by Jim Galford
Estin crossed a little creek, moving ever southwest, but then stopped and listened as something caught the edge of his hearing. Something was not right. Turning sharply, he ducked behind a tree and waited near the stream.
Several minutes later, he heard splashing and obscure swearing.
“So you are Lihuan’s spy?” he asked, stepping out in front of Finth, who was waist deep in the water, holding a stack of knives out of the water. “I had a feeling, but thought you wouldn’t stoop to spying on me.”
“You act like you don’t know me,” Finth grumbled, trying to keep his beard and the weapons overhead. “Though right now, if I stoop, I’ll drown. Can I come out of the water?”
The dwarf waded to the shore and shook his boots and squeezed what he could of the water from his beard.
“Were you going to follow me the whole way?”
Finth laughed and answered, “I’ve followed you right up to that cliff of yours nearly every time you’ve gone. Figured someone had to watch out for you.”
“And how much have you seen?”
“I saw you kill a mountain lion. That was some gory fighting. That kind of thing traumatizes kids and makes them grow up to be like me, you know.”
Estin sighed, having hoped that even if a few people knew he was going to the camp occasionally, there would be no one who knew how attached he still was, or how hard he was trying to break himself of that. If Finth knew, then at least Lihuan and Asrahn knew, though it was likely that Ulra did as well.
“Hurry up then, I don’t want to be out here all night.”
Finth tagged along behind him the rest of the trip, his navigation as routine as Estin’s after so many trips. That only added to Estin’s annoyance that Finth knew the route so well.
They made good time, arriving just after sunset.
“I need to try to deliver this,” Estin told Finth, holding up the parchment roll. “I’ll meet you up top shortly.”
He did not wait for an answer, moving along the cliff wall, freezing occasionally when a patrol got too close. Once, he was forced to dart up a tree as a small group of foxes wandered through, unaware he was hiding right above them.
Though it took him a while, Estin finally arrived at Feanne’s house, holding the note. He had been given very explicit directions by Lihuan recently to ensure Insrin did not receive it, so he remained in the dark a moment, listening for voices. He needed to be sure that Feanne was alone before he could drop off the note and run.
A cry from the east made Estin turn. Shouts were echoing off the woods from that end of the village, but he could not hear the words from where he was. Soon, the sounds of many feet heading his way made him wonder if he had been seen coming in.
Estin checked the cliff and found that from where he was, it would be a long dash before he could have enough handholds to get far off the ground. The trees were his best option, interspersed as they were with the houses.
Up the nearest tree he went, trying to hide among the braches so that even if someone looked up, they might not readily see him.
The calls and shouts came closer quickly, as a group of foxes ran straight to Insrin and Feanne’s home, the lead male pounding on their door. When it opened, Estin could see Insrin, his grey fur recognizable among the mostly red foxes in the village.
There was a fast conversation, then Insrin went with the others, carrying weapons and trying to pull on a shirt of leather brigandine armor as he ran.
Estin waited another minute, then hopped down, making for the house as fast as he could. He was actually on the doorstep with the note in his hand when the door opened again, making him freeze in the sudden light.
Feanne stood in the lit doorway, her eyes wide as she stared at him.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed softly, leaning out the door to look both ways. “Do you really want him to kill you that badly? I cannot protect you here.”
He held the note towards her, which she snatched angrily.
“Your father wanted this put in your hand. That is all I want, Feanne. Goodbye.”
Estin started to leave when he heard a more clear cry from the east. A single word. It was a word that could cut through any amount of noise, driving an icicle of fear and uncertainty into Estin’s heart.
“Undead!”
He closed his eyes, standing there facing away from Feanne, wishing he had picked any other night. Nothing could complicate his feelings more than this.
“Stay inside,” Estin growled, turning to the east.
“I got that from my mate already, thanks.”
Rushing through the camp, while trying not to be too obvious, Estin tried to get an eye on the undead attacking. If it was just a few, he would return to Finth and leave. He had to keep telling himself that, trying to convince himself to let Insrin protect his family and not to intrude. They had more warriors in this village than in his own. They would be fine against most attacks.
Everywhere, fox wildlings were racing around, trying to resupply their warriors, or evacuate their homes. The females, elderly, and children were all being sent towards the back of the village near Feanne’s home, to ready the front of the village for battle.
Estin easily passed through the homes with everyone so occupied. He was nearly to the thick line of fox warriors, when he stopped, finally able to see what was coming. As he saw it, he felt his ears go flat and his tail flop weakly to the ground.
Down the slope of the mountain, he could see what looked like a dark wave of humanoid shapes moving in the trees. Their mass was wider than the town and at least a quarter mile deep. There could easily be a thousand undead in the group, stretching well down the mountainside.
Even in the deep dark, the front line of the approaching force was visible. Disorganized and stumbling over the rough terrain, a line of undead a hundred wide glared up the hill at the living, their mouths working in groans and silently pleading for warm flesh. Ahead of them, Estin could see small animals fleeing for cover, sometimes getting dragged down by the slavering monsters that approached.
