“From what Lelishen said, if one ignites, others are in danger.”
“You can wager your life against it, but I wouldn’t. Flame attracts firelings, and a sudden explosion like the stonebreakers? You’ll never see the bastards, but some say they swarm the energy of the burst, making it more likely they find the other fists.”
Solineus translated the Kingdomer’s words for everyone, to emphasize what he’d told them earlier.
“Your people came down maybe a hundred strides apart?”
Morik nodded. “Further the better, but that’s plenty enough so the boom won’t kill you. If one of you paints the dirt, the others got themselves two choices. Either you run and pray, or you set your pack down gentle like, then run. When you camp, rest, anything, never gather without scattering the packs.”
“You and your people made it alive, I reckon that’s a good sign.”
Morik laughed. “We didn’t have far to travel above ground. Inside the mountain, the firelings are less active. We store the stonebreakers deep as we’re able, but here in the outside world… I suggest you travel fast.”
Solineus said, “Got it. Everybody carries a box, and we ride separated by a hundred strides or more. One of us goes boom, the others settle their packs and scatter.”
“Right you are. Damned things aren’t no joke, if you hear thunder, don’t bother looking… your friend is dead. Just ride.” He unhooked a roll of twine from his belt. “We call this the fireline. You cut this to a length you like and stick it into the stonebreakers like so. It’ll burn sure and give you time to get away from the explosion.”
“How long we got once lit?”
“I don’t know how you mark time.” He scratched his beard. “The length of my arm give you thirty, forty slow breaths. This here is plenty of line, you can experiment with short lengths to get the idea. It burns steady once lit.”
He held out what looked like a handful of twigs, all about the length of his hand. Each had a blob of brown on the end that reminded Solineus of dried clay. “If, when, you get the stonebreakers in place, you take one of these twigs, and you stick it into this here jar. When you pull it out, foof! It’ll flame, and ain’t nothing but the river or burning out will stop these twigs from burning. Oh, and it’ll reek of the dead, so keep your face back. Some folks been known to pass out from that stink. Once ablaze, you set the fire to the twine and it’ll burn slow-like… but not too slow! Get your asses out of there. Pieces of rock from the bridge will fly faster than you run.”
Solineus took the sticks and jar, and couldn’t help but sniff them. A whiff of sulfur, but not as bad as he expected. “How easy will they take the bridge down?”
Mirkel scratched an eyebrow. “I’ve never done nothin’ like you’re asking, mind you. But, well enough I’d wager, if you get the thunder in the right places. One box might be enough to make it unpassable. The bridge is seven or eight arches as I recall. Blowing the Inggund should collapse it section by section.”
“Inggund?”
“The godfist. The Edan word… Yes! Keystone. Or you destroy the pillars, whichever you feel is the weaker. When we’re mining, we bore a hole into the stone, there’s a hand drill inside each pack, they aren’t tipped in Latcu, but they’ll do the job if you get the time. Put a single stonebreaker inside a hole, and it’s a powerful good boom. Mortar holds the bridge together, find gaps and holes to shove the sticks, or drill into the mortar. Or stone if need be. No time, bind the fist to a spot and see what happens.”
Solineus smiled. “Any chance you’d ride along to impart your advice?”
“I do love the boom of thunder, the smoke, the rubble.” The Kingdomer bore a wistful gaze. “But it isn’t my place after near three years of peace with the Tek.”
Solineus grinned. “Three whole years?”
“My people say all great things begin in an instant, three years without blood is nothing to wish away.”
“Aye, I’d take three years of peace about now.” Three weeks would be enough to see the Silone people to a new land.
Morik glanced to the mountainside and the packs. “Sooner you ride the better. You’ve two days to the bridge if you rest for the night.”
Solineus bowed to the man. “I hope to bring you whiskey soon.”
Morik waved. “I look forward to the day.”
Solineus rubbed his whisker-stubbled cheeks, then turned to face nervous gazes. “Break camp and load the horses, we grab them packs last.”
