Of Bone and Thunder by Chris Evans Page A

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.
    â€œYou 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.
    â€œWe’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.” Heled 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.
    â€œI’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.
    â€œAll meadow,” he whispered, giving them the all-clear signal. He kept one eye on the path while he guided the rest of the