Fury Lingers: Book One of The Foreseen Trilogy

by Ethan Spears

  “Funny thing was it had almost the opposite effect. She’d complain in her letters about what a bitter sort that apprentice of hers was.”

  “Mergau?” Lily shrugged. “That girl’s had a lot happen to her. I’d be bitter, too.”

  “Hopefully never that bitter.” He took another drink. “Know anything about the other one?”

  Lily shook her head. “I was never involved with any of those assignments. Tabir and Ezma handled most of those themselves. I don’t even understand how they were supposed to meet.”

  “That’s cause we all got bits and pieces. They’re supposed to be together already, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Oh?” she said. “Are they in Astran or Nilriel?”

  “Nilriel, supposedly,” said Jess.

  Gunsk waved the bartender away. “You know too damn much, Jess.”

  “Hey, it passes the time.”

  Gunsk looked at what remained of his drink. “Might as well finish up with another hoist, eh? To Mergau and that other one, what’s-his-name.”

  “Aoden,” Jess supplied.

  “Right, Aoden. To those two poor bastards.” He put his jack to his lips.

  There was a loud crash that made the three of them jump, Gunsk spraying the countertop with ale. They were showered by bits of splintered glass, then were treated to a second crash as a table was upended. Tabir was standing now, his arms flailing through the air as if trying to disperse a cloud of angry gnats. “Damn you, Ezma!” he shouted in a drunken slur. “You’re watching me right now, aren’t you?! When are you, huh?!” He stumbled against another table, knocking it directly into Vanna and Teresa’s, and from there into Teresa’s damaged arm. She paled and her mouth opened in a silent scream. Vanna rushed her from her seat and they shifted to a table further away from the drunken man.

  “Did he just throw his jack at us?!” shouted an angry Lily, picking bits of glass out of her hair.

  “You know,” said Jess, “if Roberts wasn’t paying me triple for every glass Tabir broke, he’d be outside sleeping in the gutters by now. Drunk or no, I don’t appreciate him breaking my property.”

  Gunsk sighed heavily. “I’ll settle him down, I guess.”

  “Oh, no you don’t,” said Lily, leaping from her seat. “He’s mine.”

  “Oh, boy,” said Jess. “He doesn’t mean no harm, Lily. Go easy on him.”

  “He could’ve busted my damn head,” she grumbled. She marched up to the flailing man, her tiny fists balled.

  “You short people have no concern for size, do you?” said Jess. If Lily had any issue with picking a fight with a man over twice her height, it didn’t slow her step in the slightest.

  “When you’re short, everyone’s bigger than you,” said Gunsk. “Twelve hands, twenty hands, thirty hands, makes no difference after a point. Besides, she knows she can beat him raw.”

  Lily stopped just short of Tabir’s staggering steps. “Hey!” she called up at him. Tabir looked down, swaying on his feet. “Did you throw a glass at me?!”

  Tabir shook his head. “I was aiming for Ezma,” he mumbled.

  “She’s not here. She’s dead, you idiot. You killed her!”

  Gunsk sucked in a breath. “Harsh.”

  “Guess she’s not going easy, then,” said Jess.

  “Someone had to!” Tabir shouted. “I didn’t see you volunteering!”

  Lily gave him a revolted look. “Gods, if she could see you now—”

  “Oh, but she’s watching,” interrupted Tabir, leaning down toward Lily. “You know she’s somewhere right now, looking forward, right? Somewhere back in time where she was safe and alive.” His voice broke and he started to sob. “Just watching us cry over her like the bitch she is!”

  Lily kicked out, catching him in the side of the leg. The leg collapsed inward, bringing him down to his knees. Lily put her two fists together, one inside the other, and swung them like a hammer into the side of Tabir’s head, causing him to crumple to the ground, mumbling incoherently into the floorboards.

  “That doesn’t mean you get to throw glasses at people,” said Lily calmly. “Have some dignity.”

  Tabir mumbled something at her. “What was that?” She leaned in closer. He mumbled it again. She scowled and kicked him directly in the crotch, causing him to roll on the ground. “Asshole,” she said, then strode out of the inn.

