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

by Craig A. Munro

  Rahz smiled at them. He moved slowly around, keeping them all in sight, shifting his grips on his daggers. They hesitated as they moved forward. None of them had ever seen anything like him before. That’s ’cause there is only one Rahz. They hesitated and so gave him enough time. Time for the tide of his powers to surge again. The three of them attacked him together. He saw a sword coming at him and chose his target. He rushed toward the attack, guiding the blade past his face with one dagger while he brought his other weapon up under the Warchosen’s rib cage. Chain links popped; the tip of the blade pierced a lung. Rahz lifted the man clear off his feet with the blow and threw him into the man behind him. He swept the legs out from under the woman with a kick and slashed her knee open as she flipped away from him. She got up immediately, ignoring the small wounds he had inflicted, but looking at him now with scared eyes. Rahz looked down for a moment and noticed a handle protruding from his chest. Either she’s better than I expected or I’m getting sloppy. Either way this should be more fun than I expected. He smiled and made to charge them again. The two who were still able fled in panic, leaving their wounded companions to bleed to death on the street.

  Rahz let them go. No fun, after all. But then I guess you can’t send a message without a messenger. He pulled the dagger out of his chest and noticed the thick black paste smeared over the blade. Rahz smiled in genuine amusement and tossed the weapon over his shoulder.

  The western front collapsed with the death of the king. Thousands of Abolians were dead, but the Sacral army was, for all intents and purposes, destroyed. Red-armored soldiers started to pour over the outer wall as the scattered remnants of Sacral’s forces fell back. Barely a thousand soldiers still drew breath, many of them severely wounded. News of the disaster spread fast, and people from all over the city were now converging on the arena. Within the time it took Harrow to run to meet his soldiers, the People’s Army under Maura had swelled to more than ten thousand swords, knives, and shovels.

  Despite Harrow’s instructions, Maura moved up to the West Gate with a large group of volunteers to start evacuating any wounded soldiers who were no longer able to fight. Another team started building barricades in as many of the smaller streets as they could, filling any barrels or wooden boxes they found with anything flammable they could get their hands on. The barricades were then doused in oil and all the boxes and barrels were stacked in the main thoroughfare in precarious stacks on either side of the street.

  When Harrow finally called a retreat, Maura had all the barricades fired. The People’s Army then guided, and often carried, the Sacral soldiers past the boxes and barrels of oil with the last person passing each stack throwing a torch down.

  The fires were far less effective than Maura had hoped, because the oil spread too slowly to do much more than cut off the Abolians’ advance. Still, the fires ensured that all the surviving soldiers made it back to the arena safely.

  As soon as Harrow was able to get his soldiers settled in the arena, he went to find Maura.

  “Thank you for saving my men and ignoring my instructions.”

  “No need to thank me, Captain Harrow. I’m just doing what I think is right.”

  “No, Maura. I do need to thank you. What you’ve done here is beyond anything I could have managed. My soldiers and I were ready to die to make sure you had a chance to evacuate the area. You made those deaths unnecessary. You’ve given us the chance to fight again, and even the hope that we might live through this war. I’ve discussed it with my men and we all agree—we’d be honored to join the People’s Army.”

  “I . . . Thank you, Captain Harrow. We will be grateful for your help, but surely it would be better for you to take command?”

  Harrow shook his head. “I led a single company and never aspired to more. Jenus and Traven were the leaders. I just kept my company organized and did what I was told. And really, none of us has ever fought anywhere but in the arena before. You have as much experience with real war as any of us and are proving to have more talent for keeping our people alive.”

  With the addition of over two hundred professional soldiers who were still in fighting condition as well as three Warchosen and two battlemages, the People’s Army’s attacks became that much more effective. Maura’s strategy of using the size and complexity of the city to their advantage continued to show great results as they slowly cut down the Abolian forces.

  Captain Harrow ran up to Maura. “Scouts report that the army to the east is retreating. Some serious sorcery is being unleashed out there.”

