Bones of the Empire

by Jim Galford

  Marilee smirked as she trudged through the shallow snow, her frail appearance making him more uneasy than if she had shown her true appearance to him again. “I have faced worse odds, mortal. You don’t get to be my age without seeing a little of everything the world can throw at you. Trust that I have a few tricks up my sleeves.”

  “And just how old is that, anyway?”

  Mairlee’s grin seemed almost wide enough to hurt her jaw. “I was several thousand years old when I met Turess the first time. Believe it or not, I am rather young among my people, though I spend more of my time awake and watching mortals than others.”

  “So you have a plan to deal with the mists?”

  At that, Mairlee’s smile dropped away. “No. I have helped push back the things that seep through the holes between our world and the next three times in the nine millennia I’ve lived, but for whatever reason, this time Dorralt did something new. The last few times, it occurred at a singular location, where my kind could concentrate our efforts. Mortals came running to us for help, as Turess did. We chided them on their failure to protect the world’s fabric, and then we fixed the problem. It was rather routine, to be honest. It also meant that we got a good nap as we waited for things to settle down after each incident. We had to hide while the mists retreated, giving them no good source of magic to pursue.

  “This time, the holes were opened in a dozen spots around the world within weeks of one another and there is far more magic in the world. Plugging one hole would only open another that much wider. It took far more magic than any of my people can claim to shut the door completely, but that allowed these free-roaming mists to appear. I have not fought these before, nor do I know how. Attacking them with any of my abilities will only make it stronger. I am as concerned about the mists as I am about why Dorralt intentionally brought them here.”

  “I set off the first explosion,” Estin said, his stomach clenching nervously. “This is my fault.”

  “You were one of many pawns, Estin. You did what he wanted without knowing it. Likely, he expected you to die when the mists began bleeding through. His distaste for your kind was likely why he chose you to do this.”

  Estin fingered the feather hanging around his neck and thought back on his two trips through the mists. Both had been agonizing, but he had come out unharmed. “Do you know why I’m still alive? I went through the mists to Corraith and back. I keep hearing that they should have killed me…I’ve seen it happen to others.”

  “I do, actually,” she replied, lowering her voice a little more and pulling Estin farther back from Rishad, Feanne, and Turess. “The mists consume magic, always starting with the strongest source. Lacking that, they simply destroy randomly in an effort to find any magic within the world. Everything, right down to the smallest insect, contains a miniscule bit of magic. I felt your first trip, as I was not far away at the time, and you had one of Turess’s little trinkets with you. Rings, I believe, though they once were a bracelet that matched the one he still wears.”

  “My children were wearing them, yes,” he admitted, looking toward Turess’s arm, where his robe hid the silver bracelet that Mairlee had mentioned. “We didn’t have those on the return trip. Besides, they were magical—wouldn’t that have made us a target?”

  “Yes and no. The bracelets were made by…well, by On’esquin, with my help, as a wedding gift. They hide the bearer from the mists and the things that come from them. You passed through safely as a result. The mists had no idea you were there and continued to look for something they could eat. All passing through did was charge the bracelets, drawing power away from the mists. They would have spit you out to save themselves, unaware that the bracelet could only absorb so much before it would have exploded.”

  “And the second time? The rings were left with Oria.”

  “That one has vexed me for a while,” Mairlee said, frowning. “What came with you?”

  “Arturis…an old Turessian.”

  She glanced over, studying him. “What condition was everyone in upon arrival?”

  “Entirely powerless. All of our magic had vanished. Arturis was mortal again. The entire region around us was void of magic.”

  “There is your answer,” she said. “The mists did not destroy you because they were draining away magic, starting with his. They could not risk killing Arturis before he was an empty shell, and they certainly are not sentient enough to understand that you were not part of him.”

  “I was happier thinking I was just that lucky.”

