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

by Craig A. Munro

  Turning back to Min and Altog, Salt countered. “Well, you lazy shits could have helped out a little then.”

  Min’s smile broadened. “And miss seeing you get your ass handed to you by a girl half your size? Never! Besides, she ripped that rogue demon in half before she went for you, so I think she deserved a break.”

  “There was something familiar about that girl. I could swear I’ve seen her before,” Salt said.

  Brolt shrugged. “That might explain why she reacted to seeing you like that. I’d say we were lucky she seemed more eager to get away than stay and fight. That girl wasn’t like any Chosen I’ve seen before.”

  Inksharud shrugged. “Well, if all she did was kill a demon, we’ve got no reason to worry about her. Go get cleaned up and get some sleep. I’m sure the ladies will have plenty for you to do again tomorrow.”

  “We’re not going to be able to go out for a while are we, Uncle?” asked Nial, after telling Skeg about what had happened.

  “Not if you can possibly avoid it, girls. There’s simply too much at stake, and far too many people hunting for you, even if they don’t know who or what they’re really looking for.” He looked at them seriously. “Now, are you girls going to tell me what’s wrong? You’ve been upset since you came back from Karethin, when you should be overjoyed! You survived! And more, you’ve crossed out the last name on Shade’s list!”

  Nial went pale and looked away from him at once. “It’s nothing really. Nothing important.” Uncharacteristically, Zuly cut her off, saying in a dead voice, “The demon lord attacked us while we were in his realm. We carry the spawn of Amon Kareth within us.”

  Skeg sat back, stunned. “That fucking son of a syphilitic goat.” He breathed with barely suppressed anger. “I’m sorry, girls. I had no idea. I . . . I didn’t even know that was something demons were likely to do.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what to say. Is there anything I can do?”

  Nial felt a wave of warmth and affection for the strange old mage. Skeg wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t going to tell them to leave as she had feared. He only wanted to help them. “I don’t know, Uncle. It’s growing fast and we really don’t know what to expect.”

  “You’ll just have to stay here. Make sure you’re near the circle in case that scum tries to contact you again. . . . And when the birth comes, I’ll be here for that, too.”

  Nial and Zuly, in perfect agreement, ran over and hugged him tightly.

  After a time, they moved apart. The girls’ body language was shifting back and forth in a way that told Skeg they were having a heated discussion. They barely noticed him as he moved back to his accustomed place behind the counter.

  A few moments later their eyes snapped back to him, and Nial nodded sharply as if deciding something.

  “Are you girls all right?”

  “Fine, Uncle. We just decided it’s time to share a little project we’ve been working on with you.” They gathered up their books and moved to their spot in the back room, pulling the curtain closed behind them.

  Skeg shook his head, confused but grateful the girls’ spirits seem to have lifted so quickly. Two of them in there and one a demon. They are tougher than you’ll ever know, old man.

  CHAPTER 19

  Lord Irem ’s voice rose above the buzz in King Arlon’s council chambers. “Dealing with the Tolrahkali invasion is not enough. If a city-state dares to attack us, none of the great nations will respect Bialta. We need to send a message to all of the North. Once we mobilize one of our larger armies, we need to make more use of it than just crushing these upstarts. Conquering Tolrahk Esal would be a start, but won’t leave an impression. They are, as I said, only a city-state, large perhaps for one city but hardly a fitting target if we want to send a message to the Abolians or Keralans.” Various voices joined him in calling for blood.

  King Arlon just shook his head. He cleared his throat, and the assembled council members turned their attention to him. “Expansion is a noble goal. I cannot deny that. But do all of you forget why our great nation has not expanded in centuries? Have you also all ignored the very important fact that the Tolrahkali soundly defeated us in our first battle? A battle where we outnumbered them two to one? Have you also forgotten just how many mercenary companies are based in Tolrahk Esal?” The king paused and looked at each member of the council in turn, letting the silence draw out and making each of them feel his full displeasure.

