Fury Lingers: Book One of The Foreseen Trilogy

by Ethan Spears

  “What would you know about me?” she asked angrily. Who was he to change the mood of the conversation so swiftly?

  “You seem a good girl to me,” he began, placing the pipe in his mouth. “Family means a lot to you, enough that you would hold a great deal of people responsible for one family member’s death. I can understand that, respect that even. But you strike me as impatient, and the fact that you’re so deep into halfling territory suggests you’re foolhardy to boot. That’s why you took up learning magic, isn’t it? Perhaps for vengeance?”

  Mergau’s insides went cold. “What makes you think that?”

  “You said it yourself: your people don’t like female magic users. And you must be a relatively new magic user, because I’m certain you had no idea what a Gelta blade was, among other common magical trivia. Well, new or incompetent, but you don’t seem like an idiot to me. Studying magical items is a major part of being a mage, but if you were single-mindedly pursuing magic for some petty reason like vengeance, you would’ve skipped those unnecessary parts. So, your brother must have died long enough ago for you to learn magic, but not so long that you could become experienced, so probably a handful of years ago.”

  He took a long puff from his pipe, his eyes kind yet piercing as they looked into hers.

  “No, less than that,” he amended. “Your life has revolved around his death, hasn’t it? If one has natural skill and the inclination, it would take only a matter of months to memorize a few spells, especially the less subtle ones meant for killing people. So, I reckon he died within the year. Now, the big question that remains unanswered is: who needs to die for you for your vengeance to be satisfied?”

  How much had this halfling figured out? Had she let so information slip that he was able to piece everything together? If he had discovered her intentions, she couldn’t defend herself. She would die.

  “But I think we both know the answer, don’t we?” Her heart skipped. He leaned forward pointedly as he concluded. “No one.”

  Mergau balked. “No one?” she repeated.

  “Right. Vengeance is a nasty thing. No matter who you exact your vengeance upon, it will never be satisfied.”

  She realized then that rather than exposing her, he was lecturing her. Mergau was so relieved she nearly laughed.

  “What is with that reaction?” he asked sternly.

  “Nothing,” she said. “I just think this talk has turned strange.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” he said, rising and folding his hands. “I’m prying too much, and I apologize. I can only hope you consider my words.”

  Mergau nodded and tried to return to reading but found she lost her appetite for both the book and the halfling’s company. She handed the book back to Reggy and excused herself to her room.

  ***

  Aoden would return an hour later with a clutch of pheasants.

  “You went hunting?” Reggy asked. “I thought you were just going to retrieve your sword from the city guard.”

  Aoden nodded, setting to work preparing the birds. “That was the plan originally, but they had fewer questions for me than I thought. No one knows how the orc assassin slipped past the guards and, since he didn’t kill anyone, the guards were weirdly blasé about the whole ordeal. Whatever the case, I was out of there sooner than expected and had some extra time. As for the pheasants, you have no meat around this place. You live like a hermit. I can only eat so much buttered bread and broccoli soup before I go mad. Don’t get me wrong, it’s delicious and appreciated, but come on, man.”

  “Ungratefulness noted. Anyway, shut up and listen to this.” Reggy excitedly brought up everything he had learned from Mergau about orcs, briefly mentioning and strongly downplaying her personal issues.

  “Mwezgala?” said Aoden as Reggy finished. “Funny name. I thought it would be called something more brutish.”

  “I thought much the same. She doesn’t seem particularly learned about magic at large, but what she knows about her own people’s abilities is beyond any knowledge my books can give me.”

  “Not many orcish mages come out of Astran, and when one does, she does it for vengeance,” Aoden said, plucking one of the pheasants clean as he spoke. “With how much they keep to themselves, it’s no surprise the history books are bereft of them. I don’t think I can name a single one if I tried.”

  “Come now,” Reggy said reproachfully, “you should at least be able to name Hetipa.”

  “Was Hetipa an orc? I forget. As you can imagine, that fact isn’t exactly flaunted among the elves.”

  “Aye, but you’re no slouch when it comes to the history of magic.”

