Fury Lingers: Book One of The Foreseen Trilogy

by Ethan Spears

  “What’s your name, Lieutenant?”

  “Dorim,” said the Lieutenant, “of family Silzeindair.”

  “Right, Lieutenant Dorim,” said Aoden, nodding. He sniffed the air. “I suppose my first question is the least important but also the most difficult to ignore: that garlic-glazed deer.” Something akin to a growl passed between the gathered soldiers. “Let me be frank: why?”

  “It’s hearty food, sir,” said Dorim. “It’s good for keeping the body youthful, keeps the heart strong. We may be long-lived, but no reason to go gray centuries too soon.”

  “Well, I do appreciate a well-seasoned meal,” he said, gauging the reaction of the gathered soldiers. Several sighs and angry mutters arose. Most kept stony gazes upon the leading pair, but they might as well be sliding their fingers across their throats for the message they were sending. “But it appears to be having a rather negative effect on morale,” he added quickly.

  “It’s only once a week, sir. The men can take it.”

  The phrasing of Dorim’s answer couldn’t be more perfect. It was time for a gambit. Aoden had moved from squad to squad with such frequency that he knew exactly how most elves thought and what they respected. He knew from bitter experience that, as a half-elf, charm alone wouldn’t win them over, but first impressions were also far more critical than with humans. Elves didn’t change their minds easily. He would have to impress them quickly or lose them forever like every squad he’d led.

  And these elves were upset, perhaps angry, with any number of factors, not least of which would be learning their new commander was a half-elf, but he must not allow himself to appear cowed. Showing fear or doubt around them would remind them that he was other and they would pounce on that like predators on the hunt. He must be light-hearted, but not shy away from teasing or mocking them. If he didn’t treat them as comrades, they wouldn’t treat him like one either.

  “The men could take it,” he said, giving a sly smile. “Except these are elves, not men. Gauging from their attitudes, I’d say they think they aren’t up to the task of standing up to men. Maybe you’re right when you say the elven ways are making them soft.”

  Even angrier muttering passed around the crowd. He let it continue for a moment as if it didn’t bother him or that, by this point, even his knees were sweating. “I’m sorry, I was just under the impression I was put in command of soldiers,” he said, letting his smile turn fully mocking as he turned to face them. “Even humans don’t complain over a little tasteless food, and certainly you’re better than that?” He looked from face to face, daring a response. “Tell you what,” he continued thoughtfully, like the idea had just occurred to him, “if you tuck in without further complaint and show you’re at least as strong-willed as any man, I’ll have the Lieutenant here ease off on the garlic meals here to, say, once every two weeks.”

  Ah, the mix of challenge and reward. As a soldier with their manhood questioned, they would be hard-pressed to turn down any challenge, especially with a prize to tempt them. In that, they didn’t differ all that much from humans.

  A mixed assent rippled through the elves, some pleased, some not, but all at least agreed. It was clear most would prefer the meals gone for good, but Aoden wasn’t ready for that step. Not yet. “Good,” he said, “because if you can’t stand up to garlic, how are you to stand up to a goblin?”

  He got two or three appreciative snorts, which was better than nothing and certainly more than he deserved.

  “Now I’ve no doubt the Lieutenant has you all where you need to be, so return to your assigned tasks. The Lieutenant and I need to discuss the current state of the squad. We’ll go through more formal introductions over lunch.”

  The elves did as he instructed, though the cook took noticeably longer getting back to his task than the others.

  “I appreciate that,” said Dorim when the men were out of earshot.

  “Appreciate what?” asked Aoden.

  “You could’ve overridden me completely, undermined my authority in front of the entire squad, but you didn’t. Our former commander would’ve.”

  It was clear to Aoden that Dorim had been nervous about that very thing. “It would be in both our interests to remain on good terms,” Aoden answered honestly. “That and, frankly, I’m looking forward to lunch.”

  “You actually like that stuff?”

