Bones of the Empire

by Jim Galford

  Arella knelt beside Feanne. “The avatar of the wild god will not die because of a stray spell,” she was saying, settling herself to sit on her paws with her back straight as she studied Feanne, who was no longer shaking. The healer, who had returned to Feanne’s other side, looked particularly worried, and Estin felt his stomach begin to sink. “Any member of a pack is willing to die for their leader. I will take that risk today.”

  Arella moved one of her hands over Feanne’s chest and closed her eyes, concentrating. For several long seconds, Estin saw nothing happening and wondered if Arella was just stalling. Then, without warning, he saw Arella’s side tear open violently, causing her to snarl and clench her jaw.

  Estin knew exactly what was happening. Fae magic, the kind Feanne used, could not actually heal wounds. It could accelerate their healing as though weeks had passed, but potentially fatal injuries only killed the victim that much faster by using that form of magic. The only use Feanne had ever found for her abilities had been to transfer wounds from herself to Estin the day they had met so she had the strength to get them both out of Altis. Arella was using much the same spell to take Feanne’s wounds onto herself.

  Gradually, the burns and torn flesh appeared on Arella’s hide. Feanne breathed more easily and blood stopped spreading on the latest bandage the healer pressed to her side. It was not as quick as Estin remembered, but in only another minute or two, Arella would have all of Feanne’s injuries. She might well be able to survive in her wolven form, given the rate at which werewolves healed.

  More screams made Estin wince, but then realized they were not coming from the battlefield. They were coming from the wounded nearby. Turess did not release him, so he had to squirm to look around, trying to find the source of the noise.

  Estin saw a faint shimmer near one of the soldiers who had been barely injured. Suddenly, the man lurched and blood sprayed in all directions as his entire ribcage was torn apart. The shimmer over him moved swiftly, and another soldier who was trying to crawl away stiffened, then collapsed in another shower of blood.

  “Turess, we’re under attack,” Estin said, trying to free himself again.

  Turess only held on that much harder. “I know!” he hissed, pulling Estin a little farther away from Feanne and Arella. The human healer moved to put herself between the shimmer and Arella. “Is Oramain. We need to avoid his attention, not draw it. He will kill us both if he sees us. Stay still and he may overlook us. Neither of us can fight right now.”

  The shimmer drifted to the next soldier—the last before it would be facing the human at Arella’s side. The wounded man grabbed his sword, only to have his face explode in a spray of gore. Spinning in place, the ghost drifted toward the healer, who stared at Oramain with utter panic, though she held her ground. Through it all, Arella did not look up, instead concentrating to maintain her spell. Her fur was gradually being coated with blood.

  For the briefest moment, Estin thought the ghost might stop or move on, but it seemed to almost smile at the healer, reveling in her resistance. With Arella and Feanne so close, Estin could not risk any more lives by delaying.

  He kicked at Turess’s shin, forcing him off balance in an effort to keep his leg away from Estin’s claws. Once he felt Turess shift, he drove his elbow backward into Turess’s stomach. The moment Turess’s grip slipped, Estin twisted as hard as he could without putting all his weight on his injured leg, yanking free.

  Wincing every time he put much weight on his left leg, Estin limped toward the doctor, who had closed her eyes as Oramain loomed over her. Estin had to stare at the shape to make out the vaguely human silhouette in the predawn light, but each step he took, he could make out more of the familiar features of the man.

  “Oramain,” Estin called. When the ghost moved its hand toward the healer to kill her, Estin shouted again, “Oramain!”

  The ghost stopped midswing, and gleaming yellow eyes turned on Estin. A faint hiss cut through all the other noise as the ghost floated toward him, passing all of the other wounded. When it reached Estin, the ghost rose up over him and studied Turess, just behind Estin. Faintly, Estin could hear Turess muttering something that sounded entirely derogatory.

  “I have come for specific people,” the ghost said in a chilling whisper, not unlike the voices that came with Estin’s magic. “You are not my target yet, wildling. The leaders of this army must die before I leave. This was my order after aiding you earlier. You should flee.”