  “That was true long ago, but I was never anywhere near your level, and I lost interest when I realized I had no knack for magic. I mostly stick to language study these days, some geography and history thrown in for political reasons.”

  Reggy sighed. “Such a waste. You used to be able to carry a conversation on magical theory quite well. Do you at least still have those books I gave you?”

  “Of course. Those were a gift. They come with me in my command tent, though I haven’t thumbed through them in a while. Now answer honestly; did you bring Mergau here just so you could use her like a textbook?”

  “Oh please, I’m not so uncaring. Keeping her alive was my first and only thought, though I will admit that the reward for it was greater than I would’ve imagined.”

  As Aoden prepared dinner, they chatted idly. With Mergau in her room, they were able to focus on their lives over the years since they last saw one another. Aoden prattled about his new squad, receiving sincere congratulations from Reggy over his turn of luck. Reggy burbled about his neighbor’s granddaughter’s wedding, happily reporting that he would soon be sharing fences with the family’s fourth generation. As Aoden finished cooking, Reggy knocked on Mergau’s door.

  “All guests to dinner,” he sang. Mergau came out, looking happier than when she had left. Reggy matched her smile. “Well, aren’t we looking pleased. Did something good happen?”

  “I was just looking in the mirror,” she said. “You did a wonderful job fixing my back, thank you. I can’t even see where the knife went in. I wish I could heal like that.”

  “Happy to be of service. I see you haven’t had the same luck all the time,” he said, indicating her arm. Her hand moved to cover the burns. “Now, now, no need to be embarrassed. We all have our scars. And that, if I’m not mistaken,” he added in a low voice, “is more evidence of hasty magical training gone awry. But I won’t pry. Come and eat with us. Aoden was gracious enough to cook today.”

  Mergau acquiesced without enthusiasm. He led the way down the hall. Reggy’s house was big enough to have three separate bedrooms, as well as a kitchen, dining room, and bath. It put all the one-room huts she had seen to shame, though it took some getting used to. Strangely, most of his chairs were meant for larger people. She guessed he preferred sitting in them over something his own size.

  Aoden placed a plate before Mergau. She took one look at it and grimaced. “What is this?”

  “Pheasant. I caught them this morning.”

  “I can’t eat this,” she said, nudging the plate away.

  Aoden pushed it back towards her. “I spent a lot of time hunting and preparing this meal, so eat up.”

  She pushed it away again. “I can’t eat it.”

  Aoden slammed down his own plate. “And why not? Is my cooking not good enough for you, either?”

  She fixed him with a stony gaze. “It’s meat.”

  He met her gaze. “Yes, very astute. It’s meat. What, are you on a diet?”

  She pushed herself up. “I can’t eat meat. It makes me sick.” She opened her mouth to say more, but Reggy coughed loudly to get their attention.

  “Aoden, come now, Mergau isn’t trying to be rude.”

  “She sure fooled me.”

  “Be civil. This is embarrassing. I should have thought of it while you were cooking but it slipped my mind: she can’t
eat meat because orcs are herbivores.”

  “What?” Aoden turned bodily to face Reggy. “Herbivores? Orcs? What nonsense are you spouting, Reggy?”

  “Nonsense?!” Reggy shouted. He looked furious for a moment but closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and his composure returned. “Don’t question the accuracy of my knowledge, Aoden. If you don’t believe me, I have a library that contains more books than you’ve seen in your life. I welcome you to fact-check me.”

  Aoden shrunk under his politely withering stare. “No, that’s alright. I was mistaken.”

  Reggy smiled brightly. “Good. Don’t do it again. But yes, orcs are herbivores. Isn’t that right, Mergau?”

  “If I understand what you mean by ‘herbivores,’ then of course. We eat vegetables, fruits, roots, grasses, and leaves. We cannot digest meat and eating it makes us violently ill.”

  “But you ate Reggy’s eggs this morning.”

  “My stomach can handle eggs just fine. Eggs aren’t meat. Don’t you know anything?”

  “Don’t give me that. If you’re so cocksure, why don’t you describe to me an elven diet?” Mergau scowled but had no answer for him.

