Sunset of Lantonne (14 page)

Just as Ilarra was considering going back to check on Raeln, she saw the briefest glimpse of the giant black wolf she had seen before. Not knowing if it was a good sign or ill, she followed, ducking under the collapsed and leaning walls of the shattered buildings closer to the quarry east of the village. The farther she went, the less vertical items of any kind still stood until soon she was in a flattened area, filled with soldiers.

Dazed, Ilarra started to walk right into the group before realizing that she might be about to stride into the waiting arms of Altisian troops. She skidded to a stop and fell back behind what appeared to have been a stone chimney until a few minutes prior.

Ilarra watched the large group, studying each man. The group had settled in around something, most of the soldiers pointing weapons at a pile of dust and debris in the center of a fallen building. She was so occupied trying to figure out what they were doing, it took her longer than she cared to admit to figure out they all wore the white and blue of Lantonne’s military.

Stepping from her cover, Ilarra made it only a few strides into the open area before a heavily-muscled man grabbed her arm roughly. He looked her up and down and whistled to the other soldiers.

“She’s from the farming villages by the clothing,” called back a man carrying a spear, at the edge of the larger group. “This one’s got Altisian rags on it. Get Commander Phillith…we need some orders.”

The man holding Ilarra snorted, gave her another glare, then set off to her right, running toward a man atop an armored horse.

“What’s going on?” Ilarra asked meekly, approaching the edge of the group of soldiers. “Can you spare a man or two? My friend…”

Ilarra’s thoughts vanished as she realized that the pile of debris was moving, putting all the soldiers on alert. She stared as more dust and broken boards fell off of the man-like figure, letting her finally see what the soldiers were so concerned about.

Lying on the ground on its knees was a wildling, gasping for air. At first, she worried that this was somehow related to the giant black wolf she had seen, but there was no sign of the wolf at all. The wildling appeared to be unarmed and unaware that it was surrounded, still on all fours, coughing and shaking its head slowly.

“That’s not the wolf,” Ilarra said aloud, frowning. “Why the excitement? You act like you’ve never seen a wildling while that giant wolf is getting away.”

The soldiers ignored her completely, even as the wildling started to get up, layers of dirt from the explosion falling off of him in chunks and dusty streams. He was clearly disoriented, his large orange eyes unfocused as he sat upright, staring blankly at the crowd around him. His gaze passed over Ilarra without really seeing her.

Ilarra nearly turned to walk away to find someone else to help Raeln when she saw the remains of intricate armor on the wildling. That was a good sign he was not just a random passerby caught in the explosion. Nearby, she could see the broken hilt of a sword. He was one of the Altisians, and these soldiers would kill him without a second thought.

Shaking her head at the senselessness of a slave from Altis being forced to fight for his masters, then executed by Lantonne for doing so, Ilarra gave the wildling man a sad stare, knowing he might have a spear put through him before he even knew it was coming. Still, it was none of her business. This was a military matter.

As the wildling sat up, a long tail—perhaps longer than he was tall—swept out from the rubble around him, revealing two wildling children that lay in the dirt under where he had been lying. Though the dust from the explosion masked their markings, Ilarra found herself smiling at them, thinking back to when Raeln had been brought to her as a pup. Ilarra saw these children and took back her initial thoughts of the man’s origins. After all, who brings their children to war? Regardless of weapons, this man was no soldier.

Blinking hard, the wildling snarled at the soldiers, seemingly just noticing them. He bared his teeth slightly, tensing as he looked over the crowd, clearly giving an indication that he would fight rather than surrender. She had seen the same reaction from Raeln enough times to recognize it as fear with the willingness to act. It was a test to see if the soldiers would negotiate or simply attack him and the children. Slowly, the wilding hunkered down over the children, guarding them.

“Let me talk to him, if you won’t!” Ilarra called out, only to be shoved back out of the ring of soldiers.

“Do we kill it or throw it in with the others?” asked one of the soldiers standing near the wildling, keeping a spear tip near the animal-man. “It’s not the wolf, but I still say it doesn’t belong here.”

The wildling clearly understood, grabbing the two children and pulling them to his chest. The willingness to protect them made it clear to Ilarra that these were his young. Anyone with any sense would back away quickly…most parents would gladly kill to protect their children, and she could hardly fault him for doing so. Still, the soldiers kept their weapons on the man.

Ilarra glanced back at the mounted commander, expecting him to be the sensible one. Wildlings were hardly illegal in Lantonne, and with their history of being enslaved in Altis, she fully believed that the commander would have the wildling held for his own safety. Once the animal-like man understood that they meant no harm…

“Throw him in a cage,” called out another man in the uniform of an officer, while the commander was busy with several of his soldiers. “I’m not worried about trying a beast for murder. Skin the pups or toss them in the quarry. I don’t care.”

Stunned, Ilarra watched as soldiers moved in on the wildling and the two young, while other soldiers readied crossbows. This was not what she had been taught about her own people and was unheard-of behavior back in Hyeth. Even a true enemy would not be cut down without a chance to defend themselves, let alone one that had likely been enslaved to fight, if he had even fought at all. A soldier that attacked a parent holding their children would have been killed on sight back home.

