Fury Lingers: Book One of The Foreseen Trilogy

by Ethan Spears

  “I see,” she said. “It seems that all elves do is train.”

  “That’s the military for you. From what I understand of your people, your warriors have other duties to perform like hunt and forage, build and repair, and so on, so they have things to occupy their time. Our warriors prepare for combat and little else.”

  He wasn’t wrong. Mergau forgot how much she had told him about her own culture and traditions, but the fact that he had all this time to learn irked her, thinking once again that he should be dead already. Thinking about his death, however, made her uncomfortable, which only served to irk her further. She had come out here to rest her troubled mind but walking along in silence just made her mind wander back to exactly what she had been worrying about in the tent. She needed to distract herself.

  “When you say you’re preparing for combat,” she said, “you mean the second Fury?”

  The Elf nodded, looking serious. “Kenta won’t have the blessing of the other gods this time, but he has no reason to hold back his assault. Humans were the main military force in Nilriel and, for all the elves’ posturing, they will be hard pressed to hold the orcs on their own.” He turned to her. “What about your people? They live near the mountains, right? As Kenta’s fanatics push west, where do they plan on going?”

  You killed my people, you bastard, she thought, the rage she used to feel so strongly at the mere thought of him now only guttered beneath the surface. Instead, she answered, “I don’t know what their plans were. The clans along the mountains cannot move east, north, or south. Many chance coming west.”

  “That would be a terrible idea,” he said. “Though would it be better or worse than waiting for Kenta’s minions to sweep over them? I don’t envy your people their position.”

  “Shut up,” she muttered, just low enough so he couldn’t hear her.

  “Sorry?” He leaned in.

  “My people don’t want sympathy or pity; they want a place to live in peace. Save your words until you can offer them that.”

  Sensing he had upset her, he fell silent.

  Their group moved deeper into the woods. The elves advanced cautiously, barely making noise as they moved from tree to tree. They weren’t sneaking so much as they walked with utmost care, not rustling any bushes or branches, seemingly not even disturbing the grass. The sharp-eyed one, whom the Elf called his scout, often vanished in the greenery ahead, only to appear back among the group like magic, whether circling around and rejoining from the side or rear or waiting in hiding until the group passed before vacating his hiding spot, she wasn’t sure.

  “I don’t like how that one moves,” she thought aloud.

  “Who, Malk?” asked Aoden. “He’s a top-notch scout. The man moves like the wind itself.”

  “That’s what I don’t like,” she said. “No one should be that quiet in these woods, nor that fast. It’s disturbing.”

  “I suppose that makes sense since your people and mine are not exactly friendly with one another.” She scoffed at his understatement. “No good general would want to engage the elves in the forests, but they likely wouldn’t have a choice since the elves rarely leave them. When Kenta’s fanatics come, it will be butchery on both sides.”

  Mergau shook her head. “Do you honestly think your people stand any chance of surviving?”

  “I don’t know, though I hope so. I’m not overly fond of elves, but they’re my people now and I don’t want to see them slaughtered like the humans were.”

  “Kenta’s fanatics versus the elves,” she said. “I wouldn’t even know who to cheer for.”

  Aoden gave her a sidelong look. “Are we really that bad to your people?”

  “That’s a stupid question.”

  A voice called from the back of the group, cutting off Aoden’s response. He turned away from Mergau. She followed his eyes, seeing three elves in furs and leather standing together behind the one called Malk, whom she didn’t notice had vanished again. The two on the sides were stone-faced, but the one in the middle wore an odd smile as his eyes rested on Aoden.

  “Looks like I’m needed,” he sighed. “We’ll pick this up later.”

  “I don’t like that way he smiles,” said Mergau, following the Elf as he approached the trio. It made her skin crawl the way his mouth smiled, but his eyes did not.

  “I recognize that look. Always half-smiles for the half-elf. I’m sure this will be just a jolly conversation.”

