River of Bones

by Taylor Anderson

  “Maybe not, but you’ve given her the example, good or bad—over and over—how to throw caution to the wind when people you care about are hanging by their fingernails.” Matt frowned, and Keje’s blinking redoubled as they both went back to a terrible night when poor little Walker tried to tow Tassanna’s former massive Home, the great Nerracca, out from under Amagi’s guns. It hadn’t worked. Ultimately, Nerracca and thousands of her people, including Tassanna’s own father, had been blotted out. But they’d tried, perhaps against all reason, and Tassanna must always try as well. Matt still visited that night in his dreams, and his failure burned just as sharply now as it had then, but he recoiled from the . . . special nightmare Tassanna had been forced to endure. Keje’s only “failure,” which he labored under for increasingly personal reasons, was that he’d been too far away to help. It was just as real to him, however, and Matt and Keje both refused to meet Sandra’s eye for a long moment, before her voice suddenly cracked like a shot.

  “Stop! Both of you. Quit feeling sorry for yourselves. I was there too, remember?” she asked Matt. “You did all you could,” she reassured him, then glared at Keje. “And if you’d been closer, Amagi would’ve gotten Big Sal too. The question is, What’re we going to do about this? How do we save our people and salvage the plan this time?” she challenged.

  The messengers stopped in their tracks and the murmured conversations of Keje’s staff went silent. Then Keje’s steward arrived with the tea, and even though everyone was still standing, he walked slowly around the table as if oblivious to the tension, filling mugs and setting them down.

  “Thanks,” Matt said, raising his mug and smelling the steaming brew. Tilting it to his lips, he quickly gulped it down, savoring the molasseslike sweetener he’d come to love as much as the ’Cats did. “What I’m going to do is take Mahan and Ellie upriver now,” he said flatly. “Tonight. As soon as I can get aboard Mahan and Ellie can join her. The rest of First Fleet will proceed with the operation as planned.” He glanced at Sandra. “At the very least, I have to stop any cruisers that leak past Arracca and Santy Cat. We can’t let ’em get among our transports.” He snorted. “And we’ve actually got to try to be careful where we engage them too. There are several places in the river where, if we sink ’em there, they can choke us off all by themselves!”

  “I expected this decision,” Keje admitted, “and already directed Ellie to move alongside. Even now she threads her way through the anchorage.” He blinked, troubled. “But what if you miss the channel and run aground yourself?”

  “Revenge is already positioned in the mouth of the river, waiting to lead us all in,” Matt mused. “We’ll take a couple of her people as pilots.”

  Keje seemed satisfied by that, but Sandra wasn’t. She suddenly felt like she’d practically goaded them into action, and the thought generated a wave of nausea. Matt appeared to notice the discomfort sweeping across her frustrated expression, and Sandra realized she hadn’t goaded anyone but herself into recognizing what had to be done. Matt and Keje had obviously known all along. Feeling foolish and even slightly ashamed, she shook her head and managed to fix a sad smile on her lips. Reaching up, she put her hands around Matt’s neck and pulled his face down to hers. “Save our people,” she murmured, kissing him, then grinned more naturally. “But be careful, sailor.”

  Matt responded with a confident nod, but his guts twisted as he realized he was about to jump down the “funnel” himself, after all.

  * * *

  * * *

  Ker-noll Jash, Senior First Naxa, and the newly formed Slasher Regiment (Jash was still almost bursting with pride that his new force had a name, and a highly appropriate one, in his view) had joined Second General Ign’s Personal Guard, just as Ign had said. Moving and positioning six tens of great guns to the south bank of the river nearest the enemy had been a grueling experience, however, especially since it had to be done quickly, in the dead of night, while gasping from the exertion and choking on the smoke blowing across them from the long line of brush fires built farther to the south. Jash knew other warriors had moved a “mere” four tens of guns to the north side of the river but hadn’t envied them. The terrain was much rougher there.

