The Northern Approach (45 page)

“I’ve never met an elf who fights like that.”

“Nor have I,” confessed On’esquin, smiling again. “I think perhaps we should eat breakfast before our leader decides it is time to make an example of us again.”

Estin nodded and went over to the campfire, where Yoska held out cups of some steaming beverage that smelled like no tea Estin had ever had. He took the cup and began sniffing at it, picking up hints of herbs that he was fairly certain had managed to ferment somehow. Lowering the cup to ask Yoska whether the drink was even safe, he froze as he realized Feanne was watching Raeln with admiration as he settled in beside her.

Estin tried to look away, to ignore what he was pretty sure Feanne was thinking, but he could not make himself. When she tried to put a hand on Raeln’s knee—though Raeln pushed her hand away quickly—Estin felt abruptly sick. He put aside the cup Yoska had given him and excused himself to spend time alone in the woods, where he could deal with his emotions without being judged by the others…or letting them see him judge himself.

He got no more than a hundred yards out from the rest of the group before he encountered a steep drop-off, dotted with tall trees that blocked his view. Deciding he was still not far enough away, Estin climbed the nearest tree, getting himself high above the woods, with a clear view of much of the area.

Estin breathed in the fresh air and clung to the tree, letting his frustrations fade away as he surveyed the mountains to the west, with their high white-topped peaks. Over the course of several minutes, he let his eyes drift over the woods, searching for any hint of pursuit, while enjoying the heights and view. The early morning was beautiful and the crisp breeze tugged at his stress, calming him. It was easy to forget that his mate was eyeing another male when all he had to worry about was spread across the horizon.

Hanging from the tall tree, Estin closed his eyes and let his anger and sorrow fade away into a mindless sense of near-falling. Time passed as he let the sky ease his burdens, and the birds chittering in the distance was an easy thing to lose himself in. It was so much simpler than his life had become since meeting Feanne and far simpler than things had become of late.

Estin did not open his eyes again for most of an hour. He looked over the miles of silhouetted peaks and smiled, finding some solace in the beauty of it all. On a whim he surveyed the horizon, turning to see the north and east, amazed at how the war could be ignored from so high above the world.

Remembering what he had seen before going to help the others, Estin tried to get a feel for where they were relative to the village, and soon he managed to find the distant road to the east. There the wagons the Turessian had used to cart in all of her undead still waited, likely while the woman searched the woods for them. Fifty miles or so beyond that, a massive cloud of mists waited, lingering over what appeared to have been a village, flickers of lightning within its borders hinting at vast destruction.

Turning, Estin searched the rest of the horizon and saw more mists. Much of the south and west were dotted with sections of the glowing clouds, limiting any opportunity to go back the way they had come. With a chill he realized one of those clouds lay in the very direction he had been fleeing when he left the group the day before. He would have walked right into it sooner or later.

Scrambling down the tree, Estin ran back to the camp, doing his best to keep his mind focused on anything but Feanne. As he arrived, everyone reached for weapons, likely thinking his rush was due to being found out by the undead. Failing his original plan, he looked to Feanne as everyone’s eyes fell on him, seeing she was leaning beside Raeln, trying to casually expose her breasts in the loose-fitting clothing she was wearing.

Digging his claws into his palms, Estin forced himself to avoid watching Feanne’s attempts to woo the other male. Feanne had always been blunt when she wanted something, but this coy behavior was demeaning.

“On’esquin,” Estin said, panting. “What do your prophecies say about our route?”

Sitting up and thinking as he held a chunk of rabbit meat in his hand, the orc said as though reading, “Weaker than they must be, those who would help will follow the wilds.”

“So where is that Turessian going to be looking for us?”

Raeln spoke up. “All along the foothills heading north. Not that we have any choice. Prophecy or not, the wilds are the only area we can hide in, and they aren’t deep here, unless we go back into the mountains.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Estin told him, kneeling and plucking a twig from the grass nearby. Using it to roughly draw the mountains and their location, he added a winding line to the east. “There’s a road that ‘follows the wilds’ the whole way. I could see wagons and horses waiting. I’m willing to bet that Dorralt and his people will look almost anywhere other than the main roads. They wouldn’t expect On’esquin to walk down a road they control.”

“For good reason. That would be insane,” On’esquin replied.

Estin waited for the others to say something, but one by one, they looked to Raeln, who blinked and looked back at them in confusion. Slowly, he seemed to understand, though he did not look entirely happy about it.

