Bone Magic

by Brent Nichols

  Men stepped out of the trees beside the ferry station. The ostler was there, and his two friends from the dice game, and the crew of the ferry and a couple of other men as well. Every one of them was armed, mostly with cudgels or barrel staves, and their expressions were ugly as they advanced.

  Tira didn't waste any time talking, just sprang into Daisy's saddle. The mule sensed her fear and broke into a gallop, and the pony ran to keep up, not waiting for Tam to get fully into the saddle. He had his left foot in the stirrup, his right foot making frantic leaps as he clung to the pommel in front of him for dear life. He swung his leg up, nearly falling as the pony swerved to avoid a pothole. He got a leg over the pony’s back, clung for a moment, then heaved himself forward and into the saddle.

  A barrel stave sailed past Tira's shoulder, and she flinched, then risked a look back. The ostler was no more than two steps behind Daisy's flashing hooves, the others close behind him. As she watched, though, men at the back began to fall away, recognizing the hopelessness of the pursuit.

  The ostler seemed determined to catch them, but he was not a fit man. He had an ample belly that sloshed from side to side as he ran, and twenty running steps had turned his face bright red. As she watched, he grimaced, clapped a hand to his side, and slowed to a stumbling walk.

  Tira started to grin, then gritted her teeth as she felt the saddle shift beneath her. She clamped her knees to Daisy's sides and squeezed for all she was worth, but after thirty yards or so the saddle slid sideways and she felt herself begin to fall. She got an arm up to protect the side of her head and landed hard, tucking her legs in and tumbling along the road.

  She came to her feet as quickly as she could. The wind was knocked out of her, but she tried not to let it show as she scooped up the saddle and saddle blanket and slung them over her shoulder. Daisy had stopped almost immediately. Tira grabbed her reins and started to run.

  The nearest men were standing in a knot twenty or thirty yards behind her. They started running when they saw she was dismounted, but most of them were already out of breath. Tira gritted her teeth and ran for all she was worth. Her torso was a massive knot of pain, her lungs fighting to take in air, but she forced herself to take thirty running steps. By that time she was lightheaded with lack of oxygen, black spots swimming before her eyes. She stumbled to a stop and looked back.

  Her pursuers had stopped before she did. They stared at her, clearly puzzled, wondering if she was toying with them. She smirked at them, wanting them to think it was a game. She was able to breathe now, and she was far more fit than they were. In a few moments she would be able to outrun them, even burdened with the saddle.

  "You better not come back to Mirk's Ferry!" the ostler shouted. "We'll teach you a thing or two about thieving!"

  Tira didn't answer, just gave him a wave as she swung the blanket and saddle over Daisy's back. She set off at a brisk walk, watching the saddle to make sure it didn't fall. The men from Mirk's Ferry glared after her, but they didn't follow.

  The shadows were growing long when Tira heard the squeak of wood against wood coming from the road up ahead. She stopped Daisy, took out her bow, and strung it.

  "What is it?" Tam asked.

  "You hear that squeak?"

  He nodded.

  "It sounds like an ungreased axle to me." When he stared at her without comprehension, she added, "On a wagon."

  His eyes went wide. "You think it's them?"

  "Maybe. I…"

  He didn't listen to the rest. He swung himself into the saddle, booted the pony in the ribs, and took off down the road at a gallop, one hand reaching behind him to take his axe out from under his bedroll.

  "Tam!" She swore, then shot a frustrated glare at Daisy and started running.

  The road rose ahead of her, then descended. She could hear sounds of chaos from the far side, shouting voices and the clash of steel on steel. She ran to the top of the rise and stopped.

  Tam was standing in his stirrups, his axe in one hand and the pony's reins in the other. He was facing a rough-dressed man on horseback. The man had a sword in his hand, and he and Tam were moving in tight circles, weapons raised, waiting for a chance to strike.

  There was a small wagon, more of a cart really, with covered sides and a seat at the front. A huge man in red leather was on the seat, a sword in his hand. When the circling horses came close he swung at Tam's back. He missed, then sprang to the ground and charged into the fray.