  Jess sighed. “And a tab for her, too. And some ice for Tabir, also on his tab.” He looked over at the dwarf. “Make sure you pay for your drink before you go so the Order doesn’t run me out of business with their debts.”

  “Yeah, I gotcha,” said Gunsk. He reached into his vest and tossed a bag of coins on the counter. “I’ll pay for everything today, including Tabir. Wouldn’t want to lose my favorite watering hole, now would I?”

  “Gunsk, my lad,” said Jess, opening the bag and counting out what he was owed, “they don’t deserve a friend as good as you.”

  “They sure don’t. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to drag Tabir back to his room. He’s going to need more than a few kicks and punches to sober up.”

  “You do that. ‘Bout time he sleeps in a bed instead of the floor of my common room.”

  Gunsk jumped down from his stool and hoisted Tabir onto his shoulder. The dwarf carried Tabir up the stairs and down the hall to his room and tossed him on his bed, then began to take the man’s boots off.

  “I’m sorry,” Tabir mumbled.

  “It’s no problem, Chris,” said the dwarf.

  “Don’t call me that,” whined Tabir. “I don’t like that name. Only Ezma could call me that.” He hiccupped. “Oh, Ezma, I’m sorry you had to die.”

  “We all are, buddy.” Gunsk laid a blanket over Tabir. “You did what no one else was strong enough to do. Now go to sleep and sober up.”

  “Okay,” slurred Tabir. “Thanks. I love you.”

  Gunsk chuckled. “Okay, buddy, I love you, too.”

  “Thanks.” And with that, Tabir was snoring softly.

  Chapter 19

  Murder and Music

  Why did she want his forgiveness? She had not wronged him (yet) and put herself in harm’s way to protect him, even if she did it without thinking. He should be the one begging her for forgiveness after what he had done to her. He should be thanking her for saving his life, not snubbing her with silence.

  It wasn’t like she couldn’t understand his sorrow. Having a group of elves slaughter a band of people you were fond of with little-to-no chance of fighting back? Yeah, she was familiar with that scenario.

  Mergau grudgingly decided she couldn’t kill him while he was mewling like a baby. She could still kill him whenever she wanted, she told herself, but even at the height of her rage, she couldn’t justify killing him like this. Instead, she had to drag him from the clearing into the forest and away from his fallen brethren. He protested weakly in Elvish, probably wanting to stay and bury the dead, but she wasn’t going to be caught by those maniacs again.

  She noticed her tracks, her large orcish footprints in the dirt, but she had no idea how to clear them away without creating more and had to leave them. It was only then that she noticed her illusion had worn off at some point during the massacre. She was so used to keeping the spell up even while sleeping that she barely noticed it anymore. What if she had strolled from the command tent without realizing it had dissipated in the night? She shuddered to think. Raising the spell now wouldn’t be a bad idea, but she was fatigued from the strain and fear from before.

  It was also then that she realized Reggy’s illusion spell had been disguising her footprints. She couldn’t even begin to guess how that worked, nor did she have the temperament to be impressed.

  The Elf lay where she finally dropped him, and he wept, falling asleep and waking only to weep again. It was pathetic. When her brother was killed, she dragged herself and her nephew back to her sister’s clan and, while living as a clanless mooch, found the resolve and skill to avenge him. This elf, supposedly an
elite military commander of a proud race, couldn’t even match the inner strength of a common orcish girl. She found she actually pitied him.

  It was well into the next day before he sat up, his body exhausted and weak, eyes pink and wet, and accepted some water in silence. She wanted to ask him how he was doing, but part of her thought it was a silly question, and another part wondered why she cared anyway. She just let him sit against his tree while she went to find food.

  Foraging for food was a new experience: in her clan, the men foraged; At Ezma’s, her food seemed to come from nowhere, whether magicked into existence or pulled from the other room; when she followed the elves, they ate from their provisions, foraged for fruit, or caught fish and game. It was easy enough to trap squirrels and rabbits with her magic, though they wouldn’t do her any good. She created a small fire pit like Ezma’s hut used to have, cooked her catch over it, and left it for the Elf.

