Sunset of Lantonne (98 page)

From what Raeln had seen, the creatures that had killed the dragon had gone after wizards and Turessians next. Each time they saw a black-robed figure snatched up by the shadowy creatures, the undead forces had become less unified. It was a blessing, but also a warning that sooner or later, the creatures would come for them, too. Each time they had swarmed, Raeln had lost three or four more civilians.

As they stood there, easily a hundred strong but every one of them so tired they could barely stand, Raeln found, for far from the first time, dozens of faces turned toward him in search of answers he did not have. These people were strangers, some were even foreigners, all of whom had somehow gotten it stuck in their heads Raeln had the ability to save them. He wanted to scream at them that he was as terrified as they were and as lost as they felt, but he had begun to feel the same way toward them as he did toward Ilarra when she was younger. They were without direction and someone had to lead them.

He had to save them all. Any deaths among these people were his fault.

Raeln knew it was insane, knew at any moment either undead or the shadow creatures would descend on them and tear the innocent people apart. He dreaded that happening and the betrayed looks the people would give him when it did, but he also wished for it to happen sooner rather than later if it would get him out of the role of leader.

Despite this, Raeln took a slow, deep breath once they had gotten past the gates, trying to decide what to do next before someone asked him.

He looked to Greth for support, finding him near the city wall still carrying Ilarra. As soon as Raeln turned, Greth gave him a reassuring smile that told him, one way or another, everything would work itself out. It was really all he needed. The reassurance that Greth could be strong when he faltered helped more than he could put to words.

“Anyone who can run, I want you out ahead watching for an ambush,” he called out, his stomach clenching nervously as a hundred sets of eyes focused on him. “We’re going to the work camp outside town. There are tents and buildings there we can use until morning.”

A young elven girl glowered at Raeln, saying just loud enough that he could hear her, “Typical Lantonnian. Sending us all right back to the slave camp.”

“There isn’t time to get to a real city,” Raeln added loudly, though it was mostly in answer to the girl’s statement. He had to believe others felt the same way she did. Where one groused, twenty more had to be thinking it. “We’ll hide out there until morning, then head west into the mountains. The dwarven nation might open its doors to us once they know what happened here, but that’s a long walk.”

The refugees grumbled among themselves, but soon the group began moving with Greth and Raeln near the back. Some of the younger or spryer members took off at a fast jog ahead of the rest, watching for anything in their path that might threaten the whole group.

“They hate me,” Raeln said softly as Greth walked up beside him. “Why do they bother looking to me for guidance if they all want to see me dead?”

“To the Altisians, you’re another Lantonnian who might throw chains on them the moment they’re no longer useful. To the Lantonnians, you’re a fringe settler who they barely recognize as a citizen of these lands. To the rest…they probably don’t speak the common tongue well enough to know why they’re following you. Those ones probably think you’re some big dumb oaf, which is so much nicer when it’s not aimed at me.”

Raeln smiled at Greth, trying to decide if he was joking or trying to be serious, though Raeln could not be certain from his expression. “What makes you such an expert, Greth?”

The shorter wildling shifted his hold on Ilarra and answered, “I listen to their muttering. They really don’t care too much about hiding how they feel right now. That is, except for the fur-clad folks over there that I think are from one of the eastern barbarian tribes—they don’t speak any dialect I’ve ever heard. I think they’re here for the fun of fighting the undead and wound up following the crowd. I’m not entirely sure, though. They might be here to skin wildlings for all I can tell.”

Raeln glanced at the people Greth referred to and saw he had not exaggerated much. The five human men and one woman were lean and muscled, wearing far less clothing than the Lantonnians and much more fur. All of them towered over their distant city relatives, following along with confused looks on their faces. More than once, they gave Raeln and Greth a confrontational glare, but kept walking. When an undead showed itself, those six were the first to attack it, grinning and cheering as they fought.

The rest of the journey was made in near-silence, with little chatter among any of the people. Every person focused on watching the edge of the group for any threats that might leap out at them, which to Raeln seemed more than reasonable after the last day in the city.

Looking back, Raeln watched the sky over Lantonne erupt in flashes of flame that silhouetted the plumes of smoke over several districts. As they had made their way toward the gate, two of the elemental lords—flame and water—had turned on one another and charged. Had he and the others stayed in the northern part of the city, they would have been killed by the destructive battle between the giant creatures hours earlier, assuming the flying monsters from the quarry had not killed them first.

“Do they even care that they’re tearing the city apart?” Raeln asked himself aloud, taking his eyes off the brilliant lights that came and went behind them.

Greth never looked back. “When you’re fighting for your life, do you even notice the small stones you stumble on? I know I don’t feel a pebble in my pads until hours later. They’re probably the same.”

“The city’s larger than a pebble.”

“So are they. Come tomorrow night, that giant flaming bastard is going to sit down on the keep’s remains and wonder why he’s got a house stuck in his foot.”

Raeln chuckled at the analogy, and then noticed the lead portions of the group begin to part and spread out. It took him a few more steps before he could make out the nearest tents in the faint moonlight, but soon he could see they were well into the work camp he and Greth had passed through on their way to the city.

“Follow me,” Raeln told Greth, speeding his pace. “Pray that the healer is still here.”

