In Wilder Lands

by Jim Galford

  “That’s what mom always told me,” he said, laughing again. “Right now, I think I need to take back that remark about meat though.”

  Estin watched as Ghohar became more tense and the hair on the back of his neck rose.

  “What is it?”

  Ghohar raised a hand at Estin, indicating that he needed to be silent.

  “That other smell…you getting that?”

  Estin sniffed at the air, picking up a faint whiff of raw meat that Ghohar had likely been referring to. He raised his nose higher and took another breath, catching what smelled more like decay.

  “That’s strong…dead animal?” Estin asked, trying to identify the smell.

  “Corpses,” said Ghohar, pointing to the east. “Somewhere down there. We’re still close to camp, so I want to find out what’s going on out here.”

  Estin hurried along behind the wolf as they raced down through the foothills into a sheltered valley area below. Though covered by the same thin layer of slush as the rest of the woods, something about the area made Estin feel dirty, as though the woods themselves were oily.

  Ghohar led the way, slowing as he reached a dense section of trees where they would be concealed from anyone beyond. He waited there a minute, likely making sure they were not spotted on the way down.

  “There is a road that runs through this part of the woods,” he explained to Estin, sticking his thumb towards the south. “Was an old trade route between Altis and Lantonne, before they started warring. I haven’t seen anyone out this far in a long time. Can you see anything?”

  Estin peeked around the rocks and trees, slinking along the ground as cautiously as he could manage, inching towards the road. Soon, he could see the packed dirt trail, along with a group of wagons that sat in the middle of the road as though they had been abandoned.

  Moving more quickly as he approached the open where he might be seen, Estin hopped to his feet and raced to the edge of the nearest wagon, flattening against it as he listened for movement.

  The trail was deathly quiet, aside from his own footsteps on the slushy ground. An occasional bird cry would startle Estin, but other than that, the wagons could have been no more than rocks for the amount of life around them.

  Here, the smell of death was strong and unmistakable. Estin had to breathe through his mouth to keep from gagging on the stench of torn bowels.

  From the edge of the woods, Estin watched Ghohar pick his way over, moving carefully, but unable to be as deft or stealthy as Estin. The elder wolf swept his gaze around the area, clearly expecting a trap at any moment.

  “Check the wagons for supplies,” he ordered Estin, shoving his deer-fur mantle off of his arms to keep them clear. “We need to be out of here quickly.”

  Unfastening the cords that he kept looped over the hilts of his swords just in case Ghohar was right in his nervousness, Estin hopped onto the wagon and began poking through the front seat area. There was little to be found there, aside from blood stains and several deep gashes in the wood of the bench.

  From where he stood, Estin looked around and realized something was missing. Horses. The wagons had not been there long, but the horses or oxen were missing and there were no tracks in the fresh snow. He guessed that the attack on the wagons had been just before the dawn snows.

  “Hurry up!” barked Ghohar, his fingers twitching as he watched the woods.

  Estin dove into the back of the canvas-covered wagon, finding more blood and basic supplies for travelers. He grabbed a sack with clothing and rifled through a second that had various tools and cooking utensils. Near the back of the wagon though, he found a long thin mahogany scroll tube with emblems engraved in it with a large sturdy lock. This, he grabbed and tucked into his belt, but then froze when he saw another bag beside it that was half-spilled on the floor of the wagon.

  Silver and gold coins lay in plain sight.

  “This wasn’t a robbery!” he exclaimed, rushing outside of the covered wagon with the coins thrown in the bags he carried. Ghohar just nodded and continued to watch the trees. “They left a bunch of coin.”

  “I think it is time to go, Estin.”

  Estin hopped off the wagon and as his toes dug into the wet ground, he heard the first footfall. He froze in a partial crouch, his ears tense as he strained to make out the noise. Just as he thought it was gone, he heard another crackle of a twig. The stench of death had gotten stronger, if possible.

