The Northern Approach (35 page)

Leaning forward, Estin stared at the area On’esquin was indicating. The map was entirely devoid of any cities or other landmarks anywhere near the route they were on, with many tiny markers for hazardous terrain nearby. “You’re taking us where exactly? How many allies do you think there are in the middle of nowhere?”

“Estin, where did your family go when things got dangerous in the cities?”

“We fled as far into the wilderness as we could.”

On’esquin tapped a spot on the map. “There,” he explained, “is the farthest point in this region from any city without crossing the mountains. In my time, that was a hidden village where slaves fled when they wanted to disappear. We all knew about it, but it had been tradition to turn a blind eye their way. Even Turess stayed away from the place, letting them keep to their own, which was why when I had to flee my home, that was where I went first. To be sure that it is still filling the same purpose, I confirmed that the nearest cities are as hostile to wildlings as Pholithia was and they rarely find those who get away.”

“And you think that spot on a map is still the same village of escaped slaves it was two thousand years ago? Are you insane? Who in their right mind would brave that kind of terrain to build a village?”

“Precisely,” On’esquin concluded, rolling up the map. “Who but the most desperate? If those we seek aren’t there, then I would expect to find no one. There is no loss in trying. Should I be correct, we may find a great number of people who would be more than happy to stand up to the invaders. Unless you learn to control the powers at your disposal, we will need their help…and even then I would not want to try without an army helping us.”

“What about the prophecies you keep quoting?” asked Estin.

Pulling the rolled and leather-wrapped parchments from his belt, On’esquin sat them on the ground in front of Estin. “Read them if you can. You’ll likely find as much in there to help as I can. Two thousand years of reading those and I admit that only a sentence here and there means anything useful. Most are either symbolic or badly phrased to the point of being useless to us. They are far more helpful after an event has passed than before. I prefer to use them as a loose guide and continue to make sure we take our own actions and make our own plans. It’s far safer than trusting the ramblings of a man who was dying and wouldn’t have to face the consequences of misspeaking. The only time these prophecies are truly helpful is when trying to convince someone like Raeln to do as I say.”

“As one of the people here who can die, I appreciate that you recognize the risks,” Estin answered, grinning. “If we’re to fight the heart of the Turessian invasion head-on, you might need to teach us all how you stay alive.”

“No,” replied On’esquin gruffly, grabbing the rolled parchment and shoving it back in his belt. “You do fine as you are from what I’ve seen. You’ve survived things no mortal should. I won’t wish this on anyone else, even in jest.” Clearly upset by Estin’s joking comment, On’esquin remained silent for some time as the sun slowly illuminated the sky.

Not really wanting to sleep further, Estin finally asked, “What will you tell me about whatever you put in me back at Corraith?”

On’esquin blinked and looked up at Estin as though he had forgotten he was not alone. Frowning deeply, he shook his head. “Accept its power and do not ask,” he snapped.

“I refuse to let it come forward again until I know what I’m dealing with.”

Snarling, On’esquin nodded and replied, “You do not want to know this, Estin. I need you to figure out how to control it on your own. Telling you will not aid us. It may even make matters worse.”

“Control is one thing…I want to know what it is. When I feel it waking, it’s like something is alive inside me, trying to get out. I hear voices…not just the whispers of the dead. It’s something else. It’s angry.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” admitted On’esquin, chuckling wryly. Sighing, he added, “As you wish, Estin. Ask your questions and I will answer to the best of my ability. If you cannot come up with the correct questions, I will keep my secrets for now.”

“Why does it only work when I am angry to the point of wanting to kill everyone around me?” he asked quickly. “Pholithia was a wonderful example…no anger, no magic.”

“You fear it because you cannot control the anger when it is active,” stated On’esquin, nodding. “This is clumsiness on your part. The magic will work regardless of emotion, but without the will to control it outside of the anger, it clings to the emotion it knows best, which is anger. How many times has it worked for you, Estin?”

“Twice,” Estin replied, struggling to keep from stopping there. He did not really want to put words to what those times were. “Once when Feanne and I fought Arturis and threw him into the mists, and the other was when trying to save Feanne from execution. It wouldn’t even work to save Atall.”

“The boy is dead?” On’esquin asked, his eyes widening in surprise. “I am sorry, Estin. I had no idea. The boy was remarkable. I would have given anything to have him with us during the tasks before us. I take it then that you watched him die?”

“I did. I saw Arturis tear him apart and throw him into the mists.”

“Fear was not enough. You needed the anger to break down the walls against what I gave you,” explained On’esquin. “Once you knew the stakes, your anger was greater than your fear of the powers. You must stop fearing it. Why would you fear magic that makes you far more than you were?”

Estin shrugged and looked over toward the others, making sure they were not listening in. Yoska likely was, but he was far enough away that Estin doubted he heard much. “My mate had something similar…a gift of nature, she called it. If she wasn’t careful, she could kill all of us and not know until she returned to normal. Anytime she used that power, she feared she would come to her senses with the blood of her family on her hands. It was a long time before she trusted herself enough not to kill us. I’m already more than I was growing up…I don’t need to use something like that.”

“You fear hurting those you love?”

