Wildling

by Curtis, Greg

A few seconds later they watched as three riders trotted into view, following the path of the river. They'd obviously decided it was the easiest path and they were probably right. Even if it didn't head north north east.

  “Hail!” Dorn called out to them, his voice echoing out across the rocky hills and flats and it caught their attention quickly enough. They came to a halt barely three hundred yards ahead and quickly spotted them. After that it was just a matter of the three of them waiting as Dorn and the others slowly picked their way down the shallow escarpment and then across the rocky plain.

  “Well met friend.”

  The leader of the trio, a man of middling years and thin build greeted them as they approached and he seemed friendly enough. Relaxed. His companions though weren't so certain and he could smell the tension in them as well as see it in their faces.

  The woman, a black haired overly tall and heavily tanned warrior by her garb was particularly nervous, and he couldn't help but notice that all the time she studied them her fingers kept twitching. He guessed she was looking to draw her sword, and he had no doubt she could use it. He suspected she was a spellsword, able to channel her magic briefly to make herself faster and stronger as she needed. She had the look. And there was something about her sword that drew his eyes. He was no enchanter but he suspected it was spelled. Spellswords had a natural gift for enchanting the weapons they carried simply by using them, making them sharper and stronger than they would normally be. A spellsword was a very dangerous enemy.

  As for the third Dorn couldn't make out much about him. Mainly because he was bundled up heavily against the cold and the woollen hat with its long flaps and the scarf obscured much of his face. But he could sense the magic in him. Powerful, wild magic that made him suspect he was a wildcast of some sort.

  “And you friend. Been talking to some glowing people?” Dorn could have begun by formally introducing himself and the others, and then perhaps maybe made some careful enquiries as to why they were out her in these barren wastes, but he didn't want to. This was not the place for subtlety.

  “Oh!” He took the man's response as a yes. And it seemed to ease people's tensions a bit as everyone realised they were all there for the same reason.

  “I'm Dorn, a shifter. And these are my companions Lorian, Marian and Petran.”

  “That explains why you're walking when there's two spare horses I suppose.” The man smiled wryly at him obviously knowing something of shifters. “I'm Davith an enchanter and these are my companions Sera Ta and Emmaline.”

  “Shall we share a fire as we talk about the journey ahead?”

  Dorn made the offer and Davith quickly accepted it. After that things went as he would have hoped. Everyone dismounted and a fire was quickly built from the bits of scrub they could find nearby. A kettle was filled from the river and tea prepared. And as it boiled they shared some of their more personal details.

  Emmaline was as he'd guessed a spellsword and also a fugitive from the Dicans, though she hadn't come from Lampton Heights like him. She was from the Kingdom of Yed which almost bordered his homeland. Only the narrow strip of land that was the northern most edge of Tellur el Ve lay between them.

  Sera Ta meanwhile was a wildcast capable of calling down windstorms and a local, almost. He'd travelled with Davith from Enderly. Actually he’d travelled from the capitol of the coastal province – Chorianis – a good sized seaport seventy leagues east of them. Though it wasn't a part of the wastes it bordered them.

  That gave him pause. Lorian, Marian, Petran and himself were all from the wastes more or less. They'd all been met by the glowing people within a dozen leagues of one another. But Sera Ta was from seventy leagues east of the wastes and Emmaline from at least seventy leagues south west of them. He hadn't expected that. If nothing else it meant that the glowing people were travelling far and wide as they found people to send to the ruined temple. It also meant that there were likely a lot more people heading there. A lot more wildlings. And wildlings tended to associate with others of their kind. At least they did in the more northern wastes, if they were far enough away from the Dican ruled lands. They probably did anywhere else where there were no Dicans to hunt them. There were even lands – or so he had read – where wildlings were considered blessings. The White Plains for a start.

  “Do any of you know a wildcast of light by the name of Terra, a summoner by the name of Beran or a dream walker by the name of Matilde?” Naturally they all shook their heads. Dorn was immediately disappointed even though he had always known it would be unlikely. But he also knew there would be more wildlings ahead, and by the looks of things they would be from all over the continent. There was still hope and that was more than he'd had in many years.

  After that the conversation returned to more mundane matters, mostly about the journey ahead and of course what they'd find when they got there. Naturally they had no clue as to the latter, but they were lucky in the former. Davith had a map, something none of the rest of them did. He'd traced it from a book he'd found in the Academy Library in Chorianis when he'd been met. Suddenly Dorn understood why an enchanter who'd never left his home city had been leading their group when Emmaline surely had the experience and the skill in hostile lands.

  Emmaline meanwhile had the answer to another question that had been circling in the back of his thoughts; why the dusky elves were in the southern wastes in numbers. Apparently they were fleeing a drought that had devastated their lands, and had headed north looking for food.