  “Could it be the king survived after all?” asked Jerik.

  “I hope so,” said Maura, not looking convinced. “Anyway, this gives us a chance to focus on the west. Harrow, halve the number of scouts to the east. This is good news, but I still want eyes out there. Now, our first job is clearing out any Abolians who are already in the city. We spread out and catch as many of them as we can while we move outward. Once we’re reasonably sure we’ve cleared most of them out, we can pull some of our people away from guarding the arena and push all the way to the walls.”

  Captain Harrow nodded and moved off to give the orders.

  Blades of sunlight cut through the dust cloud. Morning, such as it was, in the Great Desert was well under way. The sands were alive with activity as all the creatures that called this place home ran around frantically making the most of the short window of time while temperatures remained moderate. It would not last. As cold and icy as the nights were, the daylight hours were blisteringly hot. Carver had not been able to determine why. The lands were neither farther north nor south than Bialta and its moderate climate, nor farther from the ocean. The temperatures were only the start of the land’s strangeness. Long narrow swaths of scrub grass and narrow rivers cut back and forth across the otherwise featureless expanses of sand and stone. This unusual mingling of desert and grassland had led to the appearance of some of the most surprising creatures Carver had ever encountered in his travels. Indeed, some of the desert predators had evolved to be large enough to prey on the herd animals that wandered the grassy paths. Carver watched in fascination as a huge serpent killed and consumed a large bull ox, much as a more modest snake might swallow a rat. These serpents must be extremely long lived to reach such a size. Carver had hoped to study the creature, but even with the considerable resources now at his disposal, the great snake eluded capture.

  I will find it eventually, of course. Time is always on my side. In the meantime, he was returning to the palace with a fascinating array of test specimens. The sheer diversity of the creatures that inhabited the desert was like nothing he had ever seen before, an incredible treasure trove of new traits and adaptations.

  The desert cat he had captured squirmed as Carver cut into it. It wasn’t strictly necessary for him to examine specimens this way anymore. His magic was sufficient to look into their flesh and see far better than he ever could cutting them. But this had been the way he started, back when he took his first faltering steps on this long, long road he still walked. And really, why change now?

  After he finished up with the cat, Carver wandered through his workrooms to check on his other projects. The space the Drokga had given over to his use was barely adequate, though Carver had made a point of looking impressed and thankful to the lackey who had first shown it to him. Four rooms, all opulently decorated and filled with a ridiculous variety of furnishings, none of which matched, along with a half-dozen old and sickly slaves. Carver knew he was being insulted, but he really didn’t care. Space and resources were all he needed. He had had the bulk of the furniture removed and set up a simple workspace as well as cages to house his specimens and projects.

  As he wandered, Carver reached out with his magic to look at a few of his favorite pets. Each had inspired him in a meaningful way in the past.

  The first was a large snake. It was not the first snake Carver had inspected that could crush the life out of its prey, but it was the first such snake he had ever found that also
had a venomous bite and could spit the venom to quite an impressive distance.

  The second was a small goat that didn’t look particularly impressive in any way. It had intrigued him in its own quiet way though. Carver had found it calmly feeding on the leaves of a tree, while perched in its upper branches.

  The third was a new addition to his collection. A Korant ant from the Great Desert. Not one of the Drokga’s tame ones, of course. It looked quite similar to a common ant found in every part of the world, though it was far more thickly built and the size of an average dog.

  Most of his other favorites had long since died of old age and had been preserved in all manner of ways. They cluttered the remainder of the room’s walls and shelves. It was unfortunate that most species’ survival strategy seemed to hinge more on reproduction than on longevity.