  Mairlee laughed at that and nodded. “I can imagine. You do have luck, Estin, but those times were not a part of it. Your luck has yet to play out. A great many threads of fate are about to come together, and many of them are influenced by the things you have done and will do.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Mairlee never had a chance to reply. An explosion rocked the ground hard enough that most of the group fell and several priests had to practically tackle the horses to keep them from running. Estin landed on hands and knees, as did Turess and even Mairlee, but Feanne was to them in seconds, helping them stand.

  “There’s a battle ahead,” she explained, and Estin realized she had blood running down the left side of her face. Feanne seemed to notice his attention, touched the fur there, and sighed. “Flying debris. I am fine. We need to take cover or charge before they know we are here. Standing around will make matters worse. They were not yet aiming for us.”

  Standing on unsteady feet, Mairlee answered, “Put your troops into battle, wildlings. Leaving now will burn many threads from the fabric. We are yet again woven into places we do not belong. You’ve knotted my fate to those I would rather ignore…again.”

  Feanne blinked and stared at Mairlee before turning to Turess, motioning him on. The order was passed from him to the priests, and one by one they changed into werewolves. Soon, only Rishad, Turess, and Mairlee remained furless, and the wolves howled to announce themselves to whatever was coming.

  Estin hurried to the front of the group with Feanne at his side. He half expected to find a line of undead facing them, but instead he found the gentle slope of the terrain ahead of them allowed him to look over two vast armies, already engaged in a vicious battle. The army from the south was outnumbered ten to one, but they were somehow holding their ground. The other was a force Estin had seen far too often in his life.

  Thousands of undead were closing in on the living army, which appeared to have been marching northward. The disorganization of the undead had allowed the smaller living force to hold its ground this long, but it would not last once the undead encircled the mortal troops. Adding to the hopelessness of the situation, Estin could see bolts of energy flung from the back lines of the undead army, crashing into the other group. Occasionally, one such blast would be deflected by someone among the living soldiers. It was one of those stray attacks that had nearly hit their group.

  “Call the charge,” Feanne ordered, and Turess let out a whistle that the wolves reacted to immediately. “Flank the undead. If we can pull them in two directions, we might be able to lessen their advantage.”

  Hopping back onto the spare horse, Turess rode among the werewolves, with Rishad running hard at his side. Feanne hesitated, remaining with Estin and Mairlee a moment longer.

  “Go,” Estin insisted. “I’ll see what we can do from afar. We have a better view from here.”

  Grabbing and squeezing his hand, Feanne then took off at a run after the others, her speed enhanced by her magic. Soon she was only a short distance behind the wolves, right before the entire group slammed into the undead army from the side, tearing in with a ferocity that made even Estin nervous.

  “What can you do to help?” he asked after the battle was engaged, getting a surprised look from Mairlee. “You’re a damned god…you know we can’t win this without some help.”

  “There is a difference between being called something and it being entirely true,” she replied, shaking her hea
d. “But yes, I can assist. This will take time and will weaken me greatly, as I must keep myself hidden from the mists and Dorralt. I am already far from my best after helping you. Get down there and help how you can, and keep attention off me. I do not want anyone on either side realizing what I am.”

  “How will I know…?”

  “Trust me, you will know when it happens,” she said, grinning broadly. “Go.”

  Running after the others, Estin could not help but feel like the weakest member of their army. He watched the werewolves tore the undead limb from limb. Even Feanne, with little more than her claws, enlarged by magic, was cutting a line through the enemy, occasionally hurling summoned acid at the undead when she could not reach them. Beside them, Rishad and Turess reduced small pockets of the undead to ash with each wave of their hands, the two men advancing slowly side by side. Again, Estin saw the flickers of energy across Turess’s bracelet, making him wonder at its role in the man’s magic. Given what Mairlee had said about the bracelets, he had to assume it was somehow augmenting Turess’s natural abilities.

