Wildling (7 page)

In the end though it wasn't up to him. Rodan kept hobbling around screaming with rage, concentrating only on him. But in his fury he'd forgotten one thing. He had three bound prisoners that didn't like him. Rodan passed too close to them, screaming incoherently at the bush and the male prisoner suddenly leaned backwards until he was lying on his back, raised his legs to his chest and abruptly kicked him with all the strength he had. It was enough.

Rodan went tumbling forwards on his one good leg and then fell face forward into the fire. A heartbeat later he was engulfed in flame. He tried to get out of the fire and barely managed it. But with a damaged arm and leg it took him far too long. He barely made it at all. And when he did he was still on fire. Frantic and screaming in torment he started rolling around on the ground desperately trying to put the fire out. But it was too little too late. It would not go out. Worse he did himself more damage in the process, snapping off the ends of the arrows in his flesh and driving the broken shafts in deeper.

Dorn stood there in the forest watching in horror as the man screamed, his feet frozen to the ground. He’d seen others die in flames. Other wildlings. And though he did not like this man at all, and he had had to be killed, to see him burning and screaming like that was a terrible reminder of the past. No one should die like that. Especially not another wildling.

Ten or twenty seconds later Rodan stopped moving and Dorn knew the battle was over. Rodan would harm no one else. Dorn breathed a sigh of relief and uttered a small prayer, grateful it was over. Grateful that the man no longer screamed. Those screams haunted him.

It was then that Dorn walked out of the forest, longbow still in hand and an arrow drawn just in case. He didn't know who these other people were, save that they were wildlings like him. But he knew that they had shared an enemy, and the enemy of his enemy was a friend.

“
Dorn!” Lorian recognised him immediately, and her mouth dropped open in shock. “I thought you were dead!”

Was she disappointed he wondered? He really didn't know. And just then he didn't care.

“Shifters heal.”

He walked over to Rodan's still burning body, patted out the last of the flames and grabbed back his knife, quiver and his coin purse. He also pulled the key to the collars off Rodan’s belt and tossed it to the others. Then, knowing that he couldn't leave a body out there anywhere near them, he started dragging it away from the camp. He had to, and quickly. The odour of meat, especially cooked meat, would travel. It would bring scavengers. Luckily enough he had plenty of strength even as weakened as he was. Shifters were usually strong even in their human forms. Even more luckily there was a small cliff nearby.

A few minutes later he'd tossed the body over it and could return to the camp knowing that they were far enough away to be safe for the night. Before he tossed Rodan's body over though he did make sure to check one thing; his ears. And sure enough he found points on them. Small ones but they were there. And when he checked his chest he found the sign of Talos tattooed over his heart. It was enough to explain something of the man.

The man was part dusky elf. Probably not half, a quarter at most, but that was enough. Everyone knew the stories of the fates of some of the women the elves captured. Those who had the more powerful of the wildlings gifts. That they were sold off to various tribal leaders and turned into breeding stock. The dusky elves were determined to regain their gifts any way they could, and they thought that by breeding with their wildling captives and then breeding the progeny back into their lines they could do just that. Whether that would work or not he didn't know. But what he did know was that while the captured women were considered to be little more than property, some of those children were raised to ride with their fathers. That he guessed had been Rodan's fate.

On his way back to the others he did wonder if his life as the product of such a union had been a good one. Rodan had a powerful gift which the elves would have welcomed. But his blood was far from pure, and dusky elves valued such things as purity. They liked their pointed teeth and ears. In fact he had heard it said that some actually sharpened their teeth. Still he said nothing about it to the others when he reached them. There were other things that needed to be spoken of.

“
I'm Dorn.” He introduced himself to the newcomers as he cut them free. With their hands bound they hadn't been able to use the key.

“
I'm Marian, a healer and this is Petran a hound.”

Marian? Dorn knew that name. He'd heard it recently though he couldn't think where. He'd never seen her before though. She had the long white blonde hair of the Wayfarers and a pretty smile that he would have remembered. Petran he didn't know at all. The middle aged man with deep wrinkles in his tanned face and the wiry muscles of someone who worked hard for a living did not look at all familiar. But he knew hounds. The nobles used them. They were trackers, able to hunt down people by their magical taint, and also soothsayers. They could not be lied to. They were also supposed to be good fighters. So how had he been caught? But maybe, he decided as he wondered whether or not to untie Lorian, that was a question for later.

