“Why? Just what did burying the skeleton do?”
“Stopped its smell from getting out.”
In the dark, Gabe couldn’t see Ofelia but he could sense the bubbling anger.
“Its smell?” she demanded, voice cracking.
There was a particularly vicious retort against their shell. The mud shattered and Gabe saw the stock of a rifle through the hole. It was being raised for another blow. Ofelia growled and suddenly there were clinging tendrils of mud all over the soldier holding the rifle. He yelped in surprise at first, then screamed when the mud clawed at his face. The hole closed up before Gabe could see what happened next, but the muffled sounds of panic didn’t last long.
“The smell?” Ofelia asked grimly.
Swallowing the shock, Gabe said, “Getting rid of it should provide a distraction for the troops outside. Now, we need something to keep those inside occupied.” Taking a deep breath, he added, “And for that, I need one more thing of you.”
Eyes narrowing, she asked, “What?”
“Another message. Shorter,” he said hastily. “And not so far. Not very far at all.”
Ofelia put her hands on the ground with slow deliberation, waiting.
“I need it to spread throughout the interior of the camp. No single destination.”
“There’s no one else here who could read it.”
“I’m rather hoping there is. Just say, I need you to dance for me now.”
“What does that mean?”
“Ofelia!”
Teeth bared, Ofelia sent the message. It rolled out through the ground, a faint tickle on the edges of Gabe’s awareness.
“Now what?” Ofelia asked as the soldiers continued to hammer at their shell.
“Now, we wait, and hope someone’s listening.”
#
David ducked a clumsy blow from an Alarian sword. He knocked the return swing aside with his own weapon, then stepped in close to the unbalanced soldier. Pressing the barrel of a stolen revolver against the man’s chin, he pulled the trigger. Not pausing to watch the body fall to the mud, David spun, but even as he did, he knew the rest of his opponents weren’t there anymore. They were running, fleeing into the wet night.
Something was wrong. They should have been better prepared but instead they were uncoordinated and cowardly. It had been easy to cause chaos with the perimeter patrols, easier to sneak into the camp. Each squad he came up against barely engaged before they pulled back. David had to pursue a couple of them just to satisfy the need to fight boiling inside.
The duty was pulling at him harder than ever. He’d barely been able to stay away during the day. It was a hot brand in his chest, pushing at his ribs and skin, wanting to move, to fulfil the task. He could almost feel Duke Ibarra’s breath on his neck, could almost hear all the unspoken threats about what would happen if he failed. It wouldn’t just be back to his cell. Not if he didn’t bring Prince Ramiero back. He was immortal. Torture could last a long, long time.
Unopposed, the duty roared and fought inside but David forced it aside, knowing it wouldn’t be long—a matter of hours, perhaps—before it would break free. He’d wasted enough time.
Hefting his sword, David gave chase. The fleeing Alarians were as awkward in their escape as they were in their attack. He caught two of them on the run, taking one on the sword, the other with a gunshot to the chest. Beyond them, the other soldiers kept going. David followed even though he knew they were leading him into a trap. It was the only explanation for their behaviour. It would be interesting to see what sort of death they’d devised for him.
A high pitched wail cut through the night. It sliced through David’s skin and into his muscles, a familiar sensation. Another screech joined it, then a third. They layered one on top of the next, wave after wave of sound stripping strength and thought from all who heard it. Men cried in pain and panic, chaos erupting from all directions. From within the walls, the eerily wild screams of the horses rose, accompanied by shouts and erratic gunfire.
Just when he thought he wouldn’t be able to stand it any longer, when it felt as if his muscles had turned to liquid to be washed away in the rain, the other presence stirred inside and the veil dropped. A comforting blanket of insulation from the disabling hunting cries of the native creatures. Shaking the last of the ringing ache from his head, David saw them.
Small, deadly-quick shadows darting here and there. They seemed to come from everywhere, all at once, dozens of them in David’s immediate surroundings. Nimble, grey-skinned and feral-eyed, they skittered this way and that and pounced like large cats, tearing through the Alarian ranks. Whatever discipline there had been was decimated. The creatures’ cries rose and rose into the wet sky, a piercing, discordant crescendo that turned hardened bodies soft, that broke even the toughest resolve.
