Of Bone and Thunder (67 page)

Rickets stopped stroking Jawn's hair, gently laid his head down on the floor, and got up.

“I know, Jawn. That's why there are others like me.”

Footsteps sounded and then faded, and Jawn was alone. He struggled to get up but began coughing blood. He saw the planes before him and started sliding. He moved effortlessly, his mind as free as the wind. He was invincible on plane. He was—

VORLY OPENED HIS EYES.
All he saw was black, so he opened them again. This time, his eyelids parted and he saw light. It was morning. He was on a ship. No, sailcloth, but not a sail. He was in a tent. He heard hushed voices. He breathed in and smelled the mix of herbs and lime and knew where he was.

“Oh, High Druid save me,” he groaned, lifting his head and then giving in to the pain and letting it fall back down.

“He lives,” Master Witch Elmitia said, coming and standing over his bed.

“I'm not sure I agree,” Vorly said, lifting his head again and holding it there for a few flicks. Elmitia shook her head but reached down and fluffed his pillow, allowing his head to stay propped up. He looked around the tent. It was filled. There were men and dwarves in cots and on the floor.

“Now he's a witch,” she said.

“I hurt.”

“That's what happens when you jump off of dragons and into the jungle. Why you're not dead is a mix of all the foliage you fell through and dumb, idiotic luck.”

“I hurt. A lot,” Vorly said again, in case Elmitia wasn't fully clear on the concept.

“Your humors are so mixed at the moment I really don't know how you're alive. And you have two broken legs.”

Vorly nodded. “I thought it felt like my humors were a bit out of sorts.”

“I'll give you something for the pain shortly. For now, just lie there and don't try getting up.”

“You know, from this angle, you are a very charming woman,” Vorly said, staring up at her breasts.

Elmitia bent over until she was staring him in the face. “It's good you
tried jumping off a dragon first. When you heal, and then I get ahold of you, you'll be lucky to crawl.” She stood up and walked away, leaving Vorly aroused and scared.

“Oh, Vorly!”

Vorly turned his head as Breeze ran into the tent and buried her face in his chest, hugging him.

“My ribs. My back. My neck.”

She lifted her face and released him, sitting down on his cot. Her face was puffy from crying. A huge bandage covered her right ear and part of her head, but she seemed to have survived their plunge into the jungle better than him.

“I'm so happy to see you,” she said, and started sobbing.

“Takes more than that to kill me,” he said. He forced his left hand to move enough to touch her leg. “Breeze, it's all right. I'm going to be fine. How are you walking? I have two broken legs.”

Breeze kept sobbing. “You broke my fall.”

Vorly winced. Bits of his last moments on Carduus and the ensuing jump into the night came back to him.

“I couldn't lose you, too,” Breeze said, struggling to control herself.

“What are you talking about?”

Breeze wiped the tears from her eyes and caught her breath. “He's dead. Jawn's dead. He was stabbed in the heart.”

Vorly closed his eyes.
That fucking snake
.
It had to be Rickets.
Vorly knew he couldn't trust that bastard but still hadn't expected this. He opened them again and looked at her. “I'm sorry, Breeze, I am so sorry.”

Breeze nodded. Vorly wished he could do more, but the pain coming from his legs was making it difficult to think.

“I know he meant a lot to you.”

Breeze nodded as she kept sobbing.

“Greatest thaum I've known, except for you,” Vorly said.

Breeze looked up and tried to smile. Her eyes widened.

“Carduus!” she said, startling Vorly.

“I miss him, too,” Vorly said. “Poor bastard deserved better. They always do.”

Breeze shook her head. “No, no. He's alive! He kept on flying. They
said he looked like a shooting star going across the sky. After attacking the mountain, he flew into the valley and fired on the slyt army, then he headed west. That was the last anyone saw of him. But . . . he was alive.”

Tears came to Vorly's eyes and he didn't try to hide them. His entire body shook as he cried. He looked up at Breeze, her image blurry through the tears.

Breeze grabbed his hand and squeezed. Vorly did his best to squeeze back.

