The Madness of Gods and Kings (28 page)

Herger laughed and tossed a winter apple core at his friend.

“We’d all do well to remember that when the time comes,” Rolnir added. “I want you to ensure all of your men get as much downtime as possible. It’ll be at least another day before the last units get into the passes. I’m expecting a fight as soon as we get on the ground in Delranan. Harnin’s a crafty one. We can’t leave anything to chance.”

“We’ll be ready, General,” Krueger said. His large arms were folded across his broad chest. The long-stem pipe jutting from the corner of his mouth puffed grey-white smoke.

Rolnir nodded. He hoped his army was a match for the tenacity of its leaders. He reached out to slap the joyful Herger on the back. “See to your men. Hot food, water, and clean socks. As much as possible. The march continues at dawn.”

They saluted and watched him stroll through the ranks, pausing here and there at random to speak with privates and captains alike. Only the smaller Pell warriors avoided him. They stuck together in small packs, reminding Rolnir of feral beasts waiting to attack.
Hard allies
. Speaking in their native tongue, the Pell warriors huddled around their fires. Many sharpened their wickedly short spears. Others busied putting a keen edge on swords and daggers. Few laughed. A sad fact which struck Rolnir odd.

It was another hour before the redheaded general made it to King Aurec’s tents. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, releasing its hold and bringing bitter cold sweeping in behind it. Rolnir frowned as he thought of the long walk back to his tent. Thankfully there were plenty of fires between stops.

“General, I’d expected you to be in the passes with the vanguard,” Aurec said without looking up from his map table.

Quick lad. Are you trying to get rid of me or merely overstating your confidence in my abilities?
“Piper made it abundantly clear I’d only be in the way. He’s one of the few I trust. He led the army into Rogscroft and established a head for the rest of us. I have no reason to think he can’t do it in Delranan.”

Some things didn’t need to be said. Rolnir left it at that. Venten chose that moment to poke his head from the back chamber. Chewing quickly to swallow the bite of hard tack, the elder statesman sauntered up to them. Rolnir didn’t think anyone could appear with a more haggard appearance yet somehow Venten managed it. This campaign needed to end quickly so they could get back to their lives.

“Venten, Rolnir and I were discussing Piper Joach’s tactical capability,” Aurec said with only the faintest hint of irony. He’d not forgotten what the Wolfsreik’s second did to his forces in the opening days of the war. Their battles were worthy of training sergeants’ lessons.

The elder Venten blanched slightly but was experienced enough to let bygones remain such. “I’ve seen few equal to his zest for perfection. If Rolnir says he can handle it, you should have no reason to doubt.”

Aurec scowled before going back to his maps. “Rolnir, I admit that my experience is coming to an end. What little I know of Delranan isn’t going to be of much use.”

“Understood. Piper and I know our kingdom blindfolded. We’ll get your army all the way to Chadra Keep and back,” Rolnir affirmed.

“I hope so, Rolnir. I really do.”

Aurec looked upon the light forests and harsh foothills in the shadows of the Murdes Mountains with an aching heart. Twenty-one years seemed but a blink as he absorbed as much of his beloved kingdom as possible. Memories of this moment would sustain him during the coming darkness. Memories of playing in these fields. Memories of kissing his one true love under these trees. Aurec relied on memories to keep him grounded in his frailty. He was a king, but only with the backing of a powerful army.

Sensing the young king’s rising melancholy, Venten laid a gentle hand on his forearm. “It’s time. We can’t delay any longer.”

“I know, Venten, but it doesn’t get easier. I fear this will be the last time I look upon Rogscroft,” Aurec said sadly.

“Perhaps, but that is not for you to decide,” Venten scolded. “All you need to do is ensure this army arrives in fighting order and does what it was meant to do. Nothing else matters until Badron and Harnin are both accounted for. This is the hour of our retribution, Aurec. Today marks the beginning of the end of this long, twisted nightmare. Finish what your father wanted. End this war and bring your people home.”

Spurned into action, Aurec foolishly wiped the tears clinging to the corners of his eyes and nodded sharply. “To victory, Venten.”

“For your father.”

