Bones of the Empire

by Jim Galford

  “You’re making that up.”

  Feanne smirked and said nothing, making Estin question his belief that her mother, Asrahn, would or would not have said that. The more he thought on it, the more he wondered if she did actually tell that to Feanne. In the end, he decided she probably had. It sounded an awful lot like some of the lessons she had used to teach Estin magic.

  They rode on in silence for much of the night, gradually making their way to the hills Feanne had indicated. Even with several brief stops for water and grass for the horse, the animal was slowing, and Estin began to wonder if it would actually make it to the nearest of the hills. If Feanne had been pushing the animal for four days as she said, even with her magic helping it, the poor beast had to be ready to collapse.

  “We walk from here,” Feanne announced, bringing the horse to a stop a short distance from the hills.

  Estin climbed down. Feanne tried to do the same but lost her balance, falling hard into the snow. He rushed to her, but she pushed away his attempt to help her, getting up under her own power.

  With one arm cradled to her stomach, Feanne turned to the horse and slapped its rump with her other hand, sending the animal running off in a direction other than where they had been headed.

  “Feanne, let me look,” he insisted, but she snarled and pushed him back. “I might be able to help.”

  “Not until we stop. You can poke and prod my wounds once we arrive, but until then, I will keep going. Try to keep up,” Feanne told him, limping toward the hills. As she passed him, Estin caught the strong scents of dried blood and infection.

  Knowing he was in no condition to fight, Estin followed, trying to ignore the chill snow between his toes and the falling snowflakes that quickly hid their trail.

  They walked on until, as they entered the hills with their cover of pines, the first light of dawn crept over the horizon. Feanne led the way into the trees, guiding them to a sheltered location where it would be extremely difficult for anyone to find them without knowing where to look. She stopped there, studying the area briefly before practically collapsing in the thin layer of snow that had managed to settle under the trees.

  “Now,” she said softly, closing her eyes and wincing as she slid her legs straight and reclined against the stones behind her. “Now you can mother me. Anyone who finds us now is welcome to kill us so long as I don’t have to hike any farther.”

  Taking a knee in front of her, Estin reached for her bandages, but used the wrong arm. Hot pain all across his shoulder warned him not to do that again, and he quickly switched to the other, thankful Feanne’s eyes were closed so she did not see his weakness. Picking away the bandage near her collarbone, he found a mostly healed wound that continued to ooze blood. Overall, it appeared to be mending properly, and there were no indications of infection or broken bones, though the bolt had likely scraped her collarbone badly. Had it been anyone else, he would have guessed she had been healing for about two weeks.

  “I’m not trying to ‘mother’ you,” he muttered as he examined the wound and the stitches she had used. Feanne was anything but elegant with her tending to injuries, but it had been effective, halting the blood loss almost completely. The contrast of having been raised in a human city where people worried about scars had always amused Estin, as wildlings—Feanne even more so—could have cared less about lasting markings. Old marks on their flesh were a badge of honor and a warning to the next creature that attacked them. “What does that even mean, anyway?”

  Feanne flinched as he pressed the cloth back to her shoulder. “My mother was a stubborn and talented healer. You were her apprentice. It was meant to be a compliment. What did it mean to you?”

  Smiling at the memories of Asrahn and her aggressive methods for healing the wounded, he shoved Feanne back against the stones to hold her down when she tried to stop him from shifting to the other wound. She clearly did not want him touching it, but his forcefulness made her laugh weakly. Grimly, he noted that forcefulness was probably what she meant by ‘mothering.’ To Feanne, that word likely meant pinning her down by the throat.

  Around the bandage, fresh blood continued to seep. When Estin lifted the edge, the slow trickle accelerated immediately around the puffed flesh and Feanne’s makeshift stitches. The flesh there was black and sickly, heavily infected. Quick recovery might be a talent of Feanne’s, but this was far beyond mundane healing of any kind. Had it been anywhere else on her body, Estin would have resorted to burning it out. Halfway between her ribs and hip, that was not an option, especially as deep as the infection appeared to be already. He hurriedly covered the wound with the cloth again, hoping to keep her from losing more blood than necessary.

