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

by Craig A. Munro

  The Bialtan army moved out with admirable discipline, each unit moving forward in precise formations. The longbowmen and their escorts took up position above the ridge. Each soldier pushed a half-dozen arrows into the soil in front of them.

  Near the back of the Tolrahkali lines, Supreme Commander Oskmen watched the brightly armored ranks move down toward him. “Inform the Drokga that the Bialtan are deploying as expected.” One of a dozen runners standing behind him ran off. “First horn!” Urotan bellowed as the Bialtan neared charging distance. Deep horns sounded up and down the line followed by squad leaders shouting, “Ready shields!”

  Urotan smiled to himself. Now was the time to spring their trap. “I wish I could see that pretentious Bialtan bastard’s face,” he said.

  There was risk to his plan, of course. Standing around while the enemy fired arrows at you was rarely a sound strategy. But Urotan was not afraid to take risks, and those bows had to be taken out of the equation. Carver had changed the face of war, and soon Bialta would know how outmatched they really were.

  “Second horn!” he shouted. The horns sounded just as the Bialtan longbowmen loosed their first volley. The Tolrahkali troops stowed their weapons and lifted massive, thick shields above their heads. Each shield took two men to lift, but the neat formations were suddenly hidden beneath a hand’s width of heavy wood. The flight of arrows fell right on target. The sharp steel arrowheads bit deeply into the shields. A few even found flesh as careless soldiers allowed the shields to drift apart.

  Their reputation is well earned, Urotan thought to himself with grudging respect. But today your famed bows will not save you. Carver’s pets will be your undoing.

  “Third horn!” Again the horns sounded up and down the line. But this time they were answered with a chorus of high-pitched squeals and howls. Four-legged shapes burst out of the black tents and streaked around the Tolrahkali lines. Wider than they were high, the Tolrahk hounds were vaguely dog shaped, with thick limbs splayed out to the sides, flattened oversized heads, and thick scales. They ran straight for the Bialtan archers, covering ground faster than any horse. A second volley of arrows was already arcing toward the Tolrahkali shields.

  And now it is too late, thought Urotan.

  The beasts flowed over the jagged rocks and up the near-vertical side of the ridge as if it were open ground—their long prehensile claws finding ample purchase. The infantrymen reacted quickly and moved in front of the bowmen, but the creatures were inhumanly fast and did not seem to feel pain or fear dying. Long claws gripped the sides of shields, or curled around sword blades. Hundreds of the beasts were killed, but the infantrymen were sorely outnumbered. The bowmen tried to help, but their shortswords and light armor were of little use. It was not long before the bowmen and their protectors vanished under a howling pile of scaled black bodies.

  “Drop shields!” Urotan called. The order was repeated up and down the line. Soldiers dropped the thick wood and prepared for battle.

  Now, my Bialtan friend, will you gamble and charge down toward us with the beasts loose at your back? Or will you try to withdraw?

  Suddenly bright-orange flames erupted among the beasts. Their flesh ignited and burned with unnatural speed. A portion of the Bialtan rear guard armed with spears broke away to deal with the few that remained.

  Urotan felt like he had swallowed a stone. That the spell had been completed showed that his own mages were outclassed, unable to block the power or skill of the Bialtan mages. That worm of a warlock swore to me that he and the Bialtan mages were evenly matched. His damned pride is costing me men. I will make sure Carver himself teaches him the consequences.He had to work fast—his men would not last long. They were all but fearless in battle, but what man could stand in the face of magic? Magic was incredibly destructive, but it was indiscriminate and extremely difficult to control on a large scale.

  “Sound the charge!” he shouted. “We have to get close so they can’t unleash those flames on us! And get Nasaka Jadoo out here. I want those Bialtan mages taken care of!” Urotan ground his teeth. Magic was forcing him to do what arrows could not—forcing him to play to the Bialtans’ tune. So be it. We will still crush you.

  The Bialtans countercharged when they were but a few dozen strides from their lines.