  “While we’re on the subject,” Reggy said, attempting to head off another bout of verbal sparring, “I was a bit curious about the matter. Your tribe is migratory, is it not?” Mergau nodded. “So, I was wondering why an herbivorous people would be migratory. Wouldn’t farming be better suited to you?”

  “Farming?” she repeated. Reggy explained the concept to her. She gave him a sidelong look. “You have never been east of the mountains if you think we could do the same.”

  “I admit that I’ve not crossed the mountains, no.”

  Mergau grunted in a satisfied way, unaware that Reggy had succeeded in distracting her from her anger. “I thought not. Everything east of the mountains for a hundred miles is hot, dry lands. Or two hundred stretches or whatever,” she added, remembering their measuring system but forgetting the conversion rates. “We don’t have many lakes and rivers, and those that we do have are often dry for large parts of the year. We cannot feed farms without surface water. There is water deep underground, but most of it is stuck under a layer of rock as dense and hard as steel. There are places far to the east deep in the heart of Astran where they have the tools to break through this rock but, for us in the west, we have no choice but to move once we’ve exhausted the local food.”

  “Sounds terribly inconvenient,” said Reggy.

  Mergau shrugged. “It’s all I know. Farms sound useful but would be impossible to make so close to the mountains. My clan rotates between eight different sites over several years, moving once we’ve stripped it nearly bare. By the time we arrive back at the first site, it would be lush and full of life again.”

  “Absolutely fascinating,” said Reggy. “So, orcs follow the natural cycle of nature’s growth to survive? My books are sorely lacking this information. I’d like to hear more about this steel-rock in the ground.”

  “I wouldn’t mind,” she said, “but you seem to have forgotten that I haven’t eaten yet.”

  “Ah, right. Sorry. My curiosity sometimes contends with my courtesy. I have some rice and beans I can whip up for you in a moment’s notice.”

  “I got it,” said Aoden, waving Reggy back to his seat and picking up his empty plate, his own dinner quickly consumed. “I’ve no interest in geology, so you two can keep chatting while I prepare yet another meal.”

  “So gracious, that Aoden,” said Reggy flatly. “Truly the peak of class.”

  “How much spit do you want in yours, Reggy?”

  “None, if you can manage.”

  “That might not be possible, but I’ll see what I can do,” Aoden said as he pulled out various ingredients. “What I’d like to know is,” he continued, “if you’re herbivores, then why were orcs seen eating the dead during the Fury?”

  “Ugh, savages,” she said as she took a bit of boiled potato Reggy offered her to snack on. “Mwezgala is blood magic, meaning it uses blood as fuel, but it doesn’t have to be your blood. So long as you receive blood from some source, the rage can be fed. And since most functions of the body unnecessary for battle shut down during Mwezgala, those using it can eat meat without becoming sick. The magic will consume the contents of your stomach in a literal sense, transmuting it directly into blood power.

  “That isn’t to say there’s no meat-eating outside of Mwezgala. Some tribes, the extreme Kenta fanatics, will kill and eat orcs from rival tribes thinking that it will make their next blood rage more potent. Seeing as Mwezgala comes directly from Kenta, I doubt there’s any truth to the claims, though I suppose there’s no reason Kenta couldn’t bless cannibals with more power if he wanted to.”

  “So,” said Reggy, “you’re saying there’s no veracity behind their voracity.”

  “Why are you smiling?” asked Mergau. “Does cannibalism amuse you?”

  “No,” said Aoden, “he was making a stupid joke. Pay him no mind.”

  “I’ll have you know that my joke was exceedingly clever.”

  “In that case,” Mergau said, “I didn’t get it.”

  “Forget about it, then,” Reggy huffed. “You would need to be a master of the language to find the humor of it.”

  “Not true,” said Aoden, “because I didn’t find it funny at all.”

  “Oh, shut up and concentrate on your cooking.”

  ***

  Aoden was leaving on the fifth morning.

