“But how … ?” Simna’s query trailed away, and he could only turn a look of bafflement on his friend.
From within the folds of flesh that comprised his sunken face, the herdsman smiled back at his companion. “If deprived of the rest of him, a man’s skeleton gets lonely.”
“You knew it would come back to you,” Simna declared accusingly.
“I knew it would try. I hoped it would succeed. I have always had confidence in all of me, my friend.” A boneless hand fluttered in the swordsman’s direction. “Keep sail up. It will be back among us soon.”
“Not soon enough.” Rising to his full height and lifting Ehomba effortlessly as he did so, Hunkapa Aub nodded in the direction of the densest part of the forest. “Bones come also.”
Instantly, Simna was on his feet and staring along the line of Hunkapa’s sight. Sure enough, from among the trees there now poured an entire battalion of the Brotherhood. They came streaming toward the windwagon, some on foot, others riding an even greater assortment of skeletal grotesqueries than the travelers had seen previously, yelling and screaming in their hoarse, ossified whispers while waving all manner of weapons above their bleached skulls.
“Gipebwhen,” Simna murmured nervously. “There must be hundreds of ’em!” He looked sharply at his soft friend. “What do we do?”
“Cross the river,” Ehomba told him. “Cross it quickly, I should say. Sail, Simna. Fill the sail.”
“Hoy, right, sure!” Settling himself back on the seat, the swordsman hastily brought lines and tiller into play. As the single canvas filled with the steady breeze, the high-wheeled wagon once more began to move toward the water.