Bones of the Empire

by Jim Galford

  Air holes. There was something alive in there, or there had been.

  Whistling to catch Dalania’s attention, Raeln headed for the crate, glancing back to be sure the mists were not coming again. Thankfully, the glowing cloud remained near the temple for the moment. He had a few minutes, maybe more.

  Raeln got a running start, jumped to get a grip on the top of the nearly hovel-sized box, and hoisted himself atop it. From there he could lean over and look into the air holes. At first he saw nothing in the dim light, but as his eyes adjusted, he thought he saw bodies inside. Six, maybe seven bodies.

  “Raeln,” Dalania gasped, stopping her horse in front of the box’s door. “Raeln…this makes no sense. Jnodin wouldn’t drag something like this out here and leave it.”

  Leaning a little farther out, Raeln stared at the upside-down writing over the door. The words were written in Turessian, though the script was simple enough that Raeln recognized most of it and reasoned out the rest. “Shipment three of three, western Turessi. Do not open.”

  Raeln sniffed at the air holes and realized there were three distinct types of scents: Orcs, wildlings, and feces. He had gotten his numbers wrong and there were maybe eight or nine people inside, and they stunk as though they had been in the box for days or longer. He could also smell disease.

  “Get them out, now!” Raeln said, hopping back to the ground. The child began to cry, but Raeln knew they all would have a lot to cry about if the mists closed in on them again. “Dalania, hurry.”

  Whispering to the child to calm him a little, Dalania climbed down from her horse and raised a hand toward the door of the box. She twisted her fingers slightly, and a flare of light sparked off the lock, only to ricochet onto the ground nearby. Frowning, she tried again, and this time a flash of energy shot high into the air. The lock did not budge.

  “It’s shielded against magic,” she explained, shaking her head. “Raeln…the mists are moving again. We need to go!”

  Raeln looked toward the gates and saw Dalania was right. The mists had passed over the temple and were spreading again. He could only see about twenty feet past the gate, and the crate he stood next to was no more than another ten feet out.

  “Start riding,” Raeln said, walking up to the door of the crate. He heard her mount and walk the horse a few feet and then stop. He honestly could not force her to run, but he was certain if the mists threatened the child or her horse, she would decide to leave him, if only to save the child she was hugging tightly.

  Raeln ran his palm over the thick door, feeling the boards for how they fit together. The beams that crossed the main planks of the door would make them nearly impossible to hack through. Whoever had designed the crate had gone to great efforts to make it strong enough to keep people out, but far stronger against those inside. They wanted these people to die in misery and humiliation.

  A shift in the winds brought with it gusts of both blazing heat and bitter cold. Raeln did not have much longer. Closing his eyes, he put his palm against the frame around the door, where the wood was thickest but not reinforced.

  Somewhere behind him, Raeln could hear Dalania shouting, but he needed to concentrate or he would break his hand. He managed to tune her out, and as he did, several hoarse voices from inside the crate called out for help. Those were far harder to ignore. He wanted desperately to listen, to answer those people, to let them know help was coming, or at least that he was trying to help.

  Raeln took a slow breath and punched the frame with as much force as he could muster. The wood splintered under his palm, buckling and shifting as the door lost its support. Pain grew quickly as he pulled away his hand, letting him know he had not gotten the strike quite right. With luck, nothing was broken.

  Almost immediately the door of the crate was kicked open and a half-starved orcish woman eyed Raeln nervously, her gaze going to his tattoos. She clenched her jaw, her white tusks standing out against her nearly black-green skin as she backed away. For a long moment, she bared her pointed teeth and held her ground, but then looked behind herself and then back to Raeln.

  She said something in Turessian that Raeln could not understand, which she recognized and quickly switched to the common trade tongue. “Come to finish us or free us?” she demanded in a raspy voice. Other orcs cowered behind her, watching Raeln. “Whichever it is…make it quick.”

  “Start running,” Raeln told her, clutching his throbbing hand to his side. “Follow my friend’s horse. She will guide you to safety.”

  The orc nodded and walked past Raeln, stopping only long enough to punch him in the arm. At first, he thought it to be some mild challenge, but each of the three adult orcs who walked by him did the same. Even two orcish children hopped up to punch him. He had to believe it was some kind of strange greeting or acknowledgement.

  With the orcs stumbling weakly across the stone ground toward Dalania, Raeln realized the wildlings were not getting up. There were three in the crate, one sitting in the middle, staring at the ground, and the other two lying near the far corner, unmoving. The two at the back were brown wolves, while the nearer man was a nearly white bear of some kind.

  “I need you to start walking,” Raeln told them, stepping into the crate despite seeing the glow of the mists from the corner of his eye. He tried very hard not to think about what his feet were coming down on, knowing there was no time to be dainty about getting the wildlings to safety. “There will be food and water where we’re…”

  He trailed off as the bear looked up at him, his entire muzzle covered with dried blood. For a moment, Raeln thought he had killed someone, but as the bear took a ragged breath, Raeln could see his tongue was gone and many of his teeth were broken. The man had likely lost a tremendous amount of blood, and given the filth within the crate, infection was inevitable. From the look of the bear’s mouth, his tongue had been ripped out, rather than cut.

