Into the Desert Wilds

by Jim Galford

  Eventually, the last two soldiers managed to score solid hits on Phaesys, but not before he had brought down six from their original group. No other soldier had been nearly as effective, making Oria look at Phaesys in a new light.

  Eventually, as Phaesys and his soldiers continued working, Oria’s thoughts drifted farther from the present, and she forgot about the warriors at the far end of the room. The constant banging of weapons made her think on another time, the violence awakening thoughts she preferred to ignore most days.

  She thought about the battles during her birth-father’s flight from their mother and the long months of her own slavery, not knowing if her mother was alive, but knowing that her father was dead, killed by the walking corpses of the Turessians.

  She then envisioned her mother, glorious as always in battle, destroying legions of the undead and cutting through their forces with the rest of these survivors at her back. The background noise of the soldiers lended itself well to this daydream that came often to her.

  What Oria normally would not have thought about, but did consume her that day, was the background of the images in her mind. The dead, the wounded, and the forgotten in warfare. She imagined the children and the elderly who would die to win that war, seeing in her mind’s eye the three kits, butchered or eaten by the undead, followed by Atall and even Phaesys. Even if her mother helped win the war, who knew what price it might come with.

  Her mother was right, she thought. Putting up with almost anything—even a fool male who would enslave his own breed—was better than the alternative.

  Vaguely, Oria compared the massacre of her family to the idea of being a slave to one like Desphon and could not decide which was worse. She certainly did not envy the females he held captive, but watching her family die in war was not a decidedly better option.

  *

  By the end of the first week in the crypts, Oria was ready to strangle Phaesys. Oria had grown rapidly tired of him always being around. The desire to explore the world on her own had become cramped by his need to protect others. Deep down, Oria had a suspicion that her mother had enlisted him in watching her as some kind of apology for his previous actions.

  Oria had always prided herself on her ability to seek out trouble without being caught. That had proven very difficult of late with an extra “protector” following her around.

  “What are you doing?” came Phaesys’ voice directly behind her.

  Lying flat on her stomach, fingers holding the strings of a makeshift trap that she had intended for her brother to set off when he came back to the room they shared, Oria jumped at the sound. She scrambled to catch the strings before they got away, but the trap went off quickly, causing a bucket of dirty wash-water to fall from above, dousing her.

  Even as the rank water soaked through her fur, Oria spun on Phaesys, spraying water all across the tunnel as she did.

  “Right…more games,” he noted, taking a step away from her. “I had told you yesterday that I would be here early.”

  “I was ignoring you,” muttered Oria slowly, shaking her whole body to get as much of the smelly water off of her fur as she could manage. “What did you want, or are you just here to ruin all my fun?”

  Phaesys held out a wooden sword shaped like the one he nearly always wore. It was made in the same style as the ones she had seen the soldiers using in practice.

  “Your mother was teaching the newest soldiers again today and wanted you there,” he explained, his eyes drifting over the various pieces of the trap, before coming back to Oria. A faint twinkle of amusement passed over his face, but he hid it well. “Atall was not even down in the tunnels this morning. The trap would have caught someone else, or you would have waited many hours before someone did come along.”

  Letting out a growling yip of frustration, Oria kicked the now-empty bucket aside and stormed down the hall that led toward the surface. She had gone halfway to the ramp out of the tunnels before she realized Phaesys was still right behind her.

  “What now?” she demanded, turning on him. “Why are you still here? Why are you always here?”

  Completely undaunted, Phaesys held up the wooden sword again. “Your mother’s wishes.”

  Giving her best snarl—at which Phaesys did not so much as blink—Oria grabbed the weapon from him and continued up the hallway and into the intense light of the morning.

  Within seconds, Oria’s fur began to steam as the water cooked off her, cooling her nicely for the moment, but also making the stench of the dirty water all the stronger. She stomped across the sand, trying not to breathe through her nose.

  Not far from the entrance to the tunnels, in a part of the desert that was mostly sheltered from the winds and the view of anyone farther out by a stone outcropping, Oria found her mother standing around with three dozen armored soldiers, each bearing a wooden practice weapon like the one she held. Some bore wooden spears, others swords, but every person was armed.

  To one side of the open space, Atall stood near seven unarmed elves, looking particularly nervous and jittery. Normally, she would have ignored them, but something about her brother’s demeanor told her there was a reason for the arrangement of people. Likely, Phaesys had already told her and she had ignored him, so asking now was out of the question.

  Both groups looked up at her approach, as though they had been expecting her. Some appeared pleased with her arrival, whereas others—mostly in Atall’s group—tensed. Oria’s coming indicated they were ready for…whatever it was they were going to do.

  Feanne strode closer and eyed both Phaesys and Oria, smiling as they fell into line among the soldiers. To Phaesys, she said softly, “Thank you for making her punctual. Her mood tells me she did not remember on her own. Whether intentional or accidental, you have done me a favor.”

  Clearing his throat, Phaesys looked over at Oria, then away quickly.

  “Now, I would ask how many of you are capable of facing down a user of magic,” Feanne started again, walking down the line of soldiers, eyeing each of the elves and humans, all of which stood a head taller than she. A single lizard wildling among the other soldiers was the only one who looked Feanne in the eyes.

