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

by Craig A. Munro

  “They were only the first harbingers of the great war. Our ships returned to us in their wake, but their crews had disappeared. Our ships carried monsters. Men and women infected with draconic blood. They fought savagely for their masters and wielded sorceries almost as great as those of the trueborn dragons. Our westernmost cities were caught unaware. Most were destroyed in the first attack, though some exacted a heavy price from the dragon host. We rallied and struck back as they crossed the Icespine Mountains. And still they came. The dragons and their spawn seemed without number, while far too many of our own people were dying, their bodies utterly consumed by dragon fire. Resurrection impossible.”

  “Resurrection?”

  “Has so much of the Dreth been forgotten in the outside world? Has all learning and study ended? Yes, resurrection. The Dreth purebloods can be returned to life if they fall, providing a dozen other purebloods enact the rite.”

  Salt was amazed. These beings had the power of gods.

  “It is one of the reasons we stay in our city now,” Nok Dreth continued. “There are so few of us left.”

  “Few? But Nok Dreth, your city is huge!”

  “Huge and mostly empty. What isn’t is populated by half bloods. Fewer than two hundred pureblood Dreth remain today, each and every one of us a survivor of the Dragon War.”

  And I was impressed that the Spear Brother was over a hundred years old? This man must be thousands! Tens of thousands!

  “Questions multiply in you, Night Captain. You have a curious mind, a trait the Dreth once valued. It is unfortunate that it has become so rare among our people. I will ask Lamek to tell you some small things about our people’s history; he is a bit of an oddity among the Dreth in that he loves to talk. I am sure he will enjoy getting to know you.”

  Salt bowed. “Thank you for your kindness, Nok Dreth.”

  “Enjoy your time in my city, Night Captain. Explore as you see fit. Little of what goes on in Dreth is a secret. We simply do not allow many outsiders past our walls. Nor do we venture out ourselves anymore. Even the half bloods have taken to following our ways and rarely venture far unless ordered to do so. We hope to reignite the fire of curiosity among our people someday. . . . But enough of that. Lamek will answer all your questions. I will summon you again when your reward is complete.”

  Realizing he was being dismissed, Salt bowed again and left through the door he had come in. With a sigh, he closed the door to the workroom and its light and started his slow, careful walk back down the long stairs.

  PART II

  CHAPTER 12

  Dantic was almost giddy as he walked through the long silent halls of the Arcanum toward the council hall. The news had been repeated in every part of the great building that morning—Archmage Tilden had passed away in his sleep during the night. Dantic had never had any use for the conservative fossil. The man’s greatest achievement was his longevity—impressive even for a magus of skill. The man had died at three hundred and seventy-eight years of age. And in all that time the man accomplished nothing. Nothing as a mage of significant power, and nothing as a member of the ruling council of the Arcanum.

  As far as Dantic was concerned the Arcanum was better off without men like Corfon Tilden. But his death was more significant than just the disappearance of a useless individual—it meant there was a seat open on the Closed Council, only the second time such a thing had occurred in the thirty years since Dantic had been initiated into the Arcanum. I was only an apprentice last time, but now I’m ready.

  Dantic was well recognized within the halls of magic. He was a prodigy the likes of which only came along once every handful of centuries. When he was just a few years out of his apprenticeship, he had passed the trials to achieve the Sixth Order and had received the title of archmage that went with it. At the modest age of forty-three, he had undergone further trials that officially made him the only living mage of the Eighth Order in Bialta. A seat on the Closed Council was the next logical step, and one he’d been looking forward to for years already. I have ideas for this place. Ideas that will change everything.

  All he needed now was to win a majority vote in the Open Council meeting and he would be setting another record—being the youngest council member since the founding of the institution.

  When he arrived in the great council hall, at least a half hour early, he saw that the great room was already nearly full. An election was an event rare enough that even the most reclusive researchers among the Arcanum’s ranks had been drawn out of their chambers and laboratories. Just as I expected. His arrival after so many of his peers was calculated. I have to make an entrance if I’m to be noticed.

  He took his time walking down to the very front rows of seats, where a group of the youngest full members of the Arcanum were congregating. They had saved him a seat, of course, as they always did. Dantic was their unofficial leader and something of a hero in their eyes—able to best most of the instructors and so-called experts at their own games, and do it with style.

  All any of them had been talking about for years was how the Closed Council needed a younger member, a young voice to inject some fire into the group of ancients who ruled them. “Imagine, someone sitting on the council who hadn’t reached their first century of life,” he heard someone say as he walked by. All eyes were on him—just as he’d intended. He wore his formal robes, of course, as did every mage in the room. But few were those who had earned the right to wear the black of an archmage. More important, though, was the embroidery woven into the fabric with delicate magic—each rune and color representing a different discipline or skill mastered by the wearer. More runes were added as a mage accumulated skills, and Dantic’s robes shimmered more than any in the room, even those of the Closed Council members who were just then filing into their seats from the opposite side of the hall.