  “Can you walk?” Raeln asked, taking a knee in front of him.

  The bear nodded before hanging his head. Raeln knew that look from his time with Estin after Feanne’s death. The man was ready to die and no longer had the strength to fight. He could walk, he just would not unless pushed to do so.

  “We’re going to make it,” he said, grabbing him roughly and dragging him to his feet. He did not resist, though he did not really help either.

  Looking down at the two wolves, Raeln realized they were not breathing. The two corpses lay close, their hands clasped together and their eyes staring at the ceiling of the crate. Both were so badly withered that he could not even guess if they had been male or female, not that it mattered. He had failed them by not finding them sooner. It did not matter if the crate had arrived seconds before he had. He felt entirely responsible for not stopping whatever had been done to these people.

  Channeling his anger into the strength he would need to carry the bulky wildling, Raeln began walking, supporting most of the other man’s weight. As soon as they came into the daylight, the bear groaned and covered his eyes, which was something Raeln wished he could do. The mists were already passing the gate, giving him almost no time. He had to keep his eyes open and watch to ensure they did not get trapped.

  “I’m going to start running. Do what you can to help,” he said when he saw the mists surge forward again.

  To his surprise, the bear gradually took most of the burden off Raeln. From what Raeln could tell, the man would likely collapse without some support, but he sported a look of clear determination, making himself keep running despite how he felt and whatever pain he might have.

  They ran for what felt like hours, until Dalania’s horse came around and cut Raeln off, forcing him to slow to a stop. Panting, Raeln nearly fell over, and despite his efforts, the other wildling did. Raeln barely caught him before he hit the stones, helping to ease him down as his eyes rolled back.

  Coming to their sides, the orcish woman who had first spoken to him in the crate said, “That one has been in there for two weeks or better. He was in there when
we arrived. His tribe would be proud for his strength. He did not even cry out when she took his tongue, if only to spite that woman.”

  Raeln ignored her at first, glancing back to see if the mists were close. Thankfully, they had slowed and stopped, gradually climbing what appeared to be an invisible wall that held them back. Shaking his head in confusion, Raeln finally asked, “What about the wolves?”

  “Found shortly after we were taken from the clans that held us. They were taken out and beaten every night.” Her shoulders sank. “The mad woman made sure that we heard them scream until dawn’s light. The only food or water they got was whatever we held onto for them.”

  “The mad woman?”

  She reached out and touched Raeln’s tattooed brow with a trembling finger. “Marked like you. Even the clan that enslaved us feared her. She said we might see you before the mists took us. We were expected to know your appearance by her description.”

  “Let me guess,” Raeln said sadly, sitting down hard. “Liris?”

  The orcish woman nodded and lowered her eyes. “She told us to tell you that you will keep finding your kin in pieces until she can face you again. Your death or countless. I can tell you where you can find her. I believe we were the last of those she had left around the region for you. We did not wait long for your arrival. An hour or two at most.”

  Rolling onto his side, the bear snarled weakly at the orc before turning to look at Raeln. He forced himself upright, eyeing Raeln as though judging him. After a moment, he grabbed Raeln and pulled him into a hug that threatened to break his ribs. A second later, he released Raeln and patted his shoulder. Looking over at the orc, the bear put a hand over Raeln’s mouth and then pointed at the orc, shaking his head slowly.

  “I can’t let people keep dying for me,” Raeln argued as he pulled away, knowing exactly what the bear meant. He did not want the orcs telling Raeln where to find Liris. “I’ll go to her…”

  The bear let out a croaking growl and shoved Raeln backward.

  “He is a warrior,” the orc said for the bear, smiling grimly. “A thousand might die, but he would have you stand proudly in the face of your foes. He would have made a fine orc. Forget what I said. I will not tell you where to find the mad woman. My family will fight at your side, not lead you to your death. Out of respect for all who have died, you will find her when the time is right, not on her terms.”

  The bear wildling grinned halfheartedly before collapsing.

  *

  Raeln waited on the top of a hilly rise throughout the evening, watching the north. The people they had rescued, after receiving some healing from the Turessians, were already asleep and better fed than they had been in weeks. All of them had gotten sick after eating more food than their stomachs could handle, but Raeln could not fault them. They had starved for weeks, and anything more than a few scraps was a feast to them. At least for the moment, there would be no more deaths. Yiral had volunteered to watch over them and see to their care until they were healthy enough to fight alongside the other troops.

  “You watch for coming armies?” Yoska asked, his boots crunching in the snow as he trudged up to Raeln’s side. Yoska rubbed his arms and shivered. “The armies coming here are begging to join you. Another three subclans arrived today and pledged their honor to your cause to free their people from the one who manipulates the council. Is good news, yes?”

  “How far to the temple?” Raeln asked, not really wanting to engage the man.

  “One or two weeks, depending on route, says Ceran. We must start marching first. I thought we look for old friends before we leave area?”

  Raeln shook his head. “Estin and Feanne are either dead or gone. Turess could be anywhere…likely already at the temple with Dorralt. There’s no way anyone’s left out there if Liris has had time to round up and torture former slaves. We’re all that’s left. If the world has any mercy, Estin and Feanne are halfway to their children by now, or their bodies are resting together.”

