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

by Craig A. Munro

  “Knew you’d be too damned stupid not to come out and gloat,” he said to the remains. He looked up at the top of the wall where the Dreth Fire Warrior stood with his Firespear. “Thanks for the save!” There was a good reason why Dreth wasn’t a target for supernatural things. The Dreth were not ones to relax their vigil, and they were armed to deal with anything.

  The innkeeper came out a moment later and picked Salt up as if he were no more than a child and carried him back into the building. The man moved him to a new room without comment, not looking the least bit surprised to see him out in the street naked and wounded. The innkeeper put him down on the bed, then brought over all Salt’s surviving belongings. By the looks of it, nothing had been lost except his fancy new clothes. Salt couldn’t help smiling when he imagined what Gurt would have to say.

  “I may need a healer,” he said to the innkeeper. The man nodded and left. Salt was surprised the man didn’t have a thing to say about the damage done to his property. Not that there were any other guests. And if Salt was the first outsider invited into the city in generations, they probably didn’t have much use for inns anyway.

  Salt drifted in and out of sleep, jolting himself awake every time he moved his leg. He wasn’t sure how much time passed before a new Dreth dressed in the now familiar clashing colors, headdress, and veil came into his room.

  “Welcome to our city, Night Captain. I am Lamek Bal Jasak. Nok Dreth asked me to show our great city to you and teach you something of our past. First, let me apologize for not coming to you earlier. We are aware of the attack that took place last night, and we know you were hurt. Unfortunately, we could not decide on a course of action to assist you. None of us has any real understanding of the medical needs of a human. We have therefore arranged for the services of a healer from the camp outside. He will be here shortly.”

  “You let in another outsider? I’m surprised but grateful.”

  “Well, this healer has done nothing to earn this honor; he will be returned outside the moment he has completed your treatment. Most outsiders think us secretive—this is not true. We are more what I would call overly cautious. The attacker who followed you here is a good example of why we try to keep the outside world and all the threats that come with it at arm’s length.”

  Salt mulled over what the Dreth had said. “Thank you for telling me that. There really are many things that I don’t understand about your people. I guess I didn’t know what an honor your people were showing me till now.”

  “The most important difference between us, Night Captain, is that there are no empty words or actions among the Dreth. Every action has meaning; every word is said for a reason. I’m sure you have noticed the lack of small talk among our people.”

  “I have. It’s not an easy thing to get used to. Even Ambassador Ben Akyum . . .”

  “Nokor Ben Akyum is much the typical Dreth in that respect. He generally isn’t happy about leaving the city either, but as the youngest living Dreth, the risk of traveling beyond our walls falls to him. But there’s no need to hesitate with me. I spend a lot of my time outside in the market camp. I find I can learn so much from those visiting. I enjoy speaking at length with as many different people as I can. Nok Dreth can be something of an oddity in that respect as well, when the mood takes him. He reads extensively and is particularly curious about you humans and every aspect of your civilization.”

  As promised, the healer was shown in a short time later. Salt couldn’t identify his clothes or understand a word the man said. Lamek translated for him. Whoever the healer was, he knew his craft. Salt was stunned when he was able to stand up with no trace of pain after only a few minutes. Lamek thanked the strange healer again, and the Spear Brothers returned to guide him out.

  “Now, Night Captain—”

  “Please, just call me Salt. There’s no need for titles.”

  Lamek nodded. “Thank you, Salt. Please call me Lamek. As I was saying, I would like to take you to the libraries to start. They are the foundation of Dreth in more ways than one. They, almost as much as the remaining purebloods, are what these great walls were built to protect.”

  “Of course, Lamek. I would be happy to see them.” Salt groaned inwardly. If I’d known I’d be stuck in a library looking at books, I would have insisted Lera pick up the Firesword when we found it.

  “Are the libraries near the Core then?”

  “Oh, Dreth no. I would not ask you to walk so far so soon after being healed. The libraries are located under the city’s inner walls. The nearest entrance is just over this way.”

  Lamek led Salt into one of the inner segment tunnels, but instead of a fairly direct route that would lead them out into the next segment, they made a series of sharp turns in the dark before opening a heavy wood and steel door. Faint light filled the vast room beyond. Salt was once again astounded by the number of secrets the Dreth city held. Thousands upon thousands of tomes and scrolls were arrayed on long shelves and racks that extended until they faded from sight in the distance. Hundreds of scribes moved silently around the room endlessly copying and recopying the books lest they be lost to age.

  Even Salt, who was less than enamored of reading, was stunned by the sight. “I never knew so many books existed in the whole world.”

  “There are indeed many. We purchase some new tomes from merchants at times if we think they are worth adding to our store of knowledge. But, more importantly, our own history is kept in these libraries. The history of our city and of every living Dreth. This particular library holds the tomes that record my own life, among many other things, of course.”

  “Why would you need to record your life? I understood from Nok Dreth that even if you die, you can be brought back.”