“The road it is,” Raeln told the group, smiling. “It’s reckless and stupid, which is why it might work. We’re all still tending to wounds, so we rest until afternoon and then steal some wagons after sunset. That gives you all about four hours before we start marching.”

Moving off to sleep by himself, Estin had to almost force himself to stare at the ground to avoid seeing Feanne’s constant watching of Raeln. He would endure as he had so many things before. They had gone through far worse.

Once the others had settled in to rest, Dalania surprised Estin by coming over to sit beside him. She put her back to a tree, staying well outside his reach, but he could tell she was trying to be sociable and was unsure how to do it. Thinking back to how willing she had been to be in his arms in her fox form, Estin wondered if she was actually as afraid of being alone as she was of being close to others.

“You haven’t told her,” whispered Dalania, checking over her shoulder for Feanne, but she and Raeln were still sitting quietly by the fire. “She needs to know who she was. Her memories are as much a part of her as her body or spirit. Bring one back and the others might follow.”

Estin watched Feanne more openly, knowing the shadows of the woods would help conceal his attention. He need not have bothered, as she had eyes only for Raeln, staring at him the way she had once looked at Estin. Looking down at his shabby and mud-spattered clothing, Estin wondered how he had not lost her to someone more like Raeln long before.

“Promise me you won’t say anything,” he told Dalania, and she stared at him with near-horror. “Promise me.”

“She needs to know! Do you not want her back…?”

“More than anything, but telling her that she’s my mate won’t make it true in her mind. She needs to figure things out for herself or it’ll feel like a lie. If she doesn’t love me, I have no one to blame but myself.”

Dalania’s expression softened into sadness, nodding absently as she looked toward Feanne herself. “Losing you nearly killed her once, Estin,” she warned softly. “Save her however you can.”

“That’s what I’m doing. No memories means she doesn’t have any reason to care for me. I’ll give it time and do what I can, but ultimately, it’s going to be largely up to her to heal.”

“I swore to protect her and this isn’t the right way!”

Estin slid closer to Dalania, forcing her to back away and lower her eyes as she sought to avoid confrontation. Using a claw to lift her chin and make her look at him, he said, “I know my mate better than anyone, even you. Tell me that she wouldn’t resent me telling her how to think and do exactly the opposite to prove she isn’t dependent on anyone. If I tell her she’s my mate, she will go out of her way to prove I’m not.”

Dalania moved away again and nodded, wincing as she glanced back at Feanne. “I will trust your judgment based on what I know of her,” the fae-kin replied, wringing her hands nervously. “Promise that we won’t hide her life from her for long.”

“Only as long as we have to, that I promise.”

“Northlands”

She hides her pain, even from herself. I can feel it, even through these dreams. Through darkness into light she has come, but the shadow of that darkness keeps her from who she was meant to be.

What has happened will happen again. I see now that her pain is the same as that of Kharali, but they are far from the same person. Her pain can be cured only by remembrance, but no amount of explanation will give her solace. She must find herself through new pain and the memories that come with it.

Who is she? I doubt even she knows. I certainly do not.

-
         
Excerpt from the lost prophecies of Turess

Feanne’s shin thudded into Raeln’s shoulder hard enough to rock him slightly, but he took the hit patiently. The blow was not nearly enough to hurt him, though he recognized that each time she hit him, her balance and form were improving. More importantly, her speed was increasing, making it difficult to counter her attacks.

“Again,” he told her.

Repeating the kicks Raeln had been teaching her almost flawlessly, Feanne continued to beat on Raeln’s left arm, then his right, and back again. Her muscles seemed to be remembering form and balance quickly, allowing her to make tremendous leaps in combat training each day when they stopped. He had trained grown men for months and not seen the improvement she had gone through in mere days. Idly he wondered how capable she had been before dying.

Stepping out of the way of Feanne’s next kick, throwing her slightly off-balance as she recovered, Raeln punched at her. Feanne reacted immediately, centering her weight to regain control and then striking his wrist to push aside his fist before it could reach her. He attacked again and she easily avoided that attack as well, nimbly backing away as he tried to kick at her. Each time, he saw her muzzle tense to bare her fangs and her fingers curl, ready to strike with her razor-sharp claws.

Raeln decided it was time to escalate Feanne’s training and see how much she really remembered. She wanted to fight to the death, not for practice, and those instincts needed to be honed before a real threat found them all.

