Of Bone and Thunder (62 page)

Carny looked at the string again. “So this is . . .”

“Sinew,” Tryser said. “Left foreleg. Hind leg or butt is stronger, and wing shoulder is best, but this is still damn good.”

Carny was sold, which brought up a question. He'd promised to pay Tryser, but after putting his foot in his mouth he wasn't sure how to proceed. “I'm a man of my word,” he said, not sure what to say next.

“Never doubted it,” Tryser said. He motioned for Carny to lean in, which he did.

“Here's the thing: me and the lads have been talking and we think there might be some real opportunity here, so we decided on one percent.”

Carny stood up. “I don't understand.”

“You had the need, we came up with the solution. Like I said, we wouldn't charge you lads. But, when this battle's over, we're going to put together a proposal for the army to reequip with this,” he said, pointing to the crossbow. “We're cutting you in for one percent of the profits.”

“I don't know what to say,” Carny said. He'd never been in business in his life.

“All you have to do is sign,” Tryser said, handing Carny three sheets of paper with dwarven runes on them. Carny looked at them but couldn't read what they said. He could see, however, that all three looked the same.

“All very standard,” Tryser said, handing Carny a quill that had already been dipped in ink. “Just sign your name on each page at the bottom, or an X if you prefer,” he added quickly, “and then a drop of your blood in each circle by your name.”

“Drop of my—ow!”

Sowk had leaned forward and jabbed Carny's thumb with a needle.

“All very standard,” Tryser said again. He showed Carny where to sign, and then took his thumb in his hand and pressed it on the circle, leaving behind a small drop of smeared blood. Tryser then signed each piece of paper, pricked his own thumb, and deposited his blood by his name. After blowing on the ink and blood he folded up one sheet and handed it to Carny.

“Don't lose this. When we get out of here that's your ticket to the good life.”

Carny held the crossbow in one hand and the sheet in the other and wondered which was more dangerous.

“One question,” Carny said, realizing he had hundreds. “This whole business thing only works if we win, right?”

Tryser patted him on the arm. “Unless Black Pine is right and the Forest Collective welcomes us with open arms. But not to worry, our money's on the Kingdom.”

Carny felt reassured, mostly. As he left the armory and tucked the sheet into his tunic he did his best to banish the thought that Tryser and the MON crew had more contracts ready to be signed, only written out in slyt.

PARMIK SUCKED AT THE
splinter in the heel of his right hand as he walked away from cat 3. The crew had been lax in keeping the torsion ropes free of anything that might cause fraying, and so a quarter candle had just been lost replacing seven lengths of rope.

Truthfully, ropes frayed, and it was bound to happen with the number of shots they'd been throwing. Parmik's real annoyance was that Weel would be calling him to his damn keep to explain why cat 3 had been out of service.

“He can kiss my ass,” he said out loud. It felt good to say it.

The distinctive heavy beat of a rag drew Parmik's gaze up. A single sparker was climbing, no doubt going to fly the valley to look for slyt targets.
Better you than me
, Parmik thought, watching as the rag flew north. That infernal mist was back and thicker than ever. He knew now it wasn't fog, but something the slyts were concocting. It remained high enough that it didn't really affect their ability to sight the cats, but he'd heard rumblings from the roost that it was playing havoc with the rags and their use of thaumics.

The sky grew darker as he walked. A storm was brewing. Now that would affect the cats. He stopped and turned.
Better tell cat 3 to oil their ropes
.

A lightning bolt darted across the sky and hit cat 3. Everything in front of Parmik froze in stark relief as if painted on a canvas using only black and white. A flick later, the world around Parmik exploded in a burst of red and orange. Something unseen picked him up and tossed him ten yards in the air. Wood and metal shrieked as they tore apart. The twelve crew members on cat 3, still getting the first shot ready since the repair, made no noise at all, their bodies vanishing in a blinding flash of light.

Bleeding from his nose and ears, Parmik rolled over and looked at where cat 3 had stood. Only a towering column of fire and smoke remained. Thunder boomed and the ground shook. Another lightning bolt lashed down and delivered the same fate to cat 4.

