by Jim Galford
“Yeah.”
Atall raised his hand and whispered something. Abruptly, the entire black-furred section of his arm was engulfed in flames. With a wave, he dismissed the fire, leaving the fur and skin untouched.
“Turns out she was wrong,” he noted. “The more I play with fire, the less it burns.”
“Okay, now you’re scaring me, Atall. How much have you learned?”
He shrugged and started walking again. “Not as much as someone who trained, but more than I expected. I just keep trying things and some work, but some don’t. The ice spells I’d hoped would make us some easy money in town…those didn’t work at all.”
“You’ve been hiding that you can do that…”
“No,” he countered, walking a little faster to catch up with Feanne. “I just don’t like to let people see, because it makes me sick when I push myself too hard. Hard to brag on something when you’re throwing your lunch up in the sand.”
Oria kept prodding him for more information, genuinely intrigued. She knew he had been fumbling around with spells based on the books Estin had stolen from town, but this was new. Fire had never been something Estin could work with. To Oria’s dismay, Atall ignored her and kept walking, keeping close enough to Feanne that Oria could not threaten him for answers. Finally, she gave up, hunkering down under her sheet as she trudged on.
By the time they finally reached the tunnels, the sun was peaking overhead and the sands seemed to waver ahead of Oria. Heat boiled off of the desert and her feet ached with the burns that lined the pads of her feet and toes. Idly, she blamed Atall, though she was not sure if he really could have done anything to help.
Finally escaping the intense mid-day sun, Oria stopped at the first section of the tunnels where the dirt floor turned to stone. The cool blocks were soothing, pulling the heat out through her feet, until she finally felt like she was not about to burst into flames like Atall’s hand.
A little ways ahead, Feanne and Atall had stopped to wait, when Phaesys abruptly appeared from farther ahead. At his side were two well-armored elves, whose swords were sheathed, but Oria could see that their hands were ready to grab them swiftly if required. Behind those soldiers, two elves in more plain clothing waited.
“I hope your travel was safe,” announced Phaesys, giving each of them a little bow. “I had honestly not expected that you would come after the greeting we gave you yesterday. We believed you would disappear into the desert before we returned.
“I wish to, once again, extend my apologies for the rash mistakes I made yesterday. By my honor, I swear that I would have done differently, had I known you were not an enemy.”
Atall’s snort echoed off the walls.
Feanne’s ears turned slightly toward Atall, but she did not otherwise react to him.
“I accept your apology and thank you for allowing us to join you here,” said Feanne. After nearly killing Phaesys a day prior, her pleasant-sounding tone was a surprise for Oria. “When the leadership of this pack…group…is available, I would be interested in speaking with them.”
“He expected as much. Please, follow me. The children can either come along or stay with the families here while you talk.”
“I’ll watch them,” Atall announced, stepping forward. “You know I hate politics.”
Feanne smiled and passed the two little male kits over to Atall, but the female ducked under her mother’s cloak and nimbly dodged any attempts to catch her. She darted across Feanne’s back, clinging to fur or clothing to escape.
“I think this one’s coming with me,” Feanne laughed, as the girl kit poked her head out under Feanne’s arm.
Atall collected the two males, who almost immediately began fussing and trying to climb over his shoulders to get back to Feanne and the third kit. Once he did have them under some semblance of control, he followed the two plainly-dressed elves down a side tunnel, disappearing into the dark.
“They will be safe, I can assure you,” Phaesys said, as though someone had asked.
Feanne smiled, though this time not as warmly. “I know they will. You and your men know better than to lay a hand on my children. That was what yesterday was about…coming to an understanding.”
Motioning to one of the armed men, Phaesys led the small group down another tunnel. Not far down the passage, Oria realized that it was the one he had taken her down during their departure the day prior. This time, it was well-lit, revealing alcoves every few feet.
“Where were your men while we were leaving yesterday?” she asked.
Phaesys turned slightly, but kept walking. “They were hidden right here. When we passed through, I gave them a signal to follow you. What they lacked in skill fighting your mother, I believe they made up for in stealth.”
Sniffing the air, Oria realized that the combination of the old tombs and dank air hid the scent of the non-wildlings somewhat. It would have been easy for them to conceal themselves with a little preparation.
That made Oria begin to question whether Phaesys had truly been as upset as he had claimed that she was drugged. While she slept, he would have had plenty of time to prepare his men. It was something she intended to corner him about another time.
Eventually, they passed beyond the narrower halls and came out into one large chamber. At one time, Oria guessed it had been a mass burial site or some kind of family communal crypt. Now, it had been converted into a sort of audience room, where about two dozen elves and humans waited. Among them, Oria spotted several dwarves and a halfling, but they were all engaged in tasks that indicated they were not the ones expecting guests.
From the larger group, a human and a fox wildling that was colored similar to Phaesys stepped forward.
The human was dressed from toe to chin in a thick lacquered armor suit. At first glance, Oria thought it was metal the way it gleamed. A pair of light-looking curved swords were strapped across his back and a half-dozen throwing knives lined his belt. Scars marred the few visible sections of his skin, letting her know that this man was hardly a stranger to combat and likely knew how to use all the weapons he wore. Long greying black hair covered his head and chin, giving him an almost-acceptable look for a human.
