by Jim Galford
The plan had been hasty and foolish, which made it feel natural to Estin. They had chosen to capture a half dozen of the servants, replacing them with Estin, Sirella, and four more men loyal to her. The ruse required them to do the work of the servants and travel on foot.
Early on, Sirella had expressed a desire to turn the caravan off the road, kill the merchants, and burn the wagons. Estin had refused on behalf of the merchants and so they had opted instead to stay quiet and hidden until they reached the gypsy camp, in hopes of learning more about the plan. Given how few undead seemed to be quartered within Corraith, these wagons represented a significant portion of Arturis’ army. That he would risk them had been reason enough to stick around and learn more. More importantly, Estin wanted the gypsies to help destroy these creatures, as he was not sure Sirella’s plan would actually avoid a fight.
“Almost time,” Sirella warned, elbowing Estin. “Check the horizon.”
Estin squinted and tried to focus his eyes in the bright sunlight. Faintly, he could make out a line of wagons and the peaks of tents, sheltered between two massive dunes. The village side of the two dunes was stone, creating a solid and defensible location. That would be their destination.
“Start it in motion,” he told her and set off toward the back of the train of wagons, where he would be less likely to be noticed.
Seconds later, Estin heard the crash of a wagon’s wheel shattering and the wagon dragging several more feet on three wheels. The other dozen servants rushed past him, trying to at least appear useful, though few likely had any idea how to help. Appearances were more important than skill as a slave, Estin had learned.
Estin reached the wagon behind the one where Sirella had sabotaged the wheel, taking up a position at the wagon’s sealed back, just in case the undead attempted to break free early. Thankfully, he saw no indication of movement.
“I don’t know what happened, master,” came Sirella’s voice in the distance. “We only brought two extra wheels. That was our last.”
A sharp crack of a slap on skin made Estin flinch. Sirella had volunteered for the role, but he still regretted letting her take that risk on herself. Then again, knowing her, she probably found the physical challenge to be part of the fun…and was going to hurt the person with the whip when they were done hiding.
“Take one other and get to the gypsies,” roared the man’s voice. “Bring us back another wheel so we can at least limp up to their doorstep with some semblance of pride left.”
Sirella came running a moment later, grabbing Estin as she circled around the side of the wagon.
“You look strong enough to help,” she said, a little louder than needed. “Come with me, or the master will whip us both. Stop arguing, or…something bad. Whips and…things.”
Estin hurried after her as they ran past the wagons, straight toward the gypsy camp. None of the servants would look at them, knowing that they were following orders that would mean many lashes if they failed. The unwillingness of others to even watch them made their escape simple.
They ran hard until they had passed the first sharp curve in the old road, blocking the view of anyone watching them. The high dunes were still a ways off, but no one from the caravan would be able to see them for about ten more minutes of walking.
“We don’t have a lot of time,” warned Sirella, still walking fast. “Thirty minutes there, thirty back, plus an hour at most to haggle. Two hours from now, they will send more after us, or bring the rest of the wagons. Even hurrying, we’ll have less than an hour of usable time.”
“Then we need to know why Arturis is sending an army here by then,” answered Estin, double-checking behind them for pursuit. Far behind them, Estin could make out one of the other servants who had moved ahead of the caravan and was within sight, but the man walked calmly, as though unconcerned about Sirella and Estin. Likely, he had been tasked with making sure they went where they were told.
The camp took them almost twenty minutes to reach at a fast walk. Long before they got there though, Estin could see that the place consisted of almost two dozen family wagons, with a herd of camels not far off, being tended to by children. The wagons themselves had been arranged as a sort of wall around the central area, with an opening facing the desert where five humans in crimson and grey stood watch. Beyond the guarded entrance, Estin could only make out a mass of people and activity.
Sirella leaned close to Estin as they neared the guards, telling him, “All laws are gone once we enter this place. The gypsies keep to their own and that means no regard for what Corraith says. Do nothing foolish, or we’re both dead.”
“Why would I do anything foolish?” he asked her, but something in her silence made him nervous. There was something she was not telling him. “Besides, I’ve lived with gypsies. Little would surprise me anymore.”
They continued onward, with Sirella leading the way up to the entrance to the little village and past the guards, who seemed uninterested in anything about the two newcomers, though Estin caught them subtly examining Sirella’s clothing and partially-concealed weapon. From what Yoska had taught him, these were not actually guards, but scouts, who were probably going to report back to various merchants about what wealth had entered the area and what goods might sell best.
The inside of the wagon-circle was filled with nearly two hundred people by his first guess, of all manner of dress and appearance. Relatively few were gypsies, though if Estin looked hard enough, he could spot the red-and-grey garbed humans here and there among the crowds. The majority of people were from other lands or cities, shopping at small stalls filled with every possible commodity Estin could imagine…and several he could not even identify. Several booths even contained virulent poisons—judging by the smell—which Estin knew to be illegal in many lands.
“Stay by me,” Sirella warned, veering off to one side. “People disappear here if they are alone.”