  Tam saw him in the nick of time and twisted in the saddle, swinging his axe. The man on horseback saw his chance and lifted his sword high, ready for a killing blow.

  Tira's arrow caught him just under the armpit, one of the few places a man with a breastplate and helmet was vulnerable. This man wore no armor that Tira could see, but habits learned on a battlefield were hard to break. He dropped the sword and toppled sideways, landing in the dirt with one foot still caught in his stirrup.

  The man in red shot a frightened glance at Tira, then darted around the front of the cart. Tira had an arrow nocked and ready, waiting for him to show himself.

  Tam's pony, frightened by the violence and the smell of blood, was making pathetic attempts to buck him off. Tira could hear him cursing the animal as he fought for control. The big man, meanwhile, was edging along the side of the wagon. Tira didn't want to kill him if she could help it, and she watched, wishing he would just run away.

  Just as the pony stopped bucking, the man stepped forward and pulled the back of the cart open in one quick motion. A little girl came leaping out, and he caught her in mid-air. His arm went around her throat, and he knelt in the dirt, holding her in front of him as a shield.

  A small boy stuck his head out of the cart, looked both ways, then sprang to the ground and took off running for the trees. Tira could see a third child inside, hugging the floor of the cart, peering out without moving.

  The big man held his sword across the little girl's body. He was panting and wild-eyed, and he shouted, "Stay back! Get back, or I'll kill her."

  Tam was out of the saddle, axe in hand, and he froze, looking at Tira for guidance. She froze as well.

  "Walk away," the man shouted. "Walk away, or this brat is dead."

  Tira looked at the girl, wishing she would sink her teeth into the man's arm. Not that he would feel much through that red leather sleeve. The girl, though, was rigid with terror, staring at Tira with eyes the size of saucers. She was a pretty child in a dress of homespun cloth, her hair lank and greasy and sticking up in clumps.

  Leaving her with the man in red was clearly out of the question. Tira weighed her options, and thought about aiming for the little girl's heart. If she got the shot just right, she would bury the arrow in the man's arm where it crossed the girl's chest. But the arrow might punch right through and kill her, and if her aim was a couple of inches high or low, the girl was dead for sure.

  The man had one knee exposed, but the last thing Tira wanted to do was make him angry while preventing him from running away. She switched her gaze to his face. She could put an arrow between his eyes, but it would mean missing the girl's head by a hair's breadth. She decided to aim for his right eye instead. It gave her more margin for error.

  "Last chance!" the man yelled, pressing the sword tighter against the girl's body. "Get out of here, or…"

  Tira took a deep breath, drew the arrow back, and let fly. She saw his eyes widen as the arrow flashed toward him. His head snapped to the side, he let out a bellow of pain, the girl screamed, and Tam exploded into motion.

  In the instant it took for Tira to draw and nock another arrow, everything changed. The axe landed in the dirt as Tam flung himself onto the man's sword arm. Tam pulled the sword back with one hand and dragged the child to safety with the other hand. The big man lurched to his feet, clapping one hand to a bleeding gash along the side of his face, and took off at a stumbling run for the trees. Tira released the tension on her bowstring, letting him go.

  The children were dirty, hungry,
and frightened, but unhurt. Sari was the one who had been used for a shield. Lina only came out of the cart when she saw Tam with Sari in his arms. Mikail came out of the trees and rejoined them ten or fifteen minutes later.

  The children were unhurt. The two men had been no rougher than necessary, and the children had been in the back of the cart almost constantly since they were captured. They had no idea why they had been kidnapped.

  There was only one injury in the group. Tam had grabbed the man's sword blade with his bare hand, and he had a shallow cut across his palm. Tira bandaged it with a strip from the dead man's shirttail.

  They left the dead man lying in the ditch. Tira stripped off his sword belt and went through his pockets, taking a few coins. There was a letter, folded and unfolded so many times that it was almost falling apart, the ink fading to where it was almost illegible. The writing was delicate and feminine, and there was a lock of golden hair tied in a ribbon. Tira didn't read it, just stuffed it back into his pocket. She hated knowing things about the people she killed. They always came back to haunt her dreams, and details only made it worse.