  “I only planned to stay two days, Reggy,” Aoden said after dinner. “I already spent a big chunk of my leave sightseeing and wasn’t expecting to be here this long. I’m going to have to skip everything I was planning to do on my way back.”

  “Pah,” Reggy waved him away, “stop complaining like you weren’t pleased for an excuse to stay longer. Gods know you spend too much time in those camps for your own good as it is. If you ask me, a bit too much of the elven manner has rubbed off on you.”

  “If I had someone outside to talk to regularly that wouldn’t be a problem, but every time I tried to contact you through the mirror, you were gone or sleeping.”

  “What can I say? I have a fulfilling social life. Speaking of, I’ll try to send another mirror via courier when I get around to enchanting one, but it isn’t a quick process.”

  Aoden sighed. “I know. I’ll make do.”

  “The real thing we should be discussing is what to do with our beautiful guest.”

  “You’re a flatterer, Reggy,” Mergau said. She had grown to like the little man. He had an odd sort of humor and wisdom to him, though they mixed in a way where she could barely tell them apart.

  Aoden frowned. “What is there to discuss? She’s staying here, isn’t she?”

  “Well, we’ve hardly gotten the young lady’s opinion on the matter.”

  “What sort of plan do you have?” Mergau asked, curious. She actually liked the idea of staying here with the informative little Halfling—he was some of the politest company she’d ever had—but that wasn’t an option if the Elf was leaving. Her hosts had been tight-lipped about their plans regarding her. Though she still vaguely dreaded that they had violent intentions, she didn’t seriously entertain the idea, at least not while she was in Reggy’s house; he was an excellent host who didn’t even like when his guests fought verbally, much less physically. She would feel really bad about having to kill the Elf in front of him.

  “See, we can’t just let you wander off on your own without your magic,” Reggy said, steepling his fingers. “You wouldn’t make it a field outside my door before the guards caught you. That could be bad for you, but it’s equally likely to be bad for the guards.” He pointed to Mergau and comically pantomimed huge biceps, making her laugh. “See? A smile makes everyone beautiful.”

  “Stop it,” she said, blushing and waving away his comment.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “that leaves us with two possible choices. The first one is so crazy that no sane person w
ould even consider it, and that’s you going with Aoden back to the elven camps. Impossible, obviously, as you would be found in short order. The other, seemingly-more-sensible choice is to have you stay here until you’re sufficiently recovered, then decide what further action to take from there. My house would be open to you for as long as you need it and I will be more than happy to help you make your way out of town safely once you deem it time.”

  “Your offer is appreciated,” Mergau said immediately, “but I’d prefer to follow the Elf.”

  “What?” said Aoden.

  “Oh my, what a surprise,” said the halfling. “Who would’ve thought that you would say such a thing? Oh! That’s right!” He pulled something from his robe. “I did!”

  “What?” said Aoden again, because clearly no one had heard him the first time.

  “What is this?” she asked, taken aback by the object being thrust into her hand.

  “A medallion. A special bit of magic I’ve been working on just for this little inevitability.”

  “‘Inevitability?’” Aoden sputtered. “She still calls me ‘the Elf,’ for Wasuku’s sake.”

  “The Elf has a point,” said the halfling. “You should learn its name.”

  “Crossing the line, Reggy,” Aoden warned.

  “Anyway, the medallion should be of utmost use to you. Go ahead, put it on, put it on!”

  Mergau held it at arm’s length, suspicious. “What does it do?”

  “Oh, it’s a brilliant piece of illusion work, if I do say so myself. I’m pretty good at illusions, as you may have noticed. Or maybe you didn’t notice? I suppose that’s kind of the point. Anyway, that little beauty will hide you in plain sight. Slip it around your neck and anyone looking at you would swear over their mother’s grave that you were an elf.”

  Mergau found a way to hold the medallion even further than arm’s length; that is to say, she threw it at the halfling. “I don’t want to look like an elf! Are you mad?!”

  “It’s just an illusion, my dear,” he said, picking up and offering the medallion back to her. “No permanent changes, I promise. You will still look to be an orc to yourself. Actually, to any adept magic user.”