Fighting terror, Estin began surveying the defensive line.
There were about thirty fox warriors, all bearing long spears to brace against the charge. Every one of the warriors had a sword and shield at their feet, ready to be grabbed once the spear had fulfilled its purpose. Behind them, two middle-aged foxes—one male and one female, but both dressed in robes similar to his own back at camp—paced the line. After the healers, another fifteen foxes were kneeling, waiting with bows in-hand for the command to attack, with swords and axes lying on the ground at their sides.
The village’s defenses were impressive, but Estin kept looking back at the undead army, now only a few minutes out, realizing that they were outnumbered more than ten-to-one. This battle would end swiftly.
Turning, Estin ran back towards Feanne’s home, hopping anything and anyone in his way as he tried to get to his destination before the first arrow could be fired. He tore up the path to her door, pounding on it as he reached the threshold.
“Feanne!” he called, pounding again. “You need to come out, now!”
The door opened and Insrin stood in front of him, a spear in one hand.
“What are you doing here?” he growled, advancing until he was practically pushing Estin off the doorstep. “This is my home!”
“And you’ll die in it with your children!” Estin countered, shoving Insrin back. “I have someone in the woods that can get them to safety.”
Insrin hesitated, glancing back into the small home. His shoulders dipped slightly.
“Feanne,” he said calmly, but with a faint touch of sadness that Estin could hear. “I want you to take the children and follow this one’s directions to escape. If he misleads you, I will kill him later.”
“What?” asked Feanne, stepping into the light. The two kits were in her arms, clinging to her neck. “Why are we running? You said it was just a few undead.”
“Do as I say as your pack-leader,”
Insrin said, more firmly, not looking her in the eyes. “I will come for you in the morning.”
Estin turned to the cliff, waving up at the ledge high above. He then pointed to the north, where the easiest climb down would be. He could only hope Finth had seen him.
“Where are we going?” demanded Feanne, pulling the familiar bearskin cloak over her children and herself against the cool night.
“North,” Estin told her, beginning to move towards the woods. “Finth is out there and will guide you. He should be just past the edge of the woods.”
Feanne began walking that way, then stopped and looked back at Estin and Insrin.
“Are you both staying?”
Insrin hung his head, saying, “Yes. They are my pack. I will stay, no matter what happens.”
Feanne’s eyes turned to Estin, drifting over the necklace he wore briefly.
“I will come back here after I take you to Finth. This is what I trained for. This is where I need to be, whether they want me here or not.”
Saying nothing to Estin or Insrin, Feanne began walking away, whispering to the kits to calm them as she went.
Estin ran after her, catching up as they reached the edge of the woods. He walked with her, watching the woods for any threat, when he noticed Atall poking his head up from the bear fur, staring at Estin.
He smiled at the child, who stuck out his tongue, then disappeared under the fur again.
“He does not like non-foxes,” Feanne said without watching the exchange, walking more quickly as they got into the dark. “It’s his father’s doing.”
Estin just laughed and led her towards the edge of the cliffs, where Finth hopped off a small rock and approached them.
“Kidnapping was not the plan. If it was, I would know,” the dwarf said, then grinned at Feanne. “Hey lady.”
“I see you are not our prisoner anymore.”
The dwarf grinned more broadly.
“Good of you to notice. Had a change of heart. My brother always said that once you go fur, you never go back…or was that once you had a taste of fur…oh damnit, I never can remember the really good dirty jokes.”
“Finth,” Estin said, taking a knee in front of his friend. “The undead are here. I’m going back to help the village defend themselves. No matter what happens, I need you to get Feanne and the kits back to Lihuan. Swear this to me.”
Scowling, Finth regarded Estin with a touch of both annoyance and disappointment.
“Gonna go die like a hero, huh? My dad always said that if you can’t run away, you should walk after breaking another guy’s knees. Standing and fighting seems really stupid.”
“It’s what I have to do, but Insrin and I need to know that Feanne and the kits are safe.”
Finth glared at Feanne, then at the squirming bundle under her cloak.
“Damnit all, Estin. I promise that they will arrive safely if it’s within my power to do so.”
“Thank you.”
Turning to leave, Estin started to say something to Feanne, but she shook her head.
“I will see you again, Estin. Go and fight. Bring me my mate back.”
He ran back towards the village, his burden lightened already. Turning before he reached the first hut though, Estin moved off further into the woods, searching for a dark and quiet area. This part of his plan was not one he felt was properly thought through, but he could not wait.
“Miharon!” he called out at the night. “Miharon, come to me!”
A roar of anger preceded the smoke condensing before him into the shape of the great wolf, its purple eyes gleaming with hatred. Winds pushed and pulled at Estin as the creature reared up in front of him.
“Why would you call me this far from my woods?” roared the forest spirit. “It is death to call upon me again!”
“I have done you a favor and now you will do one for me.”
The wolf hesitated, easing back from Estin briefly.
“Explain.”
“Your Keeper was lost to you. She had gone to live in a town, which I’m guessing you frown upon. Have you even heard from her in months?”