  With Feanne nearly a foot taller than Oria, the rest of the group towered over Oria, making her a little uncomfortable.

  As Feanne passed Oria, she sniffed and wrinkled her nose, hurrying a little farther down the line. “What do you know of fighting someone with magic? What training were you given?”

  “If you can reach them, they’re already dead,” declared one man, drawing a spattering of agreeable mumbles from the others. “Wizards are weak and easily killed if you can bring a sword to bear on them.”

  “A common belief,” Feanne noted, approaching the man that had spoken. She cocked her head as she watched him, adding, “It is also potentially incorrect. What kind of spell-caster are you speaking of? Your life hangs on the details.”

  The soldier opened his mouth, but then looked puzzled as he closed it.

  “Not all users of magic are the same,” explained Feanne with a hint of amusement. “The wizards of your city would fall if you could reach them, as they have precious little protection against a blade. A healer might fall if they were outnumbered or caught off-guard. With either of these, you must either put a sword in them or a carefully-placed arrow. The specifics differ slightly.

  “I…well, I would kill you if you reached me, as that is where I am most dangerous. You are better off fighting me from a distance. Those we face might handle any of the three forms of magic.”

  “How would we know which tactics to use?” asked one of the men.

  “You will not know,” Feanne answered. “Until you see one of your friends die, you will have no way of knowing. Making it worse, you cannot be sure that someone has not learned multiple forms of magic, though most tend to specialize.”

  Feanne went over to Atall and the elves he was standing with, about twenty feet from the main group.

  “From here,”
she continued, “we can whittle your force to almost nothing. If you are fast enough, you may have a chance. This will be your training for today. If you are struck by any form of magic, back out of the combat. If you can reach out and touch any of us with your weapon, we will back out if the blow would have stopped us from using further spells against you. Keep the bloodshed to a minimum.”

  Oria leaned forward to survey the line of men she stood among. They outnumbered the other group four-to-one, but every man’s face was lined with fear. They were terrified of magic, she realized. Not just uneasy, they were genuinely afraid.

  “Don’t run in a straight line,” she insisted loudly enough for the soldiers to hear. Some turned and stared at her, but others were either too nervous or pointedly ignoring her. “Keep changing direction. Magic-users are slow, so you have to be faster or they’ll get you. A moving target is hard for them to deal with. If you’re quick and agile, you stand a better chance.”

  The soldiers returned to their stances, watching Feanne, Atall, and the others without acknowledging Oria in the slightest.

  “They will not listen,” Phaesys told her, leaning near enough that she felt his breath on her ear, startling her at how close he thought it was acceptable to be. “I have trained with many of them. Until they see what you are saying, they will act like this is any other battle.”

  “Then they will lose.”

  Phaesys nodded slowly, taking off his shield and shirt. Saying nothing, he pulled off his chain shirt, exposing his muscular, white-furred chest. He then hopped a little to test the difference in weight. He, at least, had listened to her suggestion of doing what he could to be faster.

  “When you are ready,” called out Feanne, stepping behind Atall, who stared intently at Oria. She knew he was going to be aiming for her and regretted harassing him for possibly the first time. Even if their mother had restricted his magic to non-lethal, he would find a way to hurt or humiliate her.

  “I will follow your lead,” said Phaesys, as the soldiers drew their practice weapons and braced themselves for the attack. “You know what they can do better than I.”

  “Try to keep up,” Oria warned him, digging her feet into the sand and bracing herself on her toes and claws. “Don’t lead the way. Let someone else get in front and use them to keep yourself safe.”

  “Use them how?”

  Oria smiled and lowered herself until her hands were on the ground, giving her another way to pull herself into motion. The wooden sword she tossed aside, knowing that in a real fight she would not use a weapon anyway. It was not her mother’s way, nor would it be hers. Her claws might not hold up the way Feanne’s did, but she did not want to look weak to her mother.

  She surveyed her fellow soldiers, trying to place which ones would be fastest and which she would easily outrun. The slow ones, she wanted to avoid. The faster ones, she wanted in front of her as shields.

  “Charge!” Oria screamed at the men, setting off toward Feanne’s group.

  Oria braced herself and launched sideways into the mass of running people. She forced herself to ignore the most obvious and direct path, diving and tumbling from one side to the other, sometimes narrowly avoiding getting trampled in the process. She did as her mother had taught her, making herself unpredictable as she progressed more slowly than the others.

  Magic crackled around her, but Oria could not let her attention drift, or she knew that someone would be able to catch her. It flared past her in roars and whispers, making her fur stand on end. Each time she heard another boom of magic, one or more men vanished around her, falling behind as they left the fray.

  Rolling back onto her feet after a tumble near the casters, Oria saw Atall’s intense stare as he flung his hands toward her, his spell just slightly misaimed.

  A soldier who was only a step or two ahead of Oria lit up as though he were a lantern as Atall’s spell hit him. The man stumbled away as Oria cleared the distance, while Atall frantically moved his hands through the next spell, watching Oria the whole time.

