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

by Craig A. Munro

  “It may seem like the king is all powerful, especially on a day with a closed court like today. But in reality he would have needed the approval of the council of lords to create a new seat for a noble house. Dustland isn’t anything that would concern the council, though, since its revenues amount to nothing.” Salt imagined a dusty expanse of land. Maybe there will be enough scrub to raise goats.

  “Ah, here we are, lad. Why don’t you take a look out that next window?” Salt rushed forward and looked out with a mix of fear and excitement. “All I can see is the training yard.”

  “Yes, Dustland is beautiful this time of year, don’t you think?”

  Salt started to laugh. Gurt joined in for a time, but when Salt showed no sign of stopping, he put his hand on Salt’s shoulder and said, “I’ll see you back in the training yard. Don’t be too long.” Salt stood at the window for a long time after his fit of laughter had died down. He hadn’t been through an ordeal this taxing since the night the bug bitch had tried to eat him. Never a dull day. . . . And I used to think a sailor’s life was exciting.

  By the time Salt made it to the training yard, the greater part of the Night Guard was assembled. Several kegs of ale had been rolled out into the yard.

  As they got sight of him, shouts were raised. “Lord Salt!” “The Night captain!”

  Gurt stood among them, a large wooden mug in his hand.

  He smiled and raised his mug. “To the lord of the training yard! And to King Arlon—who watches our backs like we watch his!”

  The Guardsmen roared, “To the king!”

  Salt had to admit he’d never expected a monarch who would go to such lengths to protect his men. Even supposedly elite troops were often sacrificed in any story he’d ever heard tell. Not that there’s anything elite about me. Yet. He burned with the need to prove himself worthy of saving.

  Krigare clapped him on the back and handed him a mug. “Thanks, Salty. It’s been a while since we had a good excuse to celebrate all together.”

  The next morning, Salt woke to Gurt shaking him. “All right, lad, get up and get dressed. I know you probably have the mother of all headaches after last night, but we have some things we need to discuss.”

  Salt groggily pulled himself out of bed and looked around for something to wear. He felt like he’d swallowed a particularly fetid rat. “Gods, my head is splitting and my mouth feels like something crawled into it to die. . . .” He shook his head to clear it. “What’s wrong, Gurt? How come the early wake-up? It’s barely past dawn.”

  “The price of success, I’m afraid. I need to go over a few things with you before training today so you can take command of your squad tonight.”

  “Er? What? Command? Gurt, what are you talking about?”

  “Remember your promotion last night, lad? Well, if you’re going to get the title, I should at least make you do the work. I’ll be more use here at the palace; besides, I’m getting too old to be running around every night.”

  Salt groaned. “But I can’t take command. Everyone in the squad’s been there longer than me.”

  “That’s right, lad.” He smiled back. “And not a one of them will begrudge you the extra work. I could offer the job to each and every one of them and they’d all tell me where I could shove it. Now, I want you to do the job for a few days to get used to the idea before I send you off to Dreth next week. You’ll have at least part of your squad to escort you,” Gurt explained. “I can’t spare Wheeze or some of the others, but you’ll have Min, Brolt, and Altog to watch your back and make sure you get there safe. Both Min and Brolt have been to Dreth before.” Salt looked up, surprised.

  Gurt shrugged. “Min’s father was a merchant, and Brolt was a caravan guard before he joined up.”

  With the celebration the Night Guard had had the night before, Salt had somehow managed to forget about his impending journey. Fear gripped his guts, followed by a flood of relief knowing that he wouldn’t be facing the trip alone.

  “Now, follow me. We need to go to the map room and look over the details of what you’ll be doing tonight. I have some tips for you to handle some of the less cooperative contacts you’ll be visiting, like Skeg. We also need to talk about Dreth and how we want you to handle yourself while you’re there. The king and I know you’re not used to court and we don’t expect you to learn everything, but you’ll need to observe some formalities.” Noticing Salt’s panicked look, Gurt put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “The worst part is past, lad. They’ve agreed to let you live, and so far as I know, the Dreth never break their word. You’ll just need to learn enough not to embarrass Bialta when you’re speaking for us.”

