Bones of the Empire (52 page)

“Can and will you fight him?”

“I will,” Turess answered, and Estin saw no deceit in him. “Dorralt is only one who would know what happened to my wife and is the one who took my empire from me. He has twisted all the good I have done to his own ends. I cannot leave that unpunished, no matter who he is. We built this together, but that does not give him right to kill those in our old lands.”

“And if you die? What do we do then?”

Turess’s brows crinkled and he looked down at the ground. “I may not have magic, but I have much knowledge of how these things were created. If I die, all the strength we brought will not matter one bit. I believe another could figure out anything I can, but can they do it in time? I spent my whole life studying the magic of life and have tried to learn more in the last few weeks. Another would be forced to figure out how the magic works without benefit of any of that. I would trust you to learn this, just not in the time we have.”

Sitting up and studying Turess as the last of the pain faded from his head, Estin asked, “You seriously think an uneducated street wildling could learn anything I’ve seen or heard of you doing? Exaggerated or not, your tricks are holding the mists back for now.”

Smiling, Turess nodded. “I do. You are not stupid man, Estin. Besides, I was slave for most of my younger years. We are more alike than you seem to wish to believe, yes?” Turess held out a hand to help Estin up, which Estin eyed with surprise and confusion.

“What about not touching people?”

“Is not so much a rule as a custom,” Turess explained, grabbing Estin’s arm and pulling him up. “Was a stupid custom anyway. They said it was my idea, but I was still trying to learn how to be with people without being hurt as I had been when I was a slave. By the time I wished contact with others, my people had made these strange rules in my name. I think that rule should die out, as I should have many years ago. Everything is meant to change and disappear with the passing of years…do not tell that to Mairlee.”

Estin limped back toward the middle of the circles and piles of books strewn across the hilltop, his hip bothering him suddenly after so long being tolerable. He picked up one of the books and eyed the flowing Turessian runewords that filled it, realizing he could not read whatever filled its pages. “I don’t speak ancient Turessian, but can I do anything to help?”

“Matter of the facts, you can,” Turess answered, sitting on one of the stones that dotted the hilltop. “Before we start that, you do know is not called Turessian?”

“Been meaning to ask you that. What is it called?”

Turess smirked and shrugged. “Was a dialect of the local orc clans. Has changed much over the years, but is still orcish.”

“Not something I would have guessed, given the dislike of orcs.”

“Is true, though. On to more important things. Did Yoska, On’esquin, or even Raeln talk much about the prophecies?”

“The prophecies you made? They did on occasion. I won’t claim I always listened.”

“Good man,” Turess replied, rubbing at his bruised throat. “Normally I would say ignore any prophecy you hear. This time, I need your help. All memory of the prophecies is gone from me. I need you to tell me whatever you recall them saying as closely to the same wording as you can.”

“How will that help us?”

“It might not,” Turess laughed. “It very well might not help at all. However, my people and my brother think they will, so I wish to use those words against them. If they plan for things from prophecy, we will do opposite.”

“Into the Maw”

“I tell you, has no meaning,” Yoska insisted, flapping the unrolled prophecy parchments in front of Raeln’s face. “Is meaningless babble about end times. Every culture has such nonsense stories. Just because we meet man who wrote these does not make them make more sense, no? When I drink, I say many profound things, but no one believes them to be prophecy.”

Raeln turned slowly to one side and then the other, seeing the anger and frustration across a dozen Turessian faces. These men and women were about ready to kill Yoska where he stood—and not only because he was insulting Turess’s prophecies. Many of them had brothers, sisters, or children that Yoska had married off to members of other clans during his party. Raeln had spent hours trying to avoid having the entire army descend into infighting once everyone had sobered up. By the rules of honor in the clans, they would abide by the marriages, even if they were more than willing to kill Yoska for instigating them. Raeln had gotten off easy, only finding someone in his bed. He had initially worried about losing respect from the clans, but Yoska had created enough chaos that everyone had other concerns.

“Translate it,” Raeln growled, finally managing to cut through Yoska’s ranting long enough that he seemed to notice the stares from the Turessians. “They tell me it is important, and I want to know specifics. Few of these people speak ancient Turessian. You learned it from someone who lived then. Translate.”