  “Don’t you?”

  Dorim snorted. “Can’t stand it. Smells like halfling feet and tastes like nature’s ass crack. Father always said it was good for me and fool that I am, I believe him. He prefers garlic soup himself, but I need a bit of meat to disguise the flavor. We’re all slaves to our father’s will in the end.”

  “Our father’s will,” Aoden said dryly. “Of course.”

  “Ah, right, half-elf,” Dorim said without shame. “Don’t suppose you knew yours, then. So how does a half-elf become a commander?”

  “By a long, boring process that involves a lot of talking and not a lot of fighting, so I doubt it’s something you’d want to hear. Rather, I’m more curious as to how long these men have been under your command.”

  Dorim looked miffed at having his question brushed off but responded quickly enough. “Let’s see. We’ve had ten garlic feasts, but the first three were one day after the other—almost had a mutiny after that, thus the once a week—so I’d say going on two months now.”

  Aoden frowned. “That’s a long time to leave a squad without a proper commander, even for the lax methods of the elven military. And how long did this squad serve under the old commander?”

  “I’ve been here for seventy or so years, but our commander—Juriil of house Piyuor—apparently held the position for at least a hundred years before that. All but two of these elves have been here longer than I have, so they served with him for a while. He fell while scaling a cliff during a border patrol and died a few hours later.”

  “Damn.” That wasn’t a good combination. Leading a new squad was never easy, but taking over an old one was difficult, and taking one where the commander suffered a premature death was worse still. On top of that, Aoden was younger, less experienced, and an outsider. No matter what he did, there would be a lot of hard feelings. Or more than usual, anyway. If he was going to gain the squad’s respect, some of that would have to be diverted towards Dorim’s old policies, preferably without alienating Dorim in the process.

  “It was a hard loss for all of us,” Dorim continued. “Good soldier, good commander. The men will be pleased to have a new one.”

  Aoden doubted that ‘pleased’ was the right word, but a sharp whistle told him that the meat was ready before he could respond. The cook put out the cooking fire and the rest of the elves broke off their sparring to set up a trio of tables end to end for their meal. The tables and benches came in parts but were set up so quickly the elves might as well have pulled them whole from their packs. Bowls of fruit, picked fresh from the forest, were placed at the center. Aoden had so many questions roiling inside of him that he wanted to ask Dorim, information he needed to avoid any devastating pitfalls, but more immediately he needed to make the proper introductions to the squad. The elves sat as Aoden strode to the head of the tables, looking up and waiting for him to speak. The fact they acknowledged him at all made him wonder at the discipline Dorim had beaten into them in two short months.

  Aoden cleared his throat and met each of their eyes, taking that moment to frame his words. “I know of no better way to get to know each other than over a good meal,” he said, putting on a broad and welcoming smile. “But I suppose this will do instead. I am your new commander, Aoden Halfelven, and over the next few days, I hope to learn all your names as well. This isn’t my first leadership, so you don’t have to worry about breaking me in. I assure you, the military has broken me enough. I hope to mold myself to fit the style you’re all used to. Let us take care of each other so we can become paragons of valor for the rest of our brothers to look up to. But before I get ahead of myself, I believe we have
a small promise to attend to in the form of a deer. Clear your plates without complaint and I will ask Lieutenant Dorim to halve these meals and have mercy on us all. With any luck, he might even listen. And Lieutenant, since this is your deer, would you be so kind as to carve it for us?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Aoden was pleased. Not only was the Lieutenant accepting of his non-combat orders, which didn’t need to be followed in elven military tradition, but several elves had politely laughed at his little jokes or nodded as he spoke. He felt that hope rising in him again, the same one that sprouted every time he felt he was making some progress with one of his squads. Although he had known failure so many times, he didn’t want to squash that hope.

