Bones of the Empire Page 6

  Beyond the Turessians, a second ring of “people” kept drawing his eye. These were similarly dressed, though they did not watch him—or anything else, for that matter. They were undead, kept so nearly intact that if he did not look at their eyes, he might not have known they were dead at all. The walking corpses followed families around, and he could see resemblances that hinted at them being the elderly relatives of the still-living people in the circle around him. Each time his eyes drifted back to them, his stomach clenched as he tried to prevent himself from remembering the thousands of undead that had overwhelmed Lantonne. A nearly instinctual urge to attack them forced him to ignore that group.

  Farther down the hill, a large group of people were watching in a more disorganized throng. These were not just humans like the Turessians around him, but the group contained halflings, dwarves, elves, and even a few marked Turessians. They were the slaves or slave-caste, as Yiral called them. They came no closer than about fifty feet away, though Yoska and Dalania stood at the front of that group, watching him nervously. A single Turessian stood between them and the main group of humans, acting as some kind of barrier to them approaching farther. Apparently someone had reasoned out that either Raeln might try to go to them or they would try to get to him.

  “So how does this work?” Raeln asked, flexing his fingers nervously. His stomach hurt terribly even after days of rest, but the chance to somehow free himself of these people was enticing. If he were very lucky, he might find a way to run with his friends and escape into the woods nearby. Dalania’s magic might hide them from anyone pursuing, giving them time to reach deeper sections of the forest.

  “Your challenger will come to you, and the two of you must prove your wisdom. I will be interested to see if there is anything you can manage here. We do not expect you to win, but if you can prove to be capable, there is a chance that someone will take you on as an apprentice. That is unlikely. At best, expect that if you can prove yourself, you will be elevated to caireth, as no one will want to educate a wildling, especially of late.”

  “What is a caireth?”

  “The most literal way I can say it is ‘house servant.’ As I told you, your options are limited as a wildling. I am already doing more than I likely should by letting you engage in a challenge meant for people.”

  Raeln looked over at Yiral for some hint she might be joking, but she was too excited to give him much. She had been practically giddy since he had said he would perform the challenge. That concerned him even more than the large group of enemies around him.

  “She’s here!” Yiral exclaimed a moment later, nodding toward the far side of the circle.

  Raeln searched the Turessians along that edge of the ring and saw no one new entering the area other than a young girl with shaved scalp, perhaps twelve years old. The robed girl had only a single tattoo between her brows, unlike the adults, with their many runewords that ran down to their cheekbones. That girl walked past the rest of the gathered Turessians and stopped opposite Raeln. She took a deep breath and then bowed to him, watching him nervously.

  “Am I supposed to debate her or answer obscure questions or something?” asked Raeln, now thoroughly confused. “She’s not much taller than my waist…surely you don’t want me to fight her.”

  “Oh, this is very much a battle,” Yiral told him, laughing. “Prove your wisdom against hers. She will not kill you. Just do your best, Raeln. Bow when you are ready for her to attack.”

  Rolling his shoulders and stepping forward, Raeln winced as he met the eyes of the little dark-skinned human girl. This was hardly what he had expected. He was not even certain he could hit her without hating himself for the rest of his life. Turessian or not, she was a child. He would have to subdue her and hope that was enough for these people.

  Rising to his full height, Raeln attempted to intimidate the girl in the hope that she might run. She did not back off, though he could see the fear in her eyes. It would have to do. Swallowing nervously, he bowed.

  The girl was suddenly a rush of motion as she began forming a spell with overly broad hand gestures that reminded Raeln of his sister’s early days of training in magic. The spell was so obvious in its creation that he easily danced aside as the snow exploded where he had been standing.

  Running at the girl, Raeln tightened one hand into a fist, hoping he would not need to hit her, but only jar her to break her concentration. Before he made it another step, invisible ropes snared him, constricting his chest and stomach before slamming him to the ground. As he fell, the girl backed away, wide-eyed and whimpering.

  “No physical violence!” Yiral shouted somewhere behind Raeln as the ropes vanished. He was free again, but even more confused about what they wanted from him.

  Raeln only had a second to tumble sideways as the Turessian child flung her hands toward him, sending up another spray of snow as magical force tore into the ground. His mind raced, trying to think through his training over the years on how to fight a wizard, though he had to dismiss everything that involved running up and striking them. He would have to defend himself somehow, but without any way to fight back, all he could do was stall and hope the child tired more quickly than he did.

  Lunging to get out of the way of another blast, Raeln cried out as something in his stomach tore. His wounds were not as healed as he had thought, and he immediately felt blood cover his side and fur. Gasping for breath, he tried not to show his pain as he watched her for cues of when she would strike next.

  The girl did not disappoint him, making obvious motions for the next spell.

  Pain was starting to slow Raeln. He knew he had to find some way to work through it or the child might well kill him by accident. He could endure a little while longer, but blood loss would eventually catch up with him.

  Raeln’s mind raced through his teachers’ lessons over the years, quickly casting aside all of the ones about weapon usage, training with heavy armor, and ways to kill a foe with minimal effort. He needed something less lethal and more likely to keep him going until the child had exhausted herself and fell over.

