by Jim Galford
“You say that, but I’ve seen how your father acts,” muttered Oria, relaxing completely as the pain subsided.
She would never admit it, but it was actually quite a nice feeling to have her wounds tended to. Phaesys was gentle, unlike the healers she had grown up with, who caused very nearly as much pain as they cured. Pain was something she had been taught to deal with, but having someone offering to take it away was a relief.
“I would not defend him. His actions are a disgrace to the intent of our traditions, but as the ranking leader, I cannot question him openly. He shames me, even if I must defend his right to do so. By honor, I must protect him, no matter how much he disgraces everything our people once held dear. One may not oppose the eldest male in their family. Women might be revered, but men hold the power, whether right or wrong.”
Oria heard Phaesys cap and put away the ointment, but he made no attempt to move off of her. Slowly, the cooling sensation spread through her shoulder and neck, numbing out the pain.
“Are you just going to sit on me until my arm heals?”
Phaesys chuckled and replied, “I might consider it. It would be safer for me if I did. Perhaps Atall might even begin liking me if I kept you away from him for a time. He might be able to have more fun with the extra time on his hands.”
Twisting hard to spin herself over onto her back, Oria shoved Phaesys off of her, knocking him onto the sand.
“Like you would know anything about having fun,” she grumbled. Phaesys’ large ears went straight up, as though he had been challenged in some way. “All I ever hear from you is ‘duty this’ and ‘family that.’ Do you do anything but watch out for others and plan for the future? I am not one of your whores, so stop acting like you have some control over me.”
Phaesys’ shoulders sank somewhat and he backed away from her, lowering his eyes.
“I apologize if you thought I believed I had claim over you,” he admitted. “Never would I try to possess a woman like that and I hoped you would see that I am not like my father in that. Despite what you may think, I was raised on stories of duty and constant reminders that my marriage was key to maintaining our family’s status in the merchant guilds. Without that…”
“You’re trying to find a purpose outside this stupid betrothing thing,” Oria finished for him. “Please, stop whining about that.”
Phaesys nodded and gave her a mild glare. “When I was old enough to stand, my father taught me that a man’s duties were threefold in life. I don’t think he intended to teach me this, but he did anyway. It certainly was not through him behaving that way…I learned this in spite of him, realizing what is important by what he did wrong.
“One, a man must defend his family and kin to his dying breath, whether by his own actions, or by hiring those who can do so for him. My family was wealthy enough that my father provided that by keeping mercenaries on-hand at all times. I felt I should not rely on others, when I could learn to do it myself. I chose to be independent, learning to do what my father felt was only worthy of paying others to do.
“Two, the man must provide for his family. That includes food, shelter, and anything else they need to survive. If it means he must hunt, so be it. My father’s wealth allowed him to provide anything he wished with no risk to himself. Again, I prefer to do these things myself. My father does not approve, but I care very little about his opinion.”
Oria moved her arm around, genuinely surprised at how good it felt. Whatever Phaesys had applied had mended it nearly as well as her own father’s magic could have. She could still see the wound, but it had partially closed and was no longer bleeding.
“What does any of that have to do with females and this stupid belief that we need you to constantly protect us?” asked Oria. “And what about the third thing?”
“The third is that all women are to be someone’s wife someday and without a wife, there will be no family, no future, and nothing that the first two will ever apply to. Sadly, my father’s view is that women are a tool for expanding one’s family and little more. The rest, I learned on my own.”
“So your female that’s missing…”
“My betrothed being gone means that I have no purpose,” he admitted, shrugging. “Without her, I will have no family, no future, and no reason for being a good man. I would end up like my father, without my sense of honor and duty, which you now fault me for.”
“You’re a good male with or without her, Phaesys,” Oria said, realizing she had been nicer than she had intended and hastily hardened her tone. “You better find something new to occupy your time, instead of whining all the time about some female you hardly know. She probably has mange, anyway.”
Shaking his head, Phaesys said nothing.
“Aside from randomly trying to mount me like I was your personal slave every time I hurt myself or need to be talked down from something, I have few complaints,” Oria added, grinning at Phaesys, though he seemed to find far less humor in the idea and hugged himself nervously. “Seriously though…thank you for making sure I don’t hurt myself. I’m kind of stupid like that. It runs in the family.”
Phaesys smiled weakly after a minute and looked up at Oria with the faintest hint of mischief in his eyes. “What if I told you I had found something else to occupy my time?”
Faint prickles of nervousness crept down Oria’s ears, not really knowing what to make of the statement. “What?”
Phaesys hopped to his feet, offering a hand to Oria.
“When I say I am patrolling,” he told her as he helped her up, “I lie. Father does not know this. It’s one of the few things I do that is not according to plan and purpose.”
“You just skip your patrols? That’s not exactly…exciting.”
“No,” he laughed, “I do what I should not. I go looking for challenges in Corraith.”
“Challenges?”
“I know ways into the city that the guards have long forgotten. If you go in at night, it’s not hard to find undead lurking in the streets. Training with the others out here is hardly the way to prepare for fighting an undead army in your homeland. Going in and picking off their troops is.”
