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

by Craig A. Munro

  “Perhaps I misjudged you,” he said, turning back to Maura. He looked pensive for a moment, then said, “I estimate you have about two hundred with you. That should be enough to help. I want you to march along this avenue. Don’t bother trying to be quiet. It’s pointless with this many people. My men and I will keep pace one street over in the backstreet. The Abolians will see you coming and my men can flank them when they attack you.”

  Maura stiffened. “So you misjudged us, but now you think us worthy to throw at the enemy as fodder to save your own skin? Any one of my two thousand fighters is worth ten of you.” Her pain was turning to anger. It felt good to be angry.

  “You’ll do as you’re told, woman.”

  “I think not. You can’t even be trusted to keep your voice down. How do you expect me to trust you with the lives of these good people?” The man’s eyes were pure murder as he reached for his sword. Maura ignored the gesture and continued, “Not one of these people has taken an oath to join the Sacral army. But they have one and all joined with my friends and me—to try and save our homes.” The soldier moved to draw his blade but stopped when Jerik lifted his hammer and glared down at him.

  “No one is going to draw a weapon on the lady. She saved us, one and all, and we can all see she’s our best chance of saving our homes and families.”

  The officer looked close to bursting with rage. Several of his men reached for their own swords but stopped as dozens of weapons, real and improvised, were leveled at them.

  Maura continued, “You and your men are welcome to join us, or you can go back to hiding in your alley. If you come, you could save lives. We don’t have many trained fighters.”

  “My men and I were doing just fine without you. We intend to live through this. Go ahead and get yourselves killed.” He stomped away. A few of his men followed, but most just looked at one another and stayed. The officer looked back at them, incredulous. “You’re disobeying orders to stay with them?”

  A tall soldier of about forty shrugged. “Figure we weren’t really doing our duty hiding with you.”

  The officer’s face was beet red. “I’ll see the lot of you executed for treason if you survive!”

  Maura looked at Jerik and the soldiers who had decided to stay. “We’ve wasted enough time with that idiot. Let’s get back to cleaning up our city. I think you men should be split up. One of you with each of our main fighting groups. You can give tips and guidance as you go that way. Jerik, please make sure they get to where they are needed. Send them with the scouts that are heading back out. We’re changing our plan—I want a path cleared to the Great Temple as quickly as possible. The priests might need our help, and we could sure use theirs.”

  The People’s Army next ran into a flood of refugees from the western side of the city. The people had left their homes as quickly as they could. Others seeing the desperate masses pass by their homes had hurried to join them, sure that whatever was chasing them must be close behind. They looked at Maura and her armed mob with a mix of shock and hope.

  “People of Sacral!” Maura called as loudly as she could. “We have set up a place of refuge for all who would join us. Come to the arena! Those who would like to join us in taking the fight back to the invaders stay here with us.” Slowly the great mass of people started to shift into motion again. A fair number split off from the main group and came to stand with the People’s Army with eager looks on their faces. How fierce we must look to them.

  Maura called out to each group as they passed. “Food, water, and weapons are all you need worry about. Leave everything else.”

  One of her citizen-soldiers moved toward a heavyset middle-aged man and gestured to an ornate wooden case he held awkwardly in his hands. “Didn’t you hear the commander?” he shouted at the man. “No useless junk!”

  “But . . . ,” the man began to protest, flustered.

  The soldier raised his hand to strike him. Jerik, never far from Maura’s side, grabbed the soldier’s arm before the blow landed. The man grimaced in obvious pain.

  “Telling them is enough, soldier. If their things grow too heavy, you can be sure they’ll drop whatever they can live without.” Turning to look at the man with the case, he continued. “Make sure you keep your pace up. We’re not leaving anyone behind, but we can only move as fast as the slowest of us.”

  “Thank you, good sir,” the man stammered. “I understand the need, but this box contains the tools of my art. I thought I might be of some assistance, if I could be allowed to speak with the lady?” He finished in a rush.

