A Tide of Bones

by Ben Stovall

  Valan Rivrak’s gaze held only contempt. “I see it in you. The blood of a traitor. The blood of a hero, too, but mostly a traitor. Is there even any loyalty left in you?”

  “I will always be loyal.”

  “Good.” Valan Rivrak shifted forward on his chair. “I have a new task for you. Graal Wylan’s reports inform me that Daralton trusts us after our involvement in Souhal’s defense.

  “Years ago, we warred with them. A different army. A different trouble. But the same ruler. Baron Darwall yet lives. Amend this for me.

  “Afterward, you will begin using a dead drop inside a hollowed stump on the edge of our land. You will not be allowed inside the village. Your presence disturbs our people, as you know.”

  Torvaas bowed deeply, to keep the smile that spread across his maw hidden from the chieftain. His head low, he asked, “How would you like him to die?”

  “Slowly. Painfully. Choking on his own blood.”

  Torvaas agreed with his wish. But not on the target.

  With a flourish, he threw a dagger from his hand. It soared like an eagle through the air, darting into its target. The blade slammed into Valan Rivrak’s throat. It severed his esophagus and the old shaman wheezed, gurgling on the blood that slipped into his lungs. He fell from his chair and writhed on the ground, staring at Torvaas with hatred, with shock.

  With pity.

  Lyvalla and the sworn guards rushed to his side. The alchemist panicked as she tried to apply pressure to the wound, begging the guardians for mercy as her father died in her hands. Some of the guards grabbed Torvaas and held him where he stood. Valan Rivrak shook violently on the ground, needy, wet gasps escaping his maw.

  Then he was still. The guards all turned to Graal Wylan. He remained where he’d been, mouth agape in horror. It took him a long moment to compose himself as Lyvalla wept into her father’s corpse.

  The warrior looked at Torvaas with understanding. He closed his eyes tightly and inhaled. “Torvaas, you have slain the chieftain you were sworn to serve. In accordance with our customs, your life is forfeit. Were I my predecessor, you would meet your end with this betrayal.

  “But I am not. Valan Rivrak’s judgement and actions made him a man unfit to lead the Torgashin. You acted in the tribe’s best interest in slaying him. I will not kill you for this.

  “But you can stay here no longer. I name you Laxal’torvaas. You may never to return to Torgas’hallan. You are to leave at once.”

  The guards released Torvaas from their grip. He caught Lyvalla’s gaze. There was only contempt.

  Despite knowing it would be so, it was a hard thing to see from the woman he loved so deeply. He bowed before Graal Wylan. “Farewell, brother,” he said.

  The warrior did not respond. The meaning was not lost on him, though. No matter their differences, no matter their actions, they would always be friends. With a final nod from the new chieftain, Torvaas left. He welcomed the long, lonely walk back to Souhal—the walk back home.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  “Yes,” Lytha answered. “The furniture is included.”

  The cautious couple considered the answer with a pair of nodding heads. They were two of the people who fought for Souhal’s safety against the invasion. Elves of Aelindaas. They’d decided to stay afterward and were looking for a place to call their own.

  With any luck, that place would be Lytha’s old house. It had been a difficult decision to make, but she knew that she’d have difficulty paying the upkeep for it without her steady income. She liked adventuring with Red Watch a lot more than she liked her job—which wasn’t to say she didn’t like her job. She loved it. She just loved the thrill of exploration and battle … more.

  At any rate, the house was a nice little hovel in a good location of Souhal. She was asking for little more than she’d paid herself when she moved in. A good buffer of money to live on between adventures with Red Watch, upon which she would hopefully refill her purse.

  King Aldariak had seen fit to reward them with a small bit of coinage for their outstanding efforts in protecting the Kingdoms of Gandaraar. So, the need to sell wasn’t pressing, but they all hoped Ellaria would be back soon and they could get their next journey underway. The faster she sold her house, the sooner she’d be ready for that to happen.

  “So, what do you think?” Lytha asked. The man looked to his wife, staring into her eyes. It was her decision, Lytha realized, and she awaited her answer with baited breath.

