Sunset of Lantonne (91 page)

Around him, he heard others offering up similar thanks to the gods, old and new. Nearly everyone joined in hurried prayers except Phillith, who was watching the direction the dragons had gone, and an orc soldier, who was on his knees several feet down the wall clutching his head. The rest looked terrified but happy the dragons had gone past without attacking them as well.

His face crinkled with both age and contemplation, Phillith finally asked, “Why did they go to the keep? Think maybe the magisters called them? The fight’s out here, not in there.”

Raeln glanced over his shoulder at the tower, where he could see neither of the dragons that had flown in that direction. It was as though they had vanished. “I’ve been in the keep a few times in the last few months and haven’t seen the magisters at all,” he admitted, keeping his voice low to prevent others from hearing. “I don’t even know if they’re helping anymore. I’m willing to bet there’s fight enough inside there.”

“Lovely. We’ve got old gods and no wizards. This can’t end well,” the commander muttered, then limped toward a group of soldiers that had stopped firing on the enemy below to watch the dragons. “Yeah, they’re dragons, you idiots! You thought I’d trust this city to the likes of you? Keep firing!”

Raeln checked the other parts of the wall, looking for where he could be of the most help. Most of the defenders were accompanied by one or more soldiers, helping either with their weapons or picking targets. Farther down past the gate, he spotted Greth walking along behind one of the groups of former slaves, shouting orders at them that they appeared to be obeying. It seemed to amuse Greth to no end to be bossing about furless, specifically.

Turning to head the other way up the wall and lend a hand to the few defenders in an area that had been badly damaged by the Turessian girl, Raeln stopped to help the orcish man still clutching his head. All around him, the other soldiers and townsfolk continued to fire down at the undead, letting the orc deal with his own issues.

As he approached, Raeln could see the man was powerfully built, with arms that looked strong enough to break stones easily. Even his attire spoke of service in someone’s military—Raeln could not be sure whose, as the man wore some form of fitted robe under a suit of heavily reinforced, layered black leather armor that was of no style he was familiar with. The man was weaponless, but scars across the visible sections of his green skin spoke of many battles in the past. He groaned and covered his face, clasping his hands to his temples.

“Are you alright?” Raeln asked, kneeling beside him. “Show me your wounds.”

“I have no wounds,” answered the man, shying away from Raeln’s touch. “The noise…I can barely hear. There are too many…”

Raeln perked his ears and listened to the relatively quiet attack by the undead. Without any need for shouting orders to one another, they made little more than a steady groan and rustling of their movement. Even the defenders were mostly silent, concentrating on firing arrows into the enemy below.

“I’ve seen duels that made more noise than this,” noted Raeln, then grabbed the orc’s arm despite efforts to avoid being touched. He tried to pull the man upright, but instead, the orc pulled Raeln down to be level with him.

The orc slowly lifted his head, keeping one hand to his forehead and the other clasped firmly on Raeln’s arm. “You’re calm,” the man told Raeln without looking up. “Everywhere else, there is panic and worry in such abundance. In you, I hear only silent acceptance. How do you do this?”

All around, Raeln could see what the man was speaking of reflected on the faces of every warrior he looked at. They might not be making noise as the man had said, but they were certainly worried. Even Greth’s demeanor gave off true fear, though he hid it well…not well enough to conceal it from Raeln, but well, nonetheless.

“I’m as scared as anyone out here,” he told the orc, who slowly slid backwards to prop his back against the battlements while keeping his eyes and much of his face covered. Only his jaw and shaved scalp were visible around the man’s meaty hands, the tusks protruding from his lower jaw standing out against the dark green skin. “There’s no place for panic in war. I ignore the fear. You need to, too.”

The orcish man laughed shallowly. “You must teach me this, wildling. The inner calm you use like a shield is far better than my own defenses. War does not bother me, but the noise does.”

Raeln moved to leave the orc, but the man grabbed his wrist and held firm.

“I will go where you do,” the man said. “The noise will make me ill if I don’t stay near someone with a quiet mind. I need to concentrate on someone like you. Once I am more accustomed to it, I may be able to move on my own.”

“If you’re going to follow me around, take a weapon and be useful,” answered Raeln, drawing his sword and handing it to the man hilt-first.

“Tell me something before I get up,” the orc insisted, making no move for the weapon. “Where am I?”

“The north battlements.”

“Give me a city, wildling. I have wandered a long time and would know where I ended up.”

“Lantonne.”

The orc stiffened, then grinned broadly, mirthfully giggling to himself. “Very well. Thank you for your kindness.” The man lowered his hand slowly and squinted in the sunlight at the sword Raeln offered. As he did, he moved his hand clear of his forehead, revealing the black whorls across his brow and down onto his cheeks.

“Turessian!” Raeln gasped, then opened his mouth to shout it. Before he could, the orc tackled him, driving the back of his hand against Raeln’s throat, choking and silencing him. Nearby, the other defenders looked over in shock, but were too busy firing down on the enemy to get involved.

“I left those lands a long time ago,” the orc hissed at Raeln, bringing his face right up to Raeln’s. “I am with you, wildling. Do not drive off those who wish to aid this city, especially right now. Question my motives when the battle is over. Until then, accept my help or watch your city ripped down one stone at a time. I did not wait all these years to abandon my duties and let these lands fall without a fight.”

