by Jim Galford
Lowering her head, Oria nodded.
Continuing, Norum added, “Don’t get me wrong. I lose at least one soldier a day when we aren’t fighting anything, usually to drunken brawls. For all the stupid ways I’ve had my men die, this is new.”
“What will be done with me?”
“Well, that depends,” he told her, turning the sword on end. With a grunt, he drove the point into the ground in front of Oria. “Corraithian laws are clear, but with the way things have gone lately, I don’t feel right enforcing them.”
Oria stared at the gleaming blade, asking, “What does the law say will happen? Don’t spare me just because you feel like things have changed.”
“Nothing good. I’m supposed to behead you for murder,” Norum admitted, tapping the sword’s hilt for emphasis. “You owe a blood-debt to his family. All they—or someone close to them—has to do is ask and we have to kill you on the spot. Since they’re all dead, it’s my duty to execute you.”
Closing her eyes, Oria thought of the way Phaesys had looked at her when she had killed the other wildling. She trembled at the idea that he was so horrified by who she was, then did the only thing she could think of. She leaned forward, offering the back of her neck to Norum as she had seen her mother do when she was to be killed.
“You’re just gonna let me execute you?” Norum asked incredulously.
“Yes,” Oria answered, keeping her eyes tightly closed. “I did the right thing, but it all went wrong. If you are supposed to kill me for that, do so. It cost me as much as it did him.”
The sound of the sword being pulled from the hard-packed ground made Oria flinch, but she held her position.
“What were you fighting for, instead of running? I have to know.”
Smiling despite herself, Oria answered, “I was fighting to let them know I wasn’t ashamed of who I was, or of Phaesys, or of wishing I could claim him as mine. They wanted me to fear them and back down when they spoke ill of him. I won’t apologize for refusing to let them intimidate me, just because of who I love.”
“Very well. This is beyond my control, child. I hope it was worth it.”
A foot stepped to Oria’s left, then the keen edge of the sword was placed against the back of her neck.
“Give me a reason not to do this,” Norum asked her, the sword’s weight making her neck ache, even as it dug into her spine.
“No. I will always kill to protect myself and those I love,” she insisted, eyes still clamped shut. “Do what you have to. I will not be something I’m not. I’d do it again, but wish for a better ending.”
The sword lifted from Oria’s neck and she braced herself, waiting for it to strike her. Seconds ticked by, until she began to wonder if Norum had left, though she could still smell him close by. It was then that she noticed another scent.
Turning her head slightly, Oria peeked to her left, finding bare furred feet. The specific color of the pale yellowish fur and the scent that came with it left no doubt who was holding the sword.
“This is better,” she said, lowering her head again. “Take my life, if that is how it has to be. I’m not afraid, Phaesys.”
The sword clattered to the ground in front of Oria.
“We need new laws,” Phaesys told her, grabbing her by the scruff of the neck, forcing her to stand. “I had to change to deal with where you come from. Times past, I would not have even imagined grabbing a woman the way I now hold you.”
Though the grip on her neck was uncomfortable, Oria forced herself to look Phaesys in the eyes and wait. She was terrified that anything less would drive him away again.
“I will adapt how I can,” he went on. “I will do whatever it takes, Oria, but I will not stand by and watch you brutally kill another like an animal.”
Smiling weakly, Oria answered, “You know who I am now. Where does that leave us?”
Releasing her as he snarled, Phaesys paced in a tight circle, rubbing at his face. Norum sat nearby, watching them.
“I should demand that you change. I should fight to protect you. You should not have to fight for yourself, let alone like this.”
“Not going to happen, Phaesys.”
Letting out a near-roar of frustration, Phaesys growled and lunged at Oria, bringing his bared fangs right up to her whiskers. Deep down, Oria wanted to point out that he was on the verge of behaving exactly how he wanted her not to.
Laughing, Oria licked his nose and then planted her hand on Phaesys’ chest and shoved him back a step.
