by Jim Galford
Feanne nodded grimly, then winced as the cup of water was dumped in her lap. Tapping the kit on the nose, she then wiped the pool of water off of her leather skirting. “How many died?” she asked.
“At first, probably half the city’s army. Once they were gone, Arturis went after the nobility and other leaders, including the merchant council. He gathered them in the middle of town, while ordering his creatures to leave everyone else alone.
“Now, mind you, everything else is second-hand knowledge. Every person you see in these tunnels had fled by that point. From what I am told, the council members of Corraith were butchered in the middle of town, while the remaining citizens watched. To add further insult, Arturis raised all of them as undead, ordering them to march forever toward the west. Likely, they are still walking.”
“So he is not turning the rest of the city?” Feanne inquired, sounding genuinely surprised. “Necromancers rarely stop once they are in control. Do you have any idea of his capabilities? His forces? Even what he looks like, so that I can avoid him if he leaves the city?”
“That, I can answer,” said Phaesys. His whiskers twitched and he finally looked back to those at the table, rather than the bed in the corner. “He is a human with a cleanly shaved face. From what I saw during his original speech to the town, he wore black robes and had tattoos near his eyes.”
Feanne’s face went slack in terror—a look that Oria knew she was mirroring. They glanced at each other and then back to Phaesys.
“Where were the tattoos and what did they look like?” asked Feanne. “Please be exact.”
Tracing swirls down from the outer corners of his eyes, Phaesys answered, “Here, on both sides. They ran down past his cheekbones. They were dark, possibly black. Had I seen them elsewhere, I would have thought them to be writing of some sort.”
“Turessian,” hissed Feanne, closing her eyes and pulling the kit to her chest. “This city fell to the people of Turessi.”
“Nonsense,” chided Desphon, with a wave of his hand. “We have been trading with Turessi for years through the gypsies. They have no reason to attack us. This Arturis is likely an imposter of some kind.”
“I doubt Turessi even exists anymore,” Feanne answered, sighing deeply. “If it does, it is not the place it was years ago. These creatures come from there, but we do not fully understand their relationship with the people of those lands. With just one here, you may stand a chance if you are prepared.”
“You have fought these creatures before?” asked Phaesys. Feanne now had his full attention.
“She’s killed them by herself,” Oria bragged, ignoring her mother’s stern glare. “Sometimes she had my father’s help, too. A little.”
“They killed many people when they came,” Feanne added. “In the last fight in the mountains, my pack lost more than a hundred people when four Turessians attacked. I believe we killed two of them, but the others may still be out there. Without seeing Arturis, I would not know if he was like them.”
“Would you teach Norum and his men to fight against Arturis and his kind?” implored Phaesys, leaning toward Feanne hopefully. “Anything would help. Our soldiers are inexperienced in any battle, but more so against a foe like this.”
“I will promise to assist how I can. I will not pledge myself to fight. I wish to see my children grow up, rather than throw myself into yet another war. One was enough.”
“We will talk further on this and I would learn more of your homeland, if you were willing to tell it,” Desphon said, tapping Phaesys on the arm. “The children can go acquaint themselves with the forces we have here, while we discuss what our options may be for training the military.”
Phaesys rose quickly to his feet and offered his hand to Oria to lead the way from the room. When she stood and waited, watching him, Phaesys began to look genuinely uncomfortable.
“Please, if you would go first,” he finally asked her.
“No. I don’t like having people I don’t know behind me.”
They stood there for more than a minute, while Feanne eyed Phaesys amusedly.
“She will wait until you die of hunger and thirst,” Oria’s mother told Phaesys, while smiling back at Oria. “I am afraid she takes after me in stubbornness. You will need to leave first.”
Finally, Phaesys groaned softly and walked from the room, hesitating just to be sure that Oria was following. Together, they left the room and moved back toward the larger chamber, where elves were practicing sword and spear maneuvers under the tutelage of Norum.
The combat was much like those Oria had seen around their camp back in the mountains, with humans wielding heavy weapons with might and skill, while the elves fluidly darted among their targets, striking lightly and often. More than once, Oria had mentally compared the average human warrior to the bear wildlings and the elves to the squirrels.
“Who were they?” Oria asked, once they were far enough away from the noise of the combat.
“Who?”
“The females back in your father’s room. I know neither was your mother, unless you’re about six months old.”
Phaesys’ nose crinkled and he nodded as they moved farther into the tunnels. There seemed to be no particular direction to their travel, which suited Oria just fine.
“They are his slaves,” explained Phaesys. “Neither is rich enough for him to take as a wife, so they will remain his companions.”
“He owns them?”
“Yes.”
“And your mother?”
Phaesys appeared confused, asking, “What of her?”
“Is she alive? If so, does she know about the slaves?”
“Yes on both counts. She has no say in father’s personal dealings and is rarely around during the day, preferring to help manage our finances among the others. Often, I think she takes some small offense to sharing her bed and would rather just be absent as a result.”
“Why haven’t any of them killed him for what he’s doing?”
Phaesys took a lot longer to answer that. “What he is doing is legal. The girls’ families had no wealth that a man would pay a dowry to become heir to, so they were sold to someone who could ensure they were sheltered and kept safe. As for my mother, she has little say in the matter.”