They made their way through the camp while the others fell in among the tents and claimed them as their own. Raeln took point, rushing toward the central building, which was unlit and ominous in the dark.

Raeln slowed his pace once they were within a stone’s throw of the open door of the ramshackle building. He could smell blood on the breeze, but it was stale and could have been from a slave or undead passing through. Nothing moved in the building, making him all the more cautious.

Once they were close enough Raeln could see the porch of the building, he motioned for Greth to wait with Ilarra. He continued on, lightening each footfall as Greth had taught him to ensure nothing heard him coming. Against the walking corpses of the Turessian army, silence would do him little good, but he would rather be safe in case something else waited in the dark building.

He reached the first step of the building, cocking his head and tilting his ears forward to listen for anything moving. He heard nothing, but thought back to how many people had filled the building the last time he had been there. If they had been turned to undead, it would be a fight he knew he was too weary and wounded to survive.

Raeln eased his foot onto the warped planks of the steps, gently touching down on the pads of his feet, while keeping his toes tensed so the claws would not scrape the wood. It took all of his patience to keep from bringing his weight down all at once, which would have creaked the boards loudly.

The approach up the steps and onto the porch made Raeln’s already tired legs tremble, and he could feel several of the remaining cuts under his fur break open and begin oozing again. For all the miraculous healing Ilarra had managed at her own expense, Raeln’s body was still badly torn up. It seemed any time he moved or twisted wrong, another wound would sting or bleed.

Finally, Raeln reached the partially open door and paused there, his ears twitching as he sought any indication of whether there were any living people left behind inside. Hearing nothing, he advanced again, letting his eyes adjust as he entered the darker interior.

At first, Raeln saw nothing but rag blankets the people who had fled the camp had left behind. Looking about, he soon saw a group of what appeared to be leashes still hanging by the door. Here and there, discarded shackles lay where they had been thrown or dropped. All of this held little interest for Raeln, who stared into the back of the room where the wildling healer had been during his last visit. He knew it was unlikely the man was still around, but he hoped there was at least a chance.

“Hello?” he called out, now sure there were not dozens of undead waiting for him. “Anyone still here?”

A faint scuffling near the back of the room caught Raeln’s attention. He could not see movement, but there was definitely something back there. He was nearly certain he had heard claws on the wood floor, which normally would have been a bad sign, but when looking specifically for a wildling, it gave him more hope.

Raeln continued forward a little more quickly. There appeared to be three blankets near the back of the room covering man-sized shapes near the dark fireplace. If he were very lucky, it would be the wildling he was looking for and his two children. If he were even more lucky, they would be unharmed.

“Hello?” he called out again, hearing that same scratching noise. Now, he was certain it was coming from near the three people. “I’m coming over. I’m not an enemy.”

Keeping his hands up to show anyone watching he meant no harm, Raeln advanced on the three blanketed shapes until a sudden whiff of death caught his attention. It was not fresh, but also not the long-dead scent of the zombies that had overwhelmed Lantonne. There was another scent, but he could not make it out over the smell of blood. The scratching he had heard stopped abruptly, and from the corner of his eye, he saw a mouse or rat scurry away.

Raeln let his hands drop and marched up to the first blanket, yanking it aside. Beneath, an elven man lay with his arms crossed over his chest, clearly having been prepared for a ceremonial burial. Deep gashes that appeared to have come from a lion’s claws marred his chest and throat, though Raeln picked up the scent of fox, rather than lion. From all appearances, he had been dead two or three days.

The next corpse was arranged similarly, though the man there was orcish and appeared to have been gutted by knives. He, too, was long dead and already stiffened.

The last of the blankets revealed one of the human taskmasters Raeln had seen during his last visit, and unlike the other two, this one had been dead mere hours. A thick leather leash was tied around his throat and his eyes bulged from trying to gasp for breath.

A faint scrape behind Raeln alerted him as someone advanced quickly on him. Before he could fully turn, he saw Greth leap into the room, holding a mangy-looking wildling that snarled and flailed to get free.

Raeln’s hopes surged briefly, until he identified the wildling as a mountain lion, who looked to have been through a horrible fight that had broken his jaw and left it twisted and gruesome.

“Calm down!” Greth snapped, shoving the wildling against the wall hard enough the scrawny man fell to the floor, twitching and covering his face. “We’re not with the Turessians. We’re friends.”

Raeln glanced away as the cougar wildling relaxed a little, easing his hands away from his face and down toward his belt. On a whim, Raeln looked at the freshest of the three corpses, realizing if he were a slave, that would be the first person he attacked to free himself. “Is that your…?” he began just as the cougar leapt at Greth, holding one of the leather leashes from near the door.

Despite his thin and haggard appearance, the mountain lion moved fast, catching Greth off-balance and sweeping the leash around his neck. The panicked wildling tugged and tried to throw Greth to the floor, but Greth caught hold of the leash and yanked it free of the man’s grip.

Greth kicked the man’s legs out from under him, then dropped to a knee to punch at him until he stopped squirming. After three powerful strikes, the cougar backed down as though he were going to relent. He then drew a makeshift knife from his shirt and slashed wildly. Without hesitation, Greth hooked his arm around the neck of the wildling and locked it with his other hand. Baring his teeth as he strained, he held the man until he stopped fighting. Sighing, Greth let him flop to the wooden floor with a boom, staring blankly at the wall.