  Once they were settled, four hundred mages turned their full attention to the eight assembled on the dais. The empty seat near the middle of the row was all the confirmation anyone needed that one of the council members had indeed passed.

  Archmage Nesrine called out for order and announced the opening of the council session, taking over the role filled by Tilden for the last hundred and six years. Her voice was thin and barely carried to the back of the room—hardly surprising as she was well over two hundred herself, Dantic thought with disgust.

  “We have but one order of business before us today. Tradition dictates that no other decision can be taken by the Arcanum’s Closed Council until nine elected members sit at the table. We are here today to address the loss of Archmage Tilden and fill his seat,” she said. “Before we hear nominations, the council as a whole feels it is important to remind all mages present that the role of council member is more of an administrative one than a position of power and prestige. First and foremost, our responsibility is to ensure the day-to-day functioning of the Arcanum. Generally, this has far more to do with securing revenue to pay our servants and to buy food and supplies than it does performing great deeds.” None could mistake that she looked at Dantic as she spoke, as did most of the other council members. “I ask all mages assembled here today to bear this in mind as well when it comes to casting your vote.”

  Dantic seethed internally. That bitch! How dare she try to influence the vote? And so blatantly! He never let the look of calm confidence slip from his face. He would win despite them, he had no doubt.

  “Now . . . Who would you have join the Closed Council of the Arcanum?”

  Immediately fifty of Dantic’s supporters stood to show their desire to speak, as did a number of other mages scattered through the great hall.

  Nesrine called on each mage by name. Proving she has a good head on her shoulders whatever her other faults. Only two names were mentioned again and again—Archmage Dantic of the Eighth Order, and Mage Jalim Bagwin of the Fourth Order.

  The atmosphere in the hall was tense. Both nominations were controversial. One was fifty years younger than the norm, the other not an archma
ge. Both defied tradition. A crafter? There are already two on the council. The other disciplines will never vote for a third. Besides, he’s not even close to being archmage material, Dantic thought with satisfaction.

  “Two unusual nominations. Also unusual that we would have so few. But perhaps not given the smaller number of mages to achieve the rank of archmage in recent years,” Nesrine pointed out unnecessarily. “We will hear from each candidate briefly before we proceed to the vote.”

  Dantic had been preparing for this moment for years. He cleared his throat and spoke loudly, his rich voice filling the room. “Brothers and sisters of the Arcanum. I do not have a long speech or an elaborate presentation prepared for you. In most elections, mages vote to support a candidate who will represent their interests, who will ensure the Arcanum provides the support and materials for them to pursue their own chosen form of our arts. In this I believe I am the natural choice. I am a student of every discipline taught within our ancient halls, with the notable exception of combat.” He nodded his head toward the group of tough old mages who taught the art of war magic. “An exception I plan to address at the masters’ earliest convenience. Indeed, Archmage Hakran himself has himself agreed to take me under his wing and help me address this glaring gap in my knowledge.” He made a small bow in the direction of the venerable old warmage before looking out across the Open Council, making sure to make eye contact with the strongest and most influential mages in attendance. “I am uniquely suited to representing the Arcanum as a whole and everything we represent and strive for. I will not disappoint you.”

  He bowed and returned to his seat, while Jalim Bagwin walked down from the back of the room. The man was nearly bald with no more than graying wisps of hair clinging to his scalp. His deep-blue robes showed a smattering of symbols, nearly all of them related to magical crafting. Dantic knew the man was past a hundred years, though he looked older than Nesrine herself—proof, if any was needed, that his talent was relatively meager.

  “Unlike my young friend,” he started, “I am going to take up a little of your valuable time, for which I hope you will all forgive me. Simply put, I believe I can assist all of you in whatever you are endeavoring to accomplish. Perhaps not by understanding everything you do myself—I cannot imagine how that would be useful, truth be told. No. I will ensure that we all have more of what we need to pursue our own brand of knowledge by removing the financial constraints the Arcanum has been working under for so long. What I propose to do will have nobles and merchants—not only of Bialta but of the known world—lining up to fill our coffers.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the council,” Bagwin called out with a broad smile, “it is my great pleasure to show you the results of my team’s efforts over the past months—the Silver Servant.” At his words a gleaming metallic being walked up to stand next to Bagwin. It was perhaps the height of a child of twelve, finely built and reminiscent of a fine suit of armor.

  “As you all know,” Bagwin continued after a moment, “the Arcanum has, on occasion, managed to impart the semblance of life to inanimate objects. The process is usually time-consuming and expensive, and the resulting constructs usually require both physical and magical maintenance. The greater the complexity of their quasi minds, the greater the difficulty in completing the weaves. Though the Arcanum has had some success in this area in the past, the efforts were made to match or understand stories of great war golems built in ages past.” He shook himself as if remembering where he was. “The Arcanum’s need for gold is endless. All of us have projects we are working on that require great sums of coin. What I propose, ladies and gentlemen, is not to build great golems capable of mighty tasks, but Silver Servants to delight the nobility and merchants. Which one of them will balk at paying a hefty price for an unsleeping servant who literally cannot tell their secrets?” There were noises of interest and approval from everywhere in the crowd now. “Once they are seen, we expect requests for them to come in quite quickly.”

