by Jim Galford
“Give them an opening!” Ilarra said loudly, hoping the others could hear her.
Using magical blasts to knock creatures aside as quickly as she could, Ilarra felt as though she were going to vomit at any moment. The magic was draining her faster than she cared to admit, but she was not about to stop so long as Raeln was outside. She would find a way to keep fighting until those doors were closed again, even if it killed her.
At her sides, the hunters and Greth fought just as hard, pushing their way out onto the top step as Raeln reached them. They held back the flood of broken bodies that tried to force their way into the room as Raeln dove inside, covered in sickly black blood that was likely a mix of his own and the corpses’. He was immediately followed by two of the warriors he had gone to save.
A second later, Ishande slid past the doors and collapsed near Raeln as she clutched dozens of bleeding wounds. She grinned happily at the people inside, looking more exhilarated than hurt or afraid as she tied off a tourniquet on her arm to slow the blood-loss.
Rolus was the last to run for the door, with Greth and the others beginning to fall back. He started to pass the hunters guarding the door, then fell right at Ilarra’s feet.
Looking past the fallen man, Ilarra saw that the undead child lay on the steps, clutching Rolus’ ankle. The creature snarled and tugged, pulling the man back as more of the fallen zombies grabbed him.
“Get him!” Ilarra cried, grabbing Rolus’ wrists.
The others were a little slower, still fighting off the undead to keep the doors from being overrun. In the second before a young man reached for Rolus, two more undead grabbed his legs and yanked him right out of Ilarra’s grip, practically throwing him out into the crowd of bloodthirsty undead.
Ilarra screamed as she saw blood, and then Greth slammed into her and drug her back into the library.
“Lock it!” Greth shouted at the others, who hurriedly did as he said. “Get the wounded to the back. Any soldier still able to fight, stand at a window or these doors. Archers, get to the roof! If you see anyone standing around staring, replace them until the shock wears off!”
Lying on the floor near the doors as they were barred again, Ilarra stared in disbelief at the spot where Rolus had been a moment earlier. She had seen the look in his eyes as he had realized that he was being pulled away and it made her insides twist. The thought of that kind of terror on a warrior made her think of her father or Raeln being dragged down like that…
“Wake up, elf,” said Greth, kneeling in front of her. He looked over her face, then checked her arms. “You aren’t hurt. You need to keep fighting.”
“I…I can’t. I’m no warrior.”
“You have magic. Use it,” he told her gruffly, then stepped back in a hurry as Raeln came over. “I guess if you’re both going to be sitting here panicking, I’ll go check on the wounded.”
Greth walked away, matching Raeln’s glowering stare as he went.
“How many died out there?” Ilarra asked Raeln as he knelt beside her, facing the rumbling door.
Cocking his head a little to show he was not sure, Raeln held up six fingers, then shook his head and held up eight. After a second, he shrugged and shook his head. He had no idea.
“Why are they here?” Ilarra whispered, though she knew no one had any idea. Just voicing the question helped in some small way.
“I need a healer back here!” shouted Greth, his voice cracking. “Now!”
Forcing herself to stand, Ilarra staggered toward the back of the library, where most of the villagers were milling about the wounded. Along the back wall where there were no windows, Greth was kneeling in the middle of the five injured that had been taken there, clutching Ishande’s hand.
Violently trembling, the wolf-woman was making her already severe wounds bleed all the more. Blood had begun to trickle from the edges of her muzzle from having bit into her own tongue.
“She’s having some kind of fit,” Greth announced as Ilarra came over. He clamped his free hand on Ishande’s muzzle, keeping her mouth shut tightly. Snarling angrily, he ripped a piece of leather from the armor of a hunter standing near him and shoved it into Ishande’s mouth to keep her from tearing into her tongue further. “She’ll lose her tongue if she keeps thrashing like this. Where is the healer?”
Ilarra scanned the faces of the people around them, then shook her head. “He would be here if he were alive. My guess is that he was one of those caught outside.”
