Of Bone and Thunder (29 page)

Several soldiers started to laugh.

“That is not a joke! These are monsters! You understand?
Monsters!
” Spittle flecked both corners of Sinte's mouth and his eyes were bulging.

Shit, the bastard's scared to death
, Listowk thought. He stood up and walked across the berm toward Sinte. “You heard the SL. No smoking. Sorry about that, SL, I'll keep the boys in line.”

Sinte turned to focus on Listowk. The SL was breathing heavily and sweat beaded his face.
High
Druid's balls, he's losing it
.

“If I smell even one whiff of smoke . . .”

Listowk raised his hands in a placating gesture. “They know better, but I'll stay on top of them.”

Sinte looked over the troops and then back at Listowk. “We could have marched it no problem. Weel's coddling them,” he said, lowering his voice so only Listowk could hear.

Fifteen miles in half a day
and then assault a slyt force?
“It is hot, and that's a long way to go to fight a battle,” Listowk said, unable to sympathize with his leader.

Sinte sneered. “You're getting soft. Mark my words, this kind of luxury has a price,” he said. He turned and strode away, kicking up a miniature dust storm in his wake.

Listowk waited until Sinte was long out of earshot before letting out a sigh. As if he didn't have enough on his plate, now the SL was showing signs of strain.

“Here they come!”

Listowk turned toward the jungle, then realized his mistake. He raised a hand to shield his eyes and looked skyward. A heavy flapping sound reached his ears. He turned his head to the side to better pinpoint the location, then looked back. There, to the south, maybe two miles out, six dark smudges in the sky.

“Stay where you are,” he said, raising his voice just enough to make sure it got through. They'd all been briefed very carefully about what to do around rags. The most important thing was don't get in front of their maws, especially when they're landing. Listowk thought that pretty damn obvious and wondered who in the world hadn't thought so.

“What say we review procedures one more time,” Listowk said, balancing his crossbow on his shoulder and placing his hands on his hips. As soon as he did, he decided that looked too much like Sinte, so he let his hands fall to his sides. “Rags are not horses. They will eat you if given half a chance.”

All eyes were on him. The shield had already been given two hurried briefings on mounting and dismounting rags without becoming something caught in their teeth, but Listowk suspected this was the first time most of them were paying attention. The sound of beating wings growing louder was clearly aiding their focus.

“Number one. You do not move until you're given the order to move. A rag's wing is big enough and heavy enough to break your spine if it hits you.

“Number two. Do not approach the head or the tail. One will eat you, the other will crush you.

“Number three. Take the bolt out of your crossbow now and secure it
in your quiver. And I don't mean flipping the bolt out of the notch. I want it right out.

“Number four. Make sure everything on you is tied, buckled, and otherwise secure. Once we get in the air, it gets windy.

“Number five. When, and only when, the order has been given to mount the rags will you get up from where you are now. You will fall in single file per demi-shield and approach the rag.

“Number six. The drivers will hold the rags' wings on an upstroke in what they call a double sail. This will give us easy access to the side of the rag. Should the wings come back down for any reason during boarding, do not stay against the side of the rag. The safest place to be is flat on the ground.

“Number seven. On boarding, you will find a chain running down each side of the rag's spine between the . . . damn, whatever they call those tall plate things that stick up.”

“Dorsal plates!” Carny shouted.

“Right, dorsal plates. There will be small leather saddles with straps attached to the chains. You will sit on the saddle and strap in your thighs and your waist. I repeat,
you will strap in your thighs and across your waist
. Keep your weapons slung at all times. Do not set anything down on the back of the rag.

“Number eight. When you are securely tied in, you will look behind and in front to ensure those men are tied in as well.

“Number nine. Leaving the ground can be rough, so hold on tight. You will remain strapped in for the duration of the flight. Do not adjust your straps for any reason. If you have to piss, piss where you are, but don't try to hang over the side.