“Well?” Lorian snapped impatiently at him. He guessed she was unhappy at still being bound.

“
You did sit there while he attacked me. You could have warned me.”

“
He was holding me prisoner you oaf! And he threatened Marian's life! He would have killed us both!” She glared at him, unrepentant. “And I didn't know he was going to do that. I thought he'd just capture you like the rest of us.”

Dorn shook his head gently. He didn't believe her. Not completely. But he knew there was little point in saying anything more. It would just add to his problems. So reluctantly he cut her bindings. But he did finally remember where he'd heard the name Marian before. She was the other wildling in the town of High Fold that had been handed over to the elves. She was the healer Lorian had spoken of. And Lorian had said she herself was in training to become an apothecary. An apothecary and a healer, both wildlings and both living in the same town. They were likely friends. And if what she said was true she wouldn't have given up her friend for a man she didn't know and didn't like. He understood that.

“Everyone's heading to Balen Rale?”

He was sure they were, so he wasn't at all surprised when they started nodding. The glowing people had given them all the same instructions. Go to the ancient ruined temple and be assessed. He wondered how many more they'd given the same instructions to. How many more they'd encounter on their journey? And of course what they'd find when they got there. More glowing people?

“Rabbit?”

Dorn looked around to see that Petran had rescued the rabbits from the fire which Rodan had knocked them into when he'd fallen. And he seemed quite pleased with himself for doing it. In fact he was holding out the spit and smiling as if nothing had happened. Maybe it was nothing to him.

But it was something to Dorn. It was the first time he had ever killed a man. And though he had no feelings of remorse for the act, only for the appalling way Rodan had died, and though it had been necessary, he thought he should still remember this day and this deed. Especially when it was a wildling he'd killed, no matter how crazed. One of his own.

He bowed his head for a little bit in silent prayer to Zylor the Lord of Justice, hoping that he would find it within him to forgive him his terrible deed. That was something Dorn had never done before. He didn't worship gods, new or old. They seemed pointless to him. Except Xeria for obvious reasons. And they had never answered any of his prayers before as far as he knew. But just then he felt the need. Now that he had taken a life. Now that he was kin slayer.

What the ancient god could or would do for him he didn't know. And he knew he should probably seek out a speaker of the faith at some point to learn about the proper atonement. If there were any such priests still living. But for the moment he knew there was only one thing he should do. Above all else he should make sure that he never had to kill anyone else.

Chapter Nine.

“Hold.”

Dorn held up his hand and the others came to a stop behind him. Though as always there were questions. He might be unofficially leading them, but his rule wasn't secure. It was only that he'd rescued the three of them that allowed them enough trust to follow him. That and his skill with the longbow which was catching them dinner most evenings. Now that he had his knife and his fletching kit back he'd been better able to fletch his arrows and his accuracy had improved enormously. He'd also been able to drive off the only threat they'd encountered; a hippogriff. The creatures weren't really dangerous save to people on their own and on foot, but still hearts had fluttered. Fortunately a quick shift and a few decent roars from the panther had set the hippogriff flying away, looking for some easier pickings.

However his days of leading the others he guessed were about to come to an end. There were several more riders ahead, cutting their way sideways around the river channel. He couldn't see them as they were hidden behind a small hillock, but he could track them perfectly by the noise they made.

He told the others that, and of course they all immediately guessed that the riders had to be more wildlings. They were in the middle of nowhere, skirting the north east mountain plains that ran down from the Eteris ranges. The ranges were the natural barrier that separated the heart of the wastes from the outer wastes. He had taken them as close as he dared to the ranges themselves, hoping to shorten the journey, but not into the foothills themselves. Where the land gave way to the mountains was where the dangerous beasts of the outer wastes gave way to the truly deadly. And the mountains were reputed to be filled with trolls and rocs, and perhaps worst of all, goblin hordes. The thought of those little bald apelike creatures filled him with dread as it did most people.

They hadn't seen a town or a man in several days, and he hadn't expected to. Only a fool or someone who had absolutely no choice was likely to be riding through these rocky tundra covered hillocks. After all, no one lived there. The land was useless, the soil poor and the weather inhospitable. Even though it was spring they were high enough up that it froze every night while the wind howled during the day. Animals had nothing to graze on and only the toughest of plants would grow there. He doubted there were even any mines around. Certainly they'd seen no smoke and no tracks in days. All of which told him who these people had to be. Wildlings like them passing through this bleak land on their way to Balen Rale.

