The Madness of Gods and Kings (15 page)

Boen and the baker finished unloading the last crate and, after he painstakingly took the effort to steal one of Jarrik’s sigils, readied to return to their original work details.

“Wait.”

Boen tensed. He’d been discovered!

Jarrik dismounted and walked up to them. Pulling his riding gloves off, the lord of Delranan extended a hand to each man. “Thank you for taking time to deliver the command tent. I know each of you is exhausted though the work is far from finished. Know that our time is almost upon us. We’ll soon be taking the fight to the enemy. All of your dedication and hard work will come to fruition soon enough. Good night, gentlemen.”

Well, I’ll be. A leader in this miserable kingdom with half a heart. It’s that woman that unnerves me. Not natural for one to be so marked. Her eyes are about as evil as I’ve ever seen. All that hatred will eat her up inside
. Smiling, Boen and the baker headed off. There was still much work to be done before the Wolfsreik was ready to take the battle to the rebellion.

Halfway back to the palisade the baker halted and turned on Boen. “This is where we part ways, my big friend. Been a pleasure working with you. Stay safe out there. We need men like you once this foolishness is over.”

Boen shook his hand but emotions choked him up. As much as he found himself liking his new friend, he knew that sooner or later one of them was going to wind up dead. He much preferred it was baker. Finally, he managed, “You as well. Good night, baker.”

He stood and watched the baker go, briefly wondering where the war was going to take him. Domestic men like that didn’t belong in war. Boen decided it was time to take his leave. He headed towards the perimeter with the excuse of relieving himself. Thoughts of shedding his uncomfortable, stolen armor enticed him to move faster.

Change of Command

“Damn it!” Jarrik cursed loudly as his arrow failed to hit the target, again.

Half a dozen shafts stuck up from the snow, leaving the center of his target untouched. He’d never claimed to be an archer. His lack of skill of any sort left no room for doubt in that matter. Jarrik preferred a sword in his hands and to meet the end face to face. Killing from a distance, while effective, wasn’t honorable. Not that there was much honor to go around his beleaguered kingdom of late.

Delranan had fallen into disrepair. A kingless land content on devouring itself from the inside. Jarrik didn’t pretend to understand any longer. His onetime admiration for Harnin dissolved a little more daily. Darkness surrounded the One Eye, so foul Jarrik considered severing ties. The longer the rebellion dragged on the worse Harnin became. Any aspirations of ruling Delranan in his stead slowly bled away.

Hammers clanged in the background. Axes chopped. Saw ground a near perpetual buzzing noise. He thought of trying to blame his archery woes on the construction going on around him but Inaella would see through the ruse with little effort. Discretion the better deed, he kept his complaints private. She’d already grown too desperate since leaving Chadra. There was an illness in her. Residue from the plague perhaps, he wasn’t positive. All he knew was that she was steadily turning into the nightmarish presence Harnin was.
What evils can change people so easily? Am I next?

“I would think a lord of Delranan highly capable in all manners of military tactics and weapons,” Inaella’s voice rasped over the cold ground.

Oh how he grew to despise her. The rot devouring his beloved kingdom threatened to consume them all. Abandoning Harnin and Chadra Keep enticed him more as days went by. Loosening his draw, Jarrik turned on the scarred woman. “Feel free to prove yourself my better. I’m in no mood to bandy words with you this morning, Inaella.”

Wordlessly, she closed the distance between them as quickly as a great predator and took the bow from his hands. Her demeanor changed immediately. What grace she possessed was replaced by the poise of a cold-blooded killer. The arrows were longer than her relatively short arms were accustomed to. The bow larger. That didn’t matter. Setting arrow to string, Inaella drew and took aim. A slight breeze wafted through without her so much as blinking. Exhaling slowly, she loosed.

Jarrik sucked his breath in as the shaft sped true, striking the center of the pristine bullseye. Smugly, Inaella turned back to him and gently handed back the bow. “Archery was a hobby for aristocratic women before the war. Choose your insults more wisely next time, Lord Jarrik. Or take the time to do a little research before opening your mouth.”

His teeth audibly ground. “Were it not for Harnin’s orders I would have you quartered before the entire force. Or perhaps you’d enjoy spending the rest of your days servicing the men on the eve of battle?”

His threats were empty and she knew it. Harnin despised both of them, but recognized the need for each if he was going to end the rebellion and focus on the returning ten-thousand-man Wolfsreik coming from the east. Inaella had grown bolder as the days went by. Leaving Chadra gave her new life. Sense of purpose was restored. Each step into the wild brought her closer to the much-anticipated reunion with Ingrid the Usurper. The pain and suffering she had in mind for her former student went beyond anything even the Dae’shan concocted.

