by Jim Galford
The woman picked at the string holding the bag shut, then nodded and stuffed the coins into a hidden fold in her dress.
“Welcome to my inn,” she said, chuckling. “Name’s Marra. Meals are glorified offal, but they’re filling. Last meal for today was an hour ago, but there’s plenty of cold slop left over.”
Oria tried to move to put herself behind Estin as the two burly humans walked through the group to leave.
“Are there any problems with who...or what...we are?” asked Feanne of the innkeeper, lowering her hood.
“Who in the bloody sands cares what you are if you’ve got coin? You could be a goblin with a skin disease and I’d find you a room for the right price. Besides, old owner of this place was a wildling. Filthy snake, that one. You’re downright respectable. Get over yourselves.”
“Then please show us where we are to stay...and we would be happy for whatever cold food is left,” Estin said quickly, giving Oria and Atall a happy smirk.
“Welcome to your new home,” laughed Marra, getting to her feet.
That word hit Oria hard. “Home.” She had not thought it meant much up until she heard someone else say it. In that moment, the pitiful building began to look a lot better to her.
Anything was better than a hole in the sands, or a tent in the frozen wilderness, surrounded by slavering undead.
Chapter Three
“Lost and Found Treasures”
My life to this point had been chaotic at best. I watched the only lands I had ever known as home fall before the undead. I lost the only love I had ever wanted to another male. My hopes for a life with her had collapsed when she had given birth to children with that other male. Everything I could have wanted was someone else’s and I was alone, surrounded by those who expected me to help them, without a hope in my heart.
Then, in the chaotic world I was forced to embrace, she was with me again and he was dead through no fault of my own. Guilt was guaranteed for the rest of my days if only because I had dreamt of such a thing, but I swore I would be the best mate I could be. The children would never want for a father, even if I was not their birth father.
So much pain, so much struggle just to have a normal life. Really, what does normal mean anymore, once you’ve seen your world die around you at the hands of the walking dead? Every breath I took from that moment on was dedicated to making sure that these children—whether mine or not—would not endure the pain I had seen and felt. They would not be alone and would never want for affection.
With the coming of my own children, nothing much changes. My life is theirs, not my own. I will live every day to protect them and my mate from harm. If I could be sure of their safety without constant vigilance, then and only then would my life be something to live for myself.
Still, we cannot be sure of anything. That much is certain. We can only try. I will try until my heart stops beating to give them more than I ever had. With more children arriving, that challenge for myself seems so much more difficult.
If there is any justice in Eldvar, these newborns will never know the horror of the mists or the undead armies.
“Feanne, you need to relax.”
Incredibly strong fingers and sharp claws closed over Estin’s throat.
“This is your fault,” Feanne snapped, releasing him after several seconds. “Tell me what to do again and I will end you.”
Estin clamped a hand over Feanne’s wrist, hoping to be reassuring while keeping her from grabbing at him again. His throat hurt, but he had to concentrate on her, rather than what she might do to him for impregnating her in the first place.
For most of a year, Estin had been the sole healer for Feanne’s father’s pack. That had made him the primary person in charge of the majority of births within the pack. He had dealt with every manner of predator and prey breed’s birthing, including many mixed-breeds. Most threats had come from the would-be father, implying Estin’s life depended on the health of their mate or children. He had never once dealt with a female who had attacked him as often and as angrily as his own mate had over the last hour, but he also had no intention of ever telling her that.
“Mom,” Oria spoke up, grabbing at her mother’s other hand. Estin could see that she was clinging to it in an effort to keep her from using it offensively. He would have to thank her later. “He’s just trying to help.”
Feanne snarled at her daughter, but nodded, clenching her jaw in pain. “I promise not to hurt your father for getting me pregnant until after the children are born,” Feanne offered in what Estin could only guess was meant to be a reassuring tone. “After…we’ll see.”
The birthing was not going nearly as well as Estin would have wished. Three weeks into their stay at the inn was earlier than he had expected Feanne to go into labor, but not too early to be safe. The pain was what worried him, as in the past, he had found it remarkably easy for wildling females to get through their births. Feanne was having a far rougher time than he had hoped.
“Was your last pregnancy this painful?” he asked Feanne, keeping his eyes low as she glared at him. “I need to know if this is normal.”
“Yes, this is normal,” she growled, clamping her hand tightly over his. “Either that means they all are yours, or this is somehow about me. I choose to blame you.”
Estin watched her for the next hour, until Feanne’s pain overcame her threshold and she passed out briefly, giving him a short reprieve. He monitored her health, finding no risk. That finally allowed him to relax and sit down, as both kits waited at his sides, watching their mother nervously.
“She’ll be fine,” he told them, but Oria put a hand over his mouth.
“Dad, don’t tell me things you think we want to hear,” Oria said firmly, drawing an affirming nod from Atall. “How is she really?”
Estin took a deep breath and looked over at Feanne. Her chest rose and fell unevenly and he could see her fingers and toes twitching spastically—he kept wondering at whether it was a subconscious desire to throttle him.
