by Jim Galford
Ilarra wanted to warn him that the undead might begin moving as soon as she was gone, but something in his expression told her he already knew it. She looked over to the departing soldiers who were already at the stairs and soon would be out of sight. “Raeln went down fighting for this city. It’s the way he would want to be remembered…helping others. Please don’t stay behind and die senselessly, Greth. We need all the help we can get. You’re probably the most talented soldier we have left.”
“Senselessly,” noted Greth, snorting. He gave a nearby undead a dark glare from the corner of his eyes, then looked back at Ilarra, keeping one hand resting on Raeln’s chest as if to shield him. “Go. Run away with the others. When you find someone you care enough about, you’ll understand why I’m staying here. I won’t have him taken by them and I won’t have him die alone.”
Ilarra then noticed the knife in Greth’s hand. He meant to kill at least Raeln before the undead fell on them. Likely, he meant to kill them both, given the chance. A warrior’s death of sorts, probably noble in his mind. To Ilarra, it was a foolish waste, no different than losing Ishande and Rolus back in Hyeth. “Wildlings and their loyalty issues,” she said, having intended the thought to be silent. “Your kind will be the death of us all, but at least we’ll all die with friends at our sides.”
Walking uneasily over, Ilarra meant to grab Greth and risk his anger to make him come along. But by approaching, she put herself in a position to look past him to where On’esquin was fighting off several undead, practically pulling a blank-faced Nenophar behind him. Sighing, she bent down and touched Raeln’s face, feeling the shallow and unsteady breaths that shook him. When she dug her fingers into his fur, she found his skin cool and his pulse so weak she could only barely sense it.
“We all have people we love, Greth,” she told him, taking a slow breath to prepare herself for what she knew she had to do. “I need you right now. Those people need you…more than they need a suicidal wolf left behind. Far more than they need a wizard who’s lost much of her power.”
“Ilarra, I will not leave him.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to. Go, be happy somewhere far from here. Run as far as you can.”
Closing her eyes, Ilarra ripped strands of magic from the ether, forming them into a healing spell she hoped would be strong enough. If it was not, she knew there was little she could do about it. However powerful the spell was or was not, it was tearing away part of her life essence to make the magic work at all. It would have to be enough, or she doubted she would live to try again.
In the span of a heartbeat, Raeln choked and sat up, looking around in confusion even as Ilarra collapsed. She hit the paving stones hard, feeling as though someone had thrown her at the ground. There was no pain, only pressure, when she landed with her limbs numb and her head spinning.
A second later, both Greth and Raeln appeared over her, making her smile weakly despite their obvious worry. She could not find the strength to say anything, almost as if her lungs could not contain the needed air to eke out even a single word. Instead, she closed her eyes, hoping when she opened them again, both men would be long gone somewhere safe.
Ilarra slowly opened her eyes again after what felt like hours, and found instead of the silent dead all around her on the wall, the buildings of Lantonne raced by. There were people running past her and strong arms holding her, but she could not move more than her eyes to try and learn what was going on.
For the briefest moment, she thought she might be dreaming, and she got a glimpse of the sky as the buildings parted. She knew it had to still be evening, but the sky was lit with a fiery red glow that looked far more like sunrise. As she watched the brilliant light, it faded away and a rumble nearly knocked the person carrying her to the ground.
A shrieking noise overhead preceded a group of the dark-winged creatures from the black cloud at the quarry. As they raced past, Ilarra heard a pained grunt somewhere nearby and someone shouted, “They got another Turessian! Go! Go!”
The city passed by swiftly. They were moving very fast, though Ilarra’s dizziness made it seem even faster than anyone could possibly have run. From what Ilarra could gather, people were joining them frequently as they ran, coming from the buildings they passed in ones and twos. Occasionally, a larger group would come running down one of the side streets, usually bloodied and several times trailing packs of undead not affected by Ilarra’s commands back at the wall.
It was a struggle to stay awake, but Ilarra soon recognized they were moving past the western gate, where thousands of dead bodies lay mangled. The group stopped just past that opening in the wall, catching their breaths in a sheltered section of alleys normally used for transporting cattle to and from the gatehouses without clogging the city streets. Once they had stopped, Ilarra could see they had probably a hundred or more people in the alley, crowded so close they could only stand still until the leaders of the group began moving again.
During the lull in movement, Ilarra looked around dizzily, seeing dirty and blood-covered faces of many elves and humans. In spots, she could see halflings being hoisted onto the shoulders of stockier dwarves. One of the dark elven men she had seen at the north gate even caught her eye farther down the alley, leaning against the wall as he tended to a painful-looking gash in his shoulder. A pack of four ogres were carrying two wounded citizens each, as well as bundles of supplies on their backs. She even spotted the bright colorings of fae-kin here and there among the people. These were all that was left of a city of so many thousands.
What she did not see at first were any other wildlings or orcs. She knew she would never spot Nenophar in the large group in his elven form, but she thought that maybe she might be able to see On’esquin. Raeln came into view briefly, whispering directions to people who looked too terrified to think for themselves.
“No extra green-skins or animals,” she mumbled to herself, trying to turn her head and search the rest of the crowd. “Everyone’s here but them.”
