The Northern Approach

by Jim Galford

  “Then what are we looking for?”

  On’esquin opened his mouth to answer and froze.

  Looking around, Raeln tried to find the source of the man’s unease, but he could see nothing in the woods. He could smell nothing specific beyond the scent of something burning, though he could not be sure of what type of wood might make that particular odor. Whatever it was, it was far enough off that the smell was still faint. Deep down, he hoped it was not more elementals.

  That was when it hit Raeln, his hand resting on the bark of the tree wet from a rain shower the night before and his feet soaked to the bone. Nothing out there should be burning at all, and even elementals would be hard-pressed to survive the dampness. For miles in any direction, nothing should have been remotely dry enough to burn—unless someone had worked very hard to start that fire. Elementals would mean smoke but likely not fire. Only a camp or home of some sort would justify the scent of burning wood.

  “We must be close,” whispered On’esquin, pointing toward a narrower patch of trees ahead. He then pointed up at the sky, where black smoke rose over the peaks. It was not the smoke of wet things trying to burn, but the smoke that came from long-smoldering fires.

  Raeln tried to follow On’esquin’s initial gesture, but all he could see were more trees, leading right up to the nearly sheer face of a mountainside. For all he could tell, the smoke was on the far side of the mountain. He stared at the area for several seconds and then realized the mountain wall appeared to part slightly, as though there might be a narrow valley, hidden by the woods themselves. Likely, the path, if it even existed, was no wider than twenty feet, making it extremely difficult to see so close to the mountains with the dense woods. They were no more than a mile out, and even that close, Raeln had to really look at the place to be sure he was not imagining it. Were it not for the smoke, he doubted they would have even noticed it.

  “A pass deeper into the mountains,” the orc added, still eyeing the gap in the mountains. “If I were hiding from an undead army, that place would be quite appealing.”

  Raeln started walking, not feeling well enough to wait for On’esquin. Where there was a campfire, there had to be water and food. Whoever it was out there, he had to hope they were not averse to guests. Even if they were, he might be able to put up one brief fight if it meant a sip of water that had not been collected from leaves that caught the rain.

  The day seemed to drag on far longer than any since they had begun traveling, the gap in the mountains becoming only slightly more visible as they neared it. Raeln had nearly reached his limit, his legs trembling and his head spinning, before he could make out anything more about the pass and whether they had detoured for good reason. Still, the smoke continued to rise, hinting at something beyond the pass, however far that might be.

  With the sun nearly behind the mountains, Raeln heard the rumbling of water coming down off the steep rocks. He searched around and felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders when he spotted the small stream coming off part of the mountain wall near the pass, winding its way eastward past them through the woods.

  Raeln stumbled toward the stream in a hurry, barely mindful of On’esquin following him at a distance. He very nearly collapsed at the edge of the water when he arrived, and plunged his face into the stream to practically inhale water in hopes of catching up on days of drinking far less than he should have. There was something distinctly off about the water, but he was too tired and thirsty to care.

  “We may wish to stop here for the evening,” On’esquin said, leaning up against a tree as he stared off toward the pass, making notes with a piece of charcoal on parchment. “It might be another hour or two before we get through the pass, and there’s no way of knowing how far past that we must go. I would rather we travel during daylight on unfamiliar ground.”

  Raeln pulled his muzzle out of the stream, panting for breath as he nodded in agreement. He could have traveled through the night, once he no longer felt as though he would die of thirst, but On’esquin was the one with the plans and the poor eyesight. Raeln could wait until…

  A disembodied leg floated past Raeln in the stream. Seconds later, as he continued to stare at the water in horror, the flailing remains of a zombie that had been hacked apart floated by, trying to reach for him in passing.

  On’esquin seemed to have seen none of it, still staring off toward the pass. “The trees over there will make it difficult for anyone to find us by accident,” On’esquin continued, tapping his chin with the charcoal he had been writing with.