“She’s stronger than any of us. Even without having a healer here, I think she would pull through.”
Atall spoke up this time, his large brown eyes showing a touch of terror. “What about the kits?”
That was a question Estin had hoped they would not ask. Feanne he knew to be able to survive almost anything. With his ability to use healing magics, he could almost ensure that even the worst pregnancy would not be able to kill her. Her own magic would probably mend her body from nearly anything.
“Magic doesn’t work as well on infants,” Estin admitted against his better judgment. “So long as they’re born alive, I can protect them. If not…”
Oria squeezed his hand, cutting him off.
“They’re mom’s children. They’re strong enough,” she said, giving Estin a half-hearted smirk.
*
Hours later, Estin lay near sleep in a corner of the room, holding his three new children. The tiny kits curled up on his chest, sleeping softly in his arms, occasionally nibbling at his shirt or pawing at their noses. All three—two males and a female—were blind for the first few days, as was the nature of fox kits, but they were healthy and alive, which was more than Estin had begun to expect.
The birth had been rough, requiring much of his skill to keep Feanne from dying of blood-loss. Her innate strength and rapid healing had been suppressed by pregnancy and Estin was still not entirely sure she would have survived without a healer present. Now, she slept deeply, having fallen unconscious shortly after the kits were born.
“She’s so little,” mused Atall, his finger held tight by the female kit as she slept.
“Yeah, bloody adorable,” cut a man’s voice, making Estin look up as the door to the room creaked open. “Boss wants to see you, squirrel.”
Instincts flooded Estin, making him want to fight, to defend his family even without knowing or caring who was intruding. He knew better though, fighting down the rage that threatened to overcome his judgment, as he sa
w the two thieves’ guild goons standing in the doorway.
“Oria, Atall…I need you two to watch over your sister and brothers,” Estin said softly, gently passing the kits to Oria. “Let your mother know I will return shortly if she wakes.”
Estin stood up, looking over at Feanne as he walked toward the door. He felt immense regret at the idea that he might not be there when she woke, but he was not about to risk the whole family by refusing the two humans.
“What is this about?” he demanded the moment he had reached the inn’s bottom floor with the two men. “I did my work and I just want to be with my family.”
“You can go back soon,” answered the human that seemed to always be the spokesman for the two. He ushered Estin out onto the street. “The boss just has some questions. Someone made him wonder if you’re hiding something from him.”
Estin followed them without further question, though he touched each of his claws with his thumb-tip as Feanne had once taught him, making sure they were sharp enough to fight with. Not having had a chance to grab his swords, they would have to do as weapons if he needed to fight his way home. The effort of healing Feanne had drained him mentally, nearly depleting his ability to use even the most basic spells without getting himself sick. Claws would have to be enough.
They hurried through the streets, despite the late hour. Estin saw very few people out so late and the couple city guards he saw made a point of ignoring him as they walked past. That made Estin’s fur stand on end as he walked, wondering if he were headed toward an execution. He swore he would put up a fight worthy of stories if that was to be his end.
At last, the trio reached the doors of the thieves’ guild, but the two humans stopped.
“Lead on,” Estin told them, glancing over a shoulder at one man, then over the other at the second.
“Nope. You’re on your own.”
Estin’s stomach knotted painfully and the image of his new children flashed before his eyes. He would find a way to get out, even if he had to kill everyone in the city. That promise he made for himself as much as for his family.
Flicking his tail out, Estin snapped the door open to ensure that there were no traps that might strike him. It was mainly a move meant to keep him safe, but it also startled the humans, which was not by accident. He smiled slightly to himself as he went inside, knowing he had made the humans wonder what he was capable of, as he had hoped.
Estin took a full stride into the entry room, slowing once he was inside to let his eyes adjust to the dark. It was not normal for humans or elves to let their dwellings be so dark and it put Estin on edge, wondering if something had happened here.
“Come straight back,” called out the elf’s thick voice. “We keep the entryway dark at night to discourage exploration by the homeless.”
That did not set well with Estin. He could see faint movement at the edges of the long room and recognized archers, even if they likely could not see him clearly. Off to one corner, he even made out the shape of a thin person—an elf or slight human—standing with a sword laid across his or her shoulder, waiting. At the far end of the room, the door into the guild masters’ halls sat slightly open, with a beam of light escaping.
Estin studied the room for a while, focusing on the nearly-still archers. They were watching that ajar door, using its light as a guide. Whether they intended to attack him or not, that was where it would happen. As soon as he crossed the beam of light, he was an easy target.
Turning to his right, Estin rushed to the wooden wall. He dug in his claws, working his way up toward the ceiling. Once there, he slowly crawled the length of the room above the archers, who he could see looking around nervously. They had no idea where he had gone, which was exactly what he wanted.
Eventually, Estin reached the wall just above the door, hanging precariously by his fingertips from the molding a foot above the lit doorway. There he waited for a brief span, watching the dark room behind him. He could not hold himself like that forever and his hip had already begun to throb painfully/.
