Empire of Bones (17 page)

What Remains

Chadra was entirely unrecognizable. First the rebellion and then the plague saw to the permanent restructuring that left it all but a burned-out ruin. Those citizens fortunate enough to survive the plague fled to the countryside in the hopes of finding a place in nearby villages or, for those especially brave souls, deep in the south far away from civil war. Many froze to death along the way, for winter continued to worsen. The death toll was near catastrophic. It would be many years before the true reckoning of this winter was known, but Chadra and all Delranan would never be the same again.

Ingrid pulled the wool blanket tighter around her shoulders as they continued to ride. The arguments over staying in Chadra or moving to the countryside were rendered moot by Inaella’s betrayal. Tufts of bright blond hair poked from under her hood. They were the only brightness in her world. Her first mistake was in thinking the plague had consumed the former leader of the rebellion council. She should have killed Inaella when she had the chance but a misplaced sense of honor prevented it. Ingrid didn’t like killing. In fact she hated the sight of blood. Her stomach turned every time. Going through the physical act of killing would shake her to the foundations of her belief system, leaving her a husk of what she could have been. She wasn’t ready to make that leap, yet.

She briefly studied the endless sea of white drifts. Winters were normally harsh but this year proved much worse than any in recent memory. Abandoned homes were stripped of any usable wood. Families huddled under thick pines hoping for another dawn. Others simply gave up and went out into the wilderness to die. It pained Ingrid to see so much suffering, knowing she was part of the problem. Coupled with her personal grief from so many losses, she turned inward and used it all to her advantage. She needed to feel rage in order to continue. Otherwise…

A trio of crows, black as midnight, burst from a small stand of white birch. Their calls mocked her. Ingrid looked back over her shoulder. They left Chadra two days ago and she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of being hunted. The Wolfsreik were relentless when given a task. Harnin drove them to extremes in his efforts to pacify the kingdom in his image. The crows served as a reminder.

“You need to relax,” Orlek recommended.

“How can I? We barely escaped the city. Harnin will stop at nothing to find us.”

He shook his head. “Harnin is blind, Ingrid. He hunts a shadow, nothing more. Even with Inaella’s aid he can’t catch up. The rebellion is effectively scattered now. There’s no easy way for him to contain us. Not without killing off most of the population.”

She reined in her horse. “Do you really think he’ll go that far?”

“Once, no, but after everything we’ve seen? Harnin will burn Delranan to the ground so long as it suits his purpose. He’s a vile creature.” Orlek spat a wad of phlegm in disgust. “The gods have truly abandoned us to allow a Man like that the freedom of doing what he wants.”

Ingrid blinked to clear the cold-induced tears away. “Harnin does what his character demands. I don’t know if blaming the gods helps anything. We know how he is. That should make it easier to combat him. We need to be the steel against his will.”

“Save the speeches for the rank and file. I’ve been with you from the beginning and will continue to do so until the end. Just don’t patronize me with grand speeches,” he told her flatly. “I’m a soldier. Point me at the enemy and I know what to do. You’re the brains behind the rebellion now. You can’t afford to think small.”

She didn’t care for his tone but he had a point. Ingrid stole the leadership role from Inaella and success or defeat was squarely on her shoulders. She needed to force aside all thoughts of friendship, loss, or grief, and focus on being the leader the people needed. The rebellion was at a crossroads. Any movement in the wrong direction would damn their cause irrevocably. Ingrid felt the pressure mounting and wondered if she was strong enough to carry the burden.

They finally arrived at the small village of Fendi in the late afternoon of their third day of travel. Both Ingrid and Orlek were worn out. Their bodies ached from being in the saddle for so long. An impossible chill ran deep through their bones. Each had a few fingertips or toes with early symptoms of frostbite. Orlek had a large, raw spot on his right cheek from constantly being exposed to severe winds. Frost glistened in his hair. He’d endured worse over the course of his life, but nothing was as sweet as smelling freshly baked bread on the crisp winter air. His stomach grumbled in concurrence. Orlek slid to the ground and went to help Ingrid.