“The survivors said the dead came straight for anything with green skin or fur,” replied Greth, lowering his head nearer Ilarra’s to allow him to keep his voice low. She had not even realized he was the one carrying her until he had spoken. “They ignored soldiers and went straight for those people.”
“My Raeln is still so worried about everyone’s safety,” she mused, unable to make her thoughts stop tripping over one another.
“Raeln is alive, thanks to you,” Greth answered her, hugging her tightly enough it began to hurt. “I owe you everything. Neither of you will probably ever understand how much what you did means to me.”
Ilarra weakly patted at Greth’s cheek. “Make sure he knows. If he doesn’t know, why’d I do that for you both?”
Greth laughed at her, though tears leaked into his fur before he could make himself stop. Nodding, he started to say something, but cut himself off as the group began moving again.
As they ran, Ilarra stared up at the sky whenever she could see it, awestruck by the beauty of it. The flashes of color were brief, often vanishing into inky blackness, but in her dazed state, it was all a show for her to enjoy.
Chapter Eleven
“Hidden”
It was nearing midnight by the time the refugees from Lantonne had made it out of the southern gate. Dark black clouds rolled off the mountains, bringing signs of an evening snow or rain shower as they blotted out the starts.
At every intersection and most of the individual buildings, they had met with strong resistance from the remaining undead in the city, though the undead army had stopped acting like an army at all. Every encounter had been with a handful of roaming zombies, each acting independently, which made picking them off far easier than it could have been and likely the only reason they made it out the gate at all.
From what Raeln had seen, the creatures that had killed the dragon had gone after wizards and Turessians next. Each time they saw a black-robed figure snatched up by the shadowy creatures, the undead forces ha
d become less unified. It was a blessing, but also a warning that sooner or later, the creatures would come for them, too. Each time they had swarmed, Raeln had lost three or four more civilians.
As they stood there, easily a hundred strong but every one of them so tired they could barely stand, Raeln found, for far from the first time, dozens of faces turned toward him in search of answers he did not have. These people were strangers, some were even foreigners, all of whom had somehow gotten it stuck in their heads Raeln had the ability to save them. He wanted to scream at them that he was as terrified as they were and as lost as they felt, but he had begun to feel the same way toward them as he did toward Ilarra when she was younger. They were without direction and someone had to lead them.
He had to save them all. Any deaths among these people were his fault.
Raeln knew it was insane, knew at any moment either undead or the shadow creatures would descend on them and tear the innocent people apart. He dreaded that happening and the betrayed looks the people would give him when it did, but he also wished for it to happen sooner rather than later if it would get him out of the role of leader.
Despite this, Raeln took a slow, deep breath once they had gotten past the gates, trying to decide what to do next before someone asked him.
He looked to Greth for support, finding him near the city wall still carrying Ilarra. As soon as Raeln turned, Greth gave him a reassuring smile that told him, one way or another, everything would work itself out. It was really all he needed. The reassurance that Greth could be strong when he faltered helped more than he could put to words.
“Anyone who can run, I want you out ahead watching for an ambush,” he called out, his stomach clenching nervously as a hundred sets of eyes focused on him. “We’re going to the work camp outside town. There are tents and buildings there we can use until morning.”
A young elven girl glowered at Raeln, saying just loud enough that he could hear her, “Typical Lantonnian. Sending us all right back to the slave camp.”
“There isn’t time to get to a real city,” Raeln added loudly, though it was mostly in answer to the girl’s statement. He had to believe others felt the same way she did. Where one groused, twenty more had to be thinking it. “We’ll hide out there until morning, then head west into the mountains. The dwarven nation might open its doors to us once they know what happened here, but that’s a long walk.”
The refugees grumbled among themselves, but soon the group began moving with Greth and Raeln near the back. Some of the younger or spryer members took off at a fast jog ahead of the rest, watching for anything in their path that might threaten the whole group.
“They hate me,” Raeln said softly as Greth walked up beside him. “Why do they bother looking to me for guidance if they all want to see me dead?”
“To the Altisians, you’re another Lantonnian who might throw chains on them the moment they’re no longer useful. To the Lantonnians, you’re a fringe settler who they barely recognize as a citizen of these lands. To the rest…they probably don’t speak the common tongue well enough to know why they’re following you. Those ones probably think you’re some big dumb oaf, which is so much nicer when it’s not aimed at me.”
Raeln smiled at Greth, trying to decide if he was joking or trying to be serious, though Raeln could not be certain from his expression. “What makes you such an expert, Greth?”
The shorter wildling shifted his hold on Ilarra and answered, “I listen to their muttering. They really don’t care too much about hiding how they feel right now. That is, except for the fur-clad folks over there that I think are from one of the eastern barbarian tribes—they don’t speak any dialect I’ve ever heard. I think they’re here for the fun of fighting the undead and wound up following the crowd. I’m not entirely sure, though. They might be here to skin wildlings for all I can tell.”
