Bones of the Empire (39 page)

“Does any other think it odd that we live in time when we say many thousand year dead man is walking around and we only get nods?” Yoska asked, shaking his head. “I begin thinking Estin was not so lucky in living through things, and such crazy things are more common than I had thought. Magic is dumb.”

“Nonsense,” Ceran said, still pacing. “Very few have ever come back from being long-dead, but if any could, Turess would not be beyond imagining. He was one of the greatest magical scholars of all time. To have him come back as the lost clan reappears is also fortuitous…”

“Lost clan?” Yoska asked.

Raeln sipped the broth of his soup, enjoying having the attention on someone else, though the heat made his broken teeth ache. Dalania seemed equally amused, her dismay momentarily forgotten.

“You find another clan in the woods? Hidden in cabinet, perhaps? Behind large rock?”

Ceran winced and sucked in a breath, looking around nervously. “I should check up on the others…”

Leaping to his feet and stepping in front of the door, Yoska said, “I tell you many times that game good enough for one is good enough for both. If you just say ‘yes,’ I would have gotten bored and forgotten. You try not to say, so now I must know, yes?”

Ceran nodded and looked over at Raeln and then Dalania before turning back to Yoska. “There were ten clans after Turess’s death. These days, there are eight if you do not count all the smaller young ones. The ninth was destroyed for attempting to overthrow the empire shortly after Turess died. The tenth was never located. They fled Turessi in a long line of wagons a week before Turess stopped breathing, taking with them every treasure Turess had created. Our people cursed them for generations for stealing from us, but we never managed to locate them.”

“Is nice story, but people with wagons have come back?” Yoska asked. “They bring treasures? I may wish to introduce myself—”

“You are an idiot, Yoska!” Ceran blurted out before covering her mouth and softly apologizing. “Do you remember what you said when you were first brought to the clanhold?”

“Yes…was ‘get off, get off, let me go,’ or something along lines. I may have cursed lineage of several people. I apologize if my ancestors have haunted any of them.”

Turning instead to Dalania, Ceran asked, “Do you remember? This man’s mind is addled from drink.”

“I believe it was ‘Ki’her mon deiru sirek mira ar,’ or something similar,” Dalania said softly, sounding shy when she got to the foreign words. “I don’t know the old gypsy language, so I apologize if I got it wrong.”

“No, that was almost perfect,” Ceran said, smiling. “And your gypsy friend doesn’t know ancient gypsy either.”

“Excuse?” demanded Yoska, standing straight. “How dare you! I am bandoleer and was taught by my nana.”

“What does it mean, then?” she countered, standing up to Yoska and forcing him to back up a step.

“It means ‘We who wander would seek to be safe together.’ Our people rarely stay in one place long, so was natural to ask if we could help protect others in return for safe place to stay. Very old greeting between families.”

Smiling, Ceran shook her head. “That was somewhat altered old Turessian, Yoska. Literally, it would mean ‘We who wander come back to our home.’ You announced your arrival home…brother.”

“We call each other ‘cousin.’”

“We do not,” Ceran said, turning back to Dalania and Raeln. “The wanderers, I believe, were the lost clan. Turess sent them away for a reason, to do something of importance. There is no other reason I can think of that they would continue to roam two thousand years later, avoiding too much attention whenever possible.”

“We are simple traders,” Yoska argued. “Very simple. Very not Turessian.”

“Who better to hide Turess’s relics all over Eldvar? We don’t even know what they were for…”

Yoska stiffened and nodded while grinning, backing slight away from Ceran.

“Yoska, what do you know?”

“You say many times I am idiot, so I clearly know nothing.”

Raeln glanced over at Dalania, who stared at him a second before shrugging. Taking that as her blessing, Raeln said to Ceran, “Turess said they were meant to help him recover his memory when he was brought back. We’ve seen what happens to those who have to remember everything on their own…It’s rough. I believe that one of them actually protected me from the mists. The others may have similar enchantments.”

“That makes no sense, Raeln,” Ceran insisted, shooting Yoska a warning glare. “We know for a fact that some of the relics had far more significance than that. The one Yoska carries, as an example, grants the bearer extraordinary luck when facing death. It is likely the only reason this imbecile is alive.”

Sliding the cup at his belt around behind his back, Yoska asked, “What relic?”

Ignoring him completely, Ceran sat across from Raeln and pointed at his soup, reminding him to eat. Once he had a mouth full of vegetables and chicken, she added, “We really must find out what his intentions were with the items. If he is dead or lost to us, the most important thing we can do is be ready for whatever he had planned. We have one relic left, and I intend to use it however he intended. I will find Turess’s plan if it is the last thing I do.”

“Returning”

Becoming whole again was not something I needed for pride, though I think my ego could use the boost after Feanne was declared the voice of a god. Instead, I needed to stop being in the way. I needed to be who I had spent years becoming to defend Feanne and the kits the first time around. I had worked so hard to be more than my breed, and it had all escaped me to bring Feanne back.