  “We’re too late,” Raeln said softly, but On’esquin was still talking to himself, saying something about the altitude. He traced the stream back toward the pass they were heading toward. “On’esquin…bodies.”

  Finally, On’esquin looked over at the stream as Raeln saw the bloodied remains of a wildling—a ferret, from what Raeln could see—float past, facedown in the water. Debris came past every few seconds, racing by and disappearing downstream.

  “We can’t go on…it’ll be dark soon,” groused On’esquin, looking around nervously. “If we lose these four, though…”

  “Follow me,” Raeln said, hopping to his feet. His legs begged him to stop, but he knew On’esquin would prattle on for hours if they did not continue. He needed action, not planning on eventualities that might have no bearing on reality.

  They made their way up the slowly rising hillside, with Raeln keeping the stream on his right. Several more times as they walked, he saw bodies or parts of bodies rush past, though he did his best not to look at them. It was a horrible sight and one he knew would tell them little about what they wanted to find out there. He doubted he could even be sure whether the bodies were all from the Turessian army or whether they had been locals to the area. Thus, it was better in his mind to ignore them completely until he had more to go on.

  Between heading toward the mountains and the time that passed, the sun soon disappeared behind the peaks completely, casting the woods into darkness. The change meant little to Raeln, as he could see nearly as well in the night as he could during the day, but he knew On’esquin would be at a disadvantage. On’esquin would not say anything about it, though. He would simply slow down and wind up walking into something, as he had on previous nights. Raeln slowed his pace, letting the other man keep up.

  Soon they reached the spot where the stream came down off the mountains, nestled into the opening of the pass they were walking toward, creating a misty spray in all directions and a rumble that covered any possible sounds in the area. At the foot of it, Raeln first thought he saw stones that had fallen from higher up, but then motioned for On’esquin to stop when he made out more detail.

  Raeln advanced slowly, lowering himself closer to the ground as he went to minimize the chances of being seen. Whatever was at the base of the stream was not moving, but the water in the air made it difficult to see, even from twenty feet away. He slunk as best he could, trying to keep his feet from making sucking noises as he walked through the mud.

  Lying at the foot of the stream, Raeln found dozens of bodies, most having been mangled beyond recognition. There were plenty of fallen stones, but most of the shapes had been people, and they had died recently, judging by their lack of decay. The first few he passed were halflings, short human-looking people that had an almost childish appearance. Soon after those, he passed several bodies far more severely decomposed. From what he could make out, part of the cliff’s side had collapsed, crushing many of the people and closing off part of the path into the mountains. Dozens of the fallen stones lay atop wriggling corpses, their broken hands reaching out blindly to try and grab at whatever might be near.

  “A last stand,” On’esquin said softly, coming up beside Raeln. “They attempted to collapse the pass. A good plan, but it appears to have failed them. Their weapons were set too low for the shape of the cliff. They set it in a hurry.”

  Kneeling beside one of the halflings—a woman probably no older than thirty—R
aeln gently closed her eyes to keep her from staring at him accusingly. From what he could see of her wounds, it was not the stones or the explosion that killed her. The woman’s body bore clear signs of claws ripping at her and teeth biting and tearing at her flesh. Most of the bites looked like human teeth from what he could make out.

  “The army already came through. This wasn’t just a couple zombies out for a walk,” he noted, pointing at the bites. Turning in place, he pointed at hundreds of footprints in the mud around them.

  “Raeln, if we lose the four people here, we have already failed,” On’esquin reminded him, drawing a sword he had brought. “I may not know much of what I’m looking for, but we need those four according to the texts. Lead the way and hurry.”

  Drawing his own sword, Raeln pushed on toward the pass. The going was slow for the first twenty minutes, mostly because of to the deep mud from the stream and fallen stones blocking much of the pass. Eventually, the path cleared, his sight limited only by the trees that filled much of the narrow gap between sheer cliffs.