She stood defiantly before him, feet planted shoulder width apart, arms folded across her chest. “Enough childish banter. Did you notice anything peculiar about those men who helped download the wagon last night?”

What is she playing at now?
“No, why?”

“The bigger one didn’t have a Delrananian accent. Strange, considering we are deep in alleged enemy territory.” The way her lips twisted downward when she pursed them sickened him enough that he looked away.

“What of it? Plenty of mercenaries have come to help fight. Harnin’s coin is as good as any other kingdom’s.” His mind drifted back to their briefing meeting hours ago but, he hesitantly confessed, he’d been much too exhausted to remember much. He vaguely recalled shaking their hands and being wholly impressed with how large the one had been. Men like that were uncommon, easily standing out amongst their peers.

Frowning, Inaella pushed further by adding, “He was no mercenary. The smaller one had the sound and feel of a man from Chadra. The other, the more dangerous-looking one, was a true warrior. Not some mercenary scum or part-time reservist.”

As much as he thought she was grasping for a scapegoat to punish, Jarrik couldn’t risk her being right and not doing anything about it. “Very well. I’ll have the camp scoured and both brought to me. We’ll get to the bottom of your paranoia soon enough.”

“I doubt you’ll find the one I am most interested in. He’ll no doubt be long gone from here by now. The other headed towards the wagons by the palisade.”

She wanted to say more. To issue commands to double the watch. To have commanders on all levels physically verify the identities of everyone in camp. But Jarrik bore the boneheaded stubbornness most men in power suffered from. He’d done things so long in the same fashion that thinking differently was anathema. Kingdoms rotted under such unwillingness to change. No doubt that was among the core causes of the discontent miring her beloved kingdom now.

Having spoken her mind, partially, Inaella excused herself and retired to her tent. She’d had enough of Jarrik’s macho attitudes to last the rest of the campaign. The time had come to begin distancing herself from Jarrik, Harnin, and the entire sordid mess. Her only problem stemmed from not having anywhere else to turn to. She lacked personnel, resources, and the physical presence to change the hearts and minds of the kingdom. Alone, friendless and bitter, Inaella collapsed in on herself daily while secretly looking for a way out, a way to end the abject suffering she was forced to endure from the unending after effects of the plague. Life could be most cruel at times. Most cruel indeed.

Yet no matter how she tried to figure out the course to a better future, her thoughts returned to the dire nature of reality. The sands of her personal hourglass were bleeding through her slender fingers much too quickly for her liking. Logically she should have already died. The strange combination of plague and betrayal certainly left her dead inside. It was only a matter of time before her mortal shell followed.

Inaella snuck a quick glance back at Jarrik, who busied himself with refilling his quiver. Jarrik wasn’t a bad man, she reluctantly decided. The conclusion shocked her. Much of her former life was spent idolizing those in power. She’d dressed in pretty gowns, attended glamorous parties in the name of the king, and traveled across the northern kingdoms carelessly tossing money away. Those days were naught but already fading memory. The madness of the kings of Delranan continually strived to strip their subjects of humanity.

Feral instincts were becoming commonplace among the population. Neighbor turned on neighbor in a ruthless game of survival. Families were torn asunder by fears and rampant paranoia. Several of her kin had been killed. Some thanks to the plague, the others from violence. Inaella had a unique opportunity right at this moment, one drawing to a close with each passing breath. She could pack what scarce belongings were still in her possession and flee south or stay behind to rot alongside the rest of the kingdom. Neither choice enticed her enough to act on. Resigned to whatever inglorious destiny Fate decree, Inaella closed the tent flap.

Jarrik caught the brief flutter of movement from her tent and scowled. The woman was more trouble than she was worth. Her knowledge of the rebellion had proven invaluable during the cleansing of Chadra, but that usefulness eroded the further away from civilization they went. She’d become an increasing liability, one threatening to lead his neck to the hangman’s noose. Jarrik feared the longer the campaign wore on the more Harnin was ready to exterminate their entire command.

Once an ardent supporter of the usurper lord, Jarrik now failed to find any value in his allegiance. The war seemed endless. His holdings in Chadra were gone. The houses of the lords had been among the first targets in the rebellion’s sights. Little by little his wealth bled dry as he was forced to fund his campaign. Jarrik wasn’t particularly brave, despite once having aspirations of attaching himself to Harnin’s coattails in the vain hopes of achieving glory and, very distantly, a chance at the crown.

