by Jim Galford
“Let me show you what magic can really do,” cooed Varra, raising her hand at Finth, ignoring his weapon as it cut into her hand.
While Estin watched helplessly, unable to get closer to aid Finth, Varra whispered words of magic and Finth’s body seemed to erupt in magical fire from within. He collapsed on the spot, burning blood flowing from his ears and mouth.
“No!” Estin cried, fighting against the magic that held him back. “Varra, what is wrong with you?”
Varra turned to face him, grinning wickedly.
“I have learned much in death, no?” she asked, laughing.
Varra’s hoarse laughter was cut short as Yoska leapt onto her back, driving a knife into her throat. He rolled away and then stood, pacing around her, eyeing her head to toe, as Varra coughed and tried to speak, one hand fumbling with the gaping hole in her neck.
“This fight is not yours, Estin,” Yoska said grimly, moving between Estin and Varra. Angrily, he spit at Varra’s feet. “She cannot cast if she cannot speak, no? Please find your family and protect them. This is my family and must be dealt with just so.”
Estin wasted no more time, letting Yoska seek his own revenge. He ran first to Finth, checking the dwarf’s pulse and finding nothing. Hoisting Finth to his shoulder, Estin spun around, trying to find Feanne and the kits. They were not hard to spot, Feanne still towering over the undead as she flung them aside by twos and threes, with both kits on her back, clinging to her fur.
Pushing his way through the undead, Estin made some progress towards Feanne, but stopped as he saw the tall Turessian moving through the crowd. The man seemed to notice Estin and raised his hands, weaving one spell after another, launching the next before the previous had landed.
Struggling to counter the magic buffeting his body, Estin dispelled one painful rush of energy, then another, and then another, until his own abilities were essentially exhausted, barely even noticing that he had been forced to drop Finth. Then, just as he thought he might have gotten a break between magical attacks, Estin felt a cold blast of air strike at him, moving through his clothing and skin, tearing into his body and making him stiffen reflexively.
Estin hung there, his body locked into position for the briefest of seconds, as the death magic tore his life away, every excruciating instant vivid in his mind as he felt his heart stop. Everything went black as he began to fall. Everything was so cold…
*
Pain flashed through his body, then another chill, then finally the faintest of warmth. Estin’s mind railed against the changing feelings, until at last he managed to drag himself back to consciousness, vomiting uncontrollably as he tried to breathe. He just lay there, gagging for a long time, struggling to regain control over his body.
At last, Estin began to feel more awake and aware, opening his eyes slowly and trying to take in what was around him. Maddening pain flooded his head, making him slam his eyes shut again. It was a struggle to re-open them, gradually managing to keep them open long enough to see some of his surroundings.
Looking up, he saw Atall sitting over him, watching him with nervous impatience.
“What happened?” Estin croaked, his voice strained from the vomiting.
“You died,” the kit said matter-of-factly. “You’re better now. Others need healing and I can’t help with that. Mom needs you to hurry.”
Estin forced his trembling muscles to push him upright. Once off the ground, he began looking around, seeing that he lay in the middle of a huge pile of unmoving zombies, who all looked as though they had been burned. The only other living being nearby was Atall, who was rubbing at Asrahn’s ring as he watched Estin.
“Where is your mother?”
Atall pointed towards the west.
Turning, Estin looked off in that direction, where he could see Feanne’s huge shape charging through the undead with Oria on her back, even as the last Turessian pointed at her and called out demands at his minions. The group fought against her, barely slowing her progress as she furiously tore through them, trying to reach the Turessian.
“Oria’s protecting her right now,” Atall told him, helping Estin stand up. “I don’t know how much more she can do. We don’t know what we can really do, yet.”
“How?” gasped Estin, staring in shock at the child. “How did you get me back up?”
Atall smiled and held up his hand with the ring from Asrahn.
“Grandmother let us know we could help with the rings. Mine blew up all the dead near us, then brought you back without a circle. Hers is stopping the bad man’s death magic. I think she’s used it all up, but the man might be out, too.”
Estin shook off the last of his delirium and crawled to his feet, checking around on the ground for his weapons, but there was no sign of them. He looked around, seeing only more and more bodies, including Finth’s bloodied corpse.
“Stay close,” Estin told Atall, stumbling towards Feanne, trying to hurry his pace as best he could. The kit stayed practically on top of his heels, grabbing onto Estin’s tail to keep from being left behind.
Thankfully, most of the undead were either paying attention to Feanne, or to the few remaining townsfolk. A great many more undead now wandered aimlessly, having no further commands since being told to attack the tent, which was now gone. From what Estin could see, the Turessians were too busy to give their mindless army further commands.
Estin pushed through the groups of undead, many of whom ignored him and Atall completely. The few that looked at them just made half-hearted attempts to grab at him, then went back to wandering. He had gotten more than halfway to Feanne when he saw the Turessian she was fighting with break and run, calling the undead after him. As one, the entire undead army turned and fled, running for the north valley, leaving Feanne and Estin standing in the field, watching them go.
He walked up towards Feanne, wondering at the undead forces’ strange behavior, but then noticed that Feanne was not quite well. She ignored his approach, growling and advancing a step at a time after the undead. Even when he spoke, she never looked down at him.