  He stumped over to the scout, Mergau close behind. The middle elf nodded by way of greeting and spoke in that lilting language of the elves. Mergau noticed that their uniforms were odd, with a high-necked coat, bright blue leather, and no military insignia on their bodies. Her attention was about to drift when the center elf said something she didn’t expect.

  “My master informed us that you speak Krik,” he said, his voice lyrical and pleasant.

  Aoden also seemed surprised. “I do,” he said, adding, “I don’t think I’ve heard another elf speak Krik in a decade at least.”

  The elf nodded. “Language was one of my commanding arts, not unlike yourself. Swordsmanship, as well. To the military records, we’re almost the same person.” His eyes moved to Aoden’s ear, trailing up the length of it. “Almost. That aside, I speak to you in Krik for a reason, for this conversation is not for your men.”

  “If that’s the case, it’s obvious why you’re here. I can tell by your uniforms who your master is, but I will have to ask you to supply better proof than that.”

  “Of course.” He turned his head theatrically and looked at the swords hanging on his belt. It was then that Mergau noticed he wore many swords, each in a scabbard decorated with gaudy blue paint and silver filigree that wound upwards in a latticework of leaves and branches. Even as Mergau was admiring the hilt—a beautiful thing of gold and bound in leather dyed black—the blade shifted and slid from its housing without a hand to guide it. Three other blades followed, each hovering and spinning above the elf. Mergau was awed by the display of magic and didn’t need to be told how precise his control must be to grasp four swords in his power this way.

  Her amazement must have shown, for when the elf’s eyes fell on her, he emitted a musical laugh. He said something to her in elvish as he spun one of the swords in the air idly with his finger. He reached for his scabbards as he spoke, and raising them up, two to a hand. He paused in his speech as all four swords whistled through the air in circles and drove themselves home down the throats of the scabbard. He then caught her eye and said something dramatically, but the meaning was lost on her.

  Behind her, the other elves broke into clapping and whistling. For a moment, she forgot herself and clapped along, but then realized she was standing there with her mouth agape applauding like an idiot. She let her hands drop, feeling terribly out of place.

  The elf laughed again. “Your friend is cute,” he said to Aoden in Krik once more, though his eyes remained on Mergau. “Please don’t tell me you keep her all to yourself.”

  “I think you’ll find she can keep herself just fine,” said Aoden. “Let’s stick to business. That you are Keenas’s apprentices is clear, and I’ve heard your names among the gossip, but which one of you is which?”

  “Of course, of course,” he said, returning his attention to Aoden. “I’m Caspin…”

  “Bochi,” grunted the one on his left.

  “Amis,” said the other.

  “…and we’re here to talk about our little golden friend.”

  “I’m surprised,” said Aoden. “I didn’t think his apprentices would grasp Yasiden this quickly.”

  Caspin put on a face of false humility. “While our skill is indeed prodigious, we do not compare to Master Keenas. His control and power are otherworldly.”

  Aoden nodded. “I also didn’t think I’d be hearing back from Keenas so shortly. It’s barely been a month. Does he have some update on the status of this situation?”

  “Hmm?” hummed Caspin with a curious smile. “You don’t n
eed to use weaselly language with me. We know all about the idol and its properties, rest assured.”

  “Nonetheless, Keenas made it clear I’m not to discuss the details with anyone.”

  “Fair enough,” Caspin said with a careless shrug. “I don’t need details or information, I’m only here to retrieve the idol and be on my way.”

  Aoden stiffened, but he relaxed just as quickly and chuckled. “The Archon must be forgetful. He told me explicitly that he would come and retrieve the idol himself. Surely he told you that as well?”

  “The Archon is a busy man,” Caspin said. “Picking up trinkets from around the camp is below his attention, as I’m sure you can imagine. All you need to know on the matter is that things have changed and the idol is to shift out of your possession. You, of course, understand how important this is.”