  The two armies crashed into each other. The Bialtans’ momentum and the weight of their armor as they came down the hill pushed the Tolrahkali back. Soldiers fell on both sides as the pressure mounted and the tight formations ground against each other. But the living weapons Carver had created made a mockery of the Bialtans and their bright steel. In the tight press of bodies, moving was difficult, skillful fighting near impossible. The living armor flexed or retracted to help the Tolrahkali move. It closed over wounds and cuts, stopped bleeding, while the living weapons twisted and reached for the enemy’s flesh. Urotan stayed as far back as he dared, not wanting to lose his view of the battle, but mindful of a new magical attack.

  Ten Bialtans fell for every Tolrahkali lost. Better than I had hoped. Though he well knew the value of Carver’s creations, seeing them used so successfully in the field against seasoned troops was satisfying. This field test was going more smoothly than he could have hoped. The Drokga would be pleased.

  Fire erupted among the Tolrahkali tents. That damned mage! Most of the tents were now empty, of course, but many still hid reserves of hounds as well as a full unit of mastikide cavalry, and the Drokga himself, ready to step out onto the field in his titan carapace the moment the magical threat was neutralized.

  There! Urotan could see a Bialtan formation buckling. A single warrior on the Tolrahkali side was cutting his way through them as if they were straw practice dummies. Nasaka at last. The mage hunter cut his way through the remainder of the soldiers who opposed him, then vaulted over the group who were coming to support them and plunged in among the rear ranks of the Bialtan lines. The fires in the Tolrahkali camp winked out in an instant, leaving nothing but smoldering wisps of smoke. And so their magical advantage dies.

  “Inform the Drokga that the magical threat has been dealt with,” he shouted to one of his runners.

  Moments later one of the largest tents was torn apart from the inside, and the titan carapace strode onto the battlefield, a pack of Tolrahk hounds two hundred strong streaming around his feet. Its effect on the Bialtans was dramatic. The soldiers shied away from the monstrous construct. The Drokga roared as he plunged into the thick of the fighting, and the hounds flowed across the battlefield, pulling down helpless Bialtan soldiers left and right. Soldiers were crushed, dismembered, and devoured. The Drokga laughed and roared as he killed. With his coming, the slow, grinding defeat of the Bialtans turned into a slaughter. Discipline started to fray, then shattered entirely as soldiers threw down their weapons and ran for the hills; the heavy cavalry units withdrew in disarray, their mounts panicking as the hounds dodged around them, the Drokga’s roars of triumph echoing after them.

  Some Tolrahkali started to press forward, but Urotan stopped them. “Let them flee. The survival of broken men is nothing to us. They will spread the stories of our might, and fear will sweep across Bialta ahead of us!”

  The ride back to Darien made the first half of the trip feel like a picnic. Salt was lost in a blur of days spent enduring the pain of riding his hated horse, and far too few breaks when he would fall to the ground, immediately asleep. It felt like only minutes had passed before Min was shaking him awake, telling him it was time to move on. As often as not they had to walk the horses while they made their way out of the desert, but once they reached the border camp, Min insisted they step up the pace. They changed mounts several times; Salt felt a momentary pang when his horse was led away. His loathing of all things equine had softened a little during their shared ordeal. It didn’t last, of course. His hatred for his new mount grew to new heights and set the idea that all such animals were secretly evil and intent on killing him when it tried to scrape him off on a low-hanging branch while he dozed i
n the saddle. As luck would have it, he didn’t have to put up with the animal for long. Early the next morning Min found them another set of fresh horses in a village they were passing through.

  “We can move faster now that we’re in more civilized lands.”

  “Faster? How in all the hells can we move faster?”

  “Easy, Salty—we start pushing the horses more. We can get fresh animals every few hours from here to Darien. We should be able to make it back in just a couple more days if we really push ourselves.”

  Cursing loudly the entire time, Salt managed to hold on to his horse for almost ten minutes as the group frantically galloped up the road. Then, he slipped out of the saddle and only barely managed to avoid falling headfirst and being trampled by his own mount.

  “You guys go on ahead of me,” he said, gasping for breath. “You all ride a hell of a lot better than I do. I’ll be along in . . . oh, a month or so. I’ll get moving again just as soon as I kill and eat every last scrap of this damned animal.”