His head buzzed as if filled with bees. Every part of him grew heavy. Parmik didn't understand. He struggled to push himself up higher. Propped on his elbows, he looked down the length of his body. He was completely naked, his body peppered by splinters of wood. It took him several flicks to understand something else was different.

Everything below his knees was gone. Tendrils of greasy black smoke rose from the stumps of his legs. The rest of his legs were several yards away. Improbably, his right leg and boot stood upright. The smell of roasted meat hung in the air.

Pain, like a roaring, tumbling avalanche of razor-edged rock, raced up his body and buried him in agony. He screamed. His back arched until he thought it would snap. He writhed and shook. His vision blurred and then began to darken, but even as he slipped into unconsciousness the agony of his body was supplanted by something more horrifying; if he lived, he would be shorter than a dwarf.

“CALL HIM BACK
now!” Vorly shouted, running through the closed flaps of the crystal tent the thaums had named the Black Palace. The first thing that struck him was how cold it was inside despite the heat of midday.

Hyaminth and Breeze sat at a simple wooden table, each with a crystal sheet in front of her. Copper braids snaked from each sheet, some to the floor and others up through the roof of the tent. The sound of the shattering of cat 3 still echoed in the roost.

“We're masking him, but we're having a hard time staying in touch with Growler,” Breeze said, referring to Minter's RAT. She didn't turn around, but kept her head bent over her sheet.

More thunder and lightning boomed in the valley. “I don't care what you have to do, call him back!” Vorly shouted, turning and running back out of the tent. He sprinted to the east wall of the roost and scrambled up it, joining dozens of flockmen and rag crews already there.

“Sir, did you see that cat go up?” Rimsma said as Vorly stopped and caught his breath. “Just shredded it.”

Vorly knew men and dwarves had just been killed on that cat, but his concern right now was with Minter. He looked north and quickly spotted the lone rag flying along the jungle edge. Lightning bolts slashed down all around it.

“What the fuck is he doing out there?” Vorly asked. Minter hadn't said anything about flying to him that morning. They'd been very careful with their flights of late as the mist and lightning had become increasingly dangerous.

“I was there when he launched,” Rimsma said. “Faery Crud were spotted all over the northern end of the valley, in broad daylight no less! He said there was no way he was going to pass up a chance like that.”

Vorly understood, but it didn't make him feel any better.

“It's not worth risking—” was as far as Vorly got when three lightning bolts converged on Minter's rag. White shimmering light radiated out in waves followed by roiling clouds of red and orange flame. The sound of the explosion reached them on the wall a few flicks later.

The remains of Minter, Growler, and his rag scattered over the valley floor sending up geysers of dirt, smoke, and flame. No one on the wall said a word.

VORLY SAT WITH
his back resting against a pile of saddles in the dark. The slyts were now all over the north and eastern slopes of the mountains facing the valley floor and the fucking lightning had all but pinned Vorly's rags to the ground.

A lightning bolt crashed into one of the hastily erected stone pillars constructed around the roost. He barely flinched. Each pillar was topped with an iron rod as thick as his arm and six feet long. Between the efforts of the flock thaums and the rods, the roost remained protected from the increasingly frequent lightning strikes the slyt thaums kept conjuring. Vorly snorted and waved at the air in front of him.

“Pardon me, not conjuring, directing via a complex thaumic process
involving a whole lot of bullshit I could give two fucks about,” he muttered, and lifted the wineskin to his lips and had another drink.

He was grateful for the thaums' efforts. His animosity—and it had grown to massive proportions—was directed at the slyt thaums. They were trying to destroy his rags with lightning! They had them penned in, unable to fly because of their damn, fucking lightning! It wasn't just unfair, it was downright contemptible. The whole notion of fighting from somewhere hidden rubbed him as cowardly.

“Come out and fight like a man . . . or a slyt, or somebody,” he said, talking to no one. He was alone in a shed for harnesses and other tack. It was dark, it was raining, and he was, he'd admit to himself if no one else, thinking about Walf and Jate and poor damn Minter.

