by Jim Galford
“Do I want to know how you could afford them? Weapons are very expensive in Corraith.”
Her shoulders bounced in a silent laugh. “Found a blacksmith—elven man who is getting a little grey around the edges—who has a thing for wildlings. I doubt he could touch his own peoples’ women without thinking of one of ours. Males with fetishes are far easier to coax into following orders than most. A swish or two of the tail and his full attention is yours…or rather, mine.”
Estin felt sick, looking down at the weapons and then back to Lorne.
“You never need to do something like that for me,” he told her firmly. “You’re not a slave anymore. You don’t have to give yourself…”
Blinking, Lorne finally turned to look fully at Estin, her glare making his words fail him. “I wouldn’t. Teasing is one thing, touching is quite another. An elf? Do you think that little of me? I just flounced around and convinced him that I would be beaten if I didn’t find a way to buy weapons.”
“I didn’t know how much you are willing to put yourself on the line.”
Lorne seemed to accept that and went back to looking at the desert. “I will risk myself no more than I have to. You’ll put your neck out to lure flesh-hungry corpses into the open, but I don’t know you well enough to do more than a little begging on your behalf, Estin. I certainly would not bed an elf just to impress you, even on a bet.”
Minutes passed and Estin finally picked up the swords, tying them to his belt before hoisting a pack filled with water and food. When Lorne did not move, Estin turned and began trudging up the hill away from the den.
“Where are you going?” Lorne asked, stopping Estin halfway up the hill.
“I honestly don’t know yet.”
Lorne sipped at the last bit of water in her cup and picked up a satchel of her own, before coming up the hill slowly behind Estin.
“Let’s start with the obvious,” she told him, stopping alongside him. “Do you know for sure that they’re alive?”
“I have to believe…”
“I’ll stop you right there, Estin. What you just said was ‘no.’”
Estin’s heart sank, making his chest ache, but he said nothing. Lowering his gaze to the ground at his feet, he tried not to think about his family’s corpses.
“You would be amazed what a slave can learn by keeping her head and tail low,” Lorne continued, using a finger to lift Estin’s muzzle. I cannot help you know where to look if they are alive, but would you like to be certain whether or not they’re dead?”
Estin furrowed his brows and stared at the female, searching her face for any deceit. There was none that he could see. She appeared sincere.
“How could you know for certain?” he asked.
Beginning to walk past him, Lorne talked over her shoulder, forcing Estin to follow. “The gypsy camp was not attacked just because they would not be missed, as I’ve heard Sirella say. That was part of it, I’m sure, but the truth is that they found something they should not have. I think that’s the real reason for the attack.”
“How do you know this?” he demanded, hurrying to get back to her side.
“I was part of the scouting group that found it,” Lorne answered with a smile. “When I got sick of my chains, I would convince people of my skills at one thing or another. That day, I was one of three slaves who claimed to be skilled trackers. After all, how hard could it be?”
“Can you track?”
“I can barely find food on a shelf, even with a nose this size,” she giggled, tapping her muzzle with her palm. “You’d be amazed how many humans believe that we are all bloodhounds, just because of the fur. Make a few snuffling noises and they will follow you anywhere. I’m not even sure the others could track, either.”
“What did you find and who knows?”
Lorne shrugged as she walked, occasionally glancing at the sky or the hills, then turned slightly. “The only ones who knew are probably dead,” she told him. Briefly, Lorne stopped and squinted at the horizon before setting off again. “Arturis knows, but I’d rather not talk with him about it.”
“You met him?” Estin asked, grabbing Lorne to stop her. “How are you alive?”
“I ran. Quickly. The others with me were not nearly so lucky.”
Estin began to put the pieces together as Lorne set off again. “So you think he went after the gypsies because he followed you back?”
“Yes. I have no doubts at all.”
“What did you find?”
Lorne smiled and hurried her pace, but refused to say anything further.
They walked for hours, stopping only long enough for Lorne to catch her breath and take a few sips of water before they set off again. When Lorne at last slowed their pace to look around, Estin noted that it was afternoon. Lorne spent a long time staring at the sand dunes around them, trying to find something. It seemed as if they had not ended where she intended.
“It was near here,” she said mostly to herself, as she padded down several dunes. “I’m sure of it.”
“How can you tell one place from another?” Estin asked, looking around at the endless hills of sand in all directions. He was as good as lost and he knew it. About all he could say for certain was that he was west or northwest of the city. “There are no landmarks.”
“There are, you just need to know that you’re looking for something general, not specifics,” she explained, kicking a plume of sand in frustration. “Which is why I can’t find what I’m looking for. I can tell by time of day and the look of the area that we’re close, but that is the best I can do.”
Estin began working his way around the dunes, trying to help as best he could, even as Lorne swore nearby. With each valley she checked, she grew more and more agitated. Soon, she apparently gave up entirely, simply standing on one dune, glaring at the whole of the desert with arms crossed over her chest.
Coming around another hill, Estin was going to ask what he was looking for when he found himself staring straight at it.
