Of Bone and Thunder (32 page)

He bent his head down toward his chest as the rag's wings went into the familiar rapid beating just before landing. Sunlight flashed off the surface of the river as they crossed the bend and then they were over the dosha swamp. When the wing stroke changed again to what looked like a wide embrace he closed his eyes. The rag tipped up into its flare. Listowk held his breath, ready for the dust storm. What he got was a muddy spray. Soldiers coughed and cursed, Listowk along with them. He opened his eyes. Unlike the abandoned fields they'd walked across that morning, these were clearly in use.

The rag shuddered as its tail dropped down with a massive splash and began to furrow the dirt. Listowk quickly flicked off the restraining straps of his saddle. It was against protocol, but too damn bad. He'd heard of a rag catching a wing and flipping over on landing, crushing every poor bastard strapped in. The horror of being trapped like that while pinned underwater was more than he could bear. They could bust him down to assistant fletcher, but he wasn't going to drown.

The rag tipped forward and jolted as its rear legs hit the ground and began running. Filthy water geysered twenty feet into the air. It smelled like shit. Listowk lifted his head and breathed through his teeth. He gripped the chain with one hand and slid a bolt out of his quiver with the other. He'd be ready to fight the moment his feet hit the earth.

“Remember the drill!” he shouted, getting the attention of the men while the rag was still moving. “First two men get off in front of the wing, last two men get off behind the wing! When you hit the ground, run twenty yards and kneel down. Do not stand under the wing!”

The rag shuddered and bumped like a wagon cart going over a rutted road and then slid a few feet before coming to a halt. Its shoulder joints creaked as it flexed its wings to their full span. Listowk found it unsettling, like he was looking at a great ship that had tipped over, its massive sail spread out on the waves. And then the wings folded upward until they stood almost vertical above the rag.

“Unstrap and get off!” Listowk shouted, already out of his saddle and sliding across the rag's back to the rear of the wing joint. He ignored the ladder, said a silent prayer to the High Druid, and pushed himself off. The six-foot fall sank him up to his knees in the swamp. The water smelled even worse this close to it. He struggled to get his boots out of the muck and then took off running for the twenty-yard mark.

Running in muddy, stinking water wasn't the easiest thing in the world, especially when you were keeping one eye on the distant tree line looking for slyt arrows arcing into the sky. It was when he'd run ten yards that he remembered that there were five other rags coming in to land behind this one. He turned his head, half-expecting to see the maw of a rag about to swallow him whole, but luckily, none of the massive creatures were bearing down. He cursed his own stupidity for not checking before he ran. All it took was one damn mistake to get yourself or your men killed.

At twenty yards Listowk kneeled down in the muck and turned to wave in the other three men from his side of the rag. He counted four running toward him.
Shit, what happened?

Wraith reached him first. “Big Hog was having trouble getting out of his saddle and no one could get by.”

Listowk looked past him toward the rag, but with the spray and the rag's huge wings still held high he couldn't make out if anyone was left on the rag or not. He hoped the driver wouldn't leave without kicking everyone off.

“Anyone seen the SL?”

Listowk looked up. “He isn't here?”

Wraith raised his eyebrows in response before smoothly notching an arrow in his bow.

Listowk looked around the dosha swamp. Five rags were down and soldiers were in the act of climbing and jumping off of them. It dawned on him then that a rag was missing. “Anyone see what happened to one of the rags? I only count five.” He looked up at the sky, but there was no sign of the missing beast with its load of eight troops.

The rags lifted their heads and roared as one. Listowk ducked. Men screamed. Someone shouted the Faery Crud were going to kill them all. A crossbow fired, the bolt sailing aimlessly into the sky. The roar lasted several moments. When it ended silence fell on the dosha swamp.

“What the fuck was that?” Carny asked.

“I think they're calling to the missing rag,” Listowk said.

Without warning, the wings of the rags collapsed downward and then began pumping as the rags lifted themselves out of the muck and began their takeoff run. Unlike earlier, the rags launched themselves skyward in just two bounds. The violence of the takeoff blew a shower of water and mud over the soldiers.

