The Northern Approach

by Jim Galford

  “A healing circle,” On’esquin said quickly, before Raeln could ask. “Used for the resurrection of the very recently dead by a powerful healer. They were trying to keep their people going long after they had lost the battle. Before you ask, the circle is powerless. That is likely why these people are all dead. Either they built the circle wrong or it was destroyed somehow.”

  Snarling in frustration, Raeln threw the tent back over the ring of stones—though he kept it away from the fire pit. Once such a circle would have raised his hopes, but those he wanted to save were already as dead as these people. He knew little about magic, but he did know he needed their bodies present, a capable healer, and a working circle…all within minutes of their hearts stopping. Having none of those, the circle did no one any good.

  “He isn’t here,” Raeln announced, sitting on his haunches. “His scent disappeared out into the mob. Likely, his body is out there somewhere or the Turessians took him and raised him as a zombie.”

  “Unlikely. They abandoned the dead here and fled. I would hazard to guess that the mists are why. All of the Turessians know what those mists are and why they should avoid them.”

  Raeln snorted, stood, and began walking again, making his way through the dead toward the west end of the valley. He very nearly gave up looking when he noticed a single body entirely out of place. It was not the healer he was searching for, but it still caught his eye.

  Lying flat on his back, a dwarf had been arranged peacefully. The man was bloodied, his skin burned in places, and dried blood covered his lips and the skin near his nose and ears. Someone had arranged him with his arms crossed over his chest and twin knives lying under his fingers. Even his hair and beard had been somewhat brushed smooth. Around him, Raeln picked out tracks from a barefoot human and a small animal, both fresher than the others around him. A single spot of mud or dirt had been touched to his forehead, a mark Raeln recognized.

  “There was at least one survivor,” Raeln told the orc behind him, pointing at the body. “Turessians wouldn’t have cared to give him Lantonnian funeral rights. This man meant something to someone who lived.”

  On’esquin said nothing, waiting patiently for Raeln to lead him, his sword still ready in case whatever survived was less than friendly.

  Raeln looked around, trying to find anything else that might indicate survivors that had fled the battle. Each time, his eyes went back to the dimly glowing mists, spread across the southern end of the valley and wrapping over toward the west. From what he could see, they were coming from the west, moving steadily southward.

  “Anything out that way will have to wait until the mists move away,” he said over his shoulder. “Looks like they’re just now coming out of the mountains and heading away. Whatever they were searching for must be gone.”

  The orc frowned at that and bent over one of the bodies. Touching it for a moment, his brows crinkled. “The mists passed over these dead in a hurry, seeking something they wanted more than they wanted anything out here. If the mists are coming back, whatever was here went into the mountains and the mists followed. We need to know what happened. Those mists could easily ruin the prophecy and hand the battle for Eldvar to the Turessians…or destroy both sides of that war, ourselves included.”

  Sighing, Raeln headed westward, straight toward the trailing edge of the mists. If he was lucky, by the time they reached the end of the valley, the mists would have moved on. It was wishful thinking, but he had learned when around On’esquin he had to take a great deal on faith.

  The valley was larger than Raeln had expected, continuing well past sparse trees that filled the west end, where still more bodies could be found. The area where he thought it would have ended, it narrowed beyond the trees toward what appeared to be another gap in the steep walls and continued up into the mountains. If he were being attacked, that would be where he would flee, hoping the enemy was unaware of its existence or in a hurry and overlooked it.

  They reached the first of the trees and Raeln immediately abandoned his hope that the survivors had gone that way after all. Scents of death grew stronger instead of fainter, coming from somewhere back in the trees.

  “Why are we stopping?” On’esquin asked, eyeing the woods with suspicion. “We can go much farther before we are in danger of the mists.”

  That was something Raeln had put out of his mind, and he looked up toward the path into the mountains, seeing the mists were partially blocking the way, flowing like water down into the valley from wherever that path went.

