Bones of the Empire

by Jim Galford

  “This is why I chose to protect the three of you,” Yiral said, sitting in the snow near Raeln, long after Ceran had hurried off to help with preparations. “Ceran was quite certain that anyone able to fulfil the prophecy would dishonor themselves, thereby denying the prophecy. I was less convinced. She truly believed you would kill her and prove yourself to be anything but the ones Turess spoke of in those rambling words he wrote. She was willing to sacrifice herself to prove the prophecies false. In that, Nellic and her had much in common. Years past, I would have attempted to match those two, but times do change.”

  Raeln looked over Yiral, who smiled at him in return. “You tortured and branded us to prove a point.”

  “Much of that was Ceran’s idea, to be honest. She felt that sparing you anything that the other slaves endured would nullify any purpose to keeping you alive. You had to be just like any other slave, or it meant nothing. I would not apologize for any of it. Our customs require three offers of sanctuary to our former enemies before we may accept them in. She felt three offers to trade her life for yours was fitting. Had you taken her up on it, we would have gone to the council and resworn our allegiance.”

  Raeln snorted and let his eyes drift over the dark stains on the snow where the blood of the fallen had faded to black with the sunset. He still had trouble focusing his eyes on details far away, though most of the feeling had returned to his limbs. In the back of his mind, he wondered how he had been freezing just hours earlier, but the violence he had not taken part in had managed to make him forget that for so long.

  “What does this stupid prophecy say this time?” he asked eventually, not sure he wanted to know. “I’ve heard so much insane babble from Turess that I want to have some time to let this one sink in. No one’s bothered to read the whole parchment to me.”

  Laughing, Yiral pulled out the scroll tube that Ceran had won fighting Nellic. Opening it, she pulled out a single sheet of parchment, with only a few small scribbled runewords. “Each clan got their own small prophecy when Turess passed into death. Legend states that his dearest friend delivered them,” she explained, smoothing the parchment on her knees. “Ours told us that when the empire sought to become whole again, we would embrace all who would be slaves and stand against the darkness that consumes our nation from within. A rather unpopular prophecy, to say the least. This one…it may be simpler.”

  Touching the different runes as she spoke, the way an adult would read to a child who still had trouble with their letters, Yiral translated, “Let the dog lead them. Sacrifice all and follow, if he does not bite.”

  “He prophesied that I wouldn’t maul you? You know, this isn’t really my war,” he argued, shivering as the wind picked up briefly. “I was led here. I shouldn’t lead your clan anymore than you should go to war over something Turess wrote thousands of years ago.”

  “We are all led to where we belong, Raeln. You are no different. This was going to happen with or without you and your friends. I am not telling you to help us…I am asking. We will have our war with or without you. If you help us, more lives may yet be spared.”

  Raeln looked over at Yiral, finding she appeared tired beyond words. “What are our chances of standing up to Dorralt?”

  “I do not even know who that is, despite you using the name a lot. The name has been whispered by the council as their newest member, but none of us know of him,” she admitted. “We have seen the undead, though. Not like our ancestors, but twisted and angry creatures that are being used as pawns in a war against the south. We have seen those who lead them, who appear to still walk among us but instead are as twisted as their armies. They are the darkness that consumes our nation.

  “You ask our chances, Raeln, so let me be honest. One clan against these forces will die. In the last two days, we have gained the support of a second. That will never be enough, even if we only fight the undead that the council controls. With all of the major clans and all of the tribal communities joined together, we are outmatched. Turessi will tear itself apart, and they will use our remains to create a new army. We see that, and it is why you are still alive. We need information and help from outside our lands. You have seen places we have chosen not to visit and have seen how our enemy fights. For perhaps the first time in history, a southerner may have knowledge we desperately lack.”

  “I don’t believe you would ask a stranger, marked as a slave, to lead your forces. Not at all, Yiral. You have no reason to trust me.”

