Bones of the Empire

by Jim Galford

  Estin blinked away the flares of light in his sight from hitting his head and saw Oramain had been distracted by Turess. The two were exchanging flashes of magical energy that lit the hilltop like lightning, neither gaining nor losing ground. The spells were complicated, far more difficult than any Estin knew. Even trying to sort out what they were supposed to do made his head hurt. Instead, he rolled to his knees and tried to make his way toward his swords.

  Oramain noticed Estin’s movement and flicked one semitransparent hand toward the swords, sending them tumbling into the trees. At the same time, he deflected a brilliant flash of white light from Turess’s outstretched hand. Then, while countering another of Turess’s spells, he pointed at Estin and uttered a few short words of magic that Estin recognized all too well.

  The spell would cause instant death. There was no good way to avoid it without being prepared, which Estin was not. He closed his eyes as the chill of magic fell over him, clawing at his life’s energy, attempting to snuff it out. Tendrils like ice reached into his chest, brushing at his lungs and heart.

  Nothing more happened, just as when he has cast spells on Oramain during their last encounter.

  Estin blinked and looked around in confusion, finding both Turess and Oramain doing the same thing. Then, with a shriek of anger, Oramain faded away as if taking flight on the wind itself. A faint whisper of laughter reached Estin’s ears a second later.

  “Are you all right?” Turess croaked, running to Estin’s side.

  “Fine,” he answered, touching the back of his head. His fingers came away wet with blood. “Mostly fine.”

  “My brother sends my old friends to kill me,” Turess said, his voice still hoarse from being choked. “Oramain surprised me. I apologize for not keeping closer watch. He is dangerous, even as he was in life. One of the greatest I have ever worked with, to my dismay. Far better than I, and possibly better than my brother.”

  Estin nodded. “I know. He’s the one who showed me how to bring Feanne back from the dead…and he’s how On’esquin brought you back.”

  “I thought that, but was afraid to ask.” Turess reached for Estin’s head, only to freeze with his hand up. Blood had soaked all of his forearm around the bracelet, and what flesh Estin could see was blistered. Turess hurriedly let his robe’s sleeve drop over it.

  “What was that?” Estin demanded, sitting up.

  Turess mumbled something and turned to move away, but the conversation was long overdue.

  “The bracelet…I’ve seen it glowing whenever you use magic. Is it enhancing your spells?”

  Turess smiled weakly and picked up a burned book, which fell apart after a few seconds. “I was intending to be more subtle. Was going to let you and others do all work. Much easier to keep secrets if you do not let others see your weaknesses.”

  Estin pulled a piece of cloth from his pouch and pressed it to his head as he got up and moved over to Turess. “What’s going on, Turess?”

  Turess sat down hard, pulling up his sleeve again. In the torchlight Estin could see that not only was Turess’s arm burned, but the bracelet itself appeared to have gone through a fire. The silver was blackened and twisted in spots. “You will keep secret for me?” Turess asked, turning his arm so Estin could see the burns all the way around. “Others must think I am as stories say or they lose trust. You make promise and I will tell you things I meant not to.”

  “I promise.” Estin sat and reached for Turess’s hand, but Turess flinched and pulled away.

  “Cannot heal burns from raw magic,” he explained, wiping away the blood gently with his robe. The blisters and burns were severe, making Estin wonder whether they would ever heal properly. “Is nice feeling to be honest about this. Had meant to hide it, and this makes me feel better already. Bracelet is wedding band, Estin. Matches one given to my wife. With help of my brother, it was enchanted to contain the raw power of mists. We meant to use these as weapons against the clouds when they first came. Once magic is in bracelet, it can be used to supplement magic we pull through ourselves.”

  Turess went silent for several minutes before adding, “Can also be used by one without magic to pretend they do have it. Meant to refill bracelet at mists again before fighting brother. Now is too late. Bracelet will likely never work again.”

  “You…” Estin tried to find words for what he thought he was hearing. “You can’t cast magic?”

  “Little,” Turess admitted, smiling sheepishly. “Spell of light is about all I can manage. All else is bracelet or other trinkets I left behind. Were many reasons I wanted them found before I came back.”

  Estin’s stomach lurched painfully. The man they had thought would be able to turn the tide of the war was helpless. “Is there more I should know?” Estin asked, his nervousness fading into a dull anger.

  “Oh yes,” Turess said, shrugging helplessly. “I know more than I let on. Old plan was that I could let you and vixen die if it got me to my brother.”

  Estin hardly felt himself lunge at the man, but a moment later, he was atop Turess, his claws dug into Turess’s neck and his fangs bared and close to Turess’s nose.

  “Please!” Turess pleaded, turning his face away. “Was before I knew any of you. Was very angry when I woke. I swear on my…no, I will not swear on anything, as I lost all that was worthy of oaths. I will die to protect all of you, Estin. There is no empire for me to return to. I am just a man now. Please believe that I will lay down my life if it ends the madness my brother has created. Let me live and I will find way to prove it.”

  Estin held his position a while longer, growling as he fought the urge to kill Turess for the mere suggestion that he would betray them. All he could think about were those who had already done so, with Phaesys foremost among them in his mind. Slowly, his anger faded, and he eased his grip and inched away from Turess’s face, though he did not let go.

