Sunset of Lantonne (64 page)

Ilarra poked her head back out to look at the undead. They had almost circled the field, but she could not see anything more than mangled corpses in all directions.

“I don’t see a Turessian. Are you sure?”

He pointed off to the right and nodded, looking grim.

“Get us out of here!” Ilarra hissed at him, lowering her voice even more.

Lifting his head slightly to peek through the stalks, Nenophar ducked back down and pointed toward where he had indicated the Turessian to be, then at himself. He pointed at Ilarra next and toward the west. “Now.”

Silently, Ilarra mouthed an obscenity at Nenophar, but he gave her a quizzical stare as though he did not understand. She wished they were somewhere she could be free to kick him in the shin, but the undead were far too close to risk it. Whether Ilarra liked it or not, she had to act soon.

Turning on her heel, Ilarra went the direction Nenophar had indicated, cautiously making her way through the corn stalks until she neared the edge of the field. Beyond the last few rows of corn, she could see a tight ring of zombies standing watch with their backs toward her.

Ilarra raised a hand toward the nearest zombie, ready to channel the magic necessary to force it to obey her, when a woman’s clear voice off to her right startled her.

“Dear child, I do know you are in there. You may be able to hide your mind from us at a distance, but you are much too close for that. Show yourself so we can discuss this like civilized folk. We are not all monsters, I assure you. Come out and speak with me.”

Freezing momentarily, Ilarra peeked over the rows of corn and saw a woman in a long cloak and deep hood standing not far off, staring straight toward her. From what Ilarra could see under the woman’s cloak, she was dressed in simple leather riding clothing like many travelers from farther east. The woman was unarmed, but Ilarra knew that was no assurance of safety. Despite the shade the woman’s cloak gave her, Ilarra could see the dark lines of tattoos around her eyes.

“Come out now or I will burn the field to flush you out,” the woman added, sounding as though her patience was growing thin. “I will not come in after you, if that was your ambush plan.”

Fighting to keep herself calm, Ilarra looked back toward where Nenophar had been hiding to see what he intended. The man was gone, leaving her with few options of her own. Taking a deep breath to steady her shaking hands, she stood upright and walked out of the field, trying to stay out of the reach of the zombies, though they seemed entirely unconcerned with her. One of the zombies turned enough to watch her with unfocused eyes, but none made any aggressive movements.

“Good girl,” said the Turessian woman pleasantly, clapping her gloved hands softly. “Come over here. It is not too often I encounter someone worthy of having a conversation with. Never mind the hired help—they were filthy creatures in life and are no better now, but they will not harm you.”

That comment struck something in Ilarra, and she began looking over the undead nearby, something she rarely had any desire to do in the past. Unlike previous groups of the dead she had seen the Turessians use, these were entirely non-human and non-elven. The vast majority appeared to be orcs, with several wildlings and dwarves mixed in. In that moment, Ilarra realized the Turessians were not all puppets; they had their own objectives and habits that set them apart from their master, even if their overall goals meshed. This particular woman had more of a dislike for the races she had raised as undead than the average Turessian.

Once Ilarra had come within a few feet, the woman pulled down her hood. As she did, Ilarra caught a brief glimpse of dried and dead flesh hanging loosely over the woman’s skull, her desiccated lips curled away from her mouth, her sunken eyes white. Veins that were nearly black ran across the woman’s neck and a spattering of dried hair covered her cracked scalp. Dozens of other faces flickered across Ilarra’s sight, something Nenophar had told her was an indication of the Turessian ability to draw knowledge and power from one another.

The sunlight hit the woman’s face and it instantly returned to the look of a middle-aged human woman. Bright red lips and smooth pale skin gave no hint of the horror Ilarra had just seen a second before. Even the woman’s eyes were clear and bright and a long mane of chestnut brown hair fell over her shoulders. In both appearances, the sharp-edged tattoos ran in a half-circle that began nearly between her eyebrows and came around her eyes and down to her cheekbones on both sides.

At first Ilarra stared at the tattoos, as she had when she had first seen Therec’s similar ones. Then, like the knowledge that came to her about magic and other topics, a rush of understanding filled the back of her mind, dragged from some anonymous source she had no desire to put a name behind.

“Your clan is Akrast,” Ilarra said without thinking, knowing she was right even before the woman’s eyes widened slightly. “A preserver, tasked with keeping the ancestors’ remains looking dignified. You were honored twice for saving important people through wisdom in battle. Once, you were a highly respected woman both in your clan and the early council. Your brother held rank, as well. If memory serves, you would be Liris.”

“And you are not nearly as ignorant of what we are as Dorralt had feared,” she answered, smiling warmly. “From what he told me, I half-expected to find a child who could barely fathom the magic she had been given. If you can read Turessian script, you are not a total loss. I may be able to work with you yet and show you why you were brought in. I see a wildling beside you, but he is not here…whatever magic that is needs to be dealt with, but that is a matter for another time.”

Ilarra eyed the markings a little longer and thought on the gruesome monstrous face she had seen briefly and realized it was probably the woman’s true form after being dead so long. Nenophar had said anything she believed about her own body became its reality as a way to ignore pain and injury, but what she had just seen was the woman letting down her concentration for just a second, allowing her body to return to its actual appearance. What Ilarra now saw was likely how the woman remembered herself in life, however long ago that had been. Ilarra’s guts knotted painfully and she tried not to let herself wonder too long about herself.

