by Jim Galford
“I would have died where you have been, whether out of grief or from fighting my captors,” she said, tracing a thick scar across the palm of his hand. “How did you manage to endure?”
“For your children and the hope of seeing…,” he cut himself off, as Feanne’s eyes darted up to meet his, “…the camp again and those I cared about.”
She continued to rub at the scar on his hand absently.
“What made this? I recognize the whip marks, but this one I do not.”
Estin held up his other hand, where the scar continued.
“The kits were getting sick late last winter,” he explained. “There wasn’t enough food. One of the guards had a penchant for gambling, so I made him a bet. He said that no wildling could endure more pain than an orc, with the prize being extra rations for the kits, or a day without work for the orc.”
“And?”
“These are not the only scars from that day, but all that matters is that the kits were able to fill their bellies. No one argued about their rations after that.”
She strayed close to him again, releasing his hand as she looked up at his face. “You are lucky to be alive. I may never understand how you endured and kept my children alive. I know that sooner or later, I would have broken and tried to kill my captors. I never would have lasted a year, even knowing the risk to the kits.
“For this, I owe you my life. Whatever you ever want or need, ask me. Nothing is so valuable as my children to me.”
Estin leaned towards her, his face brushing hers briefly, before she pulled away, taking a step back from him and putting her hand on his chest to ensure he stayed back.
“If that’s what you want,” she said, her voice shaking, “I’m sorry. That time has passed, Estin. I am not about to tell Atall and Oria that their father is dead and that I am interested in someone he despised. I will not do that to them. They have been through too much already. Name anything else I can offer you in reward, but please do not ask for that. If you wish a mate, I will happily search for one that would be better for you than I ever would have been.”
Estin lowered his eyes and took one knee before her. She backed away a step, clearly not sure what he was doing.
“I ask nothing of you, pack-leader,” he told her, struggling to keep his tone even. “A pack-leader does not owe her pack for doing their duty in protecting other pack members. Your father taught me that. My life is yours and your family’s, so long as you lead. I will guard you as your honor guard, until you find another more suited.”
Feanne nodded curtly, her expression deeply torn. Putting a hand to her head, she left the room quickly, heading back to Finth’s little apartment, stifling a sob as she went.
Estin knelt a while longer, trying to find the energy to stand and return to their lodging. He pondered how it was that Feanne always managed to take his strength away every time they spoke. Just once, he wished that he could endure the heartache that came with every meeting. A year apart and already she pulled at his heart, the very sight of her demanding that he love her.
Pulling himself to his feet, Estin headed back down the hall to the other room, slipping into the room quietly so as not to disturb Yoska’s ongoing narrative. Before Estin tuned him out, he heard some rubbish about how the gypsies had once blessed even the great dragons, giving them the power they now possess.
Finth sat in his chair, fiddling with the knife he had drawn earlier, absently ignoring Yoska and the two wide-eyed kits as he lost himself in his own thoughts.
Feanne had settled into a pile of blankets in the far corner of the room, her back to the others.
As he closed the door as softly as he could, Estin got Finth’s attention, asking him softly where he was to sleep. Finth motioned at Feanne, shrugging.
Estin shook his head and Finth glared at him, giving him a “what is wrong with you” expression, then pointed to another small pile of dirty blankets in the corner nearest the water room, in much the same way one would banish a disobedient dog. Mouthing a “thank you,” Estin trudged to the pile, flopping down onto the mass of cloth appreciatively. Dirty or not, they were better than he had had in months.
Curling up and wrapping himself up in the blankets for warmth, Estin was out cold in seconds.
When he woke next, it was sometime near dawn, though still very dark. The room’s oil lamp had been put out, bathing the room in fairly deep darkness, with just a little creeping in through a shuttered window near the back hallway.
Finth lay in his chair as though dead, his arms and legs hanging off the chair limply and his mouth wide open, only his snores giving any clue that he had not been murdered.
Nearby, Yoska had set himself up with a well-made foreign bedroll and pillow that he had placed in front of the entry door, blocking it entirely. The man lay still on his back, breathing softly, but giving the impression of being only just barely asleep. Estin wondered if he could actually listen to his surroundings while sleeping.
Estin began to lay back down when he noticed that one of the kits was staring at him from across the room, where they lay under Feanne’s arm and blankets. It was Atall, his eyes gleaming white in the dim lighting.
Upon seeing Estin looking back, Atall slid out of his mother’s grasp slowly, managing not to disturb her as he scurried across the room to Estin.
“I can’t sleep,” the child whispered to Estin, kneeling in front of Estin’s bedding. “Can I sleep with you?”
Estin hesitated, but saw no harm in offering part of the blankets to the kit. The kit curled up against him and soon was soundly asleep, holding tight to Estin’s arm, as though for reassurance that he was still there.
Smiling at the change of heart in the boy, Estin looked up and saw that Feanne was watching him, her nighttime white eyes unblinking for a long time. Then they closed and the room was dark again.
*
When Estin woke next, the faint light through the window-shade spoke of midday or later. He struggled to sit upright, realizing that Atall was gone already. In fact, everyone but him was out of their bedding and sitting at one of the room’s small tables, talking in low tones.