  “No,” she said, tucking her nearly white hair back into her robe after the winds threw it about. “To be honest, we don’t trust you. Ceran was convinced by the gypsy. She trusts him.”

  “Then you’re crazier than I thought. No, I won’t lead anything.”

  Yiral laughed and nodded, turning to face him. Pulling up the sleeve of her robe, she showed a pattern of very old scars that covered her shoulder. They were similar to Raeln’s brand. “My family was raised as slaves of another clan. I understand who and what you are, wildling. If a slave can become a preserver, perhaps a wolf can become a leader and a drunk man a symbol?”

  “He’s a symbol of debauchery and little else. I love Yoska dearly, but why would you trust him?”

  “We have our suspicions, but until we confirm them, we are not going to discuss that further. For now, help us ready ourselves for what is to come. Share what you know is coming and what might help us.”

  Raeln thought on that a while, until he saw Dalania leaning against a tree down the hill, watching him. She had no judgment in her expression, just a vague sense of wanting to see what he would do next. She was waiting for him to finish with Yiral. Raeln still could not quite grasp how she managed to not freeze without fur or heavy clothing.

  “We came here looking for an army to fight Dorralt and stop the invasion of our lands,” Raeln finally admitted, lowering his head. He hated saying it to a Turessian, of all people. Still, they had spared his life, and that had to mean something. “We desperately need allies. Any allies.”

  “You have them as long as you are willing to lead them. We can grow their numbers by the day, but they will expect much of you. Many clans will not be so accepting…that is why the other clans have been sending orcs and wildlings to us. The council wanted all of you executed, and some clans obeyed, but others would rather foist them on someone else instead of staining their own hands. They will not be happy to see you at the head of any army, even symbolically.”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “It is not that simple,” Yiral explained, sighing. “Our laws require that only an educated person may lead. They will not follow you right now. We are trying to work out an agreement that will allow you to speak to the clan’s leaders without being dismissed. For the moment, Ceran will lead.”

  “Then why bother telling me all this, if I can’t do what you’re asking of me?”

  “I have already spoken to the wanderer, and he says that you will not like the answer. Instead, may I ask what you are willing to do to end this war?”

  Raeln leaned forward, forcing Yiral to slide away a few inches. “I would give or do anything within my power to end this war. Everyone I have ever known, aside from Dalania and Yoska, is dead or likely dead. I have watched cities reduced to rubble and thousands die. I cannot say it enough…I would do anything.”

  “You may have to,” she said, smiling as she struggled to her feet. “We will talk more on that tomorrow. It will be another hard day for you. Go, be with your friends, and we will face the new day’s issues when they come. Not every problem can be solved in a single day.”

  She bowed deeply to Raeln, despite several flinches as her back seemed to object to the movement. Once she had risen again, Yiral walked slowly away down the hillside. She was almost immediately joined by Vertin, who fell in at her side protectively, watching the sparse woods nearby for threats.

  From what Raeln had seen the last few hours, the now-free slaves were fiercely protective of the Turessians who had been good to
them, and no Turessian was walking alone. Any Turessian who wandered out had a former slave at their side within seconds. Yet another sign that they were truly at war. Everyone knew it was coming, but not when.

  The crunch of footfalls drew Raeln’s attention off to his other side, where Dalania had walked out of a section of the woods, her bare feet leaving small depressions in the snow. She came over and sat beside him, looking more to the stars and horizon than the mass of people going to and fro at the base of the hill.

  “Come to say that you told me so?” he asked after a minute of silence.

  “About what?”

  “The Turessians. You kept saying that they couldn’t all be monsters.”

  Dalania frowned and leaned against Raeln’s shoulder. “They may not be monsters, but they are still warlike, violent people. I had hoped for peaceful revolution against Dorralt, not the butchery of their own to start a civil war.”

  “Sometimes the way to peace is bloody.”

  “That doesn’t make it any easier to accept,” she admitted. “Just once I want to go somewhere and not watch people die or try to hurt one another. It’s tiring, Raeln.”