Estin obediently made his way through the crowds, trying to keep Sirella within arm’s reach at all times. He honestly was more worried about her than himself, as the merchants were watching the expensive oiled boots she wore and several had noticed the silver clasp buried in her hair. Estin probably looked like her servant and Sirella likely appeared to them as a rich woman attempting to hide her wealth.
Soon, Sirella came to a stop and said almost to herself, “This makes no sense. Everything I see here is as I remember it from years ago. Shoppers, merchants, and a lot of slaves. Why would Arturis want this place?”
Turning, Estin surveyed the tightly-packed sales area, with its dozens of stalls. Opposite the entrance, long rows of slave cages and tie-posts had been set up against the stone walls. From what Estin could see, maybe eight slaves were tied to the posts for display to shoppers.
“Lot of slaves?” he asked, eyeing the cages. “Those can’t hold more than ten or fifteen people, at most. There aren’t many at all.”
Sirella scowled at him, motioning out beyond the circle of wagons. There, near the other dune’s sheer side, Estin could make out a penned area near the camels, where no less than two hundred people stood around in tight lines, tied one to the next. Near them, several men with crossbows paced, keeping watch over their stock.
“This market provides most of the slaves for the region,” Sirella explained. “Corraith isn’t big on slavery, but other areas are. If you don’t like someone, but have something against killing them, you can sell them here for a tidy profit. The gypsies don’t ask questions. They bring slaves here from elsewhere and gather new slaves from Corraith to move abroad.”
“Sounds like you have done that before.”
She smirked evilly, but kept her mouth shut.
“What would happen if Arturis tried to turn Corraith into undead?” asked Estin, still watching the slave fields. “Would they fight back?”
“Not really,” admitted Sirella. “Corraith would fall in a day if he wanted them dead. Then the nearby cities would probably hear about it and close their gates
and possibly send armies against Corraith. I think that’s the only reason he hasn’t moved on the living. Besides, that only would get him a few thousand extra corpses.”
Estin looked around the market and back to the slaves. “And if he turned all of these people into undead?”
Sirella started to answer, but then frowned. Turning to face Estin, her eyes were wide. “Nothing. No one would notice. The market is officially illegal, even if Arturis is allowing people to come here again. No one here would ever be noticed if they vanished.”
“What would you do if you were a madman who cannot die and needed some more soldiers?”
Looking panicked, Sirella turned and ran toward the edge of the village with Estin only a few steps behind. She stopped when she reached the circle of wagons, leaning to put herself between two.
“Can you see there?” she asked, pointing out into the desert. “That is what I would do.”
Staring out at the sands with his hand over his eyes to shade them from the intense sunlight, Estin saw only a few black spots in the desert. At first, he thought to dismiss them, but he realized almost immediately that they were moving.
They were walking toward the village.
The distant shapes were still far off, but he could make out one every twenty feet apart or so. The entire village was encircled, with approaching figures everywhere but where the tall dunes already trapped the shoppers.
“What now?” Estin inquired, flicking back his hood. Here, he had little concern about being identified. If anything, the gypsies might appreciate his willingness to be open with who he was. “They’re closing on us. We just walked into the trap we were supposed to be preventing.”
“Now,” Sirella said, turning back to the village, “we run away. There is no chance of fighting that many. Ten or fifteen, maybe. There were probably fifty in the wagons. Another hundred or so coming in from the sands.”
Shouts began near the entrance of the village, soon drowning out the loud hum of conversation. Every person in the camp turned to face the entrance, where a single man stood. Estin recognized him as the servant that he had seen following them.
Lying to either side of the simply-dressed man were the bodies of the village’s guards, mangled and broken as though they had been thrown off of a cliff. Near those bodies, a half-dozen more were scattered, all of which appeared to be injured and crawling away.
Estin squinted at the lone figure, whispering, “I think we are in a lot more trouble than we thought, Sirella. One of Arturis’ soldiers, maybe?”
“Possible,” she answered, still looking around for a good escape route. “If we can gather all of the gypsy warriors, we might be able to fight our way through him and out past the rest of the zombies. We would have to act fast and hope that this is the only intelligent one Arturis sent…”
As they watched, the shabbily-dressed man ripped away his rags, revealing dark clothing and a mop of black hair that shone in the sunlight.
“It’s him,” Sirella gasped, backing away a step. “It’s actually Arturis himself.”
“Can we kill him? He stands alone. This might be our only chance,” Estin asked her, grabbing her arm when Sirella tried to run.
She shook her head vigorously, pulling her arm free. “He came to Corraith with almost nothing and killed everyone who stood against him. Nothing in this village will survive. We need to go!”
Estin searched for any glimmer of hope, seeing instead panicked people running in all directions. Beyond the wagons, the shambling army had gotten close enough to be recognizable, their blank stares and often misaligned limbs letting anyone who looked know exactly what they were.
“I have fought Turessians more than once,” pleaded Estin, while Sirella grabbed at him as though to drag him away. “They are powerful, but not as bad as you claim. There is no way he could have done what you say. Everything can be killed.”
