A Whisper After Midnight (22 page)

The others had been on the council from the beginning, all loyal members to the opposition of Harnin’s tyranny. She’d fought alongside them, even bled with them. Everything had been in their favor until Argis’s capture and Joefke’s death. They’d lost momentum and were sent scrambling to find a way to reverse their fortunes. Inaella couldn’t imagine any of the others turning. They were her friends. The heart of the rebellion. Soldiers were expendable, but not the leadership.

“Are the horses ready?” she asked.

Hrald stopped running long enough to look back over their shoulders. “Yes ma’am. There is a squad standing by to ensure your escape. The horses are saddled and ready.”

“How can we be sure Harnin hasn’t found them?”

Hrald had no answer. Enough of his friends had already died, he didn’t want to think about more. Besides, they both knew there was every possibility that the Wolfsreik had already secured the inn and stables. Harnin’s Men were ruthless but not the seasoned professionals King Badron had taken across the Murdes Mountains. The reserves were part time soldiers who lived as farmers and tradesmen. What they lacked in extensive training and discipline was made up for by sheer brutality and unmitigated violence. Humanity was a simple creature prone to extreme fits of violence and rage. Once that inner beast was loosed it became next to impossible to re-cage. Delranan languished under that beast.

They reached the end of the small tunnel. Hrald motioned them back and slowly pulled the aging wooden door open. He poked his head out into the cool night. Small snowflakes instantly peppered his hair and face. Satisfied the enemy hadn’t yet discovered this place, Hrald led the council into the stable.

The stable was large enough for ten horses and built into the side of a small hill. Mostly underground, the rebellion knew that secrecy would keep them alive better than fighting. Dozens of similar facilities had been constructed throughout the kingdom for just this eventuality. Prudence became the teacher of great wisdom.

“Halt!” a quiet voice commanded.

A dozen guards suddenly emerged from behind trees and bushes. Crossbows were leveled, swords drawn. There was the briefest moment where Inaella thought the betrayal went deeper and that these were Harnin’s Men. That moment faded when Hrald broke into a great smile.

“It’s Hrald. I have the council. They must flee, now.”

The guard commander looked them over before ordering his Men to lower their weapons. “Quickly. Get them inside. It won’t be long before the One Eye finds us.”

Hrald escorted the council in and helped Ingrid and Inaella into their saddles. “Ride safely, ma’am.”

Confused, she asked, “Are you not coming with us?”

He shook his head. “I am needed here. You’ll require a diversion in order to escape.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Diversion meant death. Hrald and the others were going to sacrifice their lives so that the council had the chance to escape. She wanted to cry for his bravery but refused to dishonor the deed with tears. “You are a very brave young man, Hrald. Stay alive, for me. I have a feeling I will need you in the future.”

He beamed with pride and watched the council ride off into the night. The forest was dark but their guide knew the route to the next safe house. Behind him the flames started to lick above the roof of the inn. Snow melted in great pools. Burning embers floated in the night sky. The sounds of battle were all but drowned out by the roar of flames. Hrald knew they needed to leave, to save their lives while there was still time. He also knew he was given specific purpose to ensure the council survived. What remained of the guard would stay and fight. Even if it meant death.

“Prepare yourselves,” the guard captain said. “We get back into the tree line and set up an ambush if they decide to come. The council must escape.”

The guards went about their task wordlessly. Death held no fear, not anymore. They’d all seen friends die and each Man expected the same to come to them before the end. No one really thought they’d live long enough to see the rebellion end. Hrald paused to give a final glance up the trail the council had taken and went to join his brothers.

*****

Jarrik tipped his head back, enjoying the warmth of the flames on his face. The satisfaction of knowing his foes were trapped and being burned to death filled him with energy. He and the others had been forced to sit idle as Harnin dithered over his next move. Weeks of inactivity while the rebellion grew and organized. Weeks where men he knew and once trusted defected to their cause. Weeks of missing the opportunity to wipe out the rebellion while it was still pathetic, weak.