“We’ve made it. Hopefully others will have arrived,” he said.

Ingrid scanned the village. All of the thatch roofs had chimneys pouring rich, dark smoke. A good sign. The plague didn’t appear to have made it this far west. She needed a new base of power. One Harnin wouldn’t think to look, at least for the immediate future. Ingrid knew the rebellion was reeling, suffering defeat after defeat. There had to be a way for a quick victory. She just didn’t know how. Nothing in her life prepared her for any of this. She didn’t know much about tactics or warfare. She’d been a housewife up until the moment her husband died. More than ever she felt like a child playing with adults.

“Where are they?” she asked.

Not a soul could be seen.

Orlek, discouraged by the lack of reception, remained wary. His own past was private, for good reason. He cringed to think what Ingrid would say if she learned he was a murderer. Some crimes were simply not forgiven. The rope marks burned into his neck were proof of that. He respected Ingrid, even with her lack of experience. Sometimes luck was worth more than real life experience. He looked around the village, seeing the same things she had noticed.

“It is cold outside. No sane person would be out in the elements,” he speculated. His hand crept towards his sword. He couldn’t trust anything to chance.

“There are few sane people left in Delranan,” she countered. “We need to get inside. I don’t want to be caught in the cold again when the sun goes down.”

“Agreed. I believe the village inn is this way,” Orlek said and nudged his horse forward.

They remained cautious even as they tied their horses up to the post outside the inn and went up the steps. Orlek led the way. Aged doors squealed open, threatening to fall from the hinges. Confidence uninspired, he pushed inside. Old clouds of smoke clung to the rafters. Most of the wood was yellowed, reminding him of jaundice. A thin coat of dust clung to the floor, marred only by the occasional boot print. Most of the tables hadn’t been used in months. A half-burned fire stretched up the chimney. While safe from the elements, the common room felt anything but friendly. Three old timers sat at the chipped and scratched bar. A surly looking Man with thinning hair and massive fists the size of slabs of beef stood behind the scratched counter. His right eye was missing and he either didn’t care or was too poor to afford an eye patch. He stared hard at the newcomers.

“Close the door. I ain’t paying to heat the outdoors,” he ordered once they entered.

Orlek gently shut the door behind him and led Ingrid up to the bar. He doubted he’d be able to take the bigger Man in a fair fight. Fortunately he was well-versed in fighting unfair. He took an empty stool and stared back.

“You got a problem, little Man?” the bartender threatened.

Orlek shrugged. “I might if you don’t do your job and pour me and my friend here a drink. It’s damned cold outside and we’ve been out in the weather for three days.”

“Sounds to me like you should keep on running. We don’t like trouble around here.”

“We didn’t come bringing trouble,” Orlek replied straightforwardly.

“Stranger, people always come with trouble. Just the way that it is these days.” He turned to pour two wooden mugs of watered-down ale. “Where ya coming from?”

Ingrid passed Orlek a nervous glance, not unnoticed by the bartender. The soldier waved off her concerns, at least pretending he knew what he was doing. “South. Been a bad winter, what with the plague hitting us.”

Those few patrons stiffened at the mention of plague and shifted away. Even the bartender balked. “We don’t have none of that in Fendi and don’t want none either. You need to finish your drinks and be heading on.”

Orlek took the mug and gulped a hearty drink. “We’re not going anywhere until we get some rest, food, and a warm room to sleep in. I’m tired of being on the road.”

“How do we know you ain’t carrying the disease?” the bartender pressed.

“Because they’d be dead already,” a new voice answered.

A slender Man with a bushy mustache stood at the bottom of the steps watching the scene unfold. The small handheld crossbow was barely visible from beneath his cloak. The bartender backed off, knowing danger when he saw it. The stranger, with eyes so odd they appeared almost red, walked straight up to Orlek.

