Of Bone and Thunder (25 page)

“It's got a kick, but it still won't jump into your throat on its own,” Rickets said.

Rickets was one big thorn in Jawn's paw, but damn if the crowny didn't make a lot of sense. It was one little drink after a binge he knew he'd never repeat. He poured a quick shot down his throat before he changed his mind. It burned all the way down, landing in his stomach with a sizzling thud. Jawn gasped. “Oh . . . don't bother telling me what it is.”

“You're a scrappy one, Jawn Rathim,” Rickets said, taking back the flask and tucking it away inside his haversack. “Old Leotat told me you'd surprise me.”

Jawn managed a weak smile. “Wish he had warned me about
you
.”

“Not much to tell,” Rickets said, his voice a perfect simulation of sincerity.

If Jawn were meeting Rickets for the first time, he might have believed it. There was still a fourth of a candle to go before they reached Jomkier and Jawn wasn't ready to spend that much time alone with his thoughts. Crackling, burning images of Gremthyn continued to flash through his mind. Talking, even with Rickets, brought welcome relief.

“So . . . ,” Jawn said, stunned that it had come to this. He leaned against a dorsal plate and twisted in his saddle to face Rickets. “Rickets, um . . .”
Just do it and get it over with!
“So tell me about yourself. You know everything about me, and I know next to nothing about you. If we're going to be working together, I should probably know a little more about my . . . partner.”

For several long, agonizing moments there was only the rhythmic sound of the rag's wings, the dull creaks of chain and leather, and the familiar scratch of scale on scale. Jawn watched Rickets closely, not sure what to expect but fearing an outpouring that would last well beyond their flight.

“If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not discuss my personal life,” Rickets said. He didn't smile, he didn't wink, he didn't make a rude gesture of any kind.

Jawn said nothing. There was a punch line coming, there had to be. He smiled at Rickets, doing his best to show his sincerity. “I'm serious, Rickets. I'm actually curious.”

Rickets fidgeted on his saddle. “The last few days took more out of me than I realized. I think I'll catch a little nap. Wake me when we get to Jomkier?”

“Uh . . . sure,” Jawn said, still ready for lightning out of the clear blue. “I'll just stare at the jungle. Lots of trees down there.”

“There are indeed,” Rickets said, ignoring Jawn's sarcasm completely. He disappeared from view behind the dorsal plates.

Jawn continued staring at the space above the plate, expecting Rickets to pop up at any moment and regale him with a tale so wild that Jawn's eyes would be in danger of rolling right out of their sockets. When Rickets didn't reappear, Jawn peered over the plate. Rickets was curled up against it, eyes closed, his chin tucked into his chest, and his arms wrapped around his body. He appeared to be asleep.

Son of a witch
. Jawn pulled back and looked up to the front of the rag. The drivers were too far away to have a conversation with without yelling.

Now what?
Jawn turned to rest his back against a plate and stared out at the jungle. A fourth of a candle of green and brown emptiness. He sighed. Nothing to do . . .

Images of Milouette surfaced for the first time since his flight over. He looked up at the drivers again. They were focused on flying and hadn't looked back at their passengers since they'd reached their cruising height.

Jawn closed his eyes and thought of her. He reached into his trousers and grabbed hold of his member. A fourth of a candle was more than enough time.

“NOT A DAMN
thing!” Shield Leader Sinte shouted, sending a piece of broken bamboo flying with a kick of his boot. The soldiers in the path of the bamboo scattered, turning to watch as the debris clattered across the wreckage of Moskoan. The stick punched through a ragged triangle of palm-frond wall that was still standing. The wall teetered, tipping slowly toward the ground. Then it stopped, refusing to fall all the way down.

Carny stared at the section of wall, willing it to fall. His mind still reeled from the drug, although the effects were wearing off. What captivated him now was the fact that something of Moskoan still stood. It was just a few square feet of dusty and torn wall, but it made the destruction seem that much worse. It was a reminder, a grave marker for something that had once bustled and hummed with the daily life of a small farming community. Carny took his eyes off the section of wall and went back to picking through the mangled heap of bamboo, palm, and sharp chunks of rock. There had to be something of value in the wreckage.