Muttering under his breath, Yoska flattened out the parchment on the table they were using to discuss tactics. He skimmed briefly, apparently trying to find the right spot, before saying, “The text says…no, no, is miswritten here. Usually it says man of black and white, but here says ‘men.’ Only difference is one of the little flicks of the quill, so is mistake. But what it says is ‘The man of black and white will bring the setting sun and find their way open, while the great northern beast will lead the dawn or watch a final sunset as he saw in the south.’ Is nonsense, yes?”

Looking to Yiral, who had kept quiet through most of the arguing, Raeln asked, “What would be the most accurate translation?”

The old woman thought a moment before saying, “The men of—or in—black and white will come from the sunset, while the animal will come from the sunrise. The parts about the open way and final sunset I do not understand. The word choice on the animal normally means ‘dire wolf.’”

“Sunset in the south,” Raeln thought aloud, rubbing at his jaw as he paced near the table. “The fall of Lantonne. The soldiers called it the ‘Sunset of Humanity’ in their melodramatic and drunken moments. If we don’t figure this out, we will see that degree of destruction again.”

Clicking his tongue in annoyance, Yoska said, “You did not believe in prophecy few months ago, no? Why so much meaning now?”

“Because if we don’t find a way to win this, we won’t get another chance, and I don’t know if anyone else ever will. Prophecy or not, we need some direction. This is all I have, so I intend to do what I can to follow Turess’s direction.”

“I see,” Yoska said, shrugging. “Is good enough for me, but now you sound like magic dead green man, you know this?”

Trying not to think about On’esquin, Raeln answered, “He had two thousand years to think on the prophecies. Maybe he knew better than all of us.”

“Better than gypsy and wise northern woman?” Yoska argued, motioning toward Yiral. “We are smart, but not smarter than orc with millennia to ponder things. I worry few days is not enough to figure out the meaning of this part, let alone rest of very long and very dry writings.”

“Let me worry about that,” Raeln said, a little more firmly than he meant to. “What else have the two of you found in there?”

Coming up beside Raeln and Yoska and then flipping a page ahead in the prophecy, Yiral said, “Much of it is clearly rambling. The difficulty is separating that from the actual prophecy. I believe he was half-mad by this point. Here he talks about the desiccated remains of the empire. He had moved his capital to these lands shortly before his death. The temple’s pillars are still called the bones of the temple, which I doubt is coincidence. I would take the rambling to indicate that whatever comes after would only matter if we were within the temple. Given that we already intend to go there, it works out well.

“The next thing he goes into, after talking about a wife there is no record of—who he talks about for almost a page—is looking upon the writing of the magi and the reborn forests. Either could have thousands of meanings, even to our people, let alone his. Given that this refers to something happening at the temple, I seriously doubt to see a forest inside its walls. There is something figurative to it.

“He babbles for much of the section about watching the sky rain fire of the gods’ tears…again, madness. I can pick nothing of value out of this. Turessians do not believe in gods, and for all the magic in these lands, the sky cannot be made to rain fire.

“The last page speaks of failure,” she continued, closing the parchment roll without reaching that page, as though she were avoiding it. “There are two clear outcomes.”

“And they are?” Raeln demanded, crossing his arms. “I’ve come this far. You can’t scare me off now.”

Eyeing him as though she thought otherwise, Yiral said softly, “Either the armies, the gods, and all people will die in sparing the world, or the world will be swept clean and given over to the dead. Likely, Dorralt makes his decisions based on this. It is the only reason one of our people would raise an army of the dead to fight for them. All indications are that an army of undead was the only way he could gain victory by way of the prophecies.”

Raeln grabbed the parchment roll and shoved it into his belt. “On’esquin told me once that this is a guide, not the only way. Turess did not know all the outcomes. He only saw a way to get there and what would happen if that way failed. We will write our own ending to this. I will not let a scrap of paper tell me what will happen.”

“And yet you take paper’s advice?” Yoska asked, quickly lowering his eyes when Raeln turned on him.

“Enough,” Raeln snapped. “Generals…I want you here, now.”

The representatives of the various clans hurried forward, crowding in around the table.

“What are our options?”

“Few from what the scouts have seen,” said one of the men, laying out a large map of the region. Hills and deep ravines were clearly marked, but unlike any map Raeln had seen of the south, there were no cities anywhere. Given the roaming nature of the Turessian clans, he understood, but it was still surprising. The only item marked on the map, other than hazards, was the temple. “There are armies of ancestors here, here, here, and there,” he said, pointing. “We can go several ways to the temple. The clans recommend circling around to the west and coming in that way, where the land will not hinder us and the winds will keep most storms from us. However, there were thousands of ancestors already marching that way days ago. It will be a difficult fight.”