  The innermost room Carver had set aside as his own bedchamber. He parted the layers of wards and stepped around the hulking form of Maran Vras, who stood as a permanent sentinel. Carver’s flesh began to rearrange itself. He pulled himself up taller, his back suddenly straight. Each vertebra popped as it returned to its correct position. His stringy, thinning mop of gray hair filled out and grew into a thick glossy mane of perfect black. His preferred form was generally human. An angular, handsome face, dark eyes, perhaps just a little too large to be entirely natural, and a thin, well-muscled body. Reverting to this shape was like coming home. He felt more confident, more aware of his surroundings. It was so very tiring walking around hunched over, his eyes seeing nothing but dusty floors and passing feet. Past experience had taught him the value of appearing to be less than he was—particularly to his employers. The egos that generally went hand in hand with power couldn’t imagine that a twisted wreck of a man might seek power for himself.

  The single chair in the room was pushed out of the way against the equally useless bed. He had no need of rest. His body was far too advanced for such things. But a true master of the art of deception had once taught Carver that no detail was too trivial, and he had taken the lesson to heart. Night now presented the opportunity for more private research, safe from any prying eyes or perceived accountability to the Drokga. . . . When the day of his first audience with the Drokga finally arrived, Carver busied himself ensuring that every aspect of his work was ready. He would finally have the chance to show off the creatures he had created in the months since he had taken up residence at the palace. He fully expected the Drokga to be impressed. No other living being on this world could do what Carver could do. He would offer this petty tyrant of a decadent city-state power and the means to intimidate and terrify his enemies, and in exchange Carver would be given resources and the freedom to continue his research. He glanced out the window at the blazing desert sun. It was nearly time. The Drokga would certainly make him wait, but Carver would have to go through the formalities. He would stand by the door of the audience chamber, with his cages and slaves, for as long as he had to, and wait on the pleasure of his new employer.

  A squad of the Drokga’s personal guard escorted him through the palace’s winding hallways while his slaves pushed large wheeled cages behind. It was a long walk and Carver had to struggle to keep up, dragging his misshapen body and breathing hard until they arrived in a stone chamber devoid of any decoration except for a pair of magnificently carved wooden doors. Four of the tallest men Carver had ever seen stood in front of the doors. They wore only simple breeches, leaving their golden-skinned torsos and arms exposed to show off an incredible profusion of scars. Each man held a bare steel saber in each hand.

  Carver gasped loudly and mopped sweat off his brow. He made a show of trying to catch his breath and compose himself before his audience. As it turned out, he was only made to wait for a few minutes. This tyrant might be more considerate than most, or more likely just more impatient. The great wooden doors opened slowly, pulled by a group of female slaves in various states of undress. The guards motioned for him to step through.

  The throne room itself was almost as plain as the antechamber. Stone floors and a simple dais a single step off the ground with an unadorned stone throne. Sitting on it was the Drokga himself. Every bit Tolrahkali—golden skin, dark-brown hair, obviously no stranger to the training yard himself, and the piercing leaf-green eyes that marked him as a member of the royal family. Six more slaves shared the room with them. No attendants, no advisers. Interesting, a ruler who keeps his own counsel. The Drokga looked at him intently, not saying a word. His strange-colored eyes gave the impression he could see more than other men. Nice little trick that; probably unnerves most of the fools he receives here.

  “Well, you foolish oaf, my son tells me you have skills that I will find invaluable.” The Drokga spoke at last. “Are you going to waste any more of my time? Or do you have something to show me?” His expression said he found the idea extremely unlikely.

  “My lord Drokga, if I may ask a question, where is your exalted son? I expected him to be at this audience.”

  “Did you now? How unfortunate for the both of you. It falls to you to impress me yourself. Show me what you have to offer, mage, or get out. My hospitality does not come for free nor is it without its limits. I hear you have accomplished some feat with a Chosen pit slave. That might impress some, but battlefields are not won by Chosen alone. They are won by the brave fighting men and women who dare to fight without the support of magics or the gifts of gods.”

  Carver bowed awkwardly with one hand on his walking stick. “My apologies, exalted Drokga. My slaves will bring in the first of my creations. It is a construct based on a hound, though the resulting creature is more reptile than anything else. I have taken the liberty of naming it a Tolrahk hound.”