  “That is true. But the return to life is neither easy nor without its price. Every time we are forced to return to our bodies, something is lost. Memories fade over time, of course; in that respect we are no different from you humans. But the resurrection costs us far more of our memories. What is lost can’t be predicted. We record everything so that we might learn who we were and what we did when we return from the great darkness.”

  Salt was quiet for a moment. The word forced had not been lost on him. There are no empty words among the Dreth.

  “If you don’t mind telling me, Lamek, why are so few Dreth left then? If you can’t die . . . Hasn’t it been ages and ages since your empire fell and you locked yourselves in your city?”

  Lamek bowed his head. “It is our hope to one day multiply as we once did. That avenue is closed to us for the moment. We try, of course—Children are born to the purebloods often. At least one child every decade or so. The problem lies with the aftermath of the Great War. Our children are different. They are not quite Dreth. . . . Not anymore.”

  “Are those the people you call half bloods then?”

  “No. The half bloods are born of the union between a Dreth and a human. Many of the humans who joined us in those early days were from the area that is now Bialta. More are brought in every few hundred years as fertility rates among the half bloods are particularly poor.” Lamek hesitated for a moment, then moved to a nearby shelf and lifted a heavy leather-bound book. “But look here. This tome is an account of the coming of the dragons and the final victory we won here in our last city.”

  Salt took the hint and let him change the subject. “Nok Dreth told me a little about that. The dragon armies swept through most of your empire and finally attacked you here.”

  “And then Nok Dreth saved us. He gave us hope again by creating the first Firesword. The very sword you returned to him yesterday. Fueled by the willing sacrifice of his own brother, Nok Dreth used the great weapon to slay three trueborn wyrms. The dragon’s sorceries were no defense against the Firesword. More of the weapons were then made, as were the Firespears.”

  “The willing sacrifice?”

  “The weapons that protect us, that ensure the safety of Dreth against the return of the dragons, are fueled by the will
and the souls of our people. Each gemstone that powers the swords and spears is made from the life of a pureblood. Such was the resolve of all the Dreth that many volunteered their lives to power the gems and destroy the enemies of their people.

  “We gained the advantage in the war. Still, the price was too high. Our last ships set sail with fully half of the great weapons to take the war to the dragons’ homeland. None ever returned, but the dragon host received no further reinforcements.

  “The war continued for nearly another century. Though the dragon armies were much reduced, we were more so. Their sorcery and fires clashed with our own arts. The end came here, in the one city we had built from the ground up to defend us against dragons. Wide swaths of land were laid waste. The very soul of the land was damaged. The Great Desert was once green hills, fertile farmland, and gentle forests. Now it is a breeding ground for monsters.”

  “Monsters?” asked Salt. “I crossed the edge of the desert and didn’t see anything all that unusual out there.”

  Lamek shook his head. “There is no shortage of dangerous creatures in this world. But I have yet to hear of another place where serpents breed so large they can swallow men or even larger prey whole. We have even seen man-shaped creatures with the skin of snakes walking the sands armed with rudimentary weapons. At first, we took them to be some form of remnant of the dragon host. But after capturing and examining a few, we found they were just a bastardized form of you humans. Probably changed by the lingering powers that destroyed the lands they live on. We have since forbidden our people from traveling into the sands lest the corruption left by our enemies twist our own bodies. It is part of the reason we do not often leave our home anymore. It is a sad thing indeed to see our great civilization reduced to what it is now. Our empire was not like one of your human kingdoms or empires. We did not remove or conquer the people who lived near our lands. We built our own cities where we would and left the primitive tribes of early humans to hunt or build their crude dwellings in the shadows of our great towers. We built ships such as you cannot imagine and explored the seas and their hidden treasures. We greeted all who came to us in peace, though on occasion we had to defend ourselves. It was our golden age, before the dragons came. . . .” His voice drifted off, lost in thought.

  CHAPTER 15

  “A trader is here to see you, sir. He insists that he has a creature worthy of your time.” Roga bowed deeply. Carver hid his annoyance at the interruption. Roga was, after all, only following instructions, and this merchant may well have found an interesting specimen. When Carver entered the main workshop, the fat merchant was grinning ear to ear. Without waiting for an introduction, he pulled the tarp off a large wooden cage that he had had brought into the room.

  Carver stopped dead, his mouth gaping. The merchant’s grin widened when he saw Carver’s reaction. Inside the cage was a large lizard, perhaps as long as Carver’s arm. It had birdlike feathers covering most of its back as well as a pair of ungainly wings that were fixed to its forelimbs.

  A reptile with the instinct for flight! This could be the key! Carver was so excited he barely noticed the merchant and the look of obvious greed that was spreading across his face. If a reputation for paying well can get me this kind of specimen, I’ll have to live up to it. For a while at least. He motioned to one of his assistants to bring him some gold, then tossed the whole bag to the merchant when it arrived.

  “Now get him out of here so I can get to work.” Guards walked the merchant out, who still hadn’t had a chance to speak a word. He moved as if in a daze, his every greedy dream having been exceeded.

  “Bring this creature to my chambers at once!” Carver shouted at his slaves. “The new specimen takes precedence over all other experiments.”