Legs folded under her, Feanne was sitting near the table, dabbing at the wound on her chest with a wet cloth.
“What’d I miss?” Estin asked, rubbing his eyes.
“The little fox girl,” Yoska began, waving a hand at Oria, “is quite a good story-teller, no? She tells us of your time at the camp. Much heroics on your part. Perhaps someday, you will drink from the cup and join my people, as full of stories as your life is, no?”
Estin smiled at Oria, who was practically bouncing, sitting at the far side of the table. She had always dearly loved being the center of attention and he had no doubts that she would string along her stories as long as she could to maintain that attention. Atall on the other hand was actively searching the room, pulling knives and other weapons…including a small crossbow…from hiding places.
“She also mentioned that you lost your notebook with all of your spells in it,” Feanne said, pulling Oria onto her lap as she set the bloodstained cloth aside. “That would be greatly limiting to your ability to heal, would it not?”
Estin nodded and yawned, his jaw cracking loudly.
“They took everything from me before I got to the slave camp. Spellbook, jewelry, weapons, and that gorgeous armor you made for me…which saved me from about two hundred undead, I might add.”
Feanne smiled demurely, appearing embarrassed as the others turned to look at her, then searched through a makeshift backpack that lay on the floor near her. She went through piles of small items, many of which were burned badly. At last, she pulled out a small leather-bound book and tossed it at Estin.
Catching it, he recognized Asrahn’s book, though it had been tied closed with a thin leather cord that had not been on it the last time he had held the book.
“It is yours now,” she told him, giving Oria a squeeze, making the kit giggle. “She asked me to give it to you.”
Estin ran his fingers over the dry old leather cover, remembering the first time Asrahn had let him touch the book. It felt so very long ago. With a touch of regret at the elder’s passing, he unfastened the cord and began to open the pages, only to have a small packet fall out in his lap.
“What is that?” Feanne asked, her ears perking. “She told me the contents of a healer’s book were none of my business…”
Estin rolled the cloth packet over in his hand, feeling two hard objects inside of it. The packet had been sewn shut but when he thought to cut the strings, he found himself glaring at his useless claws. Ignoring Feanne’s offer to help, he bit the edge of the cloth, ripping the seam open.
Two simple rings fell into his lap. They were small and not attention-grabbing in their detail. Both were made from silver and when he picked them up, he saw that each was engraved with two symbols. One was a fox’s head, the other was the three scratched lines that Lihuan had used as his signature and seal.
“Why would she leave you rings?” Feanne asked. “Those aren’t even ones I recognize as hers.”
Estin flicked one of the rings to Finth, who caught it in the air.
“What’s that worth, Finth? I’m guessing nothing if someone were to find it in Feanne’s bag.”
The dwarf squinted at the ring, turning it over in his fat fingers. He shook his head.
“Not even pure silver. It’s pretty, but no merchant would look twice at it.”
He threw it back to Estin.
Estin turned the rings over and over in his hands, trying to figure out what was not right about them. Something just ate at him about why Asrahn would have included them. She had always been obsessed with predicting others’ plans and actions, so he had to assume these played into that somehow.
“Feanne,” he said, holding one of the rings up to his eyes again. “Your mother once told me stories about people who could create magical weapons and artifacts of great power. Did the camp have anyone with that skill?”
She shook her head.
“No. That was something that if we really wanted, we would need to steal from the city to get. We had no members of the pack with such a talent that I am aware of.”
He waved a hand over the ring, casting one of the few spells he had managed to hang onto without his spellbook all these months. Asrahn had taught it to him as a simple way to identify a spellcaster or to find magical effects remaining on a location. This time, he used it to find residual magic on the ring. Almost unsurprisingly, it glowed brightly to his eyes, as did the other ring, though the others in the room could not see the effect. With a little more concentration, he became convinced that the magic was healing in origin, but that was all he could determine.
Estin picked up the cloth the two rings had been wrapped in, holding it up to the light, trying to find any writing or indication of what Asrahn had intended by sending the rings.
“You have nice gift from old friend,” said Yoska, seemingly unimpressed. “Value of item really does not matter, yes?”
“I think there’s more to this,” Estin told him, putting the cloth between himself and the lamp, so that the light shown straight through it. When he did so, faint lettering appeared. “The rings have magic. I’m trying to find out what she wanted done with them.”
The note was difficult to read, with some letters rubbed off, likely from riding in Feanne’s bag for some time. The whole thing had been written in an obscure ink that looked more like a smudge until he held to the light and squinted. Even knowing it was there, he had to study each letter and piece together the words.
“As far as I am concerned, they are yours,” he read out loud. “Treasure them. These are for who needs our gift the most.”
Estin frowned, trying to make sense of the rambling wording and saw Feanne shaking her head.
“My mother was anything but straightforward,” she said, wrapping her arms protectively around Oria. “She knew that the camp was in danger. This may not have been thought through. I doubt they are more than a memento of your time training with her.”
