Fury Lingers: Book One of The Foreseen Trilogy

by Ethan Spears

  “I’m not,” she said.

  The quiet one, Mendoro, was examining the water and, through some method, decided it was safe to drink, for he cupped his hands and brought the water to his mouth. The rest of the elves filled their skins and likewise took to drinking.

  “We shouldn’t linger here,” said Mergau.

  “I can’t tell my men to pass up fresh water. We’ll start moving again shortly.”

  Mergau fumed, but there was nothing she could do. Staying here was dangerous without knowing where those three were. She wanted to scry for Caspin, but there was no way she was going to expose herself to his mental attack again. He probably knew the feel of her magic and, thanks to the attack, she could recognize his magical signature as well.

  And she could sense it now. She didn’t even have to look up to feel him step into the clearing. Her hand went to Aoden’s arm reflexively as her heart leaped into her throat.

  They were found.

  “Aoden,” called Caspin, though the rest was lost to Mergau as he spoke in Elvish. Mergau, Aoden, and the elves turned to face them. Aoden noticed there were only three of them and that Malk was absent. He practically snarled as he responded. She heard Malk’s name. Caspin shrugged dismissively and said something, his smile ever-present. The squad looked confused. Another elf asked something about Malk, and Aoden shouted something back, more at Caspin than the soldier. There were gasps and someone laughed nervously, disbelieving.

  Caspin, Amis, and Bochi’s swords pulled themselves from their scabbards, Caspin controlling four and the others two apiece so that eight swords hovered menacingly in the air. A few bows came up, though many of the squad were too shocked to take any action.

  Mergau sank to her knees. What sort of magic could she use against these three? Caspin was more learned than she and could counter even her scrying, the spell in her arsenal she handled the most adroitly. What good would her fire, constriction, or memory charms do? She was terrified of him, and the fear paralyzed her.

  Caspin shouted something, and the swords came on. Arrows were loosed. The flying swords whipped about, chopping shafts from the air, but it was just for show; the vast majority of the arrows bounced off some invisible barrier.

  A sword darted forward. An elf screamed and fell into the brook, his blood carrying towards the others. Another elf was struck and fell silently. Aoden tossed aside his bow and shouted a command, and all the elves pulled their swords, swarming forward.

  Mergau acted instinctively, her hand wrapping around Aoden’s ankle, pulsing magic through her body and into his. His joints and muscles locked as he fell, and immediately Mergau was on top of him, bringing her nascent invisibility spell to bear. Aoden struggled mightily against her power, but even being inexperienced with both spells, she was more than capable of holding him in place.

  Switching to swords was a sound move, but it was too late; had they charged before taking any losses, they might have overwhelmed the three with ten of them versus eight swords, but now with two dead and Aoden detained, that battle was in the mage’s favor.

  The elves stood little chance. Despite their training, they had been learning to dodge blows then strike at an exposed opponent. With the one controlling the sword standing thirty feet away, the squad couldn’t adapt fast enough. Without needing to protect a body, the swords whirled and struck in ways that would be suicide if performed by a swordsman, darting in and out without fear of reprisal. Their attackers were still in training, their attacks being slow and clumsy compared to the well-trained elves, but it wasn’t long before a blow landed. Once one elf fell, it was a cascade effect where the free swords doubled up on the other elves, the losses coming faster. Every time someone died, Aoden’s body struggled harder, his muffled cries rising up his throat and through his locked jaw. Mergau tried to strengthen her binding to silence him but feared paralyzing his lungs might kill him.

  Soon, only five elves stood.

  Mendoro only had one sword attacking him, as did Loom, the laughing one, while the other three elves had two swords on them apiece. Mendoro called something out and Loom shouted back. Loom held out his hand, stopping the sword attacking him in midair. It shook as if pulling against a tether. Loom’s face turned red with the effort of holding it there, and Amis looked shocked as he tried to wrest back control of the blade. Then Loom reached out towards Mendoro with his other hand.

  No, thought Mergau as she watched, terrified for these elves. You can’t control it. Don’t split your attention! Don’t take your mind off that sword!

