The trees above us was laden with a scrambling mess of age-yellowed bone. A score of animated skeletons, eye sockets aglow with unlight—a darkness that consumes—had been stealthily descending upon Terrence and me. They were spectacular acrobats: their light frames easily manoeuvred through the trees; skeletal fingers wedged neatly into minute gaps that would have rejected the fullness of flesh; their limbs ignored the conventions and expectations of humanoid movements, there was no muscle to tear, no ligament to snap; they moved more like insects, jittery and reflexive.
Their careful descent transformed when I spotted them, and suddenly they were leaping between branches, swinging with a terrible grace to us. There was sufficient density of branches that none of them were leaping directly onto us, an outcome they’d traded for managing to surround us instead.
I drew the Laughing Blade, barely hopeful that it would manifest its magic in the time of need, but grateful that there was anything to put between me and skeleton swarm, elf excepting.
“You wouldn’t happen to have been trained from infancy as a master swordsman would you?” I said.
“N-no, you?”
I didn’t deign to give that an answer. I was kicking myself for not bringing the horse, but the thing had been absolutely unwilling to tolerate the proximity of the squirts, something about their excited hissing as they drew near to warm animal flesh must have put it off.
The skeletons were unarmed, a small mercy against their numbers, and I was encouraged by the care they were taking to try and overwhelm us. They were treating us like a threat, a fact that I hoped wasn’t due to an incredible over-estimation on their part. Worst case scenario I was prepared to use my remaining death-disguise. Assuming the elf could outrun them, we would survive, but the injuries I’d sustain would ruin our chances of accomplishing anything else.
“Our only shot is to break through their line and manage a fighting retreat until we can find somewhere defensible. I’ll lead the charge, you watch my back and stay close, got it?”
“Yip!” Terrence began, but I wasn’t having any of that.
“No yipping! Control yourself! You passed yourself off as an ancient ranger, you can pretend you’re not scared out of your mind.”
“Those are entirely different!” Terrence whined.
“You’re a bloody elf aren’t you? Now show me why your grandparents have such a damn superiority complex.”
I didn’t wait for a reply and raced forward with a yell.
The elf followed, screaming something like ‘Just as the tree is rooted in the earth, we are rooted in the...in the... oh fuck it! Raarrgghh!’
My charge brought me to the skeleton line, a group of five clustered between two large trunks. Up close the smell of dust, stale air, and earth flushed my nose of everything else. The voids in their eye sockets ate the light around them, and I saw a similar shadow flicker around their joints, a sign of whatever necromancy kept them from falling to pieces.
As I approached they began to chatter their teeth in what seemed to be excitement, and throughout the clearing the sound of bone striking bone chittered in revolting response.
Elskia had been given rudimentary swordsmanship training, and ‘ACTING!’ was giving me enough of that background to have some idea of what I was doing. The only dispute I had with it was the conventional insistence I use the edge of the blade, when I was entirely confident that what I really wanted was the flat.
“Don’t lose your head!” I shouted, and swung the Laughing Blade like a bat toward the nearest skull.
Three things happened in quick succession, each of them following as a natural consequence of the prior.
The first; the Laughing Blade started to gently vibrate in my hands, a buzz so light I could scarcely notice it. The second; the sword grew several inches wider and at least a foot longer, transforming in an instant from a conventional rapier to a hefty long sword mid-swing, but this change had no ensuing effect on the weight or trajectory. And thirdly; I struck the skull like grown man strikes a children’s piñata at a birthday party after he’s had a few too many drinks, except better because instead of a spray of candy into a crowd of excited children, I delivered a cascade of bone into a handful of skeletons.
This sequence in turn, taught me three useful truths: one, the Laughing Blade is the one that laughs; two, when the Laughing Blade laughs, good things happen, details to be determined; and three, de-fleshed bone is really very light.
I waded through the skeletons like a thrice held-back eighth-grade bully through first-graders.
“Slice to meet you!” I yelled, and the Blade hummed. My next slash cut clean through a rib-cage with no resistance to speak of.
“I’m a cut above you lot!” A trio of skeletons were slammed in sequence as my blow carried through them one after another.
The small group that blocked our way was gone, but already more were scrabbling toward us from behind.
