Bones of the Empire

by Jim Galford

  “Perimeter guards,” Linn said, grabbing his shield from the ground at his feet. “We’re under attack. Everyone, get to your people and start them moving! Secure the edge of the camp and hunker down!”

  Estin checked his swords and turned to Feanne for direction.

  She hesitated, eyeing the southern part of the camp where the lycanthropes and larger animals were dwelling. Not one of them had been willing to speak to her after Rishad’s death, and Estin got the impression that Arella was being shielded by her people from any interaction she did not expressly request. Feanne seemed to be weighing whether to approach that group anyway, but then noticed Estin watching her.

  “We will go to the front lines with Linn,” she said, as Turess hurriedly gathered up the maps. “So long as we can hold our ground in the trees, we should be able to handle whatever they send our way. Estin, I am giving you control over the wildlings until our lines solidify. Get them to work together. I need to keep the werewolves focused or this could go badly. Linn will handle the furless. I will take over the wildlings once the lycanthropes are following.”

  “And what of me?” Turess asked, shoving the rolled maps under his arm.

  “You need to live until the temple, no matter what,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Help how you can without risking yourself. Largely, I want you healing the injured and keeping the lines from breaking. Save your strength for when we reach the temple grounds.”

  Turess bowed his head in acknowledgement, glancing at Estin sideways. Estin knew there was likely nothing Turess would be able to do, but he had promised not to pass that along. With luck, Turess could at least apply a bandage with some skill.

  Moving to Feanne’s side, Estin tried to take her hand, but she pulled away and stared him down calmly.

  “Now is not the time for emotion, Estin. Now is the time for bloodshed.” Raising her hand in front of herself, Feanne’s fingers and claws thickened and lengthened until they each could have been knives. As Estin watched, her muscles tensed and become more pronounced under her fur. She was gearing up for battle with her magic the same way Linn was likely piling as much metal over his body as he could. “Once they break, we push to the temple,” she told Estin. “No more rest until we are inside its walls. This may be the longest day of our lives.”

  Feanne turned and left, followed by Turess, leaving Estin alone in the simple canopy they had used as the heart of military planning. Before he could decide where to go first, Alafa and Barlen came clomping into the secluded wooded area, watching him for instruction without saying anything.

  “I take it you heard all that?” Estin asked over his shoulder.

  Alafa nodded vigorously. “Lihuan said the first rule of scouting was to already know what’s happening before your leader asks you to find out. The wildlings are all gathering. For some reason, the kobolds and goblins wanted to be with us, instead of out with Linn’s humans.”

  “The stinky dead people are fighting with the furless at the edge of the woods,” Barlen added. “Lots of them…dead people, not furless.”

  “Let’s do this, then,” Estin said, following them toward the part of the camp where the wildlings had mostly gathered. “How many do we have?”

  Alafa blinked a few times before answering cryptically, “All of them.”

  Sighing, Estin asked another way. “What breeds and how many families of each? Guesses are fine.”

  “Wolves, bears, a couple badgers,” Barlen said, counting on his fingers, despite not giving any numbers. “Lots of deerfolk. I saw some scaled lizard breeds…don’t know about them. The ravens, the otters, the—”

  “Ravens?” Estin stopped midstride. “How many other birds and treefolk do we have?”

  “Lots,” Alafa answered, staring wide-eyed. “Why?”

  “Because now we have a plan.” He set off again. “Get the treefolk and anything that likes heights up into the trees. The trees will shelter our archers and allow us to pack in more troops in an area. I want the wolves leading strike teams of their choosing across the enemy lines. The bears are to pick their own teams to hold the camp’s perimeter walls. Anyone else, bring to me.”

  Alafa and Barlen looked at each other and then split and ran in different directions to deliver Estin’s orders. From that look, Estin gathered the two deer were able to communicate as well as he and Feanne, without the need for words. They knew each other’s thoughts well enough to not waste time speaking them.

