Fury Lingers: Book One of The Foreseen Trilogy

by Ethan Spears

  They shuffled forward again, breaking through the tree line. Mergau listened, waiting for some call of alarm, but none came. There were shouts, but they sounded cordial, common greetings in their language more likely than not, some of which the Elf returned. She wanted to peek around the camp, but her fear of discovery kept her head down.

  Aoden called a question out to one of the other elves. When a response came back, his step faltered. His hand tightened on her arm. “We may have a problem,” he said as they continued on. “Just keep your mouth closed and your head down.” When he felt her breathing completely cease, he quickly said, “Everything will be fine. I promise.”

  Mergau was shaking. She could hear bows being drawn and arrows being loosed. Every time they struck a target, she jumped, expecting to feel the pain as an arrow plunged into her chest. She leaned heavily into Aoden, trying to control herself. She tried utilizing Ezma’s teachings to soothe herself, but every thunk of an arrow into wood shattered her calm.

  She gasped at unexpected darkness: the shadow of the tent had fallen over them. Knowing they were seconds away from relief, she was able to shake off a tiny shred of her fear.

  “Keep your hood on and follow,” was all Aoden said, then he released his grip on Mergau’s arm. She wobbled unsteadily, not understanding why he removed his support. For a moment, it felt like the most dramatic betrayal, but he was moving forward again and she hurried to keep pace. It was only four short steps.

  Dorim stood as Aoden entered the tent. “I was starting to think you’d never come back, Commander. Were you planning on using all your leave time at once?”

  “Good to see you too,” Aoden answered more tightly than he intended. He coughed to cover his lapse and continued normally. “Probably would’ve been the smarter choice to run off into the hills and never return. But, I’m back. You had my itinerary, so my schedule should have been no surprise. I suppose you have a good reason for being in my tent.”

  “I do. You’ll have to pardon the intrusion, but you were returning today and I needed to see you as soon as possible. We’ve been getting messengers from up the command chain. The messages were urgent, but the couriers were all ordered to deliver to the commander only and refused to let me take them for you.” He paused and looked past Aoden. “I’m sorry, who’s this?” He gestured towards Mergau.

  “Who was sending the messages?” Aoden said as if he hadn’t heard the question.

  Dorim shrugged. “They were awfully tight-lipped about the sender, more so than you’d expect. Since you were on leave, I checked with Archonite Valdon and, judging by his reaction, he either didn’t know what I was talking about or didn’t want to discuss it with me. The former means someone is bypassing the chain of command, which means something serious. Should we be discussing these matters in front of…?”

  Dorim wasn’t going to let Mergau’s presence go, so Aoden had to handle it. He looked around, acting like he’d only just remembering his companion. “Oh, her? This is an old friend of mine. Her name is Mergalome.” It sounded elvish enough. “She prefers Mergau.” Mergau heard her name among the Elvish and offered a quick bow at the waist. Aoden winced, since it was nothing like a proper elven-style bow.

  “A lovely name,” Dorim said, though he kept his eyes on Aoden. “Any reason why you’re bringing a ‘her’ into camp?”

  “You’re right, we shouldn’t be having this discussion in front of her. Let’s bring this outside. Mergau, wait here a moment.” She, of course, understood nothing that was being said, but as Dorim stepped outside, Aoden leaned in and whispered, “We’ll be right back.”

  Outside, Aoden made a show of making sure Mergau wasn’t listening in on them. “Look, I don’t want you making a big deal about this. I don’t want people knowing she’s here.”

  Dorim arched an eyebrow. “I know I’m not the strictest adherent to military guidelines”—Aoden scoffed—“but even I can’t overlook someone bringing a woman into camp. Couldn’t you have gotten that out of your system while you were on leave?”

  “It’s not like that, Dorim,” Aoden said, giving another theatrical look over his shoulder. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Someone tried to kill her.”

  Dorim blinked in surprise. “Really? That’s… that is to say…” He couldn’t find the words. It was a response Aoden expected; murder was extremely rare among elves, numbering less than one a year throughout the entire elven nation. Murders were widespread gossip for months when they occurred. It was not the sort of thing one exaggerated or made up.