  “How bad?” She clenched her jaw as she adjusted her position so she could relax while pressing on the two rags. The change in demeanor from when they were safe versus when she felt like they were at war was dramatic and had always surprised him. One moment she was an affectionate partner, and the next she was a calm soldier, ready to kill as needed. “Patch me up before they find us, Estin. There is no time to wait.”

  Shaking his head, Estin sat back on his haunches. “Give me some time to rest. I might be able to use a little magic, but you’ll probably have to drag me along after. If I can heal at least the infection, you’ll be fine in a day or two.”

  “No time. What can we do without magic?” Estin met her eyes until Feanne smirked and nodded. “Wait for me to die. I understand. Rest and see what you can do, my love. We may have a little while before they find us again.”

  Crawling up alongside her, Estin flopped against the same stone she was using to prop herself upright. He laughed softly as he flexed his arm, evaluating how weak it had gotten. “We’re getting too old for this. Promise me this is the last war we fight.”

  Feanne laughed too before sucking in a sharp breath as her pain clearly grew worse. “I promise. We win this war and I won’t make you fight another. We will hide away and do whatever it is people do when they aren’t being hunted by furless and maniacal undead, bent on becoming living gods.”

  After a minute of them both smiling weakly and struggling to relax, Estin asked, “Why didn’t you change? You could have held three of them without too much effort.”

  “How many of you would have died in the process? I do not have enough control over it to keep the five of you safe in such a closed space. What point is there in killing our enemies if I murder my mate or my friends along the way? A small confined space is the worst possible place I can think of invoking that kind of power, Estin. Besides, once I was wounded, I was too weak to change. It would have killed me. I have nearly always needed some warning before changing, at least since the Miharon has been gone.”

  They fell silent then, neither looking at the other. They both rested until well after dawn, when birds began singing loudly among the trees and snow fell lightly around them. It was peaceful—something Estin could not remember feeling in a long time. Intending to rest only for a moment, he closed his eyes and jerked awake some time later, the sun low in the sky.

  Looking over at Feanne, he found she was also asleep, her muzzle hanging on her chest between her breasts as she breathed slowly. Her hands had fallen away from the blood-soaked bandages, and much of her winter clothing was covered with blood. Even the snow around her was a crimson-black.

  Estin rolled onto his knees and checked Feanne, finding her breathing was weak but her wound had mostly stopped bleeding. She was in no real danger of dying soon, though the infection had grown far worse. When he lifted his arm to raise her head and check her pulse, Estin felt bones pop in his shoulder. Whatever damage had been done there was worse than he had thought.

  Putting his good hand to her forehead, Estin closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. The voices of the dead rushed to him, even as a sickening wave of nausea came with them. Ignoring the spastic clenching of his stomach, he struggled to maintain control over his magic, shaping it into a burst of warming energy that would soothe Feann
e’s wounds. Opening his eyes, he saw that while neither wound had closed, they both looked a little less enflamed, especially the one at her side. That would have to be enough to keep her safe for the moment. It would buy her precious time.

  A crunch of snow snapped Estin’s attention somewhere behind him. His ears shot up straight before turning slowly to listen as several more soft crunches came from elsewhere in the trees. Cursing his inattention, he reached for his belt and found his sheathes empty. He had forgotten his swords were lost back near the mine. Likewise, his utility knife was long gone. That left him with his claws, which would not be terribly effective with one arm hanging limply.

  Searching Feanne’s clothing and belt with his eyes while remaining as still as he could, Estin spotted the knife she had been using to sharpen her claws. He grabbed that and pulled it to his chest, bracing himself for the attack.