  “Not important enough for him to come himself, apparently. Go back and tell your master that if he wants the idol, he has to come and get it himself.”

  Caspin bristled, though his smile was as solid as ever. “You would demand the presence of an archon? Quite a bold one, you are.”

  “If the Archon is angry with me when you inform him, I ask that you remind him it was he who said not to entrust the idol to anyone but himself. I’m only following his orders.”

  “And what a good little order-follower you are.” The way his voice stayed friendly and musical sent shivers up Mergau’s spine. She was glad when he said something to his two companions in Elvish and didn’t speak any more Krik. He went back and forth with Aoden for a moment, then Aoden called the sharp-eyed one over. The three left with the scout leading them back the way they came. Aoden shouted an order, and they resumed their march.

  “What is he taking the scout for?” Mergau said as they retook the fore.

  “To lead them back to camp. They found us easily enough, you’d think they could get back on their own.”

  “That’s odd. Those three were odd.”

  Aoden nodded. “I’m surprised. Keenas came off as more reasonable than this. Honestly; sending his apprentices to fetch the idol when he made it clear that he would come for it himself. Frankly, I’m a bit insulted that he thinks I’d ignore his orders and give it up so easily. And Caspin’s irritating smile just made me want to throw them out of here, Keenas’s apprentices or no.”

  The Elf continued grumbling to himself, but Mergau ignored him. She walked close to him and followed his steps since most of her attention would be on her spell.

  She reached out with her mind, imagining Caspin’s face and his voice, extending her senses further and further around them. She had become so used to scrying either Jierta or the Elf that she was having trouble focusing on a new person, but gradually caught a scent of him. She concentrated, bringing him to her mind. She could see him clearly now, walking with Amis, Bochi, and Malk, making idle conversation in Elvish.

  Of course he would speak Elvish with other elves, and of course she wouldn’t be able to understand. But she watched anyway as something caught her interest. Caspin was using his hands to form a little box, and though Mergau couldn’t comprehend his words, she got the gist of it: ‘have you seen an item about this big.’ He was asking about the idol. Malk nodded, knowing nothing about the conversation that Aoden had with them or why they were sent away. Malk jabbered on enthusiastically, raising his arms high in the air as if to say, ‘the giant was this big,’ but Caspin cut him off with an outstretched hand and said something. Malk nodded, pointing to his hip, right to where the pouch would be that Aoden kept the idol stored.

  So, this Caspin character wanted the scout to escort them out so he could weasel information out of him. Being the apprentice of the most famous elf alive, naturally he would draw eager honesty from the star-struck scout. It seemed like an odd thing to ask, however, seeing as they were going to inform Keenas of Aoden’s refusal to hand over the idol. What good would knowing where the idol was do them?

  She had seen enough. Mergau was just releasing the tethers on her spell to extinguish it when she saw the flash of steel. Capsin’s swords flew from their scabbards and plunged into Malk, the scout struck down before he even knew what was happening. There was no scream, no shout, not even a change in Malk’s excited expression as he fell to the forest floor. Mergau gasped in surprise, her protective cloak slipping away and dispelling.

  Caspin reacted instantly. His back straightened and he turned, looking right through Mergau’s window. She had let herself be seen. She could feel the buildup of magic in Caspin’s gaze, but the window was already vanishing. She could barely see Caspin when she felt a shock in her head that made her cry out, stumble on the path, and fall to her knees.

  She felt Aoden’s arm on her shoulder. “Mergau!” she heard him calling distantly, her head swimming in pain. Had she been attacked through her own scrying window? She didn’t think that was possible, but when the magic struck her, she recognized it as Caspin’s without a doubt. If her window wasn’t dissipating, the spell might have killed her outright.

  “Mergau, what’s wrong?” he said again, his voice coming into focus.

  She shook her head too slowly for her liking. “Malk,” she tried to say, but it was incoherent even to her own ears. She swallowed back nausea and tried again. “Malk,” she said. “They killed Malk.”