“They're in a hurry.”

Listowk wiped the filth from his face. “Everyone stay calm. Clean your string and all working parts.” He cursed under his breath. There was nothing more destructive to a crossbow than water and mud.

As the heavy clap of the rags' wings died away, the dosha swamp grew quiet again. Soldiers began to move toward Listowk's group. He saw what was happening and waved them away. They were nervous, and Sinte wasn't there yelling at them and telling them what to do.

Listowk stood up, making himself a target, but he had to get the shield under control. “Shield. Form a skirmish line and stay in your positions,” he said. He felt very vulnerable but willed himself to stay upright until he saw all the troops were following his order. When they had he crouched back down.

“We're exposed out here,” Wraith said. “No movement in the village so far.”

Listowk nodded. Sinte's rag was missing. They couldn't sit in this dosha swamp hoping he'd show up. If slyts were in the village the rags had probably scared the living shit out of them, but that wouldn't last. He had to move the shield now.

“Anyone see the LooTees?” Listowk asked. He had little faith in the Luitoxese soldiers, but all the same, he'd rather they were there than not. The silence and blank stares that greeted his question were exactly the answer he feared and expected. Red Shield was on its own.

“All right,” Listowk said, speaking slowly. They'd get through this. “Nothing's changed, my little rabbits. We move forward and secure the village. Keep an eye out for tunnel entrances. We don't want a surprise like last time.”

Soldiers nodded, staring at Listowk like frightened children, which truth be told was the case for most of them.

“I don't like the feel of this,” someone said, echoing the general mind-set of the shield.

“Don't let the Faery Crud get into your brain,” Listowk said, using the shouted phrase of a few flicks ago. He liked it. Made the Fuckin' C's sound less threatening.

A few soldiers grinned at the phrase.
Good.

Listowk whistled and caught the attention of the soldiers to the far left. “When we get to the berm at the far side of the dosha swamp, set up there and cover us.”

Listowk looked up in the sky toward the south, hoping Sinte's rag would appear. The sky remained empty. He allowed his head to turn slightly to scan the jungle off to the west, prepared to eat his words if the Orange Herons marched into the sunlight prepared to do battle. They did not. He turned, pushed the rim of his helm higher on his forehead, and started walking. His boots squelched in the muck with each step. He didn't bother giving the order to move out. He knew the boys would follow.

Sweat trickled down his back, but it wasn't from the heat. Water, even in a dosha swamp, could be lethal. A man could drown in a puddle
. I'm not going to drown, I'm not going to drown.
He took a quick glance to either flank. The tree lines to either side of them were well out of bowshot. As long as the slyts didn't have anything bigger than a longbow in there they'd
have time enough to react. No, the real danger, if there was any, lay dead ahead.

Four bamboo-walled huts with palm-frond roofs clustered around a fifth, larger hut that Listowk took for either the village chieftain's or perhaps a communal meeting hall. It was easily big enough to hold fifty slyts in it, although no commander would cram that many troops into one structure.

Listowk scanned the village, noting the position of the corral to the left and the well over on the right. No animals. No smoke curling up from cooking fires. It appeared vacant, but the fields had been recently worked and the village wasn't in disrepair. The villagers had been here until very recently.

He reached the berm that marked the edge of the dosha swamp. The village was now only twenty-five yards away. Well within bowshot.

“Wraith.” He kept his voice low. There was no need to shout. Every soldier was straining to hear a bowstring being drawn.

Wraith eased himself over the berm and moved onto the hard-packed dirt of the village area. He no longer carried his longbow and had his short bow in his hands. Wraith moved slowly but deliberately, crouched over to about two-thirds his full height. His footsteps were smooth and soft, his body seemingly floating across the dirt as if it weighed nothing at all.

“I see something,” Knockers whispered, although he might as well have shouted he was so loud.

Listowk tensed and pulled the stock of his crossbow hard against his shoulder, ready to fire. He looked over at Knockers and placed a finger to his lips with his other hand. Wraith sank down to one knee.

