LEAD CROSSBOWMAN UGEN LISTOWK led the patrol across the camp and into the jungle on the western side. The rest of the shield watched them go in silence. Sinte didn’t bother to see them off, but Listowk was fine with that.
“Psst, LC? Why are we heading west?” Carny asked.
Listowk stopped among some leaves. He nestled himself in, enjoying the rubbery feel of them on his bare arms. He waited for the other four to group around him. Wraith crouched and pivoted while the rest remained standing. “Assume we’re being watched. We head west out of the camp, the slyts think we’re going west. When we’re in the clear, we’ll loop around and pick up the path on the ocean side. I’ll stay on ST. Wraith, you drift back and cover our tail. If any slyts try to follow us, don’t engage, but let me know. Clear?”
Four heads nodded.
“Good, now remember what I taught you. Land on the balls of your feet, grab and hold the branch as you pass, and then put it back, and if you think you see or hear something, don’t shout. Two tongue clicks to hold, three for slyts.”
Listowk turned and ducked under the palm fronds, easing his way through the jungle. There was just enough starlight coming through gaps in the canopy that he could navigate without tripping. It helped that the undergrowth was soft and pliable. Still, he kept his pace slow, checking regularly to make sure the others were close behind.
It was hot, sticky work moving through the foliage while trying to keep quiet. Sweat trickled into the corners of Listowk’s eyes, making them sting. He paused and pulled out a small cotton handkerchief tucked into his belt. Lifting the brim of his helm, he held the liner away from his forehead and stuffed the handkerchief in it so that it covered his forehead. With the extra cloth, the helm felt snug, like the beginnings of a headache, but it would keep the sweat out of his eyes. He’d be better off with no helm at all, but if Sinte saw that, he’d have him up on charges.
Listowk looked around, moving his head slowly while keeping his eyes fixed. He doubted he’d see a slyt, but he might possibly catch some movement. The jungle was a jumble of black and gray shadows. There could be a slyt phalanx standing five feet away and he would never see it. The idea that somewhere out in the dark an arrow was being aimed at his throat, or his crotch, wasn’t easy to shake. He realized he’d tucked in his chin and lowered his crossbow to protect himself.
Letting out a long, slow breath, Listowk raised his glance and brought his crossbow back up. He felt naked, his flesh as insubstantial as cobwebs. The jungle humbled him, but he didn’t resent it. In exposing his vulnerability, the jungle revealed more of itself to him.
Knowing his eyes could only tell him so much, Listowk focused on his ears. The night sounds of the jungle, chaotic and maddening when he’d first arrived, were giving up their secrets. He’d made a point of leaving the security of their beach encampment—without informing Sinte—and walking into the jungle. He wanted to know this land. What he found amazed him. The “noise” had an order and rhythm that ebbed and flowed throughout the night. In a way he’d never be able to explain, the jungle was talking to itself.
There was a clear difference in the sounds this high up the mountain. The jungle’s accent had subtly changed. But what he strained to hear was what wasn’t there. Just as the insects had quieted around the patrol, they paused in their chorus as predators neared.
There. A good two hundred yards down the western slope and a hundred to the north, a sliver of silence weaved its way through the jungle. Listowk tilted his head to better track it. Whatever it was moved at a steady, slow pace. It could be slyts—they were wily little bastards—but he suspected it was probably a jaguar or some other big cat. He remained still until the silence faded and he could no longer follow its path.
Realizing the rest of the patrol would be getting antsy, he started walking again, using his left hand to gently push aside leaves and fronds. He could tell by the outline of the leaf whether or not it hid thorns and did his best to steer around those. It had been a quick and painful lesson when they’d first arrived. The plant life in Luitox seemed no more inclined to be hospitable than the damn slyts.
He rested the butt of his crossbow on his right hip and kept the weapon pointing forward as he walked. The safety latch on his weapon was off, but he was walking spear tip. Anything in front of him wasn’t going to be friendly. He slid his main finger up and around the stock and gave the bowstring a tap to make sure it was taut. He wasn’t about to get caught with a limp string. He cursed himself for not reminding the others, but he had to trust that he’d trained them well enough.