Pushing his attack, Raeln began a series of punches and kicks that, while not overly complex, he knew were fast enough that most soldiers could not keep up with him. By the end of the series, he had yet to find a single person that could have avoided being kicked hard in the chest.

Feanne defended herself with speed and coordination that belied the difficulty she had just walking without tripping a week earlier. She dodged and deflected his attacks one after another, catching Raeln more than once with her claws—something he still was not sure was an accident. In the end though, she miscalculated his speed and he kicked her in the stomach, sending her sprawling onto the ground near a cluster of trees…where Dalania sat, shaking her head sadly.

“How you consider this to be ‘fun,’ I will never understand,” the fae-kin woman told them, getting up and walking away before Raeln could answer. She headed back toward the large wagon they had stopped along the side of the road, where Yoska and On’esquin were still bickering over the proper way to cook venison.

“Are you all right?” Raeln asked, offering her a hand up, which she readily took and did not release once she had stood. “That one was more solid than I intended.”

“Of course. You winded me, is all. You’re strong when you set your mind to it.”

Raeln started to pull his hand away, but hesitated as he smelled fresh blood. Looking her over, he could see blood on her shirt where his paw’s claws had cut through and dug into her fur and flesh. “You’re bleeding…that’s more than winded.”

Looking confused, Feanne checked her stomach and lifted her shirt, poking at three cuts that bled slightly at the base of her ribs. Shrugging, she returned her attention to Raeln. “I don’t feel them,” Feanne told him, pulling her hand away. “You’ve yet to hit me hard enough to cause any pain.”

That made Raeln balk. Their sparring, while well-meaning, often resulted in injuries. Feanne had toughed through them, refusing Estin’s help each time she had endured bruises or cuts.

“Not once?” In particular Raeln was thinking about their fight two days prior, when she had split open the back of her scalp on a tree and required stitches from Estin. Raeln had hurried to distance himself from Estin after seeing the man’s seething anger and avoided him for more than a day.

“No,” she repeated. When Raeln did not back down from staring at her like she was lying, she put the claws of one hand down on her other forearm. Before Raeln understood what she was doing, Feanne slashed her own arm, leaving long bleeding gashes that dribbled blood all over the brush. “I haven’t felt anything.”

Startled, Raeln grabbed her arm and hurriedly wrapped a cloth over the wounds to slow the bleeding and help prevent infection. He looked over his shoulder and found Estin over near the other two cooks, apparently unaware of the exchange that had just occurred. The man was filling bowls with steaming soup and attempting to stack several atop one another.

“We need to have Estin look at these,” Raeln said once he had the makeshift bandage tied off. He would have to somehow tell Estin that he had cut her by accident or Estin would be beside himself with fear for Feanne.

Feanne snorted and pulled her arm away. “On’esquin says that he can hardly heal a bruise,” Feanne snapped, but then closed her mouth and lowered her eyes as Estin made his way over to them, carrying two bowls of the hearty soup.

Estin said nothing, as had become his habit when they were training. He went straight to Feanne, pausing briefly as his eyes drifted over the bandage on Feanne’s arm. Raeln could see Estin’s jaw tense, but he kept quiet, walking right up to Feanne and raising her bowl to her, partially bowing as he did so. Meekly, he focused his eyes on the ground as he held out the food and did not look up until she had taken the bowl gruffly from him.

Half-heartedly, Estin shoved the second bowl into Raeln’s hands and walked away.

Raeln recognized the manner from other wildlings growing up…Estin was offering a potential mate food in a way meant to show her he was putting her before his own meal and interests. Wolves might have handled things somewhat differently, but Estin was not ignorant of how to approach a predatory breed and make the appropriate gestures. If Feanne understood, Raeln could not see it in her blank expression each day. Each time Estin would hurry off, saying nothing, but looking more hurt.

“Why does he stay?” asked Feanne once Estin was far enough away that he would not hear. “He doesn’t belong here. The rest of us are warriors. He isn’t…not a warrior by breed or by training. Even the fae woman can hold her own, though I have doubts about her value as well. He could at least fight with us to try to pretend like he has some value here.”

Raeln sat down with his bowl, trying to think of how he wanted to phrase things. He knew full well how badly the loss of Feanne’s memories was hurting Estin, and he did not want to make matters worse. Given how little Estin had told Feanne about their past, he had to pick his words carefully. Estin had not explained much to him, but had briefly mentioned his desire not to spring anything on Feanne that she had not already figured out somewhat on her own.

