Bones of the Empire

by Jim Galford

  Raeln looked up at the two Marakeer, who watched him with clear suspicion. They were far more loyal to Dalania than they were to him. That somehow made him a little happier, knowing he did not need to try to communicate with them. It also terrified him, given that if Dalania’s condition worsened, he might lose the toughest of his allies.

  Glancing over at Yoska, Raeln found he was absently rubbing at the old cup that still hung from his belt. He always did that when he was scared, and this seemed as appropriate a time as any. Yoska felt helpless, that much was certain. He could not help Ceran, and he could not help Dalania…no more than Raeln could.

  Taking Dalania’s hand and helping her up, Raeln led her back toward the battle. She nearly collapsed as she put weight on her warped feet, barely staying upright even with Raeln’s help. The Marakeer quickly flanked them, set on escorting Dalania no matter where he took her, from the look of things. He honestly could not object to the extra help.

  They crossed through the camp and past the wounded. Off to the right, Raeln could see the healers still huddled around Ceran, which he took as a good sign. Almost as an afterthought, he reached out with his free hand to grab Yoska in case he tried to sneak off toward Ceran.

  Yoska slapped his hand away, hesitated a moment, and then followed Raeln despite watching Ceran.

  Though she said nothing, Dalania gave Raeln a chastising look that made him want to slink away. She was more like his sister than he cared to admit. If they lived through this, she would chide him for even trying to keep Yoska away from Ceran when she was hurt.

  They passed into the back lines of the Turessians, where weary spellcasters rested in preparation for the next push forward into the enemy lines. Among them were those who were assisting the army, their families, and the ever-present ancestors that followed the army. The Marakeer generally ignored everyone except the ancestors, who they chittered at and avoided whenever possible.

  Past that group, former slave-caste members and Marakeer were in constant movement. They pushed forward to the front lines and fell back as they became too wounded to fight on. Some were carried back, and the severity of their injuries determined whether they were brought into the camp or taken to a section of woods nearby that Raeln knew held an open grave. He had not had the heart to visit it yet, given what he knew of the Turessian end-of-life ceremonies. Once things were settled, he would spend a great deal of time there, learning the names of every life lost under his leadership.

  Raeln pushed his way through both groups until he was several rows back from where the Marakeer were ripping zombies to pieces. The roar of battle was deafening.

  “We need to hurry,” Dalania said, patting his arm. She had taken all of her weight off his arm and was walking more comfortably. “Make the call. We need to push forward, or there will be death and no return for the great one. The timing must be right on this. Eighteen minutes until the mists break through. He will give us the signal, and we must be ready to assist. Thirty-four minutes until the time is right, give or take.”

  “Great one? What are you talking about?”

  Dalania blinked and looked around, as though unsure where she was. Her balance abruptly faltered, and she grabbed Raeln more tightly to stay upright. “I have no idea. I don’t think I said that.”

  “If not you…?”

  Dalania shook her head. The fae. He should not have asked.

  Sighing, Raeln thought about his options. There honestly would not be another chance like this. Once the Turessians serving Dorralt regrouped at the temple, they would have a strong advantage. As much as he hated playing into the hands of the fae without knowing why, he knew delaying would be risky. The fae were right. He had to get his army to the temple soon, or they would be fighting for days or weeks, losing hundreds against the walls of the temple itself. If what Dalania said about the mists was true, they certainly did not have long.

  “Charge!” Raeln shouted as loudly as he could. The order was relayed throughout the lines swiftly. Magical flame and whirlwinds cut swaths through the undead to clear the path for the Marakeer and former slaves to rush ahead.

  The army lurched as one, going from a standstill, to a slow march, to a light run in a matter of a minute or two. Raeln held back from the front of the group, keeping one hand on Dalania. Yoska maintained his pace at Raeln’s other side. The charge slowed several times as zombies attempted to cut them off, but between magic and the physical might of the Marakeer, the army gradually forced the undead back toward the temple. Through the charge, Raeln saw not one Turessian on the other side, as though they had already yielded the field.

