Bones of the Empire

by Jim Galford

  *

  Nearly a week later, Raeln was woken early and led across the snow-laden plains by Ceran, Yiral, and the clan’s other preserver—Orls, the man who had branded them. They headed to some kind of meeting, though they had no reason to explain the specifics to him, Yoska, or Dalania. All he knew was that they set off before dawn and had been hiking for hours. Neither Yoska nor Dalania knew what was going on either. All three had been hurried out of the village before anyone else had woken.

  The three slaves, their hands fastened with leather and then tied to long ropes attached to the saddles of the horses, were the only non-Turessians brought along. Behind them, seven immaculate Turessian zombies lumbered along on foot, their emotionless eyes on the path ahead, never faltering and never slowing. The zombies were far closer than Raeln would have liked, though his constant watch of them made it easier to forget how tired his feet were getting.

  They walked for hours, well past midday, until Yoska was shaking violently from the cold despite his heavy clothing and cloak. Dalania shivered, and her green-tinted skin looked a little more brown than usual, but otherwise she managed to endure the cold more or less naked as always. Raeln’s paws were numb, but he could keep going a few more hours if he had to, which was likely, as they would have to make the whole return trip. He had endured worse back in the mountains near Altis, but that did not make it any more pleasant. Deep down, he thanked Greth for teaching him how to deal with the harsh winters. Before meeting Greth, this walk alone might have killed him.

  Ahead of them, there were a few rock formations rising from the snow near a thinly wooded area, but little else that Raeln could see. He could not imagine what their destination might be. He almost hoped Yoska had ignored his request to leave the knives behind, given that the area felt more like a burial ground than a true destination. It would be nice to see Yoska put a blade in a foe who would actually stay dead.

  “We will stop here and wait,” Yiral announced as they neared the woods. “The others should meet us within an hour.”

  The group stopped at the edge of the woods, with the four Turessians dismounting to feed and tend to their horses. The seven undead waited silently in the windy area outside the trees, their deep hoods almost making them look alive. Were it not for their faint scent of decay, Raeln could have imagined living troops standing behind him. With little else to think about, he wondered idly whether the Turessian children went undead-tipping, the way he and his sister had tipped cows as children.

  The Turessians ignored Raeln and the others, leaving them tied to the horses as preparations were made. Raeln fidgeted with the leather strap on his wrists, hoping to loosen it. The cord had tightened steadily as they walked, and even without removing it, he could see blood in his fur where it had cut in deeply. He could definitely get his claws into the rope that held him to the horses with effort, but that would accomplish little, as his claws were strong but not sharp. He needed a knife.

  “You are to remain silent and behave yourselves,” Ceran warned as she came around the horse to face Raeln. With a scowl at his wrists, she pulled the rope off the horse’s saddle and led him into the trees. Behind, Yiral and Orls brought Dalania and Yoska. They were taken into a section of the woods where the winds were far calmer and a stone outcropping nearby sheltered them from any storm that might come.

  The whole way into the trees, Raeln thought through how to take out all three Turessians, should the need arise. Ceran was certainly close enough that he could break her neck before she could cast a spell. Orls and Yiral would be more difficult, especially with his hands still bound. Killing Yiral might nag at his conscience, given her age, but he knew he had to be ready.

  “Kneel,” Ceran commanded a minute after they arrived in the shelter of the stones. When Raeln did not move, she stepped in front of him and stared at him with a chilling calm that made him question his decision to resist. “You owe your life to me, Raeln. Get on your knees and do not say a word unless we ask you to. We both know I can force you to do this, but I am trying to respect you and not resort to that. Earn that respect, and do not force me to treat you the way I have been commanded to by the council.”

  Slowly kneeling, Raeln did not look away. Yoska and Dalania knelt at his sides, and the other preservers handed their ropes to Ceran.