He spotted a smooth, curved piece of pottery. He reached down and grabbed it, pulling it free. It was a small orange clay pot with a domed lid that easily fit in the palm of his hand. He pried the lid off the pot with his thumb and, peering inside, saw two teaspoons' worth of a whitish powder. Carny's heart raced.

“What'd you find?” Wraith asked, suddenly standing beside Carny.

“Fuck!” Carny shouted, involuntarily squeezing his hand tight. He crushed the clay pot, spraying the powder and clay fragments into the air. He shook his hand and wiped it clean, looking for cuts. “Look what you made me do.”

“You broke it,” Wraith said, looking down at the ground. “What was it?”

Carny looked around, aware that other soldiers were looking at them. “Spider,” he said. “Almost got me.”

“I didn't see a spider,” Wraith said, “just that pot with the white powder in it.”

“Why don't you go stalk something?” Carny said.

Wraith started to turn away, then stopped. He pulled a palm leaf–wrapped ball out of his haversack and tossed it over to Carny. “Found it over there,” he said, motioning to the remains of a nearby hut. “There's more. Go easy on it.”

Carny peeled the leaf until he could see what was inside. Wild Flower! He looked up to thank Wraith, but the soldier was already walking away.

Another chunk of bamboo cartwheeled across the rubble. Carny stuffed the ball into his haversack and tore off a small piece. He brought his fingers to his nose and sniffed. He imagined the High Druid's Forest smelled like this. He stuffed the Wild Flower into his mouth and smiled.
There, that's better.
He began edging toward the spot Wraith had indicated while keeping a wary eye on Sinte.

“We didn't lose anyone,” Lead Crossbowman Listowk said, calmly taking the brunt of Sinte's rage. Carny had no idea how Listowk did it. The man had the patience of a . . . Carny tried to think of something that had a lot of patience. A snail? They were slow, but that wasn't really the same.

“If you'd got here sooner, you might have caught the slyts,” Sinte said. Several soldiers looked up from picking through the debris of Moskoan.

Carny stood up. Was Sinte serious? They'd have had to attack Moskoan days ago to find slyts in it, and even then it probably would have been peasants. He looked down at the debris. Not so much as a bowstring or arrowhead that would indicate the FnC had ever been here. They'd destroyed an entire village for nothing.

“We didn't lose anyone,” Listowk said.

“We're not here to not lose anyone,” Sinte said. “We're here to kill fuckin' slyts.” He looked around at the ruined village and then back at Listowk. “The shield look like beggars. I want them cleaned up.”

“Of course, Shield Leader,” Listowk said, but Sinte was already stomping away.

Carny watched Listowk, waiting to see what he would do.

“Check your string, count your bolts, and try not to fall in a midden,” Listowk said, smiling at them. “And for the love of the High Druid, stay out of trouble.”

Carny nodded. He turned to walk toward the rest of the stash Wraith had found, then thought better of it.

“Fuck it, I don't need this shit,” he said, suddenly strong and clearheaded.

“What?” Big Hog asked, walking toward him over the rubble.

Carny looked up. “I miss the mountain,” he said. He bent down and lifted up a long stretch of bamboo and palm wall and jammed the splintered poles into the ground. It wasn't much, but it offered some shade. He sat down and gently eased his back against his makeshift wall. It bowed but held.

He splayed his legs in a wide V and set his crossbow down between them. With one finger, he flipped the flight end of the bolt out of the string to rest it on top, thereby rendering the weapon safe. No one used the safety latches anymore. Fucking things stuck half the time.

He undid the two remaining toggles holding his sleeveless aketon together. It slid open, revealing his stomach, covered in rust stains from the armor plates sewn into the cloth. On quick glance, it looked like he was bleeding.

“I like these fields,” Big Hog said, flopping down beside him. He stretched out flat, taking off his helm and using it as a pillow. He'd already lifted his bolt out of the string, so he set his crossbow down on the dirt beside him and pointed it out toward the dosha swamps they'd just humped across.

“They're nothing but dried, dusty shit and dosha. Oh, and there's no dosha.”