“I am my mother’s child,” Oria explained, lifting the dropped sword with one foot, taking it by the blade in both hands.
Putting the point of the weapon to her chest, Oria offered the hilt to Phaesys.
“Either accept me for what and who I am, or punish me as your laws require,” she told Phaesys, but he took a step away as the sword was offered.
Slapping the sword from Oria’s grip, sending it clattering near Norum’s feet, Phaesys stormed away. He walked quickly around one of the stone outcroppings, heading back toward the soldiers’ camp.
“That was…different,” mused Norum, picking up his weapon from the ground. “I can’t say I’ve seen anything quite like it.”
Oria looked over at the human, still dazed from what she had just done. She had very nearly forgotten the man was even there.
“Was I wrong in what I did?” she asked.
“Killing the idiot that attacked you…no,” answered Norum, sheathing his sword. Checking around the edge of the stones, he then added, “Among my people, you would have just gotten yourself a marriage proposal…maybe ten….just for being so bold. It isn’t proper, but it would have really caught the attention of the warriors.”
“And his people?”
Norum shook his head. “Phaesys and his family are rigid folk. I’m surprised things got this far. Times past, I would say he’d be running for the far deserts by now, hoping to find a timid woman to share his life with. Bold was the last thing I’d expect him to look for.”
“Times past? What about now?”
Grinning back at her, Norum answered, “He doesn’t know what to think. If he hadn’t grown fond of you, he’d be long gone. He hates ignoring laws, so the fact that he’d done it more than once for you is something. Take that for what it is.”
The man walked away, heading the opposite direction of Phaesys, leaving Oria to wonder what to do next. Rather than go after Phaesys, she opted for the next best thing.
Oria joined her parents, helping plan a nearly hopeless war.
*
“At sundown, we’ll be at the gates,” Estin was telling the assembled representatives from the soldiers, mostly directing his explanation at Norum, who had the greatest say in any decisions. The majority of the people appeared to be having trouble concentrating on what Estin was saying, what with the three kits crawling all over him. “I’ve already sent word to Sirella that we’re coming. She will bring who she can to meet us.”
“Before we get into planning…I have a request from the men,” Norum cut in. He gave Phaesys a glance, but then focused on Estin and Feanne as he spoke. “There’s some concern that the two of you intend to take control of the city for yourselves…after the show you put on back at Desphon’s place, I can’t say it’s unwarranted.”
Feanne shook her head and said more softly than Oria was used to, “We want to see this land secure, but we have no desire for control. Please assure your men that whatever happens, when this is done, it will be between your people and the citizens for how things will proceed. We claim no title in these lands.”
Estin squirmed uncomfortably at that, but said nothing.
“Thank you,” Norum told her, sitting back. “That means a lot.”
“What do we do after Sirella joins up with us?” asked Phaesys, sitting near Norum. From the moment he had arrived, he had pointedly ignored Oria, making her uneasy through the meeting. “Even with her people, we are barely outnumbering Arturis’ troops, never mind his own c
apabilities.”
“If we are lucky, the remaining soldiers in Corraith will change sides when they see that we have at least some force at our backs,” Feanne answered. “They may take some convincing, but they do not know of Desphon’s betrayal yet. We can use you, Phaesys, to our advantage in swaying them. Coming at sundown will also help hide our numbers.”
“That still doesn’t give us the city,” Norum added, sketching a rough circle in the packed sand in the middle of the group. He wiped away a small section.
“That’s the wall,” he explained, tapping the missing section. “And that’s where the mists did their damage. Do we walk in the front gates, or try to sneak a hundred people into the hole in the wall? Either one is dangerous if the city doesn’t welcome us.”
Phaesys then noted, “Assuming Arturis didn’t just turn around when he found the refugees had gone. He might be back in the city by now. His troops do not need to rest.”