  “I know, it’s appalling,” Aoden supplied the words for him. “She barely survived an attempt by poison.”

  “Wasuku!” Dorim exclaimed.

  “I know. And worse yet, she’s worried about more attempts on her life. She just needs time to recover and get herself sorted out, that’s all. We need her presence to be kept relatively quiet. The men can know, but it won’t do spreading much beyond that. It would put her in grave danger.”

  Dorim put a hand on his forehead while his mouth worked uselessly. “Gods,” he finally managed, “how can anyone do that to a fellow elf?”

  Aoden shook his head. “I don’t know.” He found it amusing that the simple truth (albeit with some conveniently absent information) was turning out to be such a good excuse. “All I know is she doesn’t deserve it.”

  “No one does,” Dorim agreed. “Do you know who it was who poisoned her?”

  Aoden made a frustrated face. “Yes and no. It’s… complicated. We don’t have the whole picture yet, and it wouldn’t do to throw around half-cooked theories. Who knows what damage would be done by leveling accusations at the wrong people?”

  Dorim nodded in understanding and mumbled something to himself. He was practically in a daze over the story. “I should offer my respects to the lady. I’d like her to know she can feel safe here.”

  Aoden was going to shoot down the idea, but remembered that Dorim wasn’t skilled with magic either. It would be fine if he saw Mergau since he would be unable to pierce the illusion and it could only strengthen the story.

  Mergau was standing where they left her, the hood and shawls still in place. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion,” he said as they reentered the tent. “This man is Dorim, a friend you can trust.” Mergau remained staring at the far wall. “She’s a bit shook up,” Aoden explained and moved over to her side.

  “Mergau,” he whispered so that the Lieutenant wouldn’t hear them speaking Krik. “This elf’s name is Dorim. Go ahead and take off your hood, maybe give him a bow.”

  “Why would I do that?” she whispered back, suspicion in her voice.

  “It’s just a show of good faith. Don’t worry. He won’t recognize you for what you are.” Mergau was clearly hesitant. He tugged lightly at one of the shawls and her hand shot up to stop him. “Don’t worry. Remember, if you’re caught, I’m caught. If you trust nothing else about me, you can at least trust I wouldn’t want that, right?” He tugged again and, though she looked like she wanted to, she offered no resistance. He pulled it away from her chin, revealing her face. She abruptly took over, peeling herself out of all her head coverings, spilling her hair down her back. Aoden went back to stand next to Dorim. She took a couple of breaths, then turned to face them.

  Had Mergau see it, she would have noted that Dorim’s expression was the same as when he learned about the attempted murder. His mouth fell open, his eyes widened, and for a moment she thought he was peering past the illusion. She averted her eyes sharply from his face.

  Dorim came to his senses. “Sorry, madam, I didn’t mean to stare,” he managed to say, flustered. “It’s just that your face surprised me. Not, not in a bad way. It’s a good face.” Aoden couldn’t contain a loud bark of laughter, which he tried unsuccessfully to turn into a cough. He received an elbow in the stomach from Dorim for his efforts. “Excuse my nonsense, madam. Dorim of family Silzeindair, at your service.”

  There was a pause in the talking. Mergau looked over
at them. Aoden gave her a look and bent his head. She got the message, bowing gracelessly.

  “Anything you need is ours to provide,” the Lieutenant added. “All you need do is ask.”

  “Alright,” said Aoden, taking Dorim by the shoulder and leading him back through the flap of the tent into the sunlight. “Now you’ve officially met, and what an impression you’ve made, I must say. One would think you’ve never seen a woman before.”

  “Oh, shut up. I just didn’t expect her to be so...”

  “Beautiful,” Aoden supplied. “It’s a simple word, Dorim.”

  The gruff Lieutenant actually blushed. “It’s obvious why you agreed to help her out. She looks like a damn painting.”

  “She’s a friend,” Aoden said, adding a dangerous hint to his voice. “I have no intentions of that sort. And neither do you, understand?”

  “I’m not the one who brought her here,” he said in embarrassment.