  A rush of wind caught Raeln’s attention, and he looked back to find the three dragons had taken flight. At first he thought they were vying for a new angle of attack on the undead. But then he looked past them and realized they were actually fleeing. Massive funnels of mists that reminded him of tornados out on the plains near Lantonne were falling one after another in a vast circle around the dragons in Raeln’s army. Once the dragons put distance between themselves and the army, the columns of deadly mist raced after them. Leaving the ground, they flew with incredible speed toward the dragons, like so many fingers greedily trying to snatch the dragons from the sky.

  Raeln searched above and found the mists had gotten far worse than the last time he had taken the time to look past his own army. The entire sky was filled now, covering all of Turessi in a massive dome of sparkling light. Every few seconds, a section of that dome would bulge inward before breaking open, allowing another column of rapidly spinning mists to descend. A light snowfall fell through the dome. About half of the flakes bursting into flame before they had fallen even halfway to the ground, creating an eerie look of the sky burning.

  The more Raeln looked around, the more he could clearly see the temple was somehow immune to all that was going on in the sky around it. The whirlwinds of mist roared past the tall black pillars of the temple without coming any closer than a half mile out, even if the dragons led them straight toward it. The flaming snow was all far from the temple, and regular snow coated the temple itself, unaffected by the mists. With all the chaos the mists were causing, that singular building was a haven. He understood why the fae wanted everyone to hurry. Once the last of the magical wall over Turessi collapsed, the temple looked to be the only place that would survive a little longer.

  “I want everyone at the temple within the hour!” Raeln shouted at the army around him. One of the former slaves—he barely registered that it was Somn—handed him a spear. A Marakeer took Dalania gently from his arm, leading her back a short distance from the heart of the fighting. Yoska simply drew his knives and waited for Raeln.

  The slaves, Marakeer, and Turessians shouted as one, drowning out Raeln’s cry as they ploughed into the enemy lines. The undead soon buckled and gave ground rapidly enough that Raeln had to run just to keep up with the front lines. He shut down his mind, ignoring the squish of broken bodies under his bare feet as he pushed on. All he could see and think about was the temple far ahead, so close yet farther away than he would have liked, given the constant movement of the mists.

  Raeln stepped into the front of the line, stabbing and slashing with the tip of his spear. Each time the enemy line faltered, Raeln quickly went to another part of his army, aiding any who appeared to be slowing down or losing ground. He soon was covered with blood and his arms shook, but he had a long way to go before he would be able to rest.

  An abrupt change forced Raeln onto the defensive. The undead surged forward, pushing the line farther from the temple. He fought furiously, keeping his spear moving to hold his position against the reaching zombies. Beyond them, he could see the Turessians in the distance at the foot of the temple, no longer hurling spells, but all appearing to concentrate on the undead. They were somehow driving the undead into a frenzy that was rapidly cutting down Raeln’s men and women. He could already see several sections of the army breaking apart. Marakeer moved in to try to hold the army’s position
, stepping over the bloodied and dying soldiers to get at the undead with a fervor Raeln found both frightening and a blessing, given the situation.

  “Open fire!” Raeln screamed as he pushed forward, hoping someone would get his order to the archers and casters farther back. Seconds later, he saw torrents of arrows and the occasional spell come raining down on the Turessian lines, forcing them back and disrupting their efforts. In moments, they had retreated to their barricades, trying to minimize their exposure. Raeln’s soldiers got a little respite as the undead slowed their charge.

  Spinning his spear to crack one zombie’s skull open as he came around to stab another in the chest, Raeln felt rather than saw the soldier to his left fall silently under a rush of undead. Agony tore through Raeln’s shoulder as broken teeth ripped through his flesh. Sweeping his spear up, Raeln impaled the zombie, only to have another gouge his thigh with its claws.

