The Northern Approach (50 page)

Feanne seemed the least convinced that the plan was sound, eyeing Raeln like she intended to argue. Finally she gave him an annoyed glare and picked up a sword from the pile of weapons they maintained at the back of the wagon, while Estin stared at her weapon as though it was entirely foreign to him to see her preparing for battle. Raeln considered her choice to be practical given her fighting style, but Estin knew her far better than he did.

“Get moving, everyone,” he said as he hopped to the ground. “If I don’t have everyone at the northern gate by morning, those who are there will leave without you. No resting, no stalling. Keep moving until you’re at the north end. That gives you about fifteen hours, which should be more than enough if you don’t stop. The horses are tired, but in a pinch, they can get one or two of you to the far end of the city in a rush.”

The group stood around the wagon, watching Raeln nervously. Even On’esquin seemed tense.

Trying to address their concerns, Raeln finished by adding, “We will join up at the northern end. No one’s getting left behind. The group goes on, with or without any stragglers, but I won’t. Get to that gate or I’ll come back for you myself. Now, move out.”

Reluctant or not, Estin, Feanne, and On’esquin set off with their horse through the gap in the wall. Before they rounded the curve into the first street, Raeln saw On’esquin glance over his shoulder, giving Raeln a sad smile that made him wonder if the orc believed they would never meet again. He wanted to call out and ask, but that would have made the others question his decision. It was too late for that.

“We meet in the morning to share stories of what we have found,” Yoska said, once the others were out of sight.

Nodding, Raeln looked over at Dalania, who was staring the horse in the eyes as though they were communicating on some level. “Be careful out there, Yoska,” he said, unfastening the strap that held his sword in its sheath.

“I am always careful, no?” the old human replied, slapping the remaining horses with the long reins. Before they had reached the gap, he called back, “If I do not make it, be sure that the lies about my deeds are good ones!”

“Darkness All About”

The darkness that intends to envelop our world is not one made by man or by those who these so-called prophetic thoughts dwell on. It rises and falls on the breath of Eldvar, though just beyond touch at all times. We who use magic have felt that power at the edges of our waking minds, but have no grasp of what it would do to us if the floodgates open.

None of us can face this, not even those who my dreams tremble in fear of. This is the legacy I do not want to leave for those after me. I seek to avoid the pain and desolation that my discoveries could cause.

I opened those doors a hair and saw my own doom. This is why I now dream for a way to save others from what I saw coming.

Let the darkness take me, but spare the world.

-
         
Excerpt from the lost prophecies of Turess

Pushing on at a pace that made his hip ache, which tended to happen after hiking too long, Estin tried not to be left behind by Feanne and On’esquin. They had hardly slowed for the last three hours, though he knew that would change as the sun’s light dwindled, forcing On’esquin to rely on the two wildlings for guidance. He had taken to walking with the horse, while Estin and Feanne ran into buildings that looked promising every so often, searching for food. The walk down the road was the easy part; it was running off into the buildings to find supplies and getting back quickly that was tiring Estin.

Estin raced away from the horse yet again, this time into what appeared to have been a bakery, making note of the various ways back out if things were waiting for him within. The windows were large enough that he could go straight through their glass if he had to, but so far he had seen nothing in the city to warrant running.

He slowed his pace once he was inside, allowing himself a brief respite from their quick march through the city. Estin was out of breath, but he had a long time to go before they stopped again, and he had no intention of letting either of his companions know he was quite so weak. He wanted Feanne in particular to think he was a lot younger than he felt.

Leaning against the wall near the windows, Estin surveyed the room, surprised at how untouched the place appeared compared to the last few places he had gone. Those shops and homes had been burned or tossed by raiders, but this place seemed mostly intact. The tables were toppled and he could see warping in the shutters where the heat from the city’s fires had twisted the wood, but that was the extent of the damage he could see. Old and moldy pastries—at least, that was what Estin guessed them to be, given their condition—still lay in a glass case inside the door. The scent of mildew and yeast was strong, making it difficult for him to detect too much that his eyes could not identify.