  “Those who are coming are less willing to accept who and what you are,” she warned, glancing back the way they had come. “I cannot protect the three of you if you are imbeciles. Remain calm and silent, and we all may live through this. Pride that leads you to resist will wind up with all of us in shallow, unmarked graves where our families will never find us to honor our memories.”

  While Ceran watched the trees for whatever was coming, Yoska nudged Raeln with his elbow and adjusted his thick jacket so Raeln could see the two hunting knives strapped to his chest with a cord of leather. He quickly shifted to hide them again as Ceran turned back to face them.

  “The others are here,” she announced, sounding worried. “Now we see how well we can negotiate this.”

  From the woods, three more Turessians appeared, walking until they were about ten feet from Raeln and the others. These newcomers remained silent once they had stopped walking, their hooded heads turning slowly to survey the woods around them, as though expecting a trap.

  After a minute of both parties quietly standing there, one of the other Turessians lowered his hood and spoke. “You believe these slaves to be the ones the council wanted?” he asked, his attention on Raeln. “The council’s people came to us days ago asking, so I assume you received the same visit?”

  Tensing his muscles until they ached, Raeln felt the leather strap on his wrists creak and stretch. Even if it held, he could fight with feet and fangs easily enough. He only needed to get as far as Yoska’s knives, and he would be able to kill at least half of the humans around them, assuming he could avoid the first few spells they threw his way.

  “The representatives came to us and gave descriptions of these three. Did you bring the proof that we made the right choice?” Ceran asked, moving between the other Turessian and Raeln. “We traveled far to see if you would uphold your portion of the bargain, Nellic. Your clan gains little from doubting us.”

  Nellic nodded and produced a scroll tube from under his heavy black mantle. He tossed it into the shallow snow halfway between the two groups and backed up a step so the other two with him were at his sides. “You know there was one more thing we wish to do before we’re sure, preserver. I have my commands, and my honor requires me to obey, no matter the cost.”

  “I am aware,” Ceran replied. “I am to ask you to step away from that scroll and leave. I will protect these three with my life and the lives of my fellow preservers. I swore an oath to their safety. We both have promises that we cannot break. Our honor is at odds.”

  Nellic bowed deeply. As he stood again, he added, “You should know that the command was given by a new council member that I have not heard of before now. Dorralt is the name I was given, passed to me by another council member I have not heard of, named Liris. Both are old names, it would seem. None of the clans use those names for their children in any recent memory. Dorralt’s orders are for us to kill those three behind you, and we were told that oaths no longer matter.”

  Ceran winced, pulling her hands out of her sleeves as the other five Turessians did the same. For a moment, Raeln honestly thought they were bluffing. None of them appeared angry or hostile, convincing him this had to be some form of Turessian custom. At any moment, they would all relax and talk out whatever was going on…hopefully leading to the release of the three slaves, though he knew that was unlikely.

  The entire area abruptly lit in harsh reds and whites as lightning and flame erupted from the hands of both parties, singeing Raeln’s face as he threw himself backward, yanking the rope from Ceran’s hand as she continued to fight. Neither side seemed to be making any progress, their spells evenly matched. For all the raw magical power unleashed, Raeln sa
w far more damage to the woods than to either group.

  Rolling away from an explosion of flame, Raeln scrambled for Yoska as the gypsy finished cutting away Dalania’s bonds. Within seconds Yoska had Raeln free as well and hurriedly pushed Dalania for the horses, running to get away from the battle. Almost as an afterthought, Yoska kicked the legs out from under one of the undead as they made their way out of the clearing where the Turessians continued to fight.

  A groan and the sound of a body hitting the ground made Raeln look back. Near Ceran, Yiral lay on the ground, clutching her arm. Orls was already facedown and unmoving. Only Ceran remained fighting against Nellic and his companions, and Raeln could tell she would not last long. She was already starting to slow as she resorted to a full-on defense, with no time to fight back. Explosions of white and blue light near her forced her back a step at a time as she struggled to hold back the deadly spells. A few more feet and she would be pinned against the stone outcropping with no way to retreat.