  Coming up over part of the hilly terrain they were camped on, Estin could make out much of the eastern slope of the woods through a gap in the trees. Below and farther east, he watched explosions of flame and lightning along the edge of the forest. Shouts and clanging metal echoed up to him. The wall of spikes they had set up as a fence ended near those trees, so the battle was already to the edge of the camp.

  Spread across the gap between the woods and the faint silhouette of a tall building far off to the east were many thousands of undead. Among them were Turessians, their bolts of energy flying from random spots, crashing into the tree line. Even with his better-than-average night vision, Estin could not make out much detail. The zombies appeared to be one writhing mass. It was still another hour until dawn, and by then most of the army might already be dead.

  Estin turned the other way, surveying the camp as it readied itself. Less than a quarter of their troops would have already been at the lines, with the others resting in the tents. All of those people were now racing out into the torchlight, pulling on armor and drawing weapons.

  As Estin watched, a single man caught his eye. Dressed in old rags that hinted at having come from Altis or nearby, the middle-aged elven man was neither running nor arming himself. He stood alone as people ran past him, as though he did not even see them.

  Crinkling his brow in confusion, Estin looked around the camp and saw another person—this one a dwarven woman—standing the same way, right in the middle of where people were trying to prepare. He continued searching and found a human man doing the same thing. They were spaced evenly within the camp. After listening to Linn for days talking about tactics, all he could see was the perfect placement of those three to maximize their access to the people in the camp.

  “Spies!” Estin shouted, catching the attention of a dozen soldiers, who looked to him for guidance. He frantically pointed out the three people. “Take them down right now!”

  In unison, the suspicious people launched into motion, their faces devoid of any emotion. They stared blankly as they hurled spells into the camp, incinerating dozens of men and women within seconds. They turned after each spell, targeting another group. The elven man shifted, and Estin saw a faint reddish glow to his eyes. They were not just spies, but Turessians in some fashion.

  Estin ran down the hill toward the Turessians, knowing full-well he could do little to stop them. No more than halfway to the dwarven woman, the air around Estin chilled abruptly, and he stopped, searching the area around himself for anything that stood out. It took him only a second to spot the shimmering of the air where something was trying to hide itself.

  “Come back to finish killing us?” Estin demanded, rounding on the vaguely human shape in the air. Crackling of flames nearby warned him the attacks were still underway, but the dozens of soldiers headed that way would do as well as he could. “I’m guessing this is your doing, Oramain?”

  Airy chuckles preceded the appearance of the same man Estin had seen previously, his ghostly form somewhat more defined than the last time, complete with heavy robes. He walked rather than floated, his yellow eyes glowing faintly as he approached Estin.

  Oramain moved to stand between Estin and the nearest of the Turessians. “You should not be here, wildling. They have orders to kill you on sight. They were hidden among their people long before I came back to my master’s side. Each of them has been waiting for my master’s signal. They do not even know what they are doing. They simply obey.”

  Estin unclasped the leather straps that held his sw
ords in their sheaths and drew them, eyeing the metal with doubts about whether it would be enough. Closing his eyes and concentrating through the rush of ghostly voices, he opened them and smiled as his weapons shimmered with a faint white light. The spell was an old favorite of Asrahn’s, allowing edged weapons to cut through dead flesh with ease. Whether it would work on Oramain was doubtful.

  “You would keep fighting when even your enemy wishes to spare you?” the ghost asked, his eyes narrowing. “There is no magic you possess that can destroy me now. Your own rebirth has given me all the strength I possessed in the first days of my service to Dorralt. I am giving you the chance to flee, despite orders to the contrary. Take your wife and go.”

  Estin growled and raised his glowing weapons. “You’re only giving me time. Dorralt will find us someday. I will not trade all of these people for another day, knowing he will just follow us. Go back to your master.”