  He narrowly avoided another spell, this one grazing his leg and numbing his knee. Swearing softly, he stumbled as he tried to regain his balance. His thoughts darted to On’esquin’s brief training sessions almost a month earlier. The man had cracked Raeln on the same knee with his spear.

  The thought of On’esquin brought Raeln’s thoughts to a conversation they had near the end of their journey together. On’esquin had been adamant that Raeln regain his calm, and that had led them toward discussing Raeln’s various teachers…and one in particular.

  The elderly teacher had been crazy and a lecherous drunk, but he had always babbled about fighting in a relaxed state, moving fluidly to avoid the attacks of others, largely to preserve his own strength until he was ready to strike. That filthy old man had a reputation for his ability to cripple even the finest warrior without much effort, and had claimed he was untouchable by the greatest of wizards. Or rather, he had made those claims when he had not been preaching about how the people of Raeln’s village should spend more time worshipping the old gods. Raeln had given that training little thought, despite On’esquin’s interest in it, but now he fought to reclaim as much as he could of the man’s teachings before the next spell went off.

  Here, conservation of movement would allow Raeln to keep going far longer, and any chance of dealing with a spellcaster that did not involve punching the girl would be worth a try. Most of the old man’s training had focused on avoiding getting speared, but he was certainly willing to try against spells. He needed to minimize his movement if he were going to keep the fight going, and doing so might stall long enough for the Turessian child to wear herself down. This would become a fight of endurance.

  The principle was simple. Be somewhere else when the spear—or spell—reached you, but not far from where you began. Minimal movement preserved one’s strength. Use the enemy’s strength against them…though against magic, things we
re never that simple. There was no physical weapon to react to. He had done this enough times against Liris without thinking about it that he knew it was possible. He just needed to find a way to do it in a prolonged way without fighting back.

  Raeln held his position across from the child, knowing he had to be precise with his timing or he would be doing little more than throwing the fight. He watched the ground, keeping his mind empty as he waited for the child to begin casting her next spell. Seconds later, he saw her fingers go through the motions of tying together the strands of magic she intended to use on him. The girl was patient but predictable, using the same spell repeatedly to try and bruise him into submission.

  Waiting for the telltale pressure at the back of his mind that always preceded a spell erupting near him, Raeln turned sideways, instinctually making a deflecting motion as though the spell were a physical thing, the way he had been taught to defend against a spear. He felt the spell numb the pads of his hands, but he avoided it and the spell crashed into the snow again. The next spell came at him before he had recovered from the last, forcing him to dig his toes into the snow for balance as he tried again to escape the spell. This time he felt as though a club had slammed into his arms as he narrowly avoided it, but the spell went wide again, spraying snow into the crowd. If anything, the spell had wound up farther from him than the previous one, despite less movement on his part.

  The pain in Raeln’s shoulders from barely avoiding the spells made him think. He had side-stepped spells and a few magically thrown objects dozens if not hundreds of times growing up with a mischievous sister. Most of her magic had revolved around flames, making it something he wanted far from his fur, but this little girl was using a different type of magic. It had weight and substance, as evidenced by the bruises he felt on his arms and hands. Where there was something solid, there was the chance to use it as a weapon against a foe, as he had shown his sister when she made the mistake of throwing a chair at him when they were young. To the day of her death, Ilarra had sported a scar on her collarbone from that tussle.

  Panting and trying to stay on his feet, Raeln dug in as the little girl wove her next spell. He had no intention of going anywhere this time. He would act on his hunch or lose the fight in the process. Odds were that he would not last long without doing something. His strength was fading fast as the pain in his side dwarfed his ability to ignore it. Warmth had spread down his side to his hip, the wound bleeding freely. Another minute or two and he would become dizzy, and that would be the end of the fight.

  The spell went off, blurring the space between the Turessian girl and Raeln, the air thickening with force that would likely take him off his feet or possibly break bones. He reacted to it the way he had been taught, treating it little differently than a swung club, though he had to defend against it as much with his mind as his arms, given that it was virtually invisible.

  Magical force slammed into Raeln’s arms, and he swept it aside, turning it the way he would twist a foe’s arm to divert their momentum. Pain flared across his arms and shoulders with the strain of holding on to the magic, and he cried out as he released his hold on the spell, intending to hurl it into the crowd in the hope that it would create enough of a distraction that he could run. To his surprise, the girl he had been facing went flying and crashed to the ground at the feet of several scowling Turessians. She groaned and tried to get up, but fell onto her back with her lip and nose bloodied.

  Weakened to the point of collapse, Raeln wanted to run while attention was on the girl, but the ring of people never opened. He looked out toward Dalania and Yoska and realized both were gesturing frantically for him to stop. His momentum gone, he dropped to his knees as the girl’s parents carried her away. To Raeln’s surprise, they did not appear even remotely angry with him, though there was a sternness directed toward the unconscious girl he remembered from his own mother’s firm scolding. She was going to be lectured for losing the fight.