“Lastly, when we land, you will stay strapped in until the order is given to release. The drivers will hold the rags' wings in a double sail again and you will get off the same way you got on. Once you hit the ground, do not stand around. Run, don't walk, away from the rag until you have cleared its wing. Then and only then will you reload your crossbow.”

“What if the slyts are shooting at us?”

Listowk had wondered the same thing. They could be cut down like wheat before they had a chance to load.

“The rags will no doubt scare them off, so we shouldn't have anything to worry about,” he said, repeating what he had been told and believing it as much as the troops did. “Look, you're smart lads. If it looks to be hairy when we land, I'm sure you'll figure it out. I know I won't be running around without a loaded bow.” There, that was as close to disobeying a direct order as he could go. “Wraith, launch the smoker!”

Wraith already had a smoke arrow notched. With its distinctive series of small holes running the length of the much heavier shaft, there was no way to mistake it for a regular arrow or a signal star. He aimed into the sky, drew, and released. The smoker wobbled airborne. At five feet, the force of acceleration drove a thin glass tube in the arrow into a metal pin, which broke the glass. By fifty feet in the air, the acid inside came in contact with the walls of the shaft and a thick purple smoke began pouring out of the arrow.

Something primal rose up in Listowk as the rags neared. It was the urge to run far, run fast, and keep going until his lungs gave out. Logic seemed pointless in the face of such terrible power. He suddenly found himself feeling sympathy for Sinte.

“They're going to eat us!” Knockers shouted.

Listowk spun around, forcing himself to have his back to the incoming rags.

“Hold your position! No one move!” Listowk shouted, taking a few steps toward the troops. Knockers stood up, his eyes wide. “Big Hog, grab Knockers and keep him down!”

Big Hog swept an arm and knocked Knockers to his ass. The young soldier tried to get back up, but Big Hog simply leaned on top of him, pinning him to the ground.

The steady
whup whup
sound of the rags' wings suddenly changed into a vicious, roaring gale kicking up dust and dirt. Listowk turned, immediately getting a face full of dirt.

The rags were at a hundred feet from the ground and falling fast. Listowk estimated they were coming in at an angle of thirty degrees, steeper than the mountain they'd climbed for weeks. Their huge wings suddenly tucked in partway toward their bodies and began beating faster in short, sharp strokes.

Listowk shook his head in amazement. He'd never seen anything so big and terrifying up close.

At ten feet above the ground, the rags' tails swung down until the bottom half of the vertical plate on the tail touched the earth. It immediately dug in, gouging a furrow into the dosha swamp a foot deep as the rag kept coming. As soon as the tails hit, their wings shot out straight and flared like two massive sails catching the wind. The rags' bodies tilted up like ducks landing in water before slamming down on the ground.

The lead rag opened its maw, a red-throated, black-toothed doorway into a fiery hell, and let out a high-pitched shriek mixed with a deep, rumbling roar.

“Fucking hell!” Listowk shouted, thanking the High Druid he hadn't eaten anything that morning or else he'd have shit his trousers. He slammed his hands to his ears, but it did little to deaden the sound, his rib cage vibrating with the noise.

A dust cloud rolled across the dosha swamp like smoke. Listowk choked and covered his mouth.

Soldiers shouted and swore, and at least two cried for their mothers. Not one, however, had broken ranks.
Good lads
.

Listowk smiled, showing them all it was no big deal. When he was satisfied the shield was in good shape, he turned to look at the rags now on the ground. They were still frightening but no longer instilled the bowel-churning fear they had while in the air. On the ground, they were enormous lizards. Sinte was right, they were monsters, but they were also under control. He was shocked to see women numbered among some of the crew on the rags.
When the hell did that happen?

“They don't look so bad,” a soldier said.

Listowk didn't bother to turn around. “That's the spirit! Keep telling yourself that.” That elicited a few more laughs.
Good, this is working.
The shield was full of nervous energy, but it was channeling it toward humor, not panic. Listowk knew it could easily go the other way in a heartbeat. It only took one fearful soldier to poison an entire shield.

