Placing a hesitant arm beneath the flattened head, Simna fought down the queasiness in his gut as he raised the soft, slightly rubbery remnant of his friend and held it where it could face their former assailants. Having turned away from the living, Ehomba’s expelled skeleton was following the envoy to the line of waiting skeletal mounts. There the envoy swung himself up onto the bare-boned back of a once noble but now wholly desiccated steed and reached down. Taking the proffered hand, the tall, slim skeleton that had just walked away from its owner leaped up onto the exposed spine.
With a final salute, the grisly members of the Brotherhood turned and, passing in review in double file, trotted away, leaving the living to their own devices. Slack as a sack of beans, Ehomba watched them and a part of him go.
“I hope it can hang on for a while. The Naumkib are not known for their horsemanship.”
“It wouldn’t matter anyway, bruther.” Simna followed the line of mounted skeletons as they disappeared into the trees. “No amount of practice could prepare one for riding saddleless astride bare bone.” He looked down at his friend. “Why have you done this?”
“To put them off.” The eyes that stared back up at him sank deeply into the limp, unsupported flesh. “Ahlitah was right. I could hear the approaching hundreds also.”
“But the sky-metal sword! You could have tried to use it.”
“Not in a place like this. We would have died of it,” the herdsman replied simply.
“So we would have died.” Simna’s frustration came pouring out. “Anything’s better than living like this!” He ran an open palm down the length of his freshly pliant friend.