“You took your sweet time in getting here,” he said crisply.

Orlek rose and faced him. “You would have to if you had half the army looking for you.”

The stranger extended his free hand. “Orlek. It’s good to see you again.”

“Harlan. Been a long time,” Orlek said, returning the gesture.

Ingrid finally let out the breath she’d been holding and took a drink. The unanticipated tension was all too much for her already fragile nerves.

“Did you have any trouble finding the town?” Harlan asked, holstering his crossbow.

“Not really, but we did have to dodge more than a few patrols the closer we were to Chadra. Delranan’s not safe anymore.”

Harlan frowned. “Perhaps we should take this up to your rooms. I took the liberty of securing adjoining rooms for you on the second floor. Mister Farley here won’t mind having two prestigious individuals spending a few days in his inn. Will you, Farley?”

The bartender scowled, but merely nodded. “No trouble at all, so long as the tab is paid.”

“Don’t fret about your purse. You’ll be compensated handsomely,” Harlan told him. “Have two plates of food brought up to my room with a pitcher of ale, the good stuff, not that swill you’re serving behind the bar, and a pitcher of fresh water.”

Farley didn’t take kindly to being insulted but knew Harlan was more dangerous than he looked. The red-eyed man was easily capable of killing everyone in the common room without breaking a sweat. Some situations were best solved by keeping your mouth shut and doing what you were told. Farley did just that, cursing Harlan and his friends behind their back as they went upstairs.

Once inside the room, Harlan immediately went to look out the window. He purposefully chose rooms facing the eastern approach. He’d been playing the game long enough not to fall prey to being ambushed without every precaution being taken. Offering a chair for Ingrid, he took off his cloak and set the crossbow on the nearest table.

“You shouldn’t have come in during the daylight. The One Eye has spies everywhere. I’m sure someone here is on his payroll, or looking to secure the safety of their family,” he added. Harlan despised the One Eye almost as much as he did Badron. His reasons were his own and not a single living soul knew why. It was a secret he’d take the grave.

Orlek all but collapsed on the bed. “We didn’t have much choice. That last storm almost did us in. You haven’t been to Chadra in a while. The plague weakened everyone. People are starving. I barely had enough food to make it here.”

“Is everything in place?” Ingrid interrupted. She was impatient to begin the next phase of the rebellion.

Harlan eyed her appraisingly. She had fire that translated to personal strength he could respect. Just what the rebellion needed if they were to win the struggle against Harnin. “Mostly. I have found enough people willing to carry on the fight. My people are scouring the countryside as we speak, moving from town to town in efforts to raise support and troop strength. Most of the outer towns hold no favor towards the crown. Badron’s done a poor enough job garnering the support of the commoners. He’s neglected most of these small towns. They don’t care who’s in control so long as they have a say in how the kingdom is run.”

“Sounds like they’re deluded to me,” Orlek answered. “No king bothers with the peasants, at least not this far north.”

“And it doesn’t really matter, does it?” Harlan replied. “Harnin is running this kingdom into the ground one corpse at a time. We’ve got the upper hand even if he doesn’t know it. Delranan is ready to explode. The previous rebellion leadership saw it but didn’t know how to instigate it.”

Orlek and Ingrid shared guarded looks. Reluctantly, Ingrid added, “It’s worse than you think. Inaella survived the coup and the plague and has gone over to Harnin.”

Harlan was taken back. “You mean she’s now working against us?”

Ingrid nodded. The sting bit deep, fueling her desire to finally free her kingdom and be done with the whole sordid affair. Her eyelids fluttered closed. She hadn’t realized just how tired she was until now. The pillow at the head of the bed, plump and soft, had never been so inviting.

Orlek saw the fatigue on her face and pushed on. “How many fighters can you raise in this part of the kingdom?”

“A few hundred I imagine,” Harlan replied after some thought. “The winter makes it difficult to gather in large numbers.”