  All seemed worth it when together they watched—and felt—every gun in the grand battery roar simultaneously at the distant target in the smoky, murky night. None of them had ever seen so many field cannon fire at once, and it was a stirring, blood-quickening, amazingly deafening experience. More stunning yet to Jash was how many projectiles hit on or near a target he couldn’t even see before the enemy deployed their curious flying flares. And he noted that few of the pointers of guns had made significant corrections before they fired. He wondered how that could be. He was enthralled by the drumming of shot hitting the distant wreck and the thunderous snap of the magical new exploding shells bursting in the air and slashing the enemy from above, and knew he had to learn more about field artillery.

  “How do they do that?” he’d ventured to Second General Ign. “How can the . . . gunners”—he’d stumbled on the unfamiliar word—“so well prepare to strike an invisible target?”

  Ign huffed. “This war teaches us lessons all the time, new things to make and new ways to use those things. As for the latter, do you imagine that you and your regiment are the only ones to receive special training? You have been learning defense,” he’d said, gesturing down the slope in front of the pounding guns where Jash’s regiment was directing an equal number of Uul warriors as they dug shallow, trenches in the hard red soil. Ign’s personal troops stayed back, behind the guns, and Jash suspected many of his Slashers would never hear properly again, but they toiled on, oblivious to the thunder. “Defense is something I doubt we will test today,” Ign had continued, “but this is a good exercise, and one must never think himself too sure about anything regarding this enemy.”

  He’d nodded at the gun line. “Our gunners receive special training as well, first upon the many greatships of battle we cannot bring to this fight. But their advanced teachers are some who have learned new things in battle and survived. We had few of those to begin with,” he’d conceded, “but there were enough to begin. Now there are more. And as you were seen to be special by those who knew what to look for, so were our gunners. Few rank above First of Ten, but all are Hij. They must be Hij to learn the things you question.” Ign blinked and shook his head, the flashing guns lighting his orange eyes. “Even I do not fully understand how they do what they do. I only know that accomplished gunners, given a precise bearing and range—things our seafaring Hij have been . . . induced to reveal how to determine”—he’d paused to cough in the smoke, but continued—“as well as the much better equipment we have provided them, of course, can accomplish what you see, time after time. That is all I must know—for now.” He coughed amusement. “Like you, I would learn more when there is time.”

  Ign had looked thoughtful. “We have tried to train parts of our New Army and fleet to be very good at specific things, and I think we have succeeded. The enemy, in contrast, seems very good at many things at once. I cannot yet say which I think is best, but consider it possible that our weakness, my weakness, may be that we have focused overmuch on specifics, unable to accept that many of our race can learn a broad range of skills. You, for example, were first primarily raised to use the newest weapons in attack. That should have been simple enough and fully sufficient for our purposes in the past. Yet then it was decided to teach you to attack from galleys, which you also had to master. Immediately, you were then expected to learn to operate a great gun.” Ign’s crest had fluttered. “That you might also do that well, with so little practice, was perhaps too much to expect at the time, but you survived.” Ign snorted. “You not only survived, you taught yourself to lead, so I sent you and your troops to learn defense.” He’d nodded past the booming guns again. “At this also you seem to have excelled. Now you show interest in the great guns of the land—field ar
tillery. Perhaps I will send you for gunner training next. It might be interesting to discover how much you can absorb, because training all our warriors to fight in different ways could be the only way to defeat an enemy who apparently already can.”

  The great guns had gone silent as the distant swarm of galleys enveloped the shattered, smoking wreck, and the growing staccato of small arms merged into a constant, clattering roar. The work in front of the cannon had also stopped, as hundreds of snouts turned toward the climax of the battle on the river.

  “Back to work!” Jash had shouted, and Ign gurgled a chuckle.

  “In spite of what I just said about focus, I am glad to see you still so attentive to your assigned task. Still, I doubt we will actually need the defenses you prepare. As soon as their Santa Catalina has finally fallen, we will disperse and conceal these guns and troops. The enemy’s flying machines will seek their revenge and we have little protection against them here. Nor can you provide it with your works in the time we have. Let your warriors take a moment to enjoy the end of that troublesome obstacle once and for all, and revel in the loosing of the Final Swarm. We will join it soon enough ourselves and return the world to its proper balance as we drive the enemy—our prey—before us once again, as First General Esshk, the Celestial Mother, and the Vanished Gods themselves have all decreed we must.”

