by Jim Galford
He paged through the detailed explanations of spells that he had not even seen, sometimes becoming lost in the details of what the spell was even intended to accomplish.
He soon began transcribing much of what he found onto more paper, copying the concepts and needed words and motions for himself. A great deal of what was held within the book was the part of his training that he knew the least about. While Asrahn had been quite verbose in teaching him about how to heal a wound, she had skirted the issue of using healing magic in battle. He was starting to see why as he poured over the book that had likely taken her much of her life to put together in one place.
Aside from the ability to heal, Estin found a wealth of magic that could hinder a foe, snuff out the life of an opponent, or bring back a dead ally who had just fallen. What caught his eye most was the assortment of different ways he could strike at the undead, using the power of the spirits to weaken or break the magic that animated their form. This was exactly the magic he had sought since Ghohar’s death.
It was these spells that Estin focused on copying, until he stopped and realized truly why they had been kept from him so long. While a spell that could kill was obvious, magic that would destroy the undead was less clear until he looked over the way the magic flowed through the caster. From what he could see, every spell that harmed a corpse could be easily twisted to destroy the living or even create a new undead. The powers of the two types were so closely interwoven that Estin believed a healer could easily become a necromancer. It was a short step, that in self-defense, might be all too tempting.
Estin stopped after copying all that he could from the old book. He stretched and lamented that it would likely take him weeks or longer to go through the selection of magic to figure out how to cast them all, let alone when surprised or unable to read from his notes. It meant a lot of work.
Sliding the book aside, he stared at the folded parchment, then at the package Asrahn had left him. Curiosity getting the better of him, he picked up the paper and began unfolding it, realizing that it was the same one he had once been told to bring to Feanne to start his training.
The note was short, saying just, “You two could learn from each other. Teach him to be more than prey.”
Wincing at the emotions that surfaced, he tossed the note aside. At this point, he turned his attention to the little package Asrahn had also moved his way. It was about fist-sized, with a long twine string holding it closed.
Estin untied the knot in the string slowly, trying not to crush the soft package. With the string gone, he lay the bundle flat on the ground and unrolled the cloth, revealing the leather, bone, and feather necklace he had stolen from the duke’s keep. When he picked it up, he saw that there were words written on the inside of the cloth.
He picked it up, recognizing the script as Asrahn’s, but the signature at the bottom was Feanne’s. To Estin’s knowledge, he had never seen Feanne write more than a word or two, so he had to assume she had dictated the note to her mother.
Estin, if you are being allowed to read this, I have likely fallen in battle and cannot give it to you myself. Today, Asrahn or whatever teacher you currently have, is proud enough of your progress to call you a master. You are now my equal in all things magical. For this I applaud you. You have done what I could not without selling myself to a woodland spirit. If I were still alive, I would have hung this necklace on you myself. You have earned all that it stands for. Wear it proudly.
Estin very nearly broke down as emotion flooded him, but he smiled and whispered his thanks to whatever spirits or gods might listen for such a friend as he had once had in Feanne. When he had finished, he fastened the necklace around his neck, feeling truly happy at the faith the others had shown in him. He touched the beads gently, wondering what the original owner had been like.
Chapter Eight
“New Life”
I had found a new purpose in my life, finally not focused on my own selfish goals and it lent itself to the return of my dreams. Though I did not remember many dreams during that time of my life, the better sleep I received told me that something had changed and I almost never woke in fear.
Before finding Feanne, I was worried about only myself. I did not see it that way at the time, but I do now, looking back on it. I wondered where my next meal would come from, where I would sleep, whether it would rain, all the while ignoring the other wildlings…even the other races…who suffered around me. Had we but worked together, things could have been so very different.
After joining the pack, my focus was still on myself, but more on how to lead a full life. I spent all my time trying to fit in and become one of the pack in spirit as well as word. Part of this was my desire to find a mate, though I had not even realized how badly I had been wanting and looking for this. It was all part of the culture of acceptance that had been dominating me. Other wildlings sought out mates, so I had too. Unfortunately, that had opened me up to the pain of losing Feanne.
With the recognition as a true healer, I was suddenly free. I was free from fear of rejection by the pack. I was free from concern about fitting in through mating, food choices, and my appearance. I had a purpose in my life and it was simply to help and heal. I was the one they would look to for help with sickness and hurt, regardless of their opinion of me.
This is all not to say I was entirely without nightmares. The fear of Altis’ undead coming down in legion haunted me many nights over those next two months. I would see that vast army come marching back up the mountain victorious, watching as they marched into our camp, killing mercilessly.
Whether dream or not, at least now I had the tools I needed to stand my ground.
Estin patted the young rabbit wildling on the head as he flexed his leg experimentally. The youth had fallen in the woods, breaking his leg on rocks. As was his duty, Estin mended the leg and sent the child on his way. Within the day, he would be running around again…possibly falling again. It was a cycle Estin could only laugh at as the child yelled his thanks on the way out.
