The Northern Approach (48 page)

Laughing nervously, Dalania told him, “Not in the slightest. I do prefer this to being killed by undead, though. Consider that my vote of confidence in you.”

They lay there, cramped in the crate meant more for tools than two people, listening for what could have been hours by Raeln’s guess. The wagon continued rumbling forward, giving him some hope they might not have too much to worry about. Then, as he was starting to wonder if they could get out, the wagon came to an abrupt lurching halt.

“Not good,” whispered Dalania. “You don’t have weapons in reach, do you?”

Raeln wanted to swear and bang his forehead on the floorboards, but knew that was a bad idea. He had left his sword in a corner of the wagon, far from where they lay. Worse still, it might be visible to anyone who looked into the wagon’s interior. He had given no thought to what they might have left lying around.

A creak from the front of the wagon alerted Raeln that Yoska was climbing down from the driver’s seat. Raeln strained his ears, turning them to and fro, trying to pick out any other sound, but all he managed to hear through the muffling of the wagon walls were the horses whinnying.

The seconds passed slowly and Raeln began to worry Yoska was in grave danger. If the man was being chased or killed, he would need their help immediately. However, if he were managing to talk his way out of the situation, having wildlings and an orc come bursting out of the wagon would only complicate things. Reluctantly, Raeln waited and listened.

Soon a click and creak of the rear door of the wagon opening warned Raeln that they were no longer alone. Boots thumped up into the wagon—four sets, by his estimate.

Raeln wanted desperately to shift and make sure his legs were free to kick whoever opened the crate without hitting Dalania, but he knew doing so would make a great deal of noise. He was forced to wait, practically holding his breath.

“You see?” came Yoska’s voice within the room, letting Raeln know he likely only had three people with him. Still, there could be more outside, and if any were Turessians, the odds changed considerably. “As I say, wagon takes supplies to army. Wagon comes back empty. Is simple arrangement, no?”

Another man’s raspy voice replied. “Shut your mouth, gypsy. We received word of attacks on our supply wagons and need to check them all. Your people do not have the greatest history of cooperating, even under treaty.”

“You insult me, sir.”

“That was my intent, gypsy. Move aside.”

Raeln smelled leather, metal, and decay as at least one of the men came fully into the wagon and walked toward the crate with Estin and Feanne. That crate was nearest the door, opposite the barrel of wine that had been strapped to the floor of the wagon. Farther in were On’esquin’s crate on the same side as Estin and Feanne and then Raeln’s opposite that.

“Weapons and clothing, but no passengers?” asked the man with the raspy voice, sounding much closer. “Do you think I’m a fool, gypsy?”

“Is not for me to say. Such things are determined by one’s actions, not a man’s statement of it being so.”

“Watch him. He’s up to something. If he tries anything, cut him down.”

Raeln steadied himself as he heard the boots take a few more steps and stop, somewhere near Estin’s crate. The wood of the crate creaked loudly and Raeln heard the telltale gasp of surprise, followed by Feanne’s deep growl. A hiss of a sword being drawn confirmed his worries. Atop him, Dalania let out a sigh and pushed herself against the side of the crate to give Raeln room to move.

Throwing open the crate, Raeln leapt out and found he had vastly underestimated their risks. A single heavily armored undead soldier stood over Estin’s crate with the lid held open, his rotted face turning to look at Raeln. The corpse already held a sword, ready to strike. Beyond the first soldier, Raeln could see two living men on either side of Yoska at the entrance to the wagon. They appeared far more surprised than the undead, though that may have been a trick of their faces, in having all of their skin yet.

Outside, easily a dozen corpses stood at the ready, armored and holding unsheathed swords at their sides. Every single one of them looked up at Raeln, waiting for the order to charge at him.

“Well, well,” the lead undead said, motioning to its living companions to hold their position. “Three wildlings sneaking into our lands, rather than fleeing. That is quite a change. Can you speak, beast? I want answers before I execute all of you.”

Raeln looked around nervously, trying to decide what to do. He could see Feanne’s head poked up from the crate nearest the undead, watching him for a cue. Beside him, still concealed in the crate, Dalania was shifting so she could more easily stand and assist in some manner when the time was right. The only one he could not be sure was ready to act was On’esquin, still hiding in his closed crate.

Evaluating his companions, Raeln knew what was about to happen. He could see it in their eyes. Feanne would attack whether he wanted her to or not. Estin would follow her lead to protect her. Dalania was more likely to flee, but probably would not until after the others had fallen, making it more probable that the undead would catch and kill her before she could escape. Yoska would try to wait for the right moment to strike, but he would not run without the rest of them.

Leading this group had suddenly become troublesome for Raeln, knowing that “leading” meant about as much as trying to herd cats. They all would do things their own way while thinking they were doing what he wanted. He really wanted to rethink the whole idea of following On’esquin.

“You’re going to execute us no matter what I say,” Raeln said, eyeing his sword in the corner near the undead commander. “Why should I talk?”

The undead grinned, revealing multiple missing teeth, and then raised its free hand. As it did, the force outside tensed, ready to attack. “Choose carefully, wildling. My orders are to kill you for attempting to avoid our patrols. Whether we do so quickly or slowly is going to be determined by your next action. Our lord-master has little love for your kind, but I do not have any reason to butcher you just yet.”

Raeln prepared himself to fight as hard as he could. He would not sentence these people to death, but given that surrender made little or no difference, he had every intention of sacrificing himself to see them escape. With luck he could hold off the undead long enough for the others to get to the horses and flee.

