The Madness of Gods and Kings (13 page)

“Your travel companions alone merit your hesitance in aiding us,” she replied. “Giants, Dwarves, Gaimosians, and a wizard. Who could possibly travel with such friends in times like this? I won’t pretend that I’m not disappointed by your answer. We need all the help we can get. What we have now is barely enough to keep holding on and winter doesn’t seem to want to end any time soon. Perhaps there is a temporary solution to both of our problems.”

He halted. “I’m listening.”

Her heart skipped with joy. “You have an army of at least two thousand spread out in front of you. Going around is out of the question as you are on a strict timeline. Fighting through isn’t an option either due to the risk you and your companions face.”

Bahr nodded. As much as he’d like to fight for his kingdom he simply couldn’t. The Dae’shan said they all needed to arrive at Arlevon Gale in order to have any possibility of success.

“I suggest we discover what interests the Wolfsreik so much and make a coordinated strike.” She held up her hand to stop his expected protests. “If we force Jarrik to concentrate his forces and meet us, on our terms, we’ll draw their attention away from the rest of the kingdom, thus giving you a clear avenue to the east. What happens after that is beyond my control, however. What do you say?”

Dorl Theed hung his head. The prospect of another battle soured his stomach.
Always back to death
.

After long, deliberate moments of contemplation, Bahr reached his hand out. “I think it sounds like a viable option. You have a deal, Ingrid.”

The two sealed their agreement with a firm handshake. Dorl whimpered quietly.

The Heroes Go East

Ironfoot strapped his boiled leather armor down on the sides, adjusting the right so it fit snug but still loose enough for him to swing his axe without losing breath. He’d combed his beard out for the first time since leaving Drimmen Delf. The prospect of battle enthused him in ways the others thought mad. Not that he cared. He was a warrior. Dying in battle was the ultimate honor for any Dwarf to attain. Only Boen understood, for he too felt the irresistible pull towards combat. Whistling, he thumped his chest twice. Satisfied with his work, he headed back to the wagon to finish oiling his helm.

“He said it just like that?” Skuld asked, eyes wide with shock. The young man couldn’t believe how easily Bahr had turned a potentially dangerous situation into one where they were able to continue on to Arlevon Gale.

Dorl waved him off, not troubling to be bothered with insignificant questioning. “I tell you, Anienam, we’re all going to die before we get to where we’re going.”

“How are we supposed to get there if we die before we do?” Nothol asked in jest.

“You shut your mouth. You had a chance to speak up and tell the old man what needs to happen but you chose not to,” Dorl growled.

Nothol’s face brightened with mirth. “I chose to keep my head on my shoulders. This isn’t a game, you damned fool. I’m starting to think you are too focused about dying than trying to see this through to the end. We’ve got our opportunity to escape Harnin’s men without getting killed in the process.”

“Not if they find us before we can slip through their lines,” Dorl countered too quickly. “Old Anienam can’t see the enemy to fight them if we get stopped. Groge still doesn’t want to fight, and I’ll not be the one who tries to get him to change his mind. One swat from him and I’d be paste on the rocks.”

“What rocks? Everywhere you look is snow!” Nothol all but shouted.

Dorl grinned sheepishly. Finally, he was beginning to make the other sell sword lose his patience. A rare turn of events indeed.

“Gentlemen, you worry over naught,” Anienam interrupted. Being referred to as merely the “old, blind man” was wearing thin. He thought about a small demonstration to reaffirm their faith but decided it would only succeed in bringing attention to their whereabouts. “Bahr is entirely capable of seeing to our best needs. Keep faith, young sell sword. It would be a shame if I boiled your tongue in your mouth just to keep you quiet.”

Dorl’s hand flew to his mouth and he walked off, grumbling to himself lest the wizard overhear and take action.

Skuld leaned close to Anienam and whispered, “Can you really do that?”

Patting his arm gently, Anienam replied, “Probably, but I don’t really know.”

Chuckling softly, the former street urchin of Chadra went back to double checking the supplies on the back of the wagon were secure. Their journey promised to be difficult, more so due to them not being able to use the roads from fear of being captured. Fortunately Groge had volunteered to take point and trample a suitable path for horse, rider, and wagon. His massive stride could clear meters of snow without much effort, thus saving them the trouble of digging through the larger drifts.

He didn’t mind. Walking suited him, giving the Giant the time he needed to get his mind right. It also alleviated the need for pointless conversation. He’d come to enjoy the company of the others but they weren’t Giants. He was surprised to find a longing in his heart to return home. To be among the heat of the forges, even the criticisms of Blekling and the others so content with keeping change from Venheim. Change was coming, Groge mused. Change that none of them had the power or authority to withstand. He wondered if home would remain the home of his youth for much longer.

