The Madness of Gods and Kings (25 page)

Maps covered the burned walls and charcoal table. Skaning knew more about this portion of Delranan than Jarrik had, but that knowledge was tainted by childhood memories hazed over time. His father often took Skaning and his three brothers into the west on hunting expeditions in deep winter, claiming the adverse conditions toughened the boys up. He was a man who couldn’t stomach having weak children. Skaning grew up under his father’s totalitarian hand, shaping and forming his life on the harshness of necessity. Ascending to Badron’s court was only natural given the brutality with which he’d grown from.

Skaning closed his eyes and remembered the lessons his father strove to instill while in the deep winter. Shelter became the first priority. Once adequate shelter was established they could set out for a fresh water source. Snow wouldn’t do. Even melted it would lower body temperatures too much too fast. Hypothermia would set in and then death. Only once those two were established would his father lead the boys out on the hunt.

Opening his eyes, Skaning looked at the maps for suitable places to hide a large body of soldiers. Options were limited. A few forests sprouted up not far away. Judging from the rebels’ speed of attack and their ease of retreat, Skaning reckoned them to be much closer than any of his commanders were bothering to look. What better way to remain hidden than by doing it in plain view? Skaning suppressed a grin. The rebels had to be squirreled away somewhere nearby.

He slid over to the appropriate map. A long finger traced invisible lines to the nearest forests large enough to house well over a thousand people. Many of the forests in this area were too thin to support concealed camps. Ingrid was no fool. She’d have taken her role seriously. The damage to Jarrik’s redoubt was proof enough of that. Not wanting to risk easy detection, the rebel leader would have driven her people as deep into the trees as possible and have plenty of escape routes. There was no way she was going to repeat events in Chadra.

Skaning appreciated a cunning foe. The youngest of the original cadre of Delranan lords, he’d never been in actual combat before the other day. Taking a life proved exhilarating. He reveled in watching his victim writhe in pain as death slowly spread through her body. The experience already behind him, Skaning looked forward to doing the same with Ingrid. She deserved no less.

Distracted, he frowned and went back to the map. Western Delranan had an abundance of adequate hiding places, though most were small enough to force Ingrid to break up her rebellion into small, easily manageable units. All he needed to do was find them and bring the full weight of his field force down. Speed was the key. Only a lightning quick response to their daring raid would drive his point home. No fool, Skaning knew that there was little chance of catching and killing all of the rebels. But if he should kill enough, the survivors would flee to their homes and do their best to erase all traces of their involvement. Skaning had plenty of time to hunt down the survivors after the war was won. The thought of breaking into homes to carry away collaborators warmed the darkness growing in his heart.

At last his eyes drifted to the largest forest in the general area. Nameless, the forest was ancient and sprinkled with intermittent areas of dense foliage and wide open clearings. Skaning’s heart jumped. There could be plenty of other hiding spots, and this was surely the most logical to avoid, but his opponent was wily. Skaning grinned fiercely. The hour of his ascension approached. Countless days and nights skulking in the shadows doing Harnin’s dirty work were about to pay off. He’d done his time lurking in Chadra while others went forth to achieve individual glory. Blooded at last, Skaning was about to crush the rebellion in one final, swift stroke and change the course of destiny. Visions of usurping Harnin entertained him as he continued to glare at the map.

I’ve found you. Enjoy these last few days for they will be your last
.

“Captain! Summon my commanders. I want the army ready to move within the hour.”

Through the Mountains

Shadows crawled wickedly across the ground, driving down temperatures as the vanguard began winding through the long-forgotten mountain passes. The Murdes Mountains, coined the Mountains of Murder by travelers over generations of rising mishaps and disappearances, were ancient, formed when the world was young. The rock was bitter, stained with cruelty and jagged. Winter bathed them in new colors of despair. Winds howled like screaming demons from the pits of Hell come to ravage the world with violent intent.

Piper Joach hated the mountains. He always had.
Perhaps that’s why I feel so put off now. Could these heartless stone facades know my vehemence?
Reflection brought him to an unsteady conclusion. His life was much like these cold, stone walls towering over him. Hardened by years of rigid military discipline and the unnatural lifestyle associated with countless campaigns and fallen friends, he had become stone. The campaign in Rogscroft changed him fundamentally. Where once stood a bright, effervescent officer now was a bitter shell.

Losing friends didn’t bother him so much as the lack of cause. Badron’s will turned to dementia, making each death an exercise in futility. There was no justification for the fallen. Their lifeless bodies lay buried beneath mounds of snow when unrecovered or were scattered ashes on the wind. Piper spent more time than was healthy each day contemplating the reasons for their deaths. To this moment he still hadn’t reached a conclusion. The wounding in his heart whispered echoes of the truth, however. His friends had died for no other reason than the madness of a broken king.

Conflicting emotions tormented him as his thoughts turned towards finally going home. A soldier’s life was no easy task. Many young and foolish who thought they had what it took were swept aside effortlessly. Likewise the slackers and shirkers. War demanded the very best and very worst in people. The weak were weeded out quickly, most falling prey to sword and spear. Only the veterans remained. Those strong enough, perhaps just lucky, carried on while their lesser comrades fell behind on nameless fields forgotten by all but those who’d shed their blood and tears.