Oria was flabbergasted. She stared at Phaesys in a new light, even as he stared back with a nervous impatience. She could only guess that he was worried about how she might react.
“You lie to your father. You sneak off to a place that could get you killed. You kill undead when your own father’s orders are to go nowhere near them. You do all this…and still act this boring around me?”
“If it helps keep your opinion of me unchanged, I do look for my betrothed when I go into the city,” he admitted to her. “I have yet to find her, so I still have an excuse to keep going back.”
“That does help,” she told him playfully, punching his arm. “Now just don’t remind me about that part when you’re showing me the city and I might even be nice to you. Maybe.”
“I don’t think that is a good—”
“When do we leave?”
Phaesys sighed and began walking toward the city in the distance.
“We should arrive before dark,” he told her as Oria delightedly skipped along behind him. “Just please do not make me regret the decision, Oria. We’ll stop by the tunnels to grab weapons and armor.”
*
That night, Oria felt as though her whole life finally had meaning again as she and Phaesys ducked from shadow to shadow along the southeastern edge of Corraith’s inner walls. It was exhilarating to run free again, made more so by having someone who could keep up with her.
As they approached what Phaesys had told her was the old palace, where the council met until a few years prior, Oria became distracted by a sheet of parchment posted to the city wall. She had seen several like it as they had come in, but she had been so distracted with the excitement of Phaesys taking her into the city against everyone’s rules that she had ignored them.
“Is that supposed to be you?” she asked, staring in surprise at the sketch of a
big-eared fox wildling on the parchment. “You’re worth more money than I’ve seen in my life, if that is you. I think I could turn you in and pay to have my family carted in luxury all the way back to Altis.”
Oria grinned at her own teasing, then realized that no one had replied. She turned, planning on chiding Phaesys for walking off without her, but she found that he was still right behind her, facing away from the wall.
“Am I that boring?” Oria started to ask, but Phaesys was watching a group of five people walking their way.
“We need to run,” hissed Oria, recognizing the uneven gait of the four zombies. The fifth creature shuffled as though it belonged on its hands and feet like an animal, and Oria had no doubts it was something as bad or worse than zombies. “Phaesys…now!”
Completely ignoring her, Phaesys drew his sword slowly and balanced his stance. Almost as an afterthought, he pushed back the hood of his cloak, eliciting groans of attention from the zombies.
“This is why we came here, Oria,” Phaesys said, though he kept his attention on the looming undead. In seconds, they would be cornered against the wall. “I wanted to see if he’s still hunting my family.”
Before Oria could reply, Phaesys advanced on the undead, meeting them about ten feet from where she stood. True to their nature, the zombies rushed in headlong, growling and groaning as they reached for Phaesys, trying to drag him down.
Oria was frozen, unsure whether to run or to join Phaesys. They were supposed to be hiding from the enemy, not confronting them. Attacking a group that outnumbered them was possibly the worst idea she had ever heard of. Worse still, her claws would be useless against them.
Then, Phaesys reached the undead and Oria’s jaw fell as he darted into their midst, nimbly deflecting the many hands grasping for him, even as his sword flashed around. The zombies kept trying to catch him, to bite at him, but Phaesys was a blur of steel as he moved, keeping the long weapon slicing endlessly like a shield that could kill.
It took only seconds and the last of the zombies collapsed, still moving on the ground, but so badly torn apart that it could no longer try to attack Phaesys. Meanwhile, the fifth creature hissed and backed away, looking around for an easy escape route as it began to run.
Before the last undead could get to the first building, Phaesys chased it down, whirling mid-stride to cleave its head off. The creature made it one or two more steps and flopped limply to the ground.
As Phaesys wiped down his sword and began making his way back to her, watching the streets for anyone who might have seen him, Oria stared at him in a new light. She had known he could fight, but had never taken him seriously.
“That…that was really stupid of you,” she managed to blurt out as he came up to her, his grin fading immediately. “You could have gotten killed. Are all your plans this foolish?”
Glowering, Phaesys sheathed his sword and pulled up his hood again.
“This was the plan you came here to be a part of,” he reminded her. “It’s what I do any night I can get out here without my father finding out. I thought you would understand the need to test yourself, to challenge a superior foe…”
Oria threw her arms around Phaesys’ neck and hugged him, ignoring the pinch of his chain armor under the thin shirt he wore.
“I…what are you doing?” he asked, keeping his hands well out to his sides, as if afraid to touch her.
“I was just happy that you aren’t as boring as I’d thought,” answered Oria, realizing what she had just done. Slowly, she eased her grip and put her feet fully back on the ground. “Betrothed…”
“Yes. Still.”
“No hugs from other females?”
“No…not really. Even if I found her, I’m not to touch her yet.”
“What if I do it anyway? It’s what friends do.”
“Then my father and other ignorant men like him will call you my whore…which is not something either of us wants.”
Oria grumbled and took her arms off of Phaesys.
