The Council of Bone

  * * *

  Castor walked down the line, inspecting the men in front of their tents. Not a thing was out of line, from their tents to their woodpiles.

  “At ease,” Castor called, one hand raised into the air. The five hundred men readjusted themselves, but then settled into almost the exact same position.

  Duke Wasser Calais stopped as Castor did. “What is it, my lord?”

  Castor shook his head. “Wasser, why do they look so– stiff?”

  Wasser tilted his head to the side. “What do you mean? They are Landwald mercenaries. There are none better in the world. Much better than the legions of cannon fodder that were trickling in until now. Trained as a child until their fifteenth nameday. I would not say they are stiff. Rather that they are rigid. Steadfast, if you will.”

  “Steadfast– I suppose you are right. How many more of them can we have by next month?”

  “Next month? I– I don't think that would be possible. We barely had the funds for the three thousand we have now, especially with the other seventeen thousand regular mercenaries!”

  “Then we take the funds we need. If we are to succeed, then we will need all the men that can be mustered. The Creep is right– war is coming. We must win.”

  Wasser sighed. “Can we please talk about this– Creep you are so fond of? Perhaps in a more private manner?” he asked, gesturing to the mercenaries who continued to hold the pose.

  Castor waved away his suggestion. “Anything you have to say about him can be said here and now, or never.”

  “Very well, My lord– I do not mean to question your judgment, but I must Samuel's side. Plainly said, I do not like him nor his kind.”

  Castor turned to look at him, confusion in his eyes. “His kind? What do you mean?”

  “Sorcerers.”

  “Dear friend, it's his magic that has led us to such great victories these past few weeks.”

  Wasser sighed again. “I know– forget I said anything, my lord.”

  Castor looked at him. “I know this is quick, friend. We are moving months ahead of time. But is not this the perfect time to strike? When everyone is looking for The Child of Fire?.”

  Castor whirled at the sound of footsteps. A man ran, with his sword above his head, right at Castor. As soon as Castor had his sword clear of the sheath, the man threw the sword.

  Diving to the ground, Castor heard the whoosh of the sword pass a few foot away from his head. Wasser ran at the man, but Castor called him off.

  Castor stood and moved aside the branches of a tree and his suspicion was confirmed. A man was slumped over on the ground, a dagger in hand.

  My gods– he was right behind me.

  Castor walked to where Wasser was holding his sword pointed at the man's throat. “What is your name?”

  “Paddrick, milord. First Lieutenant of the Grey Falcons.” His eyes crinkling with a mischievous set. “Now would you kindly call off this good sir? I don't need to shave that badly.

  “Well, Paddrick of the Grey Falcons, you will dine with my advisers and me tonight. I also want to know how you saw the assassin.”

  “I'm afraid that I must decline. My vast apologies, milord. It is a duty of the Lieutenants to make sure the soldiers and younger men are taken care of. As for seeing the assassin,” he shrugged, “I guess it is just my father's eyes I inherited.”

  Castor shook his head. “I insist Lieutenant. You will dine with me. I will have one of my aides take your duties for the evening. Come, we have much to talk about– especially your father's eyes.”

  Paddrick looked at a man in black armor who gave a curt nod. “I would be honored to join you. I do not know how much help I will be in telling you about my eyes, though. I was orphaned before I joined the Grey Falcons.”

  Wasser stepped toward Castor. “My lord, you have the inventories to go over.”

  Castor waved him off. “Have the scribes do it. I tire of the tediousness. I will see you at dinner, friend.”

  Twelve

  Harsh Lessons

  “The things that we learn the most from in life aren't always the most visible scars.”

  - Rafe Fithen

  If Charley had learned one thing in the past few days, it was that walking sucked. He remembered reading all kinds of comics back home. Not in one single comic was there anything about how much walking sucks.

  No, he thought to himself, that little fact was glossed over quite nicely. Every night that they stopped, he would pull off his boots, and his feet would be a little more blistered. The only upside of this whole thing is that my headaches are gone.

  Strength training is what Rafe had called it. “I need you to be build up strength before I can start training you,” he had told them when Abe complained about his blisters.

  At the end of the sixth day outside of Talas, Rafe set up camp as usual. “When I get back from scouting, have a fire ready.” That was all he said before he left.

  Charley watched him disappear into the woods. He shrugged and turned to the others. “Right, so who's turn is it to get firewood?”

  They stared back at him with saying anything. Charley felt his shoulders slump. Great…

  That was how Charley found himself outside the camp, picking up wood. The grainy wood scraping against the skin of his hands. He flipped over a log and caught sight of a purple moss. He thought of the purple of Nina's dress.

  Charley's head snapped up when he heard the scream. The scream echoed again a moment later. Foliage snapping and twigs cracking under his clumsy feet as he ran for the camp, Charley ran with all he had.