“I would prefer the front gates,” said Estin, tapping a spot on the crude drawing. “It tells them we aren’t trying to avoid attention. Using the hole will make us look like invaders.”
“Agreed,” Norum told Estin. “But I would recommend not waiting almost eight hours to march. Every minute you give Arturis weakens our position and makes it more likely he will find this Sirella and her people. I would not wait.”
“That is where Oria comes in,” Feanne noted, smiling at Oria. “Please explain your plan.”
Swallowing hard as everyone turned to look at her, Oria dropped her eyes to her hands in her lap.
“I…I want to take a small group in ahead of our main force,” she explained, seeing Phaesys tense. Angry or not, he was still concerned about her. “I’ve already talked to some of the elves that aren’t allowed to fight alongside the rest of the soldiers…”
“The Silk Touch and their criminal allies,” groaned Norum. “I should have known. Those fools are only allowed to walk free because we don’t have any way of caging them while we move through the desert. They’re wanted thieves, most of whom have killed indiscriminately. They were to be executed next week, but I don’t feel right losing any people before a big fight. This is a very bad idea.”
Feeling her courage returning, Oria remained firm in replying, “They want the city back as much as we do. I don’t care what their reasons are. A group of practiced thieves is exactly what we need to get people inside.
“When we go in, we’ll head straight for Sirella to get an idea of the situation within the city. If there are problems, we’ll signal to all of you to stay away. In that case, we’ll sneak back out, probably with Sirella’s people.”
“No!” barked Phaesys, clenching his hands.
“I didn’t ask your permission,” Oria warned him. “This is my choice and that of the people I’m bringing with me.”
“It could work,” Norum told Phaesys, patting his leg reassuringly. “You know the Silk Touch has never gotten caught. They only came to the tunnels because we had the supplies for desert travel. If they’re willing to work with Oria, they believe she’s able to keep up with them.”
Phaesys was not budging, still insisting, “I won’t allow this.”
“Good thing you have no say in it,” Oria said, standing. “Red fire signal means to stay away. Green means the city is safe.”
Picking up her bundled cloak, Oria turned and headed toward where she was to meet with the elves, leaving the others to argue out any remaining details.
Oria was livid. After what they had been through and the talks between herself and Phaesys, she had hoped he had moved beyond his upbringing in believing he could control a female. The idea that he thought he could order her to stay out of danger—or do anything else for that matter—made her want to go all the more, to prove to him that he was being the fool.
Making her way past the refugees who filled much of the inner section of the encampment, Oria then hurried through the outer ring of soldiers. At her approach, about half of the men looked up at her, watching her with a mix of curiosity and anger.
Staying in that area of the camp for an extended period of time would not be wise, she assured herself, avoiding as many of the soldiers as she could.
Finally, Oria made her way to just outside the main encampment, where a smaller gathering waited for her. Five elven men and women sat around a stone ring where they had kept a fire the night before. As Oria came close, all five stopped what they were doing, but did not look up.
“Thought you might have changed your mind, fox,” one of the women said. Oria just barely saw her slide a dagger back into its sheath. “What did they think of the plan?”
“We’re doing it,” she told them, sitting down near the edge of the group.
Oria scanned the five elves, noting that each carried at least three daggers or knives that she could see, as well as at least one more obvious weapon like a sword or bow. Being around such heavily-armed strangers made Oria wish she still had her claws, though her knife and her brother’s would have to suffice.
“When do we go?” asked one of the men, tossing a stack of throwing knives over to Oria. Her discomfort apparently had not gone unnoticed.
“We go as soon as we can. It’ll be a few hours before the others get moving, so we’ll have time to scout things. How soon can all of you be ready?”
All five elves stood up in unison, staring at Oria expectantly.
Looking around the tiny camp area, Oria realized that despite the small tents still standing, every single item had been cleaned up and repacked. Anything nonessential was inside the tents, while each elf carried a backpack filled with what they would carry with them. Every one of them wore white linen pants and shirts, as well as a white scarf—normally the attire of those spending far more time in the desert than they intended to that afternoon.
