Wildling

by Curtis, Greg

  After that it was confusion. The guards rushing for Endolm suddenly turned to face Dorn realising they were in danger from behind, while Dorn released a second arrow straight into the belly of another man and he doubled over.

  Suddenly the priests screamed but not in hatred and fury. They screamed in terror. Why Dorn didn't know. But he did know that he had to kill these men fast. Before they killed him. He put another arrow into a belly and watched the man pitch forward and scream while the others kept running for him. But even as he drew his next arrow Dorn noticed that as fast as the guards were running for him they didn't seem to be making much progress. He wasn't sure why. And he wasn't sure why the priests were screaming in terror either. Surely if they were that terrified they should be running away?

  Still another arrow and another guard down and he couldn't help but feel that they were winning through. There were only eight men left and when he shifted they would run. These were town guards not soldiers.

  Then as he drew his next arrow he noticed something strange. The soldiers were all getting shorter. It made no sense. Until he realised that they were sinking. Into the ground. That was why they were running so slowly. They were wading through soil. Or trying to. And the strangely liquid soil was getting deeper. Dorn didn't release his next arrow. He suddenly understood that he didn't need to. They were in no danger. But it did amaze him that a stonewright, someone with the gift of shaping the earth and the stone so that he could build with it, could be so useful in battle. Endolm was an artisan, not a warrior. Yet he'd destroyed an entire patrol with his gift.

  Soon the soldiers were screaming like the priests as they guessed their fate. But there was nothing they could do by then. They were buried up to their wastes in dirt and slowly sinking further. All thought of attacking them had been forgotten. Several had grabbed on to the wagon wheels and were desperately trying to hoist themselves up out of the ground. But they were in armour and weighed down by mud. It took a lot of strength and they couldn't do it with their hands full. They threw their spears aside as they desperately tried to save themselves.

  Meanwhile the priests were buried up to their shoulders and screaming in terror as they understood that they were about to drown. They were also begging for mercy. Endolm though didn't seem to be in a merciful mood. Not as he suddenly stood up in the lead wagon and stared down at priests. His face was filled with bitterness.

  “Like the mercy you showed old Perres, priest?” Dorn didn't know who Perres was, but he guessed that he hadn't survived.

  “You burnt him alive when he did nothing except heal the sick. And you truly think you should live after that?”

  But even if they did it didn't matter. Still screaming the two priests suddenly disappeared into the ground and Dorn knew they would not reappear. But at least their screams had ended.

  As for the guards, by then they were buried up to their armpits in soil and screaming in terror. Those that still could. Some were face down in the mud. The ones he'd stuck arrows in at a guess.

  “And you!” Endolm turned his wrath on the soldiers. “You're from this town. You knew the people you helped to murder. They were your friends!” Endolm charged them with their crimes, angry and hurt at the same time.

  “Please! … Mercy!” As their chins sank into the dirt their pleas were all they had left, and they screamed them with everything they had. And strangely it seemed to work. Or at least they stopped sinking. But they weren't getting out either. Not when the soil all around them suddenly became solid again.

  “Mercy? You don't deserve it.” Endolm sounded bitter. “You're traitors to your own people. Murderers of the good people of River Vale.” And no one Dorn noticed, was disagreeing with him. Not the others in the wagons. Not even the guards buried up to their armpits in dirt.

  “But you can live for now. Perhaps hope that some of the other townsfolk will dig you out in time. You know, those same townsfolk who now have no healer because of you. Who will sicken and die of the demon diseases when they strike because of you.”

  “Who knows, maybe they'll dig you out if you beg and plead. Or maybe they'll leave you to rot in the ground.”

  And as Dorn looked around he could suddenly see that there were others nearby. Villagers who had come out to harvest the cane. They were standing on both sides of the road, watching. Endolm was speaking to them as much as to the buried guards.

  “Still, while you're begging them for help you might consider that when the next lot of foul priests arrive you'll have to explain to them that you let two of their number die. That you failed in your duty. I'm sure they'll understand.”

  They wouldn't of course. Everyone knew that. Dicans expected their guards to protect them. And failure was punished harshly. Even if they survived this they might still be put to death.

  “In any case your fate is your own doing.” Endolm looked away from the buried soldiers to the rest of them, and then gave the order.

  “Let’s roll!” Immediately his wife flicked the reins of their horse and the front wagon rolled off, the ground hard under its wheels. Terra and Thymis' wagon followed straight after and then Dorn's wagon gave chase. And soon they were heading off down the road once more. Their journey was under way once again.

  As they passed the guards Dorn spent some time studying them. What little of them there was to study. Were they remorseful for what they had done? Grateful that their lives had been spared? He doubted it. If anything they were just relieved that they were alive. And soon they would be hurling orders at the workers to dig them out.

  But if and when they were finally free he doubted that they would come after them. Not when they knew what could happen to them. The chances were that they would be running away instead. It was better than facing their Dican masters with word of their failure.