  Estin closed to within a hundred feet of the bloody melee, still unable to clearly see the living army past all of the undead. A flash of light off to his right made him stop, searching the undead for their wizard. He soon spotted them, a trio that stood apart from the rest of the decaying corpses they were leading. From what he could see, they were unaware of his presence, their attention largely on the werewolves.

  Flanked by two ghostly humanoid figures, a single Turessian was flinging most of the magic at the living army. The flash Estin had seen was her beginning another spell, the ghosts mirroring her movements. They were somehow amplifying the Turessian’s spells, giving her far greater reach to allow her to stay hidden well behind the lines. Yet another old magic he did not understand or have any way to learn. It was frustrating always being one step behind even the weakest of the Turessians.

  Estin stayed where he was and drew his magic in, forcing himself to remain calm as the rush of voices filled his head. He had no time to think through what he was doing or the Turessian’s spell would kill dozens, possibly among his own group.

  Weaving the erratic flow of energy that the disembodied voices granted him, Estin directed it at a point between the Turessian and the living groups. His spell took shape as a ball of flame flew from the Turessian’s hand, with Estin’s magic creating a wall of shimmering light that soaked up the flame before dissipating, taking her spell with it.

  Estin’s skin prickled with heat when both spells fall apart, though it had done what he had hoped. He was still weaker than he would have liked, but he had managed to buy time for everyone. Then, in dismay, he saw he was being watched. The Turessian and her ghostly companions were staring right at him. He hardly had a chance to swear before the two ghosts raced across the snow toward him and the Turessian began another spell.

  “Okay, you can do this, Estin,” he whispered, shaping another spell quickly. It was a difficult one, meant to disrupt the energies that held undead together. He had to deal with one threat at a time. He had managed to use similar magic years earlier to destroy a banshee that had nearly killed Insrin and Feanne, but he had not tried anything like it since.

  Loosing the spell an instant before the Turessian completed hers, Estin threw himself sideways. The snow where he had been standing erupted upward, throwing stones and dirt nearly fifty feet into the air. He managed to roll onto his side in time to see one of the ghosts dissipate with a shriek, though the other seemed to shrug off the spell easily.

  Estin hurriedly thought through his options. The ghost would reach him in less than ten seconds, and the Turessian was already preparing another spell. He knew he could not kill her, which meant the ghost had to be his sole focus.

  Getting up to his knees as the ghost floated up the hillside, Estin watched with some amusement as Rishad tackled the Turessian in the distance. Raising his hands, Estin began another spell as an incredible chill filled his heart at the ghost’s approach. The spell went off as the ghost rose over him, its vaguely human features twisted with anger.

  Nothing happened.

  Estin stared down at his fingers, thinking through the spell. He had done nothing wrong. Even if the ghost had managed to dispel the magic, there should have been some visible effect. Magic had to go somewhere, and he had felt the power flow through him, only to vanish.

  Looking up, Estin saw the ghost was equally confused. Then he saw the faint Turessian tattoos on the ghost’s face as it studied him. Drifting more slowly, the ghost reared over him, causing his fur to frost over with its proximity. It would only take minutes so close to such a creature before Estin would die from its presence…its magic and deadly touch were another matter, entirely.

  “Hello, Estin,” the ghost whispered, its feet touching the ground briefly. He stared at Estin with eyes that gleamed yellow, then turned to watch the Turessian being battered by Rishad in the distance. Returning his attention to Estin, the ghost laughed airily. “It was good to see you again. Perhaps we can talk another time.”

  “Oramain…” Estin gasped.

  The ghost chuckled and floated away. Once he was about twenty feet away, he faded from sight. Try as he might, Estin could not find him.

  A distant vibration snapped Estin out of his worry for where the ghost had gone. The sensation seemed to come from the air itself, and he glanced back up the hill to see Mairlee raising her hands to the sky. A second later, a rush of air came down heavily, knocking every combatant to the ground. In vast swaths, the undead either crumbled to ash or lay where they fell, unable to defend themselves as armored people scrambled to cut them down. It took only a few minutes and the entire battle had turned, with thousands of soldiers coming out to meet Feanne and the werewolves, who were staring at the destruction around them as though unsure what to do next.

