by Jim Galford
Into The Desert Wilds
The Fall of Eldvar: Book Two
Jim Galford
Edited by Chris Galford
Cover art by Darryl Taylor
Second edition 2014
Copyright ©2012-2014 by Jim Galford. All Rights Reserved.
www.jgalford.com
www.facebook.com/eldvar
No reproduction of this work may be used in any fashion without permission of the author. For information on usage permissions, please contact the author at [email protected]
World, setting, and characters used with permission by CoreLARP, LLC
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter One
“Survival”
The touch of the mists woke pain in every inch of my body, letting me know I was alive, but warning me that it could kill in an instant. Everything I had known could have and probably should have ended in that moment, with my mate and my children in my arms. I accepted that and let the mists close about me, their burning fingers tugging and tearing at me and likely the others.
The agony of being dragged away by what can only be described as a hurricane of flames was the last thing I thought I would ever feel again.
When I woke, I expected to learn what the afterlife of my people looked like. To some small degree, I had looked forward to that, thinking on all those I had lost. It was an ending to all I had known, or so I thought.
Instead, I found myself face down in sand, with Feanne and Atall lying disheveled in the desert around me. Panic had taken me for a second, wondering not where we were or how we had gotten there, but instead trying to find Oria. The child appeared almost immediately, spitting sand as she crawled out from under a low drift several feet away.
Even as battered as we had been upon arrival in the desert, we laughed hysterically at having survived at all.
Knowing that we had all lived another day had been enough for me and initially for Feanne. Her resilience to some things let her cope with the fear of being in unknown lands faster than I could, but it also allowed her to turn her attention elsewhere quickly.
I worried about where we would find shelter, what kind of food was to be found out here, and what might come after us. My eyes swept the horizon for threats that were not coming. I knew nothing of this strange place, with its endless miles of sand, marred only by tall formations of stone that were so unlike anything I had seen before.
Feanne just trusted her instincts to warn her of dangers. The new scenery was nothing more than another day to her. Where I wondered whether we would starve or die from lack of water, Feanne immediately began complaining about the heat as she collected the kits, as though that were our only threat to worry about.
I thought she was kidding, or trying to lighten the mood for all of us. Sadly, that appears not to be the case. Foxes may live in the desert, but a mountain fox surely does not belong there…and if that fox can talk, you will hear about it endlessly.
The only thing worse than putting a person in a land they cannot tolerate is taking a leader away from her people. I truly did not believe that Feanne’s mood was entirely about the climate, but I was willing to humor her in that.
I would tolerate nearly anything to see her and the children safe. Here, the worst we faced was the occasional missed meal and sand in one’s fur. That far outshone the appeal of a land where the walking dead could show up at your home at any moment to murder your family.
I may feel as though the sun is scalding my ears off as I write this, but at least we lived long enough for me to feel even that.
Estin woke abruptly as the winds snapped at the flap of the canvas sheet that covered the four of them. Hot air dried his eyes and nose instantly, even as sand pummeled him. He had hoped the shallow den they had begun to dig would be enough to stave off the sand storms, but he realized it would have to be a full cave before there was any shelter from storms like this one. They would have to dig much deeper into the harder sandstone beneath.
The storms woke Estin quite regularly during those first few days, as he had not become as accustomed to the lack of danger in these lands as the others. Atall merely opened an eye, muttering before going back to sleep, but Feanne and Oria did not even stir. Estin could only wish he had their level of confidence in their safety.
Every snap of the canvas sheet made him think that he would open his eyes and see the rotting faces of walking corpses reaching for him and his family. Thankfully, that remained a distant memory of a place that he was glad to be far from.
Aside from the fear of armies of the dead, Estin often wondered what would become of them all when they found others in these lands. Would they be like those in Altis—their old home—and try to enslave or butcher them, or would they welcome a family of wildlings?
Wildlings…the name some fool had given Estin’s kind in some long-ago tale, just because of their similarity to wild animals. That name held so many preconceived beliefs about his people that Estin always dreaded meeting others of any race. He never knew what they expected when meeting their first wildlings, or what foolishness their culture might have perpetuated about his people.
In the dim light, Estin looked over his family. To him, they were anything but wild animals, but he knew he had a slightly skewed perspective. They might not feel wild to him, but they certainly fit the name well enough.
Feanne—his life-mate, wife, or whatever the local people called such an arrangement of choice to have no other partners—was a red fox wildling, nearly five feet tall with her ears flat, with gorgeous red fur over most of her body. Standing out against the brighter red, the tips of her ears and her hands and feet were black-furred, somewhat hiding her razor-sharp black claws—the only visible trait of her lioness mother’s ancestry. Running down her chin to cover her chest and stomach was starkly white fur, which also brightened the tip of her bushy tail.