Reaching out as she settled to the floor, Ilarra rested her hand on Ishande’s head near her ears. Heat radiated so strongly it was uncomfortable to touch her. In the time since Ilarra had sat down, Ishande’s eyes had rolled back and she choked and her body began jerking violently while the smaller shakes continued.
“You know what’s happening. I can see it in both your faces,” muttered Greth, looking first to Ilarra, then past her at Raeln. “What is this? She’s hurt badly, but I’ve never seen anything like this. Poison? Disease? Magic? What is it?”
“Her bonded has died,” whispered an older elven woman nearby, shaking her head. “Poor thing.”
Greth’s confusion was mixed with anger. “Explain. Use small words for the savage.”
“Her body is having trouble coping as age catches up with her,” Ilarra said sadly. She took her hands away from Ishande. “When Rolus died, it severed the bond.”
“I have no idea what that means. Is this the same thing with you two?”
Ilarra nodded and looked back at Raeln. When she did, she saw that he was watching Ishande not with the sorrow of one watching another die, but with the fear of knowing it could, or would, happen to him as well.
“So her elf buddy dies and it kills her, too?” demanded Greth, shifting his hand from Ishande’s muzzle to her chest in an effort to minimize the damage she was doing to herself. “How old is she? She looks no more than six.”
“Twenty-four, give or take,” Ilarra answered. “All the extra years will be pushed on her over the next few minutes.”
Greth’s eyes widened and he glanced up at Raeln, who motioned with his fingers that she was twenty-seven.
“My father was well on his way to dying of old age at thirty-two,” the wolf snarled, then winced as Ishande went into another rough seizure. Wrapping his arms around her, Greth held her as still as he could. “I’d rather be thrown into chains than be someone’s pet like this. You people are disgusting.”
The minutes passed slowly, with the occasional shout from behind them when an archer would get attacked at a window by the undead outside. In between, the only sound other than the hushed voices of the villagers was Ishande’s thrashing. Eventually, even that subsided and she lay more easily, though she drifted in and out of consciousness.
“How long?” Greth asked softly when Ishande’s eyes closed again. “How long will she suffer like this? Ten minutes? Twenty, maybe? This has to be killing her.”
Ilarra touched Ishande’s forehead again, feeling the same heat as before. “Some very few live through it…though they often go mad or lose the will to live. Usually, they have fits like that for a few hours, and then their hearts give out. The strongest, like her, can last a day or two before the fits end. The longest I’ve heard of is four days.”
“This is common?” Greth asked, checking Ishande’s mouth to be sure she had not swallowed or bitten through her tongue.
“Not overly. Most bonded die nearly at the same time.”
Greth looked around at the crowd of elves that were staring at Ishande, then lifted his head to Raeln. “You’re going to let her lay here and die, aren’t you?” he asked angrily, then growled when Raeln lowered his head in shame. “You don’t even know how you would want to die, do you, mutt? Our kind die as alone as we can manage. That’s the way we’re built.”
Raeln looked away, trying to look at anyone but Ishande and Greth.
“My people would never have allowed any of this,” whispered Greth near Ishande’s ear. “You have my word on
that.”
Opening her eyes slowly, Ishande smiled at Greth. Then, noticing the crowd around them, she began to look uncomfortable and tried to push herself back against the wall but could not manage to move herself.
Helping Ishande sit up, Greth got close to her, so Ilarra doubted anyone farther than her could hear. “Do you want to die a warrior or as a dead elf’s pet?”
Eyes tearing up, Ishande clasped Greth’s hand and answered in a voice shaky from lack of use. “Get me away from everyone.”
Greth immediately put his arms under Ishande’s legs and arms, hoisting her. A dozen men and women—all elven—stepped into his path, trying to block him as most asked what he was doing.
“What is your way of dealing with this?” Greth snapped at Ilarra while Ishande let her head fall weakly against his neck. “What would you do right now?”
“We could only wait for her to pass,” admitted Ilarra, drawing nods from several others nearby.
“That’s not how we die,” Greth replied, though he stared at Raeln when he said it. “Is there a cellar or another way out of here?”
