Of Bone and Thunder (10 page)

“Already a seasoned veteran then,” Listowk said, reaching out and placing his hand on the back of the boy's neck. It was hot and sweaty. He steered Ahmist a couple of yards away from the others. He let his hand drift down the boy's back and along the main spar of his crossbow.

“I went through all the training,” Ahmist said, turning his head to see what Listowk was doing. “Even though I'm only an FA, I know how to fire a crossbow.”

“Never doubted it for a moment,” Listowk said, letting his fingertips trace the bolt sitting in the spar groove. His fingers gently brushed the taut bowstring and came to rest on the iron safety lever. “But in the future, I'd suggest you don't sling a loaded crossbow on your back, especially one with the safety lever off.”

Click
.

“Oh, no,” the boy said, “I—I thought I had, I mean in all the—”

“There's a lot to remember, but making sure your crossbow isn't going to kill you or one of your comrades is one of the more important ones,” Listowk said, patting the boy's weapon and then bringing his hand up to rest on his shoulder. “If the SL had seen that . . . well, I think you can guess what his reaction would have been.”

Ahmist's lower lip trembled as he spoke. “It's all so much. All of it. I don't know how the rest of the men are so calm. All we've done is walk up and down the mountain, but I think I see slyts everywhere . . . so far the only ones I've really seen have been the ladies back at camp.”

Listowk shook his head. “Ah, yes, the
ladies
. You heed my warning and stay away from them. They pose a danger greater than any you'll face up here,” Listowk said.

“They didn't look that dangerous,” Ahmist said, his voice trailing off as he turned and looked into the dark toward the ocean. “I know the Leaves of Knowledge and Morality say they are evil. . . .”

Listowk kept his smile to himself. He could easily imagine the struggle going on inside the young soldier, his beliefs at war with his loins.

“The LOKAM says many things, but while you're out here, best if you listen to me, all right?”

Ahmist reached under his aketon and tunic, fishing out a small Sacred Tree made of oak on the end of a string necklace.

“I can not abandon my faith, not even in war. To be a Dendrolatrian is to be one with the High Druid, now and forever,” Ahmist said, his voice growing stronger.

Listowk paused before responding. True believers usually went one of two ways out here—they lost faith or they became zealots. In either case, the result was often a dead soldier.

“Remember your training and you'll be fine,” Listowk finally said. He wanted to say more, but felt the presence of someone standing behind him.

“Ready as we'll ever be,” Carny said.

“Then it's off on our little adventure,” Listowk said. “Keep an eye on the shield for me while I'm gone, Fletcher's Assistant Feern Ahmist.” He winked at the young soldier.

Ahmist stood to attention. “By your command.”

Listowk turned to look over his shoulder. His picked men were there. “Stay quiet, no smoking, and safety latches on. Make sure your bolt is securely locked in the groove—it won't do to come across some slyts and there's no bolt when you go to fire. And keep close. Anyone gets lost, the slyts will probably find you before we do. Okay? Let's go.”

LEAD CROSSBOWMAN UGEN LISTOWK
led the patrol across the camp and into the jungle on the western side. The rest of the shield watched them go in silence. Sinte didn't bother to see them off, but Listowk was fine with that.

“Psst, LC? Why are we heading west?” Carny asked.

Listowk stopped among some leaves. He nestled himself in, enjoying the rubbery feel of them on his bare arms. He waited for the other four to group around him. Wraith crouched and pivoted while the rest remained standing. “Assume we're being watched. We head west out of the camp, the slyts think we're going west. When we're in the clear, we'll loop around and pick up the path on the ocean side. I'll stay on ST. Wraith, you drift back and cover our tail. If any slyts try to follow us, don't engage, but let me know. Clear?”

Four heads nodded.

“Good, now remember what I taught you. Land on the balls of your feet, grab and hold the branch as you pass, and then put it back, and if you think you see or hear something, don't shout. Two tongue clicks to hold, three for slyts.”