He started to duck under a hanging vine, then stopped and backed up a pace. The vine was really a section of coil from a snake draped over a series of branches. The part of the snake Listowk could see looked as thick as a man’s biceps. It was too dark to make out its markings, but judging by its size he figured it for a squeezer. Probably not poisonous, but they still bit hard. He backed up another step and decided now was as good a time as any to begin looping around to the east.
It took close to an eighth of a candle to make the full loop and pick up the main path the shield used going up and down the mountain. After the slow, energy-sapping walk through the jungle, it was tempting to step out onto the path and follow it the rest of the way to their hiding place for the night, but Listowk resisted the urge. They hadn’t taken the long way around to suddenly pop out into the open.
“You see something?” Big Hog asked, ambling to a halt beside Listowk.
Listowk looked around the big farmer to see where the rest of the patrol was. He counted two more helms and a tall bush. Wraith. The boy’s a natural.
“We’ll stay off the path and ease our way down to the ruts,” he said. “Should be fifty, sixty yards. Keep close and stay quiet.”
He waited a beat to see if anyone had anything to say. It was important for the men to feel they were being heard. “All right, follow me.” He led them down using trees to control his descent. His thighs ached and his arms stung from dozens of tiny cuts despite his best efforts to avoid the thorns, but he wasn’t sorry he’d taken the difficult route. They were all still alive, and the slyts, as far as he could tell, had no idea where they were. The same couldn’t be said for the whereabouts of the rest of the shield.
The rut appeared bigger in the dark when he found it. He peered over the edge and couldn’t see the bottom. It hadn’t been more than five feet in the daylight, which meant it was still five feet in the dark. He thumbed on the safety latch on his crossbow, then pushed some fronds out of the way and sat down on the edge, letting his boots hang over. Keeping his crossbow out from his body, he half-turned to the left, stuck up his hand until he felt Big Hog grab it, then eased himself over the edge.
Big Hog’s grip was strong and the back of his hand hairy. It felt like holding on to a bear’s paw. Listowk walked his way down the slope, digging the toes of his boots into the dirt. He knew it was only a few feet, but it felt like he was hanging over a fathomless abyss. Gritting his teeth, he swung his right boot out, pointed down with his toes, and finally felt solid ground.
“I’m down,” Listowk said, not caring that his whisper sounded elated. He squeezed Big Hog’s hand and the soldier let go. Listowk clicked his tongue twice to keep the patrol in place and turned to survey the rut they would call home for the night. He thumbed the safety latch back off and peered down the little gully going away from the path. For as far as he could see, which wasn’t too far, there was nothing there. He listened, nodding as the insects chirped and sang a familiar tune.
He followed the rut several yards deeper into the jungle until it branched into several smaller ones. The jungle vegetation was heavy, but mostly leaves and fronds again with no sign of heavy vines to trip a person. If something did happen tonight, this would be their escape route.
He turned and made his way toward the path, crouching low as he did so. The goat path they had trod up and down for weeks appeared through the jungle and he froze in place, because if he could see the path, anything on the path could see him.
After several heartbeats, he sank to his knees and crawled to the edge of the path. The smell of the jungle was more intense down low, rich and fetid. He breathed through his mouth, eased his head out through the leaves, and looked up and down the path. It was completely empty.
Listowk reverse-crawled a yard before standing up slowly, panting as he did so. The air was wet and hot and clung to him like a blanket. He realized he hadn’t taken a drink from his water skin since they’d left the mountaintop and chided himself. He grabbed the skin, pulled the cork, and took a quick drink. He grimaced as the warm water went down his throat. Jamming the cork stopper back in, he went back to where the rest of the patrol waited.
“All meadow,” he whispered, giving them the all-clear signal. He kept one eye on the path while he guided the rest of the patrol down the slope. Compared to his descent, the rest of the men slid down easily. “Carny, go a yard deep and keep watch on the jungle. Big Hog, grab some sleep, then switch with Carny at midnight.”
“How am I supposed to know when that is?” Big Hog asked.
Listowk sighed. “We’re right above the main camp down on the beach, and there are ships galore at anchor offshore. You’ll hear the bells.” The military was as obsessed with telling time as the druids and monks.
