The Bones of the Past (Books of Dust and Bone)

by Craig A. Munro

  “I’ll come join you and bring what I have. Thanks, Karim. That’s a great idea.”

  Karim just nodded and moved on to the next house on the street.

  Beren shook his head. “I don’t think I can go. I’ll be able to do more good at the shop. Besides, Gerald and Jerik are still there.”

  Maura’s head snapped up. “Don’t you dare go anywhere near the fighting, Beren!”

  Well used to his wife’s protective nature, Beren just continued. “I’m not going anywhere near any fighting; the inner wall is a long walk from my shop, and if I hear things are going bad, I’ll come straight home. I promise. They’d have to make it clear through the city to get to my shop from where they are. Besides, I know as well as anyone I’m not going to do anyone any good trying to fight soldiers with a carving tool.” He looked at her for a few minutes and watched as the stubborn look left her eyes.

  “I’m just so scared.”

  “I know, love. So am I. But I can’t just sit here and do nothing any more than you can.” They hugged each other tightly for a time, then reluctantly parted.

  The moment she arrived at Karim’s house, Maura felt better. Here was a chance to be productive. At first she helped a group of people at the back of the house to organize food stores. Older children were tasked with collecting everything edible from their homes. A few mothers organized simple games to keep the younger children distracted. Everyone else tried as best they could to arm themselves. Maura handed out a number of knives and even a couple of swords her husband had brought home over the years, as well as all the healing runes she had in the house. Well, Beren, my love, your obsession with rune carving is finally turning out to be useful, she thought as she went about her work. Most of the others huddled together and did nothing. They were afraid, Maura knew, but she couldn’t understand why all they wanted to do was hide. Even some of the larger, stronger men only wanted to sit inside while Karim and others like him took action.

  Without quite realizing when she started, Maura started to give the less proactive people work to keep them occupied. Most of them scurried about after that as if completing their assigned task would ensure their survival. She then convinced more of the locals to join Karim’s patrols of their neighborhood. They even split the group and organized a second patrol, each team composed of twenty determined men and women armed with whatever weapons they could find. Each time the patrols went out they came back with more people. As they became more numerous and better organized, even the most reluctant started to see the militia as a way to improve their chances of surviving.

  Karim’s house became too small to accommodate everyone. It became the most central of nine houses the militia organized themselves around. There were still arguments and complaints from some of the new arrivals, many of them wondering why their homes were not being protected as well as some others. But Maura ignored them and gave them tasks to keep their minds and hands busy, leaving the more martial aspects of the patrols and weapons to Karim. It wasn’t until three hours past noon that the first news of the war reached them. The Abolians had attacked the outer wall, but the soldiers of Sacral, supported by the magic of their king, had so far held them off despite the enemy’s numerical advantage.

  The next patrol to return to the militia after that arrived with wounded. The shock of seeing men and women clutching bleeding wounds and crying set off a wave of panic.

  “But we only just heard the Abolians were still being held off at the wall!” someone shouted.

  Karim sighed. “Well, the bastards who attacked us came from the east, not the west. Looks to me like our whole army is busy on the one side of the city, so the Abolians just sent some men around to cross the wall somewhere else.” He sunk down to the floor, clearly exhausted after carrying back one of the wounded men. “We’re lucky we didn’t lose anyone in that fight. There were only five of them. We hurt a couple, and the rest seemed as eager to get away as we did. They looked lost. They probably got separated from a larger group. There must be more of them around the city. It’s a long way to the east wall from here.”

  “We need to send out more people,” Maura said.

  Many of the others looked at her as if she were mad. “And have more of our people get hurt for nothing?” someone said.

  Maura looked at them all calmly. “I’m not suggesting we go out and hunt them. I’m suggesting we send out small groups, quietly. So we can know if any of them are coming this way; if we have to fight to defend ourselves, then maybe we can be prepared and make sure the Abolians are the only ones who are surprised next time.” She looked around the room at all the scared faces that were crowded around the wounded men and women. “We know the city far better than they ever will. I’m sure we can manage to keep an eye on them without them catching us.”

  Karim grunted his agreement. “Maura’s got a good head on her shoulders, people. If we’d been better prepared for that lot we fought with, we may well have been able to take them out and without four of us getting cut up.”

  “What makes you so sure?” a sour-faced woman Maura didn’t know by name demanded.

  “Fifteen years in the army makes me sure,” Karim said. “That and the fact that we had them outnumbered four to one.”

  “Thank you, Karim,” Maura answered. “I think we should send out people in pairs. I’d be too scared to go out alone, but I want to do my part too.”

  “Pairs is a great idea,” Karim said. “I’ll sort out teams of any volunteers. Every team will go out for no more than half an hour at a time so we’ll only cover this immediate area. We don’t want anyone to get overconfident and move off too far where the rest of us can’t help. Just come see me if you want to join in, and we’ll work out which area you should cover.” Then he turned back to Maura. “But I don’t think you should go, Maura. You’re keeping the whole lot of us organized and productive. You’re doing too much good here for us to send you off.”