One thing that had surprised him though had been the altar tables they'd come across to Tiblissi. Ancient though they obviously were and worn by time as well, the symbols carved in to the stone were unmistakable. Which had left him with an unexpected riddle to ponder: Had these lands, rugged and inhospitable as they were, once been fertile? Had crops once grown here? He couldn't imagine it and yet he could think of no other reason for there to be altars to the goddess of the harvest here.

There was a story, a tale told in the alehouses and inns that once the wastes had been a paradise. But that something had happened. That the entire heart of the wastes had risen up out of the ground to become a mountain plateau two hundred leagues across ringed by mountains. And that from them the rest of the nightmare creatures that called the wastes home had sprung. That seemed impossible to him. The sheer scale of such a thing was beyond imagining. Even if all the gods had acted as one they could surely not have caused such a thing. And yet the altars suggested that this part of the wastes had once been fertile. And if they had been at a lower altitude perhaps that would have been so. After all everyone knew that the higher you went the less crops and trees could grow.

Still, this was no time to ponder such questions. Not when they had strangers to meet.

A few seconds later they watched as three riders trotted into view, following the path of the river. They'd obviously decided it was the easiest path and they were probably right. Even if it didn't head north north east.

“
Hail!” Dorn called out to them, his voice echoing out across the rocky hills and flats and it caught their attention quickly enough. They came to a halt barely three hundred yards ahead and quickly spotted them. After that it was just a matter of the three of them waiting as Dorn and the others slowly picked their way down the shallow escarpment and then across the rocky plain.

“
Well met friend.”

The leader of the trio, a man of middling years and thin build greeted them as they approached and he seemed friendly enough. Relaxed. His companions though weren't so certain and he could smell the tension in them as well as see it in their faces.

The woman, a black haired overly tall and heavily tanned warrior by her garb was particularly nervous, and he couldn't help but notice that all the time she studied them her fingers kept twitching. He guessed she was looking to draw her sword, and he had no doubt she could use it. He suspected she was a spellsword, able to channel her magic briefly to make herself faster and stronger as she needed. She had the look. And there was something about her sword that drew his eyes. He was no enchanter but he suspected it was spelled. Spellswords had a natural gift for enchanting the weapons they carried simply by using them, making them sharper and stronger than they would normally be. A spellsword was a very dangerous enemy.

As for the third Dorn couldn't make out much about him. Mainly because he was bundled up heavily against the cold and the woollen hat with its long flaps and the scarf obscured much of his face. But he could sense the magic in him. Powerful, wild magic that made him suspect he was a wildcast of some sort.

“And you friend. Been talking to some glowing people?” Dorn could have begun by formally introducing himself and the others, and then perhaps maybe made some careful enquiries as to why they were out her in these barren wastes, but he didn't want to. This was not the place for subtlety.

“
Oh!” He took the man's response as a yes. And it seemed to ease people's tensions a bit as everyone realised they were all there for the same reason.

“
I'm Dorn, a shifter. And these are my companions Lorian, Marian and Petran.”

“
That explains why you're walking when there's two spare horses I suppose.” The man smiled wryly at him obviously knowing something of shifters. “I'm Davith an enchanter and these are my companions Sera Ta and Emmaline.”

“
Shall we share a fire as we talk about the journey ahead?”

Dorn made the offer and Davith quickly accepted it. After that things went as he would have hoped. Everyone dismounted and a fire was quickly built from the bits of scrub they could find nearby. A kettle was filled from the river and tea prepared. And as it boiled they shared some of their more personal details.

Emmaline was as he'd guessed a spellsword and also a fugitive from the Dicans, though she hadn't come from Lampton Heights like him. She was from the Kingdom of Yed which almost bordered his homeland. Only the narrow strip of land that was the northern most edge of Tellur el Ve lay between them.

Sera Ta meanwhile was a wildcast capable of calling down windstorms and a local, almost. He'd travelled with Davith from Enderly. Actually he’d travelled from the capitol of the coastal province – Chorianis – a good sized seaport seventy leagues east of them. Though it wasn't a part of the wastes it bordered them.