“Clever,” Wraith said, his helm nodding like a bush in a breeze. He’d definitely picked up more foliage during their walk.
“I have my moments,” Listowk said. “You watch the path. It’s pretty open there so stay back a bit. Weasel, rest up and relieve him at midnight. I’ll sit here in the middle for now and have a nap . . . then I’m going to do a little scouting. I’d like to know where Black Shield is holed up. Take a long drink of water. No smoking, no talking, and if you hear or see anything, you let me know right away.”
“You really think the slyts will try anything?” the Weasel asked. His voice had a manic tone to it that Listowk didn’t like.
“I don’t know, but we’re almost begging them to try. Let’s just see if we can’t make it to the dawn.” Listowk paused for a moment, wondering if he was being prudent or just jumpy. Even if it was nerves, his caution meant he was still alive to feel them. “Look, my children, if the wind hits the branches and there’s nothing else for it, follow the rut away from the path, then make your way down to the beach. Don’t wait around—just run.”
“Shouldn’t we try to go back up to the rest of the shield?” Big Hog asked.
Listowk looked toward the top of the mountain before responding. “If the slyts really do make a move, there won’t be anything up there to go back to.”
CARNY WATCHED THE LC sleeping against the dirt slope. Listowk had removed his aketon and helm and eased himself into the jungle, draping himself around the dirt and vegetation like a wet rag. The LC looked as comfortable as if he were laid out on silk sheets and a down mattress.
The only jarring note was his crossbow cradled across his stomach. Though he looked dead to the world, Carny was certain that at the slightest hint of danger, the LC would spring up ready to fight. Still, seeing the crossbow rise and fall with each breath made Carny nervous. The safety latch had to be secure—it was the LC after all.
Curiosity getting the better of him, Carny inched closer to Listowk to see if the crossbow really was safed but froze when the LC made a noise. It sounded halfway between a growl and a curse. Carny looked up from the weapon. The snarl on Listowk’s face was savage. The genial father figure was gone, replaced by something vicious. His eyes remained closed, however, and Carny let out his breath and eased farther back. Whatever the LC was dreaming about, Carny had no interest in it.
“Hey, Big Hog, you awake?” Carny whispered, crawling toward the farmer’s position.
“You see something?” Big Hog asked. His voice was strong and clear, even as a whisper. He was definitely wide awake.
“Naw, just checking. I can’t sleep. You want to switch watches?”
“Forget that,” Big Hog said, shifting slightly in his seated position among some bushes. “I’m here ’til the bells sound, then it’s nighty-night.”
“Please? I’m going crazy just sitting here.”
“Go bother Wraith then—I’m planting crops,” Big Hog said. He sounded slightly out of breath in his exasperation.
“What the hell does that mean?” Carny asked. He imagined Big Hog daydreaming about walking a field with a plow pulled by oxen, gouging thick furrows in the soil while a plump Mrs. Big Hog waddled behind him, tossing seeds into the newly turned earth.
“What do you think it means? You need to see my cock to get the idea?”
“That’s disgusting,” Carny said, moving back away from the soldier. “How can you do that out here?”
“I do it everywhere. Keeps it fit and fine,” Big Hog said, the bushes around him rustling lightly in a rhythmic fashion. “As the good leaves say, ‘spread thy seed on the wind so that the fruit of your loins may grow in fertile soil.’ ”
“For fuck’s sake, I held your hand coming down the slope.”
The rustling of the leaves stopped. “Fuck, you’re a thorn at times,” Big Hog said. “Can’t concentrate worth a damn with your nattering. I’ll have to try again later.”
“Fuck you. I’m not the one rubbing his privates every chance he gets.”
“You don’t know shit. I got four kids back home now and another on the way, and I’m not even twenty years old. And they’re all fit and bright. It’s ’cause I keep my fluids moving. Just like water. You drink from a fast stream, not a stagnant pond. If you ever want kids, and I don’t mean dullards, you should work yours more often.”
Carny scooted back more. “Are all farmers like you?”
“The smart ones are,” Big Hog said. “See, you need kids on a farm, but damn if they all don’t need feeding and clothing, and now you even have to get them some schooling. You believe that? The king himself—well, I guess he’s still the king—decreed all children have to learn to read and do maths like you got. Waste of time and silver if you ask me. I didn’t learn to read and I turned out fine.”