  “Go tell the men there’s a guest in my tent,” Aoden said. “Tell them there are mitigating circumstances that allow for her presence. Keep the details vague. Since she’s a woman, it should come as no surprise that she’ll need some privacy, so no one is to enter without knocking. If she’s alone, she’s to be left alone, got it? I don’t want her to feel threatened.”

  “Completely understandable, sir.”

  “I just need to work out some details with her, then I will see to the men. Now go.”

  Dorim left, and Aoden returned to the tent. Mergau had covered her head again, waiting to see if the other elf was returning.

  “You’re all clear. You shouldn’t be disturbed anymore. Please, hurry up and recover your magic. I’m bound to keel over from the stress.”

  “You think you’re stressed?” she fired back. She was breathing quick, shallow breaths. She sat on the bed and put a hand on her chest, willing herself to calmness. “This madness could not have really worked, could it?”

  Aoden lifted his hands in a clueless gesture. “It seems like it did. For now, at least. That will teach me to doubt Reggy, though how the hell he’s always right… Anyway, I told Dorim that someone tried to kill you and he was more than eager to give a fellow elf the support she needed. Are you alright?” he added. Her breathing still hadn’t slowed. She could still hear the elves practicing their archery.

  “I’m fine. I just need a minute.”

  “Well, if you’re sure. I need to speak with my men, anyway. Try to relax.” He got up and left. A minute later, he was calling something out to the other elves. Finally, the thunk of arrows striking dummies ceased and she was able to bring herself under control.

  Once her body normalized, she looked around the tent. This was where elf soldiers lived, was it? The roof, made of a thick cloth instead of grass or wood, slanted sharply towards the ground at the edges, forming walls. Without proper wood or reed walls, the whole thing had to be held up by poles thrust into the ground around the edges. The ground was made of wood, which she thought was strange: how did they move the floor with the tent? She noted little grooves in the floor allowing it to be broken into pieces.

  The tent was better furnished than Jierta’s hut. It had a bed, a waist-high, three-tiered shelf full to bursting with books, a small wooden table with a chair and two collapsible cloth stools, a longer desk off to one side covered in papers, and a handful of containers, including a clothing chest at the foot of the bed. The whole place had been laid out to provide an open center for easy navigation.

  The only thing of real interest to her was the little bookshelf. She would probably have little else to do until her powers recovered, so she scanned the titles. More than half of them were written in Krik, thankfully. The majority of the rest were in some unknown language, probably Elvish, with the other books displaying letters different enough that she was sure they represented at least two unknown languages.

  On the bottom shelf, pressed against the right side of the frame, were three books bound in red-dyed leather with golden filigree. They looked to be part of a collection. She glanced over them and almost moved on, but the author of the third book caught her eye. She pulled it from the shelf and examined the title: Basic Spellcraft, Edition XIX, by Othello Newman. Was this the same Newman who wrote the Eldritch Language Compendium? She cracked open the cover and found a page in the front detailing the contents. It listed four hundred ninety-four spells in total.

  Mergau was thunderstruck. Why hadn’t Ezma shown her any books like this? It was a veritable treasure trove of practical magical knowledge! There were spells for floating, invisibility, flight, teleportation, making rain, making drought, accelerating plant growth, and creating food from nothing. There was a whole section devoted to relieving pain, suggesting spells depending on whether the pain was caused by cuts or burns or illness or childbirth. There was even an illusion spell like Reggy’s, though it looked to be an inferior version to the one he had given her to learn. Gods, she wanted to try them so badly, wishing her magic wasn’t crippled. Damn this poison again!

  Aoden returned to find her hunched over one of the tomes Reggy had given him. At least someone was getting some use out of it, he supposed.

  “A second bed is on the way,” he said, “so you should have somewhere to sleep tonight. I’ll bring some food after each meal. I guess we’re here now, so anything you need that’ll make this situation easier, don’t hesitate to tell me. And do try to stay out of sight.”

  “What will happen to me if I’m caught?” she asked.

  “Nothing good. They’d probably kill you on the spot, and I’d probably be hung.”

