Bones of the Empire (45 page)

“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 whim, 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.

“There, is not so hard, no?” Yoska asked, sighing as he walked away to grab another cup. “We have work cut out for us, Raeln. You are not only person with no idea how to have fun. My children will tell stories for generations of the day I make Turessian clans actually smile. Shameful, yes? I think Turessians are failure at enjoying themselves.”

To Raeln’s amazement, at that simple challenge, the majority of the Turessians hurriedly found mugs and got themselves a drink. They seemed entirely unwilling to be looked down upon, even for something they would have been happy to proclaim was how it had always been right up to that moment. One even filled a second mug and brought it to Raeln. The wildlings, orcs, dwarves, and other slave races crept forward to get their own drinks and bits of food from the piles of bread and meat Yoska had the Turessians bringing out. It took only minutes, and many of the tensions of the camp were easing, despite the different clans and factions still only mingling with their own kind.

“Is not meant to be held,” Yoska chided, pointing at Raeln’s cup as he hurried over. He had assigned ownership of the barrels to a stout dwarven man, who sat atop a barrel, giving orders to anyone who would listen. “Is meant to be empty at every chance.”

Raeln lifted the mug to sniff it, but Yoska clamped a hand over the top.

“We do not have good kind of drink here to enjoy,” he warned, grinning nervously. “Is best not to smell it. Turessian ale is not good for nose. You are big man…is small cup. Empty it quickly and we talk about big important plans or something. Drink first, sniff something later. I find something you like to sniff at, no?”

Hesitating, Raeln looked between the cup and Yoska, occasionally letting his attention drift to several other wildlings, who were starting to mingle nearby. He finally had enough of Yoska staring at him expectantly and pulled the cup out from under Yoska’s hand. Downing the drink, Raeln immediately wished he had never agreed to the whole situation. The liquid burned and made him gag, nearly coughing it right back up in the process. When he finally did choke it down, his head spun almost immediately.

“The plans…” Raeln said, blinking rapidly to keep his senses about him. For some reason, he felt as though merely having his tail wag might tip him over.

“Yes, is great plan,” Yoska explained, yanking Raeln’s mug out of his hand and replacing it with another full one. “You will argue if you have not had another. Trust me…would I lead you wrong?”

Wincing as he lifted the cup, Raeln quickly said, “I’m absolutely certain you would.”

“Is an insult from sober man. Drink the ale or I take offense.”

Raeln drank the second cup, which was far easier than the first. He had to put a hand on Yoska’s shoulder to keep himself from stumbling.

“We discuss over game of cards,” Yoska said, guiding Raeln toward a group of elves, dwarves, the bear wildling Raeln had helped earlier that day, and another wolf wildling Raeln had not met yet. When they arrived, Raeln realized Yoska had already put another mug in his hand and was shuffling a deck of cards. “Rules are simple. Most matching color in hand wins. All others drink. Is no real loser. I will talk about plans when you win hand, Raeln.”

Raeln held up the mug, staring at the way the firelight danced on the ale. Then he realized the others around the campfire were holding up their own cups in salute. His ears prickling nervously, he realized he had just inadvertently started a toast or similar custom.

“To our freedom and your victory,” said the other male wolf, getting a grunt of approval from the rest of the group. “The slaves of Turessi will follow you wherever you will lead us.”

Smiling halfheartedly, Raeln drank about half of the next cup politely in imitation of the others as they applauded him. Within seconds, Yoska had shoved cards into his hands and had somehow gotten someone to refill his cup.

The whole game seemed to be a blur of nonsense, making Raeln’s head hurt. By the third hand, he could no longer remember the vague rules and was fairly certain Yoska had changed them at least twice. Struggling to keep his head clear, he sipped at his drink and adjusted the cards in his other hand, trying to focus on the colors painted on each.

A few drinks later, Raeln was no longer sure if he was awake or asleep, and the whole world felt as if it were spinning around him far too quickly. Distantly, he kept hearing Yoska laughing about him losing the game.

*

Raeln woke gradually, wincing as the sunlight crept across his face from the open window of the hut. For a moment, he could not remember where he was or how he had gotten there. Then he soon made out the familiar scents of his mud-packed hut, built for him by the Turessians when they had camped last. Knowing he was somewhere safe gave him some small bit of relief, even if he could not quite convince himself to open his eyes, lest the pounding in his head grow any worse—if that were even possible. He had taken blows to the head that he had been told should have killed him that had hurt less.

Rolling over, Raeln tried to hide himself from the sunlight, and in doing so, he ran into something warm and solid next to him. His senses slowly woke up, letting him know he was naked under his blanket and his whole body was pressed against the fur of another person. He jumped up in shock, trying not to yelp.

The wolf wildling from the card game lay beside him, still asleep. He had worn rags when Raeln had seen him during the night, though judging by feel, they were both undressed under the blanket. With the man on his side, Raeln could see the deep scars of a slave’s brand on his shoulder.