by Jim Galford
That hit closer to home with Raeln, and he struggled to keep his calm. Rage would only make him clumsy, ensuring a swift win for Liris. He had to listen but ignore her. That was his only chance of holding his own. Already he could see the Turessian council moving closer in anticipation of his death, ready to rush at Yoska and take the tomb by force. They were allowing Liris her fun, despite her earlier declarations that they should not hesitate to attack.
“What amuses me is that you don’t believe me, do you, Raeln? Which of us was closer to your sister at the end…you or I? I could hear her cries as she died, but you were somewhere else. You let her go alone to die, while you stayed with your dear love, for whatever good that did him. Your sister was one of us. She was my sister, not yours.”
Liris rushed him, and it was all Raeln could do to defend himself against the woman’s incredible speed. Her fists pounded against his forearms as he tried to block, occasionally slipping past and connecting solidly with his ribs. Every blow felt like a stone hitting him, bruising flesh and bone. He would not last much longer without a miracle. In a moment of dazed dismay as he stumbled away, Raeln found himself thinking his way through a prayer he never thought he would utter.
“Kerrelin, please spare them, no matter the cost to myself,” he whispered, trying to keep enough distance between himself and Liris to catch his breath. “If you even exist, help me!”
Another flurry of blows drove Raeln right up against the ravine wall. He kicked at Liris’s side, connecting hard against her ribs, but she never slowed her attack. Soon she managed to slap aside his weakening defense and grab his shirt with one hand. Yanking him hard away from the wall, Liris threw him to the ground, facefirst in the snow.
“How much of your pelt do you think I can remove before your heart stops?” she asked, getting to Raeln before he could stand and driving him back down with a knee to his spine. “My record is about half. You seem tougher than most, though. I’m willing to bet I can peel you apart with very little effort and have you screaming like an infant to the very end. I’ll even see if I can break all of your bones, starting with all twenty fingers and toes…or rather, eighteen. I always forget your kind only have four toes on each foot. Very confusing.”
Liris’s fingers dug into Raeln’s skin at the back of his neck and pulled his head off the ground, while she kept weight on his back to hold him down. As she lifted his face, he saw Yoska was already fighting for his life against a group of zombies that had the doorway surrounded. Yoska was quick, but his knives did only so much damage to foes that could not bleed or feel pain. He was rapidly falling back into the tunnel to keep more than one at a time from reaching him.
“I will have them all dragged out here, so that they can watch you bleed and die, crying for help,” Liris hissed in Raeln’s ear. “They will see your weakness and they will know how lost their cause is before they die. This has been how it was for every group like yours I have tracked down since the start of the war. They all die and they all think that they can accomplish the impossible. You are not different or special, Raeln. You are just another wildling who thinks he’s more than a beast. You are another fool that On’esquin and his kind have convinced to charge headlong into death. You are far from the first he has done this to.”
A howl broke through the sounds of combat and Raeln’s pain, drawing even Liris’s attention. The howl was close, loud enough that he felt it through the stones as well as the air. Everyone except the zombies turned to look at Feanne as she raised her muzzle to the sky and howled a high clear tone that seemed to go on without end. Throughout the cry, the two Turessians at her sides stared at her in confusion, neither moving against her.
“Kill her!” Liris shouted, snapping the other Turessians out of their surprise. “I have no idea what she’s doing, but kill her now!”
The two Turessians at Feanne’s sides never had a chance to react, as giant bats came down from the sky, slammed into them, and knocked them to the ground, without ever touching Feanne. Within seconds the men had torn the bats apart, but by then, Feanne’s howl had come to an end and she lowered her head, standing silently in front of them. She was ominous, surrounded by robed Turessians with her hood covering her face and the rest of the cloak concealing her whole body. All Raeln could see of her were her nose and her paws.