  Estin checked over his shoulder, finding Arella still working on Feanne. Before long she would be healed enough that she would survive without help. Arella, on the other hand, looked nearly ready to collapse as blood ran freely down her side.

  “Let her finish,” Estin told the ghost, dropping to his knees. “Please. Kill me if you need to, but please let Arella save Feanne. She’ll die without a healer. We both know I can’t stop you. Give me this before I die.”

  The burning embers that were Oramain’s eyes turned to Feanne, and the raging anger that Estin could practically taste so close to the creature abruptly cooled. The ghost flickered and became somewhat more human-looking, allowing Estin to see the features of the man who had helped him save Feanne from death once before. The whole of Oramain’s tattoos were visible in that moment, as was a thin beard and even a jagged scar at the base of his jaw. He could have been any other human in the camp, if it were not for the way the torchlight continued to pass through him.

  “She’s the one…your mate…” whispered Oramain, staring at Feanne. With an offhand gesture, he threw a soldier who had been approaching with a drawn sword across the clearing and into a tree. “You had me help you save her recently. I can feel her heart struggling to beat.”

  “Months ago,” Estin replied without looking up. “Without Arella’s help, she will die again, and I can’t save her this time. All I’m asking for is that you wait.”

  Oramain’s jaw clenched and he nodded grimly. “My master demanded the deaths of your leaders. He did not say that I had to hurry. He also did not tell me it meant killing Feanne. I have seen your mate through your eyes, and I would not take her from you like this, even by killing another. I have already disobeyed in other ways—what is one more time?”

  With a sigh, the ghost faded away, and Estin could feel the chill that accompanied it vanish slowly. It had truly let them live with no clear reason why. More than that, it had disobeyed a direct order from Dorralt.

  “He always was good man,” Turess said. “We had saying in my day that the good of a person does not die with them, but lives on so long as there are those who remember it. I still remember the good of this man, before my brother twisted him.”

  With a gasp, Arella collapsed.

  Estin immediately forgot what Turess had been saying. He ran, despite the pain in his leg, even as Arella hit the ground, clutching her side. Within seconds, Arella shuddered violently and lay still, and Estin could not feel any breath as he held his hand near her muzzle.

  “I can save her,” Estin announced to no one in particular, quickly glancing at Feanne to make sure her wounds were closed. She was already moving, putting her hands to her head as she began to wake. Taking that as a good sign, Estin checked for Arella’s pulse, but Turess grabbed his wrists and pulled him away.

  “She gave life by choice,” Turess said, tightening his grip when Estin tried to free himself. “Do not belittle decision by throwing your life away, too, when she made choice to spare you. Go to your wife. I will do what I can. Not everyone can or should be saved.”

  Estin fought to keep from shouting at him, but finally relented. Lowering his head, he nodded slightly, at which point Turess released his wrists. Reluctantly, Estin slid away from Arella and over to Feanne, whose eyelids were moving as though she might wake at any moment.

  Sliding his arms under Feanne, Estin pulled her up into a seated position, leaning her against him. Once she was upright, she shook her head as she opened her eyes, jerking as she came awake. In a second she re
laxed, putting one hand on Estin’s chest either to support herself or to acknowledge he was all that was keeping her from falling over.

  “I…the werewolves,” Feanne whispered, blinking hard. “All I remember was a flash of light. Where are my troops?”

  Estin brushed his fingers across the blood-matted fur on Feanne’s face, and she smiled, though she kept her eyes nearly shut. “Most of them are still out there.”

  “Most?” she asked even more softly, resting her cheek on Estin’s shoulder.

  Turning slightly, Estin gazed at Turess, who still knelt on the far side of Arella. As Estin looked, Turess gently closed Arella’s eyes. He lifted his head and met Estin’s eyes briefly, shaking his head as he did. An hour earlier, Estin had not even been sure a werewolf could die in battle. Now, the strongest of them lay dead.

