Bones of the Empire

by Jim Galford

  Pulling his hand from under Estin’s, Turess rubbed at the silver bracelet he wore, scowling at the mists, which had advanced to another street. “I do hate that name,” he said, turning toward the stairs down, below which Estin could see the last of the people of Jnodin running for the northern plains. “Once my brother is gone, we will find new name. Maybe Estinia or something equally absurd. Anything without my name on it. Make someone else be embarrassed for what people living there do.”

  Laughing, Estin followed him down off the walls, the echoes of the mists crushing buildings in the distance.

  *

  The army fled north for the next two days before Turess directed them slightly east, toward an area he explained would be better-sheltered from the weather. It took most of that day on horseback to reach the canyon ahead of the walking army, but when they did, Estin could see why Turess had chosen the place, even as the snows fell in sheets that limited their ability to see far.

  Two massive flat-topped mountains stood in the middle of the snowy plains, so close together that they likely had once been a single block of stone. The split between them was their destination, shielded not just from wind and snow, but also narrow enough that a dozen men could hold the entrance against an army. Feanne had chosen a similar natural barrier for her pack during the early days of the war.

  “Found this place when I was taking people away from mists,” Turess explained without Estin having to ask. “They make legends about how I fought stone elemental lord here and this is all that is left of it.”

  “Did you fight a stone elemental lord here?” Feanne asked, keeping her attention on the mountains.

  Turess peeked out the corner of his hood at her and then over at Estin before replying. “I did not fight one here. Certainly not here, and certainly did not defeat it. Besides, elemental lords are old gods…much like dragons. They don’t exist, my people always say. You agree, yes, Estin?”

  Estin’s skin prickled with chill that did not come from the wind, but Turess kept watching him with a knowing stare. Finally, the man looked away and grinned.

  “The elemental lords do exist, god or not,” Feanne said, apparently having missed the silent exchange. “I saw them as we fled Lantonne. The four appeared and nearly destroyed the whole region. We were lucky to drag Estin out in time. Had I been slower in finding him, I doubt we would be having his conversation.”

  “And they say I have had adventures,” Turess said to himself, getting a sidelong glance from Feanne. “How often have you saved Estin from lesser gods or more mundane things?”

  Feanne turned in the saddle to look at Estin, but he shrugged. He was not about to restrict whatever she wanted to talk about. If she bragged too much, he had enough on her to turn the conversation around, and she knew it.

  “I have dragged him back from the brink of death no less than four times,” she said after thinking a moment. “He has brought me back from far past the brink once, and I would not dare to count the times I would have died if he had not intervened.”

  Turess did not say anything at first, but he nudged his horse closer to Feanne’s. To Estin’s surprise—and Feanne’s, judging by her snarl—Turess grabbed Feanne by the wrist and examined her hand before she pulled free.

  “Your kind are very worthy warriors,” he explained quickly. “We had an entire contingent of lions in our army. I thought I recognized the claws. My apology for touching, but you keep your fingers hidden often and curl your toes when riding. Have been trying to get a look for week or more.”

  “I am a fox,” Feanne said firmly, tucking her hands under her cloak.

  “We had those too,” Turess added, grinning. “They were fine scouts, though we keep them separate from prey breeds. So many conflicts. Your people were simple, because we knew which ones would attack each other. Among mine…not simple. In my day, I would keep you and Estin far apart so I do not have to get long explanation for why my scouts are missing when I wake.”

  “Why would you have to do that?” Feanne asked, giving Estin a confused glance and an annoyed flick of her tail.

  “You are many kinds of predator, and Estin’s breed was prey…and rare even then, so would not want lionesses killing them off. We only had one of his kind, though she was a truly talented scout. She practically led our campaign into the forests to the far southeast. Others handled battle, but she was never even spotted by our enemies. I doubt my brother even knew I employed that woman. I wonder what ever happened to her.”

  Estin hurried his horse up to Turess’s side. “You’ve seen my breed before?”

  “I have.”

  “What am I?” Estin demanded. “I’ve spent my life trying to find out.”

  “What you are a man who has a heart larger than most,” Turess said. “Would knowing your breed’s name change who you are to your wife or children?”

  “No…”

  “It might,” Turess replied. “Knowing what you are puts you into a little cage of expectations. Your instincts already tell you to hide or run—I can see in your eyes at times. You do not know what you are, so you become what you wish. These days, that is far more important. Would you prefer to tell your children that you fought a war as a valiant hero of the living armies, or tell them that you are simply a male of your breed?”

  “I’d rather be myself,” Estin admitted.

  “I will tell you if you wish. You must ask, knowing what it means for yourself.”

  Estin glanced at Feanne and then back to Turess. Finally, he replied, “I’ve done just fine not knowing what I am.”

  “You know what you are,” Turess answered, smiling. “You simply do not have a word for it. If anything I have learned since I first heard your language, there is no shame in seeking the word you need. It takes time to find it…and you already have, Estin. Your words are: father, husband, mate, protector, and friend. You do not need another. Too many words already.”

