four to Sky Horse Leader.”

Vorly glanced down at the sheet and tapped the screen. He was learning to pick out the different tracings and identify who was who. Breeze's finger made a quick circle around a pulsing blue line that grew brighter.
Got it right.
He now knew that when she did that she was able to focus the plane to increase the power between Sky Horse Four's crystals and theirs. It made it sound as if the other driver was sitting right beside him.

“Go ahead, Hawk.”

“Repair is holding, but Cytisus is having trouble keeping pace. Looks like the number four wing bone is cracked. Must have fractured on landing and let go up here. I'm seeing some vibration in the wing on the downstroke.”

Vorly turned around to look back at the formation. Cytisus had been holding station but was starting to slip back. He looked to be trailing by six hundred yards and definitely favoring his left wing.

“We're still four miles out from Gyth. Can you make it or do you need to turn back?”

For several moments, only the sound of the wind, the odd rattle of the chains, and Carduus's wings could be heard.

“We'll make it, but we'll probably be an eighth of a candle behind you. I'm going to let him go at his own pace so he doesn't rip the wing any more.”

“Aye that, Sky Horse Four. If the wing gets worse let me know.”

“Aye, Sky Horse Leader. Sky Horse Four, out.”

“I don't suppose you have any other thaumic tricks up your sleeves that could deal with this?” Vorly asked.

“No, sorry,” Breeze said. “I wouldn't even try the harmony with eight additional hearts on board.”

“Right, hadn't thought of that,” Vorly said. He was still amazed she was able to do it with three. “Remind me when we get back to kidnap a dragonsmith,” Vorly said, not kidding. “From now on we don't fly anywhere without one on board.”

“Aye that, Falcon,” Breeze said. She began talking softly, no doubt to one of the other RATs.

The crystal flashed. He looked down and saw a stray white line moving in a constant spiral unattached to a fingertip.

“What's that?” Vorly asked. Anything new with the crystal was cause for concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Sorry, Falcon, I should have warned you,” Breeze said. “Yes, it's fine. That's just a reminder about the dragonsmith.”

Vorly leaned down to look closer at the screen. He touched the white spiral.

“D-smith . . . flts.” It was faint, like he was hearing the echo of a voice. Still, Breeze's voice was clear enough, as was the meaning.

Vorly sat up straight and pointed at the sheet. “What the hell? How did you do that?” The cold edge of a knife ran down his spine. Now there were voices floating around on their own.

“It's a thaumic process. I could explain it to you, but . . .”

“I don't want to know,” Vorly said, finishing her sentence.
I really don't want to know.
Morsis Rimsma's speech about the possibilities of the crystal sheets came back to him. That boy wasn't nearly as dim as he appeared. Then he remembered how Rimsma and Breeze had looked at each other after the big fight. The crystal sheets weren't going to be the only new thing he had to deal with.

“Joth Ri River dead ahead,” Breeze said.

“Got it,” Vorly said, bringing his attention back to the here and now. He tapped the sheet. “Obsidian Flock, this is Sky Horse Leader. The Joth Ri River is ten degrees to port off our nose. The village is six hundred yards north of the big U-shaped bend. We'll come in over the river and set down in the dosha swamps between the bend and the village. If the slyts are there they should run like rabbits when they see us, but stay alert. I don't want any flames unless you are in imminent danger. I repeat, keep your rag under control.”

“Are you worried about starting a fire in the village?” Breeze asked.

“Shouldn't you be polishing the crystal or something?” Vorly shot back. His focus was on locating the landing area. Putting a rag down in unfamiliar terrain was always dicey.

Breeze didn't back down. “We're a team. If you don't want the dragons spitting flame I should know why.”

Vorly sighed.
Damn it, she's
right.
“How much do you actually know about rags?”

“Not nearly enough,” Breeze said.

Vorly didn't offer a rejoinder. As frustrating as she was, the woman was a straight shooter.

“I've spent every waking flick working on the crystal,” Breeze said. “Mucking out the pens was the most time I've spent around them other than when we fly.”

Vorly smiled. “Glad I could help with your education. Fine, here's a crash course on rags. Breathing fire takes a lot out of a rag. The bigger they are, the more it tires them out. We get them to fly as far as they do by beating the urge to breathe fire
out
of them. That way, all that heat gets used to power their flying.”

“But I've heard of dragons that breathe fire all the time,” Breeze said. “The Aero Service has whole flocks that do that.”

“Those are a different species of rag. Sparkers. Squirrely little bastards. They're about a third of the size of Carduus here but burn twice as hot. Too small to be much good as transports. About the only thing they do well is spit fire, so we use them up flaming anything that moves. Shortens their life spans by a good twenty years, but at least they're useful.”

“How terribly cruel,” Breeze said.

“You won't think that when one of them charks a group of slyts firing crossbows at us,” Vorly said, snapping Carduus's reins. “Let the ants know we're about a sixteenth of a candle out and we're dropping down now,” Vorly said, spurring Carduus into a descent.