  “We’ll take it,” the woman finally answered. Lytha felt instantly relieved. The man produced sizable coin purse and withdrew Lytha’s asking price from within. She was glad they saw her price was fair and didn’t feel the need to haggle her down. Lytha had the necessary documents drawn up the moment she’d began trying to sell the building, and all that was needed was for the new owners to sign their names and turn them in to the palace’s record keeper, a small portly man with a moderate estate in the Alabaster Commons.

  With everything finalized on her end, she informed them that if they needed anything else they could find her at the Unruly Pony nearby, and she left them to settle in to their new abode. They thanked her once more, and then she was gone.

  When she entered the bustling tavern, she noticed only Tyrdun sat at the table. She’d been aware that Torvaas and Ellaria had left the city but couldn’t guess where Ulthan and Joravyn would be now. She paid for two glasses of Souhal’s signature wine and brought one to the dwarf.

  “Where are the other two?” she asked.

  “Audience with the king,” Tyrdun answered. “Seemed important.”

  Lytha shrugged and pressed no further. She figured that if it concerned Red Watch they’d share their story soon enough.

  “But I’ve been here a good while by meself. Where’ve you been?”

  “I sold my house,” Lytha said. “If I’m going to be on the road with you all from now on, I have no reason to hold on to it. Might as well drop crowns in the street.”

  The dwarf nodded. “Committin’ to the life. I like that. Good on ye, Vainyri.”

  “Thanks.” She took a deep drink from her wine. “However, that means I do need to make what I have last until the next time we get paid, which who knows when that will be.”

  The dwarf laughed loudly, then smiled wide as an ocean. “Fine. I’ll buy the next round.”

  She chuckled in response. “I appreciate that, Stonehammer.”

  “How did you afford that place anyway?” he asked.

  Lytha rolled her shoulders. “I performed in taverns. Sang a song about you lot once or twice—mostly through request.”

  “What do you play?”

  “A lute.”

  “A lute!” Tyrdun exclaimed. “Didn’t sell that did ya?”

  The vainyri woman shook her head. “Like I said, I don’t know when we’ll be heading out on our next adventure, and it’s the only way I know how to earn crowns.”

  “Go on an’ get it!” The dwarf was practically begging. “You promised!”

  Lytha smirked. “Only if you buy the next two rounds.” With a sigh, Tyrdun agreed.

  She produced her lute from a small bag she’d hid in the room she’d been staying in and brought it out into the tavern proper. The regular patrons suddenly recognized her and swarmed her to play their favorites.

  She played the popular tunes she’d had the most practice with first. She started with Defense of Daralton, a song about the Red Watch’s defense of the small town, embellished slightly for dramatic effect. She followed it up with Rak’nor’s Lament, a song which told the story of the largest orc assault in the history of Gandaraar, the first time the alliance between Aljorn, Aelindaas, and Souhal was really tested. Next, she played a silly song known as Queen Kraska, dedicated to a former ruler of Frost Hearth by the same name, berating the long dead woman for pulling her entire army from her city and letting a clan of orcs called the Frozen Hills take it for themselves with no resistance.

  Many songs and many stories later the moon r
ose high above Souhal. She’d grown tired and earned a fair bit of coin from the tips the patrons left her, so she decided she was finished for the night. Lytha made it back into her room, stowing her lute in its case once again.

  She took a seat on her bed and pulled her backpack off the floor beneath her. Rummaging through its contents she withdrew a small leather-bound journal. It was a compiled list of all the songs she’d learned throughout her career in Souhal. Nearly half of the small book’s pages were inked, and she opened it to a new sheet, its parchment blank and ready for new lyrics. With a quick hand Lytha pulled her quill from an inkwell she’d left sitting out the night before. Atop the page, she wrote The Tide of Bones. Fist at her temples, she spent a few hours trying to combine words and music into a creation of her own.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  A chilling wind blew over the Lowlands, forcing Inaru to shiver at its passing. The Stormblades had made it to the Stones of Rak’nor in good time, and the orcs quickly set up tents and built fires for warmth. Inaru smiled at the stones on the horizon. Only a few miles south of the upright rocks was the coast of the Serene Sea. Inaru thought it fitting a unified orc clan build their community in the shadow of the landmark that the clans of the Lowlands had first united under.