  "We need to move," said Tira. "I don't want to be here if that man comes back."

  Tam nodded. "Which way?"

  It was a good question. They couldn't very well go back to Mirk's Ferry. "I guess we go forward," she said. "There has to be a bridge or a ford eventually."

  There was a mule hitched to the cart. They tied Daisy and the pony to the back of the cart. Tam drove the cart, while Tira commandeered the captured horse. Nothing would persuade the children to get back inside the cart once they were out, so the girls crowded onto the seat beside Tam while Mikail walked. When he got tired he rode Tam's pony.

  The forest ended, and for a time they rode through prosperous farmland. Tam and the children gaped at everything they saw, from stones silos to spotted cattle. A fortified keep on a hilltop had them staring back over their shoulders until it was lost from sight.

  For two days they followed the river, camping in pastures. The river was always to their right, wide and fast, the far bank a solid mass of unbroken forest. There were no boats and no bridges. Every village had a wall around it, and the farm houses all were built like tiny fortresses with stone walls and stout doors and narrow windows.

  One afternoon, a garrulous young farm boy walked with them for a couple of miles, chatting. Tira asked him where the nearest bridge was.

  "Bridge? I don't know. Maybe at Willan's Crossing? Only I heard it was overrun by goblins. That's the closest bridge, though. It's up the road a piece."

  "How far?"

  He shrugged, rubbing the side of a bony, sunburned nose. "I don't know. A ways? I've never been."

  "Doesn't anyone cross the river?" she asked.

  He looked shocked at the idea. "That's goblin country! We get raids over here, but across the river? There's goblins everywhere."

  When they stopped to camp for the evening, Lina wailed, "How will we get home if there's goblins?"

  "There won't be goblins," Tira told her.

  "But that boy said!"

  Tira grinned. "He also said he's never been across the river. He's never been anywhere. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

  "But what if…"

  "It will be fine," Tira told her. "Tam and I will keep you safe."

  The next day, though, the farms ended and the country grew wild. This wasn't the ancient forest they had seen on the other side of the river. This was farmland abandoned for twenty or thirty years. The road grew rough, and they had to steer the cart around saplings, or push it through washed-out sections. On the other hand, game was plentiful, and Tira brought down a nice buck at midday. She dressed it and put it in the cart.

  In the afternoon the road improved slightly. There were paving stones, though they were buckled and uneven. Saplings had been chopped off low to the ground, and washed-out sections had been crudely repaired, making the road bumpy but navigable.

  Late in the day they came to a squat stone building standing by the side of the road. Instead of windows it had arrow slits for archers. The door was solid oak and covered in metal studs. "Maybe we should stay here tonight," Tira said. "It's defensible."

  "I thought you said there weren't any goblins," Lina objected.

  "That's not exactly what I said."

  "I'm scared of goblins!" Lina wailed.

  "Oh, for… Look. If I see anything shorter than five feet tall, other than you three, I'll put an arrow in it. I promise. All right?"

  "Now that," said a gruff and gravelly voice, "is the most insulting thing I've heard all day."

  Chapter 5

  Lina gave a small shriek and crowded closer to Tam on the bench. Tira, her cheeks growing warm, looked at the closest arrow slit in the hut and gave a helpless shrug.

  The oak door swung open and a stocky figure came out. He was just under five feet tall, though thick-soled boots and a steel helmet made him look taller. Long, curly dark hair spilled out from under the helmet and framed a weathered, homely face that was mostly obscured by a dark brown beard. Broad shoulders were made even broader by a shirt of thick chain mail that hung to his knees. He wore a sword belt over top of the chain mail. His thick-fingered hands were on his hips, and he was doing his best to frown at them, but he couldn't quite hide an amused grin.

  "Are you a dwarf?" Mikail blurted.

