Of Bone and Thunder (64 page)

“I'm on it.”

The two men stood silently. The sound of distant battle ebbed and flowed. Finally, the Bard raised his hand as if to salute, thought better of it, turned, and walked away. Carny flexed his grip on his crossbow and stared over the berm.

The slyts were coming.

He squeezed the crossbow hard until his hands hurt.

The slyts were coming.

JAWN SAT IN
his den, a small burrow dug ten feet into the ground, then given a roof of logs and dirt. It was damp, chilly, and pungent smelling, but he loved it. He couldn't tell day from night down here, and he loved that, too. He was isolated, yet with the panels of crystal sheets at his fingertips, he was more in touch with the world than he'd ever been in his life.

A knock sounded on the piece of wood Jawn had asked the dwarves to place by the opening to his den. There was no door, only a piece of sailcloth draped over it.

Jawn didn't answer, hoping his visitor would leave. He had a pretty good idea who it was.

Miska, the crier woman, had already been there early that morning. Jawn knew it was dawn because she told him, among many other things he had no interest in. When it became apparent that what she really wanted were his views on the cultural shifts taking place in the Kingdom, he quickly bid her good day.

The knocking came again.

“I must ask that you leave. I am engaged in work and cannot be disturbed.”

“Well that's a lot of bullshit,” Rickets said, tromping down the roughly
hewn stairs. “I figured you were shacked up down here playing wizard with that crier woman.”

“Miska?” Jawn said. “Odd duck.”

Rickets coughed. “One way to put it. Spinsterhood seems to have affected her more than most.”

Jawn chuckled. “All she really wanted was to talk about social relations between the races.”

“Did she ask about thaumics?” Rickets asked.

Jawn shook his head. “Don't think she cared the first thing about it to be honest. Bit insulting, but not everyone's a fan.” Jawn expected a laugh in reply from Rickets but didn't get it.

“How are you, Jawn, really? You've been spending almost all your waking candles in the aether. The other thaums talk as if you're becoming part of it.”

“I'm great, Rickets. I know this hovel of mine isn't much to look at, but it connects me. Down here, I'm the earth. Do you know what I mean?”

“Not in the least,” Rickets said.

Jawn wanted Rickets to understand. The two of them had been through a lot together and despite his uncanny ability to annoy Jawn, he was also his friend.

“It's amazing. I don't know, maybe it's because I lost my sight, but I'm refinding myself in thaumics. I slide through planes in the aether with an ease and understanding I never imagined I would possess. Rickets, it's as if the secrets of thaumics were opening up like flowers after a spring shower. All I have to do is be there to witness the beauty and the power.”

“You reading poetry in there—or is it
out
there?” Rickets asked.

Jawn shook his head and slowed his breathing. He was getting himself worked up just thinking about what was possible.

“I wish I could make you understand! Rickets, it's our future. Not just mine, but all of us.” He struggled with the words.
How do you express everything?
“I knew I was dead. I mean, I absolutely had accepted that I would die in order to defeat the enemy thaums. That was the way it had to be. But now, that's no longer my future. Given another week I think I could take them on myself and destroy them. The academy is going to be astounded when I show them what I can do.”

“The RAT is well aware of what you've been up to,” Rickets said. He sounded . . . dejected, though Jawn couldn't figure out why. “Your accomplishments are the talk of the highest of circles.”

Ah. Jawn now understood Rickets's lack of enthusiasm. He smiled and turned to face his friend. “Not to worry, I'll make sure all due credit is given to my partner in the Cow and Country Commission. Truthfully, Rickets, if not for you I wouldn't be who I am today.” Jawn reached out his hand. It hung there in the air. Jawn started to pull it back, then Rickets grabbed it and shook it.

“Sorry, my mind's been wandering lately,” Rickets said.

“You're the sharpest mind I've ever known, Rickets. I've learned more from you than I think I did at the academy.” Jawn meant it.

“You're probably right,” Rickets said, being gracious instead of insulting. “I think I'm just getting a little old for this job,” he said.