  “Yes, most of them are still out there,” Estin repeated, sliding his other arm under her legs. “You can’t help them like this. We need to rest for a little while.”

  Feanne opened her mouth to argue, but when she looked up at him, she quickly closed her mouth again and reclined against Estin. He had expected that she would fight him about leaving the battle, but her sudden submission surprised him. When she did not say anything, he lifted her with a bit of effort and limped toward the more sheltered section of the woods. There, dozens of tents still stood, abandoned by their owners in light of the sudden attack. It did not take him long to find their tent, leaning slightly since its posts had been partially dislodged from the ground. Slipping inside, he sat down hard on the blankets they had left on the ground and pulled Feanne onto his lap to rest.

  Estin stroked Feanne’s fur near her ears as he closed his eyes to wait. It was not long before her whiskers twitched and she opened her eyes again. She looked around frantically for a second until she realized she was not in the battle anymore.

  Relaxing, she reclined into his arms. “How bad this time?” she asked eventually, picking at the crumbling, burned sections of her cotton shirt. “I remember a flash and the screams of the werewolves. Not much after. I…I think I woke briefly, but I am not sure.”

  “You almost died…again. I think you took a lightning bolt to the chest.”

  Feanne snickered at that, putting a hand to her ribs. “Why do we nearly wind up dead every time we go somewhere together? I’m starting to think you’re bad luck, Estin. I didn’t die this often before we met.”

  “Me?” he asked, digging his claws into her fur a little more forcefully, the way she did to him when he was being obstinate. “You still have more scars than I do, and you got most of them before we met.”

  “Somehow still your fault,” she said, grinning. She stared off at the wall of the tent as though seeing somewhere else. “I never thought I would say this, but I’m very tired of fighting. Why do you think that is?”

  “I could say old age, but that’ll get me hit. How about it’s nature’s way of telling you that you’ve taken more of a beating than anyone should endure and it’s time to stop? That and we’re both sick of watching the people we know die.”

  “I can accept that,” she replied, pulling one of his arms around her. “What will we do without the war? When it’s over and we can go back to the kits…what then? This is all I’ve ever known. I’ve been fighting since I was Oria’s age…younger, even.”

  Estin bent down and nuzzled the top of her head between her ears with his cheek and whiskers, making her ears flick away as he tickled them. “We’ll go home. That’s as far as I’ve thought. We both need to stop fighting. Maybe spend some time away together.”

  “Corraith isn’t home, Estin. I hate that place.”

  “It’s where the children are. It’s home until we find somewhere better. We’ll start looking for a new home as soon as we find them.”

  Looking up at him, she said, “I want a garden, Estin. I have no idea why…I have no desire to eat plants on a regular basis, but the thought of only having to worry about them seems somehow peaceful and calming. No one dying, no more wondering if you or I will wake up each day. Just plants, growing slowly. I think that’s what the ogre of the grove wanted, knowing that his time was coming. I want to find that kind of peace before I die.”

  “You’ll have a garden,” he promised. “Just a few more days of this and we’ll take the kits somewhere nice and we’ll make them help you build a garden. Then they can take care of us in our retirement.”

  Feanne’s quizzical look up at him through her lashes told him she had no idea what he meant.

  “Retirement…it’s a city thing,” he went on. “When someone is old enough that they don’t want to and don’t need to work anymore, they pass on their profession to someone younger and then they bully their children into caring for them.”

  “Have you met our children, Estin? Neither I nor my parents ever raised a kit who would watch out for much more than their own survival.”

  “We’ll teach them, then.”

  “Can you imagine Oria caring for us when we’re old?”

  “I can, but it makes me want to stay here with the army, Feanne.”

  Feanne laughed and nodded, resting her head against his chest and digging her fingers into his shirt and chest fur. Somewhere in the distance, a booming explosion told of ongoing battle. Sighing, Feanne said softly, “We have to go back down there soon.”

  “Soon. Not now. We’re both too weak to fight yet.”

