Of Bone and Thunder (22 page)

“If I could get them there in time, I'd do it . . . but this doesn't give a true lay of the land,” Parmik said, gesturing toward Weel's map. “You see what it's like out here. Distances are way off, what the map says is jungle is now dosha swamp, and what was dosha swamp turns out to be jungle. We've already sent back a dozen messages by rag for royal cartographers to be dispatched, but it's going to take weeks to get better maps.”

“I'm not interested in excuses, Subcommander,” Weel said. He neatly folded his hands one over the other on his knee and looked at Parmik. Even sitting down he was slightly taller. “I want your catapults at those palm trees and ready by noon.”

Parmik turned and looked south again. He lifted his helm from his head and scratched at his thick mat of red hair. He slowly scanned the dosha swamp, noting the progress of the skirmish line. Finally, he looked up at the sun before turning back to Weel.

“I can see you care a lot about your boys, sir,” he said, doubting that was true but deciding to give a little. He'd be riding in this wagon for a while. “They deserve all the support they can get. It'll be a right mess, but Commander Joars will move High Forest and earth to get you that support. I'll write a message for the lad to take over to the battery. We can unhook the back three ox teams and then double-team the first three cats. That'll
get half the battery to that village by noon. And if I send two additional crews with them, they'll have the cats up and ready to throw within an eighth of a candle.”

“And the other three catapults?” Weel asked.

“Not until dusk. The teams will be exhausted,” Parmik said. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best to be done on short notice.

A young officer stood up, his face red and his fists clenched. Parmik tried to remember his name. Deswol . . . Dismawl . . .

“Subcommander Parmik! The Deputy Legion Commander Weel has given you a direct order,” the officer said, his indignation swelling his chest. “Your—”

Weel held up a hand, cutting the officer off. “Thank you, Dehmoll. Subcommander, am I to understand that given the state of the road and the strength of your oxen, you will only be able to get
three
catapults to their assigned position on time?”

Parmik put his helm back on his head.
Here comes the shit storm.
“Yes, Commander, that's exactly what I'm saying.”

Weel nodded. “I see. Tell me, Subcommander, would additional oxen help?”

Parmik started to smile, then stopped when he realized Weel was being serious. “Of course, but . . . look around, Commander. Even if we unhitched these brorras and threw in that little pony, we'd still be nowhere close.”

Weel's smiled broadened, but only just. “True, but what about six hundred mules, Subcommander?”

Parmik looked behind them at the column of marching dwarves.
Oh, you f
ucking bastard
. “They aren't slaves anymore, sir. Harnessing them to pull has been outlawed for thirty years.” Parmik had never been comfortable with the way dwarves were treated.

“Of course, Subcommander,” Weel said, his voice now light and airy. “They are, however, members of the Royal Army and as such are duty-bound to serve where needed. And right now,
you
need their strength to move
your
catapults to their assigned position by noon.”

Parmik barely heard Weel. Childhood taunts echoed once again in his ears:
Bet your mother was raped by a mule! Go back to the quarry with your own kind!
He absently rubbed the bridge of his nose. It had been broken so
many times he hadn't breathed through both nostrils at the same time in ten years.

“Even so, convincing them won't be easy,” Parmik said, his eyes still on the dwarf column.

“Then it's settled,” Weel said, clapping his hands. “Bristom will ride at once to the catapults to inform them that much-needed assistance is on its way. And you, Subcommander, will go tell the mules they have a new task.”

Parmik swung around to stare at Weel. “
I
will?”

“You're here to assist me, Subcommander, do not forget that. Besides,” Weel said, his voice as smooth as glass, “I think out of the two of us, you're . . . better suited to speak to them on their level.”

Parmik was aware of the grins of the other officers.
If one so much as snickers, I'll fucking murder him.

“Hurry back, Subcommander,” Weel said, turning his back on Parmik and poring over his map. “Battle waits for no man . . . or dwarf.”

CARNY RAISED A
hand to shade his eyes and squinted, trying to make out movement in the village up ahead. It was an impossible task. The shield was only to the little stand of palm trees some five hundred yards to the east of Moskoan and the heat haze was making everything blurry.