“I don’t like feeling closed in,” Piper idly told Vajna, who rode beside him.

The older Rogscroft general felt increasingly claustrophobic the deeper they traveled into the long-forgotten places of the mountains. A natural cavalryman, he much preferred the open steppe with clear view of the terrain. All manner of dark thoughts mocked him now. Vajna glanced up against his better judgment. Paranoia swelled. It didn’t take much to imagine being locked in the jaws of an ancient beast hungering for flesh.

The old general agreed. “Nor do I. Aurec seems convinced this is the best course of action, however, and when a king speaks….”

“His army marches,” Piper finished. “Still, they might have picked a more scenic route. I can’t help but feel the mountains are against us. Almost as if the very stone will come alive and swallow us whole.”

Vajna cast a sidelong glare, disturbed with the vivid imagery Piper aroused. Old wives’ tales resurfaced after their brief meeting with Cuul Ol. He warned of creatures lurking in the deepest recesses. Creatures so foul there were no recorded images or descriptions. Vajna outwardly scoffed at the notion, downplaying it to little more than childhood superstitions gone awry.

“Local villagers claim there are ghosts in the passes,” he ventured, unsure where the thought came from.

Piper scowled. A soldier should know better than to allow his mind to devolve with base superstitions. “Ghosts? I should think the prospect of childhood bogeymen were beneath a general of the army. We’ve come too far to revert back to primitive understandings. There are no such things as ghosts.”

Vajna stared back blankly, mildly shrugging his shoulders with indifference. “I remember tales my mother used to keep me in line when I was small. Soul-robbing creatures that oozed from the face of the stone. One look and you’d be lost in a dark, brooding world.” He paused to laugh. A brittle, twisted sound. “I never put much credence into them until seeing the walls close in around us.”

The Wolfsreik commander seconded Vajna’s personal fears. Nothing in the Murdes Mountains was natural. Imposing, their jagged teeth stretched far into the skies, reminding both men of an ancient beast rising from the depths of the world to devour. The possibility of mythical creatures lurking in the deepest recesses wasn’t remote, not in this forgotten part of Malweir. Piper thought back to the myths and legacies of his own kingdom. Even now strange creatures were said to be seen wandering the forests and wilds. He’d never seen one personally, and generally frowned upon those with wild claims. Too often people wanted to make their mark by falsifying sightings. They proved to be tremendous wastes of resources. Any proven lying were imprisoned under Badron’s rule.

His sharp eyes looked around at the rocks. Shadows, moss, and an odd slime formed random patterns, some vaguely bipedal, that could easily inspire the imaginations of lesser men. Since entering the Pell Darga’s secret pass he hadn’t seen real any signs of life. The lack thereof was disheartening to a man who’d spent his life in the wilds. Used to seeing shades of green and brown interspersed with the drab white and grey of winter often kept him centered. Kept him in the proper frame of mind to carry on when exhaustion and fatigue demanded otherwise. Piper Joach needed the break in scenery for peace of mind if nothing else.

“You don’t suppose the Pell have any truth in their warnings?” he asked, wishing Vajna never brought the subject up. His unease growing, Piper found his eyes roaming over every inch of nearby rock face.

Vajna suppressed a grin. “Perhaps. They’re a cagey folk, that’s for sure.”

“That’s what worries me. I don’t want to get caught on our backs if Cuul Ol’s warnings bear merit. Raise the guard and have word passed back to the following units to be prepared for,” he said and paused, unsure what they needed to be prepared for. “Just have them ready to engage any potential enemy that might surface.”

Vajna was a man unused to taking orders from any but the king, but his growing relationship with Piper left him unoffended. They shared responsibility as well as command. Either was capable of issuing orders soldiers from all three armies were expected to obey unquestioningly. If forced to express the truth he felt inside, Vajna appreciated not having to give orders. Enough of his men had fallen during the Wolfsreik invasion and subsequent campaign across Rogscroft to leave an inconsolable guilt in his heart. His orders resulted in so many deaths sleep often was long in coming. Letting Piper make the difficult decisions might have seemed like an easy way out, especially considering how Piper’s own guilt hounded his actions, but Vajna felt he’d earned at least a minor respite.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

Piper gestured down the pass with his chin. “To link up with Cuul Ol. I want to find out a little more about the dangers he seems to think are tracking us.”

“Alone?” Vajna’s eyebrows rose, barely visible above the fur-lined rim of his helmet.

Piper caught the mild look of surprise and matched it. “What’s the worst that can happen? I’ll be fine, Vajna.”

The older, more seasoned general stretched his jaw left and then right. As much as he wanted to mess with Piper’s rattled state of mind, he couldn’t think of any comeback so he merely nodded and wheeled back towards the long, winding column of the combined army.