  Additionally, it would afford them the chance to build a port. Conduct trade by sea with Souhal and the other cities of the Gandari Kingdoms that used the marble city’s port: Daralton, Aljorn, Aelindaas, Solyvaan, and cities of Vainyr, Dwallfarr and the Kual’apir Empire. Inaru intended to see his clan become a premier city-state in time.

  Alaka’s fingers wrapped around his right hand. Inaru squeezed her own in response. Despite the circumstances of their union they’d grown quite fond of one another. Whenever she was around he couldn’t believe how lucky he’d been. She was brave and tough, thoughtful and kind, and she truly wanted what was best for the orcs, as Inaru did.

  Creaking wagons snapped Inaru out of his own head. A small caravan of four large carts lurched by, each carrying a mountain of lumber and hard stone. King Aldariak and Baron Darwall had sent it along with him as a gift for all the work he’d done for the sister cities over the years – and because they trusted him to lead the orcs better than all the warchiefs that came before.

  “Where do you want them to take these, brother?” Krolligar asked.

  “Have them go to the rope bridge by the Stones. I don’t think it will support their crossing, so that’s as close to our site as they’ll get. Once they’re there, have some of the orcs begin carrying the lumber across the river. We’ll begin construction tomorrow.” Krolligar bowed when he finished and made his way back to the caravan.

  “What’s your plan?” Alaka asked. “A port for trade—but what goods will we offer? What are we building here?”

  The question was a good one, and she asked with nothing more than curiosity. “It’s winter now, so we don’t have much. But from spring to fall the Lowlands are teeming with animals and the land is fertile. We’ll trade furs and meat and crops.

  “Then west, in the hills where the Ironjaw Clan made their home, there is a very deep mine of iron and coal. We’ll set up a secondary holding on them eventually. Put someone we trust in charge—someone loyal.

  “As for our city … We’ll need a better bridge. One not made of wood and rope. And a longhouse, preferably by the Stones of Rak’nor, from which to rule. I also think an arena around the site would be good. There’s bound to be orcs that still only want to fight and watching others duel might ease the tension a little. A marketplace close to the docks for the merchant ships to sell their wares once our port is considered a safe stop.

  “Housing, of course. Lots of housing. I don’t think we’ll make a wall—too many orcs to build around and the city will be expanding rapidly, with any luck. Stores for our tradesmen. No doubt we have many talented workers now that the clans are united. Our goods may be legendary all over the Serene Sea, in time.” Inaru stared out on to the field. There was more he intended to build, but he was finished speaking on it.

  “You’ve given this a lot of thought,” Alaka said pointedly.

  “I have. We’ve been given an opportunity to build something for the orcs that will stand for centuries. I don’t intend to squander it.”

  “And what are you going to call this great city of wood and stone?” she asked.

  Inaru smiled. His right hand squeezed her entwined fingers. He glanced at Storm, a symbol of the orc’s unification in his mind. He thought it’d be only fitting the name of their city reflected that thought. “Stormhold,” he said. Alaka nodded and her own grip on his hand tightened to voice her approval, and together they walked toward the camp the orcs were building.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Joravyn grit his teeth. His thumb ran over the smooth, shadowy scale in his hand, caressing its surface. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the Dark One’s last words out of his head. My people are saved. How could they be saved in his death? In his army’s total defeat?

  What am I missing?

  He dropped the scale on the table and rose from the chair with a frustrated grunt. The mage pinched the bridge of his nose. Taking a deep breath, he sat back down into his chair. Darkness exuded from the scale on the desk, its oily tendrils dusting the surface below it before dissipating in the light of his lantern.