The grin Puxele bore so often flipped upside down on her face. “I’m hoping to all the hells you translated some of that wrong.”
“If it’ll make you feel better…” He turned to Rinold. “You got the map, what say you about travel time?”
“We are where I think we are, the Kingdomer’s more right than wrong. Overland, fer a day, day and a half, then hope we meet the Bollybone Trail, if the map is right. Easy road from there.”
“Easy road. I pray there’s still such a thing.”
Rinold and Puxele rode in the lead, several hundred strides between them, and Solineus took his position as the dust eater at the rear. Mirkel stayed steady a couple hundred strides off to Solineus’ left, while Ogdun and Edlmir rode ahead and to his right.
They kept their eyes peeled for signs of an enemy, but no doubt everyone’s mind was on the pack riding with them. Gods knew it wore on Solineus’ thoughts. His nerves were tiny knives, with sharper edges than when he first saw Istinjoln on his way to murder a Lord Priest. And these knives didn’t fade so fast.
But, by nightfall of the first day’s ride toward the river, the party grew easier in the saddle, slouched and more relaxed. Either they grew used to the risk, or fatigue settled into their muscles after a tense day. It didn’t matter which, complacency frightened him.
Solineus belted out, “Call it a day. Everyone put your packs down, be gentle, and get away from them. Rinold, find a soft bit of ground far from these godsdamned things.” He hoped demanding caution would remind them of the death they carried.
They ate bread and jerky cold, not risking a fire in case it might attract firelings, or something worse. Far as he knew, Tek claimed the ground they trod on, as the Kingdomers avoided the flatlands, and that did nothing to aid his slumber. Every sound in the night made him sit up to make certain the watch hadn’t fallen asleep, and every time he did, he amused himself with the notion of some thief stealing stonebreakers. Sooner or later, they’d regret their score.
They awoke before the sun’s first rays, with every pack right where they left them. They traveled north by the time the sun sat full on the horizon. Solineus itched to move faster, but figured it safest to keep the packs riding light at a walk….
Boom.
The world shook with the concussion, and his horse reared in terror, then launched a fierce back kick at open air, dancing against the strain of wrenching reins. Soon as the gelding’s hooves settled to the ground, Solineus did what the Kingdomer warned him not to do: he looked. A cloud of black smoke roiled and parts of man and beast rained to the turf. There was nothing else left to see of Ogdun.
“Holy hells.” Hooves pounded to his left, and he glanced to see Mirkel spurring north without dropping his baggage, but Solineus’s body already twisted, half-way to removing the pack and easing it to the ground by a strap. The moment it touched dirt he spurred his horse.
Mirkel had a good lead, but Puxele struggled with her pack, caught on her shoulder as her horse spun, and Rinold already galloped toward her side.
Solineus glanced to Mirkel, then yelled at Puxele, “Ride! Just ride!”
Puxele put heels to her mare’s ribs just as Rinold reached her, and they thundered north side by side. A flicker of confidence eased the beat of Solineus’ heart as he rode tight to his horse’s mane, the animal’s smell filling his nostrils. Then, a second concussion, and he looked to see a black cloud of smoke in the distance, and what looked to be the front half of a horse careening into tall grasses. Whether reality or his imag
ination, he swore there was a spray of red. Mirkel.
“Get that pack off her!” But Rinold was already clutching at Little Sister’s shoulder, struggling with the pack caught up with her quiver. It came loose, and he heaved it into the air; a cloud of black erupted. Horses whinnied and collapsed to their knees from the force of the explosion; kicking tumbles, flailing masses intertwined with their riders. Puxele screamed as her mount rolled over her, and Rinold sailed from his saddle to slide on his chest, face first. Wild-eyed horses whipsawed their bodies, kicking and thrashing before bolting for the horizon the moment they found their feet.
Solineus wheeled his gelding for the two wardens and dismounted to land by Puxele’s side. “You good?”
The woman clutched her left thigh and hip. “Shits if I know! Godsdamn it.”
“Pain means you’re alive. Squirrel?”
The little man crawled on all fours their way, panting. “I’m good, so long as she is.”