“Really? And what’s your plan if a horde of slyts come sneaking up on us? You gonna spread your seed in the wind and hope it gets in their eyes?”
“Think I’d get a medal for that?”
“You’re a pig,” Carny said.
“Pigs are the smartest animals on a farm,” Big Hog said. “Tastiest, too.”
“Well, just keep your poker pointed away from me,” Carny said, crawling away to let Big Hog get back to his business. He turned to see if Listowk had woken up, but the LC was still flat on his back, eyes closed. The snarl on his face was gone, but Carny didn’t stare long in case it came back.
He got up on his feet in a low crouch and moved past Listowk and toward the path. He almost stepped on the Weasel. The soldier was curled up in a ball, snoring softly. Carny started to lift a leg to walk over him, then thought better of it and moved around him instead. Anyone waking up in the jungle at night seeing someone looming over him was not likely to react well. He moved on, reaching the path in a few more steps.
Wraith was gone.
Carny’s stomach turned icy. No, no, no, no! He reached down and fumbled with the safety latch on his crossbow, finally getting it off.
“Wraith?” he whispered, peering into the jungle for any sign of the longbowman.
Stay calm. Breathe. “C’mon, Wraith, don’t fool around.”
It was as if the jungle had been plunged into a glacial lake. Carny started shivering. His strength evaporated and he was convinced he’d never move again. He gritted his teeth until he thought he’d break them and forced himself to take one more step forward.
“Lingletti, where the fuck are you?”
“What?” Wraith said, his breath tickling Carny’s right ear.
Heat washed over Carny in a tidal wave. His legs spasmed and he tumbled down hard on his ass. Warm piss trickled down his thighs and puddled on the ground.
“Holy fuck, don’t do that!” Carny whispered. He was no longer shivering but shaking.
“Me? What about you?” Wraith whispered back. “This ain’t the latrine. If you gotta take a piss, go out in the jungle, not beside me.”
“I—never fuckin’ mind me, where the hell are you?” Carny asked, quickly getting up and moving away from the wet spot on the ground. He reached out a hand toward a bush and grabbed Wraith’s upper arm. “You’re being harvested!” he hissed. “You’re turning into a tree!”
Wraith jerked his arm away and took off his helm, revealing his face. Palm fronds dangled from the helm so that it looked for all the world like one more plant in the jungle. “You chewing Wild Flower out here? Don’t go all mystic LOKAM on me. I’m not turning into a tree, I’m just making sure no slyt can see me, same as the LC does. All that shiny metal we wear is just a big flag saying ‘Here I am, come kill me.’ ”
Steadying his breathing, Carny focused his eyes and saw that Wraith was indeed still very much a man. The High Druid was not, in fact, harvesting Wraith’s soul and turning him into a tree after all. “Sinte would probably court-martial the entire shield if we did that.”
“His book of rules isn’t any good out here,” Wraith said, turning away from Carny to scan the path. “Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?”
Carny shook his head. “Can’t. Too keyed up. Tried talking with Big Hog, but he’s planting crops.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and stuffed it into his cotton undergarment to sop up the piss.
Wraith let out a snort. “One of these days, he’ll set his cock on fire with all the rubbing he does.” He turned again and studied Carny. “If you’re going to stay here, then start putting some leaves on your helm and armor.”
“I’m not dressing up like a bush,” Carny said, pulling his hand out of his trousers and rubbing it on the ground.
“Then get the fuck away from me. I’m not dying out here because of someone like you.”
That stung. “Fine, I’ll wear some damn leaves if that will make you happy,” Carny said, setting his crossbow down and grabbing some ferns and other leaves from around him.
“Not like that,” Wraith said, swatting at Carny’s hand. “You’ve got to place the dark side out. It ain’t windy, and you only see the underside of leaves when it gets windy.”
“There’s a wrong way to wear jungle plants?”
“Watch the path; I’ll get you sorted,” Wraith said, leaning his bow against a swath of fat, drooping leaves. “The slyts have lived here forever. They know this land. If we’re going to beat them, we have to think like them . . . otherwise we’re going to be leaves in the eternal wind.”