The tan fox was dressed in a very different style, his thin form wrapped in elegant silks and brocaded cloth. Every physical trait of Phaesys’ that Oria had disliked was far more pronounced in this male. His claws were not just trimmed, but polished flat and the nubs painted a pale blue. His fur was carefully brushed and smoothed, as though he had never even seen the desert sands, let alone wind. As if to make him appear even more foolish to Oria, the fur along the sides of his head had been dyed slightly, giving them a faint reddish hue that only accented his oversized ears.
Oria thought hard and remembered the word she had heard Finth once use to describe such a male…“Fop.”
“Welcome!” bellowed the grey-haired human. “I hear our spokesperson has made quite an ass of himself recently.”
Phaesys clenched his jaw, but kept quiet. Oria could feel the tension in him even a few feet away and she had to try not to laugh at his expense.
“We all make mistakes,” Feanne offered gently. “Luckily, he lived to learn from it. Had his men been more devoted, I think he would have fared slightly better.”
“So he did live,” the man said with a chuckle. “I’m Norum, the head of the sad little military presence we have left from Corraith. It was my men that Phaesys led into that trap of yours. Those that lived would like to apologize…they were actually acting on my orders to disregard questionable commands in the field, just in case their leader was in some way controlled by the enemy. I’ll have to rethink that plan and remind them what is questionable and what isn’t.”
“And while I cannot speak to the military’s choice to attack you, matron,” added the wildling that Oria had already assumed to be Phaesys’ father, “I can offer my apologies to your family for my son’s overzealous behavior in asking them to do so. He does mean well, but gets a bit…
rushed…when it comes to the belief that Corraith’s forces are nearing our new home.”
The fox bowed deeply before Feanne, which raised his robes enough that Oria noticed he was wearing custom-made sandals. She had never seen a wildling manage to find or make anything more than clumsy coverings for their paw-shaped feet, so it caught her attention and not in a good way. Almost as an afterthought, she looked over at Phaesys’ feet and saw that unlike the last time she had seen him, he was wearing similar footwear.
“Please do not bow to me,” Feanne insisted, as the kit poked a head out of her cloak to blink at the crowd of people around them. “I would have you call me by name—Feanne—rather than ‘matron.’ Titles have never been kind to me.”
The other wildling smiled warmly, replying, “So I have heard. They told me that a desert witch was coming to see me. It was hardly the explanation I had hoped for when I asked who and what to expect.
“The people here call me Council Master Desphon, but I would have you call me by just my name as well. Titles are for servants, slaves, and underlings and are pointless among two freemen. Those of lowly birth have fewer options in polite conversation.”
Feanne’s sneer at the mention of servants passed seemingly unnoticed by anyone but Oria, who covered her involuntary snicker with a cough.
Oria could not help thinking of how her mother would have reacted to any wildling in her old pack who was as preposterous as this male. As an afterthought, Oria realized that for as foolish as Phaesys had proven himself, he had managed to be a far more sensible male than his father, not that it was a difficult leap to be better than awful.
“Your son was telling me that I should seek you out for information about Corraith…something I wish I had done before visiting there with my family. Would you be willing to explain more about was has happened here?”
Desphon nodded and waved them toward an exit from the larger room. “Please, come with me. This discussion is not for the peasantry.”
Not waiting for Feanne and Oria, Desphon led the way through the mostly-armored men and women in the room. Phaesys waited for the others, then followed behind Oria, taking a protective position directly behind the group. It was something Oria had seen other males do, but seemed out of place in the confines of one’s home.
The room they soon entered was opulent by any standards. Despite having started out as a tomb, the entire chamber had been filled with rugs, pillows, and tapestries. At the center of the room was a round table set low to the floor, with pillows for sitting around it. A small side-room looked to have been carved out more recently than the rest of the place, where a large bed had been set up, complete with a set of partially-open curtains.
“Sit,” Desphon implored, taking a seat himself. “You have many questions for us, I have no doubt. I certainly have a few of my own. It is the first time I have had an outlander, let alone one accused of being a witch, in my presence and I would learn from the experience.”
Oria eyed the pillow she was to sit on warily, while her mother sat down heavily on hers. Oria had never been a fan of sitting on rocks, but the ground had suited her well enough. The idea of sitting atop a pillow like the ones back at the inn seemed foolish to her…after all, why put your butt where you might later put your head? Trying to be subtle, she slid the pillow aside and sat down where it had been.
Across from Oria, Phaesys sat down. He was barely paying attention from what she could tell, staring absently toward the bed in the corner.
At first, Oria thought he might have been bored or still tired from the previous day’s exertions, but then as Oria followed his gaze, she noticed that the bed was not empty. Two fox wildlings—probably not much older than herself—occupied the bed, sleeping despite the arrival of the large group in the room. Judging how Desphon completely ignored them, she guessed they were servants, or worse, slaves.