  “Surrounded,” said Ghohar, his ears flattening against his scalp. “This is not my finest moment, boy. I hear four, maybe five. I don’t smell any of them, though. I can only smell death. Oh, that is not good…”

  Estin squinted at the trees, seeing nothing more than mud, snow, and brambles in any direction. He kept turning as he drew one sword, then the other, trying to catch sight of the enemy. Still swiveling on the ball of his foot, Estin froze as he realized that he was staring back at something in the trees that was unmoving in watching him.

  “Ghohar…”

  “I see it.” The wolf shifted his stance, as though expecting the enemy to leap. “I’ve got two more out there. Can’t make out what they are yet. Human-sized.”

  “Run or fight?”

  Ghohar looked around once more, then made the decision for them, shouting out a word of magic and sending a blast of ice and freezing water into the trees where one of the figures stood. The shards of ice tore through the bark of the trees and shredded the plants there. When the frost and mist cleared, the figure was lying on the ground.

  “We might be alright,” Ghohar declared, starting to walk towards the fallen shape. He froze mid-step as the humanoid shape climbed off the ground and resumed standing in their path.

  “Not good,” said Estin, noticing that one of the other dark shapes had taken two slow steps in their direction. “Got another plan?”

  Ghohar raised his hands and began pointing out each of the figures he could see, as though marking them as targets.

  “Aside from running with my tail tucked, no. Let’s go with that plan.”

  Estin was faster, rushing at the creature that Ghohar had already used magic against, hoping it would be weaker for his attack and Estin could bowl it over to provide an escape route. As he entered the shade of the trees, he nearly dropped his weapons as a frozen and battered human stood before him, her face shattered and jaw hanging limply around her collar.

  “Undead!” he cried, slashing at the abomination with his swords.

  The corpse took his slashes without reacting, but when he tried to go around it, the creature shifted and tried to block his path.

  Crashing and deafening cracks of ice behind him let Estin know that Ghohar was fighting now. That was not much relief as his blades cut at the silent corpse and it continued to move in front of him.

  “Kill the living!” hissed an airy voice somewhere in the woods.

  Instantly, the corpse leapt at Estin, its broken jaw gurgling as it tried to bite at him, while its torn arms flailed at him like maddened snakes, trying to catch his weapons or arms. The creature had no concern for his attacks, throwing itself at him with abandon.

  “Get out of here, boy!” Ghohar commanded, stepping alongside Estin and raising his hand at the undead monstrosity. The creature tumbled backwards, rolling to a stop just out of their way.

  The moment the corpse stopped rolling, it began climbing back to its feet.

  “We can’t win this,” said Ghohar, shoving Estin as they began to run. “I’m not that good of a wizard.”

  They raced through the trees, scrambling over rocks and running straight through brambles. At one point, Estin fell forward, crashing into icy water and stones. He had barely registered that he was hurt before Ghohar had him pulled back onto his feet and they were off again.

  When the two stopped running, the sun had set and there was no sign of the undead creatures. They collapsed in the shelter of a low-hanging pine, gasping for breath, but still watching the woods for movement.

  “How many o
f them were there?”

  “No idea,” Ghohar admitted, his voice weak with exhaustion. “I saw three wearing Lantonne military clothing and another in gypsy silks. Never saw the one controlling them.”

  “A gypsy? What was a gypsy doing with Lantonne soldiers?”

  “Likely just another thrall of the necromancer. Didn’t look to be old enough to be involved with either city’s army.”

  Estin felt a terrible chill set into his chest. He dearly hoped that he did not know that walking corpse.

  “I think we’ve circled around far enough that…,” Ghohar began, then cut himself short as a shadowy figure moved into sight a little way back along their trail. “What have we here?”

  The dark humanoid shape was alone, but did not move in the haphazard way that the corpses had been. Instead, it walked along at a brisk pace, then would stop and examine tracks. It was following them and doing a fine job of it.

  Estin waited until the figure moved into a more brightly-lit patch of woods and realized that the heavy flowing robes were very familiar.

  “Turessian,” he told Ghohar, tapping the elder’s arm. “The duke’s court necromancers.”

