In Wilder Lands

by Jim Galford

  They walked a short time into the woods, Estin trailing far behind the group, until they reached a barren area just before the valley ended at a mountain wall. In one corner of the area, Estin knew there was a barely-visible path up into the mountains, which the young and elderly were supposed to have used to escape. Instead, they were being herded into one corner of the rocky area, surrounded by undead, all of whom bore long wooden spears that they used to block the escape of any living that tried to get away from them.

  “We have a proposal,” stated the Turessian, stopping and turning back to Estin. He eased back his hood, revealing that while part of his jaw was skeletal, his face was still mostly intact. Long rows of tattoos ran around his eyes, much like the ones Estin had seen on the ambassador from Turessi so long ago. “All of these lives in exchange for your healing circle and all of your spellcasters. Every other living being is allowed to leave to be hunted some other day.”

  “My circle?” Estin asked, shocked. He had no idea that there was even a way for someone to track down a circle without having seen it before. “Why do you want my circle?”

  The man laughed, a dry wheezing sound that chilled Estin’s blood.

  “We can make as many of those,” he waved at the zombies standing guard nearby, “as we desire. We will never run out of them, until long after your world has died. What we cannot do without a circle, is make very many more of our own or other intelligent undead. Some of our kind can create one or two like themselves, but if we wish to replace the living, we need circles to do so.”

  The other three Turessians pulled back their hoods, revealing partially-rotted features of varying races. The two average-height ones were human, though one looked to have been a barbarian tribesman at one time and the other bore the features of a Altis noble. The shortest was the one that made Estin nearly drop his barrier, though.

  Varra stared back at him with pale white eyes and a cocked smirk.

  “You have met,” the speaker said, glancing at Varra. “Then you understand how important it is that you give us what we want, or everyone here will die far more horribly than she did.”

  Estin swallowed, nervously looking over at the large group of humans, elves, dwarves, halflings, and nearly every other race and culture, standing in a tight clump nearby. Most watched him intently and he saw many heads shake, warning him not to give in.

  “The circle is gone,” he admitted, hoping for the best. “Its power faded just before I came out. I thought you had done it, but you wouldn’t be asking for it if that was the case. I will turn myself over in exchange for their lives.”

  The Turessians let out howls of anger, their eyes glowing more brightly in their rage.

  “Another! Another circle fallen,” roared the barbarian-looking man to the one that had been speaking. “What would you have us do, now?”

  “We will need to search for another.”

  Estin glanced at the captives, then back to the Turessian that seemed to be in charge.

  “Will you at least tell me what has happened to make that circle fall?”

  The man’s hood lifted sharply, as though he had forgotten about Estin.

  “Your people happened. The living. So determined to keep us from cleansing this world, that you brought in every form of magic that never should have been considered. The arcane explosions, the dragons, the elemental lords…do you think such things do not have a price?”

  Estin inched away, feeling the rage growing from the man, but he kept talking as he advanced on Estin.

  “That kind of power breaks things, wildling. It tugs at the threads that hold the world together and separate from all the planes. Eventually, a strand will break and things begin to change. While you were hiding away in your mountain retreat, we saw legions from the elemental planes just walk in with no effort. We saw the skies freeze, the lands blow away, and the seas burn. This world may be dying and unless we reverse it, even our kind will perish when it is torn apart.”

  The man turned to the zombies holding the captives, as his partners stepped between Estin and the living captives.

  “Begin staking one every ten minutes, until the others surrender.”

  As Estin watched, knowing he was unable to stop so many undead himself, the zombies grabbed a young ogre child, dragging him apart from the others. Estin tried to go to him, but the three Turessians moved with him blocking his path.

  “Is not your time, my fuzzy friend,” hissed Varra, grinning at him. “You will die when the time is better, no? For now, just watch.”

  Estin snarled at her, drawing only a giggling laugh from Varra, as he watched the zombies drive a wooden spear into the ogre’s chest, then hoist him up into the air. The spear was plunged into the ground, leaving the writhing child gasping and choking, high in the air.

  “You have ten minutes,” hissed the lead Turessian, walking away. “When I run out of these, I will begin with your defenders. Surrender and we may be able to make an agreement. If you keep fighting, every last person under your command will be put on a pike.”

  Already, the young ogre had stopped struggling and now hung limply on the tall spike.

  Estin tried to shift his vision, looking for the spirit of the youth, but he saw nothing. It was as though his own connection to the spirits was fading, just like the circle. There just was nothing there, other than the dangling corpse. Furious and watching for the Turessians to follow him—which they did not—he hurried back to where the undead still milled about the tent, barely held back by the few remaining defenders.

  As he pushed through the undead forces, he could see Feanne at the entrance to the tent, calling out orders to the dozen remaining warriors. One after another, they were falling back into the tent as their wounds became too great to continue fighting. By the time he reached the tent, he had begun to feel the claws of the undead brushing him as his barrier faded.

  “Get inside!” Feanne called out, rushing out to grab him and shove him past her. “Everyone who’s still breathing, get in the tent!”