  As they were walking out of the room, Gurt smiled at Salt. “I’ve arranged for riding lessons for you before regular training, too, so you’ll get to have some fun.”

  “Who is that, Skeg?” demanded Salt. The moment he saw the little girl in her white dress rush into the back room of the shop, his stomach had clenched. He had actually started to warm up to Skeg, but he had seen the uses men and women in this quarter sometimes put children to. If Skeg was trading in child flesh, or had purchased the little doll for his own sick pleasure, Salt would finish him here and now.

  “Relax, Salt,” Skeg rasped out, raising a hand in alarm at the look on Salt’s face. “She’s my niece. She has a way of just turning up.” Turning toward the back curtain, he said, “Come out here, Nial my dear. The Guardsman is right to be shocked. It’s far too late for a child your age to be about this part of town. Even if you are safe in my shop.” A little blond-haired girl of about eleven or twelve appeared at the curtain and nodded seriously up at Skeg while he scowled at her. “Now take the safe way home and don’t dawdle.”

  Salt was surprised. Not only was that the longest speech he had ever heard come out of Skeg, but it sounded like genuine concern in his voice. On an impulse Salt offered, “If the child doesn’t live too far, my squad can escort her home.” He was rewarded by a quickly hidden look of panic washing over Skeg’s usually impassive face.

  “I wouldn’t want to trouble the Night Guard on my family’s account. Nial lives but a short distance from here and comes and goes often. I’m sure she will be safe—”

  “Skeg,” Salt cut him off. “You know as well as I do that the Muds are no place for a kid. Especially not at night. I’ll do you this little favor and you can repay me one day.”

  Skeg looked like a man condemned to the gallows. “Nial, this nice man is going to walk you home. Please behave for him and go straight in.”

  Nial looked up at Skeg, her eyes shining, and smiled. “Okay, Uncle Skeg.” Her eyes were laughing, as if what he had said had been a particularly funny joke.

  “Come along then, kid. You can show me the way? Even in the dark?”

  “Of course,” she said. Then she looked pensive for a moment before cocking her head. “Is a way harder to find in the dark?”

  Salt groaned. Why do I always get myself into these situations?

  As the Night Guard moved off with Nial, Skeg sat down in a heap behind the counter. A cold sweat broke out over his body. If the Guard found out what Nial really was, it would be the end of them both. Nial could handle the squad she was with if they turned on her. He was sure of that. But that would draw the full attention of the Night Guard and the Arcanum. At best, they would live long enough to flee from Darien. At worst, they would be dead before morning. Skeg settled in to wait through the longest night of his life.

  Nial continued chattering the whole way, bombarding Salt with an endless stream of questions as only a child could. “Why do you carry a sword? How do you catch bad people? What do you do with them when you catch them? Are you a friend of Uncle Skeg’s? How come he’s never talked about you before? Do you have any kids?”

  Salt would start to answer each question only to be interrupted with another. By the time they arrived at a simple but well-kept little house just inside the merchant’s district, Salt was only grunting out single-word answers. />
  “This is my house,” the little girl announced proudly. “My dad and me live here. It’s only the two of us since my mum died.”

  “Sorry to hear that, kid. Anyway, you’re home safe. We have work to do so we have to go. Take care.” Salt spoke as quickly as he could, not wanting to give her a chance to get a word in and start rambling again.

  Nial waved happily to them as the squad moved away, led by Salt who was walking quite a bit faster than normal.

  Wheeze snorted. “So I take it from your fast march that you won’t be quitting the Guard and settling down to father a houseful of those little monsters anytime soon?”

  “I think I’d rather spend the rest of my life in the dungeons cleaning out cells with my tongue. Anyway, it was worth it to see Skeg squirm like that. He probably thinks the kid would tell us all his secrets . . . especially since she can’t keep quiet for longer than it takes to draw in another breath.”

