The Northern Approach (7 page)

Half-snarling, half-sighing, Raeln nodded and motioned toward the path. They set off immediately, their travels silent and brooding as they made their way down into the valley where the battle had raged hours earlier.

As they passed, Raeln could not help but look up at the dead children again, wishing he could so something to make everything right. Even giving them proper burials would change nothing, and taking the time to cut them down could put himself and On’esquin in danger of being caught by whatever had done it in the first place. Reluctantly, he continued on without saying anything, knowing he would regret it later.

It was dawn, the sky lightening to a deep purple, when they reached the path out of the valley toward the stream and the first bodies they had seen. On’esquin pushed on silently, steering them well clear of the dead and guiding them along the mountains as they left the pass, heading farther south and away from the way they had come. He paused several times, looking around and picking the route that took them deeper into the woods rather than out of it. Then, with the sky brightening quickly, he stopped and grunted at Raeln before unfastening his weapon belt and tossing it to the base of a tree.

“We should be far enough away to speak freely,” he said, unbuckling the second of his three belts that held all of his supply pouches and setting them down near his sword. The third Raeln had rarely seen him take off, as it held his heavy armor in place. “You have questions and I will answer them. Think carefully, as I do not make this offer lightly, nor do I intend to offer it again soon.”

Raeln thought on all the questions he could have asked while staring at the man’s belts lying on the ground. Both were as worn and cracked as his armor, and from the look of the pouches, he carried a month’s supplies or more at all times. He was always prepared, but for what, Raeln had no idea.

“How old are you?” he asked instead, drawing an amused smirk from the orc. “I probably don’t want to know the answer, but I’ll ask anyway.”

“A fair question.” On’esquin sat down and propped his back against the tree. “I will answer another question to answer this one.

“I have been waiting to hunt the Turessians and their leader, Dorralt, for a bit more than two thousand years. A hundred years before that, I served my lord Turess as his friend, and later his apprentice after my own master betrayed our trust. Likely, I was not much older than you when I began my service, chasing down Dorralt’s original generals.”

Raeln pointed at the gash in On’esquin’s armor. “That is what you mean by service? Are you one of them or not? You’ve claimed you aren’t, but you’ve referred to ‘mortals’ and you don’t bleed. Orcs don’t live any longer than humans.”

The orc touched his side and nodded. “That is part of my service and is also the mistake I made serving my original master. He sought powers that we were not meant to have. In doing so, I was his first experiment. In a sense, I was the first of the Turessians you fear, though I am not like them in many ways. And yes, I can bleed, but I choose not to.”

“You’re undead.”

“No,” On’esquin snapped quickly. “I am something else, though I don’t know what words describe it, either in my language or yours. I will not die, but I do not hear the voices of the dead like Dorralt and the others. My curse takes me a different direction.”

“You live forever and don’t feel wounds that would kill others,” Raeln argued, pacing around the shadowed woods as he spoke. “Tell me how that’s a curse.”

“A curse is a burden put on you that you cannot cast off and is a weight on your shoulders,” On’esquin explained, closing his eyes. “I offered to help my master, Dorralt, before I knew what that entailed. I did not choose what I am and I did not ask for the burden of this insane prophecy. Most importantly, I did not ask to outlive my own children, the grandchildren of my friends, even my whole clan. I have listened as generations died and nations fell, bound by only two tasks until I find a way to die.”

“What tasks?”

On’esquin shook his head. “That is a topic for another time and place.”

“No, please, tell us these tasks,” came a new voice, making both On’esquin and Raeln straighten and look around. “Is long walk you made to get here, so I hope to hear full story, yes? You make this old man tired.”

Sitting against a nearby tree was the dark-skinned gypsy that had attacked On’esquin back in the mountains. The man had On’esquin’s weapon on his lap and the contents of several of his pouches already spread out on the ground, though Raeln had not seen him arrive or touch the bags.

The man eyed a tin container, sniffing at it, then shook his head. “You bring no good supplies, either,” the man went on, dropping the tin to the ground with a clang. “How you live so long with such poor food, I wonder? Is a magic thing, no? I have never liked magic, even when my kin learned. Give this man a knife and some kind words, and he will do much more than most wizards, yes? Wizard with knife in his throat is not better than any other man.”

Raeln dropped his hand to his sword, ready to attack the man, but On’esquin raised a palm, warning him to stop.

“Do let your friend attack if he desires,” the gypsy told them, smiling broadly. “My wounds no longer bleed, so is good time for some exercise, no? My second wife often says I need to teach more young men their place. My third say I need to exercise more to keep my boyish figure.”

Looking the man over, Raeln saw the dried blood that coated the side of his shirt where the wound had been visible earlier in the night. Now he could make out what appeared to be mud, packed with leaves. The man had made some kind of poultice to keep himself from bleeding out.

“Why are you here, human?” Raeln demanded, tightening his grip on his sword’s hilt. He cared little for On’esquin’s warning glare. This man had already proven himself dangerous and a nuisance. “Explain yourself.”