  Putting his arm around her despite her indifference to the weather, Raeln asked softly, “Should I trust them or not?”

  “I would trust Yoska, drunk and naked, more than I would ever trust them,” she answered, keeping her voice low. “We have little choice, though. We need them and they think they need us. That has value…at least until they find out we’re more helpless than they are.”

  Thinking on what she said, Raeln searched the hillside. “Speaking of Yoska, where is he?”

  Dalania sat up quickly and looked around as well. “I don’t know. He said he wanted to talk to the preserver. I thought that meant he was with you. Yiral was the only one who stayed out here. I honestly forgot about him.”

  Hopping up and grabbing Dalania’s arm to hoist her, Raeln’s attention went to the houses of the Turessians. A few slaves wandered there, still performing tasks they were technically not required to do anymore. There was no sign of trouble, but Raeln knew Yoska would not make a lot of noise with anything of this sort.

  “Where’s Ceran’s hut?” Raeln asked, and saw Dalania’s eyes widen in fear. “He’s threatened her a dozen times over what she’s done to me. I think he still means to break her nose at the very least. More likely, he’ll kill her and start a war within the clan.”

  “I have no idea, Raeln. They never let us get that close enough to their huts that I would know which is which.”

  “Get back to our hut and I’ll bring Yoska, once I find him. Keep the place quiet, and I’ll try to sneak in with him, likely unconscious.”

  Dalania nodded and backed toward the trees, where Raeln knew she would be safest. With her magic, she could have disappeared for days or weeks among them. In a pinch, she could change herself into a woodland animal, and few would ever be able to identify her. He might worry about Dalania, but if she were alone in the trees, his worries lessened considerably.

  Raeln sniffed the air and soon picked up Ceran’s scent and, very faintly, Yoska’s. Both went straight toward the Turessian village. Snarling, he took off at a fast lope down the hill, wondering if he would have to fight his own friend. Knowing the repercussions of Yoska killing a preserver, he had to stop the man by any means necessary. He had to hope he was going to get there in time.

  He reached the outlying homes and did his best to ignore the irritated and disgusted looks he was given by the humans there. Even some of the slaves eyed him suspiciously, but he had no time to be bothered with any of them. He pushed on, sniffing as he passed each house, trying to find a trail that was already badly faded.

  Coming to another section of huts, Raeln realized the scents were far stronger. He was close. Walking in a slow circle to try to find which direction was strongest, he narrowed the direction until only one house could be it. He walked over to that home, the smells growing stronger with every step.

  Raeln leaned against the door, putting one of his ears to the wood. Inside, he could hear muffled sounds, and the scents were very clear. Only two people had come through recently. Judging by their lingering smell, they were still inside, and there was no hint of blood. He might be in luck. He also knew that when he went in, it would have to be fast, or Yoska might kill her out of surprise.

  A soft whimper made Raeln’s ears shoot up. He might already be too late. Turning and kicking the door as hard as he could, he split the thin wood and sent half of the door tumbling to the far side of the hut.

  Yoska sat up on the bed, yanking a blanket over his lower half. For some reason, he was wearing no shirt and looked as though torn between being mortified and amused. “We need to talk about limits to how happy I am to see you,” Yoska said quickly, shifting to block Raeln’s view. “For now, I say go away. We have this talk before with Estin, and you seem not to learn.”

  Raeln snarled and marched into the room, searching for Ceran—or what was left of her. He half expected the woman’s bloodied corpse to be lying crumpled in the corner of the hut, but he stopped when he saw movement behind Yoska on the bed. His ears and nose suddenly got very hot as he realized what might be going on. “You…but she…” Raeln tried, but could not find words as he backed into the doorway. “She’s a…and you’re…Yoska!”

  Giggling like a far younger woman, Ceran sat up in the bed, holding a sheet to cover herself. “And he is a very convincing man, I am afraid. I do think his original intention the other day was to kill me, but we came to a different arrangement. Did you think I had you spared simply by your own charms? Yiral’s arguments were less motivational than Yoska’s.”