Hidden by the shifting sands around it, a stone doorway lay nestled in the side of a dune. The door was slightly open, as though it had been sealed at one time and now did not quite fit into its frame. There were no details on the frame itself, though the stone was deeply etched by sand that had beaten against it for many years.
“Are we looking for a large stone door?” he asked loudly, peeking around the edge of the door and sniffing at the opening.
“Yes!” cried Lorne, leaping from the hilltop. She stumbled to a stop alongside Estin, grinning broadly as she pulled up her skirt to keep from tripping over it. “This is it.”
Without waiting for Estin, Lorne grabbed at the edge of the door, tugging at it until it inched open slightly. To Estin’s amazement, she slid into the darkness through the tiny opening. He never would have thought it large enough for any humanoid to get through.
Estin put one foot up on the doorframe, yanking it open a little wider. Once the opening was large enough he thought he could get through without having to wedge himself, Estin squeezed through and into the cooler dark beyond.
The cave Estin entered was nearly pitch black, aside from the light spilling in behind him. It took him almost a full minute to adjust, letting his eyes grow slowly accustomed to the lack of blazing sunlight. Once they did, he could faintly make out a tunnel that led forward and then sloped downward into an inky blackness even his eyes could not penetrate.
As she popped back into the entryway, Lorne’s eyes gleamed faintly orange. She gestured frantically to him and then darted back into the darkness.
Estin walked slowly forward, trying to keep from tripping over the uneven stones set into the floor. For a short distance, he was able to see, but soon the dark was complete enough that his eyes could pick up nothing. Several steps farther, Estin was able to faintly see the dim glow of lighting again.
With each step, the glow ahead of him grew a little brighter, until Estin was able to walk comfortably again. The light was coming from
small patches of palely glowing moss that grew along the walls of the tunnel. The farther he moved away from the heat of the surface, the thicker the moss grew, and thus the more light filled the hallway.
Estin was certain that the light in the tunnel was still dim enough that he could have easily lost a human or elven pursuer. Despite this, his eyes soon adjusted enough that he could see the white stripes of Lorne’s tail twenty feet ahead of him. The rings were easy for him to follow, bouncing with each step she took.
Suddenly, Lorne’s tail vanished as she turned off the main tunnel. Estin walked faster, soon reaching the place where he had last seen her. When he looked to either side, he found that the hall had opened up into a larger cavern, though the ceiling had not risen much.
“Lorne?” he whispered, listening intently, but hearing only dripping water at first. Then, there was a footstep not far away.
“Sorry, I had to be sure he wasn’t here,” explained Lorne, appearing from the shadows off to his left. “Last time, Arturis was here when we arrived. He hid until we had explored, then ambushed us.”
Lorne grabbed Estin’s hand and pulled him deeper into the large room, leading him around mounds that he could not quite make out. They soon reached a long table that could have been made of anything for all Estin could see in the dim light.
“Hold still while I find the torches,” warned Lorne, patting his hand before disappearing again.
Seconds later, the room exploded in comparatively-intense light as a torch was lit nearby. While Estin’s eyes adjusted, Lorne lit two more torches using the first and came back to his side.
“This is what I wanted to show you,” she explained, motioning broadly in all directions as she leaned against the stone table they had stopped beside. “This is why Sirella and others fight against Arturis, even if they don’t know it. It is also where your family would be if Arturis found them.”
Estin looked around slowly, his eyes widening and his ears flattening out in fear as he saw hundreds of corpses piled in jumbled mounds on one side of the room. On the other side, he found dozens of makeshift tables or biers, each with one or two bodies on it. None of the corpses were moving…yet…but Estin’s panic deepened as he realized that they would have to go past most of the bodies to leave.
“What is this?” he asked, unable to find more words. The farther out he looked, the more bodies he saw. Some among them were the colors of the gypsies who had died during Arturis’ latest attack.
Picking up a large book from the table behind her, Lorne opened it and paged through it briefly. Finding something specific, she moved a cloth bookmark to that page and then held the book out to Estin.
“Read for yourself. The bookmarked page is what I found during the last visit. The rest is beyond my understanding.”
Estin took the book gingerly, unable to look at it for more than a few seconds before searching the room again for movement. Each time he looked around, he tried to spot familiar shades of fox-red, but he had not seen anything similar just yet.
“I’ll watch them,” Lorne promised, touching Estin’s hand gently. “Read it.”
Opening the book first to a place near the beginning, he found roughly-sketched maps. At first glance, he thought them to be of the deserts surrounding Corraith, but he quickly realized they covered vast sections of the region, including paths and roads to nearby cities. Other, more distant regions were also heavily documented by the maps. Several of the newer maps were copies of the ones Estin had secured for Arturis months earlier.
Skimming past the maps, Estin then turned to a point in the book where a cloth marker was placed. Once there, Estin sped over the text until he found a section that stood out to him.
Attempts to create more of my kind are proving futile. The blessing of immortality like my own is nearly beyond my reach to grant to others. A willing target before their death is difficult enough, but the dead are impossible without finding a new region of healing magic.
