Of Bone and Thunder (4 page)

“Genuine pleasure to meet you, Jawn Rathim,” Rickets said, still shaking Jawn's hand. “It's rare I find an officer who can hold a conversation on anything of substance. Not really the most enlightened, no offense.”

“Why would I be offended? I'm educated,” Jawn said, immediately
regretting it. The last thing he wanted to explain to Rickets was who he really was.

“Of course you are,” Rickets said, nodding seriously. “That's why I'm talking with you and not the rest of this luggage,” he said, motioning toward the other passengers. “All the independent thought of a flock of pigeons. Not their fault though; most of them probably don't have much more learning than basic numbers and the alphabet. Not like us though. We've been schooled.”

Jawn didn't like where the conversation was heading. He particularly didn't like the man's use of the word
us
. They shared nothing in common.

“So, back to the furtherance of my education,” Rickets said, easily changing horses. “Why, pray tell, if we're so close to putting down these—what did you call them?—
disgruntled peasants
, did the king declare martial law? Why would he need to threaten con dodgers with prison and even execution for not reporting for service?”

Jawn was ready for this. “It was a momentary and necessary step to ensure calm and order.”

“ ‘Momentary and necessary,' I like that,” Rickets said. “I'll have to remember that the next time I do something especially egregious. So, everything is sunshine and flowers in the Kingdom? That is heartening to hear, because where we're heading, it's raining shit.”

Jawn lowered his head and massaged his temples with the thumb and middle finger of his right hand. “As this is my first trip to Luitox, I can't speak to the weather,” he said, deftly twisting the man's words in hopes of ending the conversation. “What I can say, and any loyal subject would agree, is that the Kingdom will prevail.”

“How?”

Jawn lowered his hand and looked up. “What do you mean, how? We're the Kingdom! Luitox is a dust mote. Our military might will crush this Forest Collective like a bug beneath our boot.”

“Then why haven't we?”

Jawn opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. The man was aggravating. “We have . . . I mean, we will. These things take time.”

“To crush a bug?”

“It's not as simple as that,” Jawn said, now wondering why it hadn't
turned out to be as simple as that so far. His army instructors had seemed certain enough. In their robust vernacular, it was just a matter of putting your boot on your enemy's throat until his eyes rolled back and his tongue turned blue. And then stabbing out his eyes and pissing in his skull for good measure. Jawn thought the military took these analogies a bit far—at least, he hoped they were analogies. Then again, many recruits came from the peasantry and seemed to appreciate the more colorful renderings of Kingdom foreign policy. “There are other factors at work.”

“Do tell,” Rickets said. He rested his chin on a fist and looked up at Jawn with rapt attention.

Just smile and leave it at that
.
The more you talk with this horse's arse,
the more aggravated you get. Smile, say something polite, and turn away.

Jawn drew in a breath, gagging on the hot, sulfurous taint of the air, and decided instead to wipe that smug look off of Rickets's face.

JAWN RAN HIS FINGERS
through his hair and squared his shoulders. “I just don't think you're seeing the oak for the pine here. Tough times, my dear Rickets, don't last. Tough people—tough nations like the Kingdom—do.”

The crowny's left eyebrow arched. “Armed with platitudes instead of reason, I see.”

Jawn ground his knuckles into his thigh. The man was impossible. “I can see there's no point discussing this. You're not taking it seriously.”

The crowny's grin vanished and he sat up straight. “This will be my third crusade in Luitox. I've been places you've only seen paintings of. I assure you,” he said, leaning closer to Jawn, “I take this very fucking seriously.”

Jawn knew his mouth was open and quickly closed it. “Your third crusade? But it's a hardship posting. A friend of our family is in the Crown Service. He said after one crusade in Luitox, he was exempt from returning.”

“Guess I didn't get that scroll,” the crowny said, slapping a dorsal plate. Bits of plate flaked off and were carried away by the wind. “Just like with this old rag, the Kingdom's having to squeeze a little more blood out of the acorn these days. Crownies don't grow on trees. We need training up just like you military types. It might surprise you, but when a fellow like me gets killed, it takes time and treasure to put a new one in my place.”