  But Santa Catalina wouldn’t fall.

  The fighting went on and on beneath the sputtering flares, the booming mortars savaging the tightly packed galleys, which often swamped one another in their zeal to close with the prey. The great guns of the enemy, protected within the shattered hulk, continued to blast at the cruisers as well, as they picked their way through the wreckage at the bend of the river. The first of these was burning forward, bright flames washing aft as it picked up speed to clear the way. More fire spewed near the wreck and Jash thought it was doomed at last, but quickly realized the enemy was somehow directing the flames at the galleys around it—which were immediately engulfed. A new sound joined the battle: the agonized squeal of burning Grik. Everywhere the gushing fire sprayed, more galleys and more warriors were consumed.

  “Terrible, terrible,” Second General Ign murmured. “But perhaps fitting after all.”

  Jash looked at him in surprise. The general’s crest had risen to stand almost straight up on his head as he spoke, but there’d been an unmistakable hint of admiration in his tone. He saw Jash watching him. “Prey they are and will always be, but there can be no doubt they are worthy prey. Of course they are, to have resisted us at all. That they drove us to this is remarkable.” Seeing Jash’s expression, he knew he had to explain, somehow. “Don’t you see? With every setback they inflict on us, they make our ultimate victory greater. They are the worthiest prey we have ever faced, and we who bring them down will never be forgotten.”

  Jash had trouble imagining that a warrior, any warrior, even a second or first general, might be known beyond his time. Such a thing had never happened, but the idea . . . intrigued him.

  “Many names will be forgotten tomorrow, including yours, Second General Ign, if this assault also fails!” came a loud voice behind them. Ign and Jash turned to see a Ghaarrichk’k even bigger than Ign step down from the open door of a carriage drawn by thirty warriors in polished armor. Jash had never seen First General Esshk, but immediately knew him. He wore bronze armor, redly reflecting the gouts of flame, and the long red cloak of the Regent Champion flowed down around his feet. There was also only one being on earth who’d ever speak to Second General Ign so. Jash and Ign dropped to their bellies in the same instant. Senior First Naxa had slunk a few steps away before he too dropped.

  “Stand!” Esshk said, striding quickly forward. “Before your entire force lies useless on the ground!” Jash and Ign had barely regained their feet before Esshk resumed. “Why have you stopped firing? The fate of the battle, the Final Swarm, hangs in the balance, yet you do nothing!”

  “I thought you were aboard Giorsh, awaiting the signal to advance with the Swarm,” Ign temporized, pointing. Another cruiser had slipped through the tangle. “If the cruisers can do it, the greatships might, with daylight.”

  “I came to witness the end of that nuisance,” Esshk snarled, pointing at Santa Catalina, “and our final, triumphant breakout. The world awaits beyond that heap of wreckage!” he roared. “Yet what do I find? Defeat,” he hissed, “pulling more heavily on the scale than ever before. How could you design such a disaster? It is good I came to relieve you of the burden of this battle you have made! Open fire!” he shouted at the gunners, staring back with jaws agape. “Pound that thing out there until there is no life on it!”

  “Many of our own warriors are on it now,” Ign reminded mildly. “And despite the apparent chaos, which all battles display to best effect, Santa Catalina must soon fall.”

  “Quicker with the weight of these guns,” Esshk stated.

  “So . . . I am truly relieved. You directly command here now?” Ign asked carefully.

  “I do. Remove yourself at once . . . but do not destroy yourself. I would speak with you again when this is done.” He glared down his snout at Jash. “Is this the prodigy you so praised?” He waved at the digging Slashers. “Is this meager jumble the result of my benevolence on his behalf?”

  Jash started to speak, but Ign slammed his elbow against the leather armor over Jash’s torso.