Ilarra pointed to a corner of the room. “There’s a cellar, but it doesn’t go outside. The only way out is through the front doors or off the roof.”
Greth started walking toward the cellar doors, shoving past any elf who got in his way. Halfway there, Raeln ran over and intercepted him, blocking his path.
“Back down, you muzzled dog,” snarled Greth, but Raeln did not move.
Ilarra got to her feet quickly, wondering if the two men were going to come to blows. Just as she thought Greth might put Ishande down and attack, it was Ishande who made the first move, gently laying a hand on Raeln’s chest. She kept it there just a moment, then weakly pushed him aside.
“I’ll go do what you can’t,” Greth told Raeln as he passed. “When I come back, I want answers to a lot of questions. Have your master answer them or I’ll beat them out of you.”
Kicking open the cellar door, Greth left with Ishande, as Ilarra followed slowly. When she neared the door, it was Raeln that stopped her.
“Raeln,” Ilarra pleaded, pointing at the open cellar door, “you know he’s going to kill her, right?”
Raeln’s eyes tightened in silent agony and he nodded, but he kept Ilarra from going past him.
Staring past her brother, Ilarra heard the light thumps of Greth’s feet on the wooden stairs end. She began to panic, trying to push past Raeln, but he grabbed her and held her firm.
“I order you to let me go,” Ilarra said without thinking.
Standing abruptly straight, Raeln released her, but stared at her with a hurt expression.
“I’m not…I didn’t mean you’re my pet…he’s wrong, Raeln,” she tried, but he shook his head and walked away, taking a place among the other warriors waiting for the undead banging at the front doors to get inside.
Unsure of herself without Raeln at her side, Ilarra hesitated but finally convinced herself to go through the cellar doors. She went down the steps slowly, then stopped as Greth stepped into the light at the bottom, resheathing a knife.
“If you came to say your goodbyes, you’re too late,” he practically spat at her. “Ishande wanted to die alone…not surrounded by gawking elves.”
“You…killed her? You really did it?”
Greth snorted. “I gave her the means to do what she wanted, and then I left her alone. It was what she wanted and it’s how our kind always die. No warrior…no wildling…wants to die slowly, while weaker people watch.”
“It’s not our way…”
“Your way is ignorant,” he told her as he came up the steps. “When the battle is over, I also expect you to burn the body…or is that also not your way?”
“It’s not.”
“It is now. If you leave her and the others intact, those undead will drag the bodies back to their masters. If I ever see Ishande come shambling up to me as a zombie, I will make sure that you and your pet die before I do.”
Greth clipped Ilarra’s shoulder hard enough she nearly fell over, but she grabbed the handrail and steadied herself. Staring down into the dark cellar, she wanted to go to Ishande, to see what Greth had allowed to happen, but she could not bring herself to take another step in that direction.
Reluctantly, Ilarra went back up the steps and found Greth standing off to one side of the main room facing Raeln. The air around them was so uncomfortable that all of the villagers—elves and wildlings alike—had moved a fair distance from the two men. Even the older wildling hunters had directed their attention anywhere but the men. Ilarra had seen much the same behavior when two hunters had fought to the death over a dispute years earlier.
“Your pet here doesn’t want to tell me what’s going on,” Greth said as Ilarra came closer, never breaking his unblinking stare at Raeln. “I want to see what’s going on outside while you two explain yourselves, so we’re going upstairs. I saw windows up there and I’m hoping we have archers already doing their jobs.”
“We should,” Ilarra told him, but he never so much as glanced at her as he spun and headed for the steps.
Feeling like a scolded child, Ilarra followed Greth up the steps with Raeln close behind.
At the top of the stairs, a group of mostly elves was already standing around the more open upper floor where Ilarra and her father lived, her father standing among them. Most of the men carried bows, but two elven men and one wildling woman carried no weapons. These she recognized as her father’s apprentices in magic. The apprentices were those that had excelled before she had even joined the classes but who had also chosen to remain in Hyeth rather than seek training in Lantonne.
