from the belts of rich folk when Sunbright wasn't looking. Gradually they'd drifted toward the Narrow Sea, barrier to the tundra, but often dallied rather than face the fact that they couldn't find what they sought. And now they were bereft again, and alone.
'I didn't start anything. Delmar and his cronies have been mocking my accent and clothes and weapons for weeks.'
'Stop it,' the thief snapped. 'You whine like a child. If you were among your tribespeople, they'd probably cut out your tongue.'
'Well, we're not amongst my people! And we never will be!' Sunbright roared back.
That was the problem, of course. In all their travels, asking everyone they met, they had found no sign of the Rengarth Barbarians. Cut off from his people and heritage, frustrated by not being able to return, though he risked death in doing so, Sunbright had grown increasingly irascible and taciturn. He would brood the day long, and never speak a word to Knucklebones.
And she? She trod alongside, steadfast and quiet, usually biting her tongue, but occasionally lashing out. Though she never said so, if anyone should feel cut off from their heritage, it was she, who wouldn't even be born for over three hundred years yet, and had seen her beloved city crumble to dust, utterly and irretrievably lost in the dim future. Sunbright at least had a tribe, even if they were lost somewhere in the wide world. She had nothing, not a friend besides him, not a relative, not a home or hope of one. Sometimes, late at night, when the barbarian was asleep, she wept, not for lack of love, but for loneliness.
Sunbright tugged the last of his straps tight, and slung the blanket roll to his shoulder. 'Never mind arguing. Let's go.'
'Go where?' Startled from her reverie, the phrase popped out. Unable to stop, Knucklebones lifted idle hands at the empty road and woods. 'Where shall we go? Where in the whole world is a place for us?'
Sunbright stared around gloomily, then let his blanket roll fall to the dust. He had no answer.
Deep in a steaming swamp, where the slimy water ran so deep even the giant lizards couldn't walk on the bottom, a hissing and boiling commenced.
Eels and bass stirred from the muck at the bottom, sensed the water heating unnaturally, and finned away. A heron flapping lazily overhead swooped to spear a perch, but found the thing dying, parboiled. The white bird sheared on thermals rising from the water. Other birds scattered from cypress and pine trees at the disturbance. A troop of dimetrodons sunning in shallow water plucked their feet from mud, lowered their rainbow sails, and swished out of the water, leaving wavy tail marks behind. Some creatures spiraled in, for where there was distress, careless animals were apt to become food. Ravens flapped in to watch, and smaller dinosaurs with foxy manners minced over ferns to wait, and pounce.
The water at the center of the bog swirled and churned, until a fountain of boiling water rose the height of a man. Ripples shook the water so hard that an errant bog hound, created long ago for some lost purpose, stirred in nearby reeds, tried to creep off from its secluded day bed, but stricken by sunlight, reverted to a lifeless pile of straw and mud that crumbled back to the earth.
Higher the boiling column rose, until it was three times the height of a man. Murky spray scattered rainbows. Birds lifted from trees and wheeled away. The dimetrodons turned droopy eyes upon the phenomenon, but made no other move except to twitch their tails from the hot water. Fish killed by heat floated to the surface, and flies swarmed onto them.
Then the water column abruptly collapsed. Murky water swirled in contradictory patterns, then settled. A streaming V marked the progress of something plodding through muck and weed, aiming for shore. The V narrowed gradually, and the creature's head broke water.
A skull: dark as flint, no hair, no ears, no eyelids, no lips, no nose, a block of stone poorly hacked into the shape of a human head. A thin neck of stone glistened wetly, then a wide-shouldered frame that canted to one side as if made misshapen. Prominent ribs and a pinched waist, bony pelvis without genitals, matchstick legs. Arms were two different lengths, but both sported long, black claws harder than diamonds. Feet were splayed lumps.
The flint monster gained the shore, and sank ankle-deep in ooze from its great weight. Water dried in the hot sun, but its hide still glinted and sparkled from impacted minerals. Below staring blue eyes, the gash of a mouth, like a ragged cut in steel, opened to breathe. And chortle for the first time in ages.
'Free! Finally free!' A croak like a tortured hinge. 'Free to gain revenge… to slay my enemies. To slay anyone who opposes me!'
Casting about, the monster pointed a long-fingered hand at the sleepy dimetrodons, who looked on unimpressed. There came a flash and a crackle, and an icicle flew from its fingertips to lodge in the ribs of the nearest dinosaur. The stung animal hopped, bellowed, and roared. It snapped its head around to bite at the offending missile, but the ice spear had already melted, leaving a wound that bled furiously. The stricken animal mewed.
'You like that?' cackled the flint monster. 'Here's more!'
Pointing mismatched hands, the fiend made icicles fly into the hapless dinosaurs, who hooted and mewled in pain and outrage. Icy lances thudded into ribs, flanks, and necks. Rainbow sails arching over gray-green backs were punctured in a dozen places so blood ran down their spines. One big bull that snapped at the attacker had an icicle fly down its throat, puncturing its lungs and heart. The monster kept conjuring icicles and sending them into the dinosaurs' bodies until the animals were reduced to heaps of green scales, spattered with blood that drew flies.
Still, the horror hadn't killed enough. Raising clawed hands, it sent a blast of darkbolt sizzling into the top of a red pine that exploded needles in all directions. A hawk circling nearby dropped as a gobbet of burned feathers. Insects, an old tortoise, primitive rose bushes, all were frozen or burned or blasted into scraps.
And above all the noise, screams, and crackling of flames scratched the creaky laugh of the monster. 'Yes, death to all that oppose me! Death to all that live! But death to Sunbright and all the rest first!'
The end of summer found Sunbright and Knucklebones standing under a line of drowsy birch trees where the river known simply as the Watercourse had undercut the bank, so some trees hung precariously with their tops brushing the rippling water. The river spilled into the Narrow Sea a few leagues north, and that was the last barrier to the tundra. Yet Sunbright hadn't the heart to go on, so they'd camped.
'But where next?' asked Knucklebones, though she knew the answer.
'Nowhere,' was the gloomy reply. 'Or anywhere. Being free means you can go wherever you wish. Like a child's kite rising on the wind. We wander just as aimlessly.'
'We need lodging for the winter.'
'Pick a direction.'
Knucklebones sighed. How much more lassitude and despair could she stomach? His heartsickness was contagious, and her days were gloomy. She loved him, would stay for good or ill, but lately her mind betrayed her own heart, whispered she'd be better off by herself. Somewhere else. Alone.
Sunbright looked out over the river, watched a kingfisher dive like a spear and spring back up. The struggling bird and flapping fish spiraled up over the forest. Idly, Sunbright tracked them.
'That's a male kingfisher living in those elms. The sunfish school in the shallows, feeding on minnows come sporting from under the bank to seek sunlight, for blue flies hover over the water. The water's half salt and half fresh, so the two cultures mingle here before us. Handy things for a shaman to know, no? Would I could tell my tribe.'
'It's not good enough to talk to me?' Knucklebones was bored enough to pick a fight, and hurt that his idle thoughts excluded her.
Sunbright sat on the grassy bank with his back to a birch. 'No,' he told her, 'I enjoy talking to you, but you must be powerful sick of my useless chatter.'
That statement struck so close to the heart that Knucklebones blinked. To cover her confusion, she fussed with her brass knuckles, shining them with spit and her thumb. 'No,' she said, 'it's just-Aren't there other tribes of barbarians?'
'One. The Angardts dwell on the plains below Redguard Lake, near the Far Horns Forest, but we split from them ages ago. They adopted magic, taboo to my people. The feud ran bloody and long, and finally they retreated