  Min laughed. “Can’t do it, Salty. Gurt wants us back, but he wants you more. Needs to ask you all kinds of questions about the Dreth. The Eastern Army is on its way to deal with the Tolrahkali already, so we’ll be missing out on that bit of fun anyway.”

  “War is fun?”

  “It is when you’re on the side that outnumbers the other four to one.”

  Salt groaned loudly. “All right, so no more galloping, but push the hell-spawned animals as hard as you like otherwise and I’ll do my damnedest to hold on.”

  The four Night Guardsmen were a sorry sight when they made it back to the capital. Never ones to primp or worry overmuch about their appearances, they were dirty and disheveled. They dragged themselves into the palace grounds with jeers from the gate guards ringing in their ears.

  “Damned nice to be home,” Salt grumbled as they walked into the training yard and stopped dead. Though it was late afternoon, the yard was filled with ranks of soldiers not outfitted for training, but in full armor and carrying real weapons.

  The whole of the Night Guard was being mobilized. Salt couldn’t imagine what could prompt something like this. They had dealt with things already that he had considered scary, but they’d always managed it with a few squads at most. A feeling of nervousness permeated the air as he watched the last stragglers stowing their training gear and strapping on the real thing.

  Gurt walked up in front of the assembled squads. “Night Guard, I know this is unusual, but the king himself has asked that the Guard help take care of a little problem for him. As some of you may know, the Tolrahkali have been attacking our trade caravans on their way to Dreth and the Free Cities. Some of you may also know that the king sent the Eastern Army to deal with the problem. What none of you know is that they failed. They were slaughtered. Survivors, including the two apprentices of the warmage who was providing magical support for the brigade, have been streaming across the border in a panic. The Tolrahkali are apparently using strange weaponry—the survivors swear it was alive. Both their weapons and armor twisted and moved to suit their needs. The Tolrahkali are a lot stronger and faster using this new gear. They had beasts of some sort fighting for them as well, and it all proved more than a match for our people—particularly after one of their infamous mage hunters managed to sniff out and kill our warmage.

  “This is where we come in. The king has ordered a much larger force to mobilize and deal with this threat. The Northern Army, small as it is, is moving down to provide support. We’re also using the bigger part of both the Western and Southern Armies with nearly every scout in Bialta fanning out to make sure we don’t get flanked. The Night Guard is going to lend a hand with the weird things, and do a little additional scouting and intelligence gathering. We’re moving out ahead of the army. We can move faster than they can. Our goal is to find some of these beasts and figure out where they come from and form a strategy to deal with them. King Arlon has pulled out all the stops on this one. I’ll be handing out a fair bit of the sweet stuff for the more experienced Guardsmen to use. Lera will also be coming with us. Inksharud is here from Korsten. He, Krigare, and the ladies will stay and keep a skeleton crew of Guardsmen working along with some conscripted Crown Knights. This is it, boys and girls; this is the biggest job we’ve ever had. We move out in three hours. Make me proud.”

  The Night Guard made ragged salutes and moved off to get ready. Gurt turned to the returning group. “Fine time you lot chose to show up. I meant to put you to work on the Tolrahkali situation but since everything turned to shit on that front this morning, I’m taking care of it myself and taking near everyone with me. I’m not going to make you get ready and come with us after making you rush back for no reason. You can rest up tomorrow and join the crew who are staying here to keep an eye on the city.”

  “I think we’d rather come along, Gurt. We’ve pushed as hard as we could to get here and we wouldn’t want to miss all the fun.” Min, Altog, and Brolt all nodded emphatically.

  Lera moved up to stand next to Gurt with an odd look. “Salt, what the hell do you think you are doing bringing that thing into the castle?!” she practically screamed at him. Gurt’s eyes widened at the uncharacteristic outburst.

  Salt just shrugged as he looked down at the weapon in his hand. “It was a gift from Nok Dreth. I couldn’t very well refuse it. He practically forced the ugly thing on me.”

  “Forced,” she repeated, shaking her head. She turned to Gurt. “We’ll have to lock it up in the vault. That weapon is more dangerous than everything else we have down there put together!”