Satisfied, the king of Rogscroft nudged his mount forward into the mountain pass. The combined army was at last going back to war.

A Long Awaited Confrontation

Less than a year had passed since Badron last set foot on his home soil. Less than a year in which Delranan was fundamentally transformed into a land of wicked nightmares. Everything he’d witnessed upon his return suggested the end had been nothing but violent. Broken bodies peppered villages. Victims of a rumored plague. While Badron couldn’t conceive how such a plague managed to wipe out nearly half of his population, it didn’t stop him from pushing deeper inland.

He turned to the half-broken fisherman guiding them through the northern stretch of wilderness. The threat of a murdered family kept the old man in line for the moment. At some point Badron was convinced he’d try to either lead them into a trap or sneak off in the night. The deposed king had a plan in place to deal with treachery, perceived or real.

“How much further?” Badron hissed. He reached down to dig some of the hard snow from the inside of his boot.

The fisherman trembled, but whether from the cold or fear remained to be seen. “Not far, milord. You’ll see. The fortress is not far now.”

“It had better not be. I have no qualms about slitting your throat from ear to ear.”

Grugnak stormed up behind the smaller man, blade barred. “Kill him now. Blood needs to be spilled.”

“Patience, Goblin,” Badron snarled.
Blood will be spilled and soon. Only no matter who lives, I promise your corpse will be food for the crows
. “We can’t use a body. There will be killing enough for your bloodthirsty Goblins once we arrive at the fortress.” He turned back to the fisherman. “I won’t be able to prevent his rage much longer, peasant. Get me to the fortress and our accord is ended.”

The fisherman nodded profusely and loped back down the trail. Badron’s gaze lingered on Grugnak a moment longer before following.

“It’s only half complete,” Badron’s highest-ranking sergeant said between gasps. “I don’t think the garrison is more than a few hundred. We can sneak in and kill their leadership under cover of darkness. The rank and file should capitulate easy enough.”

Badron closed his eyes lightly and allowed himself a brief moment of delusion.

“There’s more, Sire,” the sergeant proceeded cautiously.

Badron’s eyes reluctantly opened.

“
He’s
there.”

Impossible
. Delranan was a large kingdom. Harnin could be anywhere, though logic suggested the One Eye remained holed up in Chadra Keep far from the battlefields.
Has the rat been drawn out? Will this be the day I exact my vengeance and set this kingdom to rights? You should have stayed hidden from me. You’ll pay for that arrogance
.

“Are you certain?” he asked more timidly than he wanted.

The sergeant nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Sire. One of my men spotted him walking the parapet. The One Eye has been drawn out.”

At long last. Vengeance is mine
. “Take me there now. This ends tonight.”

“But Sire,” the sergeant protested. A veteran, he knew too well the folly of fighting at night. Fratricide came too easily.

Badron wouldn’t be swayed. “Follow your orders.” Turning to his newest adjutant, he ordered, “Rouse everyone. We march in full strength. Harnin dies tonight.”

The sounds of weapons and armor jostling in the night filled the tiny clearing. At long last the humiliation of being betrayed by their kingdom was coming to a satisfying conclusion. Badron’s remaining loyalist, numbering in the few hundreds and combined with a Goblin remainder of less than a hundred, moved as one towards the fortress. Retribution was coming.

Smoke choked the defenders. The unexpected assault in the middle of the night took them all off guard. A handful of guards were slain by the initial salvo of arrows. Several more were lightly wounded. Chaos ensued. Alarms bells rung, followed by scores of soldiers swarmed out of their barracks. Sergeants and captains bellowed orders, trying to reduce confusion and restore order. Streaks of flame rocketed over the snow-capped, wooden walls. Roofs burned.

Harnin, wrapped in a thick bearskin robe, burst from his quarters with murderous intent twisting his face. “Who’s in command here?”

Soldiers ran by en route to their battle positions. The abject terror in their eyes suggested this was more than a mere harassment. The redoubt was being assaulted in force. Harnin’s mind reeled. How had Badron returned with numbers without his scouts’ warning? The odds of their first attack conducted on Harnin’s position were minimal at best. The current steward of Delranan thought quickly. The Dae’shan’s warning mocked him from the back of his mind.