  Caught between feeling flattered and annoyed, Maura didn’t manage to voice an appropriate argument before Karim moved away with the group of would-be scouts.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Abolian formations were advancing toward the wall. Captain Harrow could see the futility of trying to hold. The enemy had no cavalry. They had obviously come prepared to take a city. Large units of infantry in boiled leather armor, flanking units of skirmishers, and rank upon rank of crossbowmen. This would not be a siege. The enemy would throw themselves at the wall in a flood and pour over the wall to drown the city within. Harrow shook his head. King Ansyl had ordered them to hold the outer wall for as long as possible. But how were they meant to do that? Already the ranks were forming up, preparing to rain death on his men. And they had no way to answer. Never had he expected to face an enemy so cowardly that they would rely on missile weapons. His men would crouch under shields until a lucky bolt found them. They had practiced holding walls, of course, but the sheer length of the outer wall made the task impossible. Harrow set up his men in squads of eight, with a few dozen meters separating each squad from the next. They wouldn’t be able to hold the whole wall, but they could make taking it cost the Abolians dearly. The only thing keeping us in this fight is that they’re only attacking in this one spot. If we had to split our forces . . .

  The king’s voice sounded in his mind. “Harrow, assemble the Warchosen. Your men will hold the wall as best they can. I will assist you in taking the fight to the enemy.”

  Harrow turned to his troops and called out to those who were within earshot. “Stay mobile, and don’t let them pin you down. Remember the most important thing is not to let them get a foothold on the wall. Now let’s show them what the men and women of Sacral can do!”

  “Chosen! To me!” he called. And the city’s remaining Warchosen moved to join him at his observation point. As soon as they were assembled, the king spoke in his mind again. By the looks on the faces of the others, they could hear him as well.

  “Now, you will need to tell me precisely where you
want to be at any given time. I am distracted preparing other defensive measures and won’t be making any strategic choices for you. Try to stay reasonably close to one another; I will move your group around as required.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty. The first target should be the largest unit of crossbows. After that, we’ll need to come back and reassess before going out again.”

  “Understood, Captain. Tell me when you need to get out.”

  “Get ready, Chosen. We’re hitting the crossbows hard and fast. I want a maximum of damage done to that block.”

  The five Warchosen saluted him and drew their weapons. Six Warchosen against at least twenty thousand soldiers . . . I can’t say I like these odds.

  “Ready, Your Majesty.”

  There was no transition, no blackness. One instant the six Warchosen were standing atop the parapets, the next they were standing behind their enemy. A lifetime of training took over, and Harrow had buried his sword in the back of the first man before he had fully realized what he was doing. The other Warchosen were half a step behind him, laying in to the Abolians as hard and fast as they could. They tore into the lightly armored men and women like tigers in a henhouse. The crossbowmen were utterly defenseless against the Warchosen. A few tried to defend themselves using their crossbows like awkward clubs, and the smarter ones dropped the cumbersome weapons and drew their shortswords. Neither was very effective. The Sacral soldiers cut clear through the formation.

  As they came to the other side, Harrow whispered, “Now, Your Majesty.” They stumbled as the world changed around them, and they were once again on the wall. Up and down the line the Sacral troops cheered. Harrow could see the block of crossbowmen falling apart in confusion and fear. Many of the soldiers were fumbling with their weapons, torn between wanting to reload them and pull out their swords to defend themselves. Several had even discharged their quarrels into their companions.

  “We will need to hit some of the other ranged units. But I’d like to time it for after they release, just in case.”

  As he observed the enemy formations, Harrow heard his Warchosen talking behind him. “How many you get, Brek?”

  “Twenty-three I’m sure of. You?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “So who’s on top?”

  “Harrow, of course. I was next to him the whole time. Pretty sure I counted thirty-five.”

  “I don’t doubt it looking at him.”

  “Bet you fifty I can catch up on the next round. . . .”

  Harrow stopped for a second and looked around. The Warchosen were all liberally spattered with blood and worse. When he looked down at himself, he saw scarcely any white at all showing on his tabard or a single patch of metal that wasn’t caked in red gore. He shook his head; the games and bets would help keep the troops’ minds off how impossible the task was.

  “Look sharp, Chosen! We’re going for round two. Another bunch of crossbowmen. After that, we’re hitting their command. No break this time, and be ready for enemy champions. That bitch Zorat is probably around here somewhere.”

  “Third crossbow unit on the right, Your Majesty, then ten paces behind their command group on that small rise.”

  The next wave of bolts crashed into the defenders. Most hit stone or shields, but a few found flesh. Here and there men and women fell out of their defensive lines. Then at some unheard signal, the Abolian infantry surged forward. Each unit carried several tall ladders.

  “Change of plans, Your Majesty. Brek, Slogen, and Rikka should stay here and help push back the attackers.”

  The Warchosen teleported again. Harrow and his three bit deeply into another unit. The other three found themselves jumping between sections of wall as ladders were set in place and Abolians were beginning to pour over onto the ramparts.

  Now, Your Majesty, Harrow thought after they had fought their way almost through the unit.