  “It won’t matter how tired we are if the battle reaches us,” she insisted. “I will let you convince me to rest a little longer. After that, we will go win this war, with or without an army.”

  “Fine. I’ll win the war for you. Only because you asked nicely, though.”

  They lay there, listening to the screams and the never-ending rumbles of magic, until the sun rose and began to warm the tent.

  His thoughts roaming from one thing to another, Estin asked, “Why didn’t you shape-shift for the battle?”

  “I did,” she said into his shirt. “I changed back when I felt myself weakening. I needed all my strength when we got to the Turessians, and I wanted to save as much strength as I could for Dorralt himself. By the time we got close to their wizards, they were pounding all of us with magic, trying to kill the werewolves before they could get within reach. It was all I could do to stay ahead of them.”

  “You failed.”

  Feanne growled playfully and jabbed Estin in the chest with one of her sharp claws.

  A commotion outside drew Estin’s attention, and he slid from under her to poke his head out of the tent. She sat up and stretched her arm to test her strength.

  Outside, fifty or so soldiers were dropping back into the area with the tents. He could see several of the wildlings with them, and Turess beside Linn, though he had acquired a bad limp in the time since they had last spoken and his robes were grey with dust. Nearly every person Estin saw was nursing some form of injury.

  “Battle’s coming to us,” Estin said over his shoulder.

  “It always does,” she replied sadly, hopping to her feet. Taking a deep breath, she touched the exposed fur along her side and winced. “No more time for rest. It’s time to save the day again, Estin. One more time and then never again.”

  Estin drew his swords and stepped out of the tent, right into the heart of Linn’s remaining army. Linn showed no surprise as he motioned for Estin and Feanne to join him while he walked. It was not until they had gone a short distance that Estin noticed Linn’s chain armor was stained with blood and he had stuffed rags under it to staunch the bleeding. Somehow, Linn managed to look as strong and capable as ever.

  “We’ve been cut off from our best warriors,” Linn explained as he threw aside his shield, which Estin realized was burned and had several deep gashes in it. “Werewolves are on the far side of the undead, along with a group of dwarves, the bears, and the damn toughest badgers I’ve ever seen. What you see here is all I can count on having left.”

  Estin stared in horror at the hundred soldier
s who had pushed back into the camp area. They had entered the fight with nearly nine hundred, and even with a decently sized group separated from them, it meant their losses were incredible. He could not even fathom losing so many that quickly. Guilt nagged at him, even knowing he would have likely just died with them with as weak as he had been earlier. Even now, his hands shook slightly.

  “What can we do?” Estin asked.

  Feanne ran off to bark orders at a group of soldiers who was having difficulty keeping their weapons up. She would motivate them through a show of her own strength, no matter how weak she actually felt.

  “Do?” Linn laughed sadly. “You can pray to whatever you believe in. Anything else is just buying time. There are thousands more of them coming. They will sweep over us and leave nothing behind.”

  Estin saw many of the wounded soldiers and those who were normally not warriors were kneeling near the back of the lines. They all whispered prayers to whoever their people worshipped. Those who remained in the front line made gestures of supplication to their gods. Many of those who did not appear to be in prayer held items such as small pictures or similarly personal memorabilia. Everyone was settling their affairs, knowing death was coming.

  Looking up at the sky as he sought words of his own, Estin saw the shimmer of the mists nearly enveloping the whole region. Only small patches of blue sky remained open. It was somehow eerily fitting that the mists had taken even the beauty of the dawn sky from him. If they were all going to die here and now, the gods the humans always claimed were looking down on them would see nothing. Everything they did here would be forgotten in the face of the Turessian armies.

  “Kerrelin,” he whispered, closing his eyes tight enough that they hurt. If nothing else, it kept others from seeing the tears he was fighting. They did not need to know he was on the verge of breaking. “Whatever, whoever, and wherever you are, find a way out of this for us. Not for me and not for Feanne, but so that our children do not grow up alone. So that all the children of those here today don’t grow up alone like I did. Let me see my children one last time, if only to say good-bye. If you exist…give us this.”