“Okay then,” she said uncomfortably, slipping the extra knives into the belt around her waist. “You know the place better than I do. Lead the way.”
Without hesitation, the group turned and headed into the desert at a full run, or at least what was a full run for Oria’s shorter legs. Panting within minutes, Oria wished for the first time in her life that she was human or elven, with their much longer legs and stride.
They made good time, even after Oria was forced to slow her pace, bringing the whole group down to her speed. She had expected at least two hours to reach Corraith, but in a little more than one, they had slowed to a walk, approaching the city gates.
“How do we get in?” asked Oria, pulling up her hood as they got within sight of the city walls. She double-checked to be sure that her traveling cloak covered her tail as well.
“We sneak past them,” explained Lyra, the youngest of the elven women in the group and the only one that Oria had been able to hold a conversation with. “If they catch us, we kill them quickly and leave before more can arrive.”
“How does that help us retake the city if we’re killing guards?” Oria demanded, keeping her voice low, as sound had a tendency to carry near the walls.
Lyra smiled coyly back at Oria, answering, “Then don’t get caught, fox. I prefer to keep my blades clean for now.”
Oria made an active effort as they got closer to the walls to keep her ears flat back, hoping they would not show through the top of her hood. In the daylight, it would be easy enough for the guards to see her muzzle, but she had no desire to give them additional chances to recognize that she might be on Arturis’ list for execution.
“Walk slow now,” Lyra advised as they neared the open gates, where soldiers casually watched those entering and leaving. “When I say, we will walk faster.”
Peeking out of the corners of her hood, Oria saw that one of the other elves she was with picked up a small sharp-looking rock from the ground. As they neared the guards, he flicked the rock at the rump of a horse pulling a nearby wagon.
Startled, the horse whinnied and kicked, drawing the attention of all of the guards.
“Now,” whispered Lyra.
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Though they did not run, the group sped up significantly, darting past the soldiers as they watched the wagon. In seconds, the group was inside the city.
“You get to lead now, fox,” Lyra told Oria, as two of the others flanked her. “Lead and we will ensure you make it to where you’re going.”
Oria walked as quickly as she dared, coming around the large central plaza, single-mindedly making her way to Sirella’s hideout. Halfway across the plaza, Lyra caught Oria by the arm, startling her.
“Fox…look but do not react.”
Without direction, Oria checked one way and then the other. That was when she saw what Lyra was referring to.
In the middle of the plaza, a new wooden frame had been constructed. Tied to a pole that rose above the rest of the frame was Desphon, or what was left of him. Wide gashes across his chest and stomach, as well as the nearly flattened look of his muzzle left no doubt that he was dead, even if one ignored that he hung from his neck. Blood spatter across the wooden frame and even the ground up to ten feet away told Oria that his death had been anything but easy.
Surrounding the platform were nearly a hundred Corraithians, mostly staring in shock, either at the corpse, or the guards that protected it from being taken down.
In a tight ring around the wooden frame were ghouls. The slavering creatures sniffed at anything that came near them, but remained with their ward instead of attacking the citizens. Though most of the ghouls were older, no longer recognizable beyond having been human or elven, several were fresh enough that Oria recognized them from her time down in the tunnels training soldiers with Phaesys. They were among the ones who had not fled with Norum.
“Keep walking,” prodded Lyra, giving Oria a push to hurry her along. “They’ll smell you if we stay. By the hells, they might smell all of us already. Who knows what they’ll be looking for, but I’m betting your boyfriend won’t be as welcome here as we’d hoped now.”
They moved as fast as they could without drawing more attention, skirting the majority of the plaza. Once they were past the open space and into the less-occupied sections of the city, Oria led the group at a near-run, trying to get to Sirella before anything else might find them.