“Feanne,” he pushed, stepping in front of her. Her eyes were furious and staring into the distance—he had seen the change enough times now to know that she was raging and there was a good chance she would kill anything in her way to get to her foes. This time though, she looked tired, her eyelids drifting closed, before snapping back open repeatedly. “Let them go. We need to help the town. Let the anger go and help me help the others. The kits need us, not more violence.”
Growling loudly, Feanne seemed to force herself to look away from her foes, closing her eyes and dropping to one knee. She waited like that until Oria had climbed down, then the transformation of her body began in reverse, Feanne’s body tearing itself apart and rebuilding. When it was finished, Feanne lay still on the ground, breathing, but unconscious.
“Is she okay?” asked Oria, panicking as she patted her mother’s hand.
“She’ll be fine,” Estin told both her and Atall, checking Feanne’s pulse. “She’s just tired. What she did takes a lot out of her. I don’t think she’s ever fought this long before.”
Carefully, Estin lifted Feanne in his arms and looked around the ruined land that had been their village. Every tent had been flattened, as well as the trees and everything else that had once been there. Nothing remained of the majestic landscape within the valley that had graced the area just a few hours earlier.
To the west, he could see a large group of people approaching. They were the ones who had been held by the undead, consisting mostly of elderly, children, and young parents. Those were among the few he still saw moving. That group quickly rejoined with the survivors, helping to check those who had fallen and help those who could not walk well.
Everywhere else he looked, bodies lay strewn, sometimes in pieces. Hundreds of zombie and skeletal remains were scattered, intermingled with dozens of the townsfolk. He saw faces of so many people he had come to know and respect, now lying torn and mutila
ted among the equally battered undead.
Among the fallen, he saw Bockkan’s dismembered body, surrounded by dozens of shredded corpses. The man had died a good death, taking many down with him and showing the might of the bear totem he served. Estin could only assume that his people would tell stories of him, if any had survived to do so.
Where the last tent had stood, no more than a dozen survivors were checking the fallen to see if any still lived. Among those standing, Estin could see Linn and the vine-wrapped fae-kin woman who had led most of the magic-users during the battle—Dalania, he remembered having heard somewhere.
Off to the side of the battlefield, Ulra was kneeling near Doln, her head hung. The male’s body was still and surrounded by a wide swath of bloody ground. Even from a distance, Estin could see Ulra’s shoulders shaking with grief.
“Why did they run, Estin?” asked Atall, not budging from Estin’s side. “Will they come back?”
“Probably,” he answered without thinking. He was too numb to really think his words through, but Atall appeared to be equally dazed, just nodding at the grim reply.
Estin began searching the southern range, trying to find anything that might have scared off the undead, but all he saw were thick mists filling the south exit from the valley. He watched that mist for a minute as he looked for anything coming out of it, then realized that the cloud-like mists were actually glowing faintly. Without any wind, those mists drifted in random directions, sometimes slowly, but then would lurch farther in one direction, as though reaching out to grab at a target.
“We’re heading to the west end of the valley,” Estin said, louder than he had been talking previously. As he had hoped, he heard the order passed along through the survivors, until everyone was gradually moving towards the west, except for Ulra, the group following him slowly.
“Will she come, too?” Oria whispered, joining Atall in clinging to Estin’s tail as they walked away from the ruins of the village. “Ulra’s falling behind.”
“She knows the way,” he told the female kit, not looking back. “When she is done saying goodbye to her mate, she will join us, if she wishes.”
Estin’s attention was on making sure they were not walking into a horde of undead, rather than the children’s occasional questions, or whether very many people were following. His only other concern was watching Feanne for any change in her condition. She lay limply in his arms, her breathing shallow. This was something she had mentioned to him one night several weeks earlier, warning him that the longer she used her gift and the more injuries she shrugged off in that form, the harder it would be for her when it ended. This looked to be a rather bad bout and he had no way of knowing how long she would be out and had no way to speed things along.
“How did you know to use the rings?” Estin asked as they passed four tall wooden poles, hoping to distract the kits from the bodies that hung high above them, already being circled by carrion birds. He rather wanted to distract himself, as well.
“The crazy human tried to kill mom,” Oria said, her eyes on Feanne. “When she was able to take it, he laughed and tried to kill me. It just didn’t work. I heard grandmother’s voice and she told me how to block the death magic. I did it as much as I could, but mom still got hit sometimes.”
“She told me to heal a healer,” added Atall, rubbing his own ring. “The rest just kinda happened.”
Estin smirked, thinking of all the times Asrahn had been one step ahead of everyone. She must have planned ahead, hoping to protect whoever the rings ended up with. He had to assume she had managed to find an enchanter—likely among the humans or elves that had come to the camp—who had made the items for her before her death.
“You two did very well,” he told them, though neither kit really paid much attention to him. Both were very much focused on Feanne, watching her for the smallest movement.
They continued onwards and as they reached the steep and uneven path up into the heights of the mountains. Once there, Estin stopped and waited as the others caught up, gathering into a large mass that fanned out and waited for directions. Most looked to Feanne, still in Estin’s arms, then began turning around, looking for new leadership.
