Bones of the Empire

by Jim Galford

  “I doubt they even know that the council is doing it,” Raeln admitted, looking back to the large gathering of Turessians from the two clans that had come to meet with Yiral and Ceran. Word had spread quickly about them giving Raeln honor markings, and the clans seemed to want to get to the bottom of the situation before declaring war. “They are using the clans as a distraction. They will probably wipe out everyone here, no matter which clan they’re a part of.”

  “Then why would we attack the others?”

  Raeln grabbed the man and spun him toward the large camps down the hill from them. “They were told we betrayed the council. They will see those undead come out of the woods behind us and believe we are using them to attack. If Dorralt is smart, he will have told them we’re using undead, when in fact they are his. That way, if any of those clansmen survive, they will not spread rumors about the council, but about us. We need to strike first, moving our forces out from the undead. If we seize control over the other clans so they can see we are all being attacked, they may join with us against a mutual foe, which will make our position that much better when we move on to negotiations.”

  “It is not our way to attack without warning,” the man argued, squirming under Raeln’s hands. “Ceran wanted me to help teach you our ways. I must object. I also must ask that you stop touching me.”

  “I’m part of the clan, so my way is your way,” Raeln countered, turning his attention back to the ravens. He did not have long before whatever the birds were following had cut off any other escape. His clans needed to start marching, or they would be entirely trapped. “Get the message down to Ceran. I will not argue any more with you. I’m your war leader. Act like it.”

  The man clenched his fists and looked ready to debate, but he seemed to figure out he had no basis for any argument and ran off toward the others.

  Left alone, Raeln watched the woods for what felt like hours, though he knew less than one had passed before he saw the forces of his clans mobilize. They formed up quickly and charged with a half-hearted cry toward the other clans, who scrambled to ready themselves. It would be a brutal fight, with neither side having any fortifications or ditches built yet, but he knew the Turessians would not kill one another if they could manage it. They would capture them in the expectation of enslaving them. He would deal with that once the battle was over. With luck, before nightfall he would have four clans—nearly half the Turessian lands—working together at his side. That was a very good start.

  “Is good time to lead men to slaughter, no?” Yoska asked, having managed to approach Raeln without him hearing a single footfall in the snow. “Should I begin digging holes in ground for bodies?”

  “This will not end that way,” Raeln replied without looking back. He sniffed and verified Yoska was alone. “Shouldn’t your wife be with you?”

  Laughing, Yoska said, “Wife? You have very silly notion of how things really are, my friend. She will grow tired of me long before then. We are old and do not concern ourselves with titles and names for what we do. She is my friend and comfort, and I am hers. Besides, you make that sound binding. If I do call her wife, you then get upset when another finds me as I travel. We must find you overly friendly wolfish man to teach you such things. I consider it least I can do for a friend.”

  “No thank you,” Raeln replied, still watching the woods. Judging by the sudden flight of the ravens, the undead were moving rapidly now. “I found what I loved and won’t look for another. That was all I ever needed. I’m not like you.”

  “All people are like me, Raeln. Only difference is how they express feelings. You stifle yourself behind duty. I take comfort where I can find it and welcome those who would join my life for more than a few nights. Your heart holds as much pain and love as mine. You only choose to limit the way you heal, no?”

  “No, I will keep my mind on what I have to do to save lives,” Raeln said, finally turning on him. Yoska casually leaned against Raeln’s horse, looking for all the world as though he had been there the whole day. “Every life in those clans is on my shoulders. I will not bed someone as distraction when a hundred or a thousand lives depend on me.”

  Smirking, accentuating the stark contrast between his white teeth and his darker skin, Yoska replied, “You make good battle leader, but poor man for party. I had brother like you. I would trust my life to him, but he died lonely and angry. Find peace somewhere, Raeln. Is not for any of us to die mad at the world. He would not be happy, wherever he is, knowing you treat yourself so badly.”