Oria gave Phaesys a sharp look and thanked the spirits when he looked back at her. With a jerk of her head, she motioned toward the bed, then did her best to communicate questioning to him. In reply, he shrugged and appeared mildly annoyed, but Oria was not sure if it was with her or something else.
“Now, first I would like to address what my child has done,” began Desphon. He motioned toward a decanter of water and several already-filled cups on the table, but no one moved. “His actions were those of a rash boy, which I think we can agree are the type of mistakes one would expect of someone as young as he.”
“Hardly,” responded Feanne. “His actions were those of an adult who made a mistake. He confronted a superior foe with too little information. Many armies have done the same.”
“An adult?” asked Desphon, with a short laugh. “I would not call him such.”
“I would. He is nearly a year past adulthood from what I hear. In my pack, he would have already had a first hunt and possibly been chosen as someone’s mate. Why do you coddle him like a kit?”
At the word, Oria’s tiny sister peeked out from the cloak and began reaching for the nearby cups of water. Her little fingers could not quite reach it without letting go of Feanne’s leather vest, but she made cute little grunts as she struggled to get her fingers onto the cup without having to let go with her other hand.
“I treat him as is appropriate,” insisted Desphon, his brows furrowing slightly. “We do not consider our boys to be adults until six. If he were a girl, I might agree, but I would have attempted to marry him off already if that were the case. Thankfully, he is more useful than that…most of the time, though this incident calls that into question.”
The kit’s fingers brushed the cup’s lip, making it rock precariously. Water splashed over the edge, making her eyes go wide. A mischievous gleam in the kit’s eyes made Oria wonder if that was how she looked when she knew she was doing something that would get her in trouble.
“Why would your females be regarded as adults sooner than males?” Feanne questioned, sliding the cup closer to the kit. The infant frowned at having the game ended before a mess had been created, but settled for splashing at the water with her hand. “We all age the same. Oria here, as well as my son Atall, are nearly adults. Yet by your standards, Oria is more mature than her twin brother…which I would dispute greatly.”
Oria scowled at her mother, who smirked slightly without looking at her.
“Girls are ready to be women and start a household. Men…they take some time to grow up. A little extra time exploring their desires helps them be better husbands when it is time for their betrothed to be given to them.”
Feanne’s ears shifted forward angrily, even as Phaesys appeared to be praying to be anywhere else. Oria found it all amusing and watched Phaesys’ reactions, enjoying his dismay.
“So you expect your sons to bed a series of unworthy females, while your daughters are assigned mates without regard for their wishes? What of a female that prefers the male’s role? How do your people treat females who have little use for a life-mate, but wish company by night?”
“They would be cast out into the desert, as any decent parent would have already been paid dowry for their hand in marriage when they were young. Betraying that contract would be a great crime. Those without dowry can expect little better than solitary life, or the bed of a man who is as low of station as she. That is where most of our desert witches come from. I would assume this is not your origin?”
Feanne sat up straight, looking to Oria to be the most regal person in the room. Even knowing as little as they did about Corraithian culture, Oria could see that Feanne was offended by the implications.
“My mate has died,” she said calmly, though Oria saw her mother’s hand clench tightly. “We chose each other. I would never consider forcing my child—any of them—to take a mate they did not desire. It is not my choice, but theirs.”
“And there we differ,” answered Desphon, patting Phaesys’ shoulder. “My son has had a very expensive dowry paid for the girl that he will marry. That is, assuming we reclaim Corraith.”
“What does that have to do with his mate?” asked Oria, honestly confused. “You don’t need a city to take a mate. I’m not even sure why you need money for a mate. Blankets in the woods…or desert…are cheap.”
“You do need a city when your mate did not escape it,” Phaesys replied, his tone sad. “I worked to ensure my father and his…friends…were brought out. By the time I could return to save my betrothed’s family, the city was entirely held by Arturis’ creatures. I shamefully did not return, as my services were needed here, not there.”
The group remained silent briefly, as Desphon sipped at his cup of water.
“Which brings me to why I came,” noted Feanne. “What happened here? I was told nothing of undead until your son came along. In the last few months, all I heard of were the mists. Even entering the city, I saw no indication of war.”
“That,” said Desphon, raising a hand for emphasis, “is the heart of why we are all hiding in a tomb. When the mists rolled out of the deserts one morning, no one was ready for it. We believed it to be a new type of sandstorm and so we hid, expecting it to pass.
“The mist did pass, certainly, but it tore apart our walls. Buildings collapsed and thousands of people were just gone. We searched the ruins, but there were no bodies. The only thing we did find was a boat just outside town, though that had no crew and there is certainly no water for many miles around, beyond the springs in the city.
“Rebuilding was started immediately, while the sages of the area worked to determine what the mists were and where they came from. The rest of us were far too busy watching for another coming of the mists, or digging out the ruins, and we were caught off-guard when Arturis and his legion of corpses marched out of the desert one evening.
“They walked right into the city and demanded that the leaders of the town surrender themselves to his mercy. I am sure you can imagine their response when one human stood at our walls, with just a hundred undead at his back.
“Arturis left that night when we laughed at him and we thought we had won. The next day he returned.”