If Badron’s army was indeed here they’d have arrived with sufficient numbers to reduce this position to ash and kill all of the defenders. Harnin had but one chance at salvaging this night before the vengeance of ten thousand soldiers crashed against the walls. His first priority was laying his hands on a weapon. A pair of arrows thudded into the ground near his feet.

Ulfdane emerged from the fog of battle. His tarnished helmet was dented. His armor burnished and worn. Sweat ran down his weathered face. Shoulders bunched from the strain of climbing the two-story walls under armor, the young lord cut a path through the ranks to greet Harnin. His sword was yet to be drawn.

“Lord Harnin, we are beset on all four sides by what I believe to be a slightly larger force. Some of the soldiers have witnessed strange, dark figures moving among the attackers,” he informed Harnin between breaths. His calm demeanor failed to spread to the soldiers of the Wolfsreik reserves.

Harnin halted in midstride and wheeled on the younger Ulfdane. “Explain these figures. I had thought only Badron had arrived.”

“They don’t look like regulars. Their soldiers are professional but not wearing the Wolfsreik armor. It’s the dark ones that worry me,” Ulfdane admitted. Strands of blond hair poked from beneath his helm. “I can’t be certain but I believe they are Goblins.”

“There haven’t been Goblins in this part of the world for generations,” Harnin snapped back. Still, he couldn’t leave that to chance. If Goblins had returned….“Get me a sword. We must discover the truth and repulse this assault quickly. Badron can’t be far off. Winter won’t halt their return.”

“What of the Goblins?” Ulfdane persisted.

Harnin took the proffered sword. “Kill them all.”

Half of the southern palisade was naught but charred ruin. Flames fanned by sudden winds blowing in from the north spread quickly, threatening to engulf the entire construct. The defense struggled to keep the flames in check while fighting off successive infantry feints. A handful of bodies littered the area on both sides of the wall. Most belonged to Harnin’s defenders. Only one was a Goblin warrior.

Harnin’s worst fears were confirmed. Goblins had returned to the west but in what numbers remained to be seen. Should they outnumber his meager forces, all of Delranan would be swept under their boots in a tide of blood and steel unlike any in modern history. Ditching his robes for armor and helmet, the one-eyed lord of Delranan made his stand. A roar broke from the nearby tree line. He braced for yet another attack. Instead of a score of fighters, Harnin looked upon massed ranks of close to a hundred.

“On me!” he roared above the fires and drew his sword.

Men charged across the open ground lest they get killed by archers seeking an easy target. They bellowed cries of rage, pent-up frustration. Murderous intent reflected in their cold eyes. Harnin felt awed by their desire to kill every single defender. Loping at the back of the pack was a score of more Goblins.
What strange deeds are these where men and Goblin fight alongside each other? Have the end times arrived at last?

Ulfdane watched his enemies charge and was unimpressed. Man or Goblin, each died in the same manner. “Shield wall! Form ranks!”

His voice bellowed richly across the redoubt. Drawing his sword, Ulfdane stepped to the burnt remains of the palisade. Ranks formed on either side. Shields interlocked moments before a salvo of spears slammed into the wood and lightly hammered iron. Men buckled but held. They braced for the clash of bodies, inevitable as the spring rain. Ulfdane risked a look above the shields and grew dismayed. The front ranks parted, allowing the Goblins to continue their reckless charge.

Their squat, powerful figures slammed into the shield wall, driving it back several feet. Defenders tripped and fell. Spear and sword stabbed. Blood fountained from a host of wounds. Cries of agony sang a miserable choir. Ulfdane pushed back, desperately trying to gain enough ground to use his sword. Goblins’ hot breath blasted his face. Pushing with his left shoulder, he stabbed through the gap to his right and was rewarded with a howl of pain. A Goblin dropped back. Dark blood painted Ulfdane’s sword. He stabbed again.