The wolf’s features made its hatred abundantly clear.
“Right now, she is trying to get to safety with her young. You will help them and protect them, by any and all means. If her young die, I will do everything in my power to see your woods burn to the ground and I will drive her to the farthest reaches of this world to keep her from you. Do we have an understanding?”
The forest spirit roared in his face, but did not strike, vanishing as quickly as it had come.
“I really hope that was a good idea,” Estin muttered, turning back towards the village.
When he got back, he found Insrin waiting for him at the edge of the first house, his armor and weapons prepared and his stance relaxed as though this battle were no great concern. Estin could only wish he had that amount of calm in the face of what was coming.
In the distance, a call went out and Estin heard the flutter of many bows firing over and over.
“This is not how I expected our next meeting,” Insrin admitted, beginning the walk towards the front lines. He swept his spear around onto his shoulders as he checked his armor’s straps again, then flipped the weapon back into his hand. “I had always dreamed I would be chasing you down and stabbing you until my arm was tired.”
“I always sort of hoped I could do the same to you. Times change and I grew up.”
Insrin laughed, but with both of them now nearing the chaotic lines of battle, the sound was muffled. The larger male stopped walking as they came in sight of the lines, where the archers fired endlessly and the spearmen stood ready.
Estin could not yet see the enemy from their position, but he could hear the pounding of hundreds of feet and the growls of the dead.
“I hope you know that we cannot stand in the face of this army,” Insrin told Estin calmly, unfastening a clasp that held his sword sheathed, even as he hefted the spear in his right hand, as though testing its balance one more time. “They will destroy us long before dawn.”
“This is not the full army. Besides, we just need to hold them long enough for the others to escape. I would see your children live to an old age, Insrin. Once they’re safe, we can leave the town.”
“I cannot run just because my family needs me,” Insrin answered, shaking his head. He gave Estin a stern stare. “Either we win or I die with the last of my warriors. Letting any of them die because I called a retreat is no different than letting my children die. You may run when you must to warn your pack, but I stay here, no matter what.”
A loud crash, accompanied by screams and snarls let Estin know that the undead had reached the spear line. When he glanced that way, he saw that the whole fox line had dropped their spears and switched to their melee weapons. Even the archers moved into the fray, most carrying light axes and swords.
As he and Insrin watched, the foxes were driven back several steps and blood began appearing as the undead pushed into the line, tearing at the living with their broken hands.
“Time to die like a warrior,” Insrin said, softly enough that Estin believed he was speaking to himself. Without another word, Insrin stepped into a gap in the line as one of his warriors was dragged away into the mass of reaching hands and rotting faces. His spear found its way right into the face of a growling corpse, then he pulled it free and spun the weapon over, using the butt to drive three skeletal undead back a step.
Running along the backs of the warriors, who were just barely holding back the onslaught, Estin made for the robed male he had seen earlier, hoping to help with healing. In horror, he watched as two corpses shoved through the line and grabbed the male fox, dragging him screaming into the mass of clawing undead.
Searching the line, Estin found where the injured had been situated and ran over, kneeling beside the first soldier he found near the wounded. He checked around for the other robed fox, but saw no sign of her.
“How bad are they?” he as
ked a young fox who was rushing between the different wounded.
The other shook his head.
“I have no idea. I’m just tying off to stop the bleeding.”
“Where is your healer?”
The fox shrugged, looking around.
“I think the undead got them all. Arro was helping someone in the front line and got grabbed. She couldn’t fight back. I haven’t seen her since. The others are missing, too.”
Estin closed his eyes and uttered a heartfelt prayer to the spirits for help. This was going to be a long night if he was already the last healer.
For hours, Estin ran between the area where they were putting the fallen and the lines where the soldiers continued to fall. It was taxing his strength of both body and mind as his magic began to wear thin. For all his training, he was running out of healing magic and the bodies were piling up faster than ever.
The face of the battle had remained relatively unchanged. Everywhere he looked, the angry and twisted faces of the dead were packed together, trying to get at the remaining warriors. Nearly a hundred of the dead had been dragged back by those untrained in combat and unceremoniously tossed into a waiting bonfire to ensure that they stayed dead. For all that, the undead force seemed just as strong as it had been at the start of the battle.
“Push through!” cried Insrin somewhere nearby, snapping Estin out of his morbid assessment of the fight.
At his command, Insrin’s elite guards fell into a V-shaped formation, driving into the undead horde, while the other warriors attempted to close the gap. Though the corpses continued to stand back up, Insrin appeared to be pushing forward towards some target deep in the enemy force. Estin could only guess that Insrin had seen the necromancer controlling the horde. If not, then the pack’s leader was making a last-stand that would likely lead to his death if he did not have help.
Racing to catch up before Insrin’s group had moved far enough past the main line that the undead would fill back in, Estin dove into the smaller group, shoving his way in behind Insrin. Estin drew his own weapons and covered gaps and blocked what attacks he could, trying to get Insrin’s people the best shot they could at this.
