Bones of the Empire (15 page)

Raeln rested and spent his time working the tension out of his sore muscles through gradual effort, tightening one muscle group after another until everything felt a little looser. Having control over his own body was a small victory given where he was, and it was one freedom they could not take away from him. His mind controlled his body and his body could be broken, but never truly enslaved. At least, that was what he had been taught as a child. A few years in Turessi might change his belief in that, but he was not ready to let it go just yet.

Yoska continued to talk—seemingly without taking a breath—about the first woman he had shared drinks with, much to Ceran’s horror. Dalania was watching the exchange with clear amusement, her knees under her chin as she listened to Yoska’s blabbering. Raeln realized Yoska was using drinking as a euphemism for sex and wondered if the others had picked up on it sooner. Glancing toward the orcs, Raeln saw them grinning around their tusks. Maybe he was the only one who had missed the tone of the story from the start.

A crackle of ice breaking underfoot snapped Raeln’s attention beyond the hut’s walls. The others had not heard, largely due to Yoska’s latest tale. Turning his head to track the sounds, Raeln soon picked out a group moving between the huts. There were three or four people out there, and he tracked them with his ears as they moved around toward the entrance of the hut.

“What is it, wildling?” Ceran said, slapping her hand to Yoska’s mouth to silence him. When Yoska tried to free himself, she grabbed the back of his head with her other hand to keep him still. “You hear something?”

“People outside,” Raeln said softly, pointing toward where he believed them to be, his finger slowly drifting toward the door. “Four, I think.”

Ceran’s eyes widened and she kicked Yoska, knocking him backward onto his sleeping mat. She grabbed her sack as Raeln and the two orcs rolled to their feet, yanked a black robe from the bag, and threw it on over her rags. Seeing Raeln over her, ready to strike, she quickly said, “Can you endure pain and wait for a reason, if I swear that answer will come?”

“What…yes,” he replied, unsure how to answer. “There better be a damned good reason.”

“Have some trust in others,” the woman told him, tightening a belt around her robes. Both the belt and robes were finely made and relatively new. Even at a cursory glance, Raeln could see ornate patterning on them, something no slave should have. They were easily as nice or nicer than those of the rest of the clan’s members.

A click at the door caught Ceran’s attention, and she hissed something in Turessian, motioning for Yoska to stay where he lay. Gesturing likewise at the orcs, the two hurriedly sat and pretended to sleep. Turning back to Raeln, Ceran pointed at the floor and mouthed, “Kneel!”

Raeln did as he was asked, though he was unsure if he was doing the right thing. Nothing about this made sense. He could hear people at the door talking and felt the breeze coming in through where they were holding it ajar. Whatever was happening had everything to do with who was out there.

With little hint of effort, Ceran created a ball of ice in her hand and hurled it at Raeln. The ice shattered inches from his chest, shards tearing through his shirt and bloodying his whole front. He growled and clenched his jaw, having more difficulty hiding his pain after the surprise. When he looked up again, Ceran held a sparking lightning whip like the one used on him his first day in the clanhold. Dalania had slid as far as she could from Ceran, while Yoska watched in confusion.

Ceran reared back to strike him with the whip, but hesitated as four more Turessians entered the hut. They smiled and bowed at her, at which point she dismissed the whip and bowed also.

“I had not expected the council’s representatives to come down here,” Ceran said, holding the bow far longer than the others. “Watching us execute the beast is hardly worthy of your attention, I would think. The orcs will be executed after the midday meal, if you were planning to stay that long. Our cooks are serving only the finest for your visit.”

Raeln’s ears perked at the mention of execution, but he forced himself to remain calm. He would need to be ready to move if these four acted on what Ceran was saying. He had no intention of dying without taking two or more of them with him, but the surprising calm he got from the orcs told him there was far more going on than he understood. If he had learned anything from his training growing up, it was to only strike when the time was precisely correct.

“No, we do not intend to interfere, preserver,” the lead man told Ceran, looking past her at Raeln. “The description we received hinted at him possibly being one of the ones a new councilwoman named Liris is looking for. Extremely dangerous and responsible for the death of her predecessor. May I examine him?”

“You may,” Ceran said, giving Raeln a warning glance over her shoulder. “I doubt he is that one, though. I found him on our eastern lands, scavenging for food. I have worked on him for weeks and gotten little more than growls and snarls out of him. I doubt he can speak. A true beast, this one.”

The man eyed Raeln and then looked at Dalania and Yoska. “What of the others?”

“The wanderer was caught last month trying to sell us false relics. His own tribe has disowned him. The girl was given to us by the wanderer’s clan as an apology for his actions. We are considering allowing her into the houses to keep her from the lecherous man.”

Raeln watched as both Yoska and Dalania hung their heads, silently acknowledging the lie. He could only hope his inability to believably lie would not out them. Ceran claiming Raeln was mute would make that a little easier. This got stranger by the minute.

The Turessian glanced back at the other three who had come in with him. The other two men and one woman nodded, and he looked back to Ceran. “Finish killing the beast and come see us at the clanhold’s center. We are briefing the clans on the state of the southern aggressions and will need all of the preservers to know what is being asked of them. Bring his tail as proof that he is dead. Liris will want to have that. You may dine with us and return for the orcs later this afternoon. There is no rush in their execution, only the council’s mandate that it be done sooner rather than later.”

Ceran bowed, and the four others left, closing the door behind them.