  “Death nearby,” he warned, kneeling to sniff at the edge of the woods. The scent of death still dominated, but he could pick out many other scents of individuals. Among them, he picked out the wildling healer’s scent. He had survived the attack at the tent and come this way. Raeln was almost certain the scent was fresher here. Maybe a couple hours old, at most. “A group went this way. They may already be dead, though.”

  Scowling, On’esquin pushed past Raeln and headed into the woods, hurrying now. Raeln followed him at a loping run, cringing as the light of the moon and mists faded once they entered the trees, leaving even him nearly blind. He slowed, following On’esquin’s trail while waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark. It took longer than he would have liked, and he began to wonder if the orc was running blind through the woods.

  Raeln paused near a copse of thin trees to catch his breath and reevaluate the direction they were going. He put a hand to the smooth tree, but it felt strange under the pads of his hands. Looking more carefully at it, he realized it was not a tree at all, but a pole shoved into the ground.

  Glancing upward, Raeln felt his stomach lurch and his fur bristle as he saw a half-dozen children impaled on the poles all around him. They were dead, hanging limply on the makeshift spears, well above his reach and backlit by the moon. The scent of death he had noticed earlier was coming from them.

  “Nothing out here,” came On’esquin’s voice ahead of Raeln as the man came back into view. “No more bodies that I can find. The way is clear.”

  Raeln forced himself to only look at On’esquin, struggling to keep from looking back up at the children’s remains. If the man had not seen them and could not smell them—no surprise for an orc—Raeln had no desire to point them out. He would much rather move on and spend weeks trying to forget what he had seen.

  “Follow,” ordered On’esquin, waving Raeln on.

  The orc led the way out the back of the small wooded area, emerging at the base of a nearly invisible path that went sharply up into the mountains. Had there not been a trail of many peoples’ scents going that way, he would not have even considered it a path at all.

  At the bottom of the path, where the walls created by the mountains forced any approach to be single-file, a large pool of blood marked the death of something. Looking around, Raeln saw the broken remains of a dozen or more zombies, some embedded in nearby trees as though they had been thrown with great force.

  “What was here?” asked On’esquin, looking to Raeln. “I would like to know what we are up against before we go any farther.”

  Raeln knew the scent around that area far better than he would have liked. “Bear.”

  Brows lowering in confusion, On’esquin continued to stare at Raeln as he asked, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I know what a bear smells like all too well. This was a wildling, though. He…no, she…fell here after destroying all of these.”

  “Are you certain she’s dead?”

  Raeln eyed the huge pool of drying blood and gave On’esquin a skeptical look. The man seemed to recognize what he was implying and shook his head sadly. There were few animals that could lose that much blood and survive, and far fewer humanoids.

  “You are not reassuring me, Raeln,” On’esquin noted, looking up the path. “The mists have cleared enough that I believe we can go on. Be wary.”

  Rolling his eyes at that, Raeln tried not to laugh bitterly. Hundreds of dead, the remains of zombies everywhere, and some
kind of magical glowing mist that On’esquin made sound like it would eat them…as though he was not being careful. If On’esquin wanted them to be careful, he would turn them around and run, not that Raeln cared much either way. Dying here or dying back at the camp meant little to him, though he would certainly prefer facing death head-on in battle than be eaten by a cloud.

  They continued up into the mountains, winding around steadily upward until they emerged from the narrow pass practically atop one of the peaks. The odd shaping of the mountains there created a sort of narrow path heading west, weaving in and out of several peaks until it disappeared several miles out.

  Below them, the mists roiled in the valleys, sweeping across a gravel descent not far from where they stood. Raeln could have thrown a rock down into it if he wished, and he wondered for the first time just how fast the mists could move. He realized those mists were going uphill and decided not to find out if he could outrun it.

  “I guess we follow it to its end,” said On’esquin, staring at the path ahead of them.