  Jerik considered for a moment before nodding. “Come with me.” He looked back at the soldier he had reprimanded. “Proceed, soldier, but do not forget yourself again.”

  Jerik waited for Maura to finish speaking with some of the scouts before bringing the man forward. “Maura? This man says he might be able to help us.”

  “Great lady!” the man said, bowing as well as he was able holding the large case. “Corwin the Magnificent at your service!” Maura’s eyebrows rose at that. And Jerik shot her an apologetic look. The man continued his obviously well-prepared speech oblivious to their reactions. “I have been employed by the greatest and brightest minds of our fair city to offer amazing entertainment and delight . . .” His voice drifted off as Maura gestured him to stop, a clear look of annoyance on her face.

  “While I appreciate your offer, Mister Corwin, I really don’t have time to be entertained just now. Perhaps after we’ve saved our lives and retaken our city?”

  Corwin’s face paled. He swallowed hard. “Please, I never meant. . . . I just got carried away. Please let me explain. I am an illusionist. I’m no archmage. But I have a knack for tricking the senses. I know nothing of fighting, but should there be anything I can do for you, please do not hesitate to ask.”

  Maura’s annoyance melted away in the face of the man’s discomfort. “I apologize for being short with you, Mister Corwin. I will think about how we can best use your skills. I will have some questions about the scope of your abilities as we travel.” She turned to Jerik. “Please find someone to help Mister Corwin with his supplies, and keep him close.”

  Jerik smiled. “I think I have just the man for the job.”

  Maura spoke quietly with the man as they waited for the people to be escorted past. “Your group came from the west. Did you happen to pass by the Great Temple?”

  Corwin nodded sadly. “We passed by it, my lady. Most of us thought of them when we needed help and refuge. Their doors stayed barred to us no matter how much we begged.”

  Maura’s features hardened. How dare the priests turn their back on the people in their hour of need!

  “Karim! I’m not waiting any longer. I need to speak to the priests myself. Get twenty volunteers ready and ask the scouts to push out farther that way. Corwin, Jerik, will you come too?”

  Maura and her team moved out as quickly and quietly as they could. Most of them were fighting the discomfort of aching muscles and fatigue, but no one complained. Too much was at stake, and each and every one of them was amazed at their role in the defense of their home.

  Corwin proved to be far more useful than Maura could have hoped as her team made its way to the temple. He created fantastical illusions that frightened or distracted enemy soldiers or made hidden militia fighters appear to be nothing more than refuse or casks. None of the illusions could stand up to close scrutiny—as Corwin had said, he was no archmage—but the effectiveness of the militia’s ambushes grew significantly with his help.

  “Corwin, I thank the White Mother you joined us.”

  Corwin smiled broadly and struggled to catch his breath. His stout frame was poorly suited to running and skulking, and his energy was constantly being drained by his magic. Their scouts reported that the way to the temple was clear but that there were signs of fighting in the area. Several burnt corpses lay on the streets around the great building.

  A woman at the back of the group called out, and they turned to see
a Sacral captain running up the street toward them. Maura gestured for her people to clear a path for him.

  “Have any of you been to the temple?” he asked as soon as he came near enough not to have to shout.

  “The priests have barred the door to all those who have come to them for help. I intend to speak with them and demand that they come out and perform their healing duties for our wounded.”

  The officer looked at Maura. “King Ansyl has sent me here for a similar reason. I am Captain Harrow.” Everyone started to whisper to one another, recognizing the name of the temporary commander of the Sacral army.

  Maura waved toward the building. “You are most welcome to join us in banging on their door, Captain.”

  They all turned at a commotion in front of the temple. The doors had been opened, and three priests stepped out, each carrying a long white staff. Shapes burst from shadows and threw themselves at the priests. Maura only just had time to see thin forms wrapped in black leather and armed with daggers before white fire burst from the priests’ staffs and engulfed them. Corwin gestured for everyone around him to stay still and wove an illusion of a simple empty street to hide the People’s Army from view. Even Captain Harrow stood back and watched, clearly not understanding what he was seeing. Maura saw one of the assassins pull itself back up despite the charred wreckage the priest’s flames had reduced its body to. With a start, she saw all the other charred corpses on the street jump back to their feet and join the attack.

