Bone

Jandar had never trusted caves. Ships, at least, had the courtesy to sink in open water. Caves collapsed around you. There was an important difference. He stood below the black opening in the hillside and watched Zook climb the last few feet toward it. Loose stone rolled beneath the gnome’s boots. One pebble bounced twice and struck Jandar on the shoulder. He looked up.

“Assassination?”

“Accident.”

“Convenient.”

Zook disappeared into the opening. Deacon climbed after him. Jandar sighed.

“Everyone is very eager to enter the hole.”

Vegon looked past him.

“You’re free to remain outside.”

Jandar started climbing.

“I object to holes, not abandonment.”

Xil followed last. The cave mouth was wider than it had looked from below, though that offered little comfort. Daylight reached perhaps twenty feet inside before giving up. Zook crouched just beyond it. Deacon stood beside him with his crossbow ready. Jandar drew his rapier. The act felt unnecessary until he noticed the bones. They were everywhere—not piled. Scattered. Half buried beneath dirt and stone. A rib here. A jaw farther in. Something long and pale protruding from beneath a rock.

Jandar stopped.

“Well.”

Vegon entered behind him. His eyes adjusted to the gloom.

“Oh,” Vegon said.

“Yes,” Jandar said. “Exactly.”

Xil knelt near one of the remains. He did not touch it.

“Animal,” Xil said.

Zook nodded.

“Some,” Zook replied.

Deacon looked deeper into the cave.

“Some?” Deacon asked.

Zook pointed. Near the wall lay what remained of a hand. Human. No one joked. Jandar moved closer. The fingers were curled into the dirt. Nothing remained above the wrist.

“How old?”

Zook studied it.

“Hard to tell in here.”

“That is not your usual confidence.”

“Caves are bad for tracks.”

Jandar looked around.

“Finally, something sensible about them.”

The passage narrowed ahead. There were signs of movement in the dirt, but too many to distinguish. Boots. Claws. Drag marks. Small animals. Something had been coming and going. Recently. Zook touched one print near the wall.

“Gnoll,” Zook said.

Deacon stepped closer. Jandar saw the change in him again. Small. Immediate. The older man looked at the print too long. Jandar had noticed people like that before. Men who could walk through battle without blinking and then go still because of a smell. A word. A song. He had learned not to ask. Usually.

“How fresh?” Deacon asked.

“Days,” Zook replied.

“Same as the patrol?” Deacon asked.

“Could be,” Zook said.

Deacon nodded. He stood.

“Move.”

Jandar looked at him.

“Still not in charge?”

“No.”

“Very convincing.”

Deacon went first anyway. Zook passed him within thirty steps. That, too, had begun happening without discussion. The cave sloped downward. Vegon summoned light. Jandar expected a clean white glow. Instead the spell came reluctantly. For a moment nothing happened. Then light gathered over the wizard’s palm, flickering with a faint violet distortion around the edges. Vegon frowned. The glow stabilized. Jandar looked at it.

“Supposed to do that?”

“No,” Vegon said.

“Of course not.”

“It is stable now,” Vegon said.

“That sounds like something a man says immediately before something becomes unstable.”

Vegon walked past him.

“You are remarkably committed to being unhelpful,” Vegon said.

“It’s one of my better qualities.”

Xil’s mouth moved. Almost. Jandar considered that a victory. The deeper they went, the more bones they found. Animals at first. Deer. Goat. Wolf. Then others. Humanoid. Some cracked open. Some gnawed. Others strangely clean. Jandar did not like those. Gnawed bones made sense. Predators ate. Clean bones meant something else. The passage opened into a low chamber. Zook stopped at the threshold. Jandar nearly walked into him.

“Again?”

Zook pointed down. A thin line stretched across the entrance. Jandar stared.

“Trap?”

“Maybe,” Zook said.

“Natural cave?”

“People use caves,” Zook replied.

“That is the second sensible thing you’ve said about them.”

Zook gave him a look. The line was old cord. Nearly invisible. It ran from one wall to the other and disappeared beneath a pile of loose stone. Deacon crouched.

“Alarm,” Deacon said.

Zook nodded.

“Probably,” Zook replied.

Vegon leaned forward.

“What happens if it breaks?” Vegon asked.

“Something hears us,” Zook said.

Jandar looked around.

“We’ve been talking for ten minutes,” Jandar said.