  Raeln stumbled, and two more zombies grabbed at him while the soldiers to either side tried to fend them off. As he fell to one knee, Raeln saw two fallen warriors—an orcish former slave and a Turessian he knew to be a preserver—under the feet of the undead, forgotten. Both were still breathing, though their wounds were terrible and their eyes pleaded with him to save them somehow.

  Dropping his spear, Raeln grabbed the two warriors by fistfuls of their clothing and yanked them back with as much force as he could muster. They landed behind him with pained grunts, where healers hurried up to aid them. In doing so, Raeln lost any semblance of defense against the undead. They fell on him, claws and teeth everywhere he looked as they bore him to the ground.

  Raeln swung his elbows and knees as well as he could manage with five or six undead atop him. Their weight alone was wearing him down, and painful nips and scratches every few seconds made it difficult to concentrate. He could no longer see any soldiers around him, only the decayed clothing of zombies marching right past him.

  In desperation, Raeln looked to the sky past the snapping jaw of a zombie, hoping the dragons would be on their way back. He caught a glimpse of them, miles away and still leading the mist funnels on a chase through the deserted sections of Turessi. They were going to be no help. Even the gods were busy.

  A zombie finally got through Raeln’s defenses and bit into his arm, making him scream as it tore away part of his skin. He kicked it away, but the damage was already done. Even more undead climbed onto him, trying to tear him apart.

  Suddenly, all of the undead were pulled away from him. Vines rose from the ground around him, dragging the undead back and snaring them. The vines slammed the undead into the ground and tightened until the zombies’ bones broke under the stress and they lay still. When more undead tried to rush at him, the vines lashed out again, grabbing and crushing them as well.

  Rolling onto his side and clutching his bleeding arm to his chest, Raeln saw Dalania marching confidently toward him with the rest of the army following her. She walked right past him, almost as though she had not seen him. For the first time, she looked like a leader, her poise a stark contrast from how he had always known her.

  “Dalania!” Raeln called after her, trying to stop her before she walked headlong into the regrouping undead. “What happened to a peaceful solution?”

  Turning part way, Dalania looked down on Raeln with eyes that glowed brightly green. “Nature is not merciful and neither are we. We will take the sapling where it needs to be before the mortals fail us again. Your way was too slow, wolf.”

  “Dalania?” Raeln asked, getting up and picking up a sword in his good hand. “What are you talking about?”

  “The sapling concerns itself with your health,” she replied, reaching out and touching his arm.

  Immediately, the wound closed, though not the way it would have if a healer like Estin had tried to mend it. Instead, the wound turned into what appeared to be an old scar and ached the same way most of his old battle injuries had for months after earning them. Also unlike the magic of healers like Estin, this left him with no weariness.

  “Take the sapling to the human structure of old stone. Our strength is waning, and we must be alert when our heart and the signal arrive there. Your weakness delays us and endangers everything.”

  Raeln waved his hand in front of Dalania’s face and snapped his fingers. She did not blink. “Who are you?”

  Taking his hand and moving it out of her face, Dalania replied, “We are those who this sapling made bargains with to spare the fox child. We have decided we must protect the sapling to see our bargain through. The sapling’s death now would be…unacceptable.”

  Before Raeln could reply, Dalania reached back without looking, caught a zombie’s face in her hand, and clamped its jaw shut with her fingers. The zombie thrashed and tried to free itself, but she tightened her grip until its head exploded in a spray of gore and the body collapsed.

  “You delay us,” Dalania said, her eyes flaring more brightly. “We cannot maintain this long. You will lead the mortals to battle, or we will need to find another way. You remain our best option.”

  “If you hurt her—”

  Dalania’s twisted smile stole his words away. “We would not damage the sapling or risk destroying ourselves and any hope we have for our master. Worry yourself over your own mortality, wolf.”

