Of Bone and Thunder (50 page)

“Commander Parmik,” Magnolia replied, huffing as he negotiated the last few rungs and plopped himself down on the crossbeam beside Parmik. “A lovely morning.”

Parmik looked back out at the valley. Fortress Thunder II sat on a low rise on the eastern side of the river a half mile from the southern end of the valley. It was surrounded by dosha swamps on all sides and topped with a patch of bamboo; it had taken the dwarves two weeks to build a wide-enough road to haul the cats into position and then another week to clear
the top. The fortress wall of mud bricks was only three feet high, but Parmik had been assured the dwarves would be back to build it higher when the keep in Iron Fist was finished.

“It is that,” Parmik said, unsure where he stood with Magnolia. “I wanted to thank you again for allowing twenty of your dwarves to stay here and help with the barrack.” Parmik looked down at the squat, square structure placed in the center of the fortress. Unlike the large barracks within Iron Fist, Parmik had insisted that the fortress barrack have a wooden roof. He would have preferred stone, but what wasn't being eaten up by the keep was needed for shot for the cats.

“You think like a dwarf,” Magnolia said. “You could easily put more logs and dirt on top of this roof, should that become necessary.”

Had anyone else said Parmik thought like a dwarf he would have known it to be an insult. Coming from Magnolia he felt reasonably certain it was a compliment. “I hope it doesn't come to that, but I'd rather prepare for the worst.”

“Wise,” Magnolia said. After a pause he turned and looked at Parmik. “Tell me, just how much worse might it get? They don't exactly tell us a whole lot.”

“This valley is vital to the FnCs. Just by being here we've cut off their major supply route to their forces farther east,” he said, pointing down at the Formaske. “They can go around of course, but that would add weeks to their journey and the army is moving to block those routes as well. This is the most direct and fastest way east. Without it, their forces will wither and die. They need to come take this valley back.”

“I see,” Magnolia said. “So we are, essentially, bait.”

Parmik didn't like the sound of that at all. “No, more like an anvil. If the FnCs come they'll smash themselves to bits on all of this,” Parmik said, motioning with his hands to take in all the fortress positions. He allowed himself some pride. “We have eighteen field cats, five boomers—oh, that's counterweight trebuchets—under construction, and fifty harrow throwers coming in this week.”

“I'm not familiar with harrow throwers.”

Parmik opened his book to a fresh page and began sketching. “They're
light throwers, not like our cats. You know a harrow used in the field, to rake the soil?”

“Farming was never anything I tried my hand at,” Magnolia said.

“Right. Well, it's really just a rectangle frame with rows of long spikes. Imagine you stood that on its side, and instead of spikes nailed in place, you had rows of bolts. One hundred fifty in total in five horizontal rows of thirty bolts each.”

Magnolia nodded. “It sounds horrifying.”

“Well, yes,” Parmik said, feeling guilty but not knowing why. “They're a close-in weapon, really meant to protect the cats should the slyts somehow get this far.”

“Another part of the anvil, then.”

Parmik felt that Magnolia was accusing him of something.

“Yes,” Parmik said, his answer curt.
I have no intention of having my head cut off by a slyt.

“The world's a curious place,” Magnolia said. “So much effort put into killing each other.”

Parmik had no answer for that.

The dwarf shifted on the wooden beam and smiled at Parmik. “My apologies, I have been told I get a bit too philosophical for my own good.”

Parmik forced a smile. “It does make you think.”

Magnolia sighed. “You know, we actually want the same thing, simply to be free to decide our own fate. The world is so obviously changing, and though we sit here on an engine of war, I hope the changes are for the better.”

Parmik looked behind him toward Iron Fist. The dwarves were building a second infirmary so that their wounded could be housed separately from the men. Bear Battery had three more men on sick duty just this morning. He'd expected a few falls, some cuts, even runny bowels and sun vapors, but far and away the biggest injuries were black eyes, broken teeth, and bloody knuckles.