Raeln struggled to free himself, but Liris slammed his face into the ground again, bloodying his mouth and nose. When his vision cleared, he saw Feanne was dancing among the council members, her hands twisted into massive claws through some sort of magic. Each time she swung at one of the Turessians, she ripped away flesh and bone before darting out of reach again. The eight men and women were spending more time healing than actually attacking her.
“I had hoped she was too weak to be a problem,” mused Liris, sighing. “Those council members are young. We turned most of them only a little more than two years ago. She will be a real problem for them and delay my work. Good thing that I’m here. I think maybe I’ll just break your spine so that you stay here and wait for me while I kill her. You don’t mind waiting, do you?”
A new set of howls echoed through the ravine. This time it was not one voice, but a great many, though they were still a short distance away by Raeln’s guess. He smelled animals on the steady breeze…lots of them, even past the blood in his nose.
“How do you feel about dire wolves?” Raeln asked, laughing as Liris looked around nervously at the top of the ravine. “Feanne has more friends than those down here. Run while you can. This time, she’s hunting you.”
Liris stood slowly, pulling Raeln up with her, as more howls came from all edges of the ravine’s top. Gleaming eyes of massive animals with wolflike faces came to the lip of the walls, looking down hungrily at the people there. Nearly two dozen dire wolves were searching for a quick way down.
“This will be interesting, after all,” said Liris, grinning madly as she slammed Raeln into the ravine wall. Before he could recover, Liris threw him to the ground.
Dazed and barely conscious, Raeln looked to the lip of the ravine, hoping to watch the wolves Feanne had called. Instead, he watched as the clouds above began to circle and glow as mists rose high overhead in all directions, boxing them in.
The chill of the air soon faded as Raeln’s bracelet heated so abruptly that the snow steamed and melted around it.
Chapter Eighteen
“Waking”
“What do you want?” Estin demanded, marching into the large room past the grating. At his approach, On’esquin and Dalania looked up, standing over an open casket. Faint shimmers at the edges of the room drew Estin’s attention, but his anger kept him from paying them much heed. “Why are you sending my mate to her death and expecting me to come down here?”
“Estin…” Dalania began, trying to step between him and On’esquin, but one look at his face and she moved out of his way.
“Answer me or I’m going out to be with her. If she dies, I die with her. I won’t have her fighting while I hide down here,” he said, while On’esquin stood nervously over the open coffin.
“I need your help,” On’esquin replied after a moment. From what Estin could see, he was arranging bones within the casket, which had been laid out on a pile of the clothing they had gotten back in Jnodin. “I need you to cast just one spell for me and you can go. This won’t take long.”
“What are you talking about?” demanded Estin, noticing Dalania appeared even more nervous than On’esquin. “I can’t. You know that. It nearly killed me to heal an infection. Anything more than a light will have me vomiting. I’m getting better, but I’m not up to this.”
When On’esquin did not say anything further, Estin turned to leave, ready to run up the hall after Feanne.
“Estin, don’t,” Dalania told him, running up alongside him. “He’s explained it to me. We can do this.”
Estin closed his eyes and fought to keep from pushing past Dalania. “Dalania, you’re her friend. Why would you keep me here when
she’s out there? They will tear her apart in her condition.”
Walking closer but stopping a little out of arm’s reach, Dalania said, “She’s stronger than you give her credit for, Estin, even now. Even at her best, she will die out there…so will you. We need what On’esquin is planning if anyone is going to live through this.”
“Fine,” he snapped, turning back to On’esquin and marching up to him. “Make this quick. I want to get out there before things get any worse.”
Nodding, On’esquin reached for Estin’s head.
Instinctively, Estin recoiled and backed away.
“I need the feelings of your thoughts,” On’esquin explained, looking decidedly worried. Whatever he had planned, he had as many doubts in as Estin did, which somehow reassured Estin somewhat. “I cannot read thoughts…but I can feel them. I realized back on the road that I knew what the wizardess was casting before the flames appeared. I could feel the magic taking shape.”