  Raeln snorted angrily, rubbing at his tattoos without even thinking about it. “Go lead part of the charge. I have heard enough from you, Yoska.”

  “You will hear much more before I relent,” Yoska said, bowing and walking back down the hill toward the clans. Over his shoulder, he added, “Find way to be happy, Raeln. I will pester until then. I will see you enjoy yourself before I die.”

  Raeln stood there until long after Yoska had gone, then turned back to the woods, where he could see the first hints of movement from the undead there. It would not be long before they came running from the trees after the departing Turessian clans. That charge would have been devastating had Raeln not gotten his people marching early enough. Now, the undead would have to chase them, which gave him time.

  “I found my happiness,” he said to himself, without taking his eyes off the trees. He touched the tattoos on his brow and smiled grimly. “Every life I save here brings me one step closer to making up for failing Greth. Once we’re even, I will be happy. Everything else can wait.”

  *

  Explosions and flashes of light across the snowy plains between the two camps lit up the night for miles around as the clans fought for every inch of ground. Flames and lightning seemed to dominate the battlefield, but the more Raeln stared into the dark, the more he could make out the gleam of more mundane weaponry. There were two distinct battles occurring at the same time—one between the Turessian spellcasters on both sides, and the other among the slaves and those who either had no magic or had already exhausted themselves.

  Raeln watched and waited for more than an hour after sunset, until the main group of undead left the cover of the woods. He had gotten his troops far from the wood line, but the fighting would need resolution quickly or they would all soon be overrun. So far, he had seen little ground given by either faction, and that needed to change. With the undead in sight, he was ready to act on the next step of his plan.

  Heading down the hill toward the fighting, Raeln drew his sword and leveled his shield. He picked up speed, the slope allowing him to run without much effort, though he still had to be careful of each paw coming down on uneven or icy ground. He kept his gaze on the two large armies ahead of him, trying not to pay attention to the darker forces far off to his right, coming from the woods. They would be dealt with soon enough. For now, the reserve troops he had left there would have to hold their own ground. His men and women were dug into trenches hastily built with magic in the last hour. He hoped they would slow the undead for a little while.

  Raeln charged headlong into the magical fray at the base of the hill, where the slaves of the clans fought to hold ground against their enemies. Wizards from both sides hurled spells past the front lines. The transition from one type of combat to the next was dizzying. The slaves bleeding and dying in traditional melee, and the “true” Turessians wounding and killing each other with explosions, flame, and lightning. It had been maddening to Raeln at first. But after watching it continue for so long, he had a good idea of who would attack where, giving him some degree of surety that he could find his way through the battle. He knew where the lines were weak and where he would be seen.

  Barking as loudly as he could to draw attention, Raeln slammed into the front line of slaves from the other clans, knocking three humans and a dwarf to the ground. Spinning and striking at exposed arms with his shield’s edge and the flat of his sword, he left a path of wounded and prone foes, who would recover soon enough. Hi
s job was not to kill—not today. He would need every one of these people if his plan was to succeed.

  His troops shifted as soon as he charged, forming a wedge behind him to help push through the enemy lines. When the slave forces regrouped, trying to cut him off from their clan’s masters, Raeln stopped and pointed at his face. Almost immediately, the slaves facing him backed away, unsure what to do. He had overheard Ceran telling Yoska that slaves were not to fight clansmen, even in war, giving him the advantage of confusion. Shoving the last of the slaves out of his way, he continued across the field toward the heart of the clans’ army.

  “I demand a meeting with your leaders immediately!” he shouted. The magical explosions quickly subsided as his own clan realized what was happening, and the opposing clans stared in dismay as he walked through the ankle-deep snow toward them. “As a member of the clans of Turess, I demand parlay. Stand down and come talk with me if you claim any honor among your clans.”

  A wall of nearly fifty black-robed Turessians gaped as he walked up to them, sheathing his sword. None made any effort to move, so Raeln pushed his way through and on toward the fallen tents set up before he had ordered the attack.