  Looking back behind them, Estin could see humans for miles. They had spread out over the plains, most on foot, while some rode horses. Between the three of them and the vast majority of the soldiers, the priests of Kerrelin maintained a tight-knit line, ready to defend those who were along to help and not fight. They were as safe as they could get, prior to finding safety in the canyon ahead.

  “Will they be ready for this war?” Feanne asked, voicing Estin’s thoughts. “Many are bakers and farmers…they are not warriors.”

  “No, they will not fight this war,” Turess replied, keeping his eyes on the canyon. “That is why we come here. The people will remain here to be safe. They will continue to supply us if war lasts too long. For now, we will leave their soldiers with them. We take the wolves and Rishad, and we go north. There will be nothing left among them to draw the mists. Should the mists come anyway, they will pass by in search of greater prey. Is much like wildlings…we trick the predator so those we care about can survive.”

  Estin quickly scanned the group of priests. “Thirty werewolves will not win a war against these odds.”

  “You walked half of Eldvar with only five companions,” Turess reminded him. “Thirty more should seem a blessing. These are not our army, though.”

  “Then who is?”

  Turess laughed and pointed ahead, where Mairlee stood at the entrance to the canyon, sweeping snow off the porch of her house, which had not been there seconds earlier.

  “She’s our army?” Feanne asked, glaring at both of them in turn. “One wizardess will not make much difference. If anything, she will draw the mists to us.”

  “That is the idea,” Turess replied, flicking the reins of his horse to hurry to Mairlee, who waved at them pleasantly. “We now lead the mists instead of running. This I remember from before my death. This is what I wanted us to do and never had time to have On’esquin write.”

  *

  That night, with the moon rising, Estin lay at the entrance of the canyon, waiting for the order to depart with his head in Feanne’s lap, getting his ears stroked. Sin
ce the arrival of Mairlee’s home, the valley had warmed considerably, and it was actually comfortable and dry on the ground, something Estin knew could not possibly last. He and Feanne had chosen to enjoy the twilight together in silence, both knowing that every time they marched to war could be their last. It was no longer even worth discussing.

  Simply the idea of leaving behind this many refugees was hard enough, but doing so with only a handful of soldiers made Estin feel like they were somehow abandoning the people of Jnodin. Likely, they would be safer here than wherever he was going, but that was a difficult thing to convince himself of.

  “We leave within the hour,” Rishad announced, coming over to them, though he kept his distance. “My lord has gathered what we will need, and the priests will ride at your back.”

  “Has he found a path to our destination yet?” Feanne asked, still absently staring down at Estin as she ran her claws through his fur, picking out the tangles. “I would rather not wander the whole of Turessi, looking for Liris or another foe.”

  Rishad smirked and nodded. “He feels that there is really nowhere else to go now. We are headed straight for the great temple at the heart of Turessi, though he started shouting at me when I called it that. I believe he fears that we worship him as a god. Regardless, we are past the time to run and hide.”

  After a minute of quiet, Estin shifted to look more directly at Rishad. “Can you resist him?”

  “Turess? Certainly. I have met far handsomer men.”

  “You know who I meant.”

  “Of course I do, wildling.” He pulled his hood a little lower. Estin had seen him do that repeatedly since they had crossed the border into Turessi, as though he were ashamed of his tattoos or trying to hide his face from someone. “Dorralt cannot control me unless he comes to us. I have already made the offer to act as bait, should it come to that. Arella knows how to kill me if I do change sides.”

  Without looking, Feanne said, “Thank you, Rishad.”

  “For what, fox?”

  “For helping us, despite how you feel about who and what we are.”

  “Who am I to question the direction of Kerrelin’s avatar?” he asked with a grin. When Feanne tensed, he quickly added, “No, I do not think you are the voice of a god, Feanne. What I do believe is that the god I worship may well see the pain my people are inflicting on this world and will act through anyone and anything he or she can to save the wilderness. If that means a pompous vixen wildling, so be it. I am certainly not the one to argue, given what I am. I am an abomination and spend much of my prayers seeking to understand what I am and what I have done to this world. My aid could be considered as much of a miracle as yours. I will take what I can get.”

  “Why do you help?” Estin inquired. “Believing in a god is a far cry from what you’re doing to help all of us.”

  Rishad glanced back up the path into the canyon, where Mairlee was overseeing the packing of the few horses they were taking, with Arella at her side. “Dorralt took much from me—my life, my humanity, even my sister. I spent centuries fighting the feelings that he put inside my head. I once considered myself free, but I know that is not true, so long as he can twist my intentions. Somehow, I believed I was in control. I tore my own parents apart and thought it was my choice. I killed our wildling servants, telling others that they were the ones that murdered my parents. It was many years before I realized the hatred and deception was not something I truly felt in my heart.

  “I do not feel affection the way I did in life. I feel anger and loathing quite clearly, consuming much of my thoughts. When I was young, I was fascinated by those I didn’t understand, but not anymore. If something doesn’t bear my people’s marks, I feel hatred without reason.

  “Arella believes in me…believes I still have good in me. I respect her for that and adore her as much as I can any mortal for her willingness to spare me, despite being a monster. I will repay that courtesy any way I can. She has earned my respect, if only for seeing a side of me that I considered dead centuries ago.”