  Oramain turned slightly to look over at the three Turessians, who had killed nearly fifty people and continued to attack. “I used to revel in impossible odds too. That was why he chose me to be a general, no matter my wishes.”

  Estin inched forward, trying to get within melee range, but froze when Oramain returned his attention to Estin, his eyes flaring more brightly.

  “Can Turess win?” Oramain asked, surprising Estin enough that he nearly lowered his weapons. “Do you believe he has the power to succeed?”

  “I do. Do you?”

  Smiling slowly, Oramain lifted a hand that glowed brightly enough that Estin thought he had a spell ready to strike him down. Instead, Oramain motioned toward the dwarven Turessian, and she collapsed, shaking her head in confusion.

  “Kill them quickly,” Oramain insisted, gesturing to the other two Turessians. Each fell similarly. “I’ve severed my master’s control over them, but it will not last long. Once he realizes what I’ve done, he will likely exert his power over my body. Without him in their heads, they can be killed. Go…now!”

  Estin hesitated a second longer before convincing himself to risk taking Oramain’s offer. Running, Estin reached the dwarven Turessian before anyone else, as the soldiers had gone for the elven man. He slid to a stop in the snow to stand over the dwarven woman as she sat up.

  “Please,” the woman pleaded, clutching her head. “He keeps talking…I…I can’t make it stop anymore. He…I…I killed my husband…all those people…”

  Wincing, Estin took a deep breath and raised his sword as the dwarf looked up at him pleadingly. There was no fear, no anger. She wanted him to end what she had been unable to warn the camp about. She was another innocent Dorralt had used in his war.

  Closing his eyes as he swung, Estin felt the impact of his sword against the woman and the sickly spray of blood that came with it. When he opened his eyes again, the body had already begun to decay the same way Arturis’s and Rishad’s had when destroyed.

  Estin quickly checked on the other two Turessians and found the other soldiers had finished them off as well. Looking back up the hill among the trees, he tried to spot Oramain, but the ghost had fled. He made a mental note to thoroughly question Turess about the man later, but the battle had to come first.

  Taking a deep breath, Estin went toward the sounds of fighting at a jog. He got halfway to the front lines before he was surrounded by hundreds of people all trying to figure out where to go. Linn shouted orders in the distance, and various officers relayed them to groups down the line. Everyone looked as lost as Estin felt, giving him some small measure of confidence that he was no worse off.

  He neared the edge of the woods and saw the soldiers there were already losing ground. They had been pushed back past the simple barricades and spikes, leaving many of the undead impaled there. The undead were pressing the attack, using their greater numbers to overwhelm the living.

  Searching for some reinforcements, Estin spotted a group of wolf wildlings, fox wildlings, and various cat breeds running as a tight pack. They saw Estin, and one of the wolves motioned toward the undead. Estin gave him a nod and mimicked the gesture, smiling as the large group took off running at the edge of the enemy lines. The wolves would tear across the undead line and get out again, leaving the undead disoriented and wounded, making things easier on everyone. With luck, they might even be able to distract a Turessian in that throng.

  He then searched the trees and saw several monkey wildlings racing through the branches, most carrying bows or spears. Not far behind them, the flightless raven wildlings and other birds were using the limited strength of their wings to glide from one tree to the next, taking up positions around the monkeys. One hawk wildling stopped over Estin’s head and let out a shrill cry to get his attention, waiting with its bow in one hand. All of the other treefolk and birds turned to watch the hawk for their signal to open fire. She was going to be the one to relay his orders, the way Linn’s officers did for the nonwildlings.

  “Wait until they get into the trees!” Estin shouted up at the wildling. “You’re free to fire once they get within range. Cover the soldiers as they back up. I want cover-fire for the skirmishers.”