  “It is, Lord,” Ign said.

  “If this is all he has learned from you, you may take him away as well.”

  Ign bowed. “Then in light of my past service, I request that we be allowed to stay and observe how you salvage the battle I so poorly devised.” He glanced at Jash. “Help him unlearn my poor example.”

  Esshk hesitated. He needed to appear reasonable in front of all these troops. Ign’s troops. “Oh, very well,” he said, as if it meant nothing. Then he spoke lower, more hesitantly. “In light of your service, as you said, I would . . . spare you the shame of that.” He raised his voice again. “But wallow in it if you must. Just stay out of the way.” He glared back at the artillery line. “Open fire!” he repeated.

  The great guns thundered again, the pressure pounding Jash’s chest, but they couldn’t add much to the roiling turmoil inside. He worshipped First General Esshk above even the Celestial Mother, but this . . . He’d never imagined such capriciousness. The battle in the river was a mess, to be sure, but it was also all but won. Naxa glared at him as if Jash were somehow responsible for nearly getting him killed again, and quickly turned away.

  “Do not judge First General Esshk too harshly,” Ign whispered near Jash’s earhole. “Remember what I said about not being forgotten? He needs to be remembered for this more than we. More important, our race must remember it was he who won this battle and began our rise to victory.”

  Jash didn’t understand. “Will we be required to destroy ourselves?” he asked.

  “You? I doubt it. Myself? Very possibly.” Ign hesitated. “Unless, of course, First General Esshk manages to lose the battle he appropriated. I truly hope that doesn’t happen.” He gestured out at the fighting. “But those are not all mere Uul warriors over there. I would expect some Uul to turn prey under fire from our own guns, but most would continue fighting. It is the Way.” He looked directly at Jash. “If you were over there, however, already winning the fight, and realized your own race was deliberately firing on you for no reason you could see, what would you do?”

  Jash took a deep breath and considered a moment, but had no ready reply. “I would think the bombardment was a mistake and pause, protecting my troops as best I could until it was corrected,” he finally confessed.

  “Exactly,” Second General Ign said. “You would think. You probably wouldn’t flee, but you might stop pressing your attack.” He looked at Esshk, striding back and forth behind the bellowing guns, bodyguards clustered around him. “He made you. He made me; better tools to fight thi
s new kind of war. But I suspect even now he does not fully understand us and expects us only to fight with greater skill in the same old way. With overwhelming numbers that might still succeed, he has toiled very hard to improve the quality of his quantity. But the enemy has proven time and again that the quality of quantity alone is rarely sufficient anymore.”

  Jash agreed—he thought—but remained confused. He was still very young, after all. He was perhaps most confused that Ign remained so loyal to Esshk despite what Jash saw as a terrible betrayal. His own worship had almost immediately collapsed into resentment in the face of the fundamental unfairness he’d witnessed, and he found himself cast upon a tumultuous sea of uncertainty.

  Together, for a long moment, they watched the effect of the bombardment. Solid shot still pounded the distant wreck, and exploding shells sparkled away into the night to pop brightly over the target, their glare pulsing in the smoke. It was hard to tell through the rumbling reports, but it seemed as if the withering fusillade of small arms diminished somewhat. The enemy would be taking cover and he wondered if his counterparts, fighting over there, were directing their warriors to do the same.

  “We will still win,” Ign said abruptly. “The return fire from the enemy is concentrated more toward the back of the ship. Our warriors have certainly gained the forward part—but their attack has slowed. Perhaps they have even taken the armored section where the enemy’s greatest guns have been protected against us? Look: another of our cruisers has negotiated the tangle at the nakkle leg and is not under fire!” Suddenly he tensed and stared hard in the fiery, smoky gloom. “There!” he said sharply, pointing at a massive, deeper darkness moving up from behind the Santa Catalina.

  “I think I see,” Jash said, squinting. The smoke had finally overwhelmed him. He was having trouble breathing and his vision was blurry with the water that filled his eyes. “What is that?”