“Get to the windows and kill everything that moves out there,” barked Greth as he surveyed the room, though the archers were already doing that. Focusing on the partitioned area where Ilarra’s father slept, he walked past the elves and around the dividing wall.
Ilarra hesitated in the open area, trying not to meet her father’s questioning look. She did not have the heart to tell him that not only were Rolus and Ishande dead, but that Greth had a hand in it, even if he meant well. Finally, she overcame her reluctance and followed Greth.
Once Ilarra and Raeln were both in the room, Greth shoved a sliding wall across the entrance to the small area to give them the sense of privacy. “I want answers right now as to what in all the blazing hells is going on in this village or I leave, even if it gets me killed,” Greth demanded in a low tone, obviously trying to keep his voice from carrying to the archers in the main room. “Start talking, pup.”
Raeln looked over at Ilarra, which only seemed to further sour Greth’s disposition.
“I’m not asking her,” Greth snapped as Ilarra opened her mouth to answer. “Anything she says is like finding deer shit. It catches your attention and might point toward what you’re looking for, but it’s certainly not what I want.”
Glancing between Greth and Ilarra frantically, Raeln patted his throat and shook his head.
“Don’t give me that. Answer my question.”
“He can’t talk,” Ilarra answered for Raeln, drawing an angry glare from Greth. “The bonded cannot speak. It’s part of the oath they take.”
Rolling his eyes, Greth turned back to Raeln, grabbing a handful of the taller man’s chest fur where it came out of his shirt. Using that as leverage, he pulled Raeln down so their faces were even.
“Ishande talked to me before she died. You’ll talk now. You want to keep your little promise in public…fine. I was kind enough to pull you two aside before asking questions, so do me the honor of answering me.”
Unsure if Raeln had even tried to talk in years, Ilarra saw the frustration and nervousness in her brother’s face, often glancing toward her as though he were being asked to betray her directly.
“If you can, go ahead,” Ilarra told him, touching Raeln’s arm gently. “No one but us needs to know.”
Grumbling softly, Raeln slapped aside Greth’s hand. “Ow,�
� said Raeln very quietly, rubbing at his chest. “Now what do you want? I’d rather this be done so I can stop breaking an oath.”
Smiling grimly, Greth leaned against the building’s wall. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Let’s start with how old you are, pup. You did some finger-waggling before, but adding isn’t something I’m great at. I’m pretty sure I got it wrong.”
“Twenty-seven.”
Greth groaned and rubbed the bridge of his long nose. “I’m four and you look my age,” he said to himself. “This is insane. My father would be shedding his fur in the afterlife if he knew I even helped slavers.”
“These people are not slavers,” Raeln answered quickly, but closed his mouth when Greth raised a hand to stop him.
“Can you choose to walk away and let her die to an angry mob if she were a horrible person who murders pups in their beds? I’m not saying she is, but she could be…elf and all.”
“No. I would die like Ishande.”
“Then you are her slave. By oath or by chains, you’re still hers. I didn’t travel halfway across Eldvar to save some Lantonnian slavers from the army of the dead. If I wanted to cuddle up with slavers, I could have stayed near Altis and been a lot safer.”
Raeln’s ears drooped slightly and he nodded. “I understand that you don’t approve,” he told Greth. “This was my choice as a child—to protect her, like my parents protected hers, and their parents before them. It’s a mutual agreement to help protect this village.”
“Mutual? What does the knife-ears give up?”
Ilarra replied for Raeln, wanting to say something harsh, but she knew it would have sounded trite. “I gave up a third of my life and much of the magic I could have learned. Any skills I learn make Raeln stronger in some fashion, though those he learns are not shared with me. If he dies, there will be no tremors or madness for me…I will die on the spot.”
That seemed to soften Greth’s expression, though only briefly. “Until we get out of here, I’ll put up with this foolishness,” he told them, shaking his head sadly. “If we can get past the undead, I’m gone and you’ll never see me again. If they kill us, it really doesn’t…”