With a roar that Ilarra would have expected of a wolf or lion wildling, the filthy wildling man leapt to his feet and tore into the nearest soldier. Even holding the children to his chest, he managed to rip half the face off the human before going after the next nearest.

“Kill him fast!” cried one of the spear-wielding soldiers.

Reacting as fast as she could when the soldiers moved to kill the wildling, Ilarra summoned some of the paltry magic she had learned. She rattled off the obscure words and made the gestures of the formula, making sharp motions toward one crossbowman after another, causing their weapons to be thrown from their grip. When one man turned on her, she switched spells, using a sharp magical word of rebuke that flung him far from her. For once, she had no thoughts of looking foolish or making a mistake. There were lives on the line.

It was all she could do to keep there from being further bloodshed. Ilarra knew she was breaking all kinds of laws of Lantonne as she wove together another spell, pulling bits of magic from the ether to drop a net of pure energy over a soldier that tried to spear the wildling, slamming the soldier to the ground. With each spell, she felt nausea growing in the pit of her stomach as her capabilities reached and surpassed their limits. She had never even tried to cast more than two or three spells at a time in her classes and she had already cast many more than that.

Turning to stop more of the soldiers that were closing in while the wildling fought for his life against three that she dared not attack for fear of hitting the wildling, Ilarra nearly lost her balance as the exertion caught up with her. She dizzily put a hand to her head, then looked up in time to see a gloved fist swung at her head.

Ilarra collapsed as her head exploded with pain. Crawling to her knees, she tried to think clearly enough to form another spell to defend herself. She stumbled and fell, then vomited as the effort of casting so many difficult spells caught up with her. Gagging, she kept one hand on her head and the other her stomach as she lay at the feet of the solider.

“Little idiot, that one,” barked the soldier over her. “Finish off the wildling!”

Ilarra could only groan and try to sit up, unable to focus with the ringing in her head. Not far away, she could see the wildling kneeling on the ground, a sword already driven through his stomach. The two children were crying nearby, clinging to each other as the soldiers stepped over them, weapons ready to strike.

She had failed the man and his children, Ilarra thought sadly, waiting for the soldiers to finish the man off. With great effort, she forced herself to stand, trying to cast one more spell to drive back the men that were preparing to execute the wildling and his children.

As she did, black robes swept in front of her and she saw the tattooed man from the caravan holding up his hands to stop her. “Commander!” the man called out, though he never took her eyes off of her. “Get your men under control!”

Before the commander had fully turned, the officer that had given the order raised a hand to stop the men, who all looked back and forth between the commander and the black robed man in confusion.

“Fine,” growled the soldier in charge, giving Ilarra a murderous glare, while his commander looked around wide-eyed and the bloodshed. “Throw them all in the wagon. Damn, I hate cornered vermin. If the wildling lives, it gets a trial. The girl goes on trial for treason.”

Struggling to stay on her feet as the soldiers dragged away the wildlings toward a group of prison wagons that were being brought up from the quarry area, Ilarra tried to talk to the soldier in charge to explain herself, but he turned his horse and left her. The other soldiers followed suit, several going out of their way to knock her aside with their shoulders.

As the soldiers filtered past her, Ilarra stood in the remains of the mining camp, wondering how they could ignore Lantonne’s very laws in order to defend the city. It seemed insane to her. She had defended a man’s right to trial, and yet, she knew that she would face questioning or punishment for doing so. Even the black-robed foreigner was more willing to save them than her own people.

Remembering that Raeln lay bleeding nearby, Ilarra started to turn and head back to him when a soldier stepped in front of her and took her wrists. Without a word, he clamped manacles onto her and began to lead her away, nearly pulling her off her feet.

The whole way back to Lantonne, she lost herself in her own mind, questioning whether she had done the right thing. More importantly, she prayed that Raeln would survive, or she would never forgive herself, assuming she even lived through his death.

The dead are those who were once like ourselves and should be afforded all the respect one might show their own ancestors’ memories. To this end, the Preservers shall raise those to be remembered and keep their walking memorial appearing as it did in life. Should an ancestor show undo decay, it shall be destroyed to keep from defiling the memory of that person. Better to lose the memory than to see it decay.

At no time may a Preserver restore the consciousness of the ancestor. To do so would be abomination and defiles the life they once lived. Any who would raise an ancestor back to a semblance of life shall have their life ended and their body destroyed, to be forgotten to time.

Those who honor the memory of those fallen without disgracing themselves in the process are to be revered.

-
Third law of Turess

Therec groaned as he came around, wondering for a second where his wife was as he stared up at the wooden ceiling. It looked much like the roof of the central temple in Turessi, but after his eyes began to focus properly, Therec realized that the wood was not a native type of those lands, nor was the construction.

Gradually, he remembered where he was and what had happened. Dizzy and badly injured, he had argued with Commander Phillith, insisting on going with the troops that had survived. The men had been nearly insane with anger over seeing most of their fellows killed and had tried to take it out on a potential citizen—a wildling, but in these lands, that was still no justification for violence.

Once the girl who had attacked the soldiers had been subdued, Therec had tried to remain conscious, but the pain in his head had grown far worse. He remembered the commander offering to take him back to the city, then trying to get onto Phillith’s horse for the ride back to town, but that was the last thing he could remember.