It was only through Jarrik’s own subversion that they managed to get a spy inside the rebel council. He smirked at how easy it was to turn one of their own. And all it took was the promise of a longer life and a small pile of riches. Jarrik wanted to spit. Peasants were always so concerned with money they lost sight of the bigger picture. Their spy wouldn’t live long enough to collect his rewards. All rebel leaders were going to be captured and executed publicly in the grand finale of the war. No one would dare rise against the throne again.

Harnin, no doubt, would be incensed when he learned of Jarrik’s disobedience, but that didn’t matter. He was doing what was best for Delranan, not himself. The rebellion had gone on for far too long already. Combined with the lack of information from the real war in Rogscroft, Jarrik was left with an uncomfortable feeling. Nothing made sense of late. Harnin’s actions were becoming increasingly erratic. His designs for the future of the kingdom echoed madness.

Jarrik watched the flames and suddenly found doubt.
All of this merely weakens our kingdom. Will we be able to repel the Wolfsreik when they return home
? He was certain something dark and cruel inhabited Harnin’s mind, whispering to him when no one was looking. Insanity was the only logical reason for his recent decisions. Delranan was once the pride of the northern kingdoms. Now it wallowed in an unnecessary military state. The population was subjected to fear for no reason.

Delranan needed a king again, not a tyrant. Jarrik, regretting his decision to support Harnin’s coup, frowned as thoughts of betrayal formed. He wasn’t sure if the time was right to abandon the One Eye and go back to Badron, but the thought grew with every passing moment.

“My lord, there is no way of knowing if the rebels are inside or not.”

Of course not you fool
. “Secure the perimeter and keep guards posted. We won’t be able to search the ruins until this fire dies out. Commander Flynn, I am riding back to the Keep. Find me, no one else, when you are ready to begin searching for bodies.”

Flynn saluted. “Yes, my lord. What should we do with these prisoners?”

Jarrik didn’t spare a glance at the six men kneeling with their hands behind their heads. “Execute them and post the bodies for the people to see. They are traitors to the kingdom.”

That should keep Harnin’s anger in check though I wonder who the real traitors here are
. Jarrik returned the salute and headed back to his mount. He’d seen enough senseless slaughter for one night.

Night Raid

Ironfoot took point. Used to spending years at a time underground, secluded from sunlight, Dwarven eyesight went nearly unmatched by any other race in the dark. Bahr didn’t particularly trust the Dwarves but knew enough to let the best asset lead the way. The Dwarves wordlessly spread out in a loose wedge and entered the forest with the grace and stealth of jungle predators. He hadn’t seen such precision in a very long time. Bahr and Boen stalked the middle of the formation. Rekka and the sell swords brought up the rear. The woman from Teng would be more than a match for any dark Dwarf seeking to turn the ambush and having Dorl and Nothol with her only made the odds near impossible.

Fighting down a yawn, the Sea Wolf scanned the forest as they marched. The night was so dark it was a useless endeavor but it made him more comfortable. He’d never admit it but he couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him. The Dwarves had painted a single stripe down the backs of their armor. Faintly luminescent, the paint was visible only by Bahr and the others. He was thankful for the effort, otherwise they might get lost in the dark. The silver light was so soft he had to squint to find it most of the time. Bahr silently wondered if the others were having the same difficulties.

Ironfoot halted suddenly and dropped to a knee. The rest of the Dwarves did the same. Boen sidled behind the nearest tree. Still trying to see, Bahr failed to realize he was the only one exposed. A Dwarf on the right flank rose and crept forward. There was the sound of a brief scuffle. A twig breaking. Ironfoot doubled back to Bahr moments later.

“We’re at the outer picket line. Grey Beard just took out the sentry but we must be cautious from here,” he whispered in Bahr’s ear.

Understanding, Bahr replied in kind. “How much further to the cannons?”

“Not far. Maybe five hundred meters. Once we get inside their lines we go to ground and wait for the diversion. We move now.”