They parted without another word. Piper didn’t look back for fear of knowing he might lose his nerve and return to the safety of his army. Yet there were moments when a commander needed to be seen leading by example. Piper recognized this was one such moment. Tension filled the pass. His soldiers felt the same apprehensions as their leader, making this expedition potentially dangerous. One panicked man could incite a hundred others to lose their discipline. He forced thoughts of what might happen from his mind. There’d be time enough for reverse speculation once the war ended.

Well out of sight of his lead scouts, Piper found the quietness of the mountains disturbing. Howling winds drove down from the snow-capped peaks with angry song their entire trek through the mountains, yet this stretch of perpetually abandoned pass was oddly still. Nothing moved. No wind echoed down from high above. Piper did his best to ignore the imposing feeling crawling over his flesh. A supernatural air clung to the rock. He felt marked.

The sudden flash nearly threw him from the saddle. His horse cried out. Piper’s gloved hand reached for his sword as sulfurous clouds of smoke choked the way ahead. Stones and broken bits of rock showered down from unseen heights. The smoke was noxious, choking Piper. He tried, futilely, to wave it away.

“You are the soldier of the Wolf.”

Piper froze, gently lowering his hand from his face. Peering through the smoke he could barely make out a small figure perched upon the rock. Leathery wings curled up and behind the lizard-like body. Long legs ending in three-clawed toes curled into the stone and were encircled by a rapier, thin tail. Short, powerful arms hung to the creature’s waist. Impossibly large eyes dominated the smallish face. Piper was reminded of ancient horrors conjured by hedge wizards and mothers eager to see their rambunctious sons calm down.

When at last he found his voice it was strained. Cracked. “What are you?”

The lizard cocked its head, debating how much to tell. “I am one of the zha’foral.”

Piper bolted upright. Fingers tightened around the worn, familiar leather straps of his sword. “A demon.”

“Mortals always have such limited concepts of what exists around them. Demon? There haven’t been demons in Malweir since the world was young.”

An age of impossibilities challenged Piper’s reality. He’d witnessed the dark powers surrounding Badron. Seen armies of the once mythic Pell Darga sweep across snow-covered fields. Fought against an army of Goblins intent on the absolute destruction of all humanity. What was one more seemingly insignificant creature taunting him in the depths of the Murdes Mountains?

“If you’re no demon what are you?” he demanded.

“A summoning. There are powers greater than Man’s imagination at play in the north. I am the messenger come to deliver words of my benevolent master. Your soldiers march to a war they cannot hope to win. Always through blind eyes do we try to see tomorrow.”

“Speak plainly, summoning. I am in no mood for mind games,” Piper said harshly. His eyes flit left and right, suddenly wary of a lurking ambush.

The zha’foral cocked its head and hissed. “Man is by far the most infuriating creature I’ve encountered. How you’ve managed to dominate the world is beyond the scope of my imagination. Better races lay scattered in shallow graves. Very well,
Man
, I shall tell you what I know. Your army marches towards certain, gruesome death. What you think will be a glorious return will end in rivers of blood. The north will never recover and all life on Malweir will grow corrupt and decay.”

Piper felt his breakfast rise in his throat.
Could this creature whisper of what afflicts Badron and Harnin? If so, what foul game have we stumbled upon? Clearly this war is not from the minds of Man
. “What awaits us in Delranan?”

“Death.”

The finality of a singular word haunted Piper. He’d already had apprehensions towards attacking and fighting his own people. If what this creature said bore any semblance to truth the campaign was going to be much worse than even General Rolnir imagined. Death had been a boon companion since the first units left Delranan at the end of autumn, snatching one or two at a time until the thirst for life grew so great a wash of misery dropped on them. Piper lacked any fear for himself, always figuring he’d die with a sword in his hand or one in his back. Professional soldiers rarely lived long enough to know the insecurities of retirement.

His eyes narrowed on the zha’foral. “I can’t go back to the others with wild speculations from a creature that shouldn’t exist.”

“Shouldn’t exist?” the zha’foral sputtered indignantly. “I roamed this world long before your ancestors crawled from the mud. All you see before you was once my domain. When you are naught but dust I will remain!”

Piper’s horse snorted, clearly unimpressed with the tiny temper tantrum. Piper leaned forward to pat its neck. “My apologies, but this conversation is an impossibility. You come unbidden, whispering hints of disaster without concrete information I can use. What purpose do you truly serve? Who is your master?”

The impish zha’foral twisted its head to the opposite side as it debated the consequences of telling Piper his master. Names held power. To ignorantly give a name without understanding the repercussions often meant the difference between life and death for creatures such as he. In the end there was no real choice. He’d been sent with specific instructions to find the leaders of the Wolf soldiers. They needed to be warned.

“My master is the lord of the house of the gods,” he finally said.

Piper sighed frustration. “House of the gods? No such place exists in Malweir.”

The zha’foral sighed disgustedly. “Ah yes. You mortals tend to stop believing in higher powers. Do not be so blind as to think that simply because you no longer believe in the gods they do not exist.”

“We have no use for gods in Delranan. Men built our kingdom, not ethereal beings too aloof to become involved,” Piper countered.