“If there is anyone waiting, I am free now,” Estin said loudly, rubbing his head.
It had been a rough summer so far, with injuries aplenty. High winds and wildfires had ravaged the area, resulting in several fallen trees on the camp itself and many burned residents who went off to stop the fire before it reached the camp. Luckily, no one had died in all the disasters, something Estin was personally thankful for.
The tent opened and this time, Ulra entered, carrying an unconscious human. She set the human down in front of Estin carefully as she tried to squeeze into the small tent without collapsing it atop herself.
“I found him beyond our outer patrols in the south,” she said softly. “I believe he was scouting, but was attacked.”
Estin noted the silk clothing and fine leather boots, as well as shrouded jewelry—to keep it from making noise as he moved—and had no doubts that it was one of the gypsies. They had returned to the camp when the weather had warmed, claiming that the roads had become too dangerous for travel and they would like to stay with the pack. Lihuan had been skeptical, but Asrahn had convinced him to allow their long-term stay. Now, the camp ran free with both wildlings and humans, sometimes causing conflict, but mostly just creating mayhem.
This had led to weeks of Lihuan absorbing the endless stories of the gypsy people, much to their joy and somewhat to Asrahn’s dismay. Most were bawdy and hardly the realm Lihuan had prided himself on all his life, but his deep love of tales made even these irresistible. Just the fact that Asrahn was putting up with the drunken humans in their tent day after day told volumes about her willingness to forgive Lihuan for his past faults.
“He is alive and not too badly injured,” Estin said, touching the boy. He saw and felt few major injuries, but it looked as though he had been bludgeoned and rolled down a hill. “I will let you know when he wakes.”
Ulra began to squirm out of the small tent, her girth making it difficult without catching herself on the canvas
and bringing it down on herself. Once she was outside, she stuck her head back in.
“Lihuan has also asked that you come when you can. Finth returned this morning.”
Estin looked up sharply.
“Does that mean he is still considered banished in his homeland, or did they let him in?”
“All I have heard was that the city was closed.”
“How does one close a city?”
Ulra shrugged.
“Never been in one. I would not know.”
The bear left then, leaving Estin alone with his patient.
Laying a hand on the boy’s forehead, Estin concentrated a moment, feeling the spirits begin to flow through him, whispering as they went. The unseen hands touched the wounds, pulling them closed and repairing even the internal wounds, even as Estin’s own strength waned quickly. When he opened his eyes again, the boy slept more naturally, breathing slowly.
“Sleep well,” he told the gypsy, “I will return soon.”
Taking his leave of the tent, Estin smoothed the long doeskin robes that Asrahn had made for him. The outfit had apparently been a favored style by her father’s people, though every so often Estin smirked at the thought of what Alafa would have thought of it, had she still been pursuing him.
The robes had been a gift that Asrahn had made quite a big deal of, presenting them to him as a reward for his first time bringing a dead person back. The task had not been difficult as the young female had been dead less than an hour, having cracked her head on a rock during exploration of the mountains, but the praise from Asrahn and Lihuan had been nearly endless. From what Asrahn had told him, restoring life was the pinnacle ability of the healer and was what she had been waiting to see in him as the completion of all of his training.
He walked across the middle space of the camp, where Lihuan’s large tent was directly across from his own, smiling at Doln, who was standing guard at the pack-leader’s tent. Passing the bear, he slipped inside, where Asrahn and Lihuan were sitting with Finth, who was waving his hands in the air.
“…a keg this large! I swear that wagon driver had never seen a dwarf drink before!”
Asrahn laughed and rolled her eyes and even Lihuan—having mostly recovered from his depression of the previous months—chuckled and shook his head. Though Lihuan had a deep love for even the gypsy stories, Finth’s often left him amazed that dwarves had not driven themselves to extinction long ago…a point that Finth had sometimes been vocal in agreeing with.
“Estin!” exclaimed Finth, grinning broadly. “How goes the healing crap? You try lemon juice and salt yet?”
“I have refrained from using your mother’s secret cure-all,” he admitted, sitting down with the group. “Ulra tells me that you were unable to get into your home city? I thought that you had received word that all banishments were revoked and a request for aid had been called?”
Finth soured, frowning and giving Estin a dirty look.
“You really know how to jump right to the worst of it, like a cheap whore, you damned fur-licker,” he grumbled, then looked over at Asrahn. “Sorry, ma’am. Habit, ya’know.”
Asrahn inclined her head acknowledging his apology.
“Yeah, that’s what I heard. I went all the way back there and found the dwarven equivalent of a sign saying, ‘we’re closed, go away.’”
“And what would that be?” asked Estin.
“A huge adamantine door sealing the passage, with a twenty-foot golem standing guard. When you get close, it tries to smash you, while shouting ‘we’re closed, go away.’”
Estin made a mental note to never…ever…visit a dwarven city.
“I was able to catch up with a gal I used to…uh…,” Finth looked at Lihuan and Asrahn, then continued, “court, over near one of the human mining towns. She said that the city was called to arms and all combat-worthy dwarves were sent to Lantonne to aid in holding the city. Everyone else stayed in the deeps, waiting it out.”