  The farther they went, the more corpses lay among the trees. Most were dead in the conventional sense, hacked or torn apart and left to rot where they fell, while a handful appeared to have been dead a long time. The regular corpses varied greatly, ranging from humans, wildlings, elves, dwarves, and even an orcish woman, whose axe was still lodged in the forehead of a human zombie that lay as still as she did.

  The moon had already come up by the time the pass began to widen, opening up into sparse trees on the far side. What Raeln saw beyond brought him to an abrupt halt and nearly caused him to drop his weapon.

  Hundreds of bodies were everywhere in a large, flat area between the mountains, illuminated by moonlight. For as far as he could see, corpses lay among smashed tents and hovels that appeared to have been trampled flat. Though the bodies filled the valley, the vast majority lay in a tight circle around the broken remains of one larger tent to one side. That single location held at least a hundred corpses, most of which were facing in toward the tent, as though a group had held off the undead for hours. It was also that tent that smoked endlessly, the canvas apparently having collapsed onto a fire.

  At the south end of the valley, a low mist hung in the air ominously, obscuring Raeln’s view of that area. As he watched it, the mist moved in odd lurches, sparkling and almost glowing faintly in the moonlight. Something about it made his skin itch and he instinctively scratched at the skin near his silver bracelet. “What is that?” he asked, pointing at the mists. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  On’esquin followed his finger and then backed away a step. “That is why we first began following the prophecy’s suggestions. Your sister died to keep that from getting stronger than it is. We will need to avoid it at all costs.”

  Raeln eyed the cloud a little longer and realized it reminded him of something he had seen once before. During the fall of Lantonne, a massive hole in the air had lingered north of the town, created by the foolish use of magic. That hole had attacked and killed a dragon—once thought immortal—using black tendrils that sprang from within it. Ilarra had died with one of the dragons attempting to close it.

  What stood out to Raeln was the sparkling glow. He had seen that same thing on the edges of the black hole when it began scooping up magic from the world around it. It had glowed almost exactly the same when it had torn the first dragon apart and consumed it. This was somehow an extension of what he had seen there.

  “Why is that here?” he asked, trying to figure things out. The cloud was dangerous, that he understood, but he could not fathom why it was so far from Lantonne. “Does it have anything to do with the people here or the undead armies?”

  On’esquin thought on that a moment. “No, I believe it doesn’t. The last time we had clouds like that slip through the veil, they followed sources of powerful magic in an attempt to consume them and grow. It likely came after something that is, or was, here. A strong source of magic.”

  “So it’ll kill us if we get too close?”

  On’esquin shrugged and began looking around again. “It might. Likely it will kill you, but there is a chance I might survive. Walking through one of those was how I arrived in Lantonne. Saved me months of travel…though it could have as easily torn my body and spirit apart and cast my remains across the world. Our best researchers never fully understood them and I had no time to further their efforts.”

  “If you’ve seen them before and know what they can do, why did you touch it?”

  “I had little choice if I were going to reach my destination in time,” answered On’esquin with a chuckle that faded quickly when he looked down at a broken man’s corpse near his feet. “Turess prophesied that I would need to risk my life to arrive before the city fell and that, if that gamble failed, you and all the others we need would die. ‘He will pass through the heart of magic to arrive at the beginning or not at all.’”

  “So you got lucky?” Raeln asked incredulously.

  “Yes, and we need to get lucky again if you wish to see fewer scenes like this,” he replied, gesturing widely at the gruesome battle’s remains.

  Raeln squinted and scanned the valley as far as he could see, but nothing out there moved. “Where are your four saviors?” Raeln inquired eventually, at a loss for which way to go. They would be practically walking atop bodies no matter there they went.

  “I wouldn’t know. I was actually hoping you did. Your nose is one of the reasons I brought you along.”

  Raeln turned to glare at On’esquin, who gave him a toothy grin in return. “That’s not how my nose works,” he answered testily. “I can’t sniff out ‘important people,’ unless I know the person I’m tracking. At best I might be able to find someone of a specific race here and there, but I’m guessing you don’t know that either.”