“No say? I’d say anyone can have a say with the right weapons and some anger. And why do you care so much if it’s legal? It’s mostly your mom’s problem, not yours. What is it to you?”
Phaesys stopped walking and turned to face Oria, though his eyes were not on her. “I have no say in the matter, Oria. My father can do as he wishes and I have no right to question him. He is sparing those two from having to live on the streets.”
“That wasn’t what I asked. I want to know why you do care, not whether you should.”
“The one on the far side,” he mused, tapping his upper chest, “with the brown spots on her fur. She was a childhood friend of mine. I adored her…until she became a slave. She says she’s happy, but…”
“She isn’t the same person now.”
“Exactly.”
They stood there for a while, each lost in their thoughts. Oria’s mind drifted to her time as a slave near Lantonne—which led her thoughts to Estin, who kept her safe there. Shaking her head to fight off the memories, she forced herself back into conversation.
“What do you think of that arrangement?” Oria asked him eventually.
“It disgusts me,” admitted Phaesys firmly. “My father wishes me to take whores to my bed because he thinks his way is the norm for young men. All I can think of is what their mothers would think of the arrangement. I could never do that to a woman. I would rather stay lonely than become like my father.”
“Mother has no money,” Oria noted, prodding Phaesys to start walking again. “Does that mean I would have to be a slave or a whore in these lands? I’m not liking the direction this is going.”
That struck more sharply than Oria had intended, making Phaesys lean against the wall for support.
“Many of the old laws are being ignored now,” he told her, though his ears slowly flattened back. If Oria had to guess, he appeared sick. “My father’s generation has less say about the way things should be. I can hope that things will change.”
“What if they don’t?”
Phaesys stared hard at Oria, then answered, “I would recommend you learn from your mother how to be a desert witch. You were raised to be wild and free…slavery would not suit you. I would not see you as an old man’s bedmate. Any man who would chain you to his side should die in the desert…but that is just my opinion, not the law here.”
“Maybe we can change the laws, then,” Oria mused, taking the lead as they walked. “How about I have a few pet males and they have no say in what I do? Seems fair.”
Phaesys nodded and kept quiet.
“I was kidding,” Oria finally told him, poking him squarely in the chest, though doing so stung a good bit. She had forgotten that he wore light chain under his garment. “Not only would mother spank me until my tail fell off, but the idea makes me sick. One male is probably too much. I couldn’t ever do what the gypsies do.”
“You’ve spent time with them? I have never met one. They tended to keep outside the city and have stayed even farther away since Corraith fell.”
Oria bounced a little in excitement. Gypsies were one of her favorite topics, though Atall often told her that she remembered them a little differently than he did.
“Let me tell you about Yoska,” she started. “He must have told us hundreds of stories. I think he made them all up, but they’re fun anyway. If I had my choice, I’d go live with the gypsies…I just couldn’t stand the idea of having a half-dozen husbands, each expecting hordes of children. Crazy people, but a lot of fun for parties.”
Phaesys’ terrified expression—especially as Oria got into the more grandiose stories, which she only embellished a little—was likely a match for Oria’s when she had first heard those same stories. She enjoyed tormenting the male with them, especially after seeing how uptight the wildlings of Corraith were. The more she found the rigid and easily-startled spots in his personality, the more she attacked those with appropriate stories.
Oria realized as she babbled on and on that this was why she had wanted a friend. She needed someone other than Atall to torture playfully. Only having one target made the game far less fun. Phaesys was quiet, but a good listener. That made him a good male to keep around. Then again, maybe Phaesys could be tormented less playfully than her brother, given what he had tried to do to them in the desert.
By the time Feanne tracked them down, Oria was halfway through her fifth story and jumped a little in surprise when she realized her mother was standing behind Phaesys—who continued to stare at Oria in shock. He seemed barely aware that she had stopped talking, still clutching his tail in his hands nervously.
“No, please, go on,” Feanne requested of her. “I certainly wish to hear Yoska’s claims that they skin foxes who don’t obey their females. I do not believe I have heard this one. It is certainly unique, compared with his other tales. I had never known him to be such a supporter of wildling female independence.”
Phaesys’ eyes slowly narrowed and one ear twitched as he released his grip on his tail. That game was over, Oria realized sadly.
“I should be going. My father will want me to check with Norum before evening to ensure the patrols are ready,” Phaesys told them as he stood. Oria did not miss the bite in his tone. Apparently, he did not enjoy her sense of humor.
Once Phaesys had left, Feanne laughed aloud, shaking her head. “You are hopeless, child. Just because he does not know better about where we come from, does not make it right to torment him so.”
Oria shrugged and hopped to her feet. “It’s good for him. He’s got all these stupid ideas about wildlings that make us as boring as any human. Besides, look at his father. Someone needs to knock some sense into them.”
That cut Feanne’s humor short. She began leading Oria through the tunnels, sniffing occasionally to determine the correct turns as she talked.