“You're not seeing their potential,” Big Hog said. He pulled out a
wooden pipe he kept hanging from a toggle loop on his aketon and stuck it in the side of his mouth closest to Carny. “Light me, will ya?”

Carny fished around in his haversack until he found his tinderbox. He popped the lid and pulled out the flint before closing the lid again. He held the box up against the open bowl of the pipe and flicked the flint across the top of the lid a few times, sending sparks into the wad of tobacco in the bowl. Big Hog drew in a few quick breaths and the tobacco lit.

“You're an oak—don't let no one tell you different,” Big Hog said, puffing a few times on the pipe. “You just gotta lay off that crap. It'll rot your brain.”

The rest of the shield migrated toward their position, grabbing some shade. It was all about making oneself as comfortable as possible while using the least amount of energy.

Big Hog drew deeply on the pipe, and the leaves inside its chamber glowed bright orange. “You believe those crazy bastards charked themselves?” Big Hog said, taking the pipe out of his mouth and peering at the bowl. Carny looked away from the spot Wraith had pointed to.

“What?” Carny asked.

“Remember I told you I smelled roast beef when we were still on the coast?” Big Hog said.

“When did you say that?” Carny asked, remembering no such thing.

“Ah, who am I talking to? You can't remember shit with all that Wild Flower you chew,” Big Hog said, waving away Carny's challenge. “I smelled those bastards burning, I tell you. A farmer's got a sensitive nose when it comes to burning meat.”

Carny snorted. “You didn't smell shit. You heard about those slyt farmers charking themselves from Squeak the same way the rest of us did. Hey, you're a farmer, Big Hog. You ain't planning on charking yourself, are you?”

Those who weren't already trying to catch a nap chuckled.

“High Druid's balls, don't joke about that, Carny,” Big Hog said. “What a terrible way to go. Can you imagine burning yourself on purpose? Your eyeballs frying right in your head?”

Carny could imagine it and desperately wanted not to. “They had to be crazy. Or maybe under some kind of spell.”

“Maybe,” Big Hog said.

No one said anything for a while. Out across the dosha swamps they'd just walked, dust clouds marked the movement of the rest of the Seventh Phalanx. Carny hoped they'd take their time. Today was going to be another hot and sticky one.

“Damn shame about that brorra,” Big Hog said, no doubt winding up for another speech about all things farming.

“You know, I really miss the mountain,” Carny said, his voice louder than he intended.

“What was so great about the mountain?” a freshly scrubbed crossbowman asked, walking up to stand in front of the shield. He looked like a boy as he scuffed the sole of his boot back and forth across the ground and then peered down to look at where he was going to sit.

He lowered himself to the ground, his clean uniform in stark contrast to the rest of the shield around him. He even had the sleeves still attached to his aketon.
Must be bloody murder like that
, Carny thought, shaking his head.

“Look at what we have here,” Big Hog said, eyeing the fawn. “Fresh meat straight from the Vill.”

A few soldiers laughed, but most couldn't be bothered to muster the energy.

“The Vill?” the fawn asked.

Carny rolled his eyes.

“Fuckin' High Druid you're new,” Big Hog said, his voice taking on a kinder tone. “The Vill, you know, your village back in the Kingdom.”

The fawn's eyes lit up. “I'm from Talon Falls, just north of—”

“No one wants your life story, fawn,” Big Hog said, cutting him off.

Undeterred, the fawn pressed on. “You guys were talking about the mountains. What was so great about them?”

“Beach, breeze, booze, and whores,” Carny and Big Hog said in unison. There were a few chuckles from the rest of the shield spread along the makeshift wall. If they were lucky, they'd be able to stay here all day.

“Really?” the fawn asked. “They let you drink and carouse with women?”

“Shouldn't you be helping your mother bake?” Carny asked.

“I'm fifteen years old,” the soldier said, his voice squeaking. “I'll be sixteen this autumn.”

“Sorry, an honest mistake,” Carny said, deciding to spare the kid. “So what did your parents name you?”

“Teavin Dornawk. My father is the potter in town. He—”

“We still don't care, Knockers,” Big Hog said, slapping a nickname on the fawn with impressive speed. “Anyone seen Wiz? I've got a rash on the inside of my thighs redder than a rooster's comb.”