  “Drop the weapon!” called out a man to Estin’s left. Glancing over, he saw a rugged-looking human who held a drawn bow aimed at him. The man wore pelts that blended into the snow-covered terrain. He looked to be more of a hunter and far less a Turessian. Still, anyone could be working with them.

  Turning slowly on the pads of his feet, Estin saw eight more men and women, dressed similarly, with bows unwaveringly pointed at him. Feanne had not moved yet, still sleeping, despite her usual awareness of everything happening around her. He had been stupid. Healing her forced her body to rest and recover, to work with the magic. Had he stalled a little longer, she might have been able to fight.

  Estin gauged the distance between himself and the nearest archer. At his best, he could reach the man in three long bounds. That was more than enough time for the man to be able to fire at him with little chance of missing. Estin was also far from at his best. With one arm hanging and plenty of distance between the archers, he would have to run from one to the next and every one of them would have plenty of opportunity to fire at him before he could strike at any of them. Throwing the knife would be a waste of effort.

  Hanging his head, Estin let the knife fall into the snow.

  “Bag ’im!” called out one of the other archers, and Estin heard footfalls running up behind him. A second later, a heavy bag was thrown over his head, blocking out the light and making breathing difficult.

  The humans grabbed Estin’s arms, twisting them behind his back as they tied his hands together. He screamed in agony as they wrenched his shoulder, opening the wound and tearing away some of the stitches there. Almost immediately after he had shouted, he heard Feanne’s surprised growl, followed by a loud thump. He heard nothing more from her as rough hands pulled him along. Every unsteady step gave him more time to regret not fighting and wonder if she had been killed because of his failures. He would never forgive himself if she was hurt.

  They pushed Estin on and on, until his legs shook and his feet were numb from so long in the snow. Just when he thought they might be leading him to the middle of nowhere to kill him, his toe-claws came down on cold but snow-free stone. He took several more steps and found the whole area seemed clear of snow. He was on a road or platform of some kind, but not necessarily a shelter, given the bitter winds still flapping his clothing and shredded cloak.

  “Turn,” warned the man who was guiding him, putting a hand firmly between his shoulders to help him navigate. “It’s straight from here. Half mile. I will keep you from falling, but be careful with your steps. Not all the stones are level.”

  Estin could only concentrate on keeping his footing and struggle to stay upright as his legs trembled. He concern was not for where they were or what these people wanted. He wanted to live long enough to see if Feanne had survived…and to tear the face off whoever had hurt her, no matter the cost to himself.

  Abruptly, the wind came to an end, and Estin heard creaking above him. Somewhere ahead, the dull roar of hundreds of people in a closed space came like a wave, making him dizzy and even more disoriented. The man behind him put another hand on Estin’s good shoulder, helping him stay up by guiding him as they curved off toward the left. He then stopped Estin and announced, “Step up. There will be six steps.”

  Estin hesitated, sniffing the air for some clue of where they were. All he could smell were rabbits and birds, which likely had been carried in the bag that covered his head. Lifting his paw, Estin felt more stone under his pads as he tentatively walked up the six steps and onto even more cold stone. The man gently pushed him on a little farther before grabbing the scruff of his neck to stop him. With a shove, the human forced Estin onto his knees.

  This will be the end, Estin thought sadly. They were going to execute him, and he would never know what had happened to Feanne and their children. It was all so unfair, so wrong, after all he had been through. He would listen for the chance and try to kill someone, even if it was the last thing he did. Tentatively, he felt around with his tail, trying to determine where the nearest humans were. There was no chance of getting his hands free quickly, but he might be able to get his fangs, tail, or feet onto someone.

  The bag over his head was suddenly yanked away, blinding Estin as torchlight washed over him. He blinked until his vision cleared, revealing stone walls and some sort of platform around him. It seemed familiar…

  Estin turned to the nearest wall and saw the tree-shaped engravings there. He was in Jnodin’s temple, where he and Feanne had escaped a few weeks earlier. When he had left, a war had erupted within the city, with the Turessians attempting to seize it from the priests of that very temple. The place looked no different.