  As he spoke, a mental order prompted the slaves to bring in the cages. The three slaves Carver employed for this task had been highly modified by his arts themselves. While they had been emaciated and feeble only a few weeks earlier, they were now huge hulking brutes that dwarfed the Drokga’s guards. Three large cloth-covered cages were wheeled in. Carver pulled the cloth off the first cage with a showman’s flourish that was only slightly hampered by his awkward movements. The thing inside was nothing like a hound, except perhaps for the fact that it was the same size as a very large dog. Its head was flat and wide. Thick scales covered its body, and its long limbs ended with wide, prehensile claws. Its eyes were deeply set in its skull. It growled and paced back and forth inside the cage, moving with sinuous, almost liquid movements.

  “These hounds can be produced at a very fast rate. I can build a birthing chamber that would make dozens of these each day. They mature within a few weeks and are perfectly obedient. The cages were simply to avoid unnecessarily frightening your servants.” He gestured and one of his slaves pulled the front of the cage off. The Tolrahk hound walked up to the Drokga and became as still as a statue. The Drokga was looking more at the slaves than at the hound.

  “I’m sure they are fearsome, but I am more intrigued by what you have done to your slaves.”

  Carver suppressed a knowing smile. No matter who this man was, he thought as all petty tyrants did. He saw the brutes and imagined himself taller and stronger than any of his subjects. Feigning surprise, Carver explained. “My lord Drokga, they are the very slaves you provided me with when you allowed me to take up residence in your palace. I took the liberty of increasing their size and musculature so that they could better assist me with my work.”

  “And does this process have any adverse effects? If you can do this with slaves, Tolrahkali soldiers could be fearsome indeed if they were made this large.”

  “This can be done to any being. I can even produce horses to match this imposing stature. In my slaves, I have modified their minds to ensure their obedience as well. But such a thing is not necessary,” he added quickly, seeing the Drokga’s features darken. “The only minor side effect of the procedure is that they are unable to breed.”

  The Drokga’s enthusiasm went out like a blown candle. “Then your powers
are of little use to me. The tallest man or woman in the city is nothing if they cannot produce children. Your dogs might be of some small use to me in the long run. I will have to see them in action. Perhaps in the arena next week something could be arranged.” He made a vague gesture with his hand.

  Carver was shocked. Just like that he’s about to have me thrown out. “My lord, I would be only too pleased to show you what the hounds can do. But I have more specimens to show you. If I may say so, you have yet to see my greatest achievements.” Without waiting for an answer, Carver gestured impatiently for his slaves to uncover the next creature. “As I mentioned before, lord, I can make horses to suit the largest of men, but why settle for a horse when you could ride a truly fearsome beast?”

  The creature that stood in the next cage was hideous. Its body was a mix of a bull and a horse. But it was thicker and more imposing than any horse, with the long muzzle of a giant wolf. Its gleaming red eyes looked around the room as if trying to decide which of the humans would make the tastiest meal. “As you can see, my lord, I have overcome the difficulty associated with riding a larger-than-horse-sized creature. There is a narrowing of its torso behind its shoulders. I have been assured that it is quite a comfortable ride.”

  The Drokga’s face was impassive. Damn the man. This place is perfect for me to continue my work. I will stay if I have to kill him to do it. “I have one more project to show you, sire. One that is sadly unfinished. It has long been my goal to create a flying mount of some sort.” At this the Drokga raised a brow in surprise. He’s good, this one. He’s got me babbling like a fool trying to defend my work. Damn him.

  The third cage held a large lizard. Despite being in a cage as large as the others, the lizard was only the size of a chicken. It had long wings protruding from its back that dragged behind it. “I have been unsuccessful thus far in making a flying creature with these proportions, but I am confident I will be able to manage it soon. After that, increasing the creature’s size is a simple matter.”