The orc held Raeln a second longer, before easing the pressure against Raeln’s neck and chest, allowing him to breathe or shout if he desired. His other hand remained on Raeln’s wrist from where he had blocked Raeln’s attempts to push him away. “You’re a wolf,” the orc noted, as though he had just realized it. He looked down at Raeln’s arm and the silver bracelet that lay just below where he gripped. “A wolf wildling.”

“And you’re a Turessian…”

“I am not your enemy, so do not start that again. When I left those lands, we did not use that name.”

“How long have you been in the city?” demanded Raeln, shoving the orc away and pulling his hand free.

“About ten minutes, if that long. How long have you worn that piece of jewelry?”

“So you came with the undead and you want me to trust you? Why should I tell you anything?”

The orc laughed and offered Raeln a hand to help him stand. “I arrived after them, about the same time that thing got close to the city, by my guess,” the orc said, sticking a thumb out in the direction of the black cloud over the quarry. “Tell me something, wildling. Who have you lost recently?”

“We’re going to lose everyone if we don’t start fighting.”

Frowning, the orc nodded and looked out at the undead army. “My name is On’esquin,” explained the orc, bending at the waist to scoop up the sword Raeln had offered him initially. “I will fight with you against those who abuse the name my people took as their own. Keep close, or I will have trouble concentrating on battle. I am entirely at your disposal.”

“Raeln,” replied Raeln. “Stay with me if you want, but you need to be able to keep up with me. You make any move to help them and I throw you over the wall.”

On’esquin seemed to ignore Raeln and instead eyed the sword he held. Flipping it several times and then pointing it out at the undead, he tapped the weapon’s tip against the battlements, making the metal ring. Almost immediately, the entire length of the blade sparked and began crackling with what looked like lightning, arcing as it raced from the hilt to the tip and back. When the blade came near the battlement stones, the lightning danced and scorched the smooth rock.

“I can probably manage,” answered On’esquin, smiling wickedly at the weapon. “The journey seems to have left me in better shape than when I left. Lead the way, Raeln, and I will follow.”

To the few I leave these last words to, I impart to you the few things that must be done once I am gone, whether that is today or a hundred years from now. Until that day, these letters will remain hidden. I know as well as any of my healers that my life’s path faces a very real ending in the next few days if she does not return, but I have always put my utmost faith in my allies and friends, and I will not stop hoping, even on my deathbed.

Those who waged war from within our family are never to be spoken of again. Already, I have dispatched my most trusted friends to either capture or destroy them. Do not seek them out, and if another should rise that wishes to follow in their footsteps, instead, find those I once kept at my side and they will exact punishment as appropriate.

To my wife, I give the entirety of the empire I built or what is left of it when those who rebel are finished. If she can hold it together, it is hers. My trust will always be with her, no matter what whispers may come. The staff I now clutch to my breast is hers and will pass to whoever she most trusts upon the day of her death.

To my brother, I give the deserts, as he has always preferred the solitude that came with them. These have long been considered beyond the reach of my empire, even if they were where we began our journey. He has often spoken of missing the warmer parts of Eldvar, so to him I leave the part that no longer considers itself part of the lands I have built.

To the one we called Nenophar, I leave the words already spoken to him and nothing else. He, more than anyone else, knows what must be done. He has called these words “prophecy,” but I believe them to be little more than advice if things go badly. I am afraid most of what must be known is not for him.

Lastly, to On’esquin, I leave pain and misery if he is not found before my last breath. May the land and my people curse him and his to the ends of the world. By conspiring with our enemies, he has betrayed my trust. May he face up to what he has done and be forced to watch the final rites of all the men, women, and children of all races that have died as a result of what he has done, both for himself and whoever he serves. Some whisper that he is no better or worse than my wife, as both left me as I approached death, but On’esquin’s betrayal had been confirmed by my brother. My wife’s has yet to be proven.

To the end of time, all record of what On’esquin and his master have done will be stricken from history. Though I may never know who the master was, when my people find out—and I have no doubts they will—both will be driven out of the embrace of the races of man. They will have no solace anywhere in this world. They sought eternity for themselves and will be given that, but without any comfort for all of those years. Let them walk this world alone and empty, knowing what they have done for all time and watching all they sought and coveted crumble to dust around them.

If any are found to have worked with them, let them be buried in the desert for eternity and watched over by the damned. This, I command.

-
Last words believed to have been dictated by Turess, now considered heretical. All known copies of this text have been burned and any who have read them have been put to the sword

The dragons rushed the keep as Ilarra brushed aside flame and lightning alike, keeping herself in motion to avoid being caught off-balance by Therec’s attacks. She could not find the time to fight back. She was forced to use all of her magical strength to create one barrier after another as Therec—or rather, Dorralt—continued to rain attacks down on her.

Already, the top of the keep looked to have endured a war, its stones blackened and broken. The damage done by Therec’s attacks had torn the keep’s top floor apart as surely as catapults would have, making Ilarra’s footing unsure as she reeled and stumbled under the staggering impacts of each spell.