“Aye, sir,” Breeze said.

Vorly focused on the bend in the river and the dosha swamp beyond. He gauged the closest chunk of jungle to be five hundred yards from where he planned to put down. That would give the troops some room to get organized before they had to take on the slyts.

Carduus turned his head and stared at the tree line to the east as they came in. Vorly tugged on the reins twice before Carduus brought his head
back. Vorly looked over at the jungle but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Maybe Carduus smelled some brorras.

The wind buffeted Vorly's face. He turned his head slightly from side to side, listening to the wind as he watched Carduus's wings.
Twenty knots, twenty-one tops
. He did a quick calculation and decided to flare Carduus at fifty yards and let the beast float seventy-five before touching down. The poor ants on board deserved a soft landing if nothing else.

LISTOWK SHIFTED HIS
crossbow so that it hung from its strap across his chest. He ran his hands over the weapon while keeping his eyes on the view ahead so he knew where they were at all times. It was like caressing a lover in the dark. He didn't need to look to know every curve, every line and joint. Unlike a lover, however, he wasn't seeking pleasure, or to please. He was searching for flaws: a small burr on a metal flange, the beginnings of a crack in the polished wood, or a loose fitting that threatened to throw his aim off.

Finding nothing amiss, he looked down at the weapon, now studying it only with his eyes. It made him nervous to take his eyes off their path. Flying on a rag ate up the miles, but it was easy to become disoriented if you didn't pay attention. Still, checking that his main weapon would function trumped even that concern, and so he took his time to ensure that his fingers hadn't lied.

Finally satisfied that the crossbow was in perfect working order, he let it rest against his chest and resumed watching the Luitoxese countryside race by underneath him. He'd ridden on rags before and while he wasn't thrilled by the experience, especially as the buggers got hotter the longer they were in the air, he could tolerate it. Ships held far more terror for him. Sweat beaded on his forehead and a pain grew in his chest at the thought of drowning.

“Prepare for landing!”

Listowk raised his fist so that the co-driver or whatever she was saw that they'd heard her at the back. The fact that they were starting to fall probably made his gesture moot, but she waved back anyway.

“I didn't know women could be thaums,” Knockers said. “Is that allowed?”

“It isn't right,” Ahmist said, managing to sound offended and terrified at the same time. The lad was gripping the main chain so tightly his arms were shaking. “Nor is riding these beasts. They are fell creatures, their blood a sulfurous poison. They were created below in lakes of fire.”

“Easy, Ahmist, we're all on the same side up here.” Listowk wondered if there'd ever come a time when shepherding a shield didn't feel like watching over a brood of toddlers.

“I don't really mind the dragon,” Knockers said, reaching down and patting a scale. “But women thaums, that's . . . unnatural. I heard that doing thaumics was only for men. If women do it they can't have babies. Or if they do, the babies are monsters. A cousin of mine knew a girl who . . .”

Listowk dove into his own thoughts, ignoring Knockers's prattling. She could very well be a RAT, not that you could tell. Listowk had heard that they were putting thaums on all the rags now, though he couldn't see why. Rags were terrifying weapons in their own right. The army, that's where they needed more thaums. Damn handy to have a thaum chucking lightning and whatnot when you're charging a hill. What were they good for up here? Staying out of harm's way, that's what.

The rag's wings slowed and Listowk's stomach fluttered. They were falling out of the sky toward the ground. He'd been through this before, and it never felt good. It was falling to your death with a last-flicker reprieve. He looked forward and noted with satisfaction the bend in the river. At least they were going to set down in the right place.

Listowk sat up high in his saddle and did a quick head count.
Good, all still there.
On his four previous rag flights he'd always chosen the rear so he could keep an eye on the troops in front of him. He also had a theory that in case the rag crashed, the front half of the animal would absorb the shock and those sitting at the back would survive. He kept the theory to himself, suspecting it wouldn't hold up to scrutiny, but nonetheless still sat at the back.
Hope to the Great Green Forest I never find out
.

The rag tilted to the left, corrected, and leveled back toward the right. Listowk concentrated on his breathing, forcing himself to remain calm. Motion ahead of him drew his attention to Carny. The soldier was leaning over the dorsal plates to steady Big Hog. The farmer looked like he'd been out all night drinking. Listowk didn't think any less of him for not reacting
well to flying. All that mattered was that he did his job once his feet were back on solid ground.

The smell of the jungle reached Listowk's nose. It was a hot, wet odor layered with the fetid and the fresh. When he first arrived in the Lux he'd thought of the jungle as a place where things lived. Now he understood the jungle itself was a living thing.

He scanned the area ahead, looking for signs of the FnC forces reported to be here, but unsurprisingly they weren't out sunning themselves.
If they really are here the rags will put the run on them.
He knew it was wishful thinking, but sometimes wishes came true. He'd settle for a glimpse of their erstwhile allies, the Luitoxese Orange Heron Phalanx, tasked with supporting them. If the LooTees were in the area, however, they were equally well hidden.