  Mergau didn’t know anything about the local plant life and didn’t want to eat something that would make her sick. In the end, it looked like she would have to rely on the Elf yet again. She gathered up various leaves, grasses, and anything else that looked edible and brought them back to where the Elf sat, his food untouched.

  “I need to know if any of these are poisonous,” she said as she arrayed her findings. When he didn’t respond, she stomped her foot impatiently. “Come on, I got you that food, even if you aren’t eating it. The least you can do it help in return. You know these plants, so help me find something to eat.”

  The Elf’s head rolled her way. He blew air from his nose and seemed to think for a moment. One of his hands spasmed in a way that looked like he was pointing. “This one?” she asked, directing her toe towards a leaf. He nodded. “It’s poisonous or safe?” He looked at her. “Is it poisonous?” she repeated impatiently. He nodded.

  She picked it up by the stem and tossed it away. “And the rest? Is this all safe to eat?” His eyes rolled over everything that was left and finally nodded.

  She lost her temper and kicked the pile of leaves and berries at him. “Will you just say something already?! Honestly, I’ve never seen someone act like this. Are you a man or a baby? I’m not going to feed you, so if you don’t get up and start putting food in your mouth, you’re going to starve.”

  She wondered if he was going to starve himself to death. If it looked like he was going to starve, she resolved to just slit his throat and be done with it, though the promise rang hollow. It would be completely unsatisfactory. However, when she came back half an hour later with her arms full of berries and leaves, she found him tearing chunks off the squirrel and cramming it into his mouth. At least his hunger finally won out. She was strangely pleased.

  Getting him to eat turned out to be the easiest step. He still refused to speak or stand and often averted his eyes when Mergau was near as if her presence interrupted his moping.

  The first night she was too fearful of the elves to sleep on the ground and lashed her body to the branches above with what little magic she could manage. She awoke upside-down and screaming, having forgotten where she was. The next night, she slept on the opposite side of Aoden’s tree. The only time she heard a noise from him was when he sat back down, having at some point snuck away to relieve himself in the woods.

  When she awoke the next morning, her nose was stuffed and her body cold and stiff. She first cursed herself for not keeping herself warm with magic, then decided that they weren’t going to spend another night here.

  “We’re going,” she told him flatly. “Get up and start moving. I will not freeze out here because of you.” She tugged on his arm and he resisted her efforts to lift him. Nevertheless, she planted her feet and lugged him to his own. “We’ll stop by a stream to refill our waterskins. After that, we’re heading west to get the hell out of these woods and hopefully go where those madmen can’t find us.” She looked him up and down. “First I’d better change your face.”

  She worked her illusion on herself, barely feeling it as it wrapped around her again. Just to be certain, she used her scrying to look at herself. The illusion looked the same as it always did. She frowned, deciding she should change her own looks as well. She looked like every other elf in her opinion, but if the way the soldiers gawked at her was any indication, she probably had a unique look.

  She tried to tweak the face, but it looked wrong when she was done, the brow being too large or the eyes being too small or the movement of her mouth looking unnatural. She decided to let it be for the moment so she could focus on the Elf.

  She had problems changing his face as well. The only illusion she seemed able to create was the elvish woman, but if he spoke it would be obvious he was not a woman. She made several attempts to create a manlier illusion by changing words in the incantation—during which she realized she didn’t understand the spell’s complex component words enough to alter them as needed—before finally stumbling on how to hide the earlobes.

  She stepped back and nodded. It wasn’t much, but he had mentioned the importance of those ears so many times that she was certain the change was significant. She almost smiled, but an intrusive thought snuck into her head.

  What are you doing? It asked her. Stop trying to hide him. Just kill him. Kill the Elf.

  The thoughts bothered her and ruined any pride in her craft. She silenced them by returning to her work. She tinkered with her own illusion, using the inverse of the alteration to add lobes instead. Admittedly, on close examination, both of their ears looked odd and misshapen, but it was a simple change and a useless part of the body, so they should remain unnoticed. Switching their apparent parentage was the best she could do on short notice, and she was unwilling to spend more time.