  “You all speak as if conquest is a simple matter and will solve all our problems. Conquest is never easy. The price paid for it is always more than expected. We have an invasion to deal with and all you can talk about is the need to send a message. . . . In which direction would you have our armies march?” He turned his gaze on Councillor Corvuy. “North to the Hillmen? They have nothing we could ever use, and nothing but a desert beyond their mountains. They serve us well where they are.”

  The king’s eyes moved on to Lord Irem. “To Dreth then, cousin Harold? And repeat the folly of mad King Furnis? If anything, the Dreth are stronger now than they were then, and we weaker. I know you’ve traveled to the Free Cities on more than one occasion yourself. Do you really think it’s realistic to march our entire army through that desert? How many men would we lose to the sands before even engaging them?”

  His gaze swept across the council table. “Or should it be west to the Abolians? They test us constantly though we’ve repelled them time and again. They have more soldiers than any nation that small has any right to, even with one of their factions being mixed up in that war with Sacral.”

  “So should it be south to Sacral?” He let the word hover giving the supporters of this idea time to hope for a different verdict. “A city held by a goddess who ousted the Dead King himself and is surrounded by miles of the emptiest, most barren land in the world. Only the most foolish of men become involved in wars with gods. From all accounts they have already chewed up the Abolian Red Army and have come through it stronger than they started.”

  “Which only leaves us with Keral,” he said, finally looking at Lady Demir. “Our one stable ally on the continent. Our greatest trading partner and our doorway to the South.”

  “Why trade when we can take it all? We can have our own access to the South!” insisted Lady Demir.

  King Arlon’s frown deepened. “And just how eager do you suppose those kingdoms will be to trade with us when we conquer their ally? Will you then conquer them, too? How many men do you think we will have left when we are done with the Tolrahkali and Keral? Few enough that Aboleth will take a bite out of us?”

  The king shook his head in disgust. “I will hear no more of this foolishness. You all speak like children who have heard too many stories of knights slaying dragons. Times have changed since King Altaren forged this mighty nation by unifying the city-states of Bialta. Our paths to prosperity are trade and knowledge. I will listen if any of you have suggestions relevant to either of these courses of action.” The councillors looked at one another sheepishly, like schoolchildren being caught at something they weren’t supposed to be doing.

  “As for our armies,” the king continued, “I do agree some sort of message needs to be sent. I want to overwhelm the Tolrahkali. I want their force surrounded and destroyed to a man. Any further repercussions will be discussed when we have dealt with the problem at hand. Now, how many troops can we marshal to deal with them? We made the mistake of thinking the Eastern Army would be more than sufficient. I do not intend to lose any more of our forces to these mutants.”

  The bickering and arguing among the councillors started up again almost immediately. King Arlon sighed deeply and massaged his temples. He felt like an old man today. His kingdom was being torn apart, and there seemed to be nothing he could do to stop it. Threats were neutralized only for two more to appear in their place. Even Bialta’s legendary resources were being strained to the breaking point. Perhaps he could persuade the Abolians to sign a peace treaty. Not a permanent one, of course—their insane religion would nev
er permit such a thing. But perhaps offering to move the border a small way in their favor would entice them to sign a very carefully worded agreement. If he could free up much of the Western Army to help with the Tolrahkali, they should be able to overwhelm them no matter how strong they had become individually. He should ask Gustave to put as many scribes and diplomats on the project as possible, just to make sure the Abolians couldn’t slip through a loophole in whatever treaty they signed. Dealing with them was always hard since the three ruling factions had so much autonomy and each had an army of its own. At least the Reds should be eager to sign if the news from Sacral is true. The lands near the Abolian border were nearly useless anyway. The scrub grass was barely good enough to raise goats on. Some of the border forts would need to be stripped if not destroyed if they moved the border that far, but it would probably not be necessary. The Abolians weren’t likely to refuse even a small tract of land after being frustrated in their incursions for so long. I’ll have to really push the Arcanum to help as well. They may not even argue too much for once. One of their own has been killed, after all, and they will want to prove their superiority over the warlocks. Gods, my headache is never going to go away at this rate.