  The sword attacking Mendoro stalled and, quick as that, he was under it and rushing toward Amis, the nearest of the three attacking elves. Loom held both swords for a moment, his face brightening as he strained against them, then lost control. With both his hands up, he had no way to defend when the sword came free, plunging into his chest without resistance. He looked disappointed, then his body crumpled.

  Mendoro gave a wild war cry and leaped toward Amis, who was himself entirely without defense. His sword found purchase right above the collarbone. Instantly, two swords shuddered and fell with Amis.

  Mendoro only had a moment to look pleased with himself before three swords came hurtling at him, striking him in the back. He never even pulled the blade from Amis’s body.

  As Mendoro’s body collapsed, so too did Aoden’s. He made no more struggles as the last of the elves fell and the only sound that remained was the gently running water.

  Caspin was still smiling as he wiped his swords clean and put them away. As he checked to see if Amis was dead, he said something happily, his smile growing wider. It probably would have kept growing had his eyes not swept the scene and noticed that Aoden’s body was not there, at which point it melted swiftly away. He shouted at Bochi, Bochi shouted back and pointed to Amis. Mergau closed her eyes and focused on staying hidden; if Caspin did a search for them and she was distracted, he would see right through her.

  She prayed that her amateur invisibility held. It felt like her power was siphoning into her cloak in torrents, control kept only through massive magical input and sheer terror. She was only vaguely aware of the footfalls of the two elves as they walked around the clearing and checked the bodies, Caspin’s voice growing increasingly irate. Every time he spoke, Mergau felt another stab of fear in her heart, his beautiful voice harsh and threatening, the feeling of his magic burning her whole body as he strode past where they lay. It was several minutes before, with one last shout of disgust, they left the clearing, leaving only the dead and hiding.

  Mergau was shaking when she finally released her cloak. She was terrified but alive. And the Elf was under her spell.

  She looked down at him. Why had she saved him, again? Was it because she was the one who had to kill him? That didn’t seem right. Was it because she owed him her life for that mess at Oakwillow Pines? Or again when he protected her from Keenas’s prying questions? Or had she just done it out of reflex?

  She didn’t want to think about it, and it didn’t matter. The Elf was bound by magic. For whatever reason, she did it, and he was hers now. She had exhausted her mind with the binding and the cloak, but his sword was only a short distance away, dropped when he fell. She could still run him through with his own blade.

  Her hand slid around the hilt and she hefted it experimentally. She thought murder would be heavier. She walked to where he lay, still face down in the dirt. Was she finally going to do this? It seemed almost unfair after hiding with him. Should she just kill him now? No, she should turn him over first. Yes, that was proper; she should see his face when she did it. She wedged her foot under his arm and lifted, rolling him onto his side, then onto his back.

  His mouth hung open and his eyes stared vacantly at the sky. There was dirt sticking to the trails the tears had left behind. He didn’t see the sword in her hand, perhaps didn’t see her at all.

  Her spell expired. For a moment, they were both still. Then he began to sob. Little, shattered sobs, fragments of the real sobbi
ng that would come later, but for now this was all he could manage.

  Mergau weighed the sword in her hand for a moment, then let it slip to the ground. He was already broken. She couldn’t strike him down as he was. He was a warrior and she couldn’t bear to watch him sobbing. She had to turn away.

  Besides, after watching that horrific scene, her own face was wet as well.

  Intermission III

  The Schemers

  A human, a dwarf, and a halfling walked into the inn at Kawn. ordered their drinks, and occupied three stools at the bar. They still smelled of sweat and road dust, but the bartender nor anyone else in the inn seemed to care.

  The trio scanned the room, looking for unfamiliar faces. Seven other people including the bartender and barmaid were spread around the near-vacant inn, and they recognized every one of them.

  The halfling turned to the bartender. “Business still slow here, Jess?” she asked him.