  He came within a whisper's length from running all the way to the camp. He stopped. What are you thinking, Charley? You're not a hero, remember? What are you going to do that Hans and Jaelyn couldn't handle?

  Like a pump, he filled his lungs with air several times. The last bit of distance to the camp he crept forward. Charley peaked around a tree and saw Abe and Riley valiantly, albeit inefficiently, fighting against two Salans.

  They were disarmed and thrown to the ground, arms wrenched behind their backs. Charley looked around, trying to see Nina or the other two. He eventually saw that Hans and Jaelyn were tied to a tree on the far side of the camp, slumped over in unconsciousness.

  Where are you, Nina? Please say she got away.

  That hope was dashed, as a third Salan soon carried a screaming and kicking Nina over his shoulder. “This one's a fighter, too,” the Salan said, a sly grin crossing its face.

  After he tied Nina he looked around and frowned. “There should be another boy and the warrior.”

  One of the Salans looked up from holding down Abe. “I don't care. I just wanted this one for calling us lizards.” The Salan looked back down at Abe. “Bet you wish you'd kept your mouth shut now, boy.”

  Charley remembered what the other Salan had said. Rafe is out scouting– maybe if I can find him. I need to hurry!

  Charley felt a sharp pain shoot through his hand as he started mousing away. He looked down and saw he still held the thick branch with the purple moss in a death grip, causing his fingernails to turn a ghostly white. Instead of putting it down, for whatever reason he could never explain, he kept it.

  He soon found the trail of snapped twigs. To most people it would look like an accident, but Rafe had taught them how to read through it to find him in emergencies. As he got further from camp he sped up until he was once again crashing through the underbrush. Pushing aside a limb, his mouth was covered as he raced by. He started fighting back, and even tried to hit at the arm with his makeshift club.

  “Stop, Charley. It's me,” Rafe whispered in his ear. “Tell me what's going on.”

  Rafe's strong arms released him. He turned. “They've got everyone.”

  “You're going to have to be a little more specific. Who has them?”

  “Those Salan guys from Talas.”

  Rafe sighed. “I should have know– wait, what do you have in your hand?”

  Charley held up the branc
h. “It was for firewood. What's it got to do with anything? We need to save them.”

  Rafe grabbed the log and twisted it over to the moss. “Not the branch, the moss.” He brought it up to his nose and snuffled at it. A wolfish grin split across his face. “This is Scale Itch. Come on, Charley. I have a plan.”

  Rafe set off at a quick pace, breaking through the underbrush with silent ease. Charley did his best to follow in the same path. Rafe held his hand as they came upon the camp. He looked back at Charley. “When I motion for you, lob this branch at them. We might get through this without a fight.”

  Rafe walked into the camp. Charley felt his mouth open at the blatant boldness of the action. The Salans also appeared just as shocked. Charley saw that the others were bound as well. The lead Salan motioned for the other two to flank Rafe.

  Rafe held up his hands. “I think the three of you are smart enough to realize you can't win this fight.”

  The Salan in the middle leered and his tongue flicked out. “Even you can't take all three of us.”

  “I wouldn't be so sure. Are you sure you insist on this?” When the three Salans continued to move in on Rafe, he kept completely still as they closed in a pincer around him. “Now, Charley!” Rafe shouted as they closed in the last few feet.

  With a great “oomph”, Charley threw the log. He watched as it tilted end over end. Reaching the peak of its trajectory, it almost seemed that it would continue into the air and fly off forever, destroying the plan in an instant.

  Then gravity took over, and it plummeted straight for the four of them. For a moment, Charley though their last hope had been ruined. The lead Salan reached up and plucked the large branch out of the air almost mechanically.

  Crap…

  Then the moss began releasing spores that poured out and covered all four of them. Almost instantly, the Salans started scratching at their hides. Rafe folded his arms across his chest. “I suggest you leave and don't come back. Next time I won't be so gentle.”

  Charley ran into the camp as the Salans fled, still ripping at their skin with snarls and whimpers. He knelt beside Nina and started pulling at the knots, but found them to be too strong. Rafe knelt beside him and held out a knife. “You free them. I'm going to make sure they leave for good.”

  Charley sawed at their bindings until he had them free. Nina jumped at him, pulling him into a hug. “You saved us.” She sat back and then slugged him in the arm.

  “What was that for?” Charley asked, sitting down hard from the force of the blow.

  “For saving me again,” she said, a frown crossing her face. Then a small smile materialized. “But I'm glad you did.”

  Abe chuckled. “Just kiss her already,” he called.

  Nina turned on him, tensing up. “Do you want me to hit you too?”

  “No. I think I’ve been abused enough for one day.” Abe put up his hands in surrender.