  People in the ring gradually scattered, some gathering over near Yiral. Others left the area, taking some of the slaves with them. Soon only a handful of men and women remained near Yiral, and only Yoska and Dalania remained down the hillside. Why they had not run, Raeln could not imagine. They just stood there, with Dalania wringing her hands nervously and Yoska tapping a foot as though he had any right or ability to hurry the Turessians or Raeln along.

  Yiral came over to Raeln and slowly took a knee beside him, wincing as her joint cracked with the effort. “The family heads have spoken about you, and to my surprise, much of it was good, though sadly not all,” she said, lowering her hood despite the chill winds that made even Raeln’s face cold. Her long grey hair flapped around her head as she beamed at him. “A few months ago, they would have gladly argued over which family you could serve. Now, things are different and none want that responsibility. That leaves it up to me to keep watch over you, or you must be returned to the slave-caste.”

  “I will not be called a slave. Kill me if you have to, but don’t ever call me that.”

  Yiral smirked at that and quickly added, “If you were brought into my house as a servant, your life would be pleasant until the council’s patrols came to visit. The moment they saw you, they would execute you. To avoid this fate, you will be my slave—”

  “I said, I will not be a slave!”

  “—along with both of your friends. Invaders are normally not allowed to be kept together, but I see no other way. I am not a wealthy woman and only have one slave house. If you will indulge my poverty, you will be reunited with your friends out of necessity…though I must say, after today’s performance, I feel you have earned it. Will that be enough to calm the storm of anger you feel?”

  Raeln eyed the woman, searching for some trick in what she was doing.

  Instead, she motioned for him to go to Yoska and Dalania, bowing her head to him graciously.

  Getting his feet under him—a rather difficult action, with both arms bruised to the point they shook and his stomach still aching and bleeding—Raeln stumbled down the slope toward Dalania and Yoska. As soon as he reached them, Dalania grabbed his arm and pulled him along. Yoska took the lead, watching the sparse trees with narrowed eyes, as though he expected an ambush. With both of them unarmed, Raeln honestly found Dalania to be far more ready for an attack than Yoska.

  “What’s going on?” Raeln asked, glancing back to see Yiral alone on the hillside, watching them go. The woman certainly did look like she was evaluating their worth. “She—”

  “Shut up!” snapped Dalania, tugging him hard enough that he nearly fell.

  They led Raeln rapidly through the patch of woods and into the slave village, where the few dozen small huts either had smoke rising from makeshift chimneys or out open windows. Through several of those windows, Raeln saw elves and dwarves watching him, as well as two orcs. They continued past those huts, steering him to one in the middle of the village. Yoska rushed inside while Dalania stopped Raeln outside the door.

  “Is clear,” Yoska announced a second later, and Dalania hurried Raeln in and closed the door behind them.

  “Now can I ask what in the hells is happening?” Raeln demanded, nearly collapsing as he sat on the floor of the mostly empty room. There were four mats with blankets set up around the edge of the place, plus one large rug at the center, where he would have hoped to see a fire pit. “Shouldn’t they be skinning us or calling Liris in to finish the job?”

  “Yes, they should,” Dalania admitted, sitting on one of the mats directly opposite Yoska. She could not have chosen a spot farther from him, and Raeln knew her well enough to know it was intentional. “From what the other slaves mentioned, that actually is an edict by the council. A few weeks ago, a group of the council’s people rode into this clanhold and executed the clan’s orcs and wildlings. It very nearly started a war on the spot. This was the last clan to keep any slaves of those races, and none of the ones here now have been here more than a week, from what we’ve heard. They’re collecting
the slaves they were supposed to execute.”

  “Then why protect me? And didn’t I see orcs in the other huts?” asked Raeln, flexing his fingers. Every bone in his arms felt bruised.

  Yoska peeked out the windows before closing the shutters tightly. “All orcs are new to this clan. There is also one wildling, and he is new too. They were traded to this clan from others. The price negotiated was a pledge of aid in every case. Is rather curious, no? Why go out of your way to accept forbidden slaves for no payment?”

  “Where are the others? Estin, Feanne, Turess…”

  Dalania shook her head and pulled a thin blanket to her chin. “We lost them in the fight. I saw Estin fall with a bolt in his chest. Feanne took several, and even she can’t take that bad of a wound without a healer. I don’t think they made it. Turess ran when the order was given, but I don’t know if he made far. There was blood everywhere…”

  Groaning and flopping onto his back, Raeln tried not to think about the aches in his body or the puffs of steam each time he exhaled in the cold hut. “Can we run? The slave camp is almost a mile from their main village.”

  “No, is bad idea,” Yoska answered. “Village taught slaves that they are rewarded for defending the clan. That includes stopping those who would run. Other slaves would kill us. Is very clever to make the slaves enslave one another Is not so bad, though. Turessians are quite nice, at least so far.”

  “The fool gave some customary gypsy greeting, and they knew the other half,” Dalania said, rolling her eyes. “Not that it stopped them from sending us to carry wood immediately afterward. I think he amused Yiral, which is why she claimed us. If he’d kept his mouth shut, we might have been left with someone less concerned about what we do each day.”

  Yoska clicked his tongue at that. “It would not have stopped gypsy from killing us if we were talking to a cousin either. Is just nice to know they are not too uncivil, no?”