  The bartender filled two ale jacks for the men and a glass of wine for the lady, knowing their usuals without being told. “You know how it goes: lots of traffic in the spring and summer when the halflings are moving to cooler climes, just you lot the rest of the year. The town guard changes shift in a couple of hours, so we should get a bit busier then.”

  “Still don’t get why you don’t head further north, get yourself a little bar by the beach,” said the dwarf. “You’d have money coming in year-round.”

  “And be hard at work year-round, too,” said Jess. “No thanks. I like when it gets quiet. Gives me and the missus some time to ourselves.”

  “As much to yourself as three kids allow,” offered the human.

  Jess gave him a lopsided smile. “There is that. So, what’s the business of the day, then?”

  The human looked around, then leaned in conspiratorially. “You know we can’t talk about the Order’s business,” he said.

  The four of them broke into laughter. “Like you could keep secrets in this place,” said the dwarf, shaking his head. “Jess gossips more than his wife does.”

  “Aye,” said the halfling. “Jess probably knows more about my missions than I do.”

  “Speaking of, once Roberts gets a hold of you, you’re off to Sweeney,” said Jess.

  The halfling laughed again. “See? Didn’t even know that yet. Roberts better spring for some furs, though, because I’m not going to survive that far south in the winter.”

  “That’s your own fault for keeping a trim figure,” said the dwarf. “You’ve got to do like me.” He gripped a handful of flabby stomach and shook it.

  The halfling made a disgusted face. “No thanks. Fat doesn’t work on me. Looks good on you, though.”

  “Aw, thanks,” said the dwarf, lifting his jack. “Cheers.”

  “If you’re looking for furs,” said Jess, hiking a thumb to a door behind him, “Roberts stashed some under the cellar stairs. Now, while I may have open enough ears to know Lily’s next bit, I don’t know what you two are doing. Where’re you being sent?”

  “Gunsk over here,” said the human, pointing to the dwarf, “is heading west toward the old gremlin mines. I don’t know the specifics.”

  “Nor will I until I see Roberts,” added the dwarf.

  “As for me, I’m off for the week, so I’ll be spending some time in town before heading out again.”

  “So Morris gets to rest while you’re running halfway across the continent and you’re mucking your way through mine runoff?” asked Jess, pointing to Lily and Gunsk respectively.

  “Lucky sod, eh?” said Lily. Gunsk shrugged.

  “For the greater good and all that,” said Morris. He drained his ale and waved for another. As Jess refilled his jack, Morris took another look around the room. Able to seat eighty and full to bursting with halflings during the busy season, the common room of the inn was quiet. One table hosted a pair of human women talking in low voices. Teresa and Vanna. Teresa was the serious type, Vanna her scatterbrained understudy. Teresa was doubtless going over whatever orders Roberts had left for them, using her good arm to draw a map, the other resting in a sling. Morris liked them well enough, but they wouldn’t take kindly to being interrupted.

  At another table sat a dwarven man and woman, Koger and Minka, chatting over a meal. Minka was married and Koger liked to tease her with little flirtatious advances, but it was harmless fun. Everyone knew he had no real interest in the woman and it made Minka feel confident about a face and body that, under other circumstances, she might not feel so proud of.

  It wasn’t until Morris laid eyes on the fifth and final patron that he had something to say.

  “Good gods! Is that Tabir still in his cups?” He indicated a human sitting alone at a table, face down asleep with his hand still around the handle of an ale jack.

  “Been like that for weeks,” Jess confirmed. “Poor guy. He’ll be up and about in a few minutes, demanding more ale. You could set a watch by his drinking.”

  “I knew his last batch of orders were going to be rough on him, but he always struck me as a detached man.”

  Lily shook her head. “Men are so dense,” she said, sipping at her wine.

  “What?”

  “Hey,” said Gunsk, “I knew it, too. It’s just this fool Morris who didn’t.”

  “Yep, just Morris,” Jess agreed.

  Morris picked up his fresh ale. “What did I miss, now?” he asked as he drank.

  Lily looked at him with pity. “Oh, to be so young and innocent that you don’t know love when you see it.”