  A faint scent caught Raeln’s nose and he looked about, trying to determine the origin. He could smell the passing of many people on the path, but he also picked out about five people having gone down the slope toward where the mists remained. Slowly, he began to pick out the individual scents, but they were getting too old for him to make them out clearly. Recent rainfall had washed much of the smell away.

  “The main group stayed up here,” he announced. “Several wildlings and at least one human went down that way.”

  “Those that went down are lost, Raeln.”

  Ignoring the man, Raeln began down the slope, inching toward the mist in hope of seeing something down there that might tell him what had happened. As he continued, the mists gradually drifted away, parting and spreading more thinly. Soon, they had fully moved on, leaving the valley below empty and passable.

  The once-high grass of the region was burned and huge craters marred the landscape. From what he could see, a great battle had occurred down there with at least one spellcaster among the combatants. Wherever they had gone, there were no bodies, which either meant they had walked away or the undead had turned them into walking corpses.

  “The healer was down here,” Raeln announced as soon as he caught the scent clearly enough to be sure. “I can smell his children too. We’re close. They can’t have been gone more than an hour or two. I think they went back up the slope. There were at least four of them. These are the ones you’re looking for…I’m sure of it.”

  Still at the top of the slope, On’esquin nodded and motioned for Raeln to return.

  Raeln picked his way back up, having difficulty with the uneven and shifting stones. Slipping, he dropped to his knees to keep from tumbling backward. As he did, he caught the smell of blood…the wildling healer’s blood. The man had been wounded badly on that slope. Many of the stones appeared to have blood on them, now that he was looking closely. He chose not to relay that to On’esquin as he stood, digging his paws into the loose stones to get a better footing as he made his way to the top.

  “There’s nothing down there anymore,” Raeln said as he reached the flatter path where On’esquin waited, standing rigidly. “If we hurry…”

  Raeln froze and put a hand to his sheathed sword as he spotted the gleam of a knife blade along On’esquin’s throat, held by someone hiding behind him. On’esquin gave him an apologetic smirk and held his hands out to his sides, glancing down at his sword on the ground.

  “You,” came a man’s voice from behind On’esquin. “You travel with the enemy, so you are enemy too, yes? Explain why I find you with them and not dead with my friends.”

  Raeln started to draw his weapon, hoping whoever was behind On’esquin could not see the movement, but the knife tightened against On’esquin’s throat. Releasing his grip on his sword, Raeln raised his hands and stepped up fully onto the path so he would not slip if he had to move quickly.

  “He’s not one of them,” Raeln tried as he walked, but the hidden man pulled On’esquin to keep him between them. “We’re trying to find survivors.”

  “We all look for friends still alive, but you come with a marked man, yes? Is poor greeting to have the enemy at your side. I think maybe I kill you both if I am able and then I look for survivors alone. Is much easier to search alone.”

  The man’s thick accent reminded Raeln of a girl he had met back in Lantonne. She had been one of the Turessians and she had murdered the only person he had ever loved, but he knew that accent was not Turessian in origin. This man was a gypsy, one of the nomadic folk that often traded with the cities, from Lantonne all the way north to Turessi itself and everything in between.

  “He’s helping us find a way to fight them,” offered Raeln, keeping his hands up. On a whim, he reached down and released the knot that held his belt and sheath on, letting the weapon fall to the ground. He hardly needed it to kill a living person. He simply needed to get closer. If he could get within arm’s reach, he could cripple or kill him as needed, but the man did not need to know that.

  “Forgive if I do not believe,” the man replied, peeking over On’esquin’s shoulder armor. All Raeln could see was a dark-skinned human with greying hair, but he could make out little more of his features before he disappeared again. “I fought one of my own clan already this last night. Strangers who look the part of an enemy are no more trustworthy than my own blood, no? We let ancestors decide if it was unwise to kill you.”