  Raeln stood there a moment, knowing he did not have long before the undead were on them again. He wanted to drag Dalania back to the camp and find a way to drive the fae out of her, but there was no time. Instead, he picked up a shield from a fallen soldier and marched past her into the battle. He walked right past the rest of his soldiers and smashed the face of the nearest undead with the lip of the shield. Using his momentum, he cleaved the next one’s head in half with his sword.

  The next hour was a blur of blood and pain, though Raeln would not let himself stop. He knew his soldiers were at his sides, keeping the line moving, but his only thought was on Dalania and the creatures enslaving her. There was nothing worse to her, and he would not let it last. He would cut through the whole undead army if he had to, simply to create the time needed to free her.

  With a suddenness that threw him off balance, Raeln broke through the undead force. He found himself looking across a few hundred feet of snow-dusted plains at a squad of twenty-three Turessians, settled behind wide ditches filled with spikes. Some stared back at him with fear while others glared with obvious loathing. Nearly every single one raised their hands and hurriedly started to cast spells, staring right at him.

  Raising his sword high overhead, Raeln heard the chanting of spells behind him and the creak of bowstrings. He let his arm drop, and a torrent of wood and magic came down on the Turessians, who scrambled to stop their own spells in time to put up defenses. The arrows thudded into the line of Turessians, disrupting the concentration of the living among them, causing the magical barriers to fall instantly. The spells Raeln’s soldiers threw at them right behind the arrows incinerated several, knocking others back in explosions, and crushed still more under barrages of stone and ice.

  When the magic ended, five of the Turessians were dragging themselves to their feet—one of them Liris. The rest remained still. Dorralt had used living men and women as a trick, trying to hide their real numbers.

  For several long minutes, Raeln held his ground as the last of the fighting behind him trailed off. When the last of the undead on the eastern side of the temple had fallen, all that lay between Raeln’s army and a set of large wooden doors were those five Turessians.

  Raeln turned to assess his forces and found there were about a dozen Marakeer still standing, along with about half of the former slaves. Behind them, he could see a hundred Turessian spellcasters and archers. Everyone else had fallen back to tend to their wounds or lay dead. In the distance, he spotted the group of healers near where he had left Ceran, with Somn fetching supplies for them. It made Raeln feel somewhat better to know Somn had managed to keep himself alive even that long.

  In the sky, Raeln easily spotted th
e three—no, four—dragons circling in wide arcs to lead the mists’ breaches far from the armies on the ground. As much as he wanted gods at his side, what they were doing was far more important than fighting. They were buying him the time to fight for them.

  Returning his attention to the Turessians, Raeln saw they had actually fortified the long lines of ditches with not just spikes, but a shimmering wall that ran as far as he could see in either direction. At first he thought it to be a solid barrier, but the more he stared at it, the more he thought it to be the wavering of heat…There was something waiting for the first of his troops to try to cross the ditch.

  Raeln checked on Dalania, finding that she remained right behind the Marakeer, her eyes still glowing as she stared blankly at the temple.

  Taking a deep breath, Raeln thought to shout for the army to march—hoping his wizards could deal with whatever was ahead of them—but as he took in air, he knew what he had to do. The Turessians under Dorralt’s control were so determined to eradicate his people, to crush everything wild, that he only had one way he could think of calling the final charge.

  Raeln let out his best howl the way Greth had taught him, dragging the cry out as long as he could, letting the sound echo off the walls of the temple. Before he trailed off, the Marakeer had joined in with their own bestial calls. The orcs shouted deep-throated roars. One by one, even the Turessians began their own bellows. This was no longer about organized battle or leadership. Now they were the animals Dorralt had long taught his people to hate and fear. There was no language to be found anywhere in the cries that came from Raeln’s army.

  The calls had exactly the desired effect. The four Turessians with Liris looked nervous, with two of them inching away toward the doors of the temple. Whether they were immortal or not, Raeln’s army had them concerned. That was enough to tell Raeln that these creatures could be killed. There would be a way. Nothing truly immortal could possibly fear them.