Zook said, “Mostly you.”

“Yes, but beautifully.”

Deacon cut the line near the wall and held the loose end until Zook secured it. Nothing happened. Jandar waited. Still nothing. He exhaled.

“Disappointing.”

Deacon looked at him.

“You wanted something to happen?”

“No. But if we’re going to stop dramatically for a string, I expect some reward.”

They entered. The chamber had been used. That was obvious. Old firepit. Broken pottery. A piece of leather. The remains of a wooden crate. Gnolls, probably. Or bandits. Jandar crouched beside the crate. Silver nails. Cheap construction—not ancient.

“Camp.”

Zook nodded.

“Recent.”

Deacon crossed toward the far side. There were three passages. Jandar hated three passages. One meant direction. Two meant choice. Three meant someone had designed the world badly. Zook examined each.

“Left has the most traffic,” Zook said.

“Then left,” Deacon said.

Jandar pointed.

“You see?”

Deacon looked at him.

“You keep pretending you’re not in charge, then selecting roads.”

“I’m agreeing with the ranger,” Deacon said.

“That’s leadership with witnesses.”

Deacon moved left. Jandar followed. The passage descended more steeply. They found blood twenty yards in. Old. Dark across the stone. A handprint marked the wall. Human-shaped. Jandar stared at it. Five experienced Silver Crown members had come this way. At least, that was what everyone was thinking. No one said it. Farther down lay a broken crossbow bolt. Deacon picked it up. Silver Crown issue. The room changed—not physically. But the possibility became something harder.

Someone from the missing patrol had fought here. Jandar watched Deacon turn the bolt between his fingers.

“Yours?”

“Same make.”

“Could belong to anyone.”

“Yes.”

Deacon put it into a pouch. He did not sound convinced. The tunnel turned. Zook raised a hand. Everyone stopped. This time Jandar had no complaint ready. There was a sound ahead. Soft. Dry. Scratching. Then silence. Zook pointed to the ground. The dirt moved. Jandar drew his rapier fully.

“What is that?”

No one answered. The earth shivered again. A hand burst through it.

Bone.

Bare. Yellowed fingers clawed at the dirt. Jandar stepped back.

“Well, that seems unnecessary.”

A skull pushed through next. Then shoulders. The thing pulled itself free of the shallow grave with jerking movements. Human once—not anymore. No flesh remained except gray scraps clinging to the joints. Its empty jaw opened. No sound came out. Another hand broke through the dirt beside it. Then another. Jandar looked at Deacon.

“I withdraw every complaint about the bandits.”

“Later.”

Three skeletal things rose. Then five. Then something much larger moved beneath a pile of bones at the far wall. Vegon lifted both hands.

“Back,” Vegon said.

Jandar did not move back. Deacon did. Half a step. Enough to clear his line. Jandar understood. Interesting. The first creature rushed him. Jandar slipped sideways. Its fingers closed on empty air. His rapier struck between ribs. Useless. The point scraped bone. The creature turned with impossible speed.

“Oh, that’s irritating.”

It swung. Jandar ducked. Behind him, Deacon fired. The bolt shattered the creature’s shoulder. Bone exploded. The arm fell. The skeleton did not care. Jandar stared.

“You’ve made it angry.”

“It was already angry.”

“Hard to tell.”

Zook hit another low—not with finesse. With force. His weapon cracked through one knee. The creature collapsed. Xil stepped forward. Divine light gathered around his hand. This time Jandar felt it before he saw it. Pressure. Cold. Then warmth under that. Wrong and right at the same time. The light struck the fallen skeleton. It convulsed. A pale glow ran through every bone. Then the thing collapsed into a loose heap.

“That worked,” Jandar said.

Xil looked at him.

“Yes,” Xil said.

“Do that again,” Jandar said.

“Working on it,” Xil replied.

Vegon spoke a sharp phrase. Energy snapped from his fingers. It struck two creatures at once. One flew backward. The other twisted violently. Vegon grimaced. The light around his hands flickered. Jandar saw it. So did Xil.

“Vegon—” Xil warned.

“I’m fine,” Vegon said.

Naturally. The large pile at the wall erupted. Bones scattered. Something rose from beneath them—not a skeleton—not one body. Many. Ribs woven into shoulders. Arms where arms did not belong. Skulls packed together beneath a crown of antler-like bone. Jandar stopped smiling.