“Fool,” Vorly said, saying it to himself and to Minter.

There was no chance of going out to recover what parts they might find of his body, which only made it worse. The slyts were everywhere.

Vorly put the wineskin to his lips and emptied it. He was drunk, and it didn't help one bit. The pain remained. Death after death, and for what? A fucking valley in the middle of beyond nowhere?

Another lightning bolt crashed into a pillar, turning the night white. Vorly raised his arm to cover his eyes. When he lowered it again a figure stood in the opening of the shed.

“I thought I'd find you here,” Breeze said, walking toward him and sitting down opposite him.

“You're a bright one,” Vorly said, bringing the wineskin up to his lips, then remembering it was empty. “You wouldn't have anything to drink on you, would you?”

“You've had enough,” Breeze said.

“You know . . . ,” Vorly said, struggling to sit up, then giving up and slumping back against the saddles. “You know, you might be right.”

“Jawn was able to open a plane through the interference. A rescue column is headed for the valley. The Forest Collective invasion of Luitox is driving deeper and all forces are needed to defend our positions along the coast. We have to hold out until they get here and we are pulled out. That could be as early as the day after tomorrow.”

“Day after tomorrow,” Vorly said, mulling it over. “Help will arrive . . . day after tomorrow.”

“I know it's too late for Minter, and all the others, but it's not too late for those of us left,” she said.

“You're right,” Vorly said, knowing he should feel buoyed by the knowledge but unable to. “Reinforcements arrive, the slyts melt back into their jungle, and the Kingdom rejoices.” More lightning crashed outside. Vorly counted five strikes in succession. “I think those thaums have other ideas,” he said. A new anger blossomed in his breast. “What the fuck good are you anyway? Their thaums keep us trapped like rats while all our RATs can do is send messages? Where's our fucking lightning? Wait, don't tell me,” Vorly said, his voice dripping with contempt. “It's complicated.”

“I know you're upset,” Breeze said, her voice tight. “I know this hasn't been easy—”

“Easy? That's all it's been. Just sitting here with nothing to do while all around me burns. Couldn't be easier.”

“We're all doing our best, you know,” Breeze said, anger giving volume to her voice. “Everyone is trying. Half the thaums are blooded and two nearly blinded themselves like Jawn trying to find the slyt thaums.”

“But they haven't, have they?” Vorly said, unable to contain his own anger. He sat up, his head a vortex of rage and sorrow. He pointed to the sky. “You know how I know? Because I'm not up there flying!”

“Jawn's found the thaums,” Breeze said.

Vorly blinked. His stomach churned and he felt like he was going to be sick. He closed his eyes, counted to five, and the feeling passed. “What?” he asked, opening his eyes and breathing.

“He knows how to locate them. They're constantly on the move. It's one of the reasons it's been so difficult to find them. But he found a sign, a way to track them.”

Every hateful thing Vorly had just said to Breeze filled him with bile. He turned his head, then vomited. When he was finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned back to her.

“Breeze . . . there are times when I'm . . . a fucking ass. I know you're doing your best, you all are.”

“I never wanted to let you down, not ever,” Breeze said. “From the first
time we flew together my only goal was to prove to you that I . . . that what I do has value.”

Vorly doubted he'd ever felt hollower and more pathetic in his entire life. “Breeze, I've never said this, but I am proud of you. Before you showed up and became the biggest fucking thorn in my side I couldn't imagine flying with anyone. Just me and Carduus. That's all I wanted. That's all I needed. And now . . . now I don't mind so much that you're back there.”

Vorly peered into the darkness and took a good look at her. He realized she was crying.

“Bloody High Druid. Don't do that.”

“You can be the biggest ass, Vorly Astol,” she said, wiping away the tears. “And then you go and prove yourself to be the sweetest.”

“Well, you're still the biggest thorn in my ass.”

Breeze shook her head and blew out a breath. “Men. The only thing worse is your absence.”

“Right . . . I guess,” he said, not really following her train of thought. “Let me get my feet under me and we'll go get these thaums.”