Of Bone and Thunder (24 page)

Heavy oak beams thudded and rumbled as they were swung into place.
Sledgehammers rang off of flat-head iron spikes driven into the ground. Stringers of heavy rope were secured to the sides of the cats and attached to the spikes to anchor the cats and keep them steady. The wagon teams carrying the loads of projectiles creaked and rattled as they pulled up to drop off their cargo. Unasked, the dwarves unloaded the wagons and piled the various shot, allowing Parmik's men to focus all their efforts on the cats themselves. “Many thanks for your assistance, Commander Tiffanger,” Parmik said, raising his voice above the din.

“It was our pleasure, Subcommander,” Tiffanger said with a straight face. “Always happy to help out. Very nice of you, by the way, to offer the lads a drink, too.”

Parmik nodded. Everyone present knew there were whole areas of the Kingdom to this day that didn't allow dwarves to eat and drink with humans. Some of the men in the battery would loathe him for this, but that was too damn bad.

“I'll second that,” Wizard Magnolia said, walking up to Parmik.

“Really, it was nothing, Wizard.” Parmik was feeling self-conscious near Magnolia, being barely half a head taller than the dwarf.

“I'll start getting the boys rounded up,” Tiffanger said, nodding at Magnolia and quickly walking off.

Magnolia smiled. “Good fellow. He means well, he really does.”

“Yes,” Parmik said, wondering how to phrase the question he'd had since encountering Tiffanger and the dwarves. “An interesting choice to command a unit of dwarves.”

Magnolia chuckled. “Interesting? That's one way to put it. Fact is, he's our third officer. First one refused the command outright and the second lasted less than a day. Not everyone is ready to embrace the new reality.”

“You don't sound angry, Wizard Magnolia,” Parmik said.

“You mean like Black Pine?” Magnolia asked. “No, not many dwarves have the level of passion Black Pine does. And please, call me Maggs. All my sharders do.”

“Sharders?” Parmik said.

Maggs bowed his head slightly. “Q-talk—ah, quarry talk. So used to it I forget most people don't know it. A sharder is another dwarf. We're all shards from the One Great Mountain.”

Parmik knew about the dwarven belief in the Great Mountain. It was their own Sacred Tree.

“But I thought you were a, I mean, you worked in . . .”

“The
house
?” Maggs asked. “Yes, I was a house dwarf, but I still spent time in the deep. They educated me, you know, the Diefenlanders. I took everything I could learn to the quarry and taught as many as I could. There are some, like Black Pine, who don't think that sort of bargain was worth the price. Who knows, maybe he's right.”

“I don't think so,” Parmik said. “Education is a tool every man—and dwarf,” he added quickly, “should have in his brain box.”

Maggs laughed. Unlike Black Pine, his teeth were a dull white. “Clever,” Maggs said, tapping his own head. “I look forward to the day when dwarves and men strive as hard to fill their skulls as they do building those,” he said, gesturing over at the catapults.

“They're just field cats, pretty small really. You want to see a real cat, you need to check out the Heavies. I hear they're building a battery over here.”

“Bigger is always better, isn't that what they say?” Maggs said, no longer laughing.

Parmik knew he'd missed something. “I don't think so, at least not for all things.”

“Of course not,” Maggs said, looking past him toward the dwarves. “It appears my commander is getting the herd into a semblance of order. Best I go and see it stays that way. A pleasure to meet you, Subcommander,” Maggs said, standing to attention and saluting.

Parmik saluted back, trying to figure out where the conversation went off track.
Damn it.
He watched Maggs walk away. He fought the urge to call him back, realizing he had no idea what he wanted to say.

“Cats one and three are ready, sir.”

Parmik turned, surprised to see Senior Artillerist Dulsh Osen standing just a few feet away.

“Already?” Parmik asked, still going over the conversation with Maggs in his mind.

“Yes, sir. Those little rock roaches actually did an eighth of a candle of honest work,” he said.

Parmik looked up at Osen. Contempt etched his otherwise bland peasant face.

“Glad to hear it,” Parmik said, a cool, sustaining anger filling him with purpose. “I was planning on releasing them back to the Seventh Phalanx's control, but your recommendation has made me reconsider.”