Parmik turned and looked back at the eastern mountains. He only grunted when Magnolia got up and bid him a good morning before climbing down. He sat on the beam and swung his legs as the sun came over the
peaks. His map slid off his thighs and floated out past the fortress wall, finally landing in the muck of the dosha swamp.

He stared at it for some time. One corner snagged on some weeds and kept the map out of the filth. If he went down now he could probably save it. He stared at it some more.

Fuck it, I'll send one of the dwarves to go get it.

“IT'S A DISGRACE,
is what it is,” Dragonsmith Pagath said, picking up a handful of stone and holding it up in front of Vorly's face. “It's limestone. Limestone!” he shouted, crushing the rock into powder.

“I am aware,” Vorly said, looking around at their roost. Jomkier was a palace by comparison. Without a quarry to commandeer in the valley, they'd settled for a rocky, sandy hill to the immediate north of Iron Fist. The mules had done an amazing job carving out a depression creating enough room for six flocks, but that still left four with nowhere to roost. Their solution, while ingenious, created a different set of problems.

“Would you rather be in the granite?” Vorly asked. Normally, the answer would be yes. Rags liked to roost with strong, heavy rock around them. Dense rock held the heat and helped the beasts maintain the tremendously high internal temperature they needed to prevent them from slipping into dormancy. Waking a sleeping rag was not for the faint of heart. The only granite to be found here, however, was in the sides of the mountains lining the valley. The downside, and it was huge, was that it meant slyts could sneak up on the roost from the jungle.

Pagath spit. “It's a damn disgrace is what it is.”

“You mentioned that,” Vorly said. “Look, no one is happy about it, but there's damn little we can do to change it.”

Pagath looked up at Vorly. “They could stop building that keep for starters. All that stone could build some nice walls for my rags.”

Vorly knew it was true. The commander of the forces in the valley, Commander Weel of the Second Legion, had taken the creation of Frontier Castle Iron Fist to heart. Mud walls weren't good enough for him. Instead, the majority of the mules had been set to work building a monstrous keep out of stone. Its walls already rose fifteen feet and the rumor was he was
building just as deep belowground. Judging by the amount of spoil being hauled away from the construction and dumped into the dosha swamps, Vorly figured it was true.

“Well, I hear that Weel is trying to talk Modelar into drafting some of the rags to pick up some stone and fly it over to the keep,” Vorly said, waiting for Pagath to explode. Hauling stone, wood, and other supplies was nothing new for rags. In fact, it had been one of the first things they'd been used for. Their rear claws were massive and powerful yet could hold a man without crushing him. Still, using prime Aero rags for ox work wasn't an option.

“That could work,” Pagath said, tugging on the two braids of his beard.

Vorly shook his head. “That could work? If I suggested that you'd have my scalp.”

Pagath let go of his braids and looked at Vorly. “If you said it it'd be because you thought it was a good idea.”

“I'm lost.”

“With Weel's permission, we fly over to the little quarry they're carving out of the mountain, pick up some stones, and fly them back. We drop one off at the keep and two at the roost.”

Vorly reached up and scratched his head. “You, Master Dragonsmith, are one wily little bastard.”

Pagath waved away the compliment. “It's a gift. Now get out of my roost and go get Weel's permission to rob him blind.”

LISTOWK CURSED UNDER HIS
breath and held up his fist for the shield to halt. They weren't a third of the way up the mountain and the sun was dropping behind the western peaks. If they didn't turn around now they'd be marching back to the camp in the dark, and he didn't know the area well enough for that yet. Holing up out here for the night was an even worse option.

It was his own damn fault. He was still pissed come the morning at their asinine behavior and had wanted to march them into the ground, Carny most of all. He'd succeeded, but now they were exhausted and barely moving. He'd let his temper get the best of him. He hoped it didn't cost them.

“Drink up, lads, catch your breath, and we'll start heading back,” Listowk said, walking back down the path and smiling at the soldiers he met. “If you're nice and quiet I'll even take you over the new bridge.” They were good lads. Young, stupid, and brash, but they had good hearts. He was SL now, and if he couldn't lead them any better than Sinte he'd eat his rank shield.