  Dorim sheared off large slabs of meat onto a plate and made to pass them out. Aoden waved him over. “What sort of commander would I be if I didn’t lead the way?” he asked, spearing some meat on his fork. He hesitated theatrically, then shoveled the cut into his mouth. The glaze had perhaps too much garlic even for Aoden’s more traveled tastes, but it had been so long since he had tasted any that he savored it regardless. When he looked up, he saw Dorim giving him a comprehending smirk.

  “How is the meat, sir?” he prompted.

  “Awful,” said Aoden, tapping his plate. “I’ll have some more.”

  If he was gauging them right, the men respected the display, whether due to his boldness or solidarity. They were positively pleasant during the meal, not a single complaint being uttered over the quality of the meat. Some of them even asked him questions about his service which he answered loud enough for all to hear. He felt like he was gaining ground quickly but reined in his expectations; the pessimist in him noticed some dark looks, especially from the far end of the table, but the optimist noted that there was less initial discontent than the other squads he commandeered.

  In fact, Aoden was feeling downright happy by the time the meal was done and plates were being cleared. The elves were quick about their duties, cleaning the table and disassembling the benches without a command needing to be uttered. Dorim sidled over to Aoden and spoke in a low voice.

  “Fond of theatrics, are we?”

  Aoden eyed him. “Out of necessity. I wouldn’t say I’m fond of it. Is an opossum fond of playing dead to fool the bear?”

  Dorim shrugged as if it was of little importance. “That aside, now that we’ve finished with formalities and food, I was hoping you could find a bit of time for a proper talk.”

  “Believe me,” Aoden said, putting up a hand, “if this is about transferring control, I’m already well-versed in the proper procedures.”

  “What? No, no, forget all that. That can wait. You’re familiar with the human military style, and I have a few questions.”

  Aoden met his eyes and saw eagerness in them. “I see. That explains the friendliness towards me, at least.”

  “Not at all, sir,” said Dorim, sounding wounded. “This is about you being a half-elf, isn’t it?”

  “It’s been a point of some contention in the past, yes.”

  Dorim lifted his head in a regal manner. “If my great-grandfather heard me abusing a fellow elf just because he wasn’t pure-blooded, why, he’d spin in his grave so fast he’d turn the tree he was buried under into pencil shavings, believe me on that. Just another thing my family laments about the current state of the military and society at large.”

  Aoden softened. “If that’s the truth, then you have my apologies. It pays for me to be suspicious of others.”

  “Look, are we going to talk shop or not?”

  Aoden couldn’t suppress a laugh. Dorim seemed like an open-minded enough fellow. That or his personal fascinations were stronger than any bigotry within him. Either way, Aoden found that he was quickly taking a liking to him. “I’ll do you one better. Let’s gather the men for a training session. I’ll watch you run through your standard regimen and let you know what I think. You get to show off a bit, and I get to see the squad in action, so we both win. Sound good?”

  “Sounds great, sir.” Dorim’s face pulled into a wide grin. “Now?”

  “Frankly, I’m terrified to find out what will happen if I try to stop you, so now it is.”

  Dorim straightened sharply and bellowed to the men. “Alright, you slackers! Get your suits, swords, and bows. We’re having an afternoon session so the Commander can see your sorry shape! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” He clapped his hands and dispersed the elves back to their tents for their gear. “I’ll hear no complaining! Get on it or I’ll belt you one!”

  Dorim had them assembled in minutes for Aoden to look over. He was as satisfied as he could be with them. Their bows were well tended and their armor spotless. What he found remarkable was the shining condition of their swords, the one piece of the uniform that was routinely ignored to the point of rusting by most elves. “We’ll head to the fields to the west for some archery,” Aoden said. “From there I’d like to see a demonstration of these camouflage suits of the Lieutenant’s. If we have time before nightfall, I’ll get some swordplay out of you, see where we stand on that. Understood?”

  A handful of the elves said ‘yes, sir’ in unison.

  “Did the Commander say you didn’t have to answer his call?” shouted Dorim. “Now answer correctly. Is he understood?”