  The same drought was playing havoc with both Lampton Heights and the Kingdom of Yed, but not so terribly. Tiblissi's bounty was still flowing. Then again while the northern most strip of Tellur el Ve ran between the two human lands of Lampton Heights and the Kingdom of Yed, most of their province was further south, extending some said many hundreds of leagues until it hit the icy southern oceans. The lands down south were said to be dryer and harsher to start with. A drought could be truly terrible. But also unlike the elves the humans had long ago built huge lake reservoirs and dams. Even if the drought lasted another two years they would be able to feed themselves. The elves hadn't.

  It was simply the difference between the two peoples. The dusky elves were short sighted and incapable of cooperating, even on projects that could have helped all their people. But then they took what they wanted; they didn't grow it. The farms in their lands were all run by wood elves, a smaller less warlike race that they had subjugated long ago. Dorn knew nothing of the wood elves - they had never been seen in the human realms or the wastes as far as he knew - but he felt sorrow for them. Life could not be easy with the dusky elves ruling them. And now with drought claiming the lands and food in short supply he was certain that they would be starving. The dusky elves would take everything. It was their nature.

  Sometimes he wondered if his own people were truly that much smarter. They chopped down forests everywhere to build their houses and heat them, while their farms and graze-lands extended ever further into the wastes. And the smoke and ash in the large cities was sometimes so thick it was hard to breathe. But at least they knew enough not to starve.

  As he drank his tea and the conversation carried on around him, Dorn's thoughts turned inevitably to the journey ahead. Not so much to what they'd find when they arrived at the ancient temple – that he'd have to wait to learn – but rather to the actual trip.

  If Davith's map was accurate, and the artistry suggested it was probably fairly good, they had another week’s travel ahead of them through the desert of rock and shale. Maybe less if following the river bank worked as he hoped. Then they'd have to cut across a great forest of tall trees for another day or so, before they finally reached the valley. That was a long hard trip, but he was confident they would make it.

  What concerned him was how many others they would meet along the way. And what really worried him was that there might be others like Rodan out there. Preying on the wildlings. Thus far they'd been lucky, save for Rodan of course. They'd met no brigands.
And now with two of them capable in battle and a wildcast as well they could probably defend themselves well enough. But how many others he wondered, hadn't been so fortunate?

  These glowing people, whoever they were – and no one had so much as a name for them – had stirred up a lot of trouble. Probably many had been harmed by their hex. Many forced to ride would have ridden straight into the arms of brigands or elves. Many might have been killed and eaten by the savage creatures that called the wastes home. Would they care? Or worse yet had they still gone ahead even knowing that that was going to happen?

  It wasn't a pleasant thought, and he knew he should never share it with the others. But it did make him wonder just what they'd find when they arrived. People who were willing to endanger the lives of others weren't often the best of hosts as far as he knew. And they didn't always have the best of intentions either.

  The journey he suddenly realised, might not be the worst thing that awaited them.

  The glowing people might be.

  Chapter Ten.

  A week later as the afternoon sun was sinking Dorn collapsed onto the hard rock of the terrace and peered over the edge. He was exhausted.

  Crossing the plain of shale hillocks and depressions by wandering the path of the river had been a clever path. But it had come with one unexpected drawback. One thing that the map hadn't shown them. They'd had to leave the river channel at some point, and unfortunately the river had cut its way lower and lower through the plain as it travelled. As a result they'd had to climb their way out of a river valley, crawling up slopes of loose rock to reach the plateau that led down to the forest plain.

  It was only a climb of a league and a half or so, but it was steep and with their feet sinking into the loose stone with every step it had felt like ten. It had taken them most of the afternoon as well.

  All of them were exhausted. The horses too he'd wager. And some of them were still recovering from the beatings Rodan had given them. Marian's gift as a healer had helped, but the beatings had been severe and the long hard journey through the rugged land had done them no favours. Even Dorn though fully healed, was a long way down on his normal vitality. Rodan's attack had very nearly killed him and recovery would take time.

  So when they'd finally reached the plateau at the end of the shale lands and found firmer footing they'd decided to call it a day and set up camp. That had been hours before, and since then none of them had done much at all. Save that was to complain. Lorian was good at that. But finally Dorn had decided to shake some of the aches and pains out of his legs and had wandered up to the terraced edge of the plateau to look down at what awaited them. The forest. The last part of their journey.

  “Shite!”

  Dorn was surprised when he reached the edge of the terrace and looked out across the distant forest leading to the temple beyond. Not by the fact that there were others heading the same way. He'd expected that. But by how many there were. It was nearly evening, people were settling in for the night, and lighting their camp fires. It was a good time to spot them. He'd thought to see a few. He hadn't thought to see fifty or more.

  “In a pig's ear!”

  Though he hadn't heard him join him, Petran was beside him, seeing exactly the same thing he was, and by the sounds of things just as surprised.

  “That's got to be sixty camp fires. And if each camp has seven people like us that's over four hundred people.” He whistled in awe.

  “More,” said Davith, joining them. “That's four hundred people just in the forest plain ahead of us. More will already be at the temple and more behind us. It could be over a thousand.”