  So far into the army force, he soon saw the undead ancestors of the clans near the old tents, hidden away from the majority of the fighting. They were better protected than the slaves. It rankled him, but that was an argument for another day.

  “How dare you, beast?” called out a man off to Raeln’s right. The bald Turessian came running to stop Raeln from going on, which told him the man was not in charge. “I will not allow—”

  Raeln chopped the man in the throat with the back of his hand, and the man fell with a gurgling choke. “You don’t get to make that decision for a fellow clansman, brother. Stay on the ground or you won’t be able to get up next time. Consider this my one act of mercy for today.”

  The scraping sound of dozens of swords being drawn let Raeln know he had finally drawn enough attention. The clans tightened around him and about thirty of his own troops, trapping them near the trampled tents. From behind the wall of Turessians, a pair of men and one woman stepped into the dim light of the few torches that remained lit.

  “You are the reason we were here in the first place, beast,” snapped the woman—likely a clan’s preserver—but when Raeln snarled at her, she backed away a step. It seemed he already had created a reputation.

  “I am a clansman, no different than you, sister,” he growled at her, trying not to let on that he was getting nervous, given the odds against him. Thirty of his people against hundreds of theirs was not his idea of a fair fight, especially with the number of spellcasters among them. “You will show proper respect for a battle leader. I came to talk, and I will not be treated this way.”

  The three Turessians exchanged concerned looks, and the man at the center called back, “What do you want, wildling? Your very existence is reason for war. Respect is not something we would be happy to give, certainly not when your clans attack us dishonorably.”

  Raeln drew his weapon again and watched with some amusement as every sword around him raised defensively. They were terrified of him, likely because they had no idea what to expect. Turning, he pointed his own sword toward the approaching undead, which had poured out of the woods and were engaging the rear of his clans’ troops. “You use decaying ancestors as soldiers, and you say I am a reason for war?” he growled. The Turessians looked to the hills, and Raeln saw many eyes widen in surprise. “They flank us and seek to attack in the night. Now you act as though we are the aggressors? Which customs are more important…the marking of only humans or the care of our dead?”

  The man who had spoken moved his mouth, but it took a moment to find words. “Whether we believe your marking was just or not, we would not do this. I swear this to you. By my clan and blood, this was not our doing.”

  “Then explain it to me. My people were surrounded. What would you do in my place? Stand by and watch your clan be slaughtered, or order the attack?”

  Wincing, the man bit his lip and tugged at the edge of his robe nervously. “I would attack. I would rather follow a wildling into war than be slaughtered by dishonor. I will have the clans stand down.”

  “Not good enough,” Raeln said, taking a few more steps forward. The armed Turessians hunkered down, trying to hold their ground as though a horse were charging them. “You will join us and fight our mutual enemies.”

  “Over our dead—” said another man who had not spoken to that point. Before he could finish, a knife appeared at his throat.

  “Be careful what wishes we make, yes?” Yoska said, using the Turessian as a shield when the others turned on him.

  “A wanderer assassin,” griped the woman who had spoken first to Raeln, raising her hands to cast a spell when she had a clear shot at Yoska. “Your kind have no honor!”

  Yoska spit on the ground. “You insult my friend for trying to end war, and you say I have no honor? Maybe I have honor and you are one without, no? Think before speaking.”

  Appearing from the far side of the group, Ceran gestured broadly at the warriors between Raeln and the clans’ leaders. A dozen men fell instantly, their eyes rolling back as they hit the snow. Raeln could not even be certain if they were alive or dead. “Assassination is entirely honorable, so long as the victim knows who ordered it and why,” she announced, giving a warning glare to the remaining soldiers, who hesitated. “I speak for my clan when I say Raeln is an honorable creature, and I am the one who would have you die if you do not see reason. Raeln represents us in this battle and these talks. Either accept his negotiations, or you are declaring war against all of us. We do not have time for lengthy discussion.”