“Always,” Estin confessed. “Not that there’s much risk left. Yoska is a friend and I know he can fend for himself if things went badly. The two of you I would consider friends, and I’m guessing I’m not much threat to either of you.”

On’esquin laughed at that and shrugged again. “Ask your questions, Estin.”

Taking a slow breath to calm himself after dredging up the thoughts of Atall and Feanne, he finally asked, “What was in that coffin that I looked into?”

On’esquin’s mirth faded instantly and he scowled. “Direct and a well-spoken question. I had hoped not to leap right to that. Perhaps you remember what I told you was in them at the time?”

“You said they contained madness.”

“Let us go a different direction to answer this. Think for a moment on what Dorralt’s curse does to his people,” On’esquin said. “He must break their will before they will follow blindly. The first three who he recruited became like him willingly. Two did it to punish those they felt had treated them poorly, and one did it for enlightenment. The two grew angrier with every passing year, unable to ever quench their need for vengeance. Dorralt has long since seen that as the perfect way to sculpt his new minions. Anger consumes them until their humanity is lost. Even if that anger is at themselves, it serves him.”

“You were the third,” noted Estin, getting a nod from On’esquin.

“Actually, the first, but if you meant the one who wanted enlightenment, you are correct,” he admitted. “He tried to turn me into a monster, to fight against Turess and help him conquer the empire. I refused and have sought out calmer minds to help soothe the pain in my own head. Left to my own, I would eventually become like them. After this long, I should be waging wars of my own, but that was why I hid myself away in those tombs.”

“What do the Turessians have to do with what was in that box? There were no bodies, nothing Turessian there, other than the runes on the walls.”

“Fifty generals fell in the first war,” On’esquin went on, tracing a Turessian rune into the dirt. “Among them were the first two to serve him. When I could not find Dorralt, I abandoned chasing him down and set to guarding those fifty. Those helping me believed he had fallen or fled the region.”

“The coffin I opened did not have a body…”

“Every coffin was full when I closed them,” On’esquin assured him. “We designed the coffins to contain their magic, holding even the strongest of them. Two millennia is long enough that even the Turessians grow tired of living and let their bodies fall apart, when facing an eternity of looking at stone walls. The energy in that coffin was all that remained.”

His heart racing and skin itching, Estin leapt onto On’esquin and drove his claws into the man’s neck. Growling, he lowered his muzzle to within inches of On’esquin’s face even as he heard Yoska and Raeln shout for him to stop. “What did you put in me?” Estin demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“The spirit in you has lost its sense of self. It is no longer a threat, Estin.”

“What is it?” he practically roared at On’esquin.

“Oramain…strongest of Dorralt’s generals,” the orc admitted, looking away. “His magic was incredible. I felt that with his spirit pressed into a moral man’s body, we might stand a chance against Dorralt. We needed the power he held on our side in this war. I saw no other way. He could give us the power we lacked.”

“You put one of those creatures in me?” Estin demanded, sounding to himself like he was on the verge of tears. Anger far outweighed fear, but he could feel both raging inside his chest. The tingle of magic rising in the back of his mind warned him the magic—the Turessian, he corrected—was trying to come forward. “Get it out!”

“I cannot,” On’esquin said firmly. “I knew neither of us was strong enough to fight Dorralt’s armies. We needed help. It was the only thing I could offer you. I did not even know if I would be able to join you in this fight.”

“Will I become like them? Am I to be a monster like they are?”

“Not at all, Estin. You have some of Oramain’s power, but not anything of who he was. You said that the powers came forth when you were dealing with death. Your wife’s near-death. A fight against a Turessian, where I can assume many people died. These are triggers that allowed the spirit inside you to find common ground with the spirit of those who were dying. Like sought like and Oramain came forth to fight at your guidance.”

“Then why did my son die?” Estin managed to eke out, though he felt weak and tired. He wanted to run, to hide, anything to get away from what he found out that he was. Faintly he heard Raeln approaching, but he could not make himself acknowledge the man. “Why couldn’t I save him?”

“Had anyone just died or was anyone dying at the time?”

“No. He was the first during that encounter. There were old bodies all around us, though.”

“There is your answer. The spirits did not know to help. Oramain was a master of the dead, using their life-energy to create armies that served him. Without recent death around you or the absolute certainty that it was about to occur, Oramain had no interest in helping.”

“Who was this person?” Estin asked, putting his face in his hands. “This Oramain. What am I dealing with?”

“The spirit?” On’esquin inquired, sitting up. “He was once Turess’s childhood friend and the person who helped Turess escape from slavery as a youth. Oramain was also one of the first to turn on Turess when his brother began plotting to take control of the empire, though I do not know if that was Dorralt’s doing or Oramain’s choice.”

“What was he…in the end?”

“Once he died and was reborn, you mean? He was our most feared opponent. Like Dorralt and I, he gained powers far beyond the mere undead wizards that most Turessians seem to be. His talent was for trapping spirits of those he watched die. He claimed hundreds of spirits, forcing them to return to the world of the living over and over to fight for him against their own families and kin. It took us years to get past his soldiers and defeat him. He could only bring them back for a few hours, but once he had enough, that limitation hardly mattered.”

“Will you have to kill me too?”