“Can you move your leg?”
“Hurts like the hells, but yes.”
Edlmir reined his horse, the animal stomping, none too pleased to be standing still. “You all gonna live? Want me to snag them other horses?”
Solineus raised his eyes to the trail of dust left by hooves in flight. “Damn good idea. We’ll be waiting a while before we grab those packs again, anyhow.”
The man reined his horse and cantered north.
Rinold sat with his arm around Puxele’s shoulder. “Not so godsdamned sure I wanna carry one of those again.”
Solineus didn’t disagree, but there was little choice if they were to destroy the bridge. “Since when’re you scared of dying?”
“Since always. But I kind of figured it’d be an arrow, a sword, maybe Colok or a storm… Not that, sure as hells, not that.”
“We’ve seen worse ways to die, at least stonebreakers don’t leave you to linger.” Solineus lifted Puxele’s leg and flexed the knee. “Think you can ride?”
She grimaced. “No way I can’t, is there? I got bark to chew when Edlmir brings my packs back.”
Rinold quipped, “If he’s godsdamned dumb enough to come back.”
They sat quiet for several wicks, catching their breaths, waiting for another box to blow. To everyone’s relief, nothing happened, and they leaned back in the grass.
Rinold broke the silence. “Godsdamned ears are ringing like church bells in the distance.”
Puxele grimaced. “You ain’t the only one.”
“Might’ve blown your ears clean off if you were any closer, I reckon. We’re down to three fists, fifteen sticks.”
Rinold chuckled. “Fifteen too many, if you ask me.”
Puxele said, “Sure as heavens and hells, I won’t doubt those damned things again. It’s enough.”
“Aye.” It was confidence based on hope; they’d seen the stonebreakers in action, but until they lay eyes on the bridge, they hadn’t a clue what they were up against. Solineus stood, hand shading his eyes. A rider with two horses in tow came into view. “Edlmir has the animals. Hopin’ to the hells no Tek heard that thunder.”
Rinold snorted and stood, rolling his shoulders and arching his back. “And if they did? What the hells would they think, a distant thunderstorm? Or a bunch of fools totin’ thundersticks about?”
Puxele added, “Or Kingdomers blowing holes in their mountains.”
“Let’s hope.” Solineus scanned the horizon, seeing no one else. “We’ll settle the horses, get some food, before we head out again.”
Edlmir rode into camp at a trot, sliding from his saddle with a stretch. “They’re pleasant beasts, stopped to graze and didn’t give me no trouble.”
Solineus ran a hand over Puxele’s horse, checking for welts or other wounds. “Did you see anything else out there?”
“Sure as hells did, spotted me the Bollybone Trail. Leastwise, I assume so.”
The four shared glances, and Rinold asked, “Which direction it head?”
“Way I figure, northwest-southeast run. Old stones, plenty wide, just as we heard.”
Rinold rummaged through Puxele’s pack and tossed her a strip of pelum bark. “That’d mean we’re still east of the bridge, if it ain’t some odd bend in the route.”
“Right where we expected,” Solineus said. “Rest up a half candle or so, and we’ll move on. Puxele, if you’re able… You’ll ride the lead and we’ll carry the packs.”
“We can take turns.”
Rinold kissed her on top of the head. “Don’t even think it.”
Edlmir asked, “Should we pray over the dead? Collect their gear?”
Solineus said, “Say your prayers as you like, but I don’t care to see what come of ‘em before I throw a pack on my shoulders again. ‘Don’t look back, your friend is dead,’ the Kingdomer said. We aren’t sitting with extra time for much in the way of pleasantries.”
“Feel bad, the way I spoke of Mirkel.” Rinold fidgeted, but a grin spread. “What you think will piss Polus off more, our giving whiskey away or losing his kin? No disrespect and all.”
Solineus frowned, cocked his head. “That’s cold, Squirrel.”
Edlmir scratched his head. “I don’t know the count of his whiskey, but Polus is a Broldun, and still got a share of long-sleeve cousins.”