  Raeln hesitated and could not even say why. He wanted to be free, to get as far from Turessi as he could, but his upbringing got the better of him. Enemy or not, Ceran had just openly declared her willingness to fight to the death to save him and his friends for no good reason. He could not let her die while he ran. He would not let himself accept that much dishonor. He could not meet his own end knowing he had let someone—even an enemy in their own right—die trying to spare him.

  Snarling out of anger at himself, Raeln turned and ran into the battle, narrowly avoiding shards of stone that erupted from the snow at a gesture from Nellic. He raced between one spell after another. With one last lunge as Nellic attempted to round on him without ending his fight with Ceran, Raeln slammed his palm into Nellic’s chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. A follow-up sweeping kick took his feet out from under him, and Raeln finished him off with a punch to his throat. Nellic gasped and choked as he lay dying, with Raeln kneeling over him.

  Raeln realized then that there was no further sound of battle. Raising his eyes, he saw the two other Turessians who had come with Nellic were kneeling toward Ceran, their heads pressed to the ground. Ceran and her group stood calmly—Orls’s and Yiral’s injuries far less severe than they had seemed—while Yoska and Dalania waited fifty feet away with a horse’s reins in-hand and Yoska beckoning.

  “Such a stupid prophecy,” noted Ceran, walking over to each of the kneeling Turessians and motioning for them to rise. They both rose to one knee but did not stand. “We had to see if you would fight for your mortal enemies out of honor. That was essential.”

  Raeln skin went icy even with his thick clothing as he looked down at Nellic, staring lifelessly at the sky. “He knew this?”

  “Yes. We all did.”

  “You had me kill an innocent man as a test?” Raeln demanded, checking Nellic’s neck for a pulse. “Heal him!”

  “We do not do that. When life ends, we do not twist fate to bring them back without a very good reason. He will rise as an honored ancestor. He fulfilled his role willingly. There is no lack of honor in that.”

  “You made me a murderer for no reason!”

  Ceran came over, knelt in front of Raeln, and picked up the scroll tube that lay nearby. “His clan was honor-bound to the council and would be forced to kill every member of ours to find the three of you. Turess himself saw this in a fashion and left each clan a singular order that they were to wait to fulfil. Nellic’s clan was waiting for us to ask for them to betray their honor—and for a wildling or orc to risk his or her life to enforce our request. We are the victors, and his entire clan will seek to redeem their honor with our clan, ensuring their support. This morning, we were the smallest of the clans, standing against the council and their new master…who you named before I knew of him. Now we are two clans, and we know our enemy for certain. A single life was worth that, and Nellic knew it. He made his choice, as I made mine when I allowed you to live against the council’s explicit orders.”

  “Why?” Raeln asked. Yoska and Dalania cautiously approached, still leading the horse. “Why spare us? Why do any of this?”

  “Our clan’s bit of prophecy,” she answered, setting the scroll in her lap. As she spoke, Ceran traced the engraving on the tube with her fingertip. “We were to be the destruction for your kind. Two thousand years, our clan has never had orcs or wildlings among our slaves, though we often traded them to other clans. We were named the council’s sword, and we marched against the most barbaric of our neighbors. There were two signs that we were to embrace those we held lowest in the world and change our ways—one was the fall of darkness over the lands, and the other was a simple greeting from an old friend. The darkness was our warning months ago. The greeting only confirmed what we knew.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will, Raeln. Give me time to consult with the clans, and we will explain everything. You have my word.”

  Raeln looked over at Yoska and Dalania, wishing he could run with them, but he had to know what he had just gotten himself involved in. Straightening his shoulders, he shouted, “Run!”

  Yoska practically threw Dalania over the horse’s back and slapped its rump as he leaped up behind her. After about a half dozen steps, the horse stopped.

  Chuckling, Ceran said, “We train all of our servants well, including the horses. You still have not finished learning, Raeln. Do not push my willingness to let you live. The prophecy does not say what condition you are to be in, nor does it say how many would be with you.”