  The hawk raised a clawed hand and signaled the others. The birds and monkeys settled into their perches all around the area, readying their weapons and waiting patiently. Every few seconds, Estin could see them glace toward the hawk, ready for her orders. She, in turn, would look down at him before giving the others a slight shake of her beak. Each minute, the nervousness grew on the faces of those waiting on him, but the undead were too far yet—he knew most of their arrows would miss. Given how little effect arrows would have on walking corpses, Estin wanted to ensure every one counted. If nothing else, the distraction had to be timed well, or it was not even worth the effort.

  A rumble near the front lines drew Estin’s attention in that direction. A dozen soldiers there had fallen and were smoking, and all of the snow around them melted away in a rush of steam. Trees nearest them were singed. That entire portion of the line was broken, and Estin could see no one close enough to cover the fallen, though more soldiers were already running from deeper in the woods to try to reach their allies. Unless someone was going to shift from another part of the line, Estin and a few others were nearest to that spot.

  Whistling to get the attention of the wildlings in the trees, Estin dashed toward the gap in the line. He reached it as the first of the shambling, groaning zombies broke through, stepping on the fallen soldiers with little concern. As Estin rushed in, one of the soldiers on the ground was dragged off by the zombies while others descended on the fallen humans. From what he could tell, the undead had been ordered to push forward no matter the cost to their numbers. Those farther back were more willing to grab at the dead and dying, dragging them off either to kill or to provide their remains to the Turessians.

  Driving one of his swords into the ground tip-first so he could clear a hand, Estin called forth his magic and the voices that came with it. He unleashed a burst of energy at the zombies that stood over the soldiers. No less than ten of the undead fell sideways as the rush of energy left his body, taking with it a good portion of his strength. Thankfully, even with dozens more undead atop the soldiers, they all turned their attention on him, forgetting about the wounded.

  “Open fire!” Estin shouted. He drew his sword from the ground just in time to sweep it across the chest of the nearest zombie. The blade sizzled and burned away the creature’s decaying flesh, doing far more damage than it could have without magic. Still, the creature kept coming, as did many more. Worse still, the last of the magic he had placed on the blade faded away, leaving it as little more than very sharp steel.

  Dancing nimbly through the undead, whirling his twin swords through them as fast as he could, Estin tried not to flinch as arrows fell around him. The archers were good, somehow managing to keep from hitting him despite the erratic pattern he cut through the undead. More than once he felt the arrows graze his arms and tail, but not one shot broke his skin.

  Estin did
his best to keep ahead of the undead with the aid of the archers, never pausing for more than a second between swings or lashes of his tail. Soon his whole body felt sticky, as though he had rolled in zombie gore, which was likely not far from the truth. He knew even a momentary pause to catch his breath could mean being dragged away from the rest of his army. His blades hummed as they passed through the air. They slid easily through the rotting flesh of the zombies and allowed him to maintain his momentum as he struggled to keep from letting any hands fall on him.

  Ducking around a wild swipe, Estin found soldiers were filling in around him, gradually pushing back against the undead. He soon was able to move more freely, though the others did much of the fighting for him. Using that break, he sheathed his weapons and grabbed the nearest soldier who had fallen. Pulling the man away from the undead by his ankle, Estin then knelt beside him, trying to find a spot to check for a pulse. When Estin did find a gap in the armor, he found the man was already dead.

  Letting his vision shift to search for the spirit of the dead man, Estin found the body was already cold, at least as far as magic was concerned. There was little more that could be done without the old magic he knew they did not have out in the middle of the Turessian empire. Refusing to let himself think too long on the man, Estin scrambled to the next, hoping he might still be able to save someone. Every life spared was someone who might save him or Feanne in the days to come.

  The second man and the woman after were as dead as the first, both having been torn open by the undead. The fourth soldier was still breathing, though only barely. Estin poured his magic into him, and a moment later, the soldier’s eyes flicked open as he coughed up the blood that had been filling his lungs.

  “Get to the back and rest until you can fight again,” Estin said.

  The man nodded and pulled himself away from the clashes of weapons on bone. He practically dragged himself, gasping as he went.