  “No, I don’t. In truth, I half expected the bracelet you’re wearing to guide us, as Turess wanted those items found as much as he wanted the six brought together. Sadly, no glowing arrow or beacon. Turess is making us work for this.”

  Raeln scratched at the bracelet without thinking. He dearly wished he had stayed behind in the camp, but it was far too late for that. Much more of this nonsense and it would be difficult to keep from throttling the orc. Raeln needed concrete direction, a goal of some sort, maybe a map. Wandering aimlessly while claiming they were running out of time was beyond absurd.

  Deciding to just go and hope something appeared that told him whether to continue on, Raeln walked toward the eastern end of the valley, where the most bodies lay. He walked carefully, stepping between and around corpses that lay in grotesque positions, having fallen with grievous wounds. Many appeared to have bled to death or been ripped open by the undead. Those that he recognized as having been zombies had been hacked to pieces to ensure they did not rise again. Some of the undead appeared to have been ripped apart bodily, often in long lines, as though something huge had crashed through their ranks.

  What struck Raeln first about the scene was that these people wore no single identifying attire. Even so long into living in the wilds with his camp of survivors, most could be recognized as having come from Altis or Lantonne. These people nearly all wore hand-made clothing, as though they had lived in the wilds far longer, possibly their whole lives.

  The next thing that occurred to Raeln was that these people did not belong together. He saw people with the tattoos of Altisian slaves running down their lower arms, lying beside a man who wore a golden necklace in a style Raeln recognized as those worn by Altisian slave-masters. Near them were dwarves, still wearing armor that marked them as royal guard in the deep cities. There were nobles of different lands and races, dead beside the lower castes of their societies. They were not facing one another, but fighting shoulder-to-shoulder and sometimes back-to-back. Had he seen this kind of cooperation in the months leading up to Lantonne’s fall, the city might have held against the undead.

  The most common people among the dead were wildling
s. Raeln had never seen so many in his whole life, even back in his hometown of Hyeth, where wolves were nearly half the population. Young and old of a dozen different breeds were scattered through the dead. Some he recognized as breeds that might be expected to reside in the mountains—cougars, bears, wolves, and many fox wildlings. Others were more obscure or appeared to be from far-distant lands.

  Approaching the fallen pavilion tent, Raeln was stunned at the sheer numbers of dead there. Most appeared to be former undead, broken and ripped apart by something far larger and stronger than he was. Those dead were interspersed with the fallen defenders, often with trails of blood to tell him they were dragged from the tent alive and killed outside.

  “Anything?” On’esquin asked, hanging back about twenty feet as Raeln moved.

  “Maybe,” he replied, gingerly stepping onto the canvas of the tent.

  The scents were so numerous that Raeln had trouble identifying most of them. He could smell humans, elves, dwarves, halflings, fox wildlings, and…something or someone familiar.

  Dropping to his knees, Raeln sniffed at the tent, picking up the shredded cloth to look around as he searched. A singular scent tugged at his memories, making him wonder where he had smelled it before. It was a person, and a wildling at that. Not a breed he recognized.

  “The healer from the slave camp,” he murmured, looking around for the man’s body. “There was a wildling back near Lantonne that was held at the slave camp. I met him briefly and wanted to come back for him. When we returned, he was gone. He was here…I can smell him faintly.”

  “Find me that man. He may be one we’re looking for. There are no coincidences, Raeln.”

  Raeln searched around under the tent, finding a half-dozen bodies of those who had tried to defend the place. None of them were the wildling he was searching for, but in looking, he uncovered the edge of a curved line of stones. Tossing aside the canvas, he exposed an intricately designed circle, complete with symbols drawn into the dirt around it. Most had been trampled flat, but a few still remained. The smoke from the smoldering campfire beneath the tent scattered as he moved the canvas away.