  Carver had long harbored a secret: the ultimate goal of his research. In his search for a solution to the great problems that were society, decadence, and indolence, he had come to the conclusion that rulership was at the root of the problem. Gods were too remote, too self-serving. Mortals were flawed, corruptible, and too short-lived to offer society any kind of stability. Even the so-called long-lived races among them could not hope to see more than a few centuries pass by. Mages were occasionally longer lived. Some few, like Carver himself, had overcome death. But he knew that any mage who was willing to pursue the studies of power and magic as long as he had would have no real interest in ruling or the constant interruptions such a station would bring. The answer was simple. It had always been in the fairy tales he had heard as a child—dragons. They were the perfect choice. If they did not exist, and Carver had found no trace of them in his thousand years of searching, then he would create dragons that embodied the best of every legend and eventually place them in their rightful role ruling the world. It was the only way he could see to stop the madness of divisiveness and turmoil that he had observed over and over again. It was true his own creations had caused deaths. His weapons and creatures helped petty despots to become conquering warlords. But none of these things had any importance. It was all so transient. Nothing would matter until he had made things as they should be. Order and peace would exist for all when he was done.

  His former master had had a similar dream, though his vision had been imperfect. Worse, his master had lacked the vision even to extend his flawed vision of peace to the world and had kept it to himself and his favored few. Carver would not be so restrained. He intended to transform the world. Dragons were said to be supremely intelligent. The life of a single dragon would be longer than dozens if not hundreds of human generations, even if the stories about their lives were grossly exaggerated. These things Carver could accomplish already. Flight had been the most recent barrier to his efforts. No matter how hard he had tried, he had been unable to create a flying reptile. And here one just falls into my lap.

  The project advanced even faster than Carver had initially hoped. In just a few weeks he was looking at his newest creation with pride. The original creature had been more suited to gliding than true flight. He suspected that it had lived in a heavily forested area where it could glide between the boles of trees. Its claws and body shape, well adapted to climbing, supported his theory. The new creation could do better. Its wings were independent appendages, not just leathery skin anchored to its limbs. And though it sometimes struggled to gain altitude, especially when taking off, it could actually fly! He’d already given it the parthenogenetic ability to self-reproduce he’d learned from his pet snake. But more changes were necessary before he started a full-scale breeding program. Feathers were not part of his final design, nor were the hollow bones or overall fragility the creature displayed. A few unexpected changes had followed his modifications as well. The creature’s plumage was somewhat longer and the colors had changed from dark greens to vibrant whites and reds.

  Anything unexpected was a mixed blessing, of course. It implied there was something new to learn, some new connection or trait he hadn’t known about or had previously misunderstood. But it also meant delays. The Drokga would not be pleased with delays. Carver’s promise of flying mounts for his carapace warriors to ride into battle had not been forgotten, despite the weak show of interest he’d received when he first spoke of it. He would have to push ahead and deal with any problems as they arose.

  He had originally wanted to give the mounts thick scales like true dragons, but the weight of any significant scale armor would be a very large problem when it came to maintaining flight. The chitin he’d been working on in most of his new creations would be far more effective. Far easier to work with as well given his abundant sources and recent chitin-molding experience. The resulting creature wouldn’t, strictly speaking, be a dragon. But it would be a large step in the right direction, not to mention an interesting experiment and one that would give the Tolrahkali forces a certain elegant uniformity. The Drokga might even appreciate that. An addition of chitinous plates to the bull-like mounts might also be a good idea. As would parthenogenesis if he could manage to impart the trait to
a warm-blooded creature. Maybe if I maintain the link to egg laying. . . . It would certainly facilitate the breeding program. Carver had never had so many exciting projects. He spent his days working on the Drokga’s projects and his nights working on Nasaka. Both days and nights went by too quickly. It was always with mixed feelings that he set aside one project to move on to the next.

  Though less relevant to his plans, Carver relished the chance to work with the mage hunter. Never before had he had a subject resilient enough for him to really push the boundaries of what fleshcarving could accomplish, all without allowing for lengthy recovery periods. He sculpted and molded the man’s flesh until no one who knew him could possibly recognize him. Those few times that he stopped and asked if he should proceed, the answer was always the same: “Power is worth any price.”

  They had started slowly. A few changes, a few modifications of existing structures within the body each night, such as nerve and reaction time improvements, then they had moved on to more comprehensive alterations.

  As was often the case, Carver was irritated by the amount of space the digestive system occupied in a normal body. Not only was it cumbersome, it was almost unavoidably a vulnerability. In his own body he had reduced the need for nutrients so sufficiently that he had also reduced the size of his digestive system. But Nasaka was a killer, a man who thrived in the thick of battle, who lived for combat. No weakness could be left. With barely a shrug, Carver ripped the whole thing out of the man. External feedings would be necessary. Immersion in a vat of nutritive liquids would provide all that was needed. If he fine-tuned the body enough, Nasaka would only need to be fed in such a way once every few weeks. No need for a carapace this time, though. As much as Carver had learned with the external creations, it was liberating to be able to work with no restrictions.