A snarling, flat-headed creature bounced out from behind a tent. It spotted David, screeched and leaped for him. David met it with a massive upward swing of his sword, all but splitting the creature in two.
Another appeared, stalking out of the shadows, clawed hands curling and uncurling menacingly. David shot it. Around him, the camp was in complete uproar. There were creatures everywhere and very few of the soldiers had the will to defend against them. It was a slaughter and would remain that way until they rallied together and found strength in numbers. There was rifle fire from the walls, but in these conditions, it was possible they would hit more of their fellows than creatures.
A new sound entered the mix. It began quiet and distant, but quickly gained volume and depth as more instruments were added.
Drums.
It came from inside the walls and David recognised it. But before he could think about what it might mean, five of the vicious creatures bounded toward him from all directions. He had two bullets left in his gun. Reserving them for when he found some real trouble, he met the screeching midgets with his blade.
#
It wasn’t until Gabe heard the drums that he relaxed, but only a fraction. Their situation hadn’t improved. Had, in fact, deteriorated a tad. In the dark confines of their mud dome, he could barely make out Ofelia, but she was tiring. Her breathing was laboured as she struggled to maintain the dome against the assaults of the Alarians outside. They’d set aside their rifles and now swung axes and shovels at the magically shaped earth. Several times they’d broken through but the Earth Mage had been quick enough to seal the hole and deter the attacker. She was slowing down, however. Soon, she wouldn’t be able to close all the breaches and the enemy would be through.
At the sound of the drums, as the steady, rhythmic beat rose into the night, Gabe gave a little cheer and allowed himself a tiny, congratulatory smile. It had worked.
“What’s that?” Ofelia demanded, her hand finding him in the dark and squeezing unnecessarily tight.
“Dance music,” he replied as cheerily as he could. “Don’t you just want to get up and do a four-step stomp?”
She growled and dug her fingers into his skin. A loud smash on the mud above Gabe cracked the shell and clods of hardened earth battered his head. A revolver barrel was pushed through the opening. Gabe and Ofelia scrambled back, one on either side of the weapon, pressing themselves against the walls. The sound of the weapon being cocked drowned out the drums.
“Close it,” Gabe hissed at Ofelia.
“I’m trying.”
“Enough,” Carufel shouted through the hole as it began to close around the gun. It was painfully slow and Ofelia grunted with effort. “We know you can’t keep this up forever,” the lieutenant continued. “Come out now and no one will be harmed.”
Gabe laughed. “Really? No one? Not even the man you built this trap for?”
Carufel didn’t rise to the argument. “The mage is tiring. We can see that plainly. Even if you continue to resist, we’ll be through this shell sooner rather than later.”
The faint shaft of light revealed Ofelia’s indecision. She wanted to fight, to stay as free as she could,
but she also knew she was failing.
“You give your word?” Gabe demanded. “We won’t be harmed?”
Ofelia glared at him, but around the edges of the anger he could feel her agreement.
“As an officer of the Alarie Elite and by the hand of the One God.”
Gabe reached for Ofelia. She curled her fingers through his and nodded. The walls of the mud shell sank back into the earth, crumbling and cracking as they went.
They were surrounded. At least two dozen soldiers, all with rifles aimed at them, and beyond them, several squads of soldiers at the ready. Gabe tried to be impressed the Alarians thought he and Ofelia were such a threat, but he was too terrified.
Carufel stood before them. His uniform muddy and torn, face grim. He held a rifle as well as the revolver.
“What did you do?” he asked between clenched teeth. “What are those things attacking the men outside the walls? Are they some of your demons?”
Out from the insulating enclosure of mud, Gabe could hear panicked shouting and erratic weapons fire. Echoing shrieks rising and falling like the ocean against the sands of Roque’s beaches. The sound tore at his ears, grated against his bones, set his teeth to aching. And that was at a distance. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like for the men outside the walls. Regret almost got a foothold but he quickly reminded himself of everything the Alarians had done in order to take Tejon Company.
Gabe met Carufel’s gaze squarely. “They’re called mesquala and they’re native to the Valley. Right now, your soldiers are standing between them and their breeding grounds. You can’t blame them for only doing what comes natural. It’s far more reasonable than anything either of us have done so far.”