  “Undead,” she said.

  The undead assassins quickly cut down the priests, but they didn’t take any notice of the two dozen men and women holding their breaths behind an imperfect illusion just a few steps away. Then a man wearing the robes of a senior priest threw back the heavy wooden doors of the temple, a look of fury on his face.

  “Your kind are not welcome here,” he said through clenched teeth. “Those novices were clearly useless. But don’t think you’ll have such an easy time with me.”

  He waved his arms, and shadowy tendrils lashed out from the ground and wrapped themselves around the walking corpses, pinning their limbs to their sides. The priest reached inside his robes and brought out a long black dagger. He swung it at the nearest assassin, and a long rope of perfect blackness lashed out and cut him in half from shoulder to hip. Maura felt a chill run down her spine. The white fire the novices had called down on the undead fit well with her idea of the White Mother and her priesthood, but the evil-looking black dagger and the shadowy magic the senior priest called on were at odds with everything she knew of the temple. . . . Maura turned to Captain Harrow and saw her shock mirrored in his eyes.

  The priest turned to strike down his next target when a serrated blade erupted from the middle of his chest. Blood sprayed out as he gurgled and collapsed. Another assassin stood behind him. Though shorter than average, his frame was almost impossibly wide. An emblem of a crowned skull marked his chest. Maura caught her breath. Legends and stories were coming to life in front of her.

  The assassin turned to the charred undead. “You let a priest get the drop on you? You lot are getting sloppy. You’re supposed to be the Crows of the Dead King! Two of you pick up Cyril and get out of here. I’ll finish up myself.”

  The undead assassins gathered up their dismembered companion and vanished back into the shadows beside the temple. Maura felt a lump in her throat as the man turned and looked directly at her.

  “You can’t hide behind illusions any longer, people of Sacral. The White Bitch is going to pay for her betrayals. Those who stand with her will join her fate.”

  Harrow drew his sword and moved to stand in front of Maura. The assassin’s eyes squinted for a moment. Then faster than Maura could blink, the man shot forward. He grabbed the blade of Harrow’s sword in his right hand and slammed the palm of his left into his breastplate. Harrow went flying into the wall in a heap, his sword still in the assassin’s hand.

  “Find a new god and stay away from this place.” His eyes narrowed. “Trust me, you don’t want to make me your enemy.”

  He looked down at the sword in his hand. “This is a fine blade, boy. I’m sure you won’t mind if I borrow it. I won’t touch those tainted weapons the priests use. You’ll find it in the temple when I’m done with it. Look for it in the heart of darkness.” He grinned down at Harrow. “You’ll be able to tell your little friends Rahz the Insane borrowed your sword to kill a high priest.”

  Harrow was only just trying to sit up when Rahz took off at speed and vanished into the temple. Harrow’s breastplate was bent. The shape of Rahz’s palm was pressed into the metal, obliterating the rune that had been set there. He struggled to pull it off.

  “Whoever that man is,” said Harrow, coughing, “I’d have to agree—we don’t want to make him our enemy.”

  Maura looked at those around her. “Did that make sense to any of you? Could these be undead returned from the days of the founding? That crowned skull emblem that Rahz had on his chest . . .”

  “I’m just glad the walking corpses are the temple’s problem,” said Corwin.

  “You would just leave them to face this alone?”

  “I don’t see that we have much of a choice,” he said, helping Harrow to his feet. “If the undead can throw Harrow around like a rag doll, I don’t see what good leading the People’s Army against them would do.”

  “As much as I hate to agree with him,” said Harrow, “we have big enough problems already. I need to get back to the front.” He looked up and said clearly, “Your Majesty, the priests have their own fight on their hands and it is beyond me to help them. More, I have seen them use powers that disturb me greatly. No help will come to us from the temple.”