Terrence took the opportunity to sprint into the gap, showcasing agility matching any Olympian I’d ever seen and enough cowardice to embarrass a mouse. But for all his fear inspired grace he didn’t quite clear the skeleton leg that lunged upward and caught between his legs. The elf wiped out into the pile of bones, but was up again in a flash, this time carrying a mass of ineffectually chomping skulls and squeezing hands. But the stopping power of the dead was minimal and he only regained his feet before pelting off again.
I heard the creak-crack of bone approaching. I turned while swinging in one fluid motion, catching a skeleton in a midair leap. It clattered into the ground, but seemed largely intact, and began to rise again in a moment. Even the skeletons I’d damaged were pulling themselves together or, in the more disordered cases, dark threads slicked between scattered bones to slowly drag them back into their original shape. The disembodied skulls continued to chatter at me, an unceasing clatter that drowned out everything else.
Individual skeletons were paltry foes, but they didn’t stay down. This was a fight of attrition, one I didn’t think we could win. Terrence was currently stop-drop-and-rolling with mixed results, and was in dire breach of the ‘no yipping’ rule. For all their flimsiness the skeletons were quick, I could see them moving through breaks in the trees, flanking us with ease. The elf might be able to get free, but I wouldn’t be able to keep clear, and enough bony hands were sure to bring me down. I was prepared to pull out the final stop, when what could only be described as a whistling voice interrupted the scene.
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“Oi you numbskulls! Git off of them!”
Another skeleton ran into the clearing, and the horde scattered before its advance. It was different from the others; it wore a set of ill-fitting (an unfair critique I realized, as most mail isn’t exactly sized for the deathly thin) chain mail, with a bow and quiver strapped to its back. Through gaps in the mail I could see what appeared to be a large air-bladder nestled within its rib-cage, a tube extended from the bladder and snaked up along the spine only to disappear within the skull. Strips of dark leather were moulded to its lower and upper jaws, creating a crude facsimile of a mouth.
The bone of its body also differed. Where the hoard of chittering skeletons were yellowed and dirty, this one was polished a smooth and shining white. Ornate filigree traced its skull and larger bones, its whole body becoming a stunning scrimshaw.
The strange new skeleton sauntered over to me, pausing briefly only to kick a clattering skull across the clearing.
“Sorry ‘bout the Numbskulls. We gots a whiff of the necromantic and set ‘em loose. Didn’t think there’d be a fine lady such as yerself, and yer err,” the skeleton glanced minutely towards the wrung out elf hung over a branch like a beaten carpet, “escort, around...Anyhow, name’s Roam Bone, pleasure’s all mine!”
“Likewise,” I answered automatically, relying on Elskia’s formal training while I scrabbled to catch up with the developments.
Every word from Roam Bone was whistled through the bladder opening that I could now see wedged in the back of its leather-mouth, as the rib-case pressed down upon the airbag. It worked the strange device masterfully, flexing the leather and jaw expertly to recreate passable speech with the crudest of tools.
“Here we are now! They’ve found the necromantic source, see?” A ‘Numbskull’ approached bearing the squirts in its hand.
Roam Bone accepted the squirts and his shadow-eyes tightened in what I could only assume was a focused squint as he examined them.
“Pretty fresh, a little worse for wear,” one of the squirts sprayed a pressurized stream of blood across Roam’s skull, the surprised skeleton dropped the pair where they then proceeded to worm over to me, “Gaddangit! Lot worse for wear! And temperamental to boot!” Roam produced a ratty cloth and proceeded to wipe his skull down while continuing his commentary. “Seem to like you well enough though. That’s good, you musta put a proper amount of discipline in ‘em. Freshly dead need a firm hand. Gives ‘em a sense of structure. Or else you get a load of ingrates like this LOT!” He turned to shout-whistle at a group of Numbskulls that had been creeping up on a distressed Terrence.
The skeletons scattered under this sudden scrutiny, but by their excited chattering I suspected they were uncowed.
“I take it...you are hunting for the necromantic source?” I managed to squeeze a word in.
“Righty-o! Need to put it down afore we gets a real mess on our hands. This ‘un is tricky, let it amass a few too many bodies. Ah well, what can ya do? S’our trouble to solve. Once the rest of the gang arrives we’ll be off.”