Jawn squinted, looking at Rickets with practiced skepticism. “Killed? What are you talking about? They don't put crown reps in battle.”

Rickets nodded. “They don't have to. The battle finds us just fine on its own. You didn't think the only fighting was in Western Luitox, did you? It's
everywhere. The Forest Collective is
everywhere
. They blend right in. You can't tell a disgruntled peasant from a gruntled one until he's swinging a hoe at your head.”

Jawn rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, you're exaggerating.”

“Do you remember when it all started?” Rickets asked. “A quick little crusade and done. That was more than three years ago.”

Jawn huffed. “That still doesn't change the final outcome. We just need to apply a little more pressure.”

“Right,” he said, giving Jawn a wink. “One final charge up that hill and before you know it, the natives will be back on their farms squeezing out litters of fruit pickers.”

“Nice,” Jawn said. “Look, a few more legions shipped over to Luitox and our army will be unstoppable.”

Rickets's eyes widened. “Do you have any idea what that
costs
? Training that many soldiers means you need more barracks. Equipping that many soldiers means more cloth, leather, iron, bronze, and wood. And they have to eat, too. Every day. And don't forget the horses, either, not to mention these beasts,” he said, giving the rag's dorsal plate a solid smack.

The rag shuddered and dropped twenty feet. Jawn reached for a dorsal plate and gripped it tightly. He held on, waiting for another lurch, but nothing else happened. Jawn slowly pried his hands from the plate and wiped his brow.

“That's not the only cost,” Rickets said, continuing as if nothing had happened.

Jawn nodded, adopting a solemn tone. “I know. Soldiers die. Crownies, too. It's unfortunate, but it happens.” He wasn't really that callous, but something about this particular crowny was bringing out the worst in him.

“I'm glad you at least acknowledge it's unfortunate, but that wasn't what I was referring to. Do you know what it takes to cobble together legions of conscripts? Cobblers for one. And farmers, grocers, potters, miners, clerks, smithies, carpenters, tanners, millers, masons, weavers, butchers, bakers, candlestick makers, and even young, educated fellows
like you.” He paused to catch his breath before continuing. “Every last one taken away from his village, his home, his family, and his job. Still think it's the best use of the Treasury? Who's plowing the fields and bringing in the crops? Who's building the bridges and filling in the wagon ruts? Who's paying taxes and tolls?”

Jawn sat silently, aware again of the slow, rhythmic flapping of the rag's wings and accompanying creaks and groans from her scales. As the son of a prosperous shipbuilder and an alchemist, he'd never had to worry about how things were paid for. Despite the obvious jokes that his mother simply made precious metals in her laboratory, from Jawn's perspective she might as well have. He'd never wanted for material things. That there were potentially troubling ramifications to the Kingdom's military intervention had never crossed his mind, either.

Very well
, he conceded,
war isn't cheap, but this man's worried about who's going to bake the bread in some sleepy little village
.

“You make it sound dire,” Jawn said, unable to come up with a better response. “Luitox is small, and this Forest Collective smaller still.”

“I can see why it would look that way to some,” Rickets agreed before tossing a new wrinkle at Jawn. “But even if that were true, what of all those tribes in the Western Wilds? Don't you think they'll have something to say about that big army of ours showing up on their doorstep?”

The Western Wilds.
Jawn's favorite stories as a child were tales of adventures in that fabled place. Top among those were of the intrepid exploring duo Sir Wyse Morpaldo Oxlington and his faithful companion, Herm Crinkell. They climbed mountains, braved raging rivers, traversed gorges, and triumphed over every savage tribe they encountered.

“What of them?” Jawn asked. “The tribes of the Western Wilds stay hidden deep in the interior. If Ox and Crink could outwit them, I don't think the army will have much trouble.”

“You ever meet them, these brave explorers of legend?” Rickets asked.

Jawn shook his head. “I wish. They're old men now, close to fifty.”