  Estin scrambled in with the others, finding the inside of the large tent entirely packed with injured people. All of the dead had been thrown back outside to make room for the living. Though the tent could have held ten or fifteen adults standing comfortably, it had gotten packed with nearly three times that.

  He spotted Oria and Atall on top of Ulra’s shoulders, as well as Finth on Doln’s, trying not to get trampled. Linn was in a corner of the tent, deep gashes from his face down into the top of his armor being tended to by one of the other healers. Even Yoska looked to be gravely injured, a large bite-mark on his upper chest bleeding profusely, despite the efforts of several of his clanmates.

  “Were you able to find anything?” Feanne asked loudly as she squeezed back inside, even as the undead rushed up to the edge of the tent, clawing at it, as though they were held an inch away from its surface, much like the magic Estin had used to protect himself.

  “Turessians. Four of them,” he told her, trying to keep his voice as low as he could, but in the crowded tent surrounded by groaning undead, that was practically a shout. “They’ve got the group we sent for the mountain path. They’re executing them one at a time until we surrender.”

  Feanne eyed him, then looked over the others in the tent, settling on Oria and Atall.

  “I asked you a long time ago whether you would be able to flee with my children if the valley were to fall,” Feanne reminded Estin, her shoulders sagging. She was avoiding looking at him as she continued. “You will take them and break through the enemy lines…”

  “I would never make it out of the valley. My magic can’t protect the kits that far,” he cut in, grabbing her wrist and turning her to face him. “Even if I could, I will not leave you here. Life-mate does not mean you get to run off and die, while we live on. I will not obey you in this, Feanne. If I run, all four of us are going.”

  Smiling sadly, Feanne touched his cheek.

  “Then we die here as a family. Dying i
n battle sounds less appealing than it did when I was younger.”

  She looked around that those who still stood, clearly evaluating their remaining forces.

  “Bockkan, you are with me,” Feanne called out, waving down the man. He gave her a confused look, but began making his way over. She waited until the large man was standing over them and continued, “We are going out to negotiate. If they are talking terms of surrender, then we have something they want. I need to know what it is. Will you both stand at my side through this?”

  “To the ends of the world,” Estin answered immediately.

  Bockkan smirked, tossing his hair back as he eyed them both.

  “Now this is the time for little fox’s tricks,” he announced, grinning. “Show me the trick, so that I may follow you.”

  Feanne gave a thankful nod to Bockkan, then turned to the tent’s only exit, taking a steadying breath before stepping through into the mass of undead clawing at the invisible barrier that shielded the tent.

  As Feanne left the tent, Estin brought up another spell, blanketing the three of them against the nearby undead, forcing the groaning corpses back a few steps. It was the last such spell he would be able to manage and his chest began to ache with the effort, making him wonder if they would even make it back to the tent. The small bubble they walked within would not last long against so many, but it was all he could manage that would protect them as they emerged into the army of walking dead.

  “I would negotiate!” cried out Feanne, as they stood in the clawing throng, all three of them looking around nervously at the creatures that were trying endlessly to reach them.

  Seconds passed and Estin began to wonder if the Turessians—or whatever he should call them—would actually come. Then, the undead army began moving away, creating a clear walkway leading from the tent westward. Down this path, three of the Turessians walked triumphantly, unhindered by the undead that now stood silently on either side.

  “You are smarter than I had thought,” lauded the nearest of the necromancers, clapping his hands. “I had believed I would get to execute at least a half dozen before you were willing to consider speaking with me.”

  Feanne’s jaw trembled with anger, but she appeared able to control herself this time.

  “What is it you want here?” she demanded, as though she were in control of the situation. “I would have your army leave and I want to know what it will take to make this happen.”

  “Things are not that simple, fox. I wish to speak with all of your spellcasters to present my offer. That is all I ask at this time.”

  Feanne glanced over at Estin. He shrugged, focusing most of his attention on maintaining the barrier over them, whether useful against the Turessian or not.

  “You may speak to only the two of us,” she answered a moment later. “There are few enough of us in this camp. I will hear your offer and pass it along to the others.”

  The Turessian laughed and shook his head, though Estin’s attention was drawn to the other two. One he recognized as Varra by size and build. The other was the barbarian. The Altis noble was missing from the group, which set Estin’s nerves on edge. He began turning about, trying to spot the missing man.

  “I would ask that your healers and elementalists surrender themselves to me,” said the Turessian, motioning towards Estin for emphasis. Then, he gave Feanne a dismissive gesture. “I have no use for you and your kind. The others are just fodder and can be used in the future, but I do not need them at this time. If every one of those spellcasters surrenders, I will spare the rest for now.”

  Feanne turned to Estin, drawing his attention away from the search for the other Turessian.

  “Take the offer,” Estin urged her, keeping his voice low. “They don’t know who can cast magic and who cannot. So far as they know, I’m the only healer here. If it will get you and the kits out of harm’s way, I’ll gladly surrender.”

  “What was it you said a few minutes ago?” Feanne asked in reply, smiling half-heartedly. “We all walk out, or none of us. I will not give you to them.”