  Mergau considered this. “Are you certain you would be hung? There would be absolutely no other outcome?”

  A grin played across his face. “What, worried about me now? Don’t be. I should be able to lie my way out of it. I could say I didn’t know you were an orc; I can’t see through Reggy’s illusion, so it’s at least believable, though let’s not to test that theory.”

  Mergau had just lost an option. If worse came to worst, she hoped she could at least bring him down with her, but if there was even a slim chance he would survive and she wouldn’t, it wasn’t worth the risk.

  “I might have an idea,” Aoden said, mistaking her thoughtful silence for distress. He went over to the side table and opened up a box sitting on it. He pulled out a bag nearly the size of his head and tossed it to her. She caught it, but it was a hefty thing. The contents clinked together pleasingly. “That bag contains four hundred yews. It’s elven currency. I don’t know if you use money between your orcish tribes, but you can use these in exchange for goods and services. Keep it with you. Should this insane venture go predictably awry and you need to flee, you can head west towards the halfling territories. With that much money, you should be fine until you figure out what you’re going to do.”

  Mergau opened the sack and pulled out a wooden coin. It was a thin little thing, ridged and hollow, a face and many numbers and symbols painstakingly etched on both sides. “And these are used for trade? What can four hundred be exchanged for?”

  “Food, lodging, maybe passage by boat. You would need to ask the merchants. Or look at signs, I guess, what with the language barrier. Thankfully our languages use the same number system, unlike the Gardeshi. Anyway, that’s about half a year’s pay for me, so you can probably survive off it for at least that long, more than long enough to get back home if that’s what you choose to do.”

  She bounced the bag of coins in her hand. “You don’t need to concern yourself with me, you know.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re in my care. I will try my absolute hardest to make sure nothing happens to you, whether from another assassin or my own people, but I believe in contingencies. I’ll see you safe until you can take care of yourself, I promise.”

  There was a knock on the doorframe. Aoden excused himself and left the tent, leaving Mergau to mull over his words. There was a strange airiness in her head, a relief mixed with anger and annoyance. She didn’
t need his pity or protection, so why did she find she wanted it?

  She threw the sack of coins to the ground.

  Chapter 16

  Deceit and Loyalty

  Aoden awoke to the sound of Mergau grunting. He rolled over in his bed to find a fair elven maiden in her undergarments doing pushups on the dirty floorboards.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Trying to sweat this damn poison out,” she said.

  “Will that work?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s better than sitting around doing nothing.”

  Aoden rose from his bed. The air had turned chilly enough where he didn’t have to sleep nude, though given the circumstances he wouldn’t anyway. Soon the squad would need to requisition furs from provisioning, but as he ran through his own morning exercises, they were more than sufficient to warm him up.

  He was also trying his hardest not to stare at Mergau. Whatever personal distaste he had for elves, there was no denying that he was still attracted to them and Reggy’s illusion—nearly nude and glistening with sweat—was an arousing spectacle.

  Aoden put on his leathers. “So far, so good. Physically, it looks like you’re doing fine. How’s the magic coming along?”

  “The pain isn’t as bad as it was, but the further along I get in the incantations, the worse it gets. It will be a few more days before I’m willing to risk any casting. Reggy said it would be no more than six days and it’s already the eighth.”

  “I suppose even Reggy can’t always be right.”

  She stood and began running in place. “Anything I need to know about today?”

  “No, just standard training.”

  Though still on edge, she was speaking with him a lot more over the past few days. Her anger was still there, but now seemingly directed at herself. He wasn’t about to ask why lest she shift that anger back to him as he was enjoying their conversations.

  Mostly he asked questions and she talked. She didn’t seem interested in Elven society, but he had learned a lot about orcish culture. Though he found many of their practices to be unusual, sometimes even laughably backward, he refrained from making negative comments. He might have done so back at Reggy’s place, but that was the sort of influence Reggy had on Aoden, making him more of a mischief-maker than he would have otherwise been. Whether it was the man’s strange humor or just the effect of childhood nostalgia bringing old habits to the fore, he did not know. Regardless, here at camp, it was easy to remain diplomatic.