“That,” he said, “is excessive.”

The thing came forward. Deacon fired. The bolt vanished into it. No obvious effect. Jandar moved—not away. Across. The creature turned toward him. Good. He had its attention. Bad. He had its attention. A bone arm swept toward him. Jandar ducked. Another came from the opposite side. He twisted between them. The third struck him. Pain exploded across his ribs. He hit the wall. For a moment the cave went white. He heard Deacon shout something. Then Zook.

Then the creature came toward him. Jandar forced air back into his lungs. His rapier was still in his hand. That was useful. Standing would have been more useful. He pushed up. The bone mass leaned over him. Several skulls faced in different directions. One jaw opened and closed. Jandar stabbed it in the eye socket. The sword went deep. The creature jerked. Jandar twisted the blade. Something inside cracked. Still alive. Of course.

“Deacon!”

He did not know why he shouted the name. He simply did. The creature turned. That was the opening. A crossbow bolt struck through the side of its central skull. Then another. Deacon had switched weapons. Smaller crossbow. Faster. The creature staggered. Jandar ripped his rapier free and rolled away. Zook came in from below. He struck one leg. Xil hit the thing with another burst of pale power. Vegon raised both hands.

“Move!” Vegon shouted.

Everyone moved. Jandar moved fastest. A blast of force filled the chamber. The bone creature lifted from the ground. For one impossible second, every part of it separated. Skulls. Ribs. Arms. Vertebrae. Then it struck the far wall. Hard. Bones rained across the room. Silence followed. Jandar remained crouched behind a rock. A femur rolled to a stop beside his boot. He looked at it.

“No.”

He kicked it away. Zook started laughing—not much. Just enough. Jandar looked at him.

“You find something amusing?”

Zook pointed at him. Jandar looked down. A small skull had become caught in the back of his coat. He twisted. Could not reach it. Deacon walked over. He pulled it free. Jandar stared at him.

“How long?”

“Since the wall.”

“And you said nothing?”

“We were busy.”

Jandar took the skull and tossed it aside.

“I thought we had something.”

Deacon reloaded.

“We do.”

“Not anymore.”

The humor faded as quickly as it came. Bones lay everywhere. Too many. Some animal. Some human. Some impossible to identify. Xil moved among them. He crouched beside the remains of one of the creatures and examined the pale fragments.

“Not normal undead,” Xil said.

Vegon was breathing harder than he should have been.

“What makes you say that?” Vegon asked.

Xil picked up a piece of rib.

“Construction,” Xil said.

Jandar looked at the large heap.

“I had noticed,” Jandar said.

“The smaller ones rose from individual bodies.”

Xil pointed.

“That one was assembled,” Xil added.

“By whom?” Vegon asked.

“I don’t know,” Xil said.

Jandar looked toward the dark tunnel ahead.

“Everyone has become very comfortable saying that.”

Deacon was examining the ground. He found another broken bolt. Then a scrap of cloth. Silver-gray. He held it up. The Silver Crown used the same color on field cloaks. No one spoke. Zook came over.

“Blood there,” Zook said.

More old stains. Leading onward. Jandar’s ribs hurt. He touched them carefully. Nothing obviously broken. Probably. Xil noticed.

“Let me see,” Xil said.

“I’m fine.”

Xil stared at him. Jandar looked toward Vegon.

“Is there a meeting where you all practice that expression?”

Vegon said, “He means sit down.”

“I understood.”

Jandar sat. Xil placed one hand against his side. Warmth spread beneath his fingers. Then the wrongness came—not pain. Something stranger. For a moment Jandar felt as though the warmth had turned and looked back at him. He inhaled sharply. Xil’s eyes narrowed. The sensation passed. His ribs eased. Jandar studied him.

“You felt that,” Jandar said.

“Yes,” Xil replied.

“What was it?” Jandar asked.

Xil removed his hand.

“Magic,” Xil said.

“That answer is getting worse.”

“It did what I intended,” Xil said.

“That does not answer the question.”

“No.”

Xil stood. Apparently the conversation was over. Jandar looked at Deacon.

“Do you see how difficult these people are?” Jandar asked Deacon.

Deacon was staring at the next tunnel.

“You fit in,” Deacon said.