Between the two of them, their children Atall and Oria lay sleeping. Both were patterned similar to Feanne, though Atall had a bit of black edging around the white of his chest fur, leading up near his ears and Oria had a subtle black tint to the tips of most of her red fur.
The children were Feanne’s, whenever anyone asked back in the old lands. Some question had arisen about whether Estin was indeed their father, but the semantics were something he cared little for. Feanne was his mate, the children were his joy in life. Nothing else mattered. Whether he or Feanne’s previous mate, Insrin, had fathered the children was no longer a concern.
The stark difference in appearance between Feanne and the kits versus Estin was the real reason others bothered to even question ancestry. Wildlings of different breeds often ended up together, but in his case, he was not even a close match for them.
Estin’s breed was not one he had been able to figure out, having been orphaned young. He had been told for years—often by Feanne—that he was a prey-breed and should fear the true predators, or avoid them entirely. After meeting Feanne, he had thrown that to the winds and done his best to never leave her side, predator or not.
Like Feanne, Estin had black hands and feet and white fur on his chest, though that was about the extent of the similarities. Unlike her, his claws were thick and made for climbing, and hi
s fur was mostly grey. His seven foot black and white striped tail was often what others stared at when they asked awkward questions about his relationship with Feanne.
Laying back down, Estin put his arm around Feanne, with the kits between them. Under the tarp, the only blanket they had against the sand was Estin’s tail, draped over all of them. They also had Feanne’s old bearskin cloak, but that was better as bedding than cover in the warmer lands.
Estin lay his hand on Feanne’s stomach as he tried to go back to sleep, the thought that in just under four months she would be giving birth to their children allowed him enough peace to drift back toward sleep. There was no question this time that the kits would be his, he reminded himself, wondering if he had done everything possible to ensure the safety of the whole family.
With sunlight beginning to shine through the canvas—that put it around midday and at least four hours before they tended to rise for the cooler evenings—Estin buried his muzzle against Feanne’s neck. When she nuzzled back, he gave his best attempt at a purr, then bit back a yelp as Oria flicked the tip of his nose with her claw.
Estin shifted to look at the girl, who was watching him from the safety of her mother’s arms. She glowered back at him, sticking out her tongue playfully.
“I’m not allowed now?” he asked the girl softly, smiling. “I thought those rules went away when I agreed to be her mate.”
Oria shook her head just a little, so as not to wake the others.
“My new hobby,” Oria whispered back, grinning in the same mischievous way her mother often did. “I’ve already got more brothers or sisters on the way. You don’t get to work on more until Atall and I are adults.”
Estin chuckled, rustling the girl’s pointed ears.
Though he was not terribly amused by the kit’s request, that time was not so far off. Their people often reached adulthood by age four. Oria and her twin brother were a couple months past three. He would have preferred to have more time with them still as children, but that time was growing short quickly.
“No promises,” he told her, winking.
Oria let out a long, over-exaggerated sigh and buried her face under Estin’s tail to sleep.
*
Three months later, with the sun setting behind them, Estin led Feanne up the long road that seemed to form out of nowhere in the sands, leading up toward Corraith, the only city they had found nearby. The city rose before them, its low stone walls giving the only hint of true shelter in the region.
Towering spires built to resemble the naturally-occurring stone columns in the desert rose high over the majority of Corraith, giving it a sense of majesty and spectacle that was otherwise absent in the deserts. Whereas Altis—Estin’s original home—had been built to withstand sieges, Corraith had been built to draw in visitors and hold off the smaller creatures that roamed the desert sands.
Corraith had once been mighty—or so people were fond of telling Estin during his visits—ruling alone in the desert lands. From what he had heard, the next nearest city was a week’s travel by horse or other means. That had once been a boon for Corraith, acting as the sole trading stop when crossing the desert and an essential source for water. Months earlier, those trade caravans had stopped abruptly.
In the days before the four of them had found themselves in the desert, the same mists that had scooped Estin’s family from their home and deposited them here had swept across Corraith. The glowing mists had flowed in a nearly straight line through the center of the large city, stripping away nearly half the population, parts of the walls, and many of the central buildings. In the wake of the mists, many other buildings had collapsed, having lost their supporting structures.
Now, the entire middle of the city was filled with ruins of old buildings and sand that had crept in to reclaim what the city had once kept from the desert. A few small paved roads had been built in that region, but for the most part, the gap between northwest and southeast Corraith had become almost a feature of the city.
“You know I hate leaving them behind,” Feanne fussed, glancing back into the desert in the direction of their hidden camp. “Are you sure that you need me to come into the city today?”
“Not for long, I’m hoping,” he told her, keeping his attention on the uneven city walls. There, he could faintly make out archers who were likely watching him just as carefully.