He did sound tired. “We'll get through this, Rickets. I'm more sure of that now than ever. The thaumic processes I can conduct are staggering, even to me. And it's not stopping. I see potential everywhere and in everything. When this is over, oh, Rickets, it's going to be amazing.”

Rickets squeezed Jawn's hand, then let it go. “You are special, Jawn Rathim, I knew that the moment I met you. But don't get ahead of yourself. We still need to make it through tonight.”

As if to emphasize the point, lightning crashed down outside.

“Trust me, Rickets. We will win this battle,” Jawn said. He'd never been more confident than he was right now.

“I'm sure you're right,” Rickets said, his voice taking on a more upbeat tone. “I'm about ready to get out of this place anyway. I don't think the Lux suits me anymore.”

CARDUUS ROARED. HE WAS
scared, and Vorly didn't blame him one damn bit. He was terrified as well. They were over the valley and climbing up through the mist shrouding it. Lightning bolts lanced through the night sky, kinking and changing direction as if looking for something, or someone. Vorly knew they were hunting him, Carduus, and Breeze.

“Keep climbing. The other thaums are creating diversions on plane and Black Star is going deep. Once he tracks them I'll have their location and then steer you to them,” she said.

Vorly jumped as a lightning bolt darted down just twenty yards in front of them. Carduus bucked and veered hard to starboard. Vorly didn't yell at him or yank on the reins. The air smelled burnt as they flew through it, unlike the sulfer-tinted air Vorly was used to.

A strong wind began buffeting them. Vorly hunched over, thankful for once for the heat coming off the rag.

“How in blazes can a wind be cold here?”

“It's complicated!” Vorly said with Breeze in unison. They both laughed. It was forced, but it still felt good.

The sound of battle drifted up from the valley floor. Before they'd climbed into the mist Vorly had gotten a good look and wished he hadn't. Most of the fortresses were gone, overrun by the slyts. In their place, ballistas and spinners had been erected. Vorly missed the days when arrows and spears were the only things you had to worry about. At least those made sense to Vorly. Now he was chasing lightning, and dealing with the aether and thaumics. His entire world had been turned on its head inside of a few months.

A cat salvo, the first one he'd heard in some time, echoed off the mountains. The Kingdom's territory had dwindled to a perimeter of a
thousand yards outside Iron Fist that included the roost and one fortress. The little quarry had been lost yesterday, which meant the supply of stones for the cats would soon run out. Vorly snorted. Would Weel allow them to take stones from his precious keep to continue firing?

“Black Star just slid through four planes!” Breeze said. The awe in her voice was apparent. “It's like watching water. No matter the resistance, he finds a way under, over, or through.”

“Let's hope he makes it back,” Vorly said.

“HUG IT!”

Carny dove for the berm, pressing his body against it as hard as he could. An arrow volley whistled down and quilled the dosha swamp. Screams and curses rose up. Not everyone had found cover in time.

Slyt whistles rose above the din, signaling another attack. The sound worked its way into Carny's ears like an ice pick. He shivered.

“Wait for the harrows, then pick off the survivors!” Carny shouted, finding a courage he thought he'd long ago used up and peering over the berm.

Slyts ran toward him. There were hundreds, and these weren't the peasant rabble they'd tangled with before. These were slyts from the Western Wilds. All part of the Forest Collective, but they had more in common with Carny and Red Shield than they did with the Luitoxese.

They were disciplined, moving on the sound of the whistles, halting and launching a volley of arrows with nothing more than a hand signal from a leader. Carny would have admired them if they weren't trying to kill him.

The slyts came on, stepping over the bodies of comrades from previous attacks. They had to know what was in store as they approached the shield skirmish line, yet they didn't waver.

The distinctive whirr of spinner scythes added a new violence to the air. Three sailed well over the line and crashed into the mud of the dosha swamp, kicking up gouts of stinking filth. The fourth, however, slammed into a harrow by Black Shield.

The machine flew apart, its mass of bolts let loose as the tension they
were under prior to firing was released. Arrows went up, back, to the sides, and forward, killing and maiming slyt and soldier alike.

Carny turned away. He didn't want to go like that, his flesh torn and riddled with splinters of wood. He knew how he wanted it. A single arrow, one with a crystal tip, right between the eyes. Quick and hopefully painless.