  “There’s no need, Lera, really,” argued Salt, but she wasn’t even looking at him. She was focused solely on Gurt while trying to keep as much space as possible between herself and Salt.

  Salt lifted the hammer up and dropped it on the ground with a dull thud. Lera’s eyes darted to the fallen weapon, then back to Salt with a look of confusion. “If you would just let me say something . . .” Salt tried again. “Min, Brolt, and I already figured out it doesn’t seem to do anything at all if I’m not holding it. Nok Dreth wasn’t kidding when he said he made it for me.”

  She relaxed. “I’m not sure how he managed that. It is a relief, but you’ll still need to leave it in the castle. Pulling that out each time you get into a fight is more than a little excessive.”

  “How about if I just keep it as a backup? It stays in its harness and I use my sword unless I absolutely need it. Good enough? Besides, it might be useful. Nok said sorcery wouldn’t stop it, and we are going up against Tolrahk warlocks, aren’t we?”

  Gurt shrugged. “If you’re all so eager, fine. You can march out with the troops. They’ll be leaving in three weeks. Salt, you’ll take command of whatever Guardsmen Inksharud manages to pull in from other cities and thinks he can spare. And keep what Lera said in mind about that new toy of yours—don’t use it unless you absolutely have to. At least until she and the ladies have had a good chance to look it over. Until then, you lot take orders from Inky. He’s acting commander while I’m gone. Oh, and make sure you don’t get yourselves killed doing anything stupid. Lera and I have a whole lot of questions we want to ask you about the Blueskins. . . . Now go get cleaned up, the lot of you. You’re stinking up my training yard.”

  Salt and the others gratefully returned to their rooms to rest after a welcome visit to the baths. It was all rather anticlimactic, Salt thought. He had trouble settling. All this effort to race back to the capital to be left here for weeks.

  Salt slept late the next day. It was midafternoon when he finally made it down to the training yard. Min was already there, as were Krigare and a half-dozen others Salt didn’t recognize. The man sparring with Krigare was nearly as tall as Salt. A thick mane of deep-red bristles covered his head and spread down his back. There was something odd about the man’s body. His limbs were too thick, too heavy somehow, and that wasn’t including the huge muscles that stood out on his large frame.

  Min came over and nudge
d him. “Never seen a Dolbari before?”

  “A what?” he said.

  “A Dolbari—Inksharud’s the only one in the Night Guard. They come from someplace in the far south, I forget where. He’s been running the show in Korsten for a couple years now. He and a couple of his men are here to take over while we’re gone. Remember?”

  “He’s Inksharud? People have been talking about him since I joined up. I just never expected him to be so . . .”

  “Different? Well, you haven’t seen anything yet, Salty. Wait till you see him fight. He can give Krigare a run for his money.”

  Salt moved out into the practice yard and tried to concentrate on his usual training, but his eyes kept straying back to the Dolbari. When he finally caught a look at the man’s face, he missed a parry and Min smacked him with her training sword. The Dolbari had no nose, or nostrils even. His eyes were large and set deep under a thick brow. His jaw was square and oversized with overlarge, even teeth that his lips didn’t seem able to cover.

  Min smacked him again. “Stop staring! And get back to work. You look like a farmer who’s never seen anyone different from him. I thought you sailed to half the known world?”

  Salt had the good grace to blush. “I did. And I’ve seen some strange sights and stranger people. But I’ve never served with a nonhuman. Never even got a chance to speak to one, to tell the truth—the captain and first mate would always handle that part of things. He looks like a mean bastard though.”

  “Well, this nonhuman, as you put it, is on your team now, and he’s your new commander, so get used to it.” She punctuated her words with a vicious swing of her practice sword. “And if any of the others hear you call him that, they’ll kick your ass worse than I’m about to.”

  For the next half hour Salt had to defend himself desperately against Min’s attacks. Despite his efforts, a fair number of hits were sneaking their way through, and he was getting battered and bruised. Finally, Min lunged at Salt, smashed his nose with the tip of her wooden blade, and knocked him to the sand.