The lieutenant’s fingers shifted around the stock of his rifle, lips pressed tight against some urge he struggled to keep under control. Carufel was regretting his promise not to harm them.
After a tense moment filled with the sounds of chaos outside and the driving beat of the Valleymen drums, Carufel tossed his head and snapped, “Get them up. Take them into the command tent. Colonel Roulier will want to interrogate them personally.”
Gabe and Ofelia were hauled upright, the Earth Mage crying in pain as her broken legs were jarred.
“Watch it, you oafs,” Gabe shouted. “She’s wounded.”
“Then perhaps you should have healed her instead of making matters worse,” Carufel said heartlessly.
Ofelia, limp with exhaustion and pain, was lifted up into a man’s arms and carried off. Gabe, held firmly between two others, with a third and fourth behind, their rifle barrels jabbed into his kidneys, was marched along after her.
A squad of soldiers raced into the main yard. Carufel broke away from Gabe and Ofelia’s procession to meet the sergeant for a short, grim report involving a lot of head shaking and pointing. Carufel issued a rapid list of commands, ordering several more squads here and there to do this and that, then returned to where Gabe was about to follow Ofelia into the command tent.
“Trouble?” Gabe asked mildly.
Carufel snarled at him and the soldiers shoved him into the tent with more than necessary force. Stumbling, Gabe caught himself before he fell flat on his face at Colonel Roulier’s feet.
“What’s happening, Lieutenant?” Roulier demanded, ignoring Gabe.
To one side, Ofelia was lowered to the floor beside Prince Ramiero, who was bound hand and foot, surrounded by five guards.
“The Bone Mage claims it’s native creatures attacking the outer camp, sir,” Carufel said grimly. “He called them mescullers.”
“Mesquala,” Gabe corrected. “Midgets, terribly vicious. The Valleymen believe hunting them is extremely fun.”
Roulier backhanded Gabe as if he was a particularly annoying dog. “And the drums?” he asked Carufel.
On the ground, nursing his throbbing face, Gabe focused on Carufel. The young man didn’t seem to care about Roulier’s casual abuse.
“The natives, sir. Apparently they’re dancing.”
Roulier’s lips twisted. “Dancing?”
They were actually dancing? Gabe scowled. Damn David for putting the idea in his head it was a fight, not a dance.
“Yes, sir. I have sent several squads to put a stop to it,” Carufel continued.
Roulier grunted and turned, seeming to notice Gabe on the floor as he did so. “Get this demon out of my way,” he snapped. “Secure him away from the others. Who knows what more mischief he might get up to.”
Gabe was dragged to the corner opposite the others and bound and gagged. Before they placed the blindfold over his eyes he saw du Serres. The general lay on a cot on the far side of the tent, several nervous medics clustered around him. He didn’t seem to be awake, but at least he was alive, even if the means of his resurrection had his fellow Alarians doubting the validity of his continued life. Gabe hoped they didn’t do anything drastic in the name of their One God.
It would be easy to give in to the enforced darkness of the blindfold. He was tired, too much had happened too quickly. He’d thought they would be safe with Rafe revealed. The Alarians had what they came for, they had almost been free. Then Dina had ruined it all.
He resisted the temptation of giving in. He’d created the chaos outside the walls to help David, and even if his plan for inside hadn’t worked, that was no reason to surrender. Concentrating on hearing, Gabe tried to work out what was going on. Distantly the mesquala continued their attack on the outer camp, closer the Valleymen drums were building up to some sort of peak. Within the tent, the talk was quiet and terse, Gabe too far away to make out any words.
Then the drumming stopped.
“Finally,” Roulier called in growling relief.
It was short lived, because a moment later, shouting and gunfire replaced the drums with their own style of frenzied music.
“Carufel,” Roulier roared.
Nothing much for the next several minutes made any sense to Gabe. Roulier shouted, men shouted back, boots stomped back and forth and outside the tent was even worse. Then there was the sound of canvas ripping, more frantic shouting, steel blades clashing, Ofelia screaming.
“Stop him!” Roulier shouted over the top of it.
A gunshot, a scream, another shot and then a brief moment of silence, broken by a wordless, mad roar of anger.