Raeln glanced at the people Greth referred to and saw he had not exaggerated much. The five human men and one woman were lean and muscled, wearing far less clothing than the Lantonnians and much more fur. All of them towered over their distant city relatives, following along with confused looks on their faces. More than once, they gave Raeln and Greth a confrontational glare, but kept walking. When an undead showed itself, those six were the first to attack it, grinning and cheering as they fought.
The rest of the journey was made in near-silence, with little chatter among any of the people. Every person focused on watching the edge of the group for any threats that might leap out at them, which to Raeln seemed more than reasonable after the last day in the city.
Looking back, Raeln watched the sky over Lantonne erupt in flashes of flame that silhouetted the plumes of smoke over several districts. As they had made their way toward the gate, two of the elemental lords—flame and water—had turned on one another and charged. Had he and the others stayed in the northern part of the city, they would have been killed by the destructive battle between the giant creatures hours earlier, assuming the flying monsters from the quarry had not killed them first.
“Do they even care that they’re tearing the city apart?” Raeln asked himself aloud, taking his eyes off the brilliant lights that came and went behind them.
Greth never looked back. “When you’re fighting for your life, do you even notice the small stones you stumble on? I know I don’t feel a pebble in my pads until hours later. They’re probably the same.”
“The city’s larger than a pebble.”
“So are they. Come tomorrow night, that giant flaming bastard is going to sit down on the keep’s remains and wonder why he’s got a house stuck in his foot.”
Raeln chuckled at the analogy, and then noticed the lead portions of the group begin to part and spread out. It took him a few more steps before he could make out the nearest tents in the faint moonlight, but soon he could see they were well into the work camp he and Greth had passed through on their way to the city.
“Follow me,” Raeln told Greth, speeding his pace. “Pray that the healer is still here.”
They made their way through the camp while the others fell in among the tents and claimed them as their own. Raeln took point, rushing toward the central building, which was unlit and ominous in the dark.
Raeln slowed his pace once they were within a stone’s throw of the open door of the ramshackle building. He could smell blood on the breeze, but it was stale and could have been from a slave or undead passing through. Nothing moved in the building, making him all the more cautious.
Once they were close enough Raeln could see the porch of the building, he motioned for Greth to wait with Ilarra. He continued on, lightening each footfall as Greth had taught him to ensure nothing heard him coming. Against the walking corpses of the Turessian army, silence would do him little good, but he would rather be safe in case something else waited in the dark building.
He reached the first step of the building, cocking his head and tilting his ears forward to listen for anything moving. He heard nothing, but thought back to how many people had filled the building the last time he had been there. If they had been turned to undead, it would be a fight he knew he was too weary and wounded to survive.
Raeln eased his foot onto the warped planks of the steps, gently touching down on the pads of his feet, while keeping his toes tensed so the claws would not scrape the wood. It took all of his patience to keep from bringing his weight down all at once, which would have creaked the boards loudly.
The approach up the steps and onto the porch made Raeln’s already tired legs tremble, and he could feel several of the remaining cuts under his fur break open and begin oozing again. For all the miraculous healing Ilarra had managed at her own expense, Raeln’s body was still badly torn up. It seemed any time he moved or twisted wrong, another wound would sting or bleed.
Finally, Raeln reached the partially open door and paused there, his ears twitching as he sought any indication of whether there were any living people left behind inside. Hearing nothing, he advanced again, lett
ing his eyes adjust as he entered the darker interior.
At first, Raeln saw nothing but rag blankets the people who had fled the camp had left behind. Looking about, he soon saw a group of what appeared to be leashes still hanging by the door. Here and there, discarded shackles lay where they had been thrown or dropped. All of this held little interest for Raeln, who stared into the back of the room where the wildling healer had been during his last visit. He knew it was unlikely the man was still around, but he hoped there was at least a chance.
“Hello?” he called out, now sure there were not dozens of undead waiting for him. “Anyone still here?”
A faint scuffling near the back of the room caught Raeln’s attention. He could not see movement, but there was definitely something back there. He was nearly certain he had heard claws on the wood floor, which normally would have been a bad sign, but when looking specifically for a wildling, it gave him more hope.
Raeln continued forward a little more quickly. There appeared to be three blankets near the back of the room covering man-sized shapes near the dark fireplace. If he were very lucky, it would be the wildling he was looking for and his two children. If he were even more lucky, they would be unharmed.
“Hello?” he called out again, hearing that same scratching noise. Now, he was certain it was coming from near the three people. “I’m coming over. I’m not an enemy.”
Keeping his hands up to show anyone watching he meant no harm, Raeln advanced on the three blanketed shapes until a sudden whiff of death caught his attention. It was not fresh, but also not the long-dead scent of the zombies that had overwhelmed Lantonne. There was another scent, but he could not make it out over the smell of blood. The scratching he had heard stopped abruptly, and from the corner of his eye, he saw a mouse or rat scurry away.
Raeln let his hands drop and marched up to the first blanket, yanking it aside. Beneath, an elven man lay with his arms crossed over his chest, clearly having been prepared for a ceremonial burial. Deep gashes that appeared to have come from a lion’s claws marred his chest and throat, though Raeln picked up the scent of fox, rather than lion. From all appearances, he had been dead two or three days.