  “Don’t let the whole pack die for me.”

  She shook her head.

  “I will save everyone, or we all die together. No one gets thrown to these creatures. I would rather my children die free, than watching any part of their family turned to undead.”

  “This is touching, but what will we do?” asked Bockkan, leaning close to them. “Do we fight, or do you ask that we try to run?”

  Feanne kept her eyes on Estin, but answered Bockkan.

  “You and I will transform ourselves and strike at the Turessians. Estin will attempt to keep us alive long enough to reach them. If we can bring them down, our families might live until tomorrow.”

  “This is a plan worthy of my people’s sacrifice,” Bockkan said, thumping his chest with a bare fist. “There will be stories of this battle, little fox.”

  “We can hope so,” she answered softly, her eyes telling Estin that she was doubting anyone would be able to tell such stories. “Let us either live or die trying to save everyone.”

  Bockkan was the first to turn on the Turessians, roaring first in his human voice, then his tone changing as the shadowy form of the bear engulphed his physical form. Before he had fully been changed, Feanne had dropped to the ground, her bones loudly snapping and changing, as Estin maintained his barrier over them.

  “You wish to do this?” the Turessian demanded, as Bockkan rushed towards him and Feanne rose back to her feet, now in her lycanthrope form. “Very well. I never claimed to fight fairly.”

  “Is time!” shouted Varra, before backing quickly away.

  The undead forces closed in on their group, struggling to grab at Feanne and Bockkan as they pushed forward. Estin did what he could to keep them back, but they posed very little resistance as Feanne and Bockkan tore through the lines, rapidly closing on the three Turessians.

  A loud tearing noise, followed by screams was Estin’s first true hint of danger.

  Spinning, even as Feanne and Bockkan continued their berserk charge, he saw that the tent had collapsed behind them and the undead army was pushing inwards, dragging the other townsfolk from the ruins of the structure. At the far side of the tent, the fourth Turessian stood, guiding the undead into the wreckage.

  “Feanne! An enchanter brought down the tent!” he screamed, dropping his barrier as he drew his swords and rushed into the fray, trying to clear a path back towards the mass melee. He cut through one undead after another, barely staggering them as he pushed forward, sometimes going over top of squirming corpses to finally reach the edge of what had been the tent.

  Diving over another undead, Estin saw where Ulra was fighting for her life, standing practically on top of the two kits. He rushed towards her, while Feanne leapt over him, landing in the middle of a group of undead, ripping them apart. She took another long stride and was beside Ulra, tearing and slashing at the attackers as she hoisted the two children onto her own back.

  Estin slowed his pace, knowing Feanne could handle herself. He focused instead on keeping the undead at bay, trying to find a way to get back to where Bockkan still fought with the Turessians, far out in the sea of corpses. He could not see much, but did get the occasional glimpse of Bockkan’s massive form as the man threw bodies into the air to get them out of his way.

  A strong hand slammed into Estin’s side, ripping his leather vest away, along with a good portion of the fur there. As he stumbled away from the attack, he found himself looking at Varra, who had managed to slip through the crowd right up to him, her grin visible even under her hood. She casually tossed aside the ripped vest that she had torn right off of him.

  “Is a good time now,” she mocked, turning with him as he tried to get his torn side away from her. “You have a family now, my fuzzy friend. Is most unfortunate, yes? You will see them all die today.”

  Estin thought through what little magic he had remaining. It would not go far against Varra, as he had to assume she was
at least as powerful as the other Turessians now. He had maybe four or five spells left that he could manage without blacking out and he knew that most would not affect her.

  “So many lives that look to you,” continued Varra, taking cautious steps towards him. “Do you think you will miss all this when you are one of us?”

  “Varra, don’t do this. You were a good person in life.”

  The girl laughed, tossing back her hood. Black lines marred her dark skin where veins had clotted. For some reason, despite her ghastly appearance, it was the lack of jewelry or fine garments that struck Estin as being the most surprising change.

  “Who I was is not who I am now,” she explained, drawing and twirling a dagger in her left hand. “Now, I am free. You must fear dying, but there is no fear for me. No pain, no disease, no worry. I will go on, long after this war has ended and your people are ash in shallow grave.”

  A second dagger appeared in Varra’s right hand, as she moved steadily towards him, sometimes pausing mid-stride to wave off the shambling corpses that reached for Estin.

  “You have until your heart stops to tell me you will join us,” Varra added, raising her weapons. “Is not long, but is all I can give, no? If you still had circle, we could discuss much longer.”

  Out of nowhere, Finth appeared, driving his own knives into Varra dozens of times as he dodged and moved around her, cutting and ripping at every joint of her body. She staggered under the attack, clearly surprised, barely managing to block or parry more than a quarter of the strikes.

  “This is quite good!” she exclaimed, laughing as Finth slashed open her stomach. “You are very good, yes?”

  At a gesture from Varra, Estin found himself shoved back a step, unable to move forward to help his friend. Meanwhile, Finth continued his attack, apparently trying to find a weak point, or at least slow Varra down. Despite his efforts, the wounds closed faster than he could deliver them.