The city guards had little trust for anything they could not readily identify as a citizen. Estin and Feanne’s clothing was at least the right style—loose cloth shirts and pants, with lightweight cloaks to shield their bodies and heads from the sand on the winds—but they were far from discrete in their appearance. Everyone knew they were foreigners.
Feanne could have hidden her ears and tail with the cloak until they were close to the walls, when her long thin muzzle would be more easily noticed under the hood, but Estin had no such opportunity. With a seven foot long tail snaking out behind him from under the back of his cloak, he knew it was not worth the attempt to hide it. Coupling that with their smaller stature than the elves and occasional human of the city, they were about as obvious as they could be. Their species might not matter to the guards, but the fact that they were foreign breeds might.
Estin watched the guards rest bows on the walls, just in case. It was routine, but given the accuracy of the trained elves that patrolled up there, he had no desire to give them a reason to fire. Moreover, he wondered if he was fast enough to save Feanne, let alone himself, if they did decide to shoot.
“Just stay calm and we’ll be fine,” Estin reminded her yet again. “The head of the thieves’ guild wants proof that I’ve got family here. Right now, he believes I’ll take the job’s payment and run.”
“Tell me again why we are dealing with thieves. I believe that was what got you nearly killed at least once back in Altis and I do not like repeating mistakes.”
Estin glanced back at Feanne, whose pace had slowed as she put a hand on her stomach. She wavered slightly, but gave him a stern look that warned him not to act like she was showing any weakness. She had always been a warrior and was distinctly unhappy about being forced to depend on someone else.
“You would have died in a cage if I hadn’t,” he reminded her, nodding back toward where Atall and Oria were safely hidden. “None of you would be alive today...I probably wouldn’t be either. Altis did fall to the undead and I would have died with everyone else there, if I hadn’t followed you out while on that job from the guild there.”
She snorted, refusing to simply let him be right. Apparently having caught another wind, Feanne pushed past him, setting their pace through the city.
A sharp gust of wind tossed their cloaks about, giving Estin a better view of Feanne and made him smile inwardly at the idea of them trying to hide what they were.
Despite the Corraithian clothing, they both were barefoot, as their clawed paws were not built for the shoes or sandals of the local people. Moreover, Feanne’s bushy red white-tipped tail was nearly impossible to miss against the drab clothing she wore, sticking out from a makeshift hole in the pants.
“Watching my tail is what put me in my current condition,” she called back at him, without looking his way. How she always knew he was looking had always baffled him. “Keep walking or I will leave you behind.”
Estin hurried back to her side, leading her past the first group of elves that waited near the ruins of the wall, where a gate had once stood. These men watched Estin and Feanne cautiously, but their hands stayed far from their weapons. The faint jingling of armor under their robes let Estin know that the group turned to continue watching them in passing.
“You are sure our kind are allowed here?” Feanne hissed. Her eyes darted around at the elves that lined the streets, as she pulled her hood closer around her face with one hand. “They are watching us.”
“This is not Altis,” Estin reminded her, touching her shoulder reassuringly. “Everyone is allowed in the city. We just might not be treated as well as some,
mostly because we’re outsiders. There are wildlings here, just not a lot of them, so we’re a bit more obvious.”
Feanne muttered something, but even Estin’s ears could not quite pick it up.
Resigning himself to putting up with Feanne’s nervousness, Estin hurried them through the streets toward a section of town that had been mostly abandoned after the collapse of a once-impressive tower. He knew that was where his potential employer would be waiting. People like these always chose the most desolate parts of cities.
As Estin pushed through the crowds that formed in some parts of the city—mostly near brothels or the few people serving food—Feanne practically pressed against him, trying to hide herself from scrutiny. He put an arm around her and moved them along as swiftly as he could.
Estin had not known what to expect of his mate when her pregnancy had begun to show. During her first pregnancy, he had not been an active part of her life, so the changes that came over her had been a bit of a surprise. At first, she had been adamant that he not leave her any more than was necessary to find food for them. Later, it had developed into her current frame of mind, where she believed everything and everyone might be a threat to her or her unborn children. In truth, that made Estin worry more for those who might get too close to her by accident. She would probably be fine.
It had been a rough few months in the desert. Estin was sure that Oria was ready to throttle her mother some days, as the kits had been asked to join in collection of food and other supplies, but then were often chided for leaving Feanne’s sight. Atall was willing to put up with very nearly anything his mother did, but Estin would bet that even he was nearing a breaking point.
“Not much farther,” he told Feanne as they cleared the crowds, allowing them to move more freely.
“I can walk as far as I need to,” she snapped. After a minute, she sighed. “I am sorry, love. My temper is short these days.”