“You only get a hug when we go off alone to kill things,” she told him firmly, shoving him away as though he had been the one to initiate the contact. “The rest of the time, I’ll keep beating on you.”
Oria started to walk away, but did manage to see Phaesys’ slightly mischievous smile before he was able to hide it.
Maybe there was hope for him after all, she thought, making sure that she kept her own smile hidden.
Chapter Seven
“Allies Abroad”
In times of war, you put your trust into others without reservation. This is no less risky than any other time or place, but during a war, you need to trust in others to save you. It is not so much an emotional need, as a reality of the risks faced.
Rarely do you stop and think, “What if they betray me?” This would be foolish to consider, as the answer is, “Then I will die.” You cannot risk thinking that way, or you will get yourself killed by your foes, while you spend your time watching your allies.
This is not to say you do not occasionally entertain the thought of betrayal. I must admit the idea plagued me every time I came “home” and found more criminals in the house. These were the very people Feanne told me not to trust, and I now ate all my meals with them.
Given the alternatives, trust is thus immediate and often absolute in war. When Sirella offered herself and her people to aid me in fighting Arturis, it did not matter if I would have trusted her elsewhere. It was war and so I did not have to like her, but I did have to put trust in her. To me, this was no different than accepting Yoska, Finth, Linn, and others into my life in the past.
Learning that one among you is a traitor destroys hope, which is the one thing you need to keep you alive when you are unsure if your loved ones are still out there somewhere.
I put my faith in Sirella and her people, because it was all I had. Without them, I was another lost soul, wandering along in hopes that I would somehow stumble on my family by sheer dumb luck. I knew that was nearly impossible, but it was what I would have done for the rest of my days.
With Sirella, I had someone to offer suggestions of new places to hunt for my mate and children—in reality, the lost pieces of myself. She might not care about my family or my need to be complete once more, but she was someone who had also lost people to the undead and wanted to help in her small way.
We were allies and that, at least, was something. It would have to do until I could find Feanne and the kits…or die trying. And if I found them to already be dead, Sirella would be the one to either bury me beside them or aid me in hunting down their killer.
My moods had turned morbid on Sirella’s desire to retake the city. Who would not, when realizing that every city you knew of in the documented world had fallen to the undead in some fashion? Our world was gone, snatched from us by these creatures. My only hope lay in finding my family, not in changing the world. The Eldvar I had known was already conquered.
I have heard that the desire for the simple things in life is what leads to the pivotal moments in history. I do not believe this, but the intent has stuck around in the back of my mind. Where I read this, I cannot even remember now.
My own loss of family I realized to be a mirror of the changing state of the world. Challenging the disarray of the world could be a welcome relief from my inability to find a way to confront the loss of my family, even if I had no hope of even retaking a city as insignificant as Corraith.
If I did find my family alive and well though…my world would be intact again, rampaging hordes of undead or not. I would worry about that at a later time.
I realize sometimes that I have a strange sense of what makes life okay and what does not. A thousand or a hundred thousand walking corpses stand at the ready under the leadership of insane necromancers and yet I worry about a lovely fox and five silly children. Maybe my own confusion of what is important is really why I write all this down, in hopes that someone else understands, as I am certain I will not.
But now, I re
alize I’m rambling aimlessly. I promise to get my thoughts together before I write the next entry.
“Keep your head down,” Sirella hissed at Estin as they walked slowly across the packed sand of the road. “Stop trying to get me killed, you selfish rodent. Not all of those here are my people.”
Instinctively baring his teeth at her for the insult, Estin still lowered his head somewhat, keeping the sunlight from exposing his muzzle under the deep ragged hood he wore. Everyone around him likely knew he was a wildling, but he had no desire to let them see him too clearly, or get a good look at his tail. There was no telling what details Arturis had announced in his orders to hunt Estin down.
They marched among a large group of elves headed toward the northern markets, run by the gypsies. Word had come two days earlier that Arturis was allowing a select group of merchants and their servants to travel for supplies with the blessing of the city’s council—namely Arturis himself. Not that the previous ban had stopped anyone, but this particular change had caught the attention of Sirella, who in turn had requested that Estin come along.
After a month of merely looking for anything they could use against Arturis and finding exactly nothing, this was something new. Normally, they spent their days gathering more of the former guard and guild members under their banner, with half a dozen new pledges of service each day.
The pledges still made Estin nervous. From what he overheard, Sirella had since embellished her story about his rise to the council, claiming he was the foremost sculptor from Alis, recently moved to the area…she had managed to even get the city name wrong. No matter how many times he corrected her, she kept leaving out the “t” in Altis. Estin lived in fear that someone would actually ask him to show off his talents, as he would not even know where to start.
What the people around them did not know was that the long wagons they brought from the city were not even remotely filled with goods for trade. Before leaving the city, Estin had checked two of the five wagons, finding them packed with well-preserved corpses. The smell had been strong to him, but Sirella—and likely the merchants—did not notice it until standing close to the sealed carts. Piles of dried herbs had been carefully placed in each wagon, helping to further conceal the smell.