  The land they were crossing was growing rockier. Jenus looked at the mountains in the distance with apprehension. The Gling’Ar were leading them in a straight line to the pass between the two largest peaks. Thick forests covered the foothills. They haven’t set any more fires. Does that mean we’re getting closer to their home? Jenus asked himself. The thought made him shiver. Just one more day. Jenus had become increasingly certain that a trap was about to be sprung and hoped desperately that the jaws wouldn’t snap closed before they could return home.

  He turned to Traven, who was trudging along beside him. “We’ll make camp before we reach that forest. I’m not risking our army in that.”

  “You know the priests are going to have a problem with that. It was hard enough for you to get them to swallow your idea of turning back. If we stop early on the third day because of a forest, they’re never going to let you hear the end of it.”

  “I can’t say I care what they think anymore. The damned priests are out for blood. I caught a couple of them interrogating the scouts. They want to find a Gling’Ar village, make an example of them.”

  “You know how difficult they can make your life.”

  “Yeah. But they like to do that anyway. Might as well make it worthwhile and let the men take a little break. Call the halt now.”

  Traven saluted and moved down the line calling orders to halt and make camp. Jenus took a deep breath and waited. It wouldn’t be long now. Sure enough, even before the whole of the line had ground to a halt, Jenus saw a procession moving in his direction. Serim was at the head of the group, his cheeks flushed with anger. It looked like he had grabbed all the priests this time as well as anyone else he could drag along. The group got larger as it came forward, more and more people following along to see what would happen. Just like Serim to want an audience, probably has some grand speech prepared. Jenus didn’t bother saying anything. He leaned back against the nearest cart and waited for the accusations to start flying.

  “What kind of cowardice is this, Jenus?!” Serim demanded. Jenus didn’t bother answering. He just looked at the priest evenly and waited to hear the rest. “You disgrace yourself, your noble ancestors, Sacral, and the White Mother herself with your actions! When the king hears of this, he’ll have you executed!” Serim’s voice rose in pitch as he screamed, droplets of spittle flying from his mouth. “Don’t you have anything to say in your defense?!”

  Jenus sighed. “I gave you my reasons for turning back. Moving into that forest would only give the Gling’Ar an opportunity to ambush us again.”

  “And you fear to fight them! So you admit it! You are a coward!”

  “There is nothing to be gained by fighting them again!” said Jenus, anger creeping into his own voice. “I will not see more of my men die for nothing!”

  “You were given a holy task by the White Mother herself! To refuse it is blasphemy as well as cowardice. I formally accuse you of incompetence and cowardice and demand that you step down as commander of this army. If you will not go willingly, I will have you removed.” The gathered priests all nodded, mumbling things about the goddess’s will and the corruption of the Deceiver.

  Jenus shook his head. “Do I have to remind you again, Serim? I lead this army. You have no authority over me or the men and women who follow me.”

  “Then you leave me no choice. Jenus.” His name came out with a sneer. “I name you heretic! In the name of the White Mother and Yeltos Rogayen, her most holy servant, I dismiss you from the service of the goddess!”

  Jenus was stunned. He’d never expected them to go this far. And yet he was sure they would regret it if they entered the shadows between those trees.

  “I have already selected a likely replacement from among the Warchosen. Vegard will lead this army from now on. We will turn back only after our prayers to the White Mother are answered and she deems the Gling’Ar have been sufficiently chastised for their evil.”

  Vegard walked up to Jenus with a smug look. “Looks like we’ll have a new champion soon.”

  “You raving idiot, Vegard, I’m trying to save us!”

  Vegard just sneered at him. “Hand over the Lightbringer. You don’t deserve to carry it anymore.”

  “Forget it. I’ll step down and let you get yourselves killed, but King Ansyl entrusted the Lightbringer to me himself, and there is no one here I am willing to surrender it to.”

  “Are you threatening me, Jenus? I should have you put in chains.”

  “I’d like to see you try.” Jenus stood glaring at the man for a moment while Vegard shot questioning glances toward Serim.