  Oria sped her pace, trying to reach her brother before he could form the next spell. It would be close, she knew, but there was a chance she could beat him. She lunged, but knew she was too late as Atall stiffened, flinging his arm toward her. Though she reached for him, she waited for the impact of flame or another force striking her body. She was just too slow this time.

  At the last moment, Phaesys leapt in front of her, catching Atall’s magic full-force, flinging him backward almost twenty feet, as Oria flattened out on the ground to avoid being struck as he passed over her. With a grunt, he tumbled hard across the sand and flopped limply.

  Deep down, Oria thanked Phaesys for his mistake, even as she made her final approach to Atall. Pulling her arm back, she swung at Atall…and then tapped him gently on the chest with her finger. With a giggle, she stuck her tongue out at him, making sure not to let him see how exhausted she really was.

  Atall swore loudly, turning and walking toward the far side of the valley, removing himself from the fight.

  Panting, Oria fell to her knees, gasping for breath. She had pushed herself too hard, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. Around her, she heard men shouting and the pops of magic going off, but her vision was blurred as she stared at the sands, just trying to breathe. Thankfully, no one else seemed to notice her, giving her a brief reprieve before she would have to act again.

  Eventually, she looked up, finding that only two of the magic-users—Feanne and an elven man—stood in front of her. Every other non-warrior had left the field.

  Behind Oria, five more of the warriors still remained, looking between Feanne and Oria for direction. Far more stood farther away, nursing bruises, or glowing oddly, while several were trying to help Phaesys off the ground. Other than appearing dazed, Phaesys seemed fine, though he was leaning on others for support.

  “Well done,” Feanne told the group, reaching down to help Oria back to her feet. Despite her choice of words, Oria saw mild scolding in her eyes at having to pick her daughter off the ground. “All of you did reasonably well. A large group of trained soldiers against a handful of wizards could have fared far worse. Now, those of you still here, I would like you to see why underestimating a wizard or healer might be fatal, even at close range. You will fight me, without any other wizards at my side.”

  Though a little uneasy on her feet, Oria wanted to run. The soldiers were smiling now, as though they had already won the battle, but she knew better. Being on this side of a battle with her mother was something she occasionally had nightmares about.

  In desperation, she glanced over her shoulder at Phaesys, who smiled at her, as though he thought this was something she wanted to do.

  “Mom, do I have to…?”

  Feanne laughed and answered, “Yes. You told me just yesterday that I should let you fight with the soldiers. I am doing so. Besides, you have seen me fight like this before. Nothing I do should be a surprise. I believe I have this under control and will not hurt anyone more than is necessary.”

  Oria felt sick, wishing she had been smarter about which battles to pick with her mother. She knew what was coming and had absolutely no desire to oppose her mother, even in mock-combat. Deep down, she wished she had taken Atall’s spell instead of Phaesys. If past experience told her anything, Oria was about to be soundly beaten. Atall wanted to hurt her, but Feanne was likely to do so by accident.

  “Join the others, Oria,” her mother insisted, smiling sweetly at her. “We should get this going, rather than make them wait.”

  Sulking, Oria slunk back to the five remaining elven soldiers, who were watching her for some clue of what was to come. None of them appeared remotely ready for what they were about to face.

  “Phaesys, please join the warriors,” Feanne called out, motioning the young male back to the group. “Your father says that you are being trained to lead, so I would have you in this group.”

  Still a little unsteady, Phaesys staggered up to the other warrio
rs, standing beside Oria as he shook off the dizziness. She wanted to reassure him, but could not find anything to say that was not discouraging.

  “I need everyone to quickly take out the other man with mom,” Oria started, then watched Feanne dismiss the wizard, leaving only herself against Oria and five others. “Never mind. Everyone just circle Feanne and pray she doesn’t use her claws.”

  “If she does?” asked a thin elven man with a spear.

  Phaesys answered for Oria as he stretched his arms, “Try to hold in your guts until a healer can reach you. This isn’t about beating her, it’s about surviving. She is better than we are…trust me in that.”

  The man’s face paled and he tightened his grip on his spear.

  “Ready when you are. You may use any skills at your disposal without fear of hurting me. You will win if you can land a solid blow to my body. Anything less will hardly stop me,” Feanne called out across the valley. Throwing aside her thin cloak, she waited for the soldiers to approach.

  “She’s half my weight and a head shorter than me. I think my daughter’s bigger,” mused one man, patting Oria on the shoulder hard enough to nearly knock her off her feet. “I think I can handle a little fox, child. By the time we’re done, she’ll be lucky if she can wag that ridiculous tail without tears.”

  Oria looked at the man in disbelief and then over at the others. Phaesys rolled his eyes and whispered advice to the other men.

  “Have any of you fought her yet?” asked Oria. “All the practices, has she taken part?”

  “Never,” said the man, eliciting nods from any not listening to Phaesys.

  “Just do what you can,” Oria said, feeling completely doomed. “I can’t prepare you for this.”

  The men laughed as if to reassure themselves, but stopped when Oria stepped behind the man who had first spoken, positioning herself so that she was completely hidden behind him. Each time the man shifted, she moved with him, keeping him in front of her.