  “What are you talking about? Come on, let’s see if you can stand.”

  She pushed his hands away as he tried to lift her. “Listen,” she grunted, stopping to swallow again. “We’re in danger. I was watching them, those elves, and I saw them kill Malk.”

  “Watching them?”

  She nodded.

  “With your magic?”

  She nodded again.

  “You can do that?”

  All this nodding was making her dizzy.

  “Caspin, he saw me,” she said, “attacked me. They will come back. A group this size with mundane weapons can’t fight three mages. We have to get away from here.”

  Aoden looked doubtful but cautious. “That seems incredibly unlikely. An elf murdering another elf is a very rare crime. I know among orcs and humans—”

  “I know what I saw! Don’t argue with me. We need to get out of here before they return.”

  “I don’t think—”

  She turned on him. “When you tell me to follow your lead, I listen. Now it’s your turn to listen to me.”

  Aoden looked angry, but it wasn’t directed at her. “We can’t hold off three Yasiden users, even if they are still in training, but If they did kill Malk, I’ll make them answer for it. You’d better not be lying to me.”

  “Why would I lie about this?”

  The Elf lifted his head to shout at the soldiers, who all watched their exchange curiously. They looked annoyed at what he said. “We’re going to perform a retreat drill,” he said as he lugged Mergau to her feet. “Everyone will move at their full speed, stopping only to aid those that fall behind. Are you able to run?”

  Mergau nodded, testing her feet and finding herself steadier than she thought she would be. The fog in her mind was lifting rapidly. Aoden gave another command and the elves all drew their bows. “Don’t mind the arrows,” he said, “they’ll be aiming for the trees for practice. Get ready, because the next time I shout we’re going to move at a run and we won’t be stopping for a while.”

  As soon as his shout rent the air, Mergau took off. Her panicked fear eased steadily as she picked up speed, sprinting through the forest on light feet. Much to her surprise—and Aoden’s too by the look on his face—she was able to stay ahead of the elves, whose swiftness and speed on the battlefield were feared almost as much as their archery. She could see the fruits of her many months of training as she tore through the woods, putting as much distance between herself and that cold-smiling elf as she could. Every few seconds, an elf would stop and strike a tree with a deftly-placed arrow. She wasn’t sure how far they were going, but none of the elves made any complaint or comment as they moved further and further t
hrough the trees.

  After what felt like an hour, she began to tire. She tried to push her legs to continue at the pace they had before, but it just wasn’t possible. The elves, on the other hand, barely looked tired at all. How any creature could have that much stamina was beyond her. But then again, she had only trained for a few months while these elves had been doing this for hundreds of years. That she had kept up for this long was probably impressive.

  Aoden had kept pace with her as she slowed but finally had enough and called the squad to a halt. “We’ve circled around and we’re almost back to camp,” he said, knowing exactly where they were in that way the elves always seemed to. “We’ll check to see if Malk made it back. If he did, you and I are going to have a little talk. If he didn’t… well, I don’t want to think what that will mean.”

  She wanted to tell him to keep going but was breathing too hard to form any words. The elves were breathing like an orc might after putting a heavy object on a high shelf rather than people who had just run several miles. It only served to make her more afraid of them.

  The group continued onwards at a walk. She saw eyes and smiles directed at her and wasn’t sure if they were mocking or impressed. After all, she was half-dead a few weeks ago and just kept up with the best of the elven military. She briefly wondered how resilient an average elf woman was.

  “We’re only a few stretches from camp, just an hour’s walk, less if you get a second wind and we can run again.”

  “Fresh water ahead,” translated Aoden as they heard a call from the elf in the lead. They broke through the tree line into a clearing, a narrow brook bubbling along across their path. “A good turn of luck finding this,” he continued. “Dorim was going on about how there was little water this close to the mountains. I’ll have Malk mark this place…” he stopped. “I really hope you’re mistaken about him.”