  Yoska smirked and then gave Raeln his best grin. “One finds creative ways to save a friend, yes? A grave sacrifice for me…”

  Blinking and wishing he could scrub his eyes clean, Raeln mumbled an apology and propped the pieces of the door back in place before hurrying away to hide his head under a pillow.

  *

  “The Turessians…” Raeln said, before realizing his mistake. He looked up at the thirty humans—Turessians—and then quickly back down at the map in front of him. “The enemy, they have lines here and here. These cities are gone. Everyone in this part of the world is dead or in hiding. This part over here…the mists are pretty thick there, from what we saw. For all I know, people there may all be dead as well.”

  Several of the Turessians nodded in acceptance, but many rolled their eyes or scoffed openly—and not all from Nellic’s clan either. It seemed the moment Ceran had allowed Raeln to speak, even her clan had begun to question that decision. Raeln was losing their willingness to listen far too quickly.

  “No dark mists have been seen in Turessi for thousands of years,” one man argued, slapping away the piece of wood Raeln had placed on the map to indicate the location of the mists. “They are a legend and nothing more. We do not let superstition rule us, beast. Even if you are right that they have appeared, they are not in our lands, so why would we be bothered?”

  Raeln growled, but Dalania’s elbow in his ribs reminded him that he was supposed to be diplomatic. Biting down his anger, he picked up the piece of wood and placed it back on the map. “The mists are real, and they’ve wiped out whole cities on their own,” he insisted, getting more glares than before. “It’s not even dark mists anymore. These are glowing, if that means anything. The cloud changed right after the elemental lords…”

  “Enough!” another man cried, throwing up his hands. “One legend after another. Next he will claim there are dragons or other old gods walking Eldvar. We should be making our own plans, not waiting for his so-called ‘instincts’ to guide us. I have a dog that watches my children that has more common sense than this one. Folklore will not help us stand against the council. We need to find a defensible location and build fortifications.”

  Raeln clenched his hands as he tried to control his temper. Killing someone would only make matters worse, but after two hours of of
f-handed criticism from these people, he was more than ready bang heads together. He dearly wished Greth was still with him. That man would have beaten them into submission quickly and then deferred back to Raeln. If Raeln got rough with them, he expected it would devolve into bloodshed in minutes.

  A young woman near the back of the group spoke up next. “We are two clans against the council and all of the other clans. We are not even among the strongest of the clans. This is foolish to even consider.”

  “Not so,” Ceran said, drawing most of the attention to herself. “We have more than I have been willing to share yet, but know that we already have runners to the next two clans over. With luck, they will have seen the same behavior from the council that we have. It will be difficult to sway them, but I have some belief that they may be waiting for some sign that the time is right.”

  “Or they will send your messengers back without a pulse,” another man warned. “That was what happened the last time we questioned the council’s motives.”

  Ceran cleared her throat, silencing several other Turessians who seemed determined to speak. “Given that Raeln and his companions have been outside our lands and seen what is happening, I would like to give their descriptions credence—”

  “No,” snapped a woman near Ceran, stepping forward. “He is a slave by birth. He has earned no degree of respect from our clan. Why would we allow him to speak to a war council, let alone guide our decisions? That is beyond foolish. I move for him to be taken outside and left there. Do I have the war council’s vote?”

  “He is not even a person. I move for its whipping,” another man declared, looking up at Raeln and adding, “No offense intended, slave.”

  Raeln glowered at the man. “You spoke in my language. How would I not take offense when you could simply have spoken in yours?”

  A sudden procession of loud agreements that drifted from the common trade language into Turessian soon filled the cave where they had been talking, echoing off the walls and making their arguments against Raeln seem even more numerous. Repeatedly, Ceran tried to intervene, but they spoke over her. Even Yiral tried to get a word in, but nearly every other person in the room was loudly objecting to Raeln’s presence. Several had even turned to suggesting he be killed for trying to give them advice.