The Dwarf stalked off again, his intent doubled. Ironfoot had no problems with leaving the Men behind if they couldn’t keep up. Bahr felt his age catching up to him as he watched the Dwarves move as one. The wedge collapsed into two files. A pair of Dwarves broke off, presumably to eliminate the nearest sentries. Knees aching and back tight from the cold, Bahr trudged forward, desperate to keep the stripes of paint in view.

Soon enough they found a small ravine, more of a ditch, and burrowed in. Crossbows were assembled and loaded as the strike team waited. Cold winds entered the ditch and howled through with ruthless fury. Boen eased his head over the lip and took his first look at the enemy camp. He’d expected to find a disorganized rabble but found anything but. Tents were arranged in orderly rows. Fires interspersed the plain, large enough for a score of Dwarves. Smiths worked deep into the night fixing armor and weapons. Very few enemy soldiers could be seen walking about. Most had bedded down for the night, leaving a skeleton force of guards to watch the perimeter.

Sliding back down he smiled to Bahr. “This should be easy.”

Bahr offered his most skeptical look. “How do you figure?”
We’re outnumbered and don’t understand how these Dwarves fight. This could be a slaughter
.

“The cannons are in the rear of the camp and emplaced in bunkers. I guess to keep the enemy from hitting them. The main army is fast asleep. They won’t be expecting a run for their most important weapons. We’ll be able to destroy them with ease.”

But how about getting back out again?
“They’re unguarded?”

“No. The enemy keeps their cannons under heavy guard,” Ironfoot provided. “It will be a fight to gain control of the weapons.”

“Lovely. How many Dwarves does it take to operate one cannon?”

Ironfoot cocked his head in thought. “Seven. There is much to do in order to get the weapon in firing configuration. Why?”

“Would we be able to gain control of one and use it to destroy the others?” Bahr asked.

Even Boen’s eyes widened. They hadn’t considered commandeering one of the cannons. Each Dwarf brought a satchel charge of explosives, enough to destroy one of the great weapons. Thord called them gunpowder, though the idea remained foreign to Bahr and his Men. They were promised an explosion bigger than any fire either had seen. Bahr remained dubious and tried to put the conversation out of his mind as the time slowly dwindled.

“We might but the cost would be much too high,” Ironfoot replied. “Cannons take a well-trained crew several minutes to get ready to fire and my soldiers aren’t trained properly. We are infantry, not artillery.”

“Do we have enough to destroy all of the cannons?”

“Yes.”

Ironfoot’s answer was definite enough to prevent any further questioning. Awkward silence settled over the mixed unit, each lost in their thoughts. The night grew colder, an ominous sign, Bahr thought. As much as he didn’t like to admit it, he was forced to realize he wasn’t a soldier. This sort of life wasn’t for him. His lament abruptly ended when the first cannon ball struck the front line.

A hellish ball of flame blasted high into the sky, spitting fire in every direction. The whistle of shrapnel slicing through the air inspired fear in Bahr. The second round exploded before he had the chance to say anything. Then another. The barrage continued with fury. Dwarves screamed. Others shouted and ran for water buckets. Still more burst from their tents and rushed to their defensive positions in the trenches. The entire sky seemed to burn. Reverberations trembled through the earth. Bahr had never felt so small.

“We move!” Ironfoot crawled out of the ditch and sprinted towards the nearest cannon.

Dwarves broke off in teams of two and three, each heading for a different weapon. Boen was the first to make contact. A half squad of dark Dwarves stumbled from their tent, still half asleep and slightly drunk. The Gaimosian fell upon them like death’s herald. His axe bit deep. A head was lopped off. An arm fell, hacked at the shoulder. He struck the third Dwarf in the chest, burying the axe head in a spray of blood and crunching bone.

Bahr fell upon the others as Boen tried to dislodge his axe from the dead Dwarf. Parrying a wild swing, Bahr deflected the blade, pushing it up and away, opening the Dwarf’s midsection for a killing riposte. Hot blood splashed his torso but the next Dwarf attacked before Bahr could worry about it. He ducked just in time, narrowly missing the blow meant to cleave him from next to groin. Off balance, the Dwarf was unable to recover before Bahr took his head from behind.