  “Yes, sir!” they roared back.

  “Damn right! They’re all yours, sir.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. Double file, follow me.”

  When they left the shade of the woods and the noon sun greeted them, they came upon the sight of elves scurrying in all directions, some excitement gripping the camp. Many were quickly finishing their duties, while others were simply abandoning their equipment on the ground and dashing off westwards.

  “A raid? Men, arms at the ready. Where is our scout?” An elf stepped forward. “Find out what’s going on,” Aoden commanded.

  The scout saluted and rushed off towards a group of soldiers. After a minute of animated chatter, he returned, huffing with excitement. “Big news is going around camp, sir: Archon Keenas is making an unscheduled visit. He’s going to give a weapons demonstration!”

  The entire squad became an agitated mass as they too fell to excited jabbering, what order they had evaporating. Even Aoden was excited by the news. Keenas had served for over two thousand years and, though technically Grand Vanir Ilori held the reins of the military, he deferred to Keenas with such frequency that Keenas was the de facto head of the army. This made Keenas the most politically powerful archon in the nation. His name was practically synonymous with military virtue.

  Then every eye in the squad was on Aoden, silently asking for orders. He looked around at them, rarely having seen such eager expressions on elves.

  “Are you all mad?” he laughed, all calculation thrust aside as he answered with heartfelt honesty. “This is an opportunity we cannot let pass. Forget my last orders. We go to see Archon Keenas.”

  The soldiers cheered. Even Dorim was swept up by the excitement as he moved to follow the last few elves who were heading westwards, deeper into the heart of the camp.

  Chapter 4

  Garlic and Magic

  Mergau’s thirst was becoming unbearable.

  Three days she had waited outside this hut in the hills, and for three days she had failed to catch so much as a glimpse of the crone. Her waterskin had been empty since dawn and she left home in such a hurry that she hadn’t brought more than a snack to tide her over on the road. She had packed under the assumption that if she got any teaching at all, it would be under Elder Arix a short distance from the village (to keep her out of sight of the terrified neighbors), so she found herself with no supplies for this impromptu vigil. The only things left in her bag were her brother’s books, and no amount of hunger would make those appetizing.

  Having had several days to herself without proper sustenance, she could feel her fury and resentment waning, replaced by the shaking and sweating that came with desperate hunger. She f
orced herself to imagine her dead brother and the smug faces of the elves to keep her rage potent but, as her exhaustion grew, it was becoming less and less effective. In a few hours’ time, she wouldn’t have the energy for rage.

  As for the hut, Mergau had not seen a lot of magic in her life, but she remembered the feeling in her body when she had: the chill sensation in the muscles; the crawling skin; the standing hairs; she could feel all of those now as she looked at the tiny house with its grass roof and brambly wooden walls. The hut was unassuming, but this feeling was so unsettling and made her so ill that, when she first arrived, she curled into a ball on the ground clutching her stomach and didn’t move for hours. Now, after three days of exposure, she only felt the sensation when she thought about it. It was frightening to think that something so fantastic could become so mundane that her mind failed to notice it.

  She had approached the house several times in the past few days, but the magical power emanating from it repelled her; not physically, but no matter how she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to touch the walls or door, her hand always pausing or turning away on its own. On the second day, fed up, she tried charging the door but, through no will of her own, she slowed to a walk and ambled away instead. It wasn’t like she was losing control of herself as she approached, but rather like her mind changed from wanting to get in to not caring if she did. While fascinated, she was more aggravated over her inability to even knock to announce her presence. Even throwing stones didn’t work as she found her aim wildly off on every attempt, doubtless from the same magical effect. Having tired of trying to force her way in and receiving no response from her many calls and shouts, Mergau settled for sitting on a stone ledge a short distance from the door of the little house, staring at it from her elevated perch. The wind had blown her about and covered her with fine grains of dust and dirt, but she remained seated—more from lack of energy than any mental discipline—and waited for the crone to appear.