Contemplating a flurry of information that came to mind unbidden, Ilarra said, “A preserver is to maintain the bodies of the dead so that they can be a silent reminder of those who have left us. Why would you allow yourself to become…this? Leading the ancestors of others is a direct affront to the oaths you took.”

The smile dropped sharply from Liris’ face.

“Unlike you, I chose this path during our second civil war,” she snapped at Ilarra, putting her hands on her hips as she took a step closer. “Dorralt came to me and offered me a way to restore our people to their rightful place in the world. I chose to aid our people, rather than hinder them.You should have been indoctrinated before becoming one of us, but these days we cannot be as choosy. Perhaps once Dorralt has spent some time working on you, he will exert the same control he has over all the more stubborn ones. If it was left to me, I would have smothered you in your bed before allowing you into our numbers, but with things as they are, you are my sister. I will treat you as we would any of our untrained children.”

Ilarra backed away as the woman took a step toward her.

The woman seemed to notice Ilarra’s discomfort for the first time and stopped walking, raising her hands as though surrendering before taking a step farther away. “I apologize, child…Ilarra, I believe you were called. It has been hundreds of years since I became what we are now—I have forgotten how difficult the transition can be and how frightened you must be. I honestly mean you no harm. Unlike Dorralt, I would rather talk through your concerns than force anything on you. His way is to control your body until your mind follows, but I prefer people to want to help us.”

Raising her hand toward the woman, Ilarra tried her best to look like the regal wizard she had dreamt of being, declaring loudly, “Stay back or…”

“Or what?” the woman asked in a motherly tone, smiling warmly. “I have hundreds of years of practice being one of the undying, whereas you have…what…a year, if that? A fire cannot burn itself. Remember that before you attempt to use our communal powers against me. If you wish, please try, but do not be disappointed when you fail.”

Nervously backing toward the corn field, Ilarra lowered her arm and began looking for a direction she could run. “Why are you doing this?” she asked the woman, and stopped retreating when she realized the zombies were shifting their positions to cut her off.

“Why am I speaking to you like a sister or why am I gathering troops to march on Lantonne?”

Ilarra looked back to the Turessian woman a little surprised. “To be fair…either.”

The woman smirked at Ilarra, then smoothed her cloak and sat down on the ground. Patting a spot near her, she waited for Ilarra to do the same.

“I will not bite you, child, and neither will my servants. Sit and hear my side of things. I am certain whoever is guiding you has been less than kind to our people in his or her explanation of these things.”

“Your people,” Ilarra noted, but Liris just patted the ground again.

Cautiously, Ilarra came over a little closer, sitting down well outside the woman’s reach.

“Let me tell you a story,” began the woman, brushing dirt off of her cloak with her gloved hands. Once she seemed satisfied she could not get any more off of it, she went on, “Our master…”

“Dorralt,” Ilarra noted.

“Master,” the woman repeated, giving Ilarra a sharp glare, “was unhappy to see his empire fall during his younger years. Those who were unworthy rose to take what was not theirs, driving him off while they laid claim to our cities. The people entrusted with guiding our people were cowards, unwilling to stand up for what we had built. They hid, while the world moved on, forgetting anything more than legends about us.

“Dorralt gathered an army and tried to hold the empire together, but he failed. I can hear him complaining in my head, but that remains the truth. Thousands died in the attempt by him and his fifty generals to maintain the empire. We lost most of our lands as the cowards that led Turessi retreated from our outlying lands. One realm after another fell back to the barbarians that we had once controlled.

“What would you do if your home, left so long abandoned, now was found to be filled by those who should be serving you? I doubt many would be gracious upon their return. Dorralt is no different. He comes to take what belongs to him, and if he meets resistance, he uses force. Some of his newer generals are less kind and resort to violence first, but that is not something he requires of us.”

Ilarra thought a while on that while Liris watched her patiently. “You’ve come here to fight a war against Lantonne?”

“Me personally? No. My duties are more focused on finding and eliminating certain threats. Some would lump you and whoever has been leading you around into that category, but I would not.”

“You think these are your lands?” Ilarra asked, and the woman nodded. “Did you ever hold them during your lifetime?”

“No, but our master…”

“Your master cheated death and is trying to take back something he hasn’t had in hundreds of years. How can you take that out on the people living here? We weren’t even alive when the lands changed hands, if that’s even true,” countered Ilarra, shaking her head. “After this long, your master is no better than any other invader.”

The woman scowled at Ilarra and snapped, “Do you have any idea how childish you sound? Kings do not give up their claim on their lands simply because time has passed. Dorralt owns these lands and will clear out those who squat on them, using cities his generation built.”

“Then why the undead?” asked Ilarra, gesturing toward the nearest zombie. “Come here yourselves and fight. Using our dead against us is cowardly.”

“That I do not argue,” the woman answered with a sheepish smile. “Dorralt’s generals…his friends…were lost in that first war. He never found out what happened to their remains. Since then, he has decided not to allow those he wishes to stand beside him in glory to die—us, I might add—fighting another war in his name. That is why he gives us immortality, to serve at his side for all time while the corpses of those who have wronged us fight in our places. We are the nobility of a new Turessian empire and Dorralt is our new father, choosing his family from those who he would otherwise destroy.”