Heading farther into the shop in the hope that something might be salvageable, Estin went around the counter that divided the eating area from the kitchen. He stepped into the doorway separating the rooms and stopped there, hesitating in case there was anything moving. His attention drifted over the mostly empty shelves, as well as the filth-covered floors where rats had dragged much of the bread that had survived the city’s fall. There was nothing near the front of the kitchen, but he could hardly see much of the place from the entrance. Experience traveling since the war had left him more than a little overcautious.

Estin continued on more slowly, drawing one sword partway as he passed the first of four large stoves. The place was filled with old pots that would have been nice if there were something to cook in them. The few still-sealed tins he found he sniffed quickly before throwing into his bag. There was some flour and yeast among them, but it would not last them long.

Near the back of the kitchen, Estin came to a stop as he spotted someone sitting in a corner hidden from view previously. Inching forward, he lowered himself until only his eyes and ears poked up over one of the counters, hoping he had not been seen. When the person did not move, he crept closer, trying to get a better look.

The gleam of metal made Estin freeze momentarily. He watched and waited, but nothing seemed to be moving, so he went on, coming to the end of the counter. Slowly, he stuck his head out around the edge of the wooden cabinets and finally got a better look at what lay in the dark corner of the kitchen.

Dressed in old chain armor that had rusted badly, the long-dead elven woman still held a broken bow in one hand. Her face and hands, the only exposed parts of her flesh, had dried and were withered and badly decayed. Near her knee, a rusted sword lay just outside of reach. From what Estin could see, she had been dead for weeks, if not longer. The heavy scent of mildew in the building seemed to partially cover the stench of the corpse, though Estin could make out both scents now that he was paying closer attention.

The woman could well have been a zombie, left to wait for intruders, Estin knew. Rather than have her stand back up when he was trying to leave, he decided it would be better to deal with whatever might come on his own terms.

Picking up a metal cup from the counter, Estin stood and hurled it at the corpse. The cup bounced off the woman’s armor and fell to the floor, but she did not budge. Feeling somewhat disgusted by his actions, he approached, wondering whether this woman had somehow managed to be spared from inclusion in the Turessian armies.

Estin came up in front of the corpse, stopped, and dropped down into a squat to study the remains. She was young, perhaps fifteen to eighteen—practically a child among the elves. From what he could see of her wounds after so much decay, she appeared to have been torn open, leaving her intestines all across the floor and her own legs, though some of the soft tissue had long since rotted. Most of her armor had been left intact other than at the base of her ribs, as though whatever had attacked her had simply kept clawing until they found something soft enough to tear through.

Turning in place, Estin saw the counter that faced the corpse had several arrows embedded in it. This woman had died fighting after being cornered. He had certainly seen that enough times in Altis to recognize the results of undead swarming a victim, until the person was either too tired to fight or unable to deal with so many enemies. It was a horrible death and one so many thousands of people had endured.

Estin touched the woman’s cheeks gently, one then the other, in the traditional funeral rites for the people of Altis. He knew he was far beyond the lands most Altisians had ever traveled, but it was the only ceremony he knew for people other than his own. Their ways were so much simpler, often involving little more than burning the body and moving on to mourn in their own time. Given that he knew nothing about this woman, he wanted to give her something respectful, even if it was not her people’s way.

As he lowered his hand to his side again, Estin saw the woman wore what appeared to be a coin on a leather strap like a necklace. He touched his own necklace with Feanne’s claws that he kept hidden under his shirt and wondered what a coin might signify. Deciding the woman likely no longer cared, he lifted the necklace from the edge of her armor’s collar and held it in what little light remained in the shop, trying to make out whether there were any details that had not been worn down on the old silver coin.

Estin stared at the coin, unable to make out much of anything as the shadows in the room became deeper by the minute. His night-vision was excellent, but something so worn was too difficult to see. Running his thumb-claw over the coin, he tried to get some idea of whether it was embossed with anything. A second later, he began to get an idea of what had once been carved into the coin.