Boen watched him lumber away, one hand gently rubbing the stubble on his chin. The big Gaimosian knew what it felt like to be conflicted with internal debate. He’d undergone more than his share in his youth. Being a kingdomless knight was one thing, learning to accept that you would never have a home, a land, no lord to call king, or a place to raise a family among others of your own kind was disheartening. It had taken Boen several years to come to terms with his lot in life. Once embraced, however, he never looked back.

“He’ll be fine,” Ironfoot grunted from a nearby stump. He made slow circles with an oiled rag over the top of his battle helm.

Boen looked down and said, “I’m not worried about the Giant. He’s a strapping lad that could crush us if he chose to. What bothers me is whether or not he’ll discover he has what it takes to make the hard choices when the time comes. A life of solitude isn’t for the weak of heart.”

“I suppose not,” the Dwarf replied. Part of a strong clan, he found the concept of being a singular warrior oddly frightening. Warriors needed to band together. There was strength in numbers. Weakness dominated those who lacked someone to watch their backs when times grew dark. Ironfoot reluctantly viewed his companions as fellow warriors who, in theory, had his back.

Boen nodded, his mind already thinking ahead. “Trust me, I know. Groge is a good lad. He’ll be there for us when we need him. Too bad we’re trying not to run in to the enemy. We’re due for a good fight. It’s been too long.”

“Agreed. We haven’t had a proper battle since the river men,” Ironfoot said. Those memories continued to fade rapidly as each subsequent trial broadened their nightmares. A battle with mere men en route to the jungle was almost a thing too common to recall.

Boen frowned. A deep foreboding suggested they were about to come to a crossroads where neither of them would ever want to fight again or risk being lost to the iron. He let the thought fade and went back to his own preparations. The time for talk was gradually coming to a close. War was upon them. Gaimosians thrived on warfare.

* * * * *

“I don’t expect many of you to understand why we make this agreement,” Ingrid told her assembled rebels. “Bahr’s name alone will change the course of our struggle, but he cannot, nor will I expect him to, stay for longer than his will. We both are sworn to sacred oaths. Today I have sent riders out to the other companies. We will consolidate and engage Lord Jarrik and his Wolfsreik murderers on our terms. Today we begin the quest to reclaim Delranan for ourselves. No longer will the tyranny of a few dominate the lives of all! We were born free and, by the gods, I will see to it that we all meet our ends as free men and women. Today we take the first steps in toppling Harnin One Eye!”

Cheers erupted. The rebellion had suffered many and varying shames over the course of the war. It was past time for that course to reverse. Even if it meant burning Chadra Keep to the ground around Harnin’s head.

Ingrid reveled in their support. For a time, a much longer time than she’d anticipated, she felt lost, felt the rebellion was on its last legs and about to die. The passion of her assembled fighters changed all that. Holding up her hands for silence, she continued, “I do not command you to follow me. No, for I am no tyrant. Those of you who wish to return to your families may do so at any time. No one person has the right to expect others to lay down their lives for a cause they aren’t committed to. Go now without shame or the burden of failure. You have served your kingdom and your people honorably and will be treated so.”

She paused, nervous about the results. Long moments stretched on yet no one moved. Her heart relaxed. Slightly. They were all with her.
Only to what end I cannot promise. I fear I may be leading you all to slaughter
. “Through your actions will our lands be free again! From your courage and sacrifice will Delranan rise from the ashes of this nightmare Harnin One Eye has created. You are the future and it fills my heart with great joy to see that each and every one of you is as committed to the cause as I am. Thank you, my friends. Thank you all.”

She stepped away as the crowd roared their approval. Seldom were times calm enough to leave her feeling good about the path she’d chosen. The longer the rebellion stretched on the more she lost little pieces of herself. She longed for the days before the war, before her husband was killed. That moment burned in her mind, a blinding candle incapable of being extinguished. Her husband had been one of Piper Joach’s captains during their first engagement with the soldiers of Rogscroft. While the report was intentionally vague about the manner of his demise, it did mention he was struck down saving a pair of fallen troopers. He had done his duty for Delranan. She could do no less.

“That was inspiring,” Bahr told her once she exited the public view. “It’s been a long time since the people of this kingdom had any reason to hope. My brother was never one for fancy speeches, especially not ones meant to inspire hope. I think you are the right woman for this position, Ingrid.”