Jandar smiled. There. That was nearly affection. They moved again. More carefully now. The cave changed farther down. Natural stone gave way to worked sections—not proper halls. Nothing so grand. But walls had been widened. Corners cut. Old supports reinforced with newer wood. Someone wanted access to whatever lay deeper. Jandar ran his fingers across a tool mark.

“Gnolls?” Jandar asked.

Zook shook his head.

“Could be,” Zook said.

“That sounded convincing.”

“Gnolls use tools,” Zook said.

“I know. I was hoping for something more specific.”

Deacon said, “You ask too many questions.”

“That is how people learn.”

“No. Listening is how people learn.”

Jandar considered.

“That sounds suspiciously wise.”

Deacon kept walking. Jandar fell into step beside him.

“You fired when I called,” Jandar said.

Deacon looked ahead.

“Yes,” Deacon replied.

“You didn’t ask what I wanted.”

“You wanted the thing dead,” Deacon said.

“Good guess.”

“You were shouting my name while being attacked by bones.”

“There were other possibilities.”

“No, there weren’t,” Deacon said.

Jandar smiled. He liked that answer more than he should have. Ahead, Zook stopped again. This time he pointed toward the wall. Five marks had been scratched into the stone—not letters—not a message. Short cuts. One beside another. Jandar crouched.

“Order?”

Deacon touched one.

“Could be.”

Xil came closer.

“Why five?” Xil asked.

Jandar looked back the way they had come. Five people. Leaving marks in a cave. A way to find the path back. Maybe. Or to tell someone following how many remained. He did not like either possibility. Zook found another mark farther down. Four cuts. Nobody joked about that. The tunnel split. Three cuts marked the left passage. Deacon stared. Jandar felt something cold settle in his stomach.

“Could mean anything,” he said.

“Yes,” Deacon replied.

Two cuts appeared fifty yards later. This time beside blood. Vegon swallowed. Xil said nothing. Jandar looked ahead. Darkness. One person. If the marks meant what they feared. One person had made it this far. Maybe. Or someone had wanted whoever followed to think so. Jandar preferred the second possibility. It was less sad.

“Still want to continue?” Vegon asked.

Deacon looked at him.

“Yes,” Deacon said.

Zook nodded. Xil did too. Jandar sighed.

“Apparently we have developed a group flaw.”

They continued. The cave narrowed enough that they had to move single file. Zook first. Deacon. Jandar. Vegon. Xil. Jandar disliked having the wizard behind him—not because he distrusted vegon. Because every time magic went wrong, the air tasted terrible. They reached another chamber. Smaller. Empty. No bones. No monsters. Just a dead fire. A dropped waterskin. A Silver Crown cloak. Jandar stopped. The cloak lay in the center of the chamber—not folded—not placed. Dropped. Deacon moved toward it.

“Wait,” Zook said.

Everyone froze. Zook circled wide. He studied the ground.

“What?” Jandar asked.

“Tracks,” Zook said.

“Whose?” Jandar asked.

“Boots,” Zook replied.

“Patrol?” Jandar asked.

“Probably,” Zook said.

“How many?” Jandar asked.

Zook frowned.

“Hard,” Zook said.

He moved around the edge.

“Five came in,” Zook said.

Jandar waited. Zook did not finish.

“How many left?” Jandar asked.

The gnome looked toward the far tunnel.

“One,” Zook said.

Silence. Jandar stared at the cloak. Five in. One out. No bodies. No blood enough for four deaths. Something had happened here. Something that did not leave what it should. Deacon lifted the cloak carefully. Beneath it was a Silver Crown mark—not branded skin. A small metal badge sewn into the lining. He looked at it. Then put it back.

“We follow the one.”

Zook nodded. Jandar looked at the tunnel.

“Of course we do.”

He checked his sword. Deacon checked his crossbow. Vegon’s light flickered. Xil noticed.

“So did I,” Jandar said.

Vegon looked at him.

“What?” Vegon asked.

“The light,” Jandar said.

“It’s fine,” Vegon replied.

“There’s that word again.”

Vegon’s jaw tightened. He steadied the spell. The glow strengthened. Ahead, somewhere beyond the next bend, something scraped across stone. Once. Then stopped. Jandar drew a slow breath. He looked at Deacon. Deacon looked back. Neither said anything. They did not need to. Zook moved first. Deacon raised his crossbow. Jandar shifted to the opposite side of the passage, leaving the older man a clean line past his shoulder. This time nobody had to ask. They went deeper.