  “When you wish to march?”

  “The newest additions need some time to rest,” Raeln admitted, looking up at the stars and wishing he could give the order to start traveling sooner. “Day after tomorrow at first light. We will begin the journey and stop for nothing short of Liris and Dorralt along the way. These clans need to see that we’re doing everything we can to take back their home, or they will abandon us. The longer we delay, the less conviction we have from the army.”

  Yoska came to Raeln’s side and nodded and smiled, clasping his hands behind himself. “In my family, such delay would mean much party and drinking. Too much delay, and my cousins no longer would have ability to stand up properly to enemy, no?”

  “Why do you drink? It dulls the senses. I never saw the purpose to it.”

  “Is why we drink before war,” he said. “That tension that makes you want to scream and cry is not foreign to anyone who has faced war. My people may flee it whenever it shows itself, but is always a war somewhere. We celebrate the moment by dulling what is too painful to confront. Do not recommend it as way of life, yet is good from time to time, no?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Raeln confessed, smirking. “Never had more than a taste of alcohol in my life. Saw how much trouble it got my sister into and chose not to go near it. I had to protect her. Drinking would have been dangerous. With our roles reversed, she would not have been able to drag me away from someone’s bed before mother found out.”

  “Never? Is some kind of sin in any culture, no? I would say this is time, but I know your answer already.”

  Looking over, Raeln thought on it briefly. “This would be the perfect time. I won’t even argue. For one night, I would be happy not to remember a few things. I’ll regret telling you that, but it’s true. Just this once, I’ll let you try to convince me that I should be less than responsible.”

  “But where will I find dancing girls, card games, and a few dozen drunken cousins to marry off so far north? Turessians may be distant cousins, but they are very boring people. I marry them off and I get turned to ash…just ask Ceran.”

  “You chose her, so don’t complain to me.”

  “I think she choose me, yes? Either way, do not tell her I say they are boring.”

  Raeln looked down at their camp and was as amazed as he had been every time he gazed upon it. Thousands of tents and quickly built huts lay in the plains, all filled with Turessians and their slaves, every one of which had sworn to help Raeln defeat Dorralt. Near every tent, three or four undead ancestors stood out in the cold, staring blankly. The Turessians were helping him to reclaim their homes and to honor Turess, which meant any alliances would be questionable once Dorralt was gone. Loyalty was temporary.

  “I’ll drink with you, old man,” Raeln said, ignoring his snort. “Make me believe your way is better than mine, and it might happen again if we live to walk out of Turessi. The offer is only good for tonight.”

  “Meet me in center of camp in one hour.” Yoska tapped his greying short beard with a fingertip. “I can find something. If nothing else, is chance to show Turessians how rest of world has fun, no?”

  Raeln smiled to himself as Yoska ran off. Soon he was alone again with the silence of the night as company. It had been that way most nights even before Jnodin, aside from the times Dalania had come to try to coax him back to the village.

  Since they had come back, she had spent little time where he could find her. She had been working diligently to find the child they had rescued a new home among the Turessians. To her credit, she was quizzing nearly every family in the whole camp to find the perfect fit and, somehow, they were taking her seriously. If anyone could get that child a better home, it would be her.

  Standing there a little longer, Raeln gazed up at the half-full moon rising over the plains. That same brilliant light was shining down on the temple, somewhere ahead. Before it was full, he intended to have his hands wrapped around Dorralt’s neck, no matter the cost to himself. He had decided on that deadline on a wh
im, but he intended to hold himself to it.

  “Gather your armies,” Raeln said to the night, trying to envision Dorralt in front of him. Without having ever seen the man, it was difficult to put a face to all of his hatred. “You’ll need them soon. Draw all of your monsters home…leave the world alone for another week or two.”

  Turning, Raeln went down toward his camp, where he could already make out a larger-than-normal bonfire around the area where he was supposed to meet Yoska. By the time he reached the outskirts of the camp, he could see dozens of people gathered, nearly all of them robed and standing around, calmly watching. Yoska darted about, trying to prepare for whatever he was planning. When Raeln reached the group, there were likely fifty people crowding in on Yoska. The few wildlings from Yiral’s clan and the various orcs were already examining a cluster of kegs Yoska had managed to acquire from somewhere.

  “Guest of honor is early!” Yoska exclaimed when he spotted Raeln. He grabbed a cup from the snow nearby, brushed it off, and shoved it into the hands of a young orcish man, who stared at it in confusion. “Fill the cup!”

  The orc still did not move. Instead, he looked toward the waiting Turessians, one of whom nodded. At that point, the orc ran to the keg and began filling the cup, much to the disapproving glare of Yoska.

  Apparently, not all of the slaves had entirely accepted their newfound freedoms yet.

  Stepping in front of the orc before he could run to Raeln, Yoska demanded, “You have first cup, friend. I apologize for being rude.”

  Going wide-eyed, the orc looked around for the Turessian who had given him the okay, but Yoska moved with him, preventing him from seeing anyone else. Finally, the orc took a drink sheepishly.