Drawing her sword, Sirella pointed back to where Arturis stood. “That creature is about to kill everyone here. Get ready to run, or I’ll leave you here and kill your animated body tomorrow.”
As Estin watched, a man with a sword ran at Arturis, but the weapon cut across the necromancer’s chest harmlessly, slicing through his clothing, but doing little else. With an almost casual motion, Arturis caught the man’s arm, twisting it sharply. He then grabbed the man’s neck and wrenched his head at an odd angle. As screams echoed through the village, the body hit the ground limply. Before Estin looked away, the slice in Arturis’ robe had mended itself somehow.
Swearing under his breath, Estin began running, with Sirella swiftly taking the lead. The woman grabbed his arm again with her free hand, her firm grip making him think that she would drag him if he slipped up at all. To keep himself upright, he had to hop several humans that had fallen while trying to get away.
They ran past the last few scattering people and made their way to a gap between two wagons, where Sirella released Estin’s arm and leapt onto stacked wagon wheels and other spare lumber. She offered her hand to pull Estin up.
Ignoring the woman’s outstretched hand, Estin tumbled easily across the barricade. He came down on his feet just past Sirella on the sands outside the village, facing the endless expanse of desert and the long lines of slaves. Held in a kneeling position by their chains, the slaves waited silently, unaware of the approaching army behind them, where the gap between the dunes was filled with the creatures.
“Sirella,” Estin called out, but the woman was already past him and running hard, heading away from the village. If she hurried, Estin could see that at most she would need to fight her way through two approaching figures. Any delay might force a fight against many more.
Still, Estin found himself drawn elsewhere as he surveyed the slaves. Every few feet along the long chains that ran from one neck collar to the next, the slaves had been tied off to heavy blocks of stone to keep them kneeling until taken away for sale elsewhere. Every one of them had their hands tied behind their backs, giving the whole group the appearance of silently awaiting a headsman as they knelt with their heads lowered. They would never survive the attack. A hundred or more would be brutally killed without being able to so much as raise their hands to shield themselves.
What had caught Estin’s attention was not just that so many undeserving creatures had been forced to endure such humiliation, but rather that many among them were wildlings like himself. Within the hour, every one of them would become like the corpses approaching the village, gladly killing for Arturis. The thought of having to carve through his own people was nauseating, even not knowing any of these lost souls.
His eyes drifted from one humanoid to the next, Estin’s heart feeling the weight of so many who had lost their futures to slavers. The longer he watched, the more of them noticed his attention and looked up. None called out to him, but their eyes tugged at his heart, making him want to give them back their lives, rather than leaving them to the dead.
“We are leaving!” ordered Sirella, reappearing at Estin’s side. “Run!”
Estin’s eyes then fell on one particular slave and he knew that there was no chance of him leaving without doing everything in his power to save these people. This particular female slave stared back at him, her orange eyes a match for his own.
She was his breed, long striped tail and all, dressed in the same desert clothes as the other slaves. When Estin met her eyes, she gave a half-hearted wag of her tail, silently begging him to help.
Family or not, she was the first of his kind he had seen since childhood. Not one other like him had he found anywhere he had traveled, alive or dead. No one had even heard of his breed.
“I thought you already had a…never mind. Damned wildlings,” grumbled Sirella, following his gaze. “Go free her and let’s go. Once we’re safe, remind me to lecture you. I will not have you grabbing a new friend every town we visit.”
Estin growled deep in his throat and took off into the long lines of chained slaves. He drew his sword as he went, cho
pping as best he could at the chains he passed. Some broke, but most were marred deeply enough that the slaves should be able to break free. As each chain broke or appeared ready to snap, Estin kept on his forward charge, until his sword was too badly notched to cut further, and he threw it aside.
Glancing back, he saw with satisfaction that the lines of slaves behind him were freeing themselves swiftly, helping one another out of the collars.
At last, Estin reached the female wildling, who still watched him with those hauntingly large eyes. She made no attempt to stand as he approached, her body-length tail swishing behind her slowly as she stared at him expectantly. She studied him as though she had never seen one of her own kind, either.
“I won’t leave you,” Estin assured her, eyeing the chain. With only one sword left to fight their way out of the village, he knew he could not risk breaking it on the thick chains.
Reaching down, Estin grabbed hold of a link of the chain and closed his eyes. Focusing, he drew together the magic at his disposal, calling upon the spirits to do his bidding. The energy he tugged into the world, he bent and twisted like a weapon, directing it at the chain.
At first, nothing happened and Estin feared that somehow he had made a mistake. Then, the chain shattered, every link from one end of the line of slaves to the other breaking apart as though struck with a hammer.
“He calls to us to save another. He must choose whether he will join us or die there for such foolishness.”
“Let him make his mistakes, or he will not learn. The dead learn nothing.”
The scramble of voices that poured into Estin’s head made him sick and dizzy. Though the spell had gone off without issue, the rush of the spirits’ voices forced him to his knees, even as the slaves got up off of theirs and struggled free of their remaining bonds.