Knockers pointed to the far edge of the water well. Something moved behind the small wooden box over the well hole. It reappeared a moment later on the other side.

“It's a chicken.”

Listowk eased his crossbow down and worked a kink out of his neck.

Wraith got back up into his crouch and moved toward the closest hut. He approached it slowly, his bow held in tight to his chest. He was vulnerable out in the open, but Listowk knew Wraith was a quick draw with keen eyes. Another LC might have sent a fawn like Knockers, figuring that if he
caught an arrow it wouldn't be that great of a loss. There was a cold logic to that, but Listowk refused to consider it.

Wraith peered between the bamboo rods and into the hut. He raised an arm and gave a quick thumbs-up. Staying close to the wall, he moved along it until he came to the western edge. He paused, then crouched down until he was squatting and looked around the corner. When he ducked back he turned and faced Listowk and gave the clear signal again.

Listowk vaulted up and over the berm. He was relieved to be out of the damn water. He covered the ground to Wraith in a few bounds, then crouched down beside him at the edge of the hut. He put his back to the bamboo wall and watched the rest of the shield minus the team left at the berm to cover them move across the open space until they reached the hut. Their equipment clattered and a few of them were huffing hard as they scurried across the open ground.

“Villagers were here this morning. Left in a hurry,” Wraith said.

Listowk stood up and turned around. He pulled his hewer from its scabbard on his hip and used it to pry apart the bamboo stalks. Peering into the hut, he saw overturned bowls with fruit spilled on the grass-matted floor. Flies buzzed on the food. He stuck his nose into the gap and sniffed. Nothing had spoiled yet. He crouched back down and ran through his options. Their orders were to take the village and link up with the Orange Herons. As the village appeared to be abandoned their first task was essentially accomplished. The only thing left for them to do was sit tight and wait. Someone, friend or foe, would eventually find them.

“Where are the slyts?” Carny asked, peeking around the hut. “The rags scare them off?”

Listowk motioned for him to keep his voice low. “The villagers were gone before we got here. No sign of any FnCs either.” He looked over at Wraith, who gave him a small shrug.

“So what do we do?” Big Hog asked. Puke covered the front of his aketon, but he appeared to be steady enough.

“We hold this village until someone comes along and tells us to do different,” Listowk said.

“We're down eight men, including the SL,” Carny said. “And our LooTee support seems to have vanished like the rest of the slyts around here.”

“Doesn't change anything,” Listowk said, looking around at the troops clustered by the hut. “For all we know, the LooTees are just a few hundred yards away. Same goes for the SL. I don't want him to find us sitting around with our thumbs up our asses. We're going to clear this village, set up a perimeter, and then sit tight.”

Listowk turned and pointed at Wraith. “Take half of the men and work your way around the west side of the village. I'll take the east, and we'll meet on the other side.”

Wraith nodded, pointed at his men, and set off, working his way toward the next hut. Listowk pointed at Carny to take spear tip and then let the rest of the soldiers follow behind him. It wasn't cowardice that held Listowk back; it was intelligence. With the SL out of the picture, he was the one in charge.

Listowk kept his eyes moving, checking the tree line, then coming back to study the huts. Everything looked peaceful and normal except for the fact that the village was deserted. Carny darted into a hut through the doorway and emerged a few moments later shaking his head. They approached the large communal hut last, but Wraith stepped out of it giving the all-clear sign.

Listowk clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. The village was empty. Something had obviously gotten the villagers out of there in a hurry. Maybe they'd been tipped off they were coming. He cast his eyes on the jungle again.

“LC?” Carny was looking at him under the brim of his helm.

“Carny, get the cover team in here and start setting up a perimeter. I don't want to be too obvious so set two-man teams on the four corners of the village. The rest we'll split up into the five huts. If we're still here after dark we'll reset.”

“What about the Orange Herons? They're supposed to be around here somewhere, maybe just the other side of the river,” Carny said, moving a wad of chew from one side of his mouth to the other as he talked. His eyes were clear so Listowk let it slide.