“Hey, LC, there's something wrong with one of them.”

Listowk scanned the six rags now settled in the dosha swamp, their wings spread wide and slowly pulsing.
What's right about them?
Listowk wanted to say, but then saw that one of them had its wing flat out and its driver was walking along it looking down.

“Probably just a routine check,” Listowk said, aware that none of the other drivers were checking the wings of their rags. “They know they're carrying valuable cargo today.”

The shield laughed, but there was a subtle edge to it.
This is how the panic begins
.

“Right, while the sky jockeys get ready for us, I want a weapons, water, and food check. We could be out there for a few days.”

Groans filled the air, but the troops diligently began going over their kits one more time. It was busywork and wouldn't keep them occupied for long. Listowk hoped it would be enough.

“SKY HORSE FOUR
to Sky Horse Leader.”

“Go ahead, Red Hawk,” Vorly said, turning to look behind him. He couldn't see past the other dragons. He had to admit, there were some benefits to having the crystal sheets.

“Cytisus caught his left wing on landing. I walked it and he didn't break anything, but there's a tear in the membrane between the fourth and fifth bones. Two feet long and a bit ragged, but contained. Still a good three feet from the trailing edge.”

Vorly cursed under his breath. “Aye that, Red Hawk. Is he keening?”

“Negative, Falcon, but he is a bit owly. I really should burn the edges to stop the bleeding and stitch it before we take off again. The tear could rip right through and then we would have a problem.”

Vorly instinctively reached down and patted Carduus. For all their fangs and fire, rags were still fragile in a few areas, especially the wings. The husbandry of rags had come a long way since Vorly first joined the army, but there was still a ways to go.

“How bad's the bleeding?”

“Slow right now, but it'll pump pretty good once we get back in the air and he heats up.”

Vorly looked up at the sun. “We don't have the time for a full repair, Red Hawk. Throw some pitch on the bleeders and paste on a lead patch. We'll look at it after we drop off the ants.”

“Aye that,” Red Hawk said.

“Is it serious?” Breeze asked.

Vorly turned around in his saddle to look at her. It was no longer a shock to him every time he remembered she was there. “Normally, no. We'd start a fire and burn all the bleeders, then stitch up the wound with copper strips, put on the pitch, and anneal some copper sheeting over it. That would hold until we could get a dragonsmith to do a more extensive repair. Damn!”

Breeze sat back. “Gorlan's as competent as Hyaminth. He could do the harmony procedure, but in a situation like this, I think it would do more harm than good.”

Vorly realized he was staring over her head trying to see Cytisus and refocused on her. “No, I was just realizing how much of an ass I am.”

Breeze, to her credit, held her tongue.

“Modelar has the entire roost in an uproar with our impending move and couldn't spare any of the dragonsmiths for us on this mission. They know better than anyone how to keep a rag flying. I should have insisted.”

Breeze gave him a small smile. “The legion flock commander seems rather . . .
firm
in his convictions when he's set his mind to them.”

“Remind you of anyone?” Vorly asked, looking over her head again.

“Actually, Falcon, I've found you to be quite open to change, once you understand its benefits.”

Vorly tilted his head and squinted at her. “Why is it I have a hell of a time figuring out if you're complimenting me or insulting me?”

“In this case, it's neither,” Breeze said, neatly sidestepping the question. “I've come to realize that it's incumbent on me to present my ideas in a clear and practical way. That allows you to assess them for their tactical value and how best to implement them.”

Vorly shook his head. “Do they teach you to talk like that at the RAT, or do you go into it already sort of—”

“Weird?” Breeze said, finishing his thought.

“I was going to say
bloody odd
,” he said, “but
weird
covers it.”

“I don't think I need to ask if that was a compliment or an insult,” Breeze said. “As it happens, I've always been bloody odd. I learned to read when I was two and a half.”

Vorly looked closely at her. “Growing up, the druid in my village said
teaching girls to read makes 'em hard to control. Agitates their brains. Gives them funny ideas.”