“Sir?” Osen said. The contempt was gone, replaced with confusion and the first inkling of concern.

“Yes, you've made me see the light. Go find Deputy Legion Commander Weel's caravan and ask him—no, tell him that in order to meet the tasks at hand, Bear Battery will need the services of the Eighteenth Pioneer Support Group for the immediate future.”

“Shouldn't you check with Commander Joars first?”

Parmik didn't blink. “I'll handle Joars. On your way.”

“But—”

“No need to thank me, Osen,” Parmik said, raising his voice to put an end to their conversation. “In fact, I'm going to let the whole battery know it was your idea. I am a true believer in people getting the credit they deserve. Now, off you go,” Parmik said. “But do hurry back. We're going to have to make some changes in the battery to accommodate the dwarves. I'll need a good man who understands these things and can explain it to the others, help smooth over the bumps. I can't think of anyone more deserving than you.”

Parmik waved Osen on his way. A smile twitched the corners of Parmik's mouth.

“Fuck you, Weel,” he said out loud, turning and walking toward the battery with a spring in his step. “I'll show you what being a prick really looks like.”

“ACORNS!”

Listowk looked skyward. Several small black dots were sailing into the sky from the east.

“The High Druid's shaking the tree!” Big Hog shouted, pointing at the sky.

The heavy clanking sound of firing catapults reached their ears a moment later.

“Stay down and stay calm,” Listowk said, looking up and down the berm to make sure the shield listened.

The black dots rose into the air, seemingly straight up. They shrank in size as they climbed, then began growing as they started on the downward side of their arc. It became harder to track them as they fell back to earth. Each one was a hurtling blur that seemed to be coming straight at Red Shield.

“Here come the acorns!”

“They know we're here, right?” Wraith asked.

Listowk tried to judge the landing spot of the projectiles and became convinced it was right where his head was. “Get ready to run!” he shouted, standing up in a crouch. There were a few shouts and the beginnings of a moan as the catapult shots closed in on them. A whistling windstorm noise grew as the shots came closer.

“They're going to hit us!” someone shouted. Some soldiers started to climb the berm while others ripped off their helms and used them to dig holes in the dirt.

Listowk's entire body broke out in a sweat. There was nowhere to run. He couldn't tell where the damn things would land. “Get down! Lie down and stay down!” he shouted, dropping to his knees and covering his head with his hands.

The whistling wind made by the projectiles grew louder until it was a shriek right over his head as they passed and got quieter. Listowk looked up as the first shot hit the dosha swamp in front of them some fifty yards away. A puff of brown dirt shot into the air. The impact of the shot vibrated the dirt under Listowk. Three more shots fell in quick succession, each one burying itself into the dusty dosha swamp farther away from the shield and closer to the village.

“Good,” Listowk said to himself, then realized he'd said it out loud. “Good! They're walking their shots into the village. We'll just sit here and watch the show. Should—”

A whistling shot slammed into the ground two feet behind Listowk, spraying him with dirt. His right hand spasmed and he squeezed the firing lever of his crossbow. Nothing happened. The safety lever remained engaged. The telltale twang of at least two other crossbows told him others did not.

He looked up expecting to see a boulder about to crush him, but the other black dots sailed over his head and struck the edge of the village with shattering force. He turned to watch, telling himself that just like lightning there was no way the artillerists would hit the same exact place twice.

The remains of a bamboo hut spun through the air in a cloud of shredded palm fronds. Soldiers hollered their delight.

“Pound the fuckers!”

“Did you see that? That was a leg!”

“Glory be to the High Druid!”

Listowk turned, ready to rip Ahmist a new one, but it was Wiz shouting the High Druid's praises. More shots rained down, the rocks shattering on impact and scything through the collection of huts with ease. In a matter of moments, the village ceased to exist. Every hut was either destroyed or severely damaged. Listowk had still to see a single slyt moving about. He started imagining Weel's reaction, then stopped. That was Sinte's problem.

A new sound pierced the air. A shot landed deep in the village with a hollow thud. Instead of sending chunks of rocks flying through the air, this shot gave off a bright yellow smoke that drifted lazily up through the dust cloud over the village.