“You don’t really think the slyts could beat us? We don’t lose,” Carny said, his chest swelling. “Look at all those ships that just arrived. The slyts don’t stand a chance.”
“I remember hearing that a year ago, but here we are, and they keep sending more ships. Why do you think that is?”
Carny had thought about it, but he saw it as a sign of confidence and strength. “What, you honestly believe the slyts are any match for the Kingdom? They shoot a few arrows and scamper. That’s all they do. Well, that and there are the whores and beggars outside the main camp.” And the peddlers of greasy meat chunks on bamboo sticks, those copper and tin good-luck trinkets in the shape of tiny palm fronds, and Wild Flower, he thought to himself.
“All I know is,” Wraith said, tucking a handful of long, slender leaves in the cloth pockets of Carny’s aketon, “I ain’t taking no chances. Out here, it’s a lot like hunting. You get one shot. When I hunted, if I missed, I just went hungry. Here, you die.”
“If you’re going to be all morbid, I’ll go back to Big Hog. At least he’s focused on living, even if it is disgusting.”
“So go,” Wraith said, threading a final palm frond with some thin vine and draping it around Carny’s helm.
“Fine,” Carny said, vowing to take off the jungle crap as soon as he did. He started to turn to leave, then turned back. “Wiz said he traded you for his snow. Can I borrow some?”
The bushes around Wraith rustled for a moment, and then a hand reached out from the dark with a lump of camphor in it. “How about if you promise to not come back the rest of the night, you can have it all?”
Carny tried to think of a comeback but decided he’d rather have the snow, so he grabbed it from Wraith’s hand and turned to go. “You’re a pal.”
“You still here?”
Fuck you, too. Carny got two steps away when he remembered his crossbow and backtracked to pick it up. If Wraith saw, he didn’t say anything. Carny flipped the safety latch back on and made his way past the sleeping Weasel. He was going to swing around Listowk when he realized the LC was gone.
He hurried past the empty spot and made his way to Big Hog’s position. “Psst, Big Hog, you see the LC? He’s not here.”
Big Hog turned and looked at him before turning back to keep watch. “Yeah, said before he was going to stretch his legs and see what he could see.” Carny was relieved that the bushes weren’t rustling around him.
“I didn’t think he was serious. Out there all alone . . .” The thought made Carny’s back shiver.
Big Hog grunted. “He was made for this place, you know? One of those folks that you wouldn’t look twice at on the street, but out here . . . damn, he’s more slyt than human. Wraith’s like that, too.”
“What about me?” Carny asked, rustling his vegetation loud enough to get Big Hog to turn around.
Big Hog glanced at Carny and shook his head. “You? You make more noise than a herd of cattle going to market on a cobblestone street.”
“Oh,” Carny said. “Well, I’m going to get some sleep, so try to keep it down.”
Big Hog didn’t bother to respond.
Carny worked his way back to his little nook along the dirt slope and settled in.
I can be just as good as Listowk or Wraith, but why bother? The slyts were peasants, whores, and a few rebels who shot off arrows and then fled. The Kingdom would restore order and before long they’d all be on the next ship home. Learning to live in this jungle would be wasted effort.
The cool feel in the palm of his hand reminded him of the ball of snow there. He brought it up to his nose and drew in a deep, long sniff. His nostrils flared as the icy smell raced through them into his skull, making his eyes water. He started rubbing it over his exposed flesh and sighed as the snow touched his skin. All he needed now was a pipe full of Wild Flower and he’d be set . . . but there was no way he could risk lighting up.
He settled on mixing a little of the weed with a healthy pinch of snow and sticking it in his left cheek. The whole left side of his face immediately went numb and he smiled, ignoring the drool dripping down his chin.
He reached up and slid his helm up and off his head, letting it roll down his back and off to the side. He laid his crossbow on the ground beside him and leaned his head back against the dirt slope, crushing some earth with the back of his skull, forming a perfectly shaped rest for his head. He closed his eyes, savoring the cool, sharp tang of momentary bliss.
Fuck the Lux, he thought, smiling to himself. Fuck the Lux.