Going from passively standing, as though weighing his options, to a full attack faster than the undead could react, Raeln rushed the dead man. Dropping and sliding across the floor as the undead tried to swing at him, he came back up and kicked the soldier backward through one of the men holding Yoska and onto the ground outside.

By the time the two hit the ground, Yoska had drawn his weapons, skewered the man beside him in the throat, and turned him to use as a shield against the others attempting to come through the door.

The rest of the group reacted immediately as well, with Feanne and Estin hopping out of the crate nearest the door, while Dalania moved from hers to the front of the wagon, where she could not be easily hit by a stray arrow and where she would be out of everyone else’s way.

On’esquin was a little slower than the rest, grunting and struggling to free himself from his crate. After a moment, he smashed the entire wooden frame open, sending wood flying as he sat up, using his spear to help him stand. “Armor was stuck,” offered On’esquin, grinning toothily.

At the door, still holding the dead soldier in front of himself, Yoska announced, “More trouble outside. I wish to stand somewhere else now.”

Raeln and On’esquin pushed their way to the door, displacing the others to look past Yoska.

The undead soldiers had formed up, raising battered shields and swords in a protective stance in an arc around the wagon’s only real exit. Any attempt to leave would have put that person well within reach of no less than four swords, with a second row of undead waiting behind the first. Escape was not much of an option.

What had prompted Yoska’s comment was an undead Raeln had not seen initially. Dressed in more simple clothing than the undead officer, this woman was paging through a book as she stood back from the rest of the undead.

“Wizard?” Raeln asked On’esquin, who nodded.

“If I were her, I would be looking up a sufficiently powerful spell to incinerate the whole wagon with us inside. Far simpler and much less risky than attacking head-on,” the orc explained.

Raeln felt his heart skip a beat as the woman closed her book, and he turned to ask, “Estin, can you do anything about her?”

“Not until I’m a lot stronger,” Estin confessed, nervously backing away from the door. “I might be able to slow her, but that’s pushing it. I’ll probably blackout first.”

“Move!” On’esquin roared, shoving Raeln, Yoska, and the dead man aside to take their place in the doorway.

The crackle of flames was deafening as Raeln threw himself to the floor instinctively. The fire continued for several seconds, but no heat came with the sound.

Looking back toward the door as he stood up, Raeln saw the woman outside had a foot-wide line of flame running from her hands to a point several inches before On’esquin’s outstretched hand. There the flames stopped and the air wavered from the heat. On’esquin seemed entirely calm, not even concentrating on magic the way a wizard would. The man had none of the indicators Raeln had been taught to watch for in any user of magic.

“Push harder, wizard!” the orc shouted, laughing as he lowered his hood to let those outside see his face. “You may be under Turessian control, but you are not one of us. Prove yourself to your masters, if you are able! My child could do better before he was old enough to earn his honor markings.”

Raeln watched as the commander of the undead began backing away, while the wizardess strained even harder, pouring more of her strength into the flames, changing them from yellow and red to a vivid blue. Still the flames came no closer to On’esquin, and when she shifted to aim the column at the walls of the wagon, the flames still died once they got near enough to the orc. Finally she fell to a knee and let the spell end, pieces of her decaying body flaking away from being exposed to so much heat for so long. Raeln had never even considered an undead wizard might tire the same way Estin or another spellcaster might.

“Shall we see what an educated person can do?” On’esquin taunted, holding up his hand. A ball of blue flame formed from the air, spinning in his palm while the undead soldiers slowly raised their shields. “A shame you can’t warn your master.” With a flick of his wrist, On’esquin released the ball of flame at the undead outside, where it burst and filled the entire area with fire and heat. Even behind On’esquin, Raeln could feel the flames suck the moisture from his eyes and nose, making it difficult to breathe.

Several seconds later, the flames diminished until the only remaining fire was on the smoldering corpses of the undead, all of which had been reduced nearly to ash. Somehow the wagon itself was intact, though Raeln could see the wood nearest the door had darkened from the temperatures.

“The wizards always fall for that,” On’esquin told the group, turning around to face them again. “Dorralt hates to admit that he helped create what I am, so he rarely tells anyone how to properly fight me. Wizards see an orc in armor and think to burn him down before he can attack them with weapons. It was that way two thousand years ago and it seems little has changed. Even when I use their magic against them, they keep trying.”

Getting up from the floor of the wagon quickly, Estin took a step toward On’esquin, forcing Raeln to hop up and get between the men, in case things were about to come to blows again. “When we fought the first time,” Estin said, though he did not sound angry, giving Raeln no idea what to expect. “You used magic against me. That was my son’s magic, wasn’t it?”

On’esquin laughed deeply, nodding. “Ah, the wildling understands. I am not just immune to magic…I soak it up. Something in what Dorralt did to me took away my ability to use magic the way you do, but I can change any magic thrown at me and manipulate it. Your son used a tremendous amount of energy and he gave me more than enough to fight you. That was how I stopped the undead at Pholithia.”

Estin stared at On’esquin for a long time, then slowly began to smile and then laugh. He shook his head as he sat down on the nearby crate. “Now I understand how you stopped the first war with the Turessians. Dozens of undead wizards all trying to burn you to a crisp,” Estin said. “This makes a lot more sense. We might have a chance against them, after all, if you can do that again.”