“We will follow Estin,” announced Linn forcefully, limping to the forefront, apparently noticing the group’s search for guidance. The man was severely hurt, blood staining much of his armor and his shield-arm hanging limply at his side. “Until our leader has recovered, her mate can speak for her. Do I have any objections?”
The group weakly mumbled something akin to acceptance, then Linn walked up to Estin, bowing his head ever so slightly.
“I’m not letting a bunch of scared civilians tear the village apart, just because she’s unconscious,” Linn whispered to Estin, glancing down at Feanne. “She’d hurt us both if they scatter before she wakes. Plus, you know the way…right?”
“Yes, I think I do,” answered Estin wishing he could give the man a hug. “I’ve never taken the path, but few of us have. The scouts briefed me on the route, so I can get us pretty far west before I’m lost. By then, the undead should not be able to find us. I’m hoping zombies can’t handle the rough terrain.”
“Lead on, then. I’ll make sure they follow her to the ends of the world, if that’s what we need to do to get away. So long as you’re carrying her, this group will follow you. I can’t make them look to you for more than direction, but I can make them follow her, awake or not. Troops will rally to their commander—conscious or not—on a moment’s notice, so long as anyone expresses faith in that commander’s leadership.”
Estin did not know anything about the military, but he could see the assembled people waiting patiently, watching him and Feanne for guidance. Even the kits were watching him, as though he were expected to have all the answers. Suddenly, Estin did not envy Feanne’s job in the slightest.
“Follow me,” he called out, his voice shakier than he would have liked. “We’ll head west into the mountains, towards the pass, at least until Feanne wakes.”
Turning, Estin hoisted Feanne’s weight back up against his chest, trying to balance her so that he would be able to handle the rough climb. He braced himself, pushing ahead up the gravel slope that disappeared quickly into the rocky-sided mountains, trying not to slide or fall. Every step of the way, he had to dig his claws into the ground in an attempt to keep his feet from slipping. Behind him, he heard the strained grunts and occasional sounds of someone falling.
That first hour, they made negligible progress, mostly struggling to get off of the first slope and up to where the path curved into the mountains proper, disappearing from sight of the valley. Night had begun to make the path treacherous by the time Estin cleared that first rise, looking down across the uneven and sometimes cliff-lined path through the mountains. It was not somewhere he would have ever willingly taken anyone, knowing that few were comfortable with such drop-offs, but he saw little other option.
A roar from somewhere behind them made Estin stop short. He listened just long enough to recognize it as a bear’s growls. The roar came several times, then was cut short. Forcing down any thoughts about what he might be hearing, Estin began moving along again, determined not to stop, knowing he could not do anything to help her.
Squinting in the dimming light at the distant ends of what he knew to be just barely a path, he could see where it began descending between two peaks. From what he had been told, that was the pass and would be their target. Anything beyond that was unexplored, but likely no worse than where they were coming from. Whatever might wait there was probably not a massive undead army bent on their destruction.
At their altitude, Estin could see a little ways to the south, where that strange mist drifted through the mountains, glowing dimly in the twilight. They were now far enough from it that it appeared not to be moving, but he had a strange feeling he wanted nothing to do with it. If the undead were actually running from it, he wanted to get the village as far from it as possible.
�
��Just got word from Sohan,” Linn announced, grunting as he stumbled up alongside Estin. “He’s making trips back and forth, trying to get us some eyes on the undead.”
“How bad?”
Linn shrugged.
“Hard to say. The undead army is largely intact. They lost maybe a quarter of their number. They’re holding the north valley entrance, but seem unwilling to come back into the valley proper. From what Sohan said, he even tried to make them chase him, but the main force would not move.
“He did say that there is one large group headed our way, with one of the Turessians leading it. Ulra did her best…”
“We need to worry about these people right now, rather than all those who’ve made sacrifices. We can mourn them later,” Estin replied, shifting Feanne again, then looking down at the kits, who were both wide-eyed as they stared off into the mountains. “Do you have any idea what that mist is?”
“No clue. My mother raised us on tales of the stranger things in the world, but I’ve never heard of anything like this.”
Estin set Feanne down on the ground, checking her heart again, as well as opening one of her eyelids to look at her eyes, while the kits knelt beside him, watching carefully. Her breathing was still very weak.
“She’s not getting any worse,” Estin told the kits, squeezing Feanne’s hand. What he left off was that she was also not getting any better as far as he could tell.
“We may have more problems,” Linn announced, leaning close to Estin. “The main force may not be coming, but pursuit is in sight. They’re moving fast.”
Estin turned and looked back down the mountainside, having to adjust his position to see past the large group from the village. Far down the path behind them, he could make out the tall Turessian that had led the attack, moving slowly up the trail with less than a dozen corpses shambling along with him, as well as a pair of semi-transparent spirits that Estin very nearly overlooked.
“Let’s get moving,” Estin told the man, hoisting Feanne back into his arms. As he did, he felt the kits hands latch back onto him. “The scouts gave me a few different paths we can take once we’re farther out of the valley. We’ll lose him in the mountains.”