The man to his left fell, half his neck severed by a throwing axe. Hot blood washed across Ulfdane’s cheek. Without a replacement, the gap in the line threatened to expand. His situation was quickly becoming untenable. Ulfdane roared and slammed his shield into a charging Goblin. Off balance, the beast left his chest exposed for Ulfdane’s sword to puncture above the heart. Grinning savagely, Ulfdane leapt forward, ripping his sword free before plunging it back through the Goblin’s mouth.

The young lord of Delranan twisted his sword to pull it loose but the Goblin’s dying move had been to clamp down. The sword ripped out of his hands and Ulfdane was afforded a look at the battlefield. His heart sank. A black, shafted arrow stole his breath. He staggered as the pressure of the tip pierced armor and muscle. Knees threatening to give out, Ulfdane grasped the arrow shaft. A second took him in the heart, killing him instantly.

The shield wall broke and fled. Their leader’s death disheartened them more than the physical presence of a Goblin host ever could. Farmers and millers, the soldiers of the reserves weren’t battle-hardened veterans. Most just wanted to return to their previous lives. Lives that were drawing perilously close to an end. The attackers forced their way into the gap. A few stout defenders remained in place, ignorantly sacrificing their lives while their comrades tried to flee.

Harnin One Eye stood in the center of the courtyard surrounded by a handful of guards. Pride demanded he hold his position, even if that meant dying ingloriously. He watched as the defense crumbled. Some threw down their weapons, pleading for their lives. They died quickly. Others stood and fell, abandoned by their fellows. Harnin’s dreams for the future Delranan bled out on the snow with what remained of his army.

Instincts screamed for him to get on his horse and flee south to another fort. The rest of his defensive line needed to be warned. The expected assault from the Murdes Mountains wouldn’t matter if Badron’s force rolled down the line from the north. None of that mattered at the moment. He was trapped within a burning position as his soldiers died in greater numbers.

Goblins surged through the gaps in the wall. Their swords hacked and slashed. Men screamed. Goblins died. Harnin watched an elderly man split down the middle. His blood drenched the Goblin. A young boy, no more than twenty summers, desperately tried to keep his guts from spilling out of the gaping wound across his stomach. Two Goblins ran into a squad of axe wielders who were determined not to die without reaping a terrible count. Limbs hacked off, followed by their heads. Any victory the defenders might have enjoyed washed away with the arrival of ten more Goblins. The battle raged in earnest.

And suddenly, quiet. Those few scores of defenders left standing dragged into the perimeter around Harnin. Defeat darkened their eyes. All were wounded. Panting. Thirsty and caged. Their war was finished. Goblin and Man alike ceased hostilities. They stood atop the walls, leering at the meager force. They lounged against the buildings still standing. Harnin couldn’t help but feel he was being toyed with.

Shoving aside his protective ring, One Eye clutched his sword as if for the final time. Age and fate conspired against him. Not only had the Dae’shan enticed him from the security of Chadra Keep, Harnin assumed the half-creature meant for him to die. If Lord Death wished to rip him from his body there wasn’t anything he could do to change that, but he’d be comfortable in the presence of many foes.

“Who leads you?” he demanded. His voice was hoarse, ragged. His heart hammered suddenly. “No. It can’t be.”

Murmurs rose from the defenders. They’d seen a ghost. No one expected the return of King Badron. They’d been assured of his demise in far off Rogscroft. Betrayed, they stood frozen in place as the true lord of Delranan emerged from the ranks of his ragged army. Hatred rarely took physical shape, yet Badron was consumed by it. His massive body trembled as he struggled to keep control. Fingers bled white around the handle of his bitten battle axe. Slowly, as if to emphasize the drama of the moment, he raised and pointed it at Harnin.

“Your reign is at its climax, usurper.”

Harnin struggled to find the words. The Dae’shan had been correct after all. Any thought of reconciliation died on his tongue. He’d gone too far to turn back. Delranan was plunged into and endless cycle of torment, suffering from his visions of the future. Ravaged by plague and war, Harnin doubted there’d ever come a day when his kingdom returned to the glory of yesteryear. The past lay dead alongside the dreams of a fallen generation. Empires rose and fell on the whims of a select few with the tenacity to make change. Harnin was given his chance. He failed terribly.