“So?”
“I need you to remember bringing Feanne back. Feel what it was like to cast that spell. I only need the feeling, not the magic itself. Do not try to make it happen. I merely want to recreate it…that is my problem, not yours. I will build the spell from the feel of your memories.”
Estin stared at the man, barely grasping what he was saying. Bringing back the dead after more than a minute or two was far beyond the skill of a healer, and the magic he was speaking of had very nearly burned Estin from the inside-out. The idea of the orc wanting to recreate old magic through “feel” was nearly comical, if it were not so dangerous to manipulate magic in such a way. Estin groaned as he saw how serious On’esquin was about his request and turned on Dalania. “He’s lost his mind. What’s your excuse?”
“Estin,” Dalania began, smiling nervously, “I’ve heard him out. We can do this. I will provide the magic he needs. On’esquin can reshape it…or try to.”
“You do realize how insane this is, right?” asked Estin, looking at them both. He saw desperation and fear on both faces and knew they were more than aware of the risks. “I’ll try,” he finally told them, leaning back against the coffin. “Get this over with so I can go help the others.”
Closing his eyes, Estin fought to still the anxiety that plagued him, demanding he run to Feanne before it was too late. He pushed it and fear aside, silencing all the whispers of his own mind, the way he always had when using magic. That momentary calm was almost immediately drowned out by the myriad voices of the dead, whispering incessantly at one another and to him. With them came an abrupt nausea and sleepiness, as Estin’s body fought to hold on to the magic while it slipped past.
“Do not try to channel the energy,” warned On’esquin, pressing his palm to Estin’s forehead. “Just the feeling.”
Maintaining his limited access to his magic, Estin searched within himself for the memory of the day he had managed to bring Feanne back. He still did not know how he had done it and had doubts about what he would find, dredging through hundreds of lessons on magic from Asrahn, the scribbled notes in old books of magic he had read over the years, and some of the panicked spells he had managed without thinking in the heat of past battles. That time in the woods, trying to raise Feanne, all he could find was worry and emptiness. From that he had found the strength to bring her back, but he saw no true magical patterns in it.
Then Estin found something that did not match his own memories but rose at On’esquin’s prodding. Estin remembered kneeling in the woods, with Dalania close by. He remembered calling to the magic and it barely responding, failing entirely at his clumsy attempts to wield it in a way it was never made for. There, at that moment, he saw in his memory another person with him—a human in Turessian garb—watching and groaning at his efforts.
The man had explored Estin’s thoughts in the passing of a second. Estin could feel the man dredging up Estin’s thoughts of Feanne and examining them. Thoughts of Feanne snoring softly at his side in days long past, the scent of the oils on her leather clothing that had long stained her fur, the way he had felt the first time she had touched him affectionately.
Abruptly taking control over Estin’s movements and actions, the human shaped the magic that Estin poured into the spell, creating something far more complex than Estin had ever seen. The blending and reforming of the magic was too much for him to follow, but he watched it intently, seeing himself casting a spell under the complete control of a man who had never been there in reality.
“Oramain,” Estin whispered, shaking his head in amazement. The long-dead Turessian had saved Feanne, not him. It had only been his body and magic, not his actions. For some reason the man had helped him. The man had done so, not because Estin tried, but because he saw something in Estin’s feelings toward Feanne that convinced him. He chose to help.
“That is enough, Estin,” said On’esquin, stepping away from him. “I have enough to try.”
Dizzy from the blurry memories, Estin stumbled away from the coffin, holding his head, which throbbed like he had been struck. Immediately Dalania took his place at On’esquin’s side, taking a deep breath and standing straight and ready to help.
Looking over at Dalania, On’esquin told her, “There is no finesse needed for this, only speed. Unleash every bit of magic you can muster at me. I don’t care what it is or what shape it takes. I need power and I can rip that from any spell you create.”