Gabe struggled against his ropes but it was useless. They were too well tied. He clawed at his blindfold, hoping his guards would be too distracted to notice. He got the material pushed up and blinked into the sudden light. All he could see was a confusing mess of boots and between them, several soldiers ringed around du Serres. To one side, Roulier stood alone, hands clenched at his sides, face screwed up into an expression of pure rage. He faced the corner where Rafe and Ofelia had been. All that remained was a couple of dead Alarian soldiers and a long, gaping rent in the canvas.
David.
He’d come for Rafe at last and, thankfully, took Ofelia as well. Gabe sighed. At least the prince would make it back to Ibarra, even if none of the rest of them did.
More canvas tearing, closer this time. Hands grabbed Gabe roughly from behind. Two soldiers spun to face him, guns raised, and then he was hauled backward through the slit in the tent wall. He tumbled out into the rain, coming up against several pairs of legs. More hands grabbed him, hefted him up and then they were running. Slung over a broad shoulder, Gabe couldn’t focus on anything other than the arse of his rescuer. It was covered in an amshad of earthy colours he couldn’t make out in the dark. Below the arse, long legs flashed impossibly fast, flinging mud up into Gabe’s face. Unable to wipe it away, Gabe squeezed his eyes shut against the dirt and worked on keeping his stomach under control. Bounced around on the hard shoulder, it was threatening to heave up whatever it contained.
There were several very close retorts, gunfire that seemed to come from right beside Gabe’s head. Further out, the clang and clash of blades accompanied by grunts of effort, shouts and screams of startled pain.
&n
bsp; When they stopped it was so abrupt Gabe’s face slammed into the back of his rescuer. Unperturbed, his Valleyman lifted him down to the ground almost gently. Gabe slumped back, relieved to be still once more, though his stomach was still moving in disturbing circles. Ofelia was lowered down beside him carefully, followed by Rafe, already free of his bonds.
“Gabriel, are you all right?” Rafe began to tug at Gabe’s bonds. “Damn it. I need a knife.”
A knife was handed down to the prince and he sawed through the ropes around Gabe’s hands.
“I might puke, but otherwise, I’m excellent,” Gabe muttered.
Rafe looked up from working on his leg bonds. “At least we’re free.”
Ofelia snorted and Gabe had to agree with her. Free? From the hectic clamour of battle around them, free seemed a trifle optimistic.
With a triumphant grunt, Rafe released Gabe’s legs and stood, holding out a hand to him. Gabe took it and clambered to his feet.
They were in the ruins of his hospital, the three of them crammed into the most solid remaining corner. In an arc around them were several Valleymen, including Kimotak, who grinned at Gabe like it was all a big, fun game. Beyond the natives, were several Delaluzians in protective positions against the walls, faces intent as they fired a variety of rifles and revolvers at the circling Alarians. Outside the crumbled walls of the hospital, a dark figure wove and ducked and leaped his way through the enemy like a scythe through defenceless wheat, two swords slicing the air like keen-edged moonbeams.
Kimotak patted Gabe’s shoulder. “We heard you, ndargo, so we dance for you.” He pointed to their Delaluzian guards. “First, we dance so your friends can be free. Then,” he pointed beyond the walls, past David’s solo war on Alarie to where there was even more confusion, “we dance so you be free.”
In and out of the shadows and rain the Valleymen danced, though now they danced against the Alarians. They moved almost as fluidly as David, almost as fast, using hands and feet only. What Gabe had perceived as a finely choreographed symmetry between two men was really a form of hand to hand combat he had never seen before. The precise flow of kicks and punches aimed to miss in the dance were exactly the same here, but that control now saw each foot and fist take a heavy toll on their opponents. The Alarians, finding themselves face to face with the Valleymen, fought back with blades and guns, but the blades were slapped aside and the bullets dodged, all of it looking natural, the dark-skinned men flowing from one stance to another. Gabe saw an Alarian take aim at a Valleyman and fire. The native simply turned a flying kick into a roll through the air, over the trajectory of the bullet. He landed in a perfect crouch, launching himself back up instantly, using one arm to propel him feet first into the chest of his attacker.
Dead Bones Page 46