  He was thankful for men like Gurt, who took some of the pressure off him. His childhood friend had proven to be his biggest ally and most loyal supporter. Men like him were too rare in the palace. With him gone there wasn’t enough idealism and honor to fill a thimble in his whole court. If only he hadn’t had to send him away.

  Enough time wasted with these fools. Time to get things done. King Arlon walked out of the room without a word to the council members, his two Crown Knight bodyguards following on his heels.

  Matchstick hissed behind him, and Dantic reached out to allow the construct to pour him another glass of wine. He had succeeded beyond all hope, but because of a little cosmetic issue, most of the Arcanum was unwilling to even look at what he’d accomplished. The enchantment had worked despite his last-minute slip. The marionette—dressed in a smaller version of his own formal robes—moved about and performed basic tasks for him without needing to be asked. His mistake had caused only minimal damage to the project—a consequence of a backlash of energy when the weave was released too quickly. Half the marionette’s face was a blackened mess, and the servant’s ability to speak had been reduced to a barely audible hiss. Hence the name he had chosen for it. Still more than anyone else could have managed, he thought bitterly. The truth was he was enjoying having Matchstick with him. It was helping him in any number of ways by anticipating what he would need and bringing it to him at just the right moment. I probably would have succeeded in making a construct perfectly had I already had him. There was little point in thinking along those lines though. His modest reserve of funds had been entirely depleted by his first effort. He would need to find a new way to best Bagwin.

  And then, as if on cue, news of the Tolrahkali attack spread through the halls of the Arcanum along with tales of the death of Mage Lasven—one of Bialta’s most famous warmages. Not the kind of opportunity I was hoping for, but beggars can’t be choosers.

  As expected, an official call came to all the Arcanum members for volunteers to join the king’s army and bolster its magical power. Dantic made sure he was the first to volunteer and even managed to have himself appointed leader of the Arcanum force. That fool Bagwin even voted for me. He’s probably just glad to get me out of here for a time. Probably hopes I’ll get myself killed while I’m at it. But if I pull it off, there won’t even be a point in counting the votes when I return.

  His young supporters had flocked to join him. They crowded into his rooms, eager to help. He sat among them as Matchstick busied himself serving refreshments. “The more mages we bring along, the easier the job will be, and the happier the king will be in turn. If we do enough, he’ll probably donate enough funds to the Arcanum to make that ridiculous Silver Servant project meaningless.”

  One of the youngest, clearly nervous about the prospect of violence, asked, “How many other mages do you think will come? It can’t just be the ten of us, can it?”

  Dantic yawned. “No, Edward, it won’t just be us. A few of the old warhorses won’t be able to resist coming along to relive their glory days. Just as well ’cause the truth is—we can use them. We’re younger and smarter than any of them, but we’ll need to see what they do so we can do it better.” The assembled youths nodded at his wise words. “I’ll need you all to help recruit more mages though, the stronger the better. We’ll need a big turnout to impress the king.”

  There was a polite knock on the door. Dantic waved his hand and the door opened smoothly. One of the Arcanum servants stood outside. “Forgive my interruption, Archmage, I was told you were now in charge of the war delegation.”

  Dantic waved impatiently for the man to get to the point. “A mage from outside the Arcanum has presented himself at the doors and is offering his assistance against the Tolrahkali.”

  “Outside the Arcanum? Where is he from? Keral? Aboleth? One of the other Free Cities?”

  “I believe he said he was of the Oviyan tribe from the far side of the Great Desert, sir.”

  “A savage? Here?”

  The servant stood silent, unsure if he was expected to answer.

  “Send him up in an hour or so. I’ll need to finish conferring with my colleagues.”

  The servant bowed and closed the door behind him.

  “You’re not seriously thinking of bringing a tribal along, are you?” asked one of the younglings.