  "What an odd question," the stranger said, and sketched a mocking bow. "I am Yanil Ironholder, at your service. I am a soldier, and a baker, and a teller of tall tales." He smirked up at Tira and said, "I'm primarily known as a lover of the ladies." He chuckled at his own wit, and nodded to Mikail. "I am also a dwarf."

  Mikail blushed. "I didn't mean to be rude. Only, I thought dwarves weren't real."

  Yanil gave a snort of laughter. "Well, I never. But I forget my manners. Welcome to Willan's Crossing. All who come in peace are made welcome. All others are chopped fine and dumped into the river. You'll find the town just ahead, and I'm sure they'll be glad to provide a roof over your heads." He patted the stone wall beside him. "I'm afraid you won't be able to spend the night in my hut."

  Tira thanked him, and he bowed again in reply. She could hear him chuckling to himself as they rode past and continued up the road.

  "Was he really a dwarf?" Sari asked.

  No one bothered to reply.

  The trees ended and the town appeared before them. It was a small settlement, but well-defended. A stone wall about eight feet high surrounded the town, with a tower at each corner. The town gate had a steel portcullis and a tower on each side, each with a dwarf in chain mail standing guard. As they rode closer Tira saw the rest of the town's defenses, a low ditch just outside the wall, the bottom and the inner side lined with sharpened stakes. An athletic man could have cleared the ditch with a leap. It was scaled for goblins.

  The bridge was built of stone as well. It spanned the river in three graceful arches, connecting to a road that vanished into the forest on the far side. On the near side of the river, the end of the bridge was within the stone walls.

  The five of them rode through the town gate, a handful of dwarves watching them from the top of the wall. Tira was expecting to see more stone inside, but the walls she saw were whitewashed plaster. There were dwarves everywhere, most of them men, and they watched the strangers with idle curiosity. A short street paved with crushed gravel led to an open square in the middle of the town. There, a graying dwarf woman in a long green dress came striding over to meet them, flanked by a pair of soldiers.

  Tira swung down from her saddle and nodded a greeting. The dwarf woman bobbed her head in reply. "Welcome," she said. "I'm Mayor Tandis."

  Tira introduced herself and the others. "We're passing through," she said.

  "Perhaps," the mayor replied, and ran a critical eye over them. "Five people, four animals, and a cart. I think five silver crowns should cover the bill."

  Tira felt her jaw drop. "Five crowns? For what, exactly?"

  T
he mayor's lips thinned, but her voice remained calm. "For the privilege of crossing the river on our bridge, of course."

  "That's outrageous!" She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth, but the mayor shrugged, unfazed.

  "You don't have to pay, of course." She smiled. "There is a ferry crossing, back the way you came. You can reach it in about three days." She gestured over her shoulder. "There is another bridge, about two days that way. Of course, when we drove the goblins out of this town, that was the direction they were headed. But maybe they will let you pass."

  Tira glared at her, then made herself relax. There was more than one way to cross a bridge. She smiled with as much sincerity as she could muster. "Since we haven't got five crowns, I guess we'll be on our way. The hunting was good today. We'll just go beyond your town limits and cook up our venison."

  The mayor's eyes brightened. "We can't very well turn you away with the sun about to set. Surely you'll join us for dinner?"

  "That sounds marvelous," Tira told her. "We accept."

  They roasted the buck outside in a brick fire pit under the stars. There were fifty or sixty dwarves in the town, and they supplemented the venison with roast chickens and a vegetable stew, all of it mopped up with slices of coarse bread.

  There were always sentries on the walls, but the rest of the dwarves ate together at long tables set up on the open grass in the center of town. Tira found herself on a bench wedged beside a sturdy dwarf with a beard of familiar-looking brown curls. She wasn't entirely sure if he was Yanil Ironholder until he spoke. The dwarves were bewilderingly similar to one another.

  A fat dwarf with a gray-flecked beard sat on her other side. He was a leather worker, and he was delighted to learn that Tira and her group didn't want the hide of their buck. "The hunting isn't so good around here anymore," he told her. "We've been here too long." He stabbed a bit of venison with his fork and waved it for emphasis. "I haven't had proper red meat in a week."