“Desphon is not a good male, but he is important among these people,” Feanne explained, her voice low so that it did not carry. “He has influence, which is valuable. I choose to ignore his faults for now, as without him, we will be facing a Turessian’s forces without an army of our own.
“For now, Desphon has offered to let us stay here. I must pay a small price for that protection, but I feel it is worth it to keep you and your siblings safe.”
“Mom, you aren’t…? Ew.”
Feanne blinked hard and then swatted Oria’s ears. “No, not that at all. I would not let him touch me. Do not be foolish. The agreement was that I will train some of the soldiers, both in magic and combat. Though I expect many are more skilled at warfare than I am, none are prepared for the ferocity of the undead, which we have more experience with. That knowledge has value to them and pays for shelter and food for us.”
“But mom, he paints his fur…”
“That does not change his importance to these people, Oria. Besides, your grandfather’s parents used berries to dye patterns in their own fur during spring festivals. It is not as uncommon as you think.”
“He owns slaves. Doesn’t that mean anything after what Estin, Atall, and I went through?”
Feanne’s jaw tightened briefly. “It means a lot. I cannot change their ways without endangering all of us, though. What I have done is request a copy of the city’s laws, so that I can better respond to such things. Maybe there is a way to free those females without insulting anyone.”
“Mom, people don’t give up slaves without being insulted.”
Feanne nodded and kept walking, leading them into another slightly larger crypt, where Oria could finally pick up the scent of Atall and the kits. How her mother had followed their scent through much of the tunnel complex, Oria had no idea. Often, Feanne’s sense of smell was shockingly good, even for their breed.
They entered the chamber and Oria found herself awestruck. While a group of elderly elven people—mostly women—sat near the entrance, several younger elves were clustered around Atall farther down the room.
The group Atall was a part of was flinging brilliant bolts of lightning and searing flames down the length of the room, decimating a pile of bones that they had set up like some kind of target.
The flashes of magical power burned into Oria’s vision, but she found she could not blink, she was so fascinated. That fascination only grew when she saw Atall join in, hurling a gout of fire toward the bones, though his blast struck the wall nearby. A cheer from the elves told her that Atall might have missed, but he had accomplished something of note.
When Feanne began growling, Oria had to pull her attention away, wondering at first if she were upset that Atall was learning magic. Instead, Oria found that Feanne was rushing across the room toward an older elven woman, who was bouncing the two male kits on her lap as she watched the wizards in their games.
“Hand me my children,” Feanne said slowly, each word forced. “Please.”
Oria knew the elf was ignorant of how much danger she was in, but even Oria had no idea why her mother was so angry. The tension was palpable though and Oria froze, wondering if her mother would actually attack an elderly woman. Deep down, she wanted to jump in the way and calm her mother, but the thought of being in front of Feanne when she was mad made Oria’s knees lock.
Slowly, the elven woman raised the squirming kits to Feanne, who pulled them to her chest and walked back to Oria. Though her face was tight with fear, the two kits immediately began wrestling with their sister, as though making up for lost time.
“What was that?” Oria asked quietly as Feanne sat down near the corner of the room, well away from anyone else. “You almost ripped that woman’s head off!”
Feanne glowered but looked up slowly at Oria. “My father’s pack was raided by elven and human furriers when I was younger than you. I still remember seeing t
hem carry off kits. It…it just set off something I am not proud of, seeing that woman holding my children.”
Sitting down beside her mother, Oria watched the kits squirm around while Feanne watched Atall practicing nearby. When Oria did look up, she was confident that her mother was not seeing anything in the room, her eyes distant.
“That’s why you agreed to stay here,” Oria said at last. “You’re scared for us.”
“Yes.”
“Can you give up leading a fight, mom?”
Feanne looked away from the explosions and studied Oria briefly. “Sometimes you surprise me, Oria. This is one of those times,” she said, mussing up the fur of one of the male kits. “I would not give it up if I thought I had a choice. With your father gone…suffice to say I will not leave the five of you alone. I cannot risk myself right now. Even I can see that.”
Oria kept her mouth shut for a while, even when Atall came over and noticed them, looking sheepish.
Soon, the wizards wandered off, along with most of the onlookers. Their group was replaced by many of Norum’s soldiers, as well as Phaesys. The group gathered up for discussion and handing out of wooden weapons, then quickly began to spar. This drew Oria’s attention, even as her thoughts drifted.
From what she could tell as she watched, these were the newer members of the militia. More experienced soldiers worked with each of the men and women, stepping them through simple tactics and how to work together. Mostly, she ignored them as they quickly wore each other out. In a pinch, Oria was fairly sure she could have taken down a half dozen of those soldiers at one time.
Soon, the inexperienced soldiers were replaced with those who had been training them, with Phaesys joining them. This made Oria’s ears perk and pulled her attention back, hoping to see just what Phaesys and his soldiers were capable of.
She watched as the soldiers grouped up into teams to practice. The men fought well, making Oria smile at the skill many showed. Then, to her surprise, Phaesys broke from his nearly-beaten group as his partner fell, sweeping through the opposing elves and humans, adapting his single-sword combat style to each opponent. Whether they used a sword or a spear, Phaesys danced through them, sweeping his weapon gracefully around their defenses.