  It was beginning to look as though Endolm had been an excellent choice for caravan master.

  Chapter Thirty Five.

  The wastes north west of Alador were hard lands. The soil was baked dry and the sun beat down mercilessly on the family as they crossed the land. Yet despite the harshness of the land there were still plenty of predators about looking to find a good meal. They had to keep a careful watch as they travelled through them. But Endolm knew that and he knew to maintain a roster of sentries through the long nights. It seemed that despite never having taken his wagon further than the nearest towns he really did understand how to travel safely through these lands.

  Dorn didn't like being here. He wasn't familiar with the land. Were it him he would have headed straight north to the barbarian lands and then when they were far enough north he would have turned due east and headed across the shale lands. But the others didn't like barbarians and they said that these wastes at least were relatively safe. Besides, even if they were wrong about that, it was shorter heading in a straight line and the wagons could make good speed across the hard packed earth. The barbarian lands were largely left to the wild men because no one liked swamps, fens and marshes.

  The first time he had seen a sand scorpion though his heart had nearly stopped beating. How could a scorpion be that large? Or that ugly? It made even its manticore cousins look pretty. Still, even before it had finished digging itself out of the ground he had put an arrow through what passed for its head and that seemed to have stopped it quite quickly. They died easily.

  Thunderbirds were the other predator they had to watch for. They were really little more than vultures in his view. But they were far too large. Wingspans like theirs he kept telling himself were impossible as he saw them sailing in the distant skies. Though he didn't doubt the power of their huge hooked beaks or their talons. Fortunately none had come close in the three days since they had entered these lands. Eldas The Fortunate was looking out for them it seemed. For once.

  What he really didn't like about the land though was simply that he didn't know it. He was used to forests and wilds where he knew the dangers and where they would come from. Where he didn't have to worry if the next be
ast that wanted to take a bite out of him would be either under his feet or in the sky above.

  Still, it was only four more days. Four more days until they made it to the White Plains, where they could relax a bit. Where they could travel in relative safety for a while.

  The White Plains were the only civilised lands that sprawled across into the wastes, though perhaps civilised was an exaggeration. There were no cities in them. No large towns either. No roads for that matter. Instead the people there were nomads. Horsemen who travelled the endless leagues of clover and grass in tribes. The plainsmen were peaceful enough, and happy to trade with travellers if the stories were true. But they were also fierce warriors. Perhaps that was why neither the elves nor the Dicans had ever marched through them. One mistake and they could have had a thousand screaming horsemen charging them.

  The Dicans had tried to spread their word through the plainsmen but with limited success. The plainsmen were strict followers of Andrias, Goddess of The Hunt and they tolerated no other faiths. They also didn't like buildings so the temples the Dicans had wanted to build had not been popular. They'd been pulled down as fast as they'd been put up.

  As for the dusky elves they would have been even more unpopular there. The White Plains were one of the few lands that embraced wildlings. Far from considering them dangerous or cursed they called them blessings. As a result, even with it being such a harsh land for wildlings to live in, there were probably more of his people there than anywhere else in the world. In the end all they had to do was learn to ride a horse, join a tribe and then spend the rest of their lives in the saddle following the herds of plains bison as they roamed. Many did.

  First though, they had to cross this desolate part of the wastes.

  “Halt!” Endolm called out from up ahead and they all slowly came to a stop. His father didn't even have to tug on the reins, their horse knew to stop when the wagon in front of her stopped. Meanwhile Dorn was only interested in why they were stopping. The why that began with a man in the distance trotting towards them on horseback. A man that he suddenly recognised as he drew closer.

  “Petran!”

  It was the hound, though he looked different from before. His wounds had obviously healed and he looked much stronger and healthier as he sat tall in his saddle. Better dressed too. His old clothes, which had been little better than rags after his time with the dusky elves and Rodan had gone, and he now sported a clean set of leggings with a neatly tailored linen vest and a thick leather jacket that had been tailored to fit. Clearly they had some seamstresses in Balen Rale. He wore a broad smile as well.

  “Dorn!” Petran waved happily. “I hadn't expected to see you here.”

  He jumped down from the wagon, probably much to the happiness of their horse who still didn't like him being anywhere near her, and went to meet his friend. Dorn even held his horse as he jumped down and then though he didn't plan it, welcomed him with an embrace and some back slapping for good measure. It was good to see him, and even Petran's horse for some reason didn't seem to object to his presence.

  “What are you doing here? I thought you were at the temple.”

  “And I thought you were back in the southern wastes. In fact I was sure of it. There have been stories flowing all around Balen Rale about you these last few months. Battling the dusky elves and the Dicans. Rescuing our people.”

  “A few small battles. Nothing of note. But you – shouldn't you be at the temple? The Lady hasn't shunned you as well?” He was a little worried about that, though from Petran's smile and his new clothes it seemed unlikely.

  “Hardly. I went to her and confessed. And I told her that what you had done was in our defence. But she didn't say anything about it. Just thanked me and told me to return to my studies.”