Dalania nodded and gave Estin a worried glance. With trembling muscles she raised a hand toward On’esquin. The whole room’s air abruptly seemed to buzz with static, raising Estin’s fur. A second later, lightning crackled across Dalania’s fingers, which then arced to On’esquin, snapping and moving like a living thing. The lightning did not end right away, as Estin had expected, but continued, flashing and twisting endlessly as Dalania began to sweat, pouring more and more of herself into the spell. Each second it continued, Dalania’s green eyes seemed to become bright until they dwarfed the spell that had kept the cavern lit.
“Enough,” On’esquin finally said, and the lightning ended, leaving the room feeling quiet and dark in its absence. His armor steamed, but he seemed otherwise unbothered by it. “The rest I will draw from the goblet and Raeln’s bracelet, so long as he has not gone far. Back away.”
Dalania tried to walk to Estin but collapsed, staring blankly at the floor.
Running to her, Estin helped her stand, easing her away from On’esquin and the coffin.
Once they were about ten feet away, On’esquin turned to the casket and raised his arms, putting his hands over the corpse inside. “You said we would meet again,” On’esquin said softly, as white energy that looked like the lightning Dalania had used crackled around his hands. “Let us see how literal that prophecy really was, shall we?”
The white lightning fell like rain down on the contents of the casket. Even from a distance, Estin could feel the magic radiating like a bonfire. Soon that warmth grew and he realized the necklace he wore felt hot on his chest, under his shirt. Pulling the broken and battered old necklace out, Estin eyed the single feather that had not broken in all the trampling and travel the necklace had endured. All along that simple black feather, pale blue flames danced, not burning but seemingly tracing it. With a tingle that someone unfamiliar with magic would have missed, Estin felt a new rush of magic pour into the room from the tunnel out to the surface.
“I had a feeling he thought of this,” said On’esquin, still concentrating on the casket, the white energy lighting his face eerily. “The bracelet, the cup, that feather, the coin, the chain I hold…they were all Turess’s. Trophies and keepsakes, all of them. He knew and put a piece of himself in them. We did exactly what he wanted, aside from bringing too many. We were not supposed to bring the mists…”
Abruptly the flames on the feather vanished, as did the streams of energy from On’esquin. Leaning hard on the edge of the coffin, On’esquin stared down into it, his face unreadable.
“Did it work?” Estin asked, while Dalania g
ot her balance and moved away from him, watching On’esquin cautiously. “On’esquin?”
Saying nothing, On’esquin reached down into the coffin as a bare human hand reached up. They clasped one another’s wrists in greeting and On’esquin slowly smiled. Then, without warning, On’esquin collapsed, hitting his head on the coffin’s side as he fell.
Estin shouted and ran for On’esquin, diving to his side. Already blood covered the floor around the man’s head, and he was staring blankly at the ceiling, his smile still frozen on his face. There was no life in him, no warmth. He was as dead as the bones in the coffin had been. The wound on On’esquin’s head did not close, as Estin would have expected. He was entirely still.
“Estin?” Dalania asked, prompting Estin to look up.
Sitting up in the coffin was a human man, who was watching Estin and On’esquin with clear worry. He was nothing remarkable, a simple middle-aged man with dark short-cropped hair and a thin line of tattoos around his eyes. Every Turessian Estin had seen had markings far more elaborate and a confidence that seemed unshakable. This man appeared weak and confused, numbly pulling a white shirt and pants on from the clothing On’esquin had left in the coffin. As he did, Estin saw thick scars across the man’s wrists and glimpsed old scars from whips across his shoulder.
“Turess?” demanded Estin, easing On’esquin to the floor. “You’re Turess? You’re what people are dying for?”
Blinking, the man nodded as he tried to crawl over the lip of the coffin to get out, nearly falling in the process. Once he had his feet under him, he kept one hand on the coffin to steady himself and put the other to his chest, saying in a thickly accented voice, “Turess.”