The Bones of the Past (Books of Dust and Bone) Read online

  Praise for Bones of the Past

  “Richly imagined, written with great pace and fluency, and bursting with ideas. Munro is a gifted storyteller.”

  —Alan Campbell, bestselling author of

  the Deepgate Codex Series

  “Many fantasy tropes were slain and harmed in the making of this book. Munro dismembers the Hero’s Journey and reanimates it in the true fashion of a mad wizard.”

  —Rick Heinz, author of The Seventh Age

  “This book will kick blood-spattered sand in your eyes, slip its serrated blade around your back, and ravage all your usual expectations of the dark fantasy genre.”

  —Joseph Asphahani, author of The Animal in Man

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2017 Craig A. Munro

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Inkshares, Inc., San Francisco, California

  www.inkshares.com

  Edited and designed by Girl Friday Productions

  www.girlfridayproductions.com

  Cover design by Scott Barrie

  Celtic skull design by Joanna Moran and Design Clinic

  Map design by John Robin

  ISBN: 9781942645337

  e-ISBN: 9781942645344

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016942386

  For Margo, who gave me a pen and a new reason to write.

  LIST OF CHARACTERS

  BY PRIMARY LOCATION

  BIALTA

  Altog, a Night Guardsman

  Banjax, an unlicensed mage and companion of the Prince

  Brolt, a Night Guard Godchosen

  Corfon Tilden, Arcanum archmage and member of the Closed Council

  Dantic, Arcanum archmage of the Eighth Order

  Dwyn, a Night Guard squad leader

  Felkin, a general of the Bialtan Southern Army

  Grae, a Night Guard scout

  Greal, a Night Guardsman

  Gurtraven Calmosin, aka Gurt, commander of the Night Guard

  Gustave, an archmage and adviser to the king

  Holit Nobesid, an Arcanum special investigator

  Inksharud, a Night captain, leader of the Korsten City Night Guard

  Jalim Bagwin, an Arcanum crafter

  Jeb, a palace servant

  King Arlon, ruler of Bialta

  Kishan Nikhil, kladic of the Oviyan tribe

  Krigare, weapons master of the Night Guard

  Lera, a Night Guard archmage

  Lord Harold Irem, a Bialtan nobleman

  Matchstick, a magical construct, Dantic’s servant

  Min, a Night Guardsman

  Neskin, second to General Solten

  Nesrine, an Arcanum archmage and member of the Closed Council

  Nial, a child mage

  Salt, a Night Guard recruit

  Seely, a Night Guard

  Shade, an unlicensed mage

  Sigmond, King Arlon’s herald

  Skeg, a merchant catering to unlicensed mages

  Skye, a Night Guardsman

  Solten, a general of the Bialtan Eastern Army

  Tassos, a Night Guard scout

  Tsoba, a Night Guard squad leader

  Urit, a Night Guardsman

  Wheeze, a Night Guard medic

  Yajel, aka the Prince, a crime lord

  Zulaxrak, aka Zuly, a Karethin demoness

  TOLRAHK ESAL

  Alyre Manek, a Warchosen

  Betar, a merchant and slave owner

  Carver, a fleshcarver

  Drokga, tyrant of Tolrahk Esal

  Gruig Berrahd Tolrahk, eldest son of the Drokga

  Maran Vras, a slave gladiator

  Nasaka Jadoo, the Drokga’s mage hunter

  Old Man, a gladiator champion

  Roga, Carver’s slave and assistant

  Sigian, a slave

  Urotan Oskmen Tolrahk, supreme commander of the Tolrahkali armies

  SACRAL

  Beren, a master runesmith

  Brek, a Warchosen

  Corwin the Magnificent, an illusionist and entertainer

  Gerald, Maura and Beren’s son

  Gorsek, a Warchosen

  Harrow, a Warchosen

  Jenus Chenton, champion of Sacral, bodyguard to the king and commander of his armies

  Jerik, a master armorer and weaponsmith

  Kabol, an envoy from the nation of Aboleth

  Karim, a retired veteran

  King Ansyl, an archmage and ruler of Sacral

  Marean, a battlemage

  Maura, Beren’s wife

  Molt, a squad leader

  Orik, a priest of the White Mother

  Serim, a senior priest of the White Mother

  Sevren, a battlemage

  Sien, a Warchosen

  Traven, a Warchosen and second to Jenus

  Vegard, a Warchosen

  Yeltos Rogayen, high priest of the White Mother

  Zorat, a Warchosen from Aboleth

  ISCHIA

  Cyril, an undead assassin, a Crow

  Dead King, ruler of Ischia

  Grodol, a Gling’Ar Warchosen

  Masul, a Gling’Ar mage

  Rahz the Insane, master assassin and leader of the Dead King’s Crows

  Sonum, the Gling’Ar warchief

  DRETH

  Lamek, a Dreth pureblood

  Nok Dreth, ruler of the Dreth

  Nokor Ben Akyum, a Dreth pureblood and envoy to Bialta

  Thirat Bel Thammar, a Dreth pureblood and forge master

  DEITIES

  Amarok, a wolf god

  Amon Kareth, demon lord of the Karethin realm

  Basat, Bialtan god of pleasure

  Bernolk the Golden, god of wealth, commerce, and marriage

  Deceiver, god of lies, enemy of the White Mother

  Helual, god of science and medicine

  She Who Feeds, goddess of decay

  Silent God, god of death

  White Mother, patron goddess of Sacral

  PROLOGUE

  The wind whipped grit around Rahz as he crouched in a rocky crevasse. The blasted desert known as the Wastes was one of the most desolate places on the continent, but tonight he was just one watcher among many scattered around the plain. It is almost time.