  Ghohar leaned forward in their shelter to watch the Turessian.

  “So that’s our controller. Take him out and the others will wander aimlessly. It’s not perfect, but they shouldn’t be able to hunt us down.”

  Estin eased his swords into ready positions.

  “I will open on him,” explained Ghohar, keeping his voice low. “He will probably begin casting spells at me. Use that opportunity to attack. Necromancers aren’t usually too tough without their minions. I’ll be able to stop a few spells, but you need to be quick.”

  Ghohar did not wait for confirmation, slipping out the side of their shelter, then turning and marching towards the Turessian. The darkly-dressed human froze and lifted his head to watch Ghohar.

  “Go home, necromancer,” Ghohar ordered, motioning in the direction of Altis. “You do not belong out in the woods.”

  Estin raced around through the trees, circling on the Turessian as the man stood silently watching Ghohar’s performance. From his vantage point, Estin could see that the human was unarmed, his gloved hands empty and still.

  “Last chance!” shouted Ghohar.

  The Turessian stood straighter, leaving its back to Estin as he neared it. He held his position, waiting for Ghohar’s cue.

  “Do you know what you are, dog?” whispered the Turessian, its voice somehow cutting through the trees like the mountain winds.

  “Just another dog in the woods, necromancer,” called out Ghohar, raising his hands at his sides.

  Ghohar threw his hands at the necromancer with a sweeping gesture that sent waves of ice crashing into the Turessian. The human stumbled, even as a bolt of frozen water slammed into him, knocking him off-balance. A second later, a column of ice fell from the sky, smashing the Turessian flat onto the ground.

  Estin leapt from his cover, driving his sword into the human’s back before he could rise. Without hesitation, the Turessian drove his elbow back into Estin, sending him tumbling away without his weapon. The impact knocked the wind from Estin’s lungs, but he maintained enough presence of mind to slide into the cover of a bush, hoping for a second to recover.

  Climbing to his feet, the Turessian paused to examine the blade protruding from its chest, then motioned towards Ghohar, not bothering to so much as touch the sword.

  Dark energy flashed and Ghohar swept the magic aside, while preparing another attack. He never got the chance as his muscles locked and he simply stopped moving.

  “Nicely tried,” stated the Turessian, his right hand in a clutching gesture towards Ghohar. His hood turned as he looked around for Estin. “You fared better than most. There is no shame in death.”

  The necromancer motioned with his left hand and Ghohar let out a scream that made Estin’s blood run cold. From every inch of Ghohar’s body, cuts began opening as his blood flowed freely from him.

  “One more for the clutch,” said the Turessian calmly. “Care to show yourself before your canine friend stops breathing?”

  Estin reached for his other weapon, but realized it had been lost when he had rolled away from the necromancer. Without allowing himself to think through his plan, he leapt from his cover again, grabbing the hilt of the sword still stuck in the Turessian’s chest.

  With strength borne of panic, he wrenched the sword free, then spun, using his weight to come down on the Turessian’s extended arm. The blade went through cloth, flesh, and bone, flinging a gloved hand on the ground before the robed figure.

  “Is that the best you could think of?” asked the Turessian, turning on Estin. It moved its arm in the direction of the severed hand, which flew back to the outstretched wrist. Tauntingly, the Turessian flexed the fingers on the hand that had been severed. “We are not as fragile as you seem to believe.”

  “Nor are we mortals!” shouted a deep voice as grey-skinned hands grabbed the Turessian’s head and slammed his skull against a tree.

  The ogre repeatedly struck the necromancer against the tree, but turned to Estin, rumbling, “Get your friend out of here! I cannot hold him forever.”

  Estin scrambled for Ghohar, finding the wildling trembling on the ground in a pool of his own blood. Knowing he had little time, he hoisted Ghohar onto his shoulder and began moving as fast as he could towards the deeper woods. Ghohar did not struggle and soon did not even move as Estin ran through the woods, praying that his adrenaline would not run out too soon.