  The two preservers who were not at the end of Yoska’s knife looked quickly between Ceran, Yoska, and Raeln, entirely ignoring the slaves and Turessians standing at Raeln’s back. Before Raeln could react, the woman flicked her hand, and a wall of shimmering light separated the two of them from the rest of their clanmates.

  “You think this is honorable?” Ceran demanded, walking right up to the barrier. “Hiding while we kill off your entire clan? You bring shame on our order, preserver. Stand against the winds and come forward to fight, if you believe this is unjust. Let the wisdom and strength of the victor determine both of our people’s direction. I would do it quickly, before the fallen ancestors are on us.”

  The two preservers in the dome of energy whispered briefly, and the woman shook her head.

  Frowning at her, the man stepped forward and touched the barrier, dismissing it. Bowing before Ceran, he announced, “I will accept your challenge, preserver.”

  Ceran laughed and pointed at Raeln. “He is our battle leader. Your quarrel is with him. I follow his orders, not he mine.”

  The Turessian eyed Raeln with some dismay, but nodded and bowed again to Raeln. “She challenged me and the challenged normally sets the terms, but I would defer to you, given the oddness of this. What are your terms, wildling?”

  Raeln glanced back toward the woods and saw the undead were tearing into his troops and overwhelming the ditches. The entire battle was starting to collapse as the two armies were pushed together by the new foe. No one out there was ready to fight two fronts.

  “Strength and magic,” he announced, twirling his sword. “The clans prize both skills. I allow and encourage both. If you can defeat me, you control these clans and will have the chance to bury any evidence of my having been marked. If I win, you follow me as a brother of the clans, and we stand together against whoever is using ancestors to attack us.”

  The Turessian softly agreed and gave a far deeper bow. When he came back up, he began a spell before Raeln even realized the fight was on. In the back of his mind, he chided himself, having learned that lesson once already.

  Tumbling sideways, Raeln avoided a blast of flame that melted the snow where he had been standing, narrowly missing the men and women who had been with him. Steam rolled off his clothing as he righted h
imself, but he forced himself not to rush at the man. Charging a wizard without a plan was foolish at best. He had to be careful. Instead of running, he walked at the preserver as the man prepared another spell. He let his mind go blank, seeking the calm that had aided him in the fight against the child during his first dealings with Ceran’s clan. This would be far worse, but magic was magic, and he had to try. He had to prove himself, and he had to do it in a big way.

  When the spell went off, Raeln found a razor-thin focus within and forced himself to turn with the spell, knocking it aside as though it were a weapon. Sparking lightning flickered over his arms, down his sword, and all across his shield, making his arms tremble and ache, but he managed to avoid the worst of it while keeping his face calm. He did not have to win this, he merely needed the Turessian to think he had. So long as he was standing at the end, he could be already dead for all it mattered.

  Frantically casting another spell as Raeln got within five feet, the Turessian flung his hands at Raeln, and the air between them flared with heat and light. Again, Raeln twisted around the spell, forcing it aside with his upper arm. Pain flooded his shoulder, but he fought to remain calm. The spell went wide, as though the man had missed, though Raeln’s arm from wrist to shoulder smoked and stunk of burned fur. Heat flashed across his shield, making him wish he had grabbed a second weapon, rather than a large piece of metal. Hurriedly, he released his grip on it and threw it aside, freeing his off hand.

  The Turessian tried one last time, but Raeln slapped his hands aside, destroying his concentration. With a lunge, Raeln grabbed him by the neck and threw him onto his back. Lowering his sword to the man’s neck, Raeln asked quietly, “Are we done yet? You may be marked as a wise one, but I have just walked through your magic alive without using any of my own. Would you die like this or follow me? One might argue I am both wiser and stronger than you. Who among your ancestors will remember you if you die here? I can assure you I will be remembered by your whole clan, no matter what happens after this moment.”