  Sacral, Rahz’s former home, would be making its return to the world, just as his master had predicted. The city had been taken by a betrayer—a former friend—who tore it out of the world to somewhere other, even as she ascended to godhood on a wave of stolen power.

  A flicker in the valley, then a flash of light in the distance—a great black wall now stood a few hundred paces from Rahz, as familiar as the back of his own hand though he hadn’t seen it in centuries. The great city-state of Sacral had indeed returned. Tens of thousands of its inhabitants crowded the battlements of the outer wall clamoring for a look outside. Rahz felt the commotion the appearance triggered among the other watchers in the Wastes. A host of minds and talents reached out to the great city, eager to learn more. And were slapped back by a surprisingly powerful surge of magic. The message was clear—lives could have been taken. Posturing or truth, Rahz would need to find out. His master was eager for news. But it seemed as though at least one worthwhile opponent still lived in the city; whether that person was a friend of old or a new player remained to be
seen.

  Brief skirmishes broke out across the Wastes, opportunists taking advantage of their rivals’ distraction to strike or simply spies stumbling across each other and reacting violently. No need to let others have all the fun. Rahz gestured and a dozen dark-clothed forms detached themselves from the shadows and rushed off into the darkness.

  It didn’t take long for the crowds of Sacral to lose interest in the fields of black rock beyond their battlements. Some of them wandered atop the wall for a while, but none seemed willing to open the gates and venture outside in the dark. As the moons set, they slowly drifted back to their homes until only the odd patrol was visible passing by.

  Time to see what they’ve done to the place. Rahz moved in fits and bursts, as silent and unpredictable as the shadow of a bat under the twin moons. He slipped over the wall unseen and moved into the broad expanse of farmland that separated the outer wall from the inner. He ran silently through long fields of grains and vegetables, pastureland and tight groves of trees—everything Sacral needed to feed and clothe its huge population.

  The inner wall was even taller than the outer, designed as the last line of defense for the original inhabitants of the great city. It was as lightly guarded as the outer had been. Wherever the city was, I guess they didn’t have much to guard against, Rahz thought as he moved into the city proper. True to her name, the White Mother’s followers had repainted every black basalt building he could see white and kept everything meticulously clean. All the statues and murals Rahz remembered were gone as well, replaced by depictions of their goddess triumphing over Death—a skeleton wearing a crown—or battling a shadowy figure called the Deceiver. Rahz grunted in amusement. Looks like she’s managed to come up with a new enemy to blame her problems on. Though he wouldn’t admit it, being back in Sacral was unsettling. Everything was as he remembered it but strangely distorted, like a reflection in an imperfect mirror.

  Rahz chose one of the main thoroughfares that would take him to the heart of the city—to the Great Temple. There weren’t many people about at this late hour and it wasn’t difficult to travel quickly without being seen. He didn’t even bother taking to the rooftops as he would have in the past. Still, it was a long way and, even moving at speed, the sun was threatening to rise by the time the temple came into view.

  A few early risers were starting to emerge from the houses, and Rahz was forced to hide. He saw people passing by the Great Temple—it too repainted and covered with elaborate murals of the goddess. Few of the people acknowledged the building. Those who did made only a token gesture of obeisance as they passed by. The fires of piety have cooled here. For a city so overfilled with religious imagery, it was surprising to see the people treat the focus of their faith as nothing more than a habit or even with indifference. She never understood faith herself when she was mortal, so there’s little surprise that she couldn’t instill it in her followers.

  He settled in to his hiding place atop a large house. He would watch and wait until his master decided to act. When the time came, Rahz would move through Sacral with his Crows and reap bloody murder.

  PART I

  CHAPTER 1

  For Maura, as for many of the inhabitants of Sacral, the return was a disappointment. The Wastes weren’t much of an improvement over the featureless gray nothing that had ringed their home for so long. The priests had been talking about it for as long as anyone could remember, reminding them that the White Mother had moved the great city to reward her followers with a thousand years of peace. But now the fated day had finally come, and it was time to reclaim their rightful place in the world.

  Maura joined the crowds, as eager as any of them for a look beyond their borders. She walked along the wall for a time, arm in arm with her husband, Beren, hoping to see something more, but the same featureless landscape seemed to totally surround the lush valley that housed their city. They gave up shortly before midnight and followed the stream of people who were starting the long walk back to their homes. If the thousand years of peace are over, what does that mean for us really? And what exactly are we returning to besides rocks and dust?