  “Why was he trying to kill you?” Estin finally managed to ask, looking around at the plateau where they lay, with its burned and scattered books.

  “Same reason he tried before I died first time,” Turess admitted. He did not take his eyes off Estin, as though afraid Estin would change his mind at any second. “I thought him traitor, but truth is Oramain is under control of my brother. He may not have any choice. I doubt he has been able to do one good thing since the day Dorralt took control, and it has destroyed him. Once, Oramain was kindest of my men…now…well, you see.”

  “What can we do to stop your brother? We’re almost to him, and I haven’t seen a real plan yet. Give me something I can believe in.” Looking toward the west, Estin nodded at the curtain of mists that had slowly risen each night, now filling every inch from the ground to a spot several hundred feet up, if the scouts were to be believed. “What then?”

  Turess let out a long slow breath, as though buying himself a few extra seconds. “The mists I…we…can stall.”

  “Stalling won’t save us, and probably not anyone outside Turessi, if the mists just turn around and go hunting again,” Estin said, and from what he could see on Turess’s face, he already knew it. Reluctantly, Estin rolled off Turess and sat down hard. “We need a way to stop Dorralt and the mists, once and for all. My children are out there somewhere. I want to know how we’re keeping the mists from ever reaching them. I want to know that their children won’t have to keep fighting this. I’ve been telling the others the same lie you told me about them fading away. We both know how fast they can move. They’ll find a way out of Turessi.”

  “The mists I…I can stop,” said Turess, not sounding entirely convinced. “With mists watching us, we spare everyone outside these lands. This is why I pushed us to get to the temple quickly. From there, I can slow or drive back mists and spare these lands at the least, and likely many others. Is old magic with some manipulation. We once learned how to slow the mists with our own magic—”

  “My son figured out how to do that on his own before his fourth year.”

  Turess blinked and tho
ught for a moment, as though he had lost his place. “I think with the old runes the…uh…Mairlee and I made, I can hold the mists and weaken them enough that they will starve before they can find more to consume. Will not know for sure if will work until I am standing in the old audience chamber. If things do not go well, I may see if we can pull the mists to us, ensuring our deaths in exchange for keeping them far from the rest of the world. Once they reach old building…they cannot leave easily because of mistake made long ago. Is place inside they will be drawn to and then bound by. Is not perfect plan, but hoping mists weaken and cannot make it back to other lands.

  “Dorralt is another matter. I cannot learn about him anywhere but standing in front of him. There are no others like him from what I see, so even capturing another would be meaningless. Were none I knew like him my first life. I need to get into what they now call the temple and face him if there is to be any chance of killing him. The mists can wait until my brother is gone. We will tune the wards to stop the mists, kill my brother, and then we worry about rest of plan.”

  “Can and will you fight him?”

  “I will,” Turess answered, and Estin saw no deceit in him. “Dorralt is only one who would know what happened to my wife and is the one who took my empire from me. He has twisted all the good I have done to his own ends. I cannot leave that unpunished, no matter who he is. We built this together, but that does not give him right to kill those in our old lands.”

  “And if you die? What do we do then?”

  Turess’s brows crinkled and he looked down at the ground. “I may not have magic, but I have much knowledge of how these things were created. If I die, all the strength we brought will not matter one bit. I believe another could figure out anything I can, but can they do it in time? I spent my whole life studying the magic of life and have tried to learn more in the last few weeks. Another would be forced to figure out how the magic works without benefit of any of that. I would trust you to learn this, just not in the time we have.”

  Sitting up and studying Turess as the last of the pain faded from his head, Estin asked, “You seriously think an uneducated street wildling could learn anything I’ve seen or heard of you doing? Exaggerated or not, your tricks are holding the mists back for now.”

  Smiling, Turess nodded. “I do. You are not stupid man, Estin. Besides, I was slave for most of my younger years. We are more alike than you seem to wish to believe, yes?” Turess held out a hand to help Estin up, which Estin eyed with surprise and confusion.

  “What about not touching people?”

  “Is not so much a rule as a custom,” Turess explained, grabbing Estin’s arm and pulling him up. “Was a stupid custom anyway. They said it was my idea, but I was still trying to learn how to be with people without being hurt as I had been when I was a slave. By the time I wished contact with others, my people had made these strange rules in my name. I think that rule should die out, as I should have many years ago. Everything is meant to change and disappear with the passing of years…do not tell that to Mairlee.”

  Estin limped back toward the middle of the circles and piles of books strewn across the hilltop, his hip bothering him suddenly after so long being tolerable. He picked up one of the books and eyed the flowing Turessian runewords that filled it, realizing he could not read whatever filled its pages. “I don’t speak ancient Turessian, but can I do anything to help?”

  “Matter of the facts, you can,” Turess answered, sitting on one of the stones that dotted the hilltop. “Before we start that, you do know is not called Turessian?”

  “Been meaning to ask you that. What is it called?”

  Turess smirked and shrugged. “Was a dialect of the local orc clans. Has changed much over the years, but is still orcish.”