Puxele added, “At least he has kin to mourn 'im and pray, Ogdun lost everyone on Kaludor. Worse, no booze to salute their moving to the Living Stars.”
Solineus sighed, his gut tight at her words. He kneeled, kissed two fingers, and pressed them to his forehead. “Let’s all pray for these men, then.” He caught their glances as Rinold and Edlmir kneeled. “Don’t look at me that way, you sons of bitches. Any man can have a pious moment.”
They waited a full candle before collecting their packs one at a time, then rode north to find the Bollybone Trail just as Edlmir said. From a high hill it was easy to track the road to the horizon, winding with gentle curves like a slow-flowing river, across the grassy plain. In its day, the road would’ve been impressive, two wagons wide and paved with white-gray stone, but it’d fallen into disrepair. Plenty of pavers were missing, either sunk into the soil or looted for some local building project, and others lay broken, or tipped and jutting to rock a cart’s wheel. Grasses grew thick and tall in its gaps for long stretches, and scattered here and there stood shrubs, or stumps where someone had taken the time to cut out trees.
Lelishen said the Bollybone dated to the Age of Warlords, its eastern end leading straight into the sea, while it stretched a couple thousand horizons west, all the way to the Ayumbar Peninsula. Scholars suspected it a major trade route in the past, but between what peoples remained a mystery.
Rinold pulled Lelishen’s map from his pack and studied it for a wick before rolling it up. With a nod he pointed northwest. “No idea how far away we are, but no doubt of the direction.”
Solineus sat his saddle a hundred paces away. “Don’t look to me like no army passed here of late.”
“We beat ‘em this far, at least.”
“Puxele! Take a long lead, so we don’t ride right into the bastards if they crossed the bridge already.”
She waved and blew Rinold a kiss before following the road at a trot. Rinold grimaced as he watched her go. “Worrying over that woman’s gonna be the death of me.”
Solineus shouted back, “Just pray you live so long.”
They rode in a staggered line for a couple candles before they spotted Puxele at the base of a hill, walking circles to stretch her legs with a limp. She turned when she spotted them, raised her fists in the air, then spread her arms wide. Solineus split from the road and lowered his pack into the grass before riding to meet her. Rinold and Edlmir followed flickers behind him.
“The bridge is yonder over the hill, all clear for at least a horizon.” She hobbled around her horse, mounting from the animal’s right side to save her leg.
Edlmir asked, “Ain’t some chance its fallin’ apart like this here road?”
“You must figure yerself a lucky son of a bitch.” She nodded toward the hill then rode to its crown.
Solineus rubbed his eyes and cocked his head when he reached the peak. “Forges be damned, that’s a big bastard.”
The bridge was wide as the road and stretched a couple hundred strides to the opposite shore, and he guessed it a five pole drop from its side to the choppy waters below. The Gediswon River was wider here than the ford they’d crossed earlier; rocky with steep sides, it was more canyon than river valley. If they brought the bridge down, the Tek would have a fitful time crossing. What he questioned was whether they could bring it down.
Edlmir said, “What if the Tek ain’t even coming?”
Rinold snorted, but Puxele replied. “Can’t be thinking that way.”
Solineus said, “Our people hold the river, and the bastards are coming. It’s their smart choice.”
Edlmir’s saddle creaked beneath his shifting weight. “Least it ain’t got no towers, aye?”
“We don’t have to bring down the whole, just enough to keep them north a while. Puxele, I want you sitting on the crown of that hill yonder with your eyes peeled east. You see a soul, you warn us.”
“As you say, but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let you boys have all the fun of lighting the thunder. What about the horses?”
Solineus squinted; the land was barren of tree or bush for tethering the animals far as his eye could see. “Edlmir will take them west a stretch, behind them rocks and rise, at least no Teks coming from the east will spot them.” He glanced to Edlmir. “And you keep your eyes on our backsides, the road ain’t much traveled, but no tellin’ when that could change. Squirrel and me, we’ll start drilling holes to hide the nuts in.”
Trail of Pyres Page 63