  A few sounds of dissent cut through the general approval and Bagwin didn’t fail to notice. He held up a hand. “Ladies and gentlemen of the Arcanum, if you will permit me a few final words to address the entirely justified concerns some of you may have before ceding the floor. We know that there are those who might turn nearly any tool they are handed to unsavory purposes. To avoid this, the Silver Servants will be granted a quasi mind that is only capable of general domestic tasks. They will also be only as strong as a human of comparable size, though they will not tire. The face of each servant will be customized for the individual client, and house crests can also be added. At the time of sale, the servant will be imprinted with one or several masters, a simple matter I assure you, and one that will keep our customers returning to us for generations to come as Silver Servants are sold or inherited.”

  Bagwin bowed low in a sweeping gesture that somehow included all the mages arrayed around him. “My team will require help in this endeavor, of course, but not so much as when the Arcanum is forced to send some of our number away to act as advisers. The Silver Servant is but the first in a series of initiatives I have planned that will keep us all comfortably funded for the foreseeable future. And so it is with the hope that many of you will take some small time away from your own projects to assist us that I cede the floor.”

  The applause was thundering. Dantic sat at the back of the room seething. Bagwin was a middling mage at best, more of a merchant than a true mage. But right now, he has a better chance of getting the seat.

  Archmage Nesrine raised a hand, and the room settled back into silence. “We have heard from both our candidates and must now proceed to a vote. Would the mages casting their votes for Archmage Dantic please stand.”

  A reassuring number of the attending mages stood up immediately. A little less than half. . . . With the normal group of abstainers, I should have my win.

  “And those casting their votes for Mage Bagwin?”

  A very similar number of mages stood silently and waited to be acknowledged. Dantic sat in stunned silence. He had secured two hundred and ten votes to Bagwin’s two hundred and six. Not nearly enough of a majority to be granted the seat.

  Whispers started throughout the council chamber and gradually rose in volume as the assembled mages discussed the implications of the deadlock.

  Archmage Nesrine called for silence. “The Closed Council will need to consider the implications of this unprecedented situation. Those few of our fellows who were not able to attend our meeting today would not be a sufficient number to sway the vote either way, though we may need to hear their voices before we reach a decision. The Open Council will reconvene in exactly twenty days, whereupon all votes will be recast. We leave it to the candidates to attempt to sway the opinions of their peers. In the meantime, the Closed Council requests special dispensation from the Open Council to go about its usual business with but eight members until the matter is resolved.”

  Dantic was the first on his feet to indicate his approval of the new motion, quickly followed by most of the younger mages in the room . . . and, slowly, nearly all the Arcanum members in attendance. When the election comes around again, it won’t even be close—I’ll crush him. Dantic bit down on his pride and joined the group of mages working their way down to the floor to offer their help. If you can’t beat them, join them. Besides, this way I’ll be able to improve on their work and come out on top.

  A few of those moving down looked at Dantic with looks of mild surprise. He’d never been a team player. And as soon as I don’t need to be anymore, I’ll stop. His face hurt as he forced a smile onto his lips and stepped forward to speak with Bagwin.

  “Archmage,” Bagwin said. “I must say it’s a pleasure to see you offer your time to assist with one of my ‘menial projects’ as you called them the last time we spoke.”

  “Well, you certainly proved me wrong this time, Bagwin.” Never have words tasted so bitter. “I’m looking forward to joining the team.”

  “We are bless
ed indeed,” Bagwin said, smiling. “But I’m sure you have more important things to do. These are, after all, rather simple tasks better suited to lower-ranking mages. There is no need for an archmage such as yourself to neglect the great things you must be working on to assist me.” He gestured toward the crowd of mages clustering around them. “As you can see, I have plenty of help.”

  Dantic bit the inside of his mouth and somehow managed to keep his smile as he nodded politely and walked out of the council room.

  The following days in Sacral saw a slow whittling away of the invading forces. The Abolians would push into the city and the People’s Army would cut them down. The People’s Army fared poorly in a few pitched battles, but the remaining Abolian soldiers were low on supplies and starving. They eventually surrendered. Conspicuous in their absence were all the surviving enemy Warchosen and their commander, Kabol. By Harrow’s count, at least five Warchosen were left unaccounted for, including Zorat. When they finally finished their sweep of the city and moved out to the western fields, Maura’s army were shocked by what they saw. Thousands of bodies were scattered around the fields amid squawking flocks of carrion birds. Ragged burn marks scarred the earth where sorcery had been unleashed.

  “Maura,” said Jerik, “they’re all Abolian. Every single one.”

  Maura looked around at her circle of advisers and officers. “What or who could have done such a thing? Could it really be the king? Or Jenus returned to us maybe?”

  Harrow shook his head. “Jenus is beyond the rest of us, but even with the Lightbringer he could not have done all this. Maybe a full hundred Warchosen with the king protecting and helping them as he did on the western front.”