Had anyone told me there was simply nothing that could be done about it, I would have been in far better shape. It was the not knowing, not understanding why I was incomplete. Others got by without magic their whole lives, and I had spent most of mine without it too. Once I had learned to master it, being without it made me feel weak and ashamed to accompany the others. Look at who I was to “help”: Feanne, the voice of a god, and Turess, who a nation revered as little less than a god.

Put me in a den with my children and tell me to be a nursemaid, and I would happily dedicate my life to it. Tell me that I am to be my mate’s humble servant until the day I die, and I would probably laugh at you, but wouldn’t really object when it came right down to it. But put me in the middle of a war against creatures far stronger than any mortal—some of them even revered as true old gods—and then take away my one real weapon, and I will feel inadequate. I believe anyone would, given the situation.

Oria, Alyana, Rinam, Theldis...if you get to read this, for this one moment, I want you to forget that your parents are trying to save the world and instead take a look at the really badly drawn dragon in the corner of this page. I’m not saying dragons are real. Please reread the last paragraph and then marvel at how badly I drew a DRAGON.

Also, please do not show this to any old elven women.

“I say again, I have no plan,” Turess said as Estin began to wake.

Groggily, Estin tried to stand but realized he could not feel his legs. His next thought was to his tail, but he could not move anything. His whole body felt as though it were cushioned and numb, hanging limply in the air, as though he were wrapped tightly in pillows.

His attention not so much focusing on, but rather drifting toward the speaker, Estin tried to figure out where he was and who was talking. Slowly, the foggy haze on his mind cleared slightly, and Estin could make out Feanne and Turess in a wide open area filled with priests, soldiers, and what he could only guess to be politicians or other nobility-minded people. Only the soldiers, Turess, and Feanne were at the table where maps lay spread out, though Rishad was making a point of peeking over Turess’s shoulder at them.

“I will not leave without a clear plan,” Feanne was saying, clearly arguing with Turess. It was the first time he had seen the two of them really talk, let alone angrily.

“We all die here if we do not begin marching, with or without plan,” Turess insisted. “My brother will not wait. We must not either. We all lose people. Accept your loss and use anger to fight for others.”

Screaming, Feanne threw everything off the table between them and walked away, covering her face. As she went, Estin could see Turess and Rishad exchange glances, followed by Rishad shaking his head slightly.

“Your mate is losing control of the situation,” Mairlee said, appearing beside Estin. For some reason, he could not look at himself, no matter how he tried. “I had not thought things would fall apart so quickly. The anger that comes with the Miharon’s magic makes her want to destroy what bothers her, but anxiety cannot be bitten.”

“Where are we?” Estin asked, still unable to feel anything. No one in the area would look at him, and he could not manage more than an airy whisper. “How long were we gone?”

Smiling at him, Mairlee said, “Doesn’t matter. I’ve caught what’s left of you, and I’ll rebuild your body here. It will hurt.”

“My body?” Estin could not see himself at all. When he tried to look down at himself, that same soft pressure kept him from moving. “What did you do to me? Am I dead?”

“Yes and no. We’ll see which of the two conditions sticks in a moment. You can thank me later, if you survive. If you don’t, I will be hiding under a mountain from your mate.”

An explosion of pain flooded Estin’s body, and he hit the smooth stone ground with so much force that he could well have fallen twenty feet or farther. Every inch of his skin burned, and he screamed as he curled into a ball. He wrapped his tail around himself as sensations, sounds, and even his own movement made his body and mind hurt. Weeping, he pulled up his knees to cover his face, using his tail to protect himself from the light and sound that stung every inch of exposed skin. Even his fur seemed to tingle painfully.

“Estin!” Feanne cried, as a shadow came over Estin. Rough hands pulled at his tail, trying to reach his face, but he could not make himself relax through the agony. “Look at me, Estin. Can you hear me?”

Trembling, Estin let Feanne pry his hands off his face, though he had to squeeze his eyes shut to block out the light. She dragged him off the ground and pulled him into a tight hug that, despite how much it hurt, was the most wonderful sensation of his life. Slowly, he tried to put his arms around her, but his muscles refused to move the way he demanded of them.

“Where’ve you been?” she demanded, holding him so tightly that Estin could barely breathe. “I’ve had scouts looking everywhere. You vanished with Mairlee more than a week ago…”

Estin managed to pull away and stare at Feanne, who was hurriedly wiping tears off her face. Dozens of humans around them watched. Putting his hand to her cheek, which she happily grabbed and pressed more firmly, he asked through the raspiness in his throat, “A week? Are you sure?”

“Very,” she assured him, almost frantic as she touched the scars on his face, his shoulder, and even traced the ones on his hands. She seemed to be trying to convince herself that he was real. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. Turess wanted us to leave.”

From behind Estin, Turess replied testily, “I did not want to leave your husband. I wanted to keep rest of city alive.”

The flickering light from overhead finally forced Estin to close his eyes again and shield his face. “Can we go indoors somewhere?” he asked, and Feanne ripped a cloak off a soldier nearby and threw it over Estin’s shoulders. It was then he realized he was naked. “This sunlight is killing me.”