  “Of course not. The last thing we need is some illiterate buffoon getting in our way when we’re trying to coordinate rituals. But in this matter I represent the Arcanum and we have to keep up appearances. I’ll let him wait for a suitable length of time, then I’ll speak with him, show him that we’re beyond whatever little tricks he thinks will be of use to us, and send him on his way.”

  He leaned back in his chair with a look that said he was willing to suffer the stupidity of his lessers because he was such an exceptionally patient man. The assembled mages all nodded to one another at his words again.

  They continued speaking for nearly another hour before he asked them to leave. “I do need to meet with the witch doctor, after all.” They laughed as they filed out of his rooms.

  A few minutes later there was again a polite knock on the door. Dantic sat straight in his chair and picked up a thick sheaf of paper as if he had been interrupted reading it. Then he again used his power to pull the door open. I wonder if opening a door will be enough to impress the savage. Just being in the Arcanum is probably overwhelming the poor fool. He’s probably used to mud huts.

  The man who stood behind the same Arcanum servant didn’t fit Dantic’s expectations. He wore embroidered silk robes of a deep blue that would have been the envy of many of the more fashion-conscious members of the Arcanum. He had no tribal tattoos, piercings, or talismans. Though his coal-black skin clearly marked him as an outsider, here was a sophisticated man of pride and confidence, not the cowed savage Dantic had expected. The look of irritation on the man’s face was also clear.

  He walked into the room uninvited, pushing past the servant and Matchstick, who was offering a glass of wine. He looked at the papers in Dantic’s hand, the slightest hint of a frown showing on his ageless face. The look made Dantic feel young and foolish for a moment before anger pushed to the fore. If the damned savage thinks an expensive robe and a lack of respect is going to get him anywhere with me, he’s mistaken.

  “So, Oviyan, what is it you want with the warmaster of the Arcanum?” Hmm, not a bad title. I may need to keep it.

  “Warmaster now, is it? You Bialtans and your titles. Is that in addition to mage, and archmage?” His tone was increasingly angry. He stopped suddenly, then with visible effort, the man calmed himself. “I apologize for my words, Warmaster Dantic. I am not accustomed to being kept waiting, and I fear I have let my feelings get away from me. Let us start again if you will.”
Dantic shrugged as if the outburst had been beneath his notice.

  “My name is Kishan Nikhil. I am the kladic of the Oviyan. I have come to offer my assistance in your efforts against the Tolrahkali.”

  “You’ll forgive me if I don’t know what that means, Kishan. Your tribe hasn’t been one of the subjects of any of my studies. Now, why is it you want to help us and what do you expect in return?”

  The anger returned to Kishan’s eyes. “I am not some mercenary. For better or worse, Bialta has been my home for several years. Honor demands I assist in her defense.”

  Honor . . . Gods, he’s one of those. “And just how do you propose to do that?”

  “Kladic is a title among my people much like archmage is among yours. We are particularly gifted in deceiving the senses, in—”

  Dantic held up a hand to stop the man speaking. Though I’m sure it was a very well-prepared speech. “So you do tricks and illusions. That may help in tribal squabbles, but we’re talking about fighting the Tolrahkali and their warlocks. I just don’t see how you will be of any help. There isn’t even enough time to train you to assist in our rituals so we can put you to better use.”

  “Then I see that the command of the war effort is in the hands of a fool, and there is little hope of winning the coming confrontation.” Dantic’s face flushed in anger as Kishan continued. “To enlighten your small mind, I will give you a demonstration.”

  Dantic embraced his talent and prepared to defend himself. There was a flash of light and Dantic instinctively wove a shield around himself. But no attack came. Instead of one Oviyan mage standing in front of him, there were now three. Though they clearly shared the same ancestry, each was somewhat different and moved independently.

  Kishan’s voice sounded from all three. “Which one of us would you attack, Warmaster? Would you waste effort on all three or take your chances? I can do this for full platoons of soldiers.”