‘The Jaghut’s enemy.’
The brothers lost their smiles. ‘That’s not funny, Fish,’ Coots rumbled.
‘I thought you said they were all gone?’
Badland’s lips drew tight over his large teeth. ‘You know they ain’t.’
‘Exactly. Kellanved changed that. We need to warn the north.’
‘I’m thinking the Eithjar know,’ said Coots.
‘What is this you are talking of?’ Jethiss asked from the darkness.
Fisher straightened, set his hands on his knees. ‘Sorry, Jethiss. Local history. Old feuds.’ He motioned to Coots. ‘In any case, we should bring word.’
The brothers shared a measuring glance. ‘Well,’ Badlands allowed, ‘only if you talk to Stalker.’ He cut a hand through the air. ‘’Cause we swore we weren’t comin’ back.’ Coots nodded his firm agreement.
Fisher looked to the low roof and sighed. ‘Fine. You don’t have to come all the way.’
‘So — we are going?’ Jethiss asked.
‘Yes.’ Fisher stood, dusted his trousers. ‘I’m sorry he did not give you your name.’
Jethiss nodded his sour agreement. ‘Yes. Nor is he likely to, I suspect.’
Badlands pointed towards the distant cave opening. ‘We was thinking we’d climb along the trelliswork. Plenty of handholds there.’
Fisher thought of going hand over hand across that grisly construction and shuddered. What horrors might he encounter among those bones? Still, it was probably the best plan. He nodded. ‘Very good.’
‘Let us wait until night,’ Jethiss said.
Coots raised his opened hands. ‘Night, day. What difference does it make?’
‘It might make a difference to me.’
‘Fine,’ Fisher said. ‘We’ll wait.’ He motioned to Coots. ‘What do you have to eat?’
‘Got some dried bat.’
‘Never mind.’
*
It was a clear night. The stars glimmered sharp and cold; the moon had yet to rise. Coots led the way out of the cave mouth. He scrabbled along a thin ledge using hand- and footholds. Fisher followed, then came Badlands, and Jethiss last. Coots edged along the rough rock of the cliff face. The ghoulish pale latticework of the bridge neared. They were perhaps a chain down from the walkway. Below, the trellising extended far deeper into the ravine, to be swallowed by the dark. Fisher heard the crash and hissing of churning water.
Here, dried ligaments and sinew secured the bones to the rocks of the cliff. Fisher felt his stomach rebelling at the thought of having to grasp such gruesome handholds. Coots, however, swung out on to the bones without any pause or outward show of scruples or disgust.
Reluctantly, Fisher followed. He found the bones dry and rough to his grip. They actually provided very secure holds. Many were not tied at all, being merely locked together as if they’d grown, or been bent, to fit one over another like hooks or woven rope. Fisher wondered anew at the creature’s self-proclaimed title: Bonewright.
He slipped his feet into convenient pelvic curves, used ribs like ladder rungs, edged along gigantic femurs that must have come from titanic ancient ungulates such as the legendary giant elk or caribou. At times the full visceral realization came to him of what he was suspended upon and he would break into a cold sweat, shivering, as his vision darkened. But these fits would pass, or he would force them away by concentrating upon other things — the sanctuary of the far side, for example — and he would continue after a few moments.
One by one they made the opposite side of the ravine. Jethiss came last. He swung out on to the cliff-face and was helped up by Badlands. The brothers then faced one another and threw up their hands, yelling at same moment: ‘Run for it!’
Fisher stared after them as they legged it across the dirt landing. It cannot possibly be this easy, he thought to himself.
And indeed, at that moment the ground rocked beneath their feet. Thought so, Fisher managed before stumbling and being pulled from the edge by Jethiss. The dirt landing erupted beneath the brothers, sending them flying skyward amid a spray of dirt and gravel.
The Bonewright, Yrkki, heaved himself up from the ground.
Coots landed heavily amid broken rocks, but as if he were made of nothing more than a twisted knot of muscle and gristle he was up in an instant, long-knives in hand, to launch himself at the creature. Bone chips flew as he slashed at a limb. Badlands latched on to the other leg and began to pull himself up the massive bone.
Yrkki tottered and kicked. Its roars brought rocks crashing down from the surrounding cliffs. Fisher and Jethiss began working their way around it, if only to avoid being crushed beneath its enormous feet.
‘Go for its spine!’ Coots yelled.
‘You go for the damned spine!’ his brother yelled back.
Yrkki swatted at Coots. ‘Do not make me break your bones,’ he thundered.
Fisher and Jethiss had circled around the battle. Fisher drew his sword. ‘We cannot leave this to the brothers,’ he told Jethiss.
‘No indeed,’ the Andii answered. He startled Fisher by running out into the open. ‘Yrkki!’ he bellowed. ‘I demand that you give me my name!’
The creature straightened and turned round. He held a struggling brother in each hand. The giant dragon skull lowered to regard Jethiss more closely. The otherworldly deep ocean-blue flames seemed to brighten in its empty sockets ‘Your name would only make you weep,’ he boomed in his basso voice.
‘No!’ The word seemed torn from Jethiss. He thrust out his hands as if refusing to accept what he heard. Darkness flew at the Bone-wright. Ink-black folds seemed to coalesce from the surrounding night to enmesh it. It threw the brothers free to claw at them.
‘What is this?’ Yrkki bellowed. ‘Galain?’
Jethiss thrust out his hands again and the monster tottered backwards, flailing. The folds and scarves of night appeared to be yanking it back into the ravine. The naked talons of its feet slid and gouged at the dirt as it slid. ‘None shall remember your name!’ it boomed as the black folds enmeshed its skull and it fell backwards, bone legs kicking, to disappear over the cliff’s edge.
Jethiss slumped to the dirt. Fisher ran to pick him up. Badlands joined him and threw the Andii over his shoulder. ‘Run!’ the man yelled, spraying blood from a split lip. They ran. Coots came behind, weapons out, covering their retreat.
They climbed a switchback trail that led to a knife-sharp ridge of rotten rock. The far side sloped down into a high mountain valley. It was a dark night but Fisher could make out a stretch of woods below. Badlands set Jethiss down in the hollow of two large leaning halves of rock, then sat rather heavily. Fisher eased himself down next to him. Badlands felt at his mouth. ‘I think I lotht a damned toof!’
Coots came to stand over them. ‘You’re always okay ’cause you land on your head.’
‘Same as you ’cept it’th your ath!’
Coots gestured to Jethiss, who lay unconscious. ‘How’d your friend do that?’
‘I don’t think even he knows,’ Fisher answered.
Coots grunted his acceptance, then rubbed the wide bulge of his stomach. ‘I’m hungry,’ he said, peering about. ‘I’m gonna hunt something up.’ He walked off into the dark.
‘Better be thoft and thewy!’ Badlands called after him, then groaned and cupped his mouth.
Fisher tucked a roll of bedding under Jethiss’s head. ‘I’ll take watch, if you like,’ he told Badlands.
The brother waved a negative. ‘Naw. You thweep. My mouth hurths.’
Fisher nodded, edged down further into his seat against the rock, tucked his hands under his arms, and let his chin fall. After the exhausting rush of the encounter with Yrkki, sleep came quite quickly.
The delicious smell of roasting meat woke him. He sat up, blinking. Badlands and Coots were crouched at a small fire. Two skinned and gutted rabbits roasted on sticks over the flames. Jethiss sat nearby, arms draped over his crossed legs. He appeared troubled and distracted; Fisher could imagine why. What the man had accomplished was the manipulation of Elemental Night. Something open to the mages of his kind, yet he had made no mention of such a capacity. Who knows what else might lie hidden in him?