Who would have thought that the circles of healing we kept in every major building in days past would now be the key to my peoples’ final rise to their rightful place in this dying world, or that they would be the one thing we lack in that effort?
Then again, there still must be more in these old stone vaults than I have found. Perhaps I will not need the old circles to work, if I can find what was hidden here. West of the city is pointless, as most of the tunnels are collapsed…I had not realized that they had earthquakes out here, but now I know it all too well. Perhaps the northern crypts still hold something of value. Dorralt insists I keep looking, without explaining why.
Turess would roll over in his grave if he knew how far these lands have fallen from the ancient days.
Ancestors grant me the strength to complete the task my brethren set before me.
Bitterness is one emotion I doubted I would feel during this century, but I was wrong. So many viable brethren to join the new empire of Turessi, but they lay so still and lifeless. Not one has been properly trained or educated on their role in the one true society. Even if I find a way to bring them into the family, it will take me years…maybe decades…to bring them up to my degree of skill in the arts we require of our newest members.
For now, I will sort those who had to fall, finding those worthy of our gift. As much as I detest mindless zombies, those who are no more worthy than slaves will need to be raised as such to further my searching—that, at least, I can do on my own in such vast abundance. Some, I will continue raising as ghouls, as these have proven far more useful, if only to taunt that useless wildling twit that Varra so wished to have join us.
I have yet to decide if he is being punished for my own reasons, or out of spite for Varra’s incompetence. Either way, the games continue. My master has not objected.
Maddening! Before long, I will have filled my little home with the bodies of those I wish to call brothers and sisters, yet they will continue to dry slowly in the desert air…
Estin stared in disbelief at the book and then back to the long rows of bodies. Now that he knew what he was looking at, he saw that every man and woman on a table was arranged respectfully, as though they were a relative about to be laid to rest.
Numbly, Estin set aside the book and began walking among the small tables. He passed them slowly, taking in the morbid details of each.
Every body showed signs of a violent death, often bearing the marks of a zombie’s teeth or a weapon-wound. All of the wounds had been cleaned though, and whatever horror the dead had witnessed had been soothed away on their faces, leaving them peaceful. Some had even had their wounds sewn shut, as though the act would benefit them in some way.
After several tables, Estin noticed that there were small parchment notes on the chest of each body. They had been set under a pebble on every corpse, as though to keep them from being lost by accident, or blown away.
Picking up one such note, Estin turned it over in his hand to see that a single line of text was scribbled on it.
“Mighty warrior…died bravely. Should rise as a knight.”
Estin turned to the next-closest body, picking up the note that had been on the woman’s shoulder.
“Noble healer…died protecting others. Will rise to heal Turessian faithful.”
Setting back down the notes, Estin turned to Lorne, who stood where he had left her. A look of sympathy was on her face, as though she understood what he was feeling. Likely, she did, as she had come here and witnessed all of it herself.
“He’s trying to create a legion of creatures like him,” Estin whispered, barely believing that such a thing was possible. He had feared for one or two Turessians, but an army was beyond his worst nightmares.
“No,” Lorne corrected, “he’s creating a family. That and…”
Her words trailed off as Lorne looked back toward the other side of the room. The droop in her tail told Estin there was more to her thoughts than sadness at seeing corpses.
Another cursory glance around the well-t
reated bodies revealed that the majority were elven or human—which made sense given that they were the dominant races in Corraith. A spattering of dwarves were present as well. After searching the bodies a little harder, he found a pair of ogres near the far wall.
The clothing of the fallen ranged from those of a pauper to the gleaming silks of nobility. These were people from all walks of life, who Arturis wished to make into his equals. Unlike traditional society, his view of who was worthy was far more balanced for the most part.
Walking past Lorne, Estin made his way to the far side of the room, which was shockingly different. Whereas the first section was neat and respectful, this area appeared as if Arturis had actually thrown the bodies here. The piles of corpses were actually quite random, in places the result of the thrown bodies hitting others and stopping there.
The first telling thing about the dead in that area that caught Estin’s attention was the outfits. Most of these corpses had been laborers and servants. That much he could make out from the style of clothing, as well as the calloused hands of many. There might be as many poor folk in the other section of the room, but these were most likely the uneducated and untrained.
It was then that Estin realized that more than half the bodies in that area were either halflings or wildlings. These were the races that anyone from Altis—or Turessi, Estin realized from things he had been told in the past—would have seen as slaves by virtue of their race alone. Another check of the well-kept bodies showed him that there were none of those races among them at all. Also, he only saw orcs in the piles, not one among those on tables, though he did not understand the relationship there.
“These,” said Lorne, walking past Estin to kneel beside a mangled heap of fur and exposed bone, “were my friends.”
Lorne let her hand roam near each body as she spoke, but she was careful not to touch them. Sorrow was one thing, but exposing herself to gore seemed quite another.
“Niessel came with me from my birth lands—a fellow handmaiden. An amazing singer and a lovely halfling lady. Had she been born elsewhere, she could have been nobility, of that I’m sure. Here in Corraith, her skills could have made her singularly wealthy.