“Shield . . . forward!” Sinte shouted, clanging his hewer against his rank shield for emphasis.

Another glorious day in the Lux
. Carny swung a boot forward and began walking, using as little effort as possible. Barely turning his head, he looked to the left and right to keep pace with the rest of the shield.

“Anyone see a news crier?” someone asked farther down the skirmish line. “Fackleroy over in Gray Shield said a whole bunch of them came over with the new legions. They're going to watch us fight and tell everyone back home what we did.”

Carny snorted. “I'll save them the trouble. We're a sharp group of bright-eyed warriors in sparkling uniforms. We hold our crossbows firm and at the ready as we proudly march across the Lux scattering the enemy before us. Oh, and the sun gleams off our helms all shiny and bright.”

“You're a cynic, you know that, Carny?” Wiz said.

“If being a cynic means I tell it like it is, then yes I am,” Carny replied.

The heat sapped what little energy the conversation generated and silence resumed. Red Shield plodded on with all the verve of a sick dog. Big Hog, walking on Carny's left, yawned. Carny yawned, too, wishing he was anywhere but here. They'd been roused from sleep a full fourth of a candle before dawn and had been on the move ever since. With each footstep, the coast got farther away as Red Shield moved deeper into the Lux and the unknown.

Carny closed his eyes and let his head slump down until his chin rested on his chest. The next berm was still a hundred yards away and the dosha swamp was as flat as a slate slab. If there were slyts up ahead, someone else would see them and give a shout.

“I don't see why you couldn't grow potatoes here,” Big Hog said.

Carny groaned, lifting his head and opening his eyes.
Not this again.

Big Hog reached down and plucked up a clod of dirt in his hand. He stood back up, holding the dirt to his nose as he walked. The soil was dry and crumbled easily in his hand. Tiny streams of dirt trickled out between his fingers as he sniffed.

“That's disgusting,” Carny said, wrinkling up his nose. “You know they use their own shit to fertilize their fields, right?”

Big Hog took an even deeper sniff before upending his hand and letting the rest of the dirt fall to the ground. “Yeah, they really should mix in more pig. Their shit ain't strong enough. It's no wonder everyone over here is skin and bones. How's a person supposed to survive on dosha and greens and fruit? And that stinky fish? When you shit it all out, you don't get enough power out of it to grow strong crops.”

Carny groaned again. The sun was barely two fingers above the tree line and it was already stifling. He thought of autumn walks through the woods with his mother and felt his eyes begin to water. Those had been the best days. She'd taught him what mushrooms to pick and which to never touch. As he got older, she let him set the drop traps for squirrels and the snare traps for rabbits. It was one of the reasons he'd thought he'd like being in the army. He knew soldiers spent a lot of time walking—hunting, too.

He stumbled into an unseen rut, jarring his left knee. “Fuck you,” he
muttered, lifting his left knee high to rub it as he brought it up near his hand for the next few steps. The lowlands were turning out to be the mountains all over again. It was one frustrating patrol after another looking for signs of FnC activity and finding scant fuck-all. The only sign of life other than the shield was a lone brorra a couple hundred yards ahead.

“When we get these slyts sorted over here, first thing we should do is ship in some good Kingdom manure,” Big Hog said. “Plow the whole damn place and start over.”

“You're mad, Big Hog. No one is going to ship shit,” Carny said. The last thing he needed was one more damn speech about manure and potatoes. Since leaving the coast and mountains behind, Big Hog had become fixated on all things farming. Every dosha swamp, stream, orchard, and field they crossed was a new occasion for Big Hog to tell the shield what he'd plant there, what kind of manure was best, or what animal to graze.

“Hey, Wiz, you got something you can give to Carny?” Big Hog shouted, waving to their wizard twenty yards away. “His humors are all out of sorts this morning.”

“No,” was Wiz's unhelpful reply.

“I'm fine,” Carny said, pushing his helm back on his head. “Just quit jawing about farming.”
And let me take a bite of snow, or at least a few puffs of Wild Flower.
He felt hollow and on edge. But LC Listowk had made it clear that there would be none of that while on patrol, not with Commander Weel on their heels.