Estin lowered himself, bringing his head down to the edge of the doorway, then studied the archers again. All of them were aiming low on the door, where a human would need to pass through. Even if they saw him, they would need to change their angle quickly, or they would not hit him. He had to count on that.
Using his toe-claws as a pivot, Estin flipped upside-down into the next room from the top of the doorway, catching the inner wall with his hands as he darted inside. Faintly, he heard at least two bows twang as they fired, but by the time they did, he was safely inside.
Reaching back, Estin pulled the door closed and dropped to the floor.
“Clever as always,” mused the elf, standing casually against a wall. “Took long enough.”
“I was a little busy tonight,” groused Estin, lowering himself into a crouch. He kept his hands and tail free, just in case he needed to react quickly. “Any reason your archers just tried to kill me?”
“I told them to attack only if you did something crazy, which coming through a door upside-down would qualify as. As for the rest, yes, the little rodents…I nearly forgot on purpose. Happy day and all that. I did not summon you to ask about your spawn.”
Estin just watched the man and said nothing.
“I have been approached by the customer who believes you may have lied to us,” he went on, gesturing toward another door that was closed nearby. “He has paid quite handsomely to be sure you told us everything you found in that house.”
“I told you everything. The owner is gone or dead and there were no objects that appeared out of place. The maps you requested were delivered. I found nothing else. I’m guessing you sent someone to make sure I wasn’t lying. What did they have to say?”
“They said you told the truth,” admitted the master thief. “I was fine with that, as the inn isn’t terribly costly. My customer…he disagrees with my decision. He would like to hear it from you.”
Behind Estin, the door opened, but he kept his eyes on the elf, believing the man to be the greater threat. He could smell must, but no second person, making him begin to wonder if the person had actually entered the room.
“Hello, wildling,” whispered a voice close behind him.
“Who are you to drag me from my family, when I’ve done the work requested of me?” Estin demanded, turning part-way. “If you are questioning me, say so. I am done playing games.”
“Your kind never did appreciate the humor of a situation.”
Light flared into life from the hallway, revealing a man as he stepped fully into the room. Long black robes covered him from head to toe and gloves concealed his hands, including the one that held the magical light above his head.
“Altis sends its greetings,” stated the man, lowering his hood. Long black runic tattoos ran the length of his cheekbones, starting near his eyes. A mane of black hair was swept back over his head, matching the color of the tattoos. “I believe you were once one of our citizens in Altis, yes? It’s time we talked about what you owe your homeland...slave.”
*
Turessian. The necromantic tribesmen of the far north had nearly reached a point of being considered myths, until their kind had arrived back in Altis and begun the downfall of that entire section of Eldvar. Estin had fought these undead creatures several times and lost many friends to them in the process.
Corraith would need to know that they were here. While the populace claimed they had escaped the bloodshed that had ravaged Estin’s homeland, the war was coming very quickly to them if there were Turessians already here. Once he was sure people knew, Estin wanted nothing more than to find a way to flee with his family. The farther from any Turessians, the better.
The thoughts of what he needed to do raced through Estin’s mind as he struggled to ignore the pain that wracked his body. Again, a fist slammed into him, flinging him against the wall, where he slumped, his head spinning.
“I ask little of you, slave,” stated the large hum
an calmly, grabbing Estin’s chest fur and hoisting him off the floor. “Just tell me what you found and I’ll let you go or die, as you prefer.”
Estin rubbed at his jaw, feeling his hand’s fur mat with free-flowing blood from his torn muzzle. The pain of being held aloft by his fur was barely registering anymore, with all the distinct parts of his body that throbbed and screamed in agony.
“Empty room, books, desk, maps…not much else,” he wheezed, the words becoming harder to utter each time the Turessian asked. “I took some food from the kitchen, but I bet you don’t care about that. Go see for yourself. There’s nothing there.”
“You think I haven’t?”
With a casual toss, the black-robed man threw Estin across the room’s wooden desk, which he bounced off of, flopping weakly behind it in the corner of the room. As he looked up, he managed to catch the elven guild master’s eye. The man looked away quickly, his callousness of the past gone at seeing what the Turessian was capable of doing.
“Is this how you fill your promises?” Estin snapped at the elf, but the man just clenched his jaw and said nothing. “Do you think he won’t do this to your family?”
“Why do you think I won’t help you?” answered the man, then he hurried from the room, closing the door behind him.
The Turessian watched with a mildly-amused smile as the thief master left, all the while wiping his gloves off on a blood-stained rag. Even once the rag was stuffed back onto the man’s belt, Estin stared numbly at it, wondering if all the blood was his own.
“Despite what you may think, I have no appreciable interest in your family, slave,” offered the Turessian once the door was closed. “They did not explore the home I paid to have you enter. Even my master’s orders don’t really concern me too much at the moment. Your fellow wildlings are only at risk if I find that manipulating them is the only way to get the truth out of you. Let’s not go down that road, shall we?”