  The world changed in a blink. Four men and a woman stood in front of him. All of them wore elaborate armor and were heavily armed. He recognized Zorat immediately. The nerve of the bitch. Then he hesitated for a second. The four men snapped out weapons so fast there was no doubt they were all Warchosen as well. Harrow noticed Kabol standing on top of the rise, calmly watching as if he’d expected them to come.

  Zorat moved forward, not even bothering to draw her weapons. I’ve seen your pride bring you low before. Harrow and his three charged. Harrow swung his sword at the unarmed woman, but she flowed around his attack and smashed her fist into his face with the force of a battering ram.

  Harrow felt the earth jump up to hit him in the back. Then he was lying in the shadow of the wall, a group of healers clustered around him. A worried-looking face moved around above him. Words slowly sunk into his mind. Broken jaw. Teeth gone. Nose smashed. Skull fractured. Then with a sigh he fell asleep, the healer’s power dragging him down into a soothing darkness.

  It felt like only seconds had passed before a hand was gently shaking him awake. “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. The priest said not to wake you for at least another hour, but the king is asking for you, sir.”

  With a guilty pang, Harrow’s mind snapped to clarity. He grabbed the soldier’s arm. “How are my men?”

  The man’s eyes widened in surprise. “Fine, all fine. Rikka, Gorsek, and Brek are leading the men atop the wall; I heard Sien boasting she had killed one of the Abolian Chosen. . . .” The man hesitated. “I’m sorry, my lord. Your healing isn’t finished. The priests, sir, they are all gone.”

  Harrow pulled himself to his feet, gingerly testing his body for damage. The splitting headache and a slight fuzziness on the edges of his vision seemed to be his only problems. He climbed the steps back to the top of the wall to assess the situation. The soldiers had done remarkably well in his absence. They had held the entire section, but there were gaps in the line where too many brave men and women had been wounded and killed.

  Harrow! came the voice of the king. Our situation grows desperate. Another army approaches from the east. I have assembled my mages. We will assist each Chosen directly. We need to turn the tide on this front and quickly.

  This time, they hit the enemy lines in a blur of steel. Each of them had only to think of a new place and the king moved them with his power. Brek or Sien moved only when opposition started to build around them, while Rikka and Gorsek seemed to flicker in and out of existence with every other swing of their swords, sowing confusion and death wherever they passed.

  The Abolian counterattack was brutally simple. A huge fireball appeared in the sky and swept down toward the wall. But they had once again underestimated King Ansyl. The fireball vanished just before it struck the wall and reappeared over a large unit of Abolians. The soldiers vanished into a swirling mass of ash and charred mud so fast that not one of them had a chance to scream. A flurry of sorcerous attacks flashed down toward the Sacral Chosen, only for each of them to be redirected by the king’s power to strike at the Abolians’ own forces. None of these attacks had the effect of the fireball. The enemy mages had learned from their mistake, and the spells struck glowing wards or simply winked out of existence before landing. Still, the effect this had on the morale of the Sacral troops was electrifying. Though the Abolians outnumbered them more than four to one, their army was being seriously mauled. The base of the wall looked like a slaughterhouse floor. Blood and fluids painted the stone wet in trails down the basalt where attackers had successfully reached the top before being repelled.

  Flights of quarrels started flying toward the tops of the walls again. The Abolians didn’t seem to care whether they killed any of their own men so long as they broke in. Harrow shook his head. He couldn’t understand how a leader could be so careless with the lives of his followers. And yet, they had the numbers, and the crossbows were slowly whittling down the defenders. The Abolians didn’t hesitate. Even as they died, not one soldier shied from attacking.

  “Captain Harrow,” came the king’s voice. “I fear something terrible has happened. Th
e priests do not answer my call. They have all disappeared from my senses, nor can I reach into the temple to speak with Yeltos. We need their healing arts, and, more, we need the power of the Mother herself. I will set you down near the temple. You must find them. I have drawn on my powers too deeply and my strength is failing. Without healing I will soon die. I will hold out here as best I can with your fellow Warchosen. Bring us aid, Captain! Without the goddess we will surely fall.”

  The now familiar feeling of teleportation followed. Harrow was standing in the middle of a wide avenue that led to the Great Temple. Smoke rose from where looted houses had caught fire. Debris and bodies were scattered around the streets, with the worst of the fighting seeming to have been in the direction of the temple itself. More disturbed by the desperate and confused sound of the king’s thoughts, Harrow set off toward the temple at a jog.

  The following months saw an increase in activity in the Darien slums after nightfall. The city watch patrolled the streets a little more often than usual, the Night Guard stepped up their presence as well, and demons patrolling for their masters in the Arcanum flew overhead at odd intervals. Most of those who disappeared into the slums vanished without leaving a ripple. But now several important, well-connected people had reportedly come to this part of the city for unknown reasons and had never been seen again.

  And now this, thought Skeg, reading the message watchman Penn had sent him.

  “Hi, Mister Skeg!” Nial called as she and Zuly walked into his shop.

  “Hello, girls,” he answered, looking up from the note he’d been reading for the fifth time. “Take a seat. I have some bad news.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Skeg hesitated for a moment before telling them. “One of your little burial sites has been found. The Night Guard are out looking for whoever flayed those people and buried them under a hut.”