  The next morning, Maura joined a few brave souls who set out to explore a little farther. The guards opened the West Gate and allowed the people to walk outside for the first time. People were excited and cheerful despite the barren landscape—until they found a corpse. A man dressed in dark leathers had been eviscerated and left in a shallow dip between two large boulders. There was blood everywhere, and flies swarmed around the remains. The excitement and curiosity in the crowd vanished in an instant, and the people all clamored to be allowed back inside. Soldiers were sent out to do a sweep of the surrounding area—they found a number of additional bodies, men and women of various descriptions, all dressed for concealment among the rocks. The number of soldiers patrolling the walls was tripled after that, and few if any citizens of the great city ventured outside the gates again. Even when merchants from foreign lands started to arrive in the following weeks, they were greeted with equal amounts of curiosity and distrust. The goods they brought were neither of a quality superior to those made locally or were far too ostentatious to appeal to the local, conservative tastes. Few returned. And for the most part, the people of Sacral went back to ignoring the existence of anything beyond their borders.

  “Are you going to those damned games again?” said Maura.

  “. . . I am. But only because the king will be there,” Beren answered.

  “The king? Attending those barbaric games? I think not. Besides, it’s Gerald’s turn to have a day off.”

  “But dear, you know—”

  “Between the endless hours you spend in your workshop and running off to those bloody games, it’s a wonder I still recognize you. If our son weren’t working for you, he’d have forgotten who you are by now.”

  “Dear, you know I have to see how my work holds up in combat. It’s part of my job. Besides, most of my good ideas have occurred to me while I’m watching. And it is true. The priests have been shouting it all over the city this morning—the king is making an announcement at the end of the games. We can’t very well miss his first public appearance in over ten years, can we? I hear it might have something to do with the last group of outsiders who’ve arrived. Apparently they’re envoys of some sort, not merchants at all.”

  Maura turned her back on him, both to feign anger and to hide the smile that bubbled to the surface.

  “I was about to ask you to join us, actually. I had Jerik get us some good seats so we’d be close enough to see the king.”

  Maura turned back to him, smiling. She did so enjoy teasing him. “Why, thank you, love. It’s about time you got around to inviting me. So let’s be off, shall we? Jerik dropped by an hour ago and gave me our passes.”

  Beren blinked at the sudden change, a momentary look of frustration flashing across his face, followed by a sheepish grin. “I was wondering why you were out here and not in the house,” he admitted. “Let’s get going then. We need to hurry if we’re going to see the early matches.” Beren grabbed Maura’s hand and practically dragged her through the streets toward the arena. “Besides, my sweet, the contests are not really barbaric. Not a single competitor has died since Orik took over as arena master three years ago.” Maura rolled her eyes. He just didn’t know when to quit. Her husband loved his family and his work, but almost nothing got him as excited as a trip to the contests as he called them. “Besides, Orik is a priest of the White Mother. He wouldn’t have agreed to the post if the Mother herself didn’t approve of the games.”

  “Now, Beren, my sweet, you know he only did it to save himself the bother of walking down to the arena every week to heal the poor wounded fighters.”

  Beren stopped and glanced back at his wife to make sure she was joking. She smiled and he couldn’t keep a straight face either. They walked on with their arms linked, both feeling lucky to have the other.

  They arrived at the arena well ahead of the starting time, but
the place was already busy. Hawkers were selling every conceivable food, drink, and trinket. The arena was one of the largest buildings in the city, able to accommodate ten thousand people. It was, like everything in the city, gleaming white in honor of the White Mother who had founded Sacral. The arena floor was so heavily enchanted that it could be changed to mimic different terrain types and weather conditions. Combatants squared off with real weapons here—often runed or even enchanted. When a mortal blow was about to land, the “fallen” was teleported to healing chambers below, where various priests and herbalists immediately started work on repairing whatever damage had been done. The king himself was said to have had a part in perfecting the enchantment. Control of the great magic was given over to the designated arena master.

  Beren and Maura had to push their way through the crowd to get to the main entrance. Lots of people recognized Beren and waved. Many tried to ask him for tips or information about his clients. As one of the premier runesmiths in Sacral, Beren and his smith partner, Jerik, provided arms and armor for many of the contestants.

  Beren wouldn’t stop to talk. He had learned to stay quiet anywhere near the arena until the games were well and truly over for the week, after a stray comment from him had caused a swarm of betting in favor of one of his clients last year. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the man hadn’t lost, Maura mused. Historically, matters of honor between any two citizens of Sacral could be settled in the arena. But as time went on, the number of grievances citizens wanted to settle in safe but real combat led the king to impose a rather hefty ring fee to anyone who wasn’t a recognized member of the city guard or the army.

  They took their seats. A few minutes later, Jerik arrived and sat next to Beren.

  “Glad to see you both made it early.”

  “Hi, Jerik. You know I wouldn’t miss a matchup like this. Captain Sien and Captain Gorsek! They’ll be talking about this one for years.”