“The daft bugger did it,” Vorly finally said.

“Did what?” Breeze asked.

“You said he looked like a shooting star,” Vorly said. “That's the fire molt. Maybe one in a thousand survive it, but those that do . . . oh, Breeze, Carduus will be legend. We have to find him.”

Breeze nodded. “We will, but right now you need to rest.”

“I think you're right. Please call Master Witch Elmitia over. I'd like to drink myself back into oblivion.”

“That's something we need to talk about when you're better,” Breeze said, regaining some composure. “You drink entirely too much.”

Vorly nodded. He was in so much pain he'd agree to anything. “You're right. But for the moment, I could really use a little shot.”

Breeze looked at him, then stood up. “I know, but after you're out of here, things are going to change.”

Vorly watched her walk away and then closed his eyes. Between Elmitia and Breeze they just might shape him up into something halfway presentable. A man destined for greater things.

“But not if I can help it,” he mumbled.

RICKETS DIDN'T LOOK BACK,
not once. He knew from past experience that there was no gain to be had. Enough ghosts followed him, their eyes looking questioningly at him, wondering why. He didn't need more. He couldn't afford more. He'd done what needed to be done. “For the Greater Good.”

“Anything,” he muttered, looking down at his hands. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, but the sun was rising over the eastern peaks when he finally came to his senses.

“You're getting too old for this shit,” Rickets said, looking around at the jungle. It was time for a change. He headed east, deciding to climb up and over the mountains instead of risking the southern route. He could see the relief force already pouring through it. They wouldn't know to look for him yet, but all the same, he wasn't taking chances. He hadn't lived this long by making mistakes.

He wiped sweat from his brow with his hand and then dried his hand on his tunic.
Fuck, it's hot
. The climb was tougher than he expected. He'd let himself get a little flabby, but a fighting-fit crowny who only pushed a quill drew too much suspicion. Still, he thought the climb would be easier as much of the eastern slope was charred ash. Now that he was here, however, he saw that while much of the vegetation had been burned, twisted vines and trunks remained, constantly tripping him up.

He made his way through a piece of relatively untouched jungle and then stopped on the far side at a clearing. The blackened bodies of slyts lay everywhere. He remembered the soldier who had volunteered to go out and signal the position of the clearing where the slyts congregated. This must be the place.

His hand casually slid into his tunic and grabbed the hilt of his knife.
That soldier was still missing. Rickets looked around, careful to make as little noise as possible. He quickly decided that even if the soldier had survived he'd be long gone from—

“Who are you?”

Rickets spun around and threw his knife. A soldier stood between a pair of trees just ten yards away at the edge of the clearing. He was covered in leaves and grass, blending in so well it was like he was a tree himself. Rickets's knife hit him square in the chest with a heavy thunk. The soldier stumbled back a few paces, his mouth open in an O before collapsing without a sound.

“Fuck,” Rickets said, crouching low and grabbing for his second knife. He took a few breaths and calmed himself down. He waited, looking for any sign the soldier would get back up. Motion overhead made him look to the sky. Vultures were starting to circle above the clearing.

Realizing he couldn't stay here, Rickets got up and slowly walked toward the soldier. The boy was one of the bravest he'd ever known. He'd come out here alone to track the slyt scouts and survived the rag attack, too. Just damn bad luck that he had to spot Rickets. Well, his family would get a medal and a small stipend and the thanks of a grateful Kingdom for his service. It was something.

A twig near the soldier moved. Rickets froze. A small jungle cat lifted its head and looked at him. The tufts of its ears were singed and it was covered in soot. Poor thing had been through hell the last few days. Rickets judged it to be a few pounds at most. Not much, but maybe a couple of meals. He walked closer, lowering the knife to his side. He smiled.

“Are you all alone?” he asked, moving toward the soldier and not directly at the cat so as not to spook it. “Was he your friend? Was he keeping you company out here?” The cat was curious, turning its head one way and then the other as it watched him. It gave no indication it was going to run.