Listowk turned and ducked under the palm fronds, easing his way through the jungle. There was just enough starlight coming through gaps in the canopy that he could navigate without tripping. It helped that the undergrowth was soft and pliable. Still, he kept his pace slow, checking regularly to make sure the others were close behind.

It was hot, sticky work moving through the foliage while trying to keep quiet. Sweat trickled into the corners of Listowk's eyes, making them sting. He paused and pulled out a small cotton handkerchief tucked into his belt. Lifting the brim of his helm, he held the liner away
from his forehead and stuffed the handkerchief in it so that it covered his forehead. With the extra cloth, the helm felt snug, like the beginnings of a headache, but it would keep the sweat out of his eyes. He'd be better off with no helm at all, but if Sinte saw that, he'd have him up on charges.

Listowk looked around, moving his head slowly while keeping his eyes fixed. He doubted he'd see a slyt, but he might possibly catch some movement. The jungle was a jumble of black and gray shadows. There could be a slyt phalanx standing five feet away and he would never see it. The idea that somewhere out in the dark an arrow was being aimed at his throat, or his crotch, wasn't easy to shake. He realized he'd tucked in his chin and lowered his crossbow to protect himself.

Letting out a long, slow breath, Listowk raised his glance and brought his crossbow back up. He felt naked, his flesh as insubstantial as cobwebs. The jungle humbled him, but he didn't resent it. In exposing his vulnerability, the jungle revealed more of itself to him.

Knowing his eyes could only tell him so much, Listowk focused on his ears. The night sounds of the jungle, chaotic and maddening when he'd first arrived, were giving up their secrets. He'd made a point of leaving the security of their beach encampment—without informing Sinte—and walking into the jungle. He wanted to know this land. What he found amazed him. The “noise” had an order and rhythm that ebbed and flowed throughout the night. In a way he'd never be able to explain, the jungle was talking to itself.

There was a clear difference in the sounds this high up the mountain. The jungle's accent had subtly changed. But what he strained to hear was what wasn't there. Just as the insects had quieted around the patrol, they paused in their chorus as predators neared.

There.
A good two hundred yards down the western slope and a hundred to the north, a sliver of silence weaved its way through the jungle. Listowk tilted his head to better track it. Whatever it was moved at a steady, slow pace. It could be slyts—they were wily little bastards—but he suspected it was probably a jaguar or some other big cat. He remained still until the silence faded and he could no longer follow its path.

Realizing the rest of the patrol would be getting antsy, he started walking again, using his left hand to gently push aside leaves and fronds. He could tell by the outline of the leaf whether or not it hid thorns and did his best to steer around those. It had been a quick and painful lesson when they'd first arrived. The plant life in Luitox seemed no more inclined to be hospitable than the damn slyts.

He rested the butt of his crossbow on his right hip and kept the weapon pointing forward as he walked. The safety latch on his weapon was off, but he was walking spear tip. Anything in front of him wasn't going to be friendly. He slid his main finger up and around the stock and gave the bowstring a tap to make sure it was taut. He wasn't about to get caught with a limp string. He cursed himself for not reminding the others, but he had to trust that he'd trained them well enough.

He started to duck under a hanging vine, then stopped and backed up a pace. The vine was really a section of coil from a snake draped over a series of branches. The part of the snake Listowk could see looked as thick as a man's biceps. It was too dark to make out its markings, but judging by its size he figured it for a squeezer. Probably not poisonous, but they still bit hard. He backed up another step and decided now was as good a time as any to begin looping around to the east.

It took close to an eighth of a candle to make the full loop and pick up the main path the shield used going up and down the mountain. After the slow, energy-sapping walk through the jungle, it was tempting to step out onto the path and follow it the rest of the way to their hiding place for the night, but Listowk resisted the urge. They hadn't taken the long way around to suddenly pop out into the open.

“You see something?” Big Hog asked, ambling to a halt beside Listowk.

Listowk looked around the big farmer to see where the rest of the patrol was. He counted two more helms and a tall bush. Wraith.
The boy's a natural.

“We'll stay off the path and ease our way down to the ruts,” he said. “Should be fifty, sixty yards. Keep close and stay quiet.”