The mood of the shield rose as word spread that they were done climbing. And no more dosha swamps and rivers.

Listowk had reached the rear guard and turned to look back up the path when Wraith appeared at his side.

“We're being watched.”

Listowk tensed. “How many?”

“At least two pairs, either side of the path.”

Fuck.
He motioned to Big Hog, who stood a few feet away, and filled him in on the situation. “I'll take the shield down. Big Hog, you hang back with six men and cover us. Once we're through you pull back and we'll
cover you. The star arrow for the cats is red. When we reach the tree line I'll fire it and that should get us some cat shots if those boys aren't already half in the bag.”

“You think they've got the distances all calibrated?” Wraith asked.

Listowk nodded. “They've been here for weeks. All they do is calculate distances.” He could still see the cat shot that landed at his feet outside that little village.

“You don't want to engage them?” Big Hog asked. “Only four of them.”

Listowk looked at the soldier. “You looking to earn a medal now that you're LC?”

Big Hog snorted. “Just tired of going up and down mountains with nothing to show for it but blisters on my feet. If we're here to fight, let's fight and get it over with.”

Listowk understood Big Hog's frustration. He knew the soldier wasn't vainglorious. He was like most of them, sick and tired of marching and flying and more marching all over Luitox looking for an enemy who showed little desire to engage in a sustained battle.

“Battle will come soon enough,” Listowk said, knowing he had to be the cooler head. “Let's just get the shield back to the barracks in one piece for today. Wraith, go do what you do and see if you have better luck this time,” Listowk said.

If Wraith was insulted he didn't show it. Listowk turned and motioned for the shield to start moving. When he turned back to where Wraith stood the soldier was gone.

A buzz of whispers rose and fell as word was passed that they were being watched. Men buttoned up aketons and gripped their crossbows with far more intensity than before. Knockers began chewing on the stem of his pipe so hard the bowl bobbed in front of his face like a big fat bee.

“Easy now, my boys, we can do this,” Listowk said, calmly speaking in a low voice as the soldiers moved past him. What he wanted to avoid above all else was a stampede down the path. If even one soldier spooked, the odds of the others bolting would increase. Who knew what the slyts might do then?

Listowk felt confident that there were no more than four slyts out
there, but it wasn't absolute. The slyts had proven time and again to be a slippery foe. In all his time in the Lux he'd rarely seen a live FnC fighter. Usually, all he saw were charked remains. Worse, these slyts had eluded Wraith.

The shield leapfrogged down the hill, the rear guard passing through the vanguard and then reversing the process. It was slow, and hard on the nerves, but it gave them protection should the slyts decide to suddenly attack from the rear.

When the first arrow flew the shield was only twenty yards from the tree line. Listowk could see dosha swamps through the trees. The attack, however, came from the front, at the edge of the tree line. Listowk cursed his foolishness. With all his focus on what was behind them, he'd assumed that the closer they got to the valley floor the safer they'd be.

A soldier screamed. A whistle sounded in the jungle off to the left and was answered by one on the right. Arrows sliced through the foliage from both sides of the path and from positions between them and the tree line. The shield returned fire, the heavy twang of crossbows mixing with the sound of enemy whistles and the
fft
sound of arrows tearing through leaves.

“Stay low! Keep moving toward the valley!” Listowk shouted, looking into the jungle for something to shoot at. The slyts had to be close or their arrows wouldn't be making it through the foliage. He saw two arrows come in and stick into the ground at a steep angle.

“They're in the trees, shoot high!”

The shield became quiet as they shot and reloaded. The bowmen kept up a steady stream of fire throughout. Wraith was nowhere to be seen, but a slyt tumbled from a tree with an arrow in his right eye not five yards from Listowk. It was one of Wraith's arrows.

“Keep moving, keep moving!” Listowk ordered, slapping soldiers on the shoulder and even kicking a few to get them up and heading toward the valley. The fire between them and the tree line lessened as Wraith systematically cut down the slyts blocking their escape. Listowk estimated ten, no more than fifteen, slyts.