“Eyes forward, my chatty mice,” LC Listowk said, walking past them as he moved down the line, checking on the shield. “We'll rest when we reach the village. Lots of shade and cool water.” He looked at Carny, his mustache arching up on the left side.

“Promise?” Carny asked.

“Stay alert,” the LC said, pointing with his crossbow toward the distant line of trees to the west and avoiding the question. “If those FnC slyts are this far east, you can bet they're looking for trouble.”

“They don't stand a chance,” Ahmist said from the other side of Big Hog. The young soldier brought his crossbow up to his shoulder as if to
fire. “They are inferior creatures. They were born of the root, not the leaf. Their skin shows the color of their souls. It is clear in the LOKAM they are filth. The Birch, in Late Autumn, Fifth Branch:
And so it was that the light from the sun grew thin and the nights long. / And in this darkening time of cold and—”

“Oh, save the sermon,” Listowk said, interrupting Ahmist. Listowk didn't bark like Sinte, but his voice was firm. “It's just too damn early.”

Ahmist's lower lip quivered, and he sniffed a couple of times. Carny feared the worst, but he only pouted and lowered his crossbow. Carny mouthed a silent thank-you to Listowk, who winked back.

“Stay on your toes, and don't do anything stupid like getting yourselves hurt,” Listowk said, moving off in his slow, weary gait. “I'm going to check on the rest of the lads, but I'll be keeping an eye on you lot.”

“It's never too early to sing His praises,” Ahmist muttered. Whether Listowk heard him or not, the LC kept walking. Carny gave Ahmist a glare, but the soldier made the sign of the tree and began mouthing the words of the LOKAM to himself.

Fine, as long as it keeps him qui
et
, Carny thought.

“You know why the Kingdom is the greatest land in the world?” Big Hog asked, picking right back up with their conversation. “Why we have the biggest army and we grow so big and tall? I'll tell you why: potatoes,” he said, shifting his crossbow so he cradled it in his left hand. He held up his right and extended a finger. “And beef.” Another finger. “And pork, and bread and cheese.” He closed his open hand and started again. “And milk, and butter, and beer, oh, and sausage, and . . .”

Carny held out his left arm as Big Hog prattled on. Bare from the shoulder down in his sleeveless aketon, Carny's skin was sun-browned like a farmhand's. Maybe his muscles did look a bit scrawny, and he knew he'd had to cut two more holes in his belt to keep his trousers from falling down, but he was still bigger than any slyt they'd ever seen.

At some point, Big Hog trailed off and they walked on in a new silence. Carny sped his pace up just enough so that he didn't have to look at anyone else. He reached behind him and tugged his haversack around so that it rode on his right hip. He slipped his hand inside the haversack and felt
around. His fingertips landed on the wadded ball of Wild Flower. He flicked at it with a fingernail, desperate to rip off a chunk. Surprising himself, he lifted his hand away. There was just no easy way to hide a big wad of chew and the resulting dark brown drool. Listowk would have his ass if he caught him.

The prospect of a long, excruciating day loomed before Carny. He started to reach for the Wild Flower again when his fingers touched a leaf. He grabbed it between thumb and forefinger and pulled it out of his haversack. It was a dry piece of a banyan leaf that had been folded in half and the edges gummed together to create a thumb-sized envelope. It took him a moment to remember where it had come from. Squeak had included it with his last ball of Wild Flower. Said it was something new. Like snuff, only better.

Carny slowed his pace until the rest of the skirmish line caught up with him. He looked left and right to see if anyone was watching him, but the rest of the shield were looking straight ahead. Cupping the leaf in the palm of his hand, he brought it up to his mouth to bite off an edge.

“LC said no chew,” Big Hog said.

Carny started, dropping the leaf to the ground. He bent down and picked it up, scooping up some dirt at the same time. He brought his hand back up to his mouth and tore a corner of the leaf with his teeth. He moved his hand away and peered inside. There was a small amount of white powder between the dried leaves. Shrugging, he placed the opening against his right nostril, pressed the left one closed with his thumb, and took a quick, hard sniff.