“I'll be your friend,” Rickets said, getting to within a few feet of the body. “It's what I do. I'll be your friend, I'll make sure nothing and no one hurts you, and then, when it's time, I'll end it.”

He flexed his fingers on the knife handle and prepared to throw. He
made a note to remember to retrieve his other knife. A branch snapped off to his right. He turned his head. Another soldier stood there. Instead of an aketon, he'd wrapped several broad leaves around his torso which he clutched in obvious pain. He had a bow in his left hand, but he was using it as a staff for support.

Rickets started walking toward him, offering the soldier a warm smile.
Do it, and go.

He raised his arm to throw and caught motion out of his left eye. He turned.

A group of Kingdom soldiers stood at the edge of the tree line. They were bloody and battered and seemed more specters than men. They stared at him, each man locked on to Rickets with a determination that bordered on the insane.

Rickets let the knife slip out of his fingers, but it was too late; their arrows were already in flight.

Rickets sank to the ground, his arms and legs going limp. He would have fallen forward onto the arrows protruding from his chest if not for the arm that caught him around the waist and steadied him. He fought to breathe, gasping in the humid morning air.

Wind blew in Rickets's right ear and it took a moment for him to realize it was someone whispering.

“What?” Rickets said, his lips barely moving.

“Some days you fuck the Lux, and some days it fucks you.”

The arm released him. Rickets slid to the ground and slumped against the trunk of a tree. He fought to breathe, forcing his body to work. The soldier walked around him and over to the body. The other soldiers crowded around. None said a word.

“Knockers? Knockers?” the soldier asked. He pulled the knife from the body. It made an odd squeaking sound as he did. He tossed the knife to the side and bent over the body again.

“You in there?”

The body sat up. Knockers blinked his eyes and then clutched his chest.

“He threw a knife at me!” Knockers shouted, his eyes wide in surprise. “Did you see that, Wraith? A knife!”

“We all saw it,” Wraith said, motioning to the other soldiers. “That pipe you've been whittling saved you.”

Knockers fished around in his aketon and pulled out a chunk of ironwood partially carved into the shape of a pipe. “There's a great big crack in it. It's ruined.”

“What were you doing out here?” Wraith asked.

Knockers looked up at him. “Looking for you. I told the SL we weren't leaving you behind.”

Rickets fought to breathe, desperately trying to move his body, but a weight like iron pinned him to the ground.

Wraith patted Knockers and gingerly stood up, then helped Knockers to his feet. The cat returned, bounding through the debris to rub up against Wraith's trouser leg.

“You came out here for me?” Wraith asked.

“Of course,” Knockers said. “We don't leave anyone behind.”

The certainty of his voice struck Rickets. No doubt, no hesitation.

Knockers looked over at Rickets. “What about him? Carny,” he said, turning toward the shield, “what do we do with him?”

The one called Carny walked a few paces and looked down at Rickets.

Carny stared into Rickets's eyes. Rickets looked for a trace of compassion . . . something, anything that would give him the edge to make it through the next few flicks. He'd been in dire situations before and he'd come out alive. It wasn't too late, even now. He just had to find a way. He noticed a couple of soldiers wore the pendant of the Sacred Tree. “The . . . the LOKAM says—”

“Fuck the LOKAM!” the soldiers shouted, their voices ringing in the morning air.

Carny smiled at Rickets. “You know, I think we'll let the Lux decide what to do with you,” he said.

Wraith bent down, groaning as he did so, and scooped up the cat, which perched on his shoulder. Without looking back, the shield turned and started walking down the slope.

Rickets opened his mouth to call out, but the effort hurt too much.

“Hey, Carny?” Knockers asked, their voices growing distant.

“Yeah?”

“What happened? I saw all the lightning and the Codpiece explode.”

“We held,” Carny said. “Drove the slyts out of the valley.” There was no joy in the statement. “Squeak found us this morning. Little fucker said Weel and his staff are up for medals on account of their charge.” Hoots of derision greeted this statement.

“Is the fighting over then?” Knockers asked.