  “Not something I would have guessed, given the dislike of orcs.”

  “Is true, though. On to more important things. Did Yoska, On’esquin, or even Raeln talk much about the prophecies?”

  “The prophecies you made? They did on occasion. I won’t claim I always listened.”

  “Good man,” Turess replied, rubbing at his bruised throat. “Normally I would say ignore any prophecy you hear. This time, I need your help. All memory of the prophecies is gone from me. I need you to tell me whatever you recall them saying as closely to the same wording as you can.”

  “How will that help us?”

  “It might not,” Turess laughed. “It very well might not help at all. However, my people and my brother think they will, so I wish to use those words against them. If they plan for things from prophecy, we will do opposite.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Into the Maw”

  “I tell you, has no meaning,” Yoska insisted, flapping the unrolled prophecy parchments in front of Raeln’s face. “Is meaningless babble about end times. Every culture has such nonsense stories. Just because we meet man who wrote these does not make them make more sense, no? When I drink, I say many profound things, but no one believes them to be prophecy.”

  Raeln turned slowly to one side and then the other, seeing the anger and frustration across a dozen Turessian faces. These men and women were about ready to kill Yoska where he stood—and not only because he was insulting Turess’s prophecies. Many of them had brothers, sisters, or children that Yoska had married off to members of other clans during his party. Raeln had spent hours trying to avoid having the entire army descend into infighting once everyone had sobered up. By the rules of honor in the clans, they would abide by the marriages, even if they were more than willing to kill Yoska for instigating them. Raeln had gotten off easy, only finding someone in his bed. He had initially worried about losing respect from the clans, but Yoska had created enough chaos that everyone had other concerns.

  “Translate it,” Raeln growled, finally managing to cut through Yoska’s ranting long enough that he seemed to notice the stares from the Turessians. “They tell me it is important, and I want to know specifics. Few of these people speak ancient Turessian. You learned it from someone who lived then. Translate.”

  Muttering under his breath, Yoska flattened out the parchment on the table they were using to discuss tactics. He skimmed briefly, apparently trying to find the right spot, before saying, “The text says…no, no, is miswritten here. Usually it says man of black and white, but here says ‘men.’ Only difference is one of the little flicks of the quill, so is mistake. But what it says is ‘The man of black and white will bring the setting sun and find their way open, while the great northern beast will lead the dawn or watch a final sunset as he saw in the south.’ Is nonsense, yes?”

  Looking to Yiral, who had kept quiet through most of the arguing, Raeln asked, “What would be the most accurate translation?”

  The old woman thought a moment before saying, “The men of—or in—black and white will come from the sunset, while the animal will come from the sunrise. The parts about the open way and final sunset I do not understand. The word choice on the animal normally means ‘dire wolf.’”

  “Sunset in the south,” Raeln thought aloud, rubbing at his jaw as he paced near the table. “The fall of Lantonne. The soldiers called it the ‘Sunset of Humanity’ in their melodramatic and drunken moments. If we don’t figure this out, we will see that degree of destruction again.”

  Clicking his tongue in annoyance, Yoska said, “You did not believe in prophecy few months ago, no? Why so much meaning now?”

  “Because if we don’t find a way to win this, we won’t get another chance, and I don’t know if anyone else ever will. Prophecy or not, we need some direction. This is all I have, so I intend to do what I can to follow Turess’s direction.”

  “I see,” Yoska said, shrugging. “Is good enough for me, but now you sound like magic dead green man, you know this?”

  Trying not to think about On’esquin, Raeln answered, “He had two thousand years to think on the prophecies. Maybe he knew better than all of us.”

  “Better than gypsy and wise northern woman?” Yoska
argued, motioning toward Yiral. “We are smart, but not smarter than orc with millennia to ponder things. I worry few days is not enough to figure out the meaning of this part, let alone rest of very long and very dry writings.”

  “Let me worry about that,” Raeln said, a little more firmly than he meant to. “What else have the two of you found in there?”

  Coming up beside Raeln and Yoska and then flipping a page ahead in the prophecy, Yiral said, “Much of it is clearly rambling. The difficulty is separating that from the actual prophecy. I believe he was half-mad by this point. Here he talks about the desiccated remains of the empire. He had moved his capital to these lands shortly before his death. The temple’s pillars are still called the bones of the temple, which I doubt is coincidence. I would take the rambling to indicate that whatever comes after would only matter if we were within the temple. Given that we already intend to go there, it works out well.

  “The next thing he goes into, after talking about a wife there is no record of—who he talks about for almost a page—is looking upon the writing of the magi and the reborn forests. Either could have thousands of meanings, even to our people, let alone his. Given that this refers to something happening at the temple, I seriously doubt to see a forest inside its walls. There is something figurative to it.

  “He babbles for much of the section about watching the sky rain fire of the gods’ tears…again, madness. I can pick nothing of value out of this. Turessians do not believe in gods, and for all the magic in these lands, the sky cannot be made to rain fire.

  “The last page speaks of failure,” she continued, closing the parchment roll without reaching that page, as though she were avoiding it. “There are two clear outcomes.”