The gypsy held up the rolled parchments On’esquin always carried that bore the full text of Turess’ prophecies. It had been tied to the orc’s remaining belt and he never allowed it to leave his side. “A little thing I found earlier,” the human said, eyeing the parchments. “Like the green man’s face, these have old words of the northern people on them. These people declared war on all lands and people, killing many of my family and friends. I follow you both to see why enemy of these lands walks around without his army. First, I think I kill you both and figure it out later. Then I hear green man say he hunts crazy dead men, and I think maybe we talk this out like the city-folk always wish. Is good plan, yes?”

“And if we say it’s none of your business?” Raeln asked.

“Then I kill you and see if I can kill the green man. Is good challenge and practice for when I find more like him. Will be epic battle, or I convince the bards that it was.”

Growling, Raeln drew his sword, but before he had brought it to bear on the man, the gypsy had drawn two long knives of his own and lay them along his thighs. The man was still seated, but he seemed more than ready for Raeln to rush at him.

“Enough!” shouted On’esquin, getting to his feet and marching over to stand between them. “Raeln, lower your weapon.”

Raeln kept his sword ready, not lowering it an inch.

“You,” On’esquin continued, looking at the human, “put yours away so we can talk.”

The human smiled even more broadly, but he did not put his weapons away, either.

“We are trying to find ways to fight the leaders of the Turessian army,” On’esquin said to the man, softening his tone. “You’ve fought them and know what they are capable of. Would you be willing to do it again?”

“I have terms of my own before I would help,” the man noted, the knives disappearing into his sleeves with a flick of his hands.

“Name them. You’ve already survived a battle I doubt many could. You may not be who we were looking for, but we need the help.”

Grinning, the gypsy pulled a copper cup onto his lap that appeared to be tied to his belt with a short leather thong. “You find better drinks and share. I already search your bags and neither of you brings anything but water. How do you think you face down an army of dead men with nothing but water? My people know the cowardice of city-folk and you will need stronger drink to stand and not run.”

“Is that all?” Raeln demanded, sheathing his weapon. “We give you booze and you help us fight a war? On’esquin, this is insane. Send this old man away.”

“Is not wise to insult honored guest,” the man said, unrolling the parchments and shaking his head. “Your people need to learn to write. Is all scratching and pictures, but no words. So many bad habits, yes? Why are your people able to conquer these lands when you cannot write and cannot greet guests like civilized folk? Is old tongue and you wrote it badly.”

On’esquin’s eyes narrowed and he gave Raeln a meaningful glance. “What can you read of these?” the orc asked and reached for the parchments, but the human kept them out of reach.

“Here,” the gypsy said, tapping part of the flowing text. “Is flowery style, like turning letters into art, but is the name of my clan. See?” The gypsy held up the copper cup and pointed out a nearly identical symbol embossed in the stained old metal. Setting it back at his side, he glared at the parchments as though they were difficult for him to make out. “Were it not for all the sharp pointy bits in your writing, I would think you steal from my people,” the man noted. “My clan’s motto even is written here. ‘Seek companionship in all that you find.’ Is good saying, yes?”

Sitting down hard, On’esquin chuckled, shaking his head. He looked to Raeln and said, “I still don’t believe in coincidence. The words he is reading literally translate to ‘Seek out your companions where you may find them’ in ancient Turessian. This man has to be one of the ones we were meant to find.”

“Do I have any say in the matter?” asked Raeln, resheathing his weapon. “I have enough problems traveling with you, but him?”

“I listen in…by accident, I assure you,” the gypsy told them, tossing the parchments back to On’esquin. “Grumpy wolf is Raeln. I did not hear big green man’s name.”

“On’esquin,” replied On’esquin, offering a hand in greeting.

“Bandoleer Yoska, though not so much bandoleer with many of my kin dead,” the gypsy said, ignoring the hand. “Where is our army if we intend to fight the dead men? Three foolish people will not go far, no? I have already done this once with small group and they end up—” Yoska’s joking manner faded abruptly and sorrow crossed his face for a moment. “—they did not win against greater army. Many good people die, as always happens in war. I have done this too many times and I wish to not watch more people die.”

“You will have your army before we face the enemy directly,” offered On’esquin, flipping through the parchments and then smiling to himself as he tapped a page. “Help us and we’ll find a way to make this work out.”

“Very good,” Yoska said, leaning back against the tree. “You two should sleep next shift. You keep me up very late, so I take first shift sleeping. I know, I know, Yoska is very interesting, but you must give him some time to rest as he has been stabbed very badly. Tomorrow we will talk about how I will win war for you, yes? Go to sleep and trust friendly gypsy to watch over you when you are defenseless.”

Without another word, Yoska closed his eyes and began snoring, though Raeln was certain he was feigning sleep. The man reminded him of his deceased sister, pretending to sleep so she could sneak out after the rest of the family settled in…though unlike her, he was a mystery and incredibly dangerous if ignored.

Three men against a hundred thousand undead and immortal Turessian leaders
, Raeln thought as he sat down to rest. This had all the makings of a lost cause. Raeln wanted to object, to argue about even continuing this farce, but he really did not care. Getting himself killed trying to accomplish the impossible was a fine ending for him. He only hoped the others understood he had no expectation of living to see another winter and they would die with him if they continued with their plans.

*

Raeln had rested fitfully, unable to sleep and unable to relax and meditate as he once had during times when readiness had been required. Upon hearing On’esquin get to his feet, Raeln blinked wearily, his vision blurred and eyes stinging. Every morning seemed to be a struggle anymore.