“I met them three years ago, in Luitox actually,” Rickets said. He didn't sound thrilled by the experience. “They were flown over to provide expert
advice on all things Wild. The assumption being we would take a little foray into the Wilds, as dealing with the revolt in Western Luitox wouldn't take very long.”

Jawn remembered when just a year ago there had still been talk of marching through Western Luitox and civilizing all of the Western Wilds. Over time, however, talk of the Wilds had died away. He had never thought to wonder why until now.

“So what are you saying?” Jawn asked.

“Not to disparage ol' Ox and Crink,” Rickets said, “but their tales of simple tribes didn't comport entirely with what our advance scouts found. We call it the Western Wilds, but the natives that live there call it home. And they call the Luitoxese brothers, or at least kissing cousins. One day, they might get tired of us camping on their doorstep.”

“Aren't you worrying over something that'll never happen?” Jawn asked.

The crowny looked at Jawn for several flicks before responding. “I figure you for an intelligent sort, Jawn Rathim, but merciful High Druid, you hide it well. Five years from now, we'll be lucky if we aren't neck-deep in a full-blown war with them. And if that's the case, we won't win.”

It was a stunning observation by a crown representative. “You jest, sir, and poorly.”

Rickets shrugged his shoulders. “Us being over here is like putting orphan lads in a monastery. We don't know it yet, but we're fucked, and we ain't going to enjoy it.”

Jawn did his best to ignore the appalling imagery and focused instead on the crowny's view. “We haven't lost a war in three hundred years—four hundred if you don't count the amalgamation of the territories.” Jawn sat up a little straighter, ignoring the pain in his back. “We will win. We always do.”

“Such faith,” Rickets said, his tone mocking.

“I know what I'm talking about. My professors taught me well.” Jawn placed his hand on his chest, his fingers instinctively spreading to match the crescent shape made by the metal runes branded into the skin over his heart.

“Oh, I
knew
it!” Rickets shouted, startling several of the other
passengers around them. He leaned closer to Jawn and lowered his voice. “I thought I smelled a thaum. And no provincial, one-room-school-trained thaum at that. You're a full-blooded RAT, ain't you?”

Jawn's back prickled and he broke out into a cold sweat. He flung his hand from his chest. He'd given it away. He'd never been prouder than when he was accepted into the Royal Academy of Thaumology. His pleasurable if pointless existence until that moment had suddenly taken on a transcendent meaning. The forces of nature
could
be controlled by men, and he, Jawn Rathim, was such a man.

And then the very fabric of society began to unravel. Thaums, extremely rare and seldom seen—by design—were the very embodiment of power. Even now, each High Council and the King's Advisory Council had several thaums as members. But the people of the Kingdom, so long dormant, gave voice to concerns about the thaums. Why, they asked, as the realization struck that their ruler was a fraud, should so few hold so much power? “Because they can” no longer seemed a sufficient answer.

“Anyone can make that gesture,” Jawn said, looking around to see if anyone else was listening. None appeared to be, but he leaned closer to Rickets so that he could keep his voice low. “You don't know what you're talking about.”

Rickets winked at Jawn. “You'd fool most folks, I've no doubt of that, but you got that aura about you.”

“That's just the rag,” Jawn said, fighting to remain calm.

“So tell me I'm wrong then,” Rickets said. “Tell me you're not a RAT.”

Jawn could tell there'd be no convincing Rickets. The man was far sharper than he appeared.

“Fine, but I'd rather no one know,” Jawn said, staring hard at Rickets with the faint hope that the man could be discreet.

“Not to fear. Your secret is safe with me. I'm a locked box wrapped in a sack and chucked into a hole. So tell me,” Rickets said, lowering his voice, “what did you do to get put in the army? You're far too young to have completed the full circle,” he said, pointing at Jawn's chest.

The crowny spoke truth. Each rune, shaped in the form of its symbol on the thaumic conductivity chart, took years to earn. Most thaums never completed it. Getting to silver, the most conductive natural element known
to man for initiating a thaumic process, was rarely achieved, and not without taking insane risks.