“Since when do the dwarves come during human wars?” asked Lihuan this time. “There are some dwarves in Lantonne, but it is no less a human city than Altis. All the stories tell that the dwarves normally close their border to leave humans to their own battles.”
“True, true. I told her that them going to war for a human was about as likely as me selling myself at a whorehouse for an actual profit, but she insisted it was true. She saw the war golems go out first…all ten of them. Two weeks later, the entire dwarven army of our city marched down the road to Lantonne.”
Estin found all of this either unlikely, or lacking information that they needed.
“Did she say why the army would mobilize like this?”
Finth nodded, tugging on his long beard nervously.
“She says that the undead are winning the war. Things are getting bad out there.
“We were right about Altis, Estin. When the Turessians took over, they poisoned everyone and turned them, one district at a time. By the time the people knew it wasn’t a plague it was too late. That, I got from another trustworthy source who owed me a goodly amount of coin.
“Since they left the walls, the undead have been moving from one village to the next, seizing the graveyards and adding to their troops. Even the war golems haven’t been able to stop their advance. From what I’m told, the necromancers who lead the army are using their magic on the golems to slow them, while the main force marches on Lantonne.
“If they take that city, they will number over one hundred thousand.”
“Well,” interjected Asrahn, her mood dark, “at least that tells us why the gypsies came to stay with us. They likely had no desire to be in the path of that army.”
“Expect more refugees soon,” Lihuan added. “If I know anything about war, they will begin seeking out the remote areas to hide. That will put them in our laps.”
All three of them were silent as they considered all the implications involved in a war of this magnitude. Finth, on the other hand, toyed with a small knife, dancing it on his hand.
“Do you want me to tell you what I found down in the dwarven tunnels?” Finth asked absently, his attention fully on the knife. “Or is that enough bad news already?”
“Might I remind you that you said you were stopped at the gate?” asked Asrahn, her tone annoyed and impatient. “I hear enough long-winded and likely exaggerated stories from my mate. I do not need more from you.”
“I said the city was closed and there was some crazy-ass golem at the gate. I didn’t say that I didn’t get in.”
Estin groaned. It was always like this dealing with Finth, if he thought he could get away with it.
“All I care about,” stated Lihuan, giving Finth a dark glare, “is whether your people are any better prepared to deal with the undead than we are.”
“Not even close. The city is lost already,” Finth answered, not looking up. “My homeland is now crawling with bearded troops for the dead.”
The tent remained silent for a long time, with Lihuan lowering his head in thought, while Estin and Asrahn watched Finth for any emotion. Instead, Finth just kept playing with his knife until he seemed to grow bored and just got up and walked out.
“That man has no feelings,” grumbled Asrahn, once Finth was gone. “His people are all dead and he has no concern.”
Lihuan shook his head.
“Not true. You both thought me heartless for not showing my feelings about letting Feanne go, but I hope you both know better. Finth is a far better actor than I am. He does not know how to deal with the pain, so he hides it under slovenly behavior.”
Estin had been warned before that part of Asrahn’s agreement to return to Lihuan’s side was that he was not to speak of Feanne, unless he had better news for her. The brief mention was enough that Asrahn looked ready to storm off after Finth, but she just dug her claws into the ground and said nothing.
“Estin, have you managed to make my delivery yet?” asked Lihuan, seeming to want to shift the focus of conversation.
> “I have not, but tonight is actually the next time I can try.”
“I knew it was soon, but was not sure. Please try to also warn their camp after you try, as I know Insrin will want to be aware, even if he does not want you there.”
“If you are having him do something this foolish, wouldn’t it be better to send one of the foxes?” asked Asrahn, shooting Lihuan an angry glance.
“Yes, but Estin already has business there. I’d rather not send two and regardless of his breed, if he can get inside their patrols he should be able to deliver the message about the war.”
“I will go and do what I can,” Estin offered. “They have been stepping up patrols recently, so either they know I stop by sometimes, or they are preparing for an attack.”
“Just do what you can,” implored Lihuan.
*
That evening, Estin changed from his robes to a simple set of cloth pants and sleeveless shirt. With the warmer weather, his leather garments were nearly unbearable, though he would have greatly preferred them for climbing.
Once he had everything—including his swords, which he dearly hoped he would not need, but brought just in case he was attacked while traveling—Estin began the long walk south. The routine was becoming old now, with the path well-known to him.
These last few months, he had continued going to the other village on his usual schedule. It was still a little painful, but watching the children play always lightened his mood. Unfortunately, the task Lihuan had given him before Asrahn and he had gotten their relationship smoothed out was still proving difficult. Between patrols watching the pack-leader’s house and Feanne’s own instincts to call for aid when she thought someone was near, he had never gotten within fifty feet of the house.
As he walked, he double-checked to be sure the parchment was still in his pouch, which it was. He would hate to get there, only to find it missing.