  Joravyn focused on the fight again, and what he’d seen when scrying. The number of invaders that fell in the battle was unknown, but the mage didn’t think it was nearly as many as he’d seen. And if they were anything like Souhal, most of their men weren’t fighters. Even the orcs weren’t all combatants. No doubt there were men and women and children that weren’t involved in the battle at all.

  But then, where were they? King Aldariak had already had concerns about possible stragglers and had his men combing the forest relentlessly. Even the mages were being paid to scry its depths and search for any remnants of the invading army. So far, they’d found nothing. Where could they have gone?

  It frustrated the mage without end. Never had he sunk so much time, so much effort into a mystery and still had nothing to show for it. There had to be an answer. The Dark One was a beast larger than any he’d ever faced before – surely he could tell when his people were in danger? And why didn’t he kill Joravyn when he had the chance?

  Why am I still alive?

  The mage slammed a fist against the table’s surface. None of it made sense. They were fighting a war for their very survival per Aldayn—why wouldn’t the dragon have them kill Joravyn when he spied them? Destroy the only one who knew how close the necromancers were? Why not do everything in their power to catch Souhal unaware? Why did—

  Knock knock knock. “Lad, it’s me. Ellaria’s on her way back to Souhal.”

  “Good,” the mage answered. I need to get away from this.

  Epilogue

  It had been a month since the battle when Ellaria returned to Souhal.

  The first thing she noticed was the air of gloom over the city. The official number had come in. Eleven thousand, seven hundred, thirty-one casualties on the defense. More than half of the defenders’ forces, and too many civilians. Everyone she’d met on the road leaving Souhal carried the despondency with them. The Field of Heroes lacked enough room for them all, and many had requested what remains of their friends and family had been found. A memorial was erected in the center of the field, bearing the names of all who gave their lives in the battle.

  Tents also covered the outskirts of the city as she approached. Many had decided to make Souhal their new home and were waiting on the construction of housing. Their new buildings would be outside the wall, but the people didn’t seem to mind that. And, being the savvy businessmen, they were, new shops and taverns were being built alongside these constructions. The area hadn’t been given an official name yet, but Ellaria knew it would be its own district given time.

  The damage on the walls had been repaired wholesale. The marble city was once again surrounded
by its white barrier. Ellaria found time to walk its length before returning to the Unruly Pony. She stopped above the northwestern gate and looked out toward the trees. The Dark One’s body had been moved—scales claimed, meat sold, trophies made. However, the crater he’d made when he fell from the sky remained, and his dark essence had tainted the earth. Shadowstone Hollow was the name it’d been given. In time, a few brave – or crazy – miners would be digging the rocks out; the elf was certain of that.

  Ellaria turned around and left the way she came before she … before she walked too close to where her brother had fallen. She found herself walking down Abbey Lane. She gazed at the chapel devoted to Liawynn, a champion of the elves. She was known as the Emerald Lady to most. Legend claimed she’d been an elf during her life centuries ago, a powerful sorceress who was fond of tweaking her spells to be green. She’d succeeded with lightning bolts, fireballs, and many others, but her secrets had been lost. The tales were about her work to free all mortal kind from a terrible empire that had ruled the world.

  Ellaria thought the stories were fake, but she believed in the Emerald Lady. The elf wasn’t as devout as many, but the point of the tales told in Liawynn’s name stuck with her. Drive, ambition, perseverance—Ellaria did her best to keep these with her.

  She also noticed the Church of the Blazing Fire was abandoned—boards blocked the windows and the door had been nailed shut. She couldn’t imagine what that meant for Ulthan.

  Before long she found herself standing before the temple of Vakis. His followers were devoted to the idea of freedom and passion. Doing what you felt was right for you and damn the consequences. Rebellion. A city far north of the Lowlands called Velsar considered Vakis their patron deity.

  Coincidentally, the city was famous for its crime.

  She’d heard a few interesting rumors about Torgas’hallan and Inaru’s work in the Lowlands. The new chieftain of the Torgashin had been working nearly day and night to secure trade and other agreements with the city-states around him. Ellaria was glad that the general had been able to begin leading his people so quickly. It seemed a new era of prosperity was upon the scaleskin tribe.