Estin turned the rings over in his hands a few more times, trying to grasp at what his teacher had meant for them. Finally, he gave up, wondering if he was reading far more into it than he was meant to. Perhaps Feanne was right and Asrahn had just wanted to leave a gift for Estin, should he ever be found.
“Atall,” he said, getting the boy’s attention as he was fiddling with a hidden panel on the back side of a cabinet. “This is yours now.”
He threw the ring to the boy, who caught it and stared at the fox-head imprinted on it.
“This one’s yours, Oria,” he told the other kit, throwing her the second ring.
“Are you sure, Estin?” Feanne asked quickly, eyeing the ring in her daughter’s hands. “They were meant for you. The note said so.”
“The book is more than enough for me. Your children deserve a token of their grandmother, more than someone who she taught. I’d feel better knowing that the kits had them.”
Feanne gave him a slight bow of thanks, then helped Oria fit the ring to one of her fingers. It really only fit on her thumb, but the girl beamed as she held it up to the light. Nearby, Atall sat on the floor, just holding his ring and studying the engravings.
“Now,” Estin said, setting the spellbook behind him on the blankets, “someone please tell me where we are and what’s going on. I would dearly like to know why I was thrown into captivity and held like a rabid dog for months. I heard a little…very little…and most of that was just in the last few days.”
“The details took us a while to figure out, too,” Finth grumbled. “When your gods-forsaken crew didn’t return after the explosion, we did some digging. Turns out our dear commander from Altis never actually sent a letter to Lantonne explaining what we were doing and why. He wanted to show them that we could win the war without them. He actually just intercepted information about the Lantonne plan to drive the undead into the quarry and had a spy keep him informed of the golems’ movements.
“Needless to say, Lantonne was not too happy with you for blowing up the war golem. They saw that as an act of war, proving that Altis was behind the whole undead invasion from the start. Now, there’s no convincing them otherwise.
“They’ve executed nearly all the survivors, except for Lieutenant Linn, who’s finally up for hanging in the next couple days. They spaced each execution out, so the people would have some entertainment every couple weeks. We actually were coming to free him when some skittish fae-kin started babbling at Feanne about a wildling she’d met. I swear the woman thought all wildlings are related.”
“How effective was the weapon, though? I’ve heard most of the undead got away.”
Finth laughed and shrugged.
“Who the hells knows? Getting near that quarry is likely to burn the hair off my ass from a mile out. Everywhere they’ve set off those crazy explosions, the barriers between our world and the planes weaken.”
“At the camp, they said that there are monsters near the sites. Is that true?”
Feanne nodded gravely.
“I can confirm that much,” she said. “My curiosity is not something I can always resist. After the explosion near Altis, I went out by myself to look for survivors. What I found were dark winged beasts that absorbed the light pouring out of the flames in the forest. I have never seen anything like them and they just kept coming. They are not elemental creatures, but they do not belong here, either.”
“So why is Lantonne using the weapons if it’s just making things worse?”
“Eh, that’s at an end,” Finth added. He paused a second, grunting at Atall to keep the boy away from a hidden panel in one of the walls. That only seemed to incite Atall to investigate it further. “Turns out this area was one of the last to keep using them. Other lands stopped earlier when they saw what was happening. Lantonne’s just overly stubborn.
“They finally figured out it wasn’t such a good idea after part of the neares
t dark elven city’s tunnels collapsed and someone sat down and figured out that they were only getting a couple hundred undead out of thousands with each weapon. The worst was when one of the halfling teams that were supposed to deliver a weapon up on the northern plains got attacked by undead, accidentally setting off the weapon right in the middle of a farming community.
“Since then, Lantonne has had all records of the weapons’ designs burned and the wizards who built them executed. Little too damned late, though. Doubt anyone would want to make them again.”
Estin got up and walked to the shuttered window, peeking through the slats at the city beyond. It was nowhere he recognized at first, then he saw the large central keep with its single tower.
“We’re in Lantonne,” he noted.
“Yep. Been here on and off for the last six months, trying to free the people we might be able to trust from the group you took into the quarry. That and hunting rumors of what happened to you, you pain in the ass. If I had a copper for every furrier who claimed to have a giant ringtailed monkey-squirrel, who turned out to have a bunch of raccoon pelts, I’d be at least moderately wealthy right now. I know I was ready to give up a long time ago.
“Trust me, monkey, there were actually worse places you three could have wound up. I know that for a fact after spending this much time poking around in the camps.”
“Thank you for coming for me,” Estin told the group sincerely. “I don’t know how long I could have stayed there without losing my mind. Things were getting…tense.”
“Is the least we can do for friend,” Yoska told him, grinning. “Besides, children are always worth getting dead for, no? You were good man to have with them.”
Estin gave the man a grateful smile. Without warning, Atall latched onto Estin’s leg, hugging him.
“What’s that for?”
Atall looked up at him and shrugged.
“You kept Oria…both of us, really…safe. You’re staying with us…not like dad, right?”
Estin gave Feanne a quick glance, seeing her face harden angrily.
Prying the child off his leg, Estin knelt in front of the boy, holding his shoulders firmly.