“Turessian rune-words,” he muttered, rubbing his muzzle with his other hand. After a moment’s contemplation, he lifted the necklace over the corpse’s head and shoved it into one of his pouches. “I apologize, but I know someone who’ll want to see this.”

Picking back up his swords and sheathing them, Estin headed back toward the entrance of the bakery, grabbing every sealed container he passed. He opened each, tossing them aside if he smelled mold or they were empty, but one held some hard-crusted bread that appeared to have weathered relatively well. He tore away a section that had started to look somewhat fuzzy and shoved the rest into his pack. Given how long they had been traveling, he was not about to nitpick about a small amount of mold.

Estin stopped as he neared the door he had entered through, seeing more arrows embedded in the wood frame. Backtracking, he was able to easily follow the woman’s progress from the door into the back of the bakery. She had fought as she retreated. This had not been a surprise at all…she had been fighting well before entering the shop. The woman had died trying to create a defensible location.

Stepping outside, he searched the dark street for any hint of where the woman had come from. Given the way the bakery faced, he was certain the door would not have been visible from farther up the street, the way he had yet to explore. At first he thought that ruled out her coming from that way, but he realized that in her situation, he would have preferred ducking into a place where anything pursuing him would not be able to see his departure.

Turning back toward the southwest, Estin spotted On’esquin leading their horse up the road. The man was taking his time, allowing Estin and Feanne as long as he could to search the buildings, but he was also in some kind of pain, constantly keeping a hand to his head when he thought no one was watching. Estin had begun to worry about that, but there was no time to stop and force answers out of him. He had seen On’esquin doing that most days when he was not bickering with Yoska.

Waving to catch On’esquin’s attention, Estin pointed at himself and then farther up the road. On’esquin nodded, acknowledging where he was going. This had been their way since entering the city, allowing the person who remained in the road to know where the others were going in case he had to hunt them down in a hurry.

Satisfied that his companions would be able to follow him, Estin headed up the road, watching specifically for any sign of the elven woman’s flight. It did not take him long to spot another arrow like the others, protruding from a building somewhat off the road. He turned that way, eyeing the arrow to determine the direction it had flown from. This one was coated in dried blood. The woman had been reusing arrows, a clear sign of desperation.

He continued up the side street, passing several more shops he knew he should have looked into. Instead, he hurried along, hoping to double-back and check them on his way to On’esquin.

Estin stopped abruptly and looked to his left, something in an open doorway catching his attention from the corner of his eye. There, lying facedown in the doorway, was a human man wearing battered and torn leather armor. Weapons still lay near his hands, but Estin could tell immediately his body was in far worse shape than the last one, both from exposure to the elements and rodents. Nervously, he continued on, not quite as sure of his decision to investigate.

Coming around a curve in the road, Estin realized he was entering a vast amphitheater set into the ground at the base of the eastern wall. As he stepped into sight, thousands of carrion birds took to the air, shrieking their displeasure. He watched the black cloud of feathered vermin flee before allowing himself to look at what they had been feeding on.

Bodies filled much of the amphitheater, splayed across the bench seats, the aisles, and even the platform at the bottom. The whole place reeked of death, even after weeks of the remains being left out. Nothing about the bodies seemed to indicate the kind of quiet solemn deaths he had seen in poisoned cities. Instead, these were twisted and butchered, most lying near barricades that had been torn down.

“Are you all right?” demanded On’esquin

The man was running up behind Estin with the horse in tow and Feanne only about fifty feet behind. Estin had not even noticed the size of the amphitheater allowed it to connect up to the main street, which had given On’esquin a clear view of the birds departing. Both he and Feanne had weapons drawn and they were watching the street’s edges for threats. They clearly had not noticed what was down in the amphitheater yet.

“I’m fine,” replied Estin, pointing toward the bodies. On’esquin’s jaw dropped slightly and Feanne came up alongside them, staring with wide eyes. “The last defense of the city, I’m thinking. This look anything like Lantonne?”

On’esquin frowned and went over to one of the more burned buildings and rubbed his gloved palm on the wall. Squinting at the soot that coated his glove, he shook his head. “The city burned months ago. Those bodies can’t be that old, can they?”