“Feanne…he cares about you. He honestly cares about all of us, probably more than he should.”

Holding up her bowl, Feanne replied, “He belongs in here, not walking around and acting like we’re old friends. Every instinct in me says that I should chase him off or kill him for food.”

“He is our friend.”

“He’s your friend, not mine,” Feanne answered, taking a bite of the meat in the thick soup before adding, “I remember nothing that would make him matter. If he can’t heal, he can’t help us. Send him away or I’ll put him down before he gets us all killed.”

“Estin gave you back your life and saved mine. We owe him a lot more than sending him away because his magic is diminished.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t grateful. I said he wasn’t my friend. I have no reason to consider him anything but a rodent that continues to try to draw my eye. I may not remember my past, but I’m not an idiot…I see him watching me when he thinks I’m not paying attention.”

“The heart knows what it wants,” Raeln replied without thinking. He had not meant to say anything that might hint at Feanne and Estin’s former relationship.

Feanne either did not understand what he said or simply ignored it as she watched him. “Enough about Estin,” Feanne said, smiling as she idly scratched at the white patch of fur that ran up her neck and down between her breasts. “You draw the eye far more easily than him.”

Raeln’s ears shot up and his skin prickled. He knew that tone and realized the danger he was suddenly in. He had heard the female wolves back in his village speak to—or about—him that same way. Ishande had very nearly mauled him with that same look in her eyes. Uncomfortable did not even begin to describe his feelings.

“Not a chance, Feanne,” he replied, eating some of his soup. When he looked up again, she was still studying him.

“I’m not asking you for anything permanent, maybe just to keep warm at night. It has to have been a long time since you found anyone…I’m guessing longer for me. I don’t want to be your mate for life, just a bed companion. If I need to be forceful…”

Raeln struggled to swallow his food. He was caught somewhere between panic and outright laughter. “Trust me in this,” Raeln told her as firmly as he could manage. “There is no one here that interests me.”

“No one?”

“Absolutely no one.”

“You only have interest in other wolves, then?”

Raeln nodded, trying to keep from saying more than he already had. There were enough conflicts and hard feelings in the group that he had no desire to add to them. Telling her that she was the wrong gender was hardly going to go over well.

Sighing, Feanne went back to eating, saying nothing further, though Raeln caught her watching him from the corners of her eyes. She was plotting something and he knew it would be a problem when she acted on it.

Eating quickly, Raeln excused himself the moment he finished his food and hurried toward the wagon where the others were waiting. He made it almost halfway before Dalania intercepted him, stepping out from the trees where she had managed to be nearly invisible. She fell in alongside Raeln, motioning him forward to keep him from stopping.

“Is she well?” the woman asked, taking care not to give any gesture that would be visible at a distance. “She appears lost in thought and I hoped…”

“No, she still remembers nothing. If anything, things are worse. She apparently thinks I’m the man she’d rather bed than Estin. She’s made it pretty clear that I don’t get a say in the matter and she’ll keep trying.”

Dalania’s eyes widened and she looked past Raeln toward where Estin stood near the other men. “Do not share this with him,” she warned, lowering her voice. “It will break his heart. More importantly, rebuff her offers or this entire group might descend into more infighting than it has already experienced.”

“That, I can do.”

Nodding absently, Dalania added, “Go and see that the others do not waste their time squabbling. I’ll see how Feanne is doing and try to steer her away from you. She might listen to another woman.”

Raeln reached out to touch the woman’s arm in thanks, but Dalania flinched away so sharply that Raeln wondered if she thought he meant to strike her. Before he could ask, she hurried back to join Feanne, leaving him wondering.

“Are all of us broken?” Raeln asked himself softly, watching the dryad go. “I sure wouldn’t bet on us making it across a street together, let alone to Turessi. There’s more baggage here than a wagon can carry.”

Shaking his head, Raeln continued toward the wagon. The three men there hardly seemed to even notice he had arrived. On’esquin and Yoska were shouting at one another, the gist of which seemed to be that On’esquin believed the meat was overcooked and thus spoiling the taste of the soup, while Yoska believed On’esquin was an idiot. Estin was involved in none of it, leaning against the wagon nearby, holding his notebook of magic, though Raeln could see he was staring at it without seeing what was in his hands.