  He crashed through the trees, trying to get distance between himself and the battle he was fleeing. Panicked blindness set in and all Estin could see was blood, the trees and the woods forgotten as he just kept running, right up until strong arms grabbed him, wrestling him to the ground. He collapsed, crying out of pain and exhaustion, but no attack came. Estin slowly opened his eyes and found that Feanne and Asrahn were standing over him.

  “What was it?” demanded Feanne, clutching his shoulder. “What was out there?”

  “A Turessian necromancer,” he answered, gasping for breath.

  Turning on his side, Estin watched Asrahn as she knelt beside Ghohar.

  “He will likely live,” she told him without looking up. “His body is already dead, but it can be mended. Coaxing the spirit back will prove more difficult. We will need to take him back to my circle before too much time has passed.”

  Estin grabbed Feanne’s wrist, telling her in a panic, “The ogre is out there fighting it alone!”

  “No,” she told him, prying his fingers free. “The ogre has already fallen. I felt his death before we found you. Knowing him as I do, he would have gladly given his life to ensure the escape of someone whose time had not yet come. His death was not without merit.”

  *

  Estin sat in Asrahn’s small tent, watching nervously as she tended to Ghohar’s body. She was meticulous in her preparations of the corpse, treating it with sweet-smelling herbs and arranging him in the middle of the tent as though he were just sleeping on the floor.

  “The spirit will try to return if the body has recovered,” she explained to him, placing Ghohar’s hands over his chest. Asrahn’s expression was one entirely of sympathy. “Using healing magic, I can repair the body and show the spirit the way back. This does not always work, depending on how long the body has been cooling.”

  Asrahn touched Ghohar’s forehead and closed her eyes. She shook her head and sat down beside him.

  “The spirit is weak and unsure about returning,” she told Estin. “After what you two saw, he likely finds death a safer bet.”

  Sitting cross-legged on a thin mat within the stone circle at the middle of the tent, where she had arranged Ghohar, Asrahn motioned to Estin to come closer.

  “You will assist,” she told him, patting the mat alongside her. “Have you ever seen a spirit before?”

  Estin shook his head nervously, taking a seat as she indicated.

>   Asrahn motioned to the stone circle.

  “This place allows us to focus on those who have passed beyond the reach of healing,” she told him, taking his hand in hers. “You have seen death before?”

  “Too many times.”

  “Good.” She held up a small cup of the same herbs she had been applying to the body. “Breathe in the scent of these. It will fog your mind for a time, but will help you understand.”

  Estin took the cup and sniffed at it, feeling his head spin the moment he took a whiff of the strongly-scented herbs.

  “Keep breathing it.”

  Wincing, he did as ordered, taking a deep breath of the liquid. Slowly he began to calm down, the fear and sadness of the day fading, even as his mind spun, trying to cope with the scents that flooded his mind.

  “Now,” Asrahn said, taking the cup from him, “what do you see?”

  “I see Ghohar’s body. And you. And me. I have big feet.”

  Asrahn laughed at him, rapping him on the bridge of his nose to get his attention.

  “Concentrate, child,” she ordered, pointing a finger at the body. “Ghohar. What else do you see around his body?”

  Estin stared at the corpse of his friend, feeling sadness begin to creep back in even past the concoction Asrahn had given him. His eyes began to water as he studied the raggedly torn flesh that had caked with blood. His whole body was brutalized and matted with blood.

  “I see…,” he began, choking on the words, then saw something else.

  Hovering just over the body was another Ghohar, lingering in the air like smoke. This ghostly form drifted as though it could be blown away at any moment. Like Estin felt, the spirit looked sad, watching its own real body.

  “Is that his spirit?” Estin asked, nearly falling backwards out of the circle. “How can I be seeing this?”

  “It’s the power of the circle,” she reminded him, touching his hand. “The drink just relaxed you so that you would stop trying too hard. This is what I see whenever someone has died and their body has been brought in. If you were trained, you could see them any time.