“Fire!”

The remaining harrows released their bundles of arrows, flinging the missiles forth when the slyts reached the kill zone thirty yards away.

The whoosh of wind as the arrows took flight was followed by the wailing cries of those not immediately killed. The entire slyt front line was down, their bodies a bleeding, shredded mess.

Carny found himself wondering what Big Hog would have had to say about it. Would all that blood help the crops grow next season?

“Hug! Hug!”

Carny ducked. An arrow glanced off his helm and his ears rang. More screams.
Fucking bastards!
The slyts were learning. They'd caught the crews reloading the harrows.

The whistles shrieked as a new wave of slyts came on. Carny looked down at his crossbow and flicked off a piece of something wet. He told himself it was mud.

“Check your string! Hold your fire until you have a clear target. Stay calm and stay low,” Carny said, pushing himself away from the berm and walking in a crouch behind his men.

Arrows flew constantly overhead now. The slyts weren't waiting. Carny tripped on something and fell to his knees. An arrow knicked the lobe of his left ear. He yelped and twisted his head as a second arrow slammed into his chest.

Carny fell backward, his breath knocked out of him. He landed on his back, his free hand reaching for the arrow in his chest, but grasping only air. Carny looked. The arrow wasn't there. He lifted his head. His aketon was torn and one of the metal plates sewn into it was gone. Son of a witch.

“Oh, that stings,” Carny said, sitting up and rubbing his chest and then his ear. The sounds of battle came back to him and he got back to his feet. He ran in a crouch along the berm until he got to a gap where two soldiers
lay crumpled in the muck. He reached down and turned the first one over. It was Evost, the pig farmer. He'd taken an arrow to the neck, tearing out his throat.

Carny stepped over his body and grabbed the shoulder of the second soldier. He was covered in blood. As Carny began to turn him, Ahmist sat up, his hewer in his hand, ready to strike.

“Fuck! Easy, Ahmy, it's me,” Carny said. He looked at Ahmy for wounds but didn't see any. “Where are you hit?”

Ahmy lowered his hewer and looked down at his body before looking back at Carny. “I thought I was, but I think all the blood is his,” he said, pointing to Evost.

Carny knelt down and patted Ahmy, checking his limbs and torso. “You're good.”

Ahmy patted his own chest, then looked up at Carny, his face panic stricken. “Where's my amulet?”

“Fuck that, the slyts are coming,” he said, pushing Ahmy to the berm and joining him there. Crossbows fired, knocking down a few slyts, but not nearly enough. Carny judged the distance and got up on one knee. He flicked the safety lever and squeezed, firing the first bolt. It took a slyt in the thigh. He used the cocking lever and fired, hitting the same slyt, this time in the shoulder. He cursed and cocked again, trying to find a rhythm. The third shot hit a slyt who was leaning over the one wounded in the stomach. Carny fired again, hitting the second slyt just in front of the left ear. He cocked a fifth time and the lever stuck.

“Fuck!” He looked down and feverishly worked the lever back and forth to unstick it. He could see bits of mud falling out of the bronze gearbox. “Ahmy, fire, my bow's jammed.”

“I need my amulet!” Ahmy shouted, firing.

Carny reefed and the lever moved freely, loading the next bolt. He looked up and fired, hitting a charging slyt in the mouth.

The slyts were only ten yards away now. The shield was dropping them one after the other, but it wasn't enough.

“Prepare your blades!” Carny shouted, firing one more time and then reaching for his hewer.

This was it. The slyts just kept coming.
Fuck them all
. Carny gripped his hewer and vowed to kill as many of the bastards as he could.

The crash of a trebuchet shot five feet in front of Carny knocked him on his ass. Rocks fell from the sky like giants tearing down mountains. Three more came in, stitching a neat line in front of the berm and flattening slyts.

A ragged chorus of cheers rose up from the skirmish line as the slyts turned and ran.

“How's that for timing?” Carny said, shaking his head and reaching down to grab his crossbow. He felt something and picked it up. “Hey, Ahmy, found your amulet,” he said, turning and holding it out to him.