  “Then after two months I was given the task of riding out to greet whoever was coming along with many others. I've been doing that ever since. It's been busy.” He turned and grabbed some papers from out of one of the saddlebags.

  “Which reminds me. Here’s a map to guide you the rest of the way to Balen Rale, and a list of places you can stop along the way to find food and provisions.” He handed it to Dorn who in turn handed it to Endolm who was standing right beside him, probably waiting to ask a lot of questions about the road ahead and what they'd find when they got there.

  Endolm was right to want his questions answered and his need was greater than Dorn's, so he was happy to let him ask them. Meanwhile he helped the others to prepare a fire and put the tea on. But all the time he listened to what was said. About the land ahead, the creatures they would encounter and the easiest route to the temple. But mostly he was interested in one thing. What they would find at the temple. Especially the training.

  Of everything he had heard about the ancient temple; that fascinated him the most, even if Petran could only tell them of his own training. He was of course a little worried that it might be more lessons about ancient history of a people he'd never before heard of.

  So Dorn let Endolm ask him his questions, and then the others in turn while he listened politely. And then once it was his turn to ask some questions there was only one question he truly needed answered. The tea was half drunk by the time he managed to get it out.

  “What sort of reception am I going to get?”

  He already knew that he would have to ask for clemency, something that still set his teeth grinding every time he thought of it. But that was only for Rodan's death. Since then there had been many other battles fought and potentially many other deaths he would have to take responsibility for. He could still be shunned.

  “I don't know.” Petran stared at him directly telling him the truth of his words with his expression, and then looked away.

  “The Lady Sylfene has already announced that your actions will be judged again. That you should not have confessed to a crime if you did not believe yourself guilty of it. She is very annoyed with you for that.” His words brought a smile to Dorn's face and a chuckle to his heart. Of course she was annoyed with him. It was always going to be his fault that he'd been judged unfairly. It could never be hers.

  “But events have moved past you. Last I was there thirty or forty more had been shunned by the eleven and there was talk that many other wildlings have gone to war. Many who have not come to the temple. There is a sense that things are happening in the wider world that we don't understand. Terrible things.”

  “In Alador there is one, a wildcast named Timmis who has declared war on the Dicans. He has been burning down their temples with the priests inside. And others too have started killing the priests. Many others.”

  “Half a dozen towns in the southern wastes have been attacked by our people because either the elves or the Dicans hold them, and the battles have been bloody.”

  “Even the eleven are divided. In Lampton Heights and the Kingdom of Yed the priests of Zylor, his speakers, have launched two massive attacks against the main Dican temples with some sort of mushroom that drives men out of their minds with fear. There were deaths and panic in the cities but none of the eleven save Heran, the High Speaker for Zylor may give judgement on their actions. And he was the one who gave the order.”

  “A small band of wildlings have actually entered Tellur el Ve itself, at least the northern strip between Lampton Heights and the Kingdom, and started freeing other wildlings from the dusky elves. Between them and the Dicans the dusky elves are being decimated and falling back while scores of our people have been freed.

  The eleven are divided on their actions, upset by the death and violence, but the people support them whole heartedly. And with at least ten thousand wildlings now calling Balen Rale and Terris Lee home that is not something that can be ignored. If and when those fighters come to the ancient temple and are judged harshly as I fear they will be, there will be an outcry.”

  “The same is true everywhere. Every day there is news of another attack upon either the Dicans or the dusky elves. Cities and towns are in flames. When the eleve
n called our people to the ancient temple they unwittingly started a revolt. Wildlings have been given a home and with it a cause to fight for. A flag to rally behind. In coming together those who on their own were frightened and would have run have instead become fearless armies. Fear has turned to courage and courage to fury. Small victories have encouraged larger battles. Larger battles have become slaughters.”

  “Meanwhile the Dicans have been building an army. A big one. They're conscripting as well as recruiting. Building war machines. And they've seized control of any number of soldiers from the nobles. Quite a few lords and ladies have been killed and their estates stolen. The Dicans are obviously preparing for an attack. A big one.”

  “War is coming. A war of vengeance that will make everything our enemies have done to us seem small. And I don't even know who will launch it.”

  “Your name is spoken. But it is only one among many. Your crimes – if you have committed any – are minor. And no one really cares about you at the moment.”

  Listening to him Dorn wasn't sure whether he should be happy or sad. Happy that his people were finally freeing themselves after nearly a century of fear and that he might be able to stay with his family. Or sad that his people were descending into barbarism and that he had helped to start it. He guessed he wasn't alone. Petran seemed subdued as he stared into the fire. The others were quiet as well.

  And yet it had surely always been going to happen. The Dicans and the dusky elves were reaping the bitter harvest from the seeds of suffering they had sown.

  But why, he suddenly had to ask himself, if the Dicans were preparing for an attack, had he run into a small army of soldiers right in the middle of the southern wastes travelling north? Shouldn't they be back in the cities defending the black priests and their temples?