  Aoden had made no protest as she worked but grunted when she pushed him to get him walking. She marched behind him, a hand pressing against his back to keep him moving forward. After a while, she put her hand down and he continued on his own. They stumbled across a narrow stream running in the same direction they were. She refilled their skins and decided to follow it. It grew rapidly as another stream melded with it and soon it was a small river some ten feet across. She waded across to the side furthest from the elven army and continued on.

  They marched for half a day, stopping only to eat and drink. As dusk was approaching, they broke out of the seemingly endless forest and came upon a road paved with pale white wood that followed the river. The road turned south where the boughs of the trees lining the road, whether by magic or from centuries of careful cultivation, arced gently overhead and weaved together to form a high tunnel of leaves and timber. From the apex of the tunnel hung paper lanterns that glowed with a soft but deep green light, the perfect color to blend with the foliage surrounding it, the light just bright enough to keep the road lit as if it were under a full moon. The road went straight as far as Mergau could see, disappearing over the horizon, a line of green light from hundreds of lanterns cutting it down the middle.

  She marveled at the sight. She had seen no traces of elven civilization save for the military camps and this was an incredible change. The road following the river wasn’t nearly as impressive, but it was nothing to scoff at, either. Lined with the occasional bench, the road was paved with thin wooden blocks and curved with the river, perfectly matching every undulation in its course. The occasional block was painted red or blue or yellow without a discernable pattern. The trees had been pruned back so the sky was clear from the road, but even so there were regular posts with more hanging paper lanterns. Across the river, Mergau could see the same was true for the opposite shore. They turned westward and passed a bridge that she could tell would be mere inches above the water when it swelled during the spring.

  She thought of the halfling towns she had passed through in her search for the Elf. They were made of wood and stone and were amazing and intimidating at the same time. After seeing these elven roads, so eerily beautiful and carefully crafted, she wondered if the orcs ever had grand constructions such as
these. Or maybe they did even now, deep in the eastern wastes of Astran. She wasn’t well-traveled enough to know.

  The road began sloping downwards, gradually sinking below the level of the river waters. Two earthen walls faced with wood rose on either side, mosaics built into recesses displaying elves in various poses and states of dress, and slowly she realized they were dancing. Ahead the river grew turbulent as two tributaries joined with it and turned it into roiling rapids that headed south. Instead of continuing to follow the river, the road led to a tunnel going underneath. On the far bank of the river stood a row of trees so closely bundled that she couldn’t see what lay beyond, though doubtless the tunnel would bring them there.

  For there to be so much time and effort put into simple roads astounded Mergau. Keeping everything looking like this must take continuous labor, perhaps even people who devoted their lives to it. It seemed odd at first, but was it truly? Was it really so different from someone who only fought or hunted or made medicine? She wasn’t sure how many elves there were, but surely, after some point, there was no further need for hunters and farmers.

  As they approached the tunnel, the burble of the river grew in intensity, magnified by the walls. More lanterns lined the white wood walls inside, though they shone with blue light that made the whole path look to be underwater. As they passed into the mouth of the tunnel, Mergau’s heart jumped at the sheer volume of the river overhead. All other noise was drowned out by the sound of rushing water, a marvelous and frightening din. She looked to the Elf to see what he thought of it, but if his heart hammered as hers did, he showed no sign of it.

  As they drew to the far end of the tunnel, Mergau’s eyes grew in amazement. She had been wondering as they tread the road how elven cities must look if the roads were so well cared for, and now she had her answer.

  A large area had been mostly cleared of trees for some distance in every direction. ‘Mostly’ because there were actually forty or more gargantuan trees that had been left behind, huge pillars of wood that stretched upwards so high that Mergau was sure they couldn’t have grown that tall without the aid of magic. Their trunks were wider than the river and had massive spiraling stairways carved into their sides, curving up and disappearing into the leaves above.