“Nobody move!” Listowk shouted, spying a couple of soldiers already on their feet and mounting the berm.

“But that's the cease-fire shot,” a soldier said.

“Nobody move until I say so,” Listowk said, getting up on his knees and quickly looking up and down the berm. After his near miss, Listowk wasn't taking any chances. He turned to look behind him, searching the sky for any more shots in the air. Cocking his head to one side, he listened for the heavy metal and wood clash signaling a catapult had fired.

Nothing.

“All right. We do this smart. Make sure your crossbow is cocked, the bolt is securely in place, and the safety lever is on. Crossbowmen, check your string. Longbowmen, nock. Red Shield, on your feet!”

The shield stood up behind the berm. There was no more hollering. Signs of the Sacred Tree were made while others toggled their aketons closed, choosing to swelter with the protection of the iron plates over their stomachs and chests. “Crossbowmen will go up and over the berm and stop
on the other side on my mark. Longbowmen will remain behind and cover. Move!”

The soldiers walked up and over the berm. Listowk turned his body sideways so that he could keep one eye on the village and one on the shield. The dust was already settling in the village. Movement drew Listowk's attention, but it was merely a section of bamboo and palm wall slowly waving back and forth.

Listowk took one last look to the east. The sky was clear. He turned and motioned the shield forward.

JAWN LOOSENED HIS GRIP
on the harness chain but did not let go. This rag flight was proving to be a significantly smoother affair than the last one, although memories of the flight across the ocean remained vivid in his mind. Happily for him, no rolly blues were flinging this rag around the sky. It was half the size of the last one, a fact that had initially worried Jawn. The crew, a fine pair of well-spoken men from the capital city, smiled and told him this flight would be FPS. Jawn asked what that stood for, assuming the worst. “Feather-Pillow Soft,” was the welcome reply.

“You're a fine beast,” Jawn said, taking one hand off the chain and patting the rag's vibrant bluish-green scales. It was also a way of testing how hot the rag was getting, but other than the warming effects of the sun, Jawn detected no dangerous heat building up underneath him. The crew said it was a young male, just past two. Jawn couldn't tell and wasn't interested in confirming it. What he did know is that the animal seemed fit and hearty.

Jawn lifted his head into the wind and drew in a deep breath. He had to really strain to detect the faintest hint of sulfur. Now
this
was flying. Even the beat of this rag's wings was smooth and effortless. There was no frightening noise of grinding shoulder bones. The flight was so smooth Jawn was starting to think he could get used to traveling by rag. Even enjoy it. Best of all, no one's piss and puke were getting in his hair.

There was no blood, either.

“Care for a little nip?” Rickets said, leaning between a pair of dorsal plates and holding out a small pewter flask. “I know, I know, the whole ‘balancing your inner liquids' and whatnot, but after the last few days, your innards are probably still pickled.”

As they were the only passengers on the rag, there was no polite way for Jawn to avoid Rickets. Jawn doubted there was even an impolite one
save braining the man with the driver's iron gaff. On a flight over the Kingdom, Jawn would have enjoyed looking out at the countryside, but he was already bored by what Luitox had to offer. What wasn't jungle was patchworks of dosha swamps, and what weren't swamps were rivers and streams that appeared more mud than water. Seen from two thousand feet in the air, the countryside was one vast green-and-brown mat. The most exciting thing in the last fourth-candle was a stampede of brorras and an agitated flock of bright white storks.

“Sure,” Jawn said, certain he'd already seen enough jungle to last him the rest of his life. How the fabled adventurers Ox and Crink stayed sane tramping through miles and miles of the stuff was beyond him. For the first time, Jawn questioned the motives of his heroes. Maybe they were mad. He recalled Rickets's rather cryptic account of meeting those two celebrities. He still hadn't elaborated. Jawn was determined to get the full story out of him, but he had more pressing matters before that.

Jawn took the proffered flask and brought it up to his lips, where he paused. Was it this easy? All the years of training and sacrifice thrown away after just his first encounter with real violence? He was supposed to be better than this. The academy had drilled it into them. They
were
better. But then, why hadn't a professor ever warned him of the horror? No one had talked about the smell of burning flesh and how it lingered in your nostrils long after the body had roasted to ash.