That gave him pause. Lorian, Marian, Petran and himself were all from the wastes more or less. They'd all been met by the glowing people within a dozen leagues of one another. But Sera Ta was from seventy leagues east of the wastes and Emmaline from at least seventy leagues south west of them. He hadn't expected that. If nothing else it meant that the glowing people were travelling far and wide as they found people to send to the ruined temple. It also meant that there were likely a lot more people heading there. A lot more wildlings. And wildlings tended to associate with others of their kind. At least they did in the more northern wastes, if they were far enough away from the Dican ruled lands. They probably did anywhere else where there were no Dicans to hunt them. There were even lands – or so he had read – where wildlings were considered blessings. The White Plains for a start.

“
Do any of you know a wildcast of light by the name of Terra, a summoner by the name of Beran or a dream walker by the name of Matilde?” Naturally they all shook their heads. Dorn was immediately disappointed even though he had always known it would be unlikely. But he also knew there would be more wildlings ahead, and by the looks of things they would be from all over the continent. There was still hope and that was more than he'd had in many years.

After that the conversation returned to more mundane matters, mostly about the journey ahead and of course what they'd find when they got there. Naturally they had no clue as to the latter, but they were lucky in the former. Davith had a map, something none of the rest of them did. He'd traced it from a book he'd found in the Academy Library in Chorianis when he'd been met. Suddenly Dorn understood why an enchanter who'd never left his home city had been leading their group when Emmaline surely had the experience and the skill in hostile lands.

Emmaline meanwhile had the answer to another question that had been circling in the back of his thoughts; why the dusky elves were in the southern wastes in numbers. Apparently they were fleeing a drought that had devastated their lands, and had headed north looking for food.

The same drought was playing havoc with both Lampton Heights and the Kingdom of Yed, but not so terribly. Tiblissi's bounty was still flowing. Then again while the northern most strip of Tellur el Ve ran between the two human lands of Lampton Heights and the Kingdom of Yed, most of their province was further south, extending some said many hundreds of leagues until it hit the icy southern oceans. The lands down south were said to be dryer and harsher to start with. A drought could be truly terrible. But also unlike the elves the humans had long ago built huge lake reservoirs and dams. Even if the drought lasted another two years they would be able to feed themselves. The elves hadn't.

It was simply the difference between the two peoples. The dusky elves were short sighted and incapable of cooperating, even on projects that could have helped all their people. But then they took what they wanted; they didn't grow it. The farms in their lands were all run by wood elves, a smaller less warlike race that they had subjugated long ago. Dorn knew nothing of the wood elves - they had never been seen in the human realms or the wastes as far as he knew - but he felt sorrow for them. Life could not be easy with the dusky elves ruling them. And now with drought claiming the lands and food in short supply he was certain that they would be starving. The dusky elves would take everything. It was their nature.

Sometimes he wondered if his own people were truly that much smarter. They chopped down forests everywhere to build their houses and heat them, while their farms and graze-lands extended ever further into the wastes. And the smoke and ash in the large cities was sometimes so thick it was hard to breathe. But at least they knew enough not to starve.

As he drank his tea and the conversation carried on around him, Dorn's thoughts turned inevitably to the journey ahead. Not so much to what they'd find when they arrived at the ancient temple – that he'd have to wait to learn – but rather to the actual trip.

If Davith's map was accurate, and the artistry suggested it was probably fairly good, they had another week’s travel ahead of them through the desert of rock and shale. Maybe less if following the river bank worked as he hoped. Then they'd have to cut across a great forest of tall trees for another day or so, before they finally reached the valley. That was a long hard trip, but he was confident they would make it.

What concerned him was how many others they would meet along the way. And what really worried him was that there might be others like Rodan out there. Preying on the wildlings. Thus far they'd been lucky, save for Rodan of course. They'd met no brigands. And now with two of them capable in battle and a wildcast as well they could probably defend themselves well enough. But how many others he wondered, hadn't been so fortunate?

These glowing people, whoever they were – and no one had so much as a name for them – had stirred up a lot of trouble. Probably many had been harmed by their hex. Many forced to ride would have ridden straight into the arms of brigands or elves. Many might have been killed and eaten by the savage creatures that called the wastes home. Would they care? Or worse yet had they still gone ahead even knowing that that was going to happen?

It wasn't a pleasant thought, and he knew he should never share it with the others. But it did make him wonder just what they'd find when they arrived. People who were willing to endanger the lives of others weren't often the best of hosts as far as he knew. And they didn't always have the best of intentions either.

The journey he suddenly realised, might not be the worst thing that awaited them.

The glowing people might be.