  “If we’re so important—”

  “I never said important, wildling. You have a role to play. That will not spare you from the whip. You can spare the others, though. What you just asked them to do is punishable by death. I will accept a few lashes, given what you have done before now. This is becoming a bad habit of yours.”

  Lowering his head in defeat, Raeln nodded his agreement. Not for the first time, he dearly wished he had ignored On’esquin’s urging to travel north.

  *

  “Are you all right, Raeln?”

  Coughing, Raeln grunted what he hoped sounded like an affirmative statement. For a moment, he had no idea where he was. Pain flooded his mind and body as he tried to get up. But while his legs and arms seemed to still have some strength, the muscles of his back gave out immediately, and he fell back down on his stomach. Memories of the beating he had gotten for trying to flee and for attacking a Turessian—even in defense of the ones who whipped him and fulfillment of the prophecy—came back slowly. Even breathing hurt incredibly. When he tried to push himself up, his arm shook, and he looked down at his wrists to see brutally torn flesh from manacles. He had forgotten they had chained him during the whipping, and his wrists had been badly torn up as the whip had battered him.

  “I’ve done what I can,” Dalania was saying as she put a wet cloth to his mouth. The moisture burned his gums, making him realize how dry his tongue and nose had been. “They will not heal you this time. Attacking any Turessian is normally punishable by death. You were spared. They even took the last of the salve they gave us the last time. I think they want these wounds to last.”

  Attempting to get up again, Raeln had to use every ounce of his concentration to ignore the burning across his back. He hoped the wetness all across his fur was from Dalania’s cloth, but he had his doubts. Once he got himself sitting straight despite the pain, he asked, “How long was I out this time?”

  “Overnight. The representatives from the other clan have arrived. From what Yiral told Yoska when you were carried back, if the clans do not come to an agreement, you and any other ‘savages’ will be executed immediately and the clan will return to the council’s service. If this clan refuses, every member of the clan dies.”

  “How long?” he asked through gritted teeth. The moisture on his back was warm and getting worse. He really did not want to know how bad things were.

  “They’ve been meeting for a few hours.”

  Looking around, Raeln realiz
ed Yoska lay in a crumpled heap on his mat, one arm and his blanket draped across his head. “Is the old man alive?” Raeln asked, half-expecting a rude reply from Yoska.

  “He is, but his nose and pride were broken after he called Ceran an honorless dog for having you whipped. I believe he managed to spit on her before she beat him with her fists. I was doubting for a while that she intended to let him live either.”

  Crawling, Raeln made his way over to Yoska. Lifting the edge of the blanket that had been draped over his face, Raeln saw Yoska had attempted to set the bones, but the wound would be ugly when it healed and the skin across much of his face was a deep purple. Likely, that knowledge was more painful to Yoska than the wound itself, though he was sleeping it off.

  “Next time I say to run, do not wait for me,” Raeln told Dalania. “Take any opportunity to flee. I will take the punishment for it.”

  Sighing, Dalania came over and pressed her cloth to his back, stinging the raw flesh. “Do you know why I was in Lantonne in the first place, Raeln?”

  “No. I don’t care. I’m giving you an order. Is Feanne the only one who actually listens to me when I give an order?”

  “My father’s father was born up in the woods near Altis. My father wanted me to return to the woods that we once considered our home. Now, I don’t even care about that wish. I’m far more concerned with going home—any home—with people I care about. You are my family, Raeln, and home is where the last of my family is. I will not leave you to die out here. I doubt Yoska will let you stay alone either. I will not obey the order if you give it. Not today…not ever.”

  “Is true,” said Yoska’s muffled voice, though he did not move. “To gypsy, home is where family is, not where pile of lumber makes big box. I have brother and sister here, but no clan to return to. I stay…and maybe I break Ceran’s nose next time, yes? Would be fair, and no one look down on me for hitting woman, no? Gypsy is meant to find much love in this world before he dies, but I think I replace that with vengeance for a time.”