  On’esquin shifted, and in doing so, Raeln caught a glimpse of the man’s clothing. Even in the dark, he recognized the way silk caught the light, and he was certain the dark attire was blue. That attire was nearly identical to that worn by the girl he had fought.

  “She was the one that killed my friend,” Raeln tried, hoping he was right. “A girl from your clan. Maybe fourteen years old. She was with the Turessians.”

  The man peeked out again, giving Raeln more to see as he evaluated Raeln in turn. The man was middle-aged with hints of white at the temples of his otherwise black hair. He seemed to be having difficulty focusing on Raeln, as though his eyes refused to work properly.

  “Yes, is probably so,” the man answered, pulling On’esquin back toward the westward path. “This does not make us allies, fuzzy man. It…it…has been long day.”

  The man stumbled and nearly fell without any reason Raeln could see. He was not sure how to react, wondering if perhaps it was a ruse to get him to reveal whether he intended to attack.

  On’esquin was less cautious. Spinning in place, he attempted to grab the human. Despite the human being off-balance, he reacted with blinding speed, the knife darting around On’esquin’s attempt to shield himself and plunging deep into his ribs, finding a gap in his thick armor. The human twisted the knife sharply, opening the wound.

  Raeln ran to them, praying On’esquin had managed to take the weapon somewhere that might not be fatal, but as he came up alongside the two, he found the human was staring in shock at the weapon protruding from On’esquin’s ribs over his heart. On’esquin, for his part, stared back at the man impatiently.

  “You say you are not one of them,” the human gypsy said, yanking the weapon free and backing away. “Die, if you do not lie. My own kin survived the same injury and worse. You are one of them.”

  Now that Raeln could see more clearly, he realized the human was gravely wounded. He kept one hand to his side, where blood had soaked through his clothing and ran down his leg. Deep gashes in his forehead and neck, as well as dozens of smaller cuts, spoke of a rough fight he had barely survived. The man’s eyes were unfocused, hinting at a concussion or severe blood-loss, possibly both.

  “Are you alone or do you have other survivors with you?” asked Raeln while On’esquin poked at the hole in his armor. “We’re trying to find four survivors.”

  “I do not need friends,” the gypsy replied angrily, stumbling away. “Two on one, I have advantage…”

  On’esquin responded with a
sharp punch to the man’s forehead, snapping his head back. Blinking twice, the human’s eyes rolled back and he fell limply, dropping his weapon and flopping onto his back.

  “Doubtful he is part of this,” On’esquin answered, smiling at Raeln. “The gypsies were not even a people in the days when the prophecy was written. Turess would have had no way to know of them. He is a survivor and little else. If this man mattered, Turess would have made note of him in great detail, as he would have seemed an anomaly to Turess.”

  Raeln came up to On’esquin, eyeing the human sprawled out on the ground. He looked over the orc until he spotted the hole in the man’s armor where intact green skin covered the spot where the knife had been moments before. “You swore to me that you aren’t like them,” Raeln growled, debating whether to go back for his sword or strike with claws. “You are…aren’t you? He’s right.”

  “Not exactly, though he did puncture one of my hearts, which is unpleasant no matter what magic is used to keep you alive. We can talk about it once we find our missing people. This man is clearly not one of them, so there must be more survivors. Leave him and we’ll continue on. You said they hadn’t been gone long. I would rather not delay.”

  Raeln went and picked up his sword and belt. He held them a moment, strongly debating whether to draw the weapon and demand answers from On’esquin. The man had been evasive since they had met, but he had done nothing Raeln could think of to act against himself or the other survivors in Lantonne. In fact, he had helped them escape and worked harder than most to aid in surviving the winter. Finally, he tied the belt around his waist and marched over to On’esquin, keeping his hand off his weapon.

  He stopped a few feet from On’esquin, searching the ground for the gypsy. The man was gone, leaving no footprints and barely any scent to say where he had gone. Raeln would have to spend a great deal of time hunting for him, but with the glowing mists moving through the mountains, he had no desire to do so.