Delranan continually crumbled around his best efforts. Jarrik took some time before arriving at the only possible conclusion. Harnin One Eye was busily and actively trying to destroy the previous way of life and bring the entire kingdom to ruin. Stopping him was a most grievous waste of time. The fate of the kingdom was decided. It was merely a matter of time before the end came. Jarrik feared for those unable to defend themselves or find safe passage south. Their corpses would fertilize forgotten fields for years without ever being discovered.

His ruminations were disturbed by the commotion coming from the eastern flank. Horns bellowed, announcing the arrival of a figure of importance. Jarrik almost came to regret developing the signal system his army used. It had been more bane than the boon he initially intended. Setting aside his bow and quiver, Jarrik slid back into his bearskin cloak and headed towards the eastern gate. Calloused hands smoothed over his clothing. He was, after all, still a lord of Delranan.

What he saw emboldened him while silently crushing his spirit. Skaning’s black hair stretched down his back, blowing wildly in the light wind. His menacing eyes were narrow, fixed from beneath his war helm. The newly arrived lord rode stiffly, as if he’d come with dire intent. Jarrik’s world gently shattered. There could be but one reason for the unexpected visit. He was being relieved.

“Greetings, Skaning,” he announced without betraying his emotion. “Your arrival is most unexpected. I would have prepared a tent for you had I known.”

“That won’t be necessary, Jarrik. Lord Harnin has sent me with haste.”

There it is. The dagger in my spine. Will you have the nerve to finish me in public or take the coward’s way out with poison?
“We’ve received no word. Our preparations demand most, if not all, of our time.”

Clearing his throat, Skaning offered the slightest hesitation Jarrik took as a good omen. “He feels you are not performing your duties properly. Where is Lady Inaella? She needs to be present for me to continue.”

Jarrik looked behind his onetime friend. A double column of cavalry stretched back onto the snow fields. None of them bore the look of reservists. Each wore a hard face suggesting the disciplined lives of mercenaries or worse.
Perhaps I was too much the fool to trust to hope
. “She’s retired to her tent for the moment. Shall I summon her?”

Skaning shook his head. “No. What I have to say needs to be done in private.”

Dismounting, he followed Jarrik.

“Those are my orders,” Skaning finished. He’d languished through days of doubt, never quite knowing how he was going to explain Harnin’s desires or even what he was going to do about them. Plotting and imagining while locked in the solitude of his mind on the road west was one matter. Doing it before his old friend was another entirely.

“So this is it? A knife in the back while we sleep?” Jarrik accused.

Skaning held up his hands weakly. “It’s not like that.”

Inaella rasped, “We should kill him now before the others are aware. Harnin will have to come here himself if he wants me dead.”

“Calm down, Lady. No one is killing anyone this day, or so I hope,” Skaning replied quickly, suggesting his lack of faith in Harnin’s ideals.

“For what other purpose would you have ridden all this way if not to obey the One Eye’s orders?” Inaella pushed. She’d fallen victim to betrayal once before and it nearly cost her life. Doing so again was not in her best interests.

Taking the offered mug of water, Skaning blew out the tension building.
Days of travel and I still am not sure of what I should do. Would that I were a better man, or lesser. This would not be so damned difficult
. “I’d have been a fool to remain in Chadra. You’ve been gone for too long to understand. Bodies line the walls. Death and madness rule with stern surety. Our kingdom is already dead, Jarrik.”

“We know all this. What else have you to offer before I summon my guards to kill your men?” Jarrik asked boldly. His words lacked the conviction they were meant with.

Skaning smiled sadly. “They won’t. My men have orders to burn this camp to the ground and kill everyone if I don’t reappear after a while.”

“Traitor!”

“Which of us?” Skaning fired back. “We both betrayed the king in order to follow Harnin’s fool dreams of conquest, thinking this was our best opportunity to finally advance our lots in life. What fools we were! Harnin doesn’t care for Delranan any more than King Stelskor. We are alone, Jarrik.”

“Alone is the operative word. What can we do outnumbered thus?” Jarrik failed to find a scenario where he didn’t lose. All of the suffering of previous generations broke against the shore as Harnin continued to plunder his own kingdom. There was no way out.

Skaning considered the statement briefly. True, Harnin commanded the better part of five thousand soldiers and had a pool of roughly ten thousand more to draw from. Those would be civilians, most too old or young to make any other difference than being warm bodies plugging holes in the infantry lines, and of little tactical use. The two thousand soldiers in the west were largely oblivious to the power struggle going on and, both men agreed, they needed to remain that way. His private force of two hundred was considered among the best, most ruthless fighters in the north but even they would be ground under such overwhelming force.