  He was right Dorn realised. They were still one, maybe two days travel from the temple, and what they could see in front of them was only the flat forest plain leading to it, not the temple itself. The chances were that many people were already there ahead of them. And equally others were still following them. The land behind them had been rough and filled with small hillocks and shallows. Without being able to find a true high point they hadn't been able to see who else was nearby. But some afternoons they had seen the smoke rising from distant camp fires.

  “I can't see the temple,” Petran said. Neither could Dorn, but he wasn't surprised by that. A temple no matter how grand could surely not be seen in the middle of a forest at least a good day’s travel away. But was that even the most important part of what lay ahead? Because beyond the temple, perhaps as little as five or six more leagues north, lay the unknown land of Terris Lee. Unknown because no one had ever come back from it.

  Many wondered who or what lived there. Possibly more monsters as in the wastes. Some claimed there were dragons. But maybe there was another race of people living there – even the glowing people. It would explain where they'd come from and perhaps why they were sending them to Balen Rale. But it was only a guess. No one who had ever tried to find out who or what lived in Terris Lee had ever returned. People had made it through the Eteris mountains to the central wastes. And a few had survived to bring them terrible tales of the creatures that called them home. People had wandered to the southernmost tip of the dusky elves realm, and brought back tales. They had travelled to the islands to the east and the west of the world. But no one had ever returned from Terris Lee. There were no stories. That troubled him. It particularly worried him that they were so close to that land.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think we add our fire to the rest and enjoy another night under the stars.”

  Petran was right. It was the only thing they could do.

  But still as they wandered back to the camp site Dorn couldn't help but think that he'd rather not finish their journey. With all those wildlings travelling to the ancient temple, sent there by four glowing naked people, it promised to be a strange event at best. But if the glowing people actually had deliberately sent them in to danger, it could be more than that.

  And as he unfortunately remembered, they'd said that they were to be assessed. Judged. They hadn't told them how they'd be assessed. What they'd be judged on. And they absolutely hadn't told them what would happen to them if they were found wanting.

  But there was still no choice.

  Chapter Eleven.

  Coming down the valley pass from the forest Dorn knew an overwhelming sense of relief. Whatever lay ahead of them, at least the journey was finally over. They'd made it, suffering nothing worse than an attack from one crazed wildcast, and hopefully what lay ahead would involve at least a few days’ rest. Rest, good food, maybe some ale if they had some, and a lot of sleep. Cats needed sleep and he hadn't had a lot of it since he'd left his home.

  Ahead in the distance he could see the temple, and he was impressed.

  Balen Rale was a ruin, exactly as all the stories said, and yet it was still somehow magnificent. Far grander than he had expected. It was a green lichen covered temple as large as a castle that had stood for thousands of years and was set in the middle of a grassy clearing that spanned half a league and with a central spire that looked over it all. The top of that spire he thought had to stand five hundred feet above the ground, taller than any he'd ever seen, and yet it was so narrow that it looked as though even a small wind should break it in two. Still, he knew that it wouldn't break. It had stood like that for thousands of years simply because it was too strong to either bend or break no matter how hard the wind blew.

  However the ancients had built it – and he knew it wasn't with simple stone and mortar – they had built it to last.

  And he knew one thing more about it. The spire had an internal staircase. He knew that because at the very top of the spire there was a small platform. A place where people could stand and look out over the entire valley. How else could that be unless there were stairs inside to climb?

  But there was more that impressed him in the valley than just the temple itself. There was the camp site.

  Actually it wasn't a camp. It was a small town under canvas. Easily a thousand tents had been set up in the valley
surrounding the temple and by the looks of things more were being erected. That shocked him. A thousand tents meant that at least a thousand wildlings had answered the call. It could even be as many as three or four thousand of his people. The tents weren't small. Three or four thousand wildlings in one place – he wasn't sure that that had ever happened before. And all of them he guessed had arrived in only the last couple or three weeks since they had been sent for. How many more were coming? How many more wildlings were there?

  There was another area set up beside the tents which surprised him. For some reason there were wagons there. Brightly coloured, covered wayfarer wagons. Hundreds of them. And all of them surrounded by people with white gold hair. Wayfarers.

  It seemed wrong, and not just because they were wayfarers but because of the number. That stunned him. Granted he had no idea how many wayfarers there were in the world, travelling the trails between the realms, but he'd never thought that it could be so many. After all, you only saw a wagon here and there and it was nearly always on its own. He'd also never imagined that the wayfarers were a particularly magical people.

  If he'd thought about it at all he would have assumed that they would be the same as everyone else with only one or two per hundred people with the gift. But there were at least three hundred wagons down there, which meant that there were likely a thousand wayfarers, and even if two in every hundred wayfarers had the gift, that meant that there were at least fifty thousand of them. That was far more than he would have thought possible. It was also assuming that there weren't more on the way.

  Dorn stood for a while at the top of the valley studying the camp, unconcerned when the others went ahead of him. The journey was over and they had no need of his help any longer as he had no need of theirs. Besides, as they had drawn closer to the temple and the valley their party had merged with others and a good fifty people had reached the mouth of the valley together and were now making their way down it, heading towards the temple. He wasn't even sure where the others were.