  Jenus saw Traven moving up behind the group with a squad of soldiers, weapons in hand. This is going to get ugly fast. Traven and the others were ready to shed blood for him. Sacral blood.

  Jenus looked back at Serim. In a loud voice he called out, “I formally step down as the commander of this expedition. I will go where I am bid and follow any reasonable order I am given that does not countermand my orders from King Ansyl.” He swallowed hard. “Captain Vegard is now your commander.”

  Traven looked at him in shock. Jenus made a slight head movement that he knew Traven would understand to mean “later.” Traven nodded back, worry clear on his face. Vegard was glowing with pride. He looked like nothing more than a rooster strutting around in front of a flock of hens.

  “This army is now to get moving again,” he called out. “Get everyone ready to march again on my order.”

  Jenus saw with disgust that Vegard looked to the priests for approval after every order he called out. “We will march until after dark tonight to make up for this senseless stop. If that disturbs you, remember you only have your former commander to blame for it.”

  Jenus ground his teeth and waited for a chance to slip away. But Vegard wasn’t about to make things that easy for him. “Jenus! You will be assigned to the last wagon. You are to assist the drovers in any way they deem necessary. You may go now, Jenus. I need to inform the combatants of some important changes.”

  I’m the only one who’s managed to kill one of those things and he’s making me a drover’s assistant? Jenus moved toward the end of the line. If Vegard didn’t get them all killed, he was sure the king would sort this mess out. Word of what had happened had already swept through the army. Most of the soldiers Jenus passed saluted him, though a surprising number turned their backs on him as he passed. Vegard and Serim have been busy. A month ago I would have sworn every one of these people would have followed me against the Deceiver himself.

  The Sacral army reached the edge of the forest shortly before dusk. This forest was nothing like the one they’d crossed on the other side of the grasslands. The first forest had been beautiful and wild. This forest only felt old. The trees, some gnarled variety of oak for the most part, grew incredibly tall and thick. There was no undergrowth here. The ground was nothing but a thick network of knotted roots and dead leaves. No paths were evident, though animals would have little need of them here. Or Gling’Ar. But the carts were another matter. Not only would the roots be a problem,
but many of the trees grew too close together for a cart to squeeze through. After a long wait, blue-white flashes could be seen among the trees, and the Sacral line slowly started to move again. When it was Jenus’s turn to move in among the trees, he saw why. The cart wheels slipped and stuck on the roots. Most of the soldiers had to stow their weapons and help lift and push the carts to keep them moving. The warmages had obviously been at work here. Trees had been felled to clear a path, cut perfectly smoothly and moved out of the way. Jenus shook his head. Vegard had simply had them cut a straight path with no attempt to find an easier way forward, or even to avoid particularly dense knots of trees. Their talents must be nearly exhausted and all to move us forward a few dozen cart lengths.

  If I do get thrown out of the army, maybe I should consider becoming a drover. I think I could be happy doing simple things and not worrying about idiots making bad choices. Jenus wasn’t surprised when the call to halt came a little over an hour later. The army was exhausted. Soldiers and noncombatants alike stood around panting and wiping sweat from their faces. Jenus helped tend to the animals, then spread his blanket on the flat stump of a tree. It must have been ancient to be as big around as Jenus was tall. He thought about the tree for a moment, but in truth he was more thankful for a spot to spread his blanket that wouldn’t have him sleeping on twisted roots. He lay down and surprised himself by falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Morning came with a slight lessening of the gloom. Jenus was sure the sun was coming up, but very little light found its way to the ground between the huge trees. Even the trees they had cut down did little to thin the thick canopy of branches and leaves above them. Jenus climbed onto the cart bed to look around and froze. Long ranks of Gling’Ar warriors were lined up between the trees on both of their flanks, no more than a hundred paces away. The Gling’Ar had indeed prepared an ambush as he had feared, but this was far worse than anything he had expected. Shouts and calls to arms rose from the camp as others noticed the Gling’Ar. The exhausted Sacral army scrambled to prepare itself for war.