Terrence had managed to de-bone himself and come to our position by then. “Right then! We’ll leave you to your task and just be on our way shall we? Clearly you are a professional, so—”
“I think I’d like to meet the rest of your...gang Roam. I’ve got a feeling we can help each other out,” I said.
The elf whimpered.
“No thoughts Hugh,” I said reflexively, then laughed, “Oh, sorry force of habit, I meant to say—Shut up Terrence.”
The elf whimpered softly. It would have to do.
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We didn’t have to wait long before the rest of them arrived. From the distance I heard a clattering of metal growing steadily louder until pair of a pair of skeletons in piecemeal armour tumbled into view. They appeared to be in a race. The one in front had contrived a moss beard that was constantly slipping down their spine and resting on their clavicles, but even their repeated delays to return it to its proper position were less of a burden than the one coming up the rear, who was struggling to fend off a pair of persistent jays—no doubt in pursuit of the nest I could see arranged in its skull.
But in a final rush the bird-nester pulled an arm loose and threw it at the lead skeleton.
“Catch Bone-Head!” the bearded skeleton turned and the arm javelined directly into its face, fingers hooking the eye-sockets and decapitating it on its descent. Bird-skeleton claimed first, shouting at the fallen skull, “I was talking to the arm!” as it passed.
But after a moments disorientation Bone-Head managed to run on headless, snatching up its erstwhile skull in the process, and the pair of them got to us simultaneously.
“So you think you’re funny, bone?” said Bone-Head.
“I know I’m Funny-Bone!” said Funny-Bone.
Tic-cht-tic-cht-tch! They both teeth chattered at that, in what I realized was skeleton laughter.
“Like we haven’t heard that one before, Bone,” another skeleton swaggered into the clearing, wearing a ragged blue overcoat and a battered tricorn.
Following them was another skeleton of a more delicate make, whose bones bore a faint silvery sheen.
“As I’ve always said, they both bear concavities in the phrenological regions for ideality and constructiveness; these deficits combined with the grotesque protuberances for adhesiveness and it should come as no surprise they’ve continually return to the same juvenile larks...but this is to be expected considering their ignoble origin.” the silver skull lectured, pausing only when they spotted Terrence, “Now what have we here! A fellow member of the fair folk!”
Terrence groaned, “Oh gods it’s an elf skeleton,” he muttered, “they must be ancient.”
The elf skeleton glided up to Terrence and stood expectantly until he performed an elaborate bow in greeting.
“My living name was Elyondril, long departed, but forever striving toward the furtherance of the noble art of phrenology. My lineage is ancient and my pedigree pure,” the silver skull spoke in a high and arrogant nasal whistle, an impressive feat from a bag of air.
Terrence put on a mask of amiability and replied. “I am Terrence Lilerral, hunter of small renown. My lineage is ancient and my pedigree pure.”
“Terrence?!” Elyondril exclaimed, “Oh how the Lilerral’s have fallen to take such common monikers. Come, I must examine your skull for inherited deviance! There must be an explanation.” And Terrence was pulled to ground while the ancient undead produced a motley of measuring tools.
But my attention was chiefly on the other conversation taking place.
The blue-coated skeleton came to a precise halt in front of Roam Bone, arms clasped behind his back.
“ROAM BOOONE! STATUS REPOOOORT!”
“YES ADMIRAL SIR!” Roam shouted, “The Numbskulls were released and honed in on the necromantic target! I followed at a distance and discovered them engaged in hostilities with civilians bearing a secondary necromantic aberration!” he gestured at the squirts, which were currently cooperating to slowly scale my pants leg. “I deescalated the Numbskulls and made con-TACT!”
“ROAM BOOOONE,” the Admiral crowed.
“SIIIRRRR!”
“That is some FINE work! A commendation could be in your future! But WHERE is your partner? Where is Lone Bone?”
“Remains at large SIR!”
“As per usual! Deeee-smissed!”
Roam gave a smart salute and marched off to wrangle a pair of Numbskulls that had stolen a third’s limbs and were seemingly attempting to graft them onto another, which wouldn’t be so horrifying if they didn’t seem to be making significant progress.
“Now!” The Admiral turned to me, “What can the Bone Corps do for you?”
I noted with glee the mispronunciation of corps to enunciate the usually silent ‘s’.
A pack of half-mad skeletons working to take down the necromantic construct I myself was pursuing? I couldn’t imagine a better partnership.