Feanne put a hand over his brow to keep his eyes out of the light, letting him open them again. She looked worried and scared, her ears nearly flat as she studied him. “Estin, it’s nearly midnight.”

Looking up slowly, Estin saw the light that so stung his body was actually little more than torchlight. He lay in the middle of the temple of Jnodin, staring up at the dim stars far overhead. Between the torches and the top of the temple walls, he could make out the etched runes Turess had worked with his magic during Feanne’s presentation to the people of the city. Those runes were flickering and flashing, occasionally even sparking as pale blue lightning licked across the pattern of them. In several spots, the runes were actually burned and dark, the stone around them blackened.

“What’s happening?” he asked, wincing as the flare from another rune sparking made his skin itch. Somehow those symbols and their magic were raking at his flesh like nails on sunburned skin.

Feanne said nothing. Instead, she pulled Estin into a hug and tightened the cloak around him.

After several seconds, Turess finally took a knee near Estin and said, “The mists are here. They have closed much of the way south, and both the eastern and western gates are overrun. We need to abandon city. In hours, we have no way out.”

Estin sat up straight, looking to Feanne for confirmation. She pointedly looked away.

“You were keeping a city’s population in the path of the mists to wait for me? Feanne, you should have gone by now if it’s that bad.”

“I trusted that Turess could keep us protected a little longer,” she said, still unwilling to look at him.

Clearing his throat, Turess pulled off a glove and held up his hand. Faint streams of energy bounced from one fingertip to the next, barely lighting his palm. “This is all magic I can manage, so close to mists. They are drawing everything from city. Soon, runes will collapse and city will die within minutes after. There is not enough magic here to slow mists long, though Rishad will be first target. Everything with any spark of magic will be consumed.”

“I…what?” asked Rishad, looking between Estin and Turess. “I said we should go. Why would I be a target?”

“Mists consume magic to live,” Turess explained, without looking back at Rishad. “Whatever you have become gives you tie to nearly limitless magic. They do not know that you cannot access much. The mists see you for the greater whole of your kind. Once we are gone, they will seek out every creature like you in the world. After that, they will consume anything they can find that contains magic, including my relics. Last, they will wipe life from Eldvar, consuming tiny fragment of magic that keeps life within our bodies. They then will starve and disappear, but not before leaving world as barren husk.”

Feanne slid her arm under Estin’s shoulder and helped him stand, before saying quietly, “Turess, you have done this before. I have not. Give the order to march. I trust that you know what we have to do.”

Turess nodded and bowed, but then added, “May I remind you…I did not win the last war. I put my people into exile to lead mists away from rest of empire.”

“You didn’t have my mate and I at your side last time,” she said, smiling coyly. “Two wildlings will be enough, I am sure. Give the order.”

His concerned look fading to one of remembering something unpleasant, Turess agreed. “Yes…having a wildling helping and not leaving you to fend for yourself may be enough. I will give order to the army.”

Turess started to walk away, but then hesitated over near the altar. He slowly unwrapped the thick chain that he had worn around one wrist since they had begun traveling with him and laid it reverently on the altar. When he saw Rishad, Estin, and Feanne watching him, he explained, “Chain contains much magic, meant to protect against the elements. With it, bearer cannot freeze, bake, or many other gruesome deaths. Also lets wearer use some magic of flame and ice. At time, it seemed a good thing to have. Now, we will leave it here for the mists. Will slow them for maybe hour or more. Give us more time to run. When runes fail, they will come for this first and look for us later.”

Reaching up to his neck, Estin found that despite all of his clothing having been lost by whatever Mairlee had done to him, the simple leather necklace with its single black feather still hung there. As he touched it, he saw Turess glance over at him. “Should I leave this, too?” he asked, holding it up.

Turess shook his head. “That must stay with you for now. It has not found its purpose yet.”

“How will I know when it has?”

Smiling sadly, Turess turned and walked away.

“You owe me an explanation,” Feanne told Estin. “We are not leaving until you tell me where you’ve been.”

Estin smiled weakly and shrugged. “Dead, or close to it. I’ll explain as we go. I…I don’t know everything, so there’ll be a few things I can’t tell yet. You’ll just have to trust that this was for the best.”

*

By dawn, the entire city had mobilized. From where Estin stood atop the north wall, he could see tens of thousands of people moving steadily into the wastes of Turessi, most looking back longingly at Jnodin, the only home they had ever known. Hundreds of wagons lumbered among the people of Jnodin, carrying what little food and supplies they could take with them.

Once the throng of people had gone a short distance from the walls, they parted into two distinct groups—something Turess and Feanne had agreed upon. The soldiers and those who would help support them said their good-byes and continued north, while the rest of the population trekked toward the east. Turess had suggested the departure after noticing the mists had left a gap in that direction, where the citizens of Jnodin could escape. In another few hours, no one expected that gap to still exist. Soon enough, the people would be divided, possibly forever, with those in Turessi surrounded by the mists. Those people leaving were helpless if found by the Turessians, having not one wizard among them, largely to help ensure the mists ignored them.