The Bonehunters

Backlit by the morning light, the figure was little more than a silhouette.



'Soldier,' the voice was a woman's, the accent Korelri, 'which squad is this?'



Bottle's mouth opened and closed a few times, then he said in a low tone, 'This is the squad that will start making plans to kill you, once they find out what you've just done.'



'Allow me,' she said, 'to clarify matters for you, soldier. I am Captain Faradan Sort, and I cannot abide scorpions. Now, I want to see how well you manage a salute while lying down.'



'You want a salute, Captain? Which one? I have plenty of salutes to choose from. Any preference?'



'The salute that tells me you have just become aware of the precipice I am about to kick your ass over. After I shove the sack of bricks up it, of course.'



Oh. 'Standard salute, then. Of course, Captain.' He arched his back and managed to hold the salute for a few heartbeats… waiting for her to respond, which she did not. Gasping, he collapsed back down, inhaling a mouthful of dust.



'We will try that again later, soldier. Your name?'



'Uh, Smiles, sir.'



'Well, I doubt I will see many of those on your ugly face, will I?'



'No, sir.'



She then walked on.



Bottle stared down at the mashed, glittering pulp that had been Joyful Union and half a capemoth. He wanted to cry.



****

'Sergeant.'



Strings glanced up, noted the torc on the arm, and slowly climbed to his feet. He saluted, studying the tall, straight-backed woman standing before him. 'Sergeant Strings, Captain. Fourth Squad.'



'Good. You are mine, now. My name is Faradan Sort.'



'I was wondering when you'd show up, sir. The replacements have been here for days, after all.'



'I was busy. Do you have a problem with that, Sergeant?'



'No, sir, not one.'



'You are a veteran, I see. You might think that fact yields some relief on my part. It does not. I do not care where you have been, who you served under, or how many officers you knifed in the back. All I care about is how much you know about fighting.'



'Never knifed a single officer, sir… in the back. And I don't know a damned thing about fighting, except surviving it.'



'That will do. Where are the rest of my squads?'



'Well, you're missing one. Gesler's. They're on a reconnaissance mission, no idea when they'll be back. Borduke's squad is over there.'



He pointed. 'With Cord's just beyond. The rest you'll find here and there.'



'You do not bivouac together?'



'As a unit? No.'



'You will from now on.'



'Yes sir.'



She cast her eyes over the soldiers still sprawled in sleep around the hearth. 'The sun is up. They should be awake, fed and equipped for the march by now.'



'Yes sir.'



'So… wake them.'



'Yes sir.'



She started to walk off, then turned and added, 'You have a soldier named Smiles in your squad, Sergeant Strings?'



'I have.'



'Smiles is to carry a double load today.'



'Sir?'



'You heard me.'



He watched her leave, then swung about and looked down at his soldiers. All were awake, their eyes on him.



'What did I do?' Smiles demanded.



Strings shrugged. 'She's a captain, Smiles.'



'So?'



'So, captains are insane. At least, this one is, which proves my claim. Wouldn't you agree, Cuttle?'



'Oh yes, Strings. Raving wide-eyed insane.'



'A double load!'



Bottle stumbled into the camp, in his cupped hands a mangled mess. '



She stepped on Joyful Union!'



'Well, that settles it,' Cuttle said, grunting as he sat up. 'She's dead.'



****

Fist Keneb strode into his tent, unstrapping his helm and pulling it free to toss it on the cot, then paused upon seeing a tousled head lift clear of the opened travel trunk at the back wall. 'Grub! What were you doing in there?'



'Sleeping. She is not stupid, no. They are coming, to await the resurrection.' He clambered out of the trunk, dressed, as ever, in ragged leathers, Wickan in style yet badly worn. The childish roundness of his cheeks had begun to thin, hinting at the man he would one day become.



'She? Do you mean the Adjunct? Who is coming? What resurrection?'



'They will try to kill her. But that is wrong. She is our last hope.



Our last hope. I'm going to find something to eat, we're marching to Y'Ghatan.' He rushed past Keneh. Outside the tent, dogs barked. The Fist pulled the flap aside and stepped out to see Grub hurrying down the aisle between the tents, flanked by the Wickan cattle-dog, Bent, and the Hengese lapdog, Roach. Soldiers deferentially moved aside to let them pass.