  Estin turned his attention back to the Turessian Rishad had attacked and saw Rishad lay in a twisted heap. The robed woman fled toward the hills in the distance. She was far faster than anyone but another Turessian, so there was no point in pursuing. Instead, he got up and hurried down the hillside to Rishad, who was already nearly whole by the time he arrived.

  “Are you all right?” Estin asked, coming to his side. A rib that stuck out through Rishad’s robe slipped back under the skin as he nodded. “Someone you knew?”

  “My sister…I think you’ve met her.” Rishad lay down hard, wiping blood off his face. “Liris is Dorralt’s new general. I think we will see much more of her. He gives her far more strength than he ever gave me. This really changes our old sibling rivalries. Imagine fighting with a sibling who can break your spine by accident.”

  Patting the man’s shoulder, Estin got back up and headed through the remains of the battlefield. Heavily armored men and women moved from one zombie to the next, hacking off their heads. Most were already lifeless, but Estin understood the precaution.

  Near the middle of the field, Feanne stood with the werewolves at her back, facing ten armored soldiers. Estin could see no tabards or land’s flags among them, and they stood silently.

  The lead man among them watched Feanne and then Estin through the slit in his visor. He lowered his shield and let it fall to the ground before tossing aside his sword and walking toward Feanne. “Pack-leader…” the man said softly, his voice echoed by his helmet. He looked to Estin next, laughing faintly. “And our healer. I really should not be surprised by anything anymore.”

  Feanne gave Estin a brief gesture that told him not to get any closer. She kept herself between the man and the werewolves, ready for anything. They had been fighting far too long to assume anything.

  “Identify yourself, human,” Feanne barked, pointing sharply at another soldier that had took a step forward, stopping him where he was. “Right now everyone here smells of death. I want to see your face before I let any of you a single step closer. My wolves will tear you all apart if you try to approach.”

  Nodding, the human motio
ned for his fellow soldiers to take a few steps back, which they did. Turning back to the werewolves and wildlings, he unbuckled his helm and pulled it off, letting it fall to the ground. Unruly brown hair that had grown considerably since Estin had seen him last was matted to his head after the battle, but his chiseled jaw and the youthful gleam to his eyes was unmistakable.

  “Lieutenant Linn?” Estin asked, staring in shock at the human he had not seen in years. “I thought everyone died in the valley.”

  “Not really a lieutenant for any one city anymore, but yeah, it’s me. I thought everyone who wasn’t with us died,” Linn said, eyeing Feanne before taking a knee in front of her. “I assume you’re still in charge?” Feanne smirked at that, but kept quiet. The werewolves behind her snarled and pawed at the ground. “Your pack has gotten a lot rougher-looking, Feanne. I miss the old family, but this will probably be better suited to war.”

  While Linn remained on one knee, the other soldiers with him removed their own helmets. Estin’s eyes widened as he saw a dark elven woman, a fae-kin with small stubby horns that seemed familiar, and a dark-skinned human that could easily have been Yoska’s brother. Farther back, other soldiers milled about, and Estin saw dwarves, an angry little halfling in once-fine rags, orcs, ogres, and anything else he could imagine.

  There were even creatures he had long considered “monsters” among them, most notably two little scaly skinned humanoids with row upon row of pointed teeth that eyed the corpses greedily—goblins. He had never even heard of someone taming them, let alone trusting them with weapons and armor.

  Near the goblins, a tight-knit group of red-skinned creatures with big black eyes, stubby wings, and horns gleefully tore apart several of the undead. Estin had to think through rumors and legends and realized they were kobolds, demonic little monsters that parents tended to use as a threat for their children. Estin had never seen one himself, but Feanne had mentioned them offhand several times in her stories about wandering in the woods near Altis.