“How much time will we lose?”

“A week, maybe more. Perhaps a second week fighting through the ancestors.”

“What about this route?” Raeln asked, tracing a line through the hills with his claw.

“Already twenty thousand ancestors.”

“And here?”

“Fifteen thousand.”

Raeln stared at the man as though he was making up numbers, but several of the other Turessians whispered their agreement. Touching another spot almost at random, he asked again, “Here?”

“That way is through the holdings of the Irasha clan, who have the honor of protecting the temple and council. They are the largest clan and will resist us. Any who have refused to obey are likely among the ancestors now.”

“How bad would that clan be to fight?”

The man’s abruptly raised eyebrows told Raeln all he needed to know.

Picking up the map and staring at it, he searched for any other way. Finally, he spotted a narrow route through some of the largest groupings of hazards, coming in from the east of the temple. “What about here? It’s close to where we are now and will save us days of marching. It looks like it’s no more than two or three days’ hike.”

The Turessian actually laughed and pointed out the location Raeln had indicated for the others. They, too, openly laughed, until finally one of them spoke up.

“War leader, that is not a route anyone would take. It is some of the roughest terrain in all of Turessi and is filled with creatures that do not roam elsewhere. Only a madman would go that way. Even Turess himself forbade travel through that region. It is known as the Maw by most clans for the way it consumes those who enter it. I know of no one who has survived crossing it. There is no point in trying.”

“Then that’s the way we go,” Raeln declared, feeling the entire area chill as breaths were held and the laughter cut off abruptly. “If no Turessian would go that way, it will be the least guarded. I would rather fight a thousand creatures that breathe than a thousand that do not. We will come in from the east.”

“It could take us days to pass through that area,” a man pointed out.

Shaking his head, Raeln replied, “It will take us a week or more to march around the temple and fight our way through an army, if we even succeed. A day or two in the Maw is much faster.”

“But the north is somewhat less dangerous,” pleaded one woman, who quickly lowered her hood to hide her face when Raeln growled at her.

“We come from the east,” Raeln repeated, throwing the map at the man who had brought it. “You call me your battle leader, so I am giving you an order. If you wish to divide the army and have us all die to the undead, do so. Until then, you will obey my orders. Come get me when we are ready to march. I want everything in motion before daybreak.”

Raeln turned and left, continuing to walk while people called out to him in an attempt to argue further. He headed for his tent at first, but then realized he really had no desire to go back to Somn, who tended to faun over him when he was home, brushing his fur and suggesting clothing that he thought accented Raeln’s patterning. The man meant well and Raeln was grateful for his company, but he wanted to see Dalania. She had been distant ever since they had left Jnodin, keeping to herself as he prepared the army.

Asking several Turessians for directions as he passed, Raeln navigated through the camp, barely noticing the white flashes of fur he saw off to his left, where the bear wildling shadowed him. The huge man had backed off at Raeln’s insistence, but he never got more than fifty feet away. Deep down, Raeln appreciated having someone watch his back, given that Yoska was busy watching Ceran’s backside and Dalania was always off alone.

Raeln approached the tent where Dalania had last been seen. Back home he would have called out or found some other way to make noise to announce himself. But the Turessians considered privacy a fairly abstract concept and preferred the direct approach. Poking his head inside, he found a young Turessian couple with the boy he and Dalania had rescued from Jnodin. Raeln had seen Dalania with them days prior and had guessed she was trying to get them to adopt the boy. Apparently it had gone better than he had expected.

“Have you seen Dalania?” he asked.

The woman shook her head and apologized, and the man thought for a moment.

“Yes,” the man finally answered. “I believe I saw her out by the watering hole a few hours ago. She is often there with woodland animals. The hunters keep asking if they are allowed to hunt there, but the risk is too great near our only water source. I believe they find the number of animals that visit her to be infuriating.”

Thanking them, Raeln slipped out of the tent and made his way across part of the camp to a section they had far less security around. A warm spring provided more than enough water, even for the ever-growing army. Despite the bitter cold of Turessi, the pond never froze, steaming endlessly.

Dalania had been insistent on them allowing wild animals access to it, lessening his surprise that she chose that spot to hide from the clans. Had the hunters insisted on patrolling there, Raeln would have already heard about the fight that came of it.