The admission did not come without a measure of guilt. Rebel leaders often found their heads trapped in a noose. He secretly suspected she and the others would meet much the same. Harnin had too many trained soldiers, too much experience, and a nasty streak unlike any Bahr had ever encountered. Artiss Gran cautioned the One Eye was under the sway of his fellow Dae’shan, prompting Bahr to question what could be worse than adhering to the will of demons.

Catching the sadness in his voice, Ingrid said, “Somehow I doubt whether or not any of that will matter when this is said and done. You and I both know Harnin has no mercy for those outside of his favor.”

Bahr nodded. A prisoner himself, he and the others escaped through blind luck and the treason of Lord Argis. The traitor lord of Delranan paid for his indiscretions with his life, as Ingrid explained shortly after her initial interrogation.
A shame. He was a good man. One this kingdom is going to need. There is much to be said for quality of character
.

“I’ve had a few nights in Chadra’s dungeons,” he admitted. “Not the sort of place for a lady. Harnin will kill everyone he thinks gets in his way.”

“You’re still alive,” she countered.

He barked a laugh. “Only because we escaped. Otherwise my head would be on the walls with all of the others.”

He felt silently abruptly, knowing the loss of Argis was still too real for Ingrid. She’d come to respect him in many ways and continued to feel his loss. Knowing better than to speak ill of the dead, he changed the subject. “We still have a problem. We need to know where these heavy infantry patrols are headed and in what kind of numbers. Until then there’s no way we can risk moving.”

“I agree. I’ve sent scouts out, but we could always use a little help,” she hinted.

Bahr scratched the back of his hand. “I might be able to arrange that. Boen is itching to get back into the field. It might do him some good to stretch his legs.”

“Can you trust a Gaimosian to avoid a fight?” she asked, suddenly rethinking her proposition.

Bahr hadn’t considered that. “Who knows? He’s focused on our task, but that doesn’t mean his sword won’t find its way into a belly or two along the way. No one enjoys battle like a Gaimosian. Still, I think he’ll use his discretion, though it might kill him inside.”

She hoped so. The alternative wasn’t pleasant.

* * * * *

Boen rode into the darkness. His armor and helmet were stored back on the wagon, leaving him swathed in furs and heavy riding cloaks. His only weapon was his great broadsword. He didn’t need anything else. Gaimosians were masters of all aspects of military training. Killing a man was just as easy with his bare hands as with a sword. Reluctantly, he forced himself to recognize that it wasn’t about the act of killing. It was about being better than his opponent and avoiding death. Therein lay the true skill. So many warriors, of all races, failed to understand that simple concept.

Alone the way the gods of light intended his kind to be, the Vengeance Knight stalked through the night in search of the trail Dorl had run across earlier. It felt nice to be away from the incessant conversation and bickering. They’d been together for so long they were at the point where nerves frayed easily. Patience gradually wore away alongside the endless path of leagues stretching across half of Malweir. Rather than arguing with them, Boen jumped at the opportunity to get back into his natural element.

His breath came in plumes. Pervasive chills crept down his spine each time the wind grew too strong. His eyes bore that constant burn from being tired and cold. Every stumble his horse made jarred maddeningly through his body. Yet for each discomfort he found another pleasure to take his mind away. The call of a great owl. The howl of a wolf. A snow shoe rabbit sitting immobile under a small bush as he rode by, hoping against being seen. The world was as fascinating as it was dangerous and he enjoyed living through each new experience.

Time meant nothing in the wild. There was no future or past. There was only now. Boen’s mind casually drifted back to echoes of decades past. A young knight, he set out for Paedwyn, capital of the mighty kingdom of Averon. The world, it was said, revolved around what the king of Averon decreed. Minor border wars broke out from time to time and, rather than waste his own soldiers, the king often hired mercenaries and his favorite Gaimosians to break the backs of his enemy. Boen was hardly a tested warrior when he jumped at the chance to prove his worth.

A war party of Goblins had come down from hiding in the Gren Mountains to raid and burn a string of small villages along the banks of the Thorn River. Incensed, the king deployed his largest field force to crush the Goblins for good. Ever since the fall of the Silver Mage and the destruction of Gren had they clung to the shadows, hiding deep in the mountain caverns while biding their time. Their defeat on the Nveden Plains remained a painful reminder of their failings against men. It spurred their hatred and drove them ever on in a pointless war of attrition they seemed destined to lose. While their kin could be seen as thriving in the Deadlands far to the northwest, the Goblins of Gren struggled just to exist.