He waited a beat to see if anyone had anything to say. It was important for the men to feel they were being heard. “All right, follow me.” He
led them down using trees to control his descent. His thighs ached and his arms stung from dozens of tiny cuts despite his best efforts to avoid the thorns, but he wasn't sorry he'd taken the difficult route. They were all still alive, and the slyts, as far as he could tell, had no idea where they were. The same couldn't be said for the whereabouts of the rest of the shield.

The rut appeared bigger in the dark when he found it. He peered over the edge and couldn't see the bottom. It hadn't been more than five feet in the daylight, which meant it was still five feet in the dark. He thumbed on the safety latch on his crossbow, then pushed some fronds out of the way and sat down on the edge, letting his boots hang over. Keeping his crossbow out from his body, he half-turned to the left, stuck up his hand until he felt Big Hog grab it, then eased himself over the edge.

Big Hog's grip was strong and the back of his hand hairy. It felt like holding on to a bear's paw. Listowk walked his way down the slope, digging the toes of his boots into the dirt. He knew it was only a few feet, but it felt like he was hanging over a fathomless abyss. Gritting his teeth, he swung his right boot out, pointed down with his toes, and finally felt solid ground.

“I'm down,” Listowk said, not caring that his whisper sounded elated. He squeezed Big Hog's hand and the soldier let go. Listowk clicked his tongue twice to keep the patrol in place and turned to survey the rut they would call home for the night. He thumbed the safety latch back off and peered down the little gully going away from the path. For as far as he could see, which wasn't too far, there was nothing there. He listened, nodding as the insects chirped and sang a familiar tune.

He followed the rut several yards deeper into the jungle until it branched into several smaller ones. The jungle vegetation was heavy, but mostly leaves and fronds again with no sign of heavy vines to trip a person. If something did happen tonight, this would be their escape route.

He turned and made his way toward the path, crouching low as he did so. The goat path they had trod up and down for weeks appeared through the jungle and he froze in place, because if he could see the path, anything on the path could see him.

After several heartbeats, he sank to his knees and crawled to the edge of the path. The smell of the jungle was more intense down low, rich and fetid. He breathed through his mouth, eased his head out through the leaves, and looked up and down the path. It was completely empty.

Listowk reverse-crawled a yard before standing up slowly, panting as he did so. The air was wet and hot and clung to him like a blanket. He realized he hadn't taken a drink from his water skin since they'd left the mountaintop and chided himself. He grabbed the skin, pulled the cork, and took a quick drink. He grimaced as the warm water went down his throat. Jamming the cork stopper back in, he went back to where the rest of the patrol waited.

“All meadow,” he whispered, giving them the all-clear signal. He kept one eye on the path while he guided the rest of the patrol down the slope. Compared to his descent, the rest of the men slid down easily. “Carny, go a yard deep and keep watch on the jungle. Big Hog, grab some sleep, then switch with Carny at midnight.”

“How am I supposed to know when that is?” Big Hog asked.

Listowk sighed. “We're right above the main camp down on the beach, and there are ships galore at anchor offshore. You'll hear the bells.” The military was as obsessed with telling time as the druids and monks.

“Clever,” Wraith said, his helm nodding like a bush in a breeze. He'd definitely picked up more foliage during their walk.

“I have my moments,” Listowk said. “You watch the path. It's pretty open there so stay back a bit. Weasel, rest up and relieve him at midnight. I'll sit here in the middle for now and have a nap . . . then I'm going to do a little scouting. I'd like to know where Black Shield is holed up. Take a long drink of water. No smoking, no talking, and if you hear or see anything, you let me know right away.”

“You really think the slyts will try anything?” the Weasel asked. His voice had a manic tone to it that Listowk didn't like.

“I don't know, but we're almost begging them to try. Let's just see if we can't make it to the dawn.” Listowk paused for a moment, wondering if he was being prudent or just jumpy. Even if it was nerves, his caution meant he was still alive to feel them. “Look, my children, if the wind hits
the branches and there's nothing else for it, follow the rut away from the path, then make your way down to the beach. Don't wait around—just run.”