  Morris coughed into his drink. “What? Love? Tabir?” The others nodded. “Really?” Morris shook his head disbelieving. He leaned in towards the others. “With Ezma?”

  “He is dense,” agreed Jess.

  “But he’s a human, and she’s an orc!” At a look from Lily, Morris hastily added, “Not that I have a problem with that. It’s just unusual. Different beauty standards and all.” He sat back and raised his ale to his lips, paused, and put it back down. “Christopher Tabir and Ezma. Gods, that actually would’ve been a really good match.”

  The others nodded, their own humor dampened. “Ezma,” said Gunsk, lifting his glass.

  “Ezma,” said his two companions, as well as the others in the room who heard the toast, and they all drank.

  “And Roberts still gave him the job, huh?” said Morris. “To go to Ezma’s…”

  “Yep.”

  Morris let out a slow breath. “I thought he was a poor bastard even before knowing that. I don’t think I’d be able to do it. I mean…” he trailed off.

  Gunsk sighed. “Well, we knew it would come to that and what’s done is done. If you want to help him out, just keep doing your duty so it won’t all have been for nothing.”

  Morris nodded, then stood. “While I’d love to keep on this cheery topic, I’ve a dozen things to take care of before nightfall. Will you two still be in town tonight?”

  Lily shrugged. “Only if Roberts doesn’t send us off right away.” Gunsk nodded in agreement.

  “Well, if I don’t see you tonight, best of luck.” He hoisted the dregs of his drink. “To the Order of the Last Night.” The others in the room echoed him as he drained his jack, slammed it down on the bar, and left.

  Jess watched him go. “I suppose that means he wants me to put those drinks on his tab.”

  Lily chuckled. “That boy is so dense,” she said.

  “I’m sure he’s not the only one,” said Gunsk, exchanging a look with Jess.

  “Oh, I’m sure there’s a half dozen in the Order alone,” she said, downing her wine.

  “I won’t argue with that. I swear sometimes I’m surrounded by them.”

  “You’d think people like you,” said Jess, picking up and cleaning Morris’s jack, “who can look into the future and all that business, would have a better grasp of your own personal affairs.”

  Lily laughed. “I’ve got to live it once already, Jess. Where’s the fun in life if you just keep peeking ahead? Sure, I
’ll check periodically to make sure I don’t get run over by horses or something, but other than that, I just let life happen.”

  “Think of it like this, Jess,” said Gunsk. “Imagine you look ahead and see yourself falling in love with a woman and marrying her. A few weeks later, you meet this woman and start courting her, knowing already that she’s going to be your wife.”

  “Sounds like it would’ve made meeting the missus a lot easier,” said Jess with a laugh.

  “Aye, mayhap. But what if you find as you court her that you don’t feel like you love her as much as your visions hinted you should? Are you now marrying her because you love her, or because your visions told you you should?”

  Jess furrowed his brow. “Not sure I follow.”

  “We call them ‘self-fulfilling prophecies,’ things that only happen because you saw them happen. Say you see yourself having a heart attack on Fireday, so you spend all week worrying about it and worrying about it until, on Fireday, the stress gets so bad that it gives you a heart attack.”

  “That can happen?”

  “Yep,” said Lily. “The opposite can happen, too. That same marriage scenario: you go into a relationship thinking you’re destined to marry this woman because of your visions, but because of that you become so cocksure that it makes you act differently around her, aggressively pushing marriage, and before you know it you’ve scared the poor girl off. My papa always warned me about boys who aren’t a little shy around you.”

  “Huh,” said Jess, absently rubbing his chin. “Never thought of it that way.”

  “Most seers don’t, either,” said Lily. “It can make some of them a sour lot. Just look at Ezma.”

  “We’re not going to start speaking ill of the dead, are we?” asked Gunsk warily.

  “Not at all,” she assured. “Ezma was a wonderful woman, but you could never call her a happy one. She spent all her time looking into her own future and it made her miserable. If anything, it’s impressive she didn’t become some secluded misanthrope after all the terrible things I’m sure she saw.”