  As though he realized he had said too much, Rishad quickly added, “Say a word of that to anyone and they will never find your remains.”

  Before Estin could say anything, a sharp whistle behind them signaled the readiness of the horses. It was time to leave.

  Rolling over onto his knees, Estin helped Feanne up, and they waited where they were while Arella and Mairlee brought the rest of the priests to them.

  Soon enough, Arella brought one of the six horses they had with them to Estin and Feanne. “You two should ride,” she told them, handing the reins to Feanne. “The rest of the horses are loaded with food. This is the only one that can be spared for riding.”

  Feanne turned to give the reins to Estin, who glowered at her and did not take them.

  “Surely one of your priests could use a ride?” he asked, ignoring Feanne’s attempts to keep handing the reins to him. She prodded his ribs with them, as though he had not noticed her. “We spent years in the wilds without a horse. I think we can manage this, if everyone else is already walking.”

  “My priests will walk,” Arella said, more firmly than Estin had expected. “It is our way. If one cannot keep up on their own two feet, the rest of us will leave them behind and hope that the beasts of the wilderness kill them to keep our numbers strong. Rishad does not tire and can outrun a horse for short periods of time.”

  “And I am one of them,” Feanne said, looking over at the waiting priests. “I will keep my feet on the ground. Only the old woman or Estin really needs to ride.”

  Estin saw Mairlee’s eyes gleaming at the mention of her, but he chose not to bring her any further into the conversation. Too many chances to let something slip. All it would take was an offhand comment about having her scout from a few hundred feet overhead, and Estin was as good as dead. It would be easier to ignore her until he was surer of what he could and could not say.

  When Feanne tried to grab at his hand to put the reins onto his palm, Estin pushed her hand away. “I’m not riding when the rest of you are walking. Stop treating me like an invalid.”

  “I wasn’t,” Feanne said, looking somewhat hurt. “You know I would have let you die alone in the woods long ago if I thought you were…”

  Having had enough of the way they were acting, Estin closed his eyes and sought out the whispers of magic within his mind. He had not tried since Mairlee brought him back, but he could not think of a better time. With a roar, the voices of the spirits he drew power from came, bringing with them the tingling rush of energy through his body. The weariness that had been plaguing him for so long was gone, opening up limitless potential at his fingertips.

  Estin raised his hand and brought his magic into focus as he opened his eyes, watching as bone-white wisps of energy flowed and drifted over his claws. They floated like a cloud, soon draping his whole arm in their coolness.

  “No vomiting,” Feanne said, smiling nervously. “You told me that leaving for that week was part of getting your powers back, but did not explain. I thought you exaggerated. Are you back to how it was before?”

  “Patience and practice. Turess taught me well.” he replied quickly, making a point not to look toward Mairlee. Once he was sure his point had been made, he let the magic fade away, though the act left him feeling so tired that he nearly fell over. He would need to keep practicing if he was going to be strong enough to fight Dorralt. It no longer felt as though he had been ripped away from his magic, but instead felt more like an unused muscle that needed patient use. “I needed the time away to get it sorted out. Can we get going now?”

  Nearby, Turess stared intently at Estin, clearly understanding his efforts had done nothing to restore Estin’s powers. He thankfully kept his mouth shut.

  Saying nothing else, Arella began walking, with Rishad falling in at her side. The large group of priests followed her out of the canyon, as Estin and Feanne took up the rear of the party, right behind Turess and Mairlee. Turess took the reins from E
stin and hopped onto the horse, having no one to argue with about his choice to do so.

  “You are not as strong as you pretend,” Feanne whispered, once they were clear of the canyon and many of the others were engaged in conversations of their own. “Do not risk yourself to prove a point. If your magic is limited, save it for fighting Dorralt.”

  “I promise. I will not do more than is safe,” Estin replied, smiling at her.

  She watched him for some time, seeming to evaluate how much the spell had taken out of him. Eventually, she went back to watching the never-ending expanse of snow-covered plains ahead of them.

  They traveled the rest of that day with short and quiet conversations here and there, but most of the time everyone remained silent. There was an understood risk the farther they traveled that sooner or later they would be found by someone loyal to Dorralt, or one of the clans. When that time came, the fight would be brutal and likely end only once every person in their group had fallen. Dorralt had a hundred thousand undead and an unknown number of those like Rishad, while they had little more than thirty.

  Making matters worse, every time Estin looked back toward the south, he could see the glowing line of mists along the Turessian border, waiting for the last barrier against their entry to fall. Time was limited, though they might have anywhere from a day to a lifetime before the mists came through. There was just no way of knowing, and even Turess refused to speak about it. He kept touching his bracelet and avoided looking southward.

  Shortly after dawn, slowing her pace to drop back alongside Estin, Marilee said, “You worry too much.”

  “What’s there to worry about?” Estin asked lightheartedly, despite how he felt. “A bunch of Turessian clans that will kill us on sight, a two-thousand-year-old undead wizard with a few hundred thousand zombies in his service, or the fact that he knows we’re coming?”