“If you think I’ll make this easy…” Raeln began, but Ceran held up a hand to silence him. He opened his mouth again, and Vertin rolled onto her knees and grabbed Raeln’s arm tightly. The orc’s stare made him second-guess his decision to argue.

When Yoska also looked about to say something, Ceran shot him an angry glare and he kept quiet.

“They are far enough away now,” she told them a moment later, relaxing quickly. Shaking her head, she sat on the mat where she had been for much of the morning. “We hadn’t expected them to want to see you, but I came here to be certain. I apologize for the deception…that is not normally our way.”

“You aren’t taking my tail,” Raeln warned, eliciting muffled laughter from the orcs. Vertin released her grip on his arm and sat back.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Ceran answered quickly, grinning. “Another preserver has been dispatched to the woods to find a dire wolf and bring back parts of its hide. The council has never seen through this ruse in the past, and I doubt they’ll start today. Your size and patterning is almost a match for the wolves of the area, so I expect it will be sufficient.”

“You’re helping us?” Dalania asked. “Why?”

Ceran replied, “Things are always more complicated than people wish them to be. You will understand when the time is right. Be good slaves until then. I cannot say more now. I will be expected at a meal with the enemy soon. After I have shared wine and food that we cannot afford to spare, I will work out our plan for the three of you.”

Moving toward the door, Ceran hesitated and nudged the sack she had brought with her with the tip of her boot. Raeln had assumed it was empty after she had pulled her clothing out, but there was clearly more in it. “You may wish to see what I accidentally left behind. I always was careless.”

Walking out of the hut, she closed the door behind herself, leaving the three friends staring and the orcs smirking, as though they were in on the whole thing. A second later, Yoska nearly leaped across the room to tear into the bag.

“Is certainly strange, yes?” he asked, pulling mismatched hunting knives from the bag. Next he held up a clay jar and passed that to Dalania, who sniffed at it, wrinkling her nose. With wide-eyed amazement, he then produced the old goblet he had carried with him for as long as Raeln had known him, which had been taken when they were captured. The last thing he pulled out was a fresh shirt that looked large enough for Raeln. “Who gives slaves weapons, healing ointments, family heirlooms, and new clothing?”

“I have a feeling we won’t know until they’re ready to tell us,” Raeln answered, taking off his bloodied shirt to let Dalania apply the ointment to his wounds. “Hide those weapons and don’t mention them again.”

“You have no idea what you’ve walked into,” Ildorn muttered, smirking at Raeln as he leaned against Vertin. “You will know when the time is right, wildling. We live in interesting times.”

*

The next day, work resumed as it had in days prior, with Raeln swinging his axe all day long. The work became a mind-numbing blur, moving from one tree to the next at the direction of an older elven man who knew the job far better than Raeln. From what Raeln had learned during their breaks, the man had been doing this for nearly forty years, a prospect Raeln did not relish for himself. At least he knew he would not have to endure it that long—he probably only had ten or fifteen years left in his life, assuming he was not killed before then.

His will to escape was dwindling, and he had begun to have trouble motivating himself to do anything more than work and sleep. Even eating took effort. The first few days, he had thought about Estin’s children in the slave camp near Lantonne, but even that had been put out of his mind as he struggled to keep himself from reflecting on anything prior to arriving in the Turessian village.

He had not seen Yoska or Dalania for hours, but that was not unusual. Most of the slaves were dispersed in the woods by task, rather than by which hut they came from. That left him alone with Vertin and Ildorn, as well as the old elf who directed them. He normally would not see Dalania or Yoska until the sun had set. Not that they talked much anymore outside their hut. The work was the same each day, and even Yoska had run out of stories for when they were resting. Since Ceran’s departure, he mostly brooded, holding the knives she had left behind.

“Midday meal!” came a shout from farther down the hill, and Raeln let his axe drop at his side midswing. It was all part of the routine. Once the sun was high, they were given bread and warm water near the edge of the woods before being sent back to work about half an hour later. They then worked until the sun set, at which point they were given hearty soups and more bread before they were left to sleep or socialize until dawn. It was after that meal that any injured would be taken to the preservers for healing. Those who did not survive their injuries until the evening would be mourned and forgotten.

Stumbling toward the area where the meal would be served, Raeln blinked in surprise when Ildorn grabbed his arm, nearly pulling him off-balance.

“Ceran wants a word,” the orc said softly. His wife or partner—Raeln had given up trying to understand the complicated relationships of others shortly after meeting Yoska—headed farther into the woods as though scouting ahead. “We’ll skip this meal. You can thank us another time.”

With that, Ildorn headed after Vertin, leaving Raeln to stare after them. He had no idea what to expect, but part of him wanted to go to the meal anyway. He was not starving, but following the pattern of the average slave’s day was comforting in a sense, with nothing unpredictable. Raeln liked routine and order, but he knew he had to put that aside. Survival and freedom for his friends and himself was far more important, even if it seemed a distant impossibility. Sighing, he followed the orcs as a light snowfall came down for perhaps the sixth time already that day.

They led Raeln far up the hillside, winding through the woods until he was fairly certain his own footprints would be the only way he could find his way back. Wind bit into his skin as they passed through gaps in the trees, making him strongly reconsider his choice to follow. They continued on as they neared one of the sheer stone walls created by the table-like rock hills that dotted the area. As they approached, Ceran stepped from a concealing section of fallen stone, her black robes and brown skin standing in sharp contrast to the snow around her.