  The king’s voice drifted into his mind like a weak breeze, the strength and confidence it had always had, gone. I am sorry, Captain. I have ordered your men to retreat to the inner wall with all haste. Meet them at the West Gate and do what you can for them; they have fought bravely. I am finished. My mages are spent. I fear most of them will follow me into death before the day is out. The voice faded and was gone.

  Harrow looked at Maura and the others. “The king is dead. The outer wall is lost. My surviving soldiers are fleeing to the inner wall.”

  “King Ansyl is . . . gone?” Yet another senseless death. Maura’s features hardened and without thinking, she began to call out orders. “Get word to Karim. We need more scouts out on the west side of town. We may have Abolians pushing in from that side now. Try to clear as many people as we can from the houses closest to the wall before they break through.”

  She turned to Harrow. “Captain, where on the inner wall are your soldiers? Would you like us to send some people to help? We have a nearly a thousand people at the arena who are willing to fight, and probably more have joined since I left.”

  Harrow looked surprised at the suggestion. Then seeing the flurry of activity that followed Maura’s words, he thought for a moment and nodded. “My men are at the West Gate or soon will be. I’ll go and see how they are doing and decide from there. I won’t ask any of you to join us. Holding a wall and fighting in formation are not things you can improvise. We’ll hold out as long as we can to give you time to evacuate the houses and then try to fall back to the arena to support your efforts.”

  “Thank you, Captain Harrow. I hope to see you there soon.” Harrow nodded and took off at a run.

  “Corwin and Jerik,” Maura continued after Harrow had left. “When Harrow and his soldiers fall back from the wall, they’re going to have the whole Abolian army on their heels. We need to prepare a little surprise for the Abolians to make sure our people make it back to us. We need to gather as much wood and lamp oil as we can once we make sure all those houses are empty. . . .”

  Rahz walked out of the temple a short time later wiping blood off his hands with a scrap torn off a priest’s robe. Two undead assassins stepped out of the shadows to meet him. “Report.”

  “We took care of the lesser priests as they ran
out of the other exits. By all estimates we should have gotten nearly all of them. The rest of the murder is doing a sweep of the lesser temples looking for stragglers.”

  The second assassin added, “A group of Abolian Chosen are moving in this direction. From what they’ve been saying, we gather their goal is to break any knots of resistance that might be forming in the city. They seem to think the temple would be a focal point for any survivors.”

  Rahz nodded. “I’m going to go play with the Abolians. Finish the cleanup and let me know if you need me.”

  They saluted and melted back into the shadows. Rahz pulled out his two favorite daggers, both single edged and heavy bladed, made for slashing more than stabbing. This was a job that required blood and chaos, not quietly bringing down a single target. And if there was anything that Rahz loved, it was chaos. Time to send a message. Invaders are not welcome here. The Abolians appeared a few minutes later. They walked in the open, making no effort to hide their presence. Overconfident bastards. The Sacral grunts must not have put up much of a fight. Or else they’re all dead already. He shrugged, not caring either way. As far as Rahz was concerned they were all trespassing in his city.

  The woman in the lead wore intricate metal armor. Every piece of it was lacquered a deep red. The armor as well as the two shortswords she carried held powerful enchantments. Something nasty by the look of it. The others had some minor gear between them, but nothing worth thinking about. Rahz burst through them with unstoppable force. He slashed a blade at each of the lead fighters. On his left he took the man in the face, cutting across both his eyes. On the right, the woman pulled back slightly, and he only scored a slash through her cheek. A couple fragments of teeth flew out of the gash, sliced in half by his razor-sharp blade. Before either could fight back, he was past. He smashed an armored elbow into the faceplate of the next man on the left. The metal crumpled with a satisfying crunch. As his momentum slowed, he ducked a clumsy swing and brought his knee up into the last man’s midsection. The three Abolians still standing reacted with admirable speed, backing off and fanning out to encircle him. Two down. Two hurt. Not a bad start.