  Turning back toward the center of the platform, Estin saw Rishad, the Turessian who had healed Feanne during their last visit. Brown-robed—unlike the black most Turessians wore—the human had short-cropped hair, a clean-shaven chin, and a long run of runes tattooed across his brow. He sat atop a small throne, glaring angrily at Estin. He had been at the center of the battle for the city. Worse still, he was Liris’s brother.

  Looking around, Estin saw Feanne nearby on her back, blinking as she tried to focus her eyes. A gash across her brow let him know the archers had knocked her out to bring her in. He would still be out with that injury, but her eyes were already starting to focus, and Estin was willing to bet she would be ready to fight someone within a minute or two. He needed to stall that long, and they would be able to die fighting together. It was a morbid thought, but neither of them would have it any other way.

  “Welcome back, wildlings,” Rishad said, getting up from his throne and walking over, smoothing the simple robes he wore. “They told me they were tracking a few of your kind at the edges of our lands on the Turessi side, but I did not think it would be you two again. What was it I told you the last time?”

  “Don’t return or you’ll kill us,” Estin answered, letting his head hang. He could not find the strength to fight with his hands tied behind his back and his shoulder throbbing. “Your people brought us in. Wasn’t our choice. Finish us off if you’re going to so I can get some sleep. I’m tired of running.”

  Rishad knelt in front of Estin, eyeing his shoulder. Turning slightly, he surveyed Feanne’s injuries and shook his head. “Not even a month and you’re both back, in worse condition than the last time. You’re starting to make me regret choosing this path, Estin. I swore to help the people in and around this city. At the time, I didn’t think that included any of your kind, and certainly did not think I would get repeat visitors. Killing you might be a mercy on the world.”

  Estin closed his eyes, waiting for Rishad’s magic or fists to come down on him. Nothing happened for a long time, and eventually Estin peeked to find Rishad, still kneeling in front of him, smirking.

  “Do you know what happened when your allies left?” Rishad asked, lowering his head slightly so he could look up into Estin’s eyes. “Do you have any idea how many people died or the chaos you helped cause?”

  “I would guess all of them died, if you’re still here.”

  Rishad laughed, waggling a finger at Estin, a little c
loser to the tip of his nose than he would have liked. Estin thought about biting him, but that would accomplish little. “Clever boy, but no. Your friends forced Liris to call every one of her allies to fight for control of the city. They would have reduced the city to ashes and raised the entire population as undead.”

  Estin looked over at the hunters to either side of him and Feanne. They bore no Turessian tattoos and appeared very much alive.

  Sitting on the floor and crossing his legs under his robe, Rishad continued. “I swore an oath to the church of the wilds, Estin. I promised to stop killing except for survival. Liris, whether my sister or not, has put me in a position where my survival depends on keeping her away and killing her allies if they return. You forced me to pick sides. That was not my intention anytime soon.”

  A brown-robed human woman came around a section of the wall, went to Feanne, and checked her wounds. Shaking her head, she looked up at Estin. “We didn’t get a chance to meet during your last visit. I am the temple’s high priestess, Arella. Raeln made quite the impression on our order. I had hoped to keep him around longer to meet some of our younger members, but he had important things to do elsewhere.”

  “Don’t talk to me like we’re friends,” Estin snapped. Shifting his feet as subtly as he could, Estin braced his toes against the stones and prepared to leap at the woman if she made a wrong move near Feanne. Even without his hands, he might be able to bite her neck before Rishad could kill him. Twisting his hands behind him, Estin tried to free them, but the ropes only cut into his fur and skin beneath. “I’m tied up and you have an undead beside you. Tell me why I should listen to a word you say?”

  Arella’s eyes narrowed and she looked over at Rishad, who was smiling more broadly than before. “Rishad, kneel before our guests properly.”