by Emmet Moss
“You forget, Captain, that the merchants of Innes Vale will support the highest bidder, and the Iron Shield has been hard-pressed on all fronts this past year. They will have scant little to offer the north. Even the Dwarves of Alerond refuse to embroil themselves in the affairs of men,” Armsmater replied knowingly. “Were Furnael Berry to mobilize, there would be no help coming from Glenvale this season. By next year, the south will be firmly in Gadian Yarr’s control; a new nation set to increase its borders come spring.”
“I don’t deny that possibility, General.”
Gavin realized that he was in uncharted territory now that he had refused the renowned commander’s offer. Glancing at the entryway, he tried his best to discern the time. Judging by the shadows near the open doorway, he knew he had scant time remaining before his men rode out. He would never see the light of day again were they to move out while he remained with the general. And there was still the matter of Orn and Coren.
“Please excuse me, General, but I really must be going. My men will be wondering what is keeping me, and as per your instructions, there is much to discuss with them. I have only need of the two men you currently hold.”
“Your men will remain in my custody,” Armsmater replied distractedly.
“Then I wish to speak with them. It is within my right to do so as their commanding officer,” Gavin replied, having no other choice or angle to work.
He realized then, that Gerald Armsmater was not of sound mind. Something inside of him, be it a result of age or something else, had snapped. He could not even comprehend that someone would dare defy him. It was clear to Gavin that Gadian Yarr had corrupted the legendary warrior with promises of unprecedented power. Long ago, Gavin had been taught that unchecked power easily corrupts, and before him now stood a man who proved such a proverb to be true.
Armsmater glared at Gavin, his eyes full of anger. “Guards! Bring the two prisoners here. I have need of them!” he barked at the two men standing at attention near the entryway.
Gavin watched in despair as the two Fey’Derin scouts were brought out before him. Coren managed a weak smile, although his face was etched with pain. He was thrown forward and crumpled to the hard ground. Coren was badly bruised, and his clothes hung from his body in bloody tatters. He looked to have been beaten by a mob, but he was still breathing.
Looking at the other scout, Gavin wasn’t even sure if Orn Surefoot was still alive. He was bleeding from a deep head wound, and had a gruesome broken bone protruding from his lower left leg. Blood had soaked through his clothing at the knees, clotting where Gavin assumed there was another terrible wound. Orn’s eyes were glazed over, but he recognized Gavin immediately. It must have taken a monumental effort for the man to croak out one simple sentence. “I was sober, Captain.”
“Silence!” roared the general, backhanding Orn across the mouth.
“By the gods, what have you done?!” Gavin sputtered, barely able to control his mounting fury. Few were the times he could remember being so close to losing all control.
“I have done nothing! These men attacked my soldiers and were dealt with harshly, as we do with all transgressors!” Armsmater shouted in return. “And I will ask you once again to change your mind, Captain, and accept my offer of alliance. Will you join the Protectorate?”
“I have already answered your question! Now release these men into my custody, and let me be gone. I have no quarrel with you and only wish to leave, but your treatment of my men is an offense,” Gavin treaded carefully.
The next few moments would forever be etched in Gavin Silveron’s memory. Time slowed almost to a standstill, and even the scream that echoed from his own throat was drawn out and slurred. Gavin watched in horror as Gerald Armsmater drew his long belt knife while ruthlessly yanking Orn’s head back by the hair. Gavin made eye contact with Orn, and for a brief moment, there was complete silence.
Then, with savage glee, the general drew his knife across Orn’s throat. Blood gushed forth from the wound as the scout fell face forward and buckled to the earth, his lifeblood pouring out beneath him. As he lay there motionless, it pooled under his cheeks, soaking slowly into the hard, dry ground.
“NOOOOOOOOOOO!” Gavin screamed, his cry echoed by Coren. Running to the fallen man’s side, Gavin cradled Orn’s lifeless head in his arms, blood soaking through his company tabard and drenching his hands.
“I will ask you one last time tomorrow, Captain Silveron,” said a voice. The words were muted, spoken as if from a great distance. Lifting his head, Gavin locked gazes with the man who had murdered Orn.
“You are a dead man,” he swore.
“I think not, Captain,” Armsmater replied. “Your other soldier dies in the morning if your answer is not to my liking. Remember, I am now the law of this land,” he finished and left the room. His guards followed, with Coren being pulled roughly behind.
Sitting there, alone with the still warm body of Orn Surefoot, Gavin wept.
In times of old, protected by the ever-present An’Dari, the High Kings of Caledun hunted in the untamed wilderness of the Iron Shield, heedless of any danger.
—Valen Col, The Uncharted Wilds
Chapter XXXIII
Lok’Dal hie, The Wilds
The column stretched out far off into the distance. Long rows of goblin fighters strode purposefully along the dirt road. It was difficult to see more than the top half of each warrior, so thick was the cloud of dust that billowed up from their marching feet. Tall, fluttering banners were held high by standard bearers, and the snap of the pennants could be heard even from a distance. Accompanying the jangle of metal armour and weapons, came the pounding of war drums; the deep, booming reverberations causing the very ground to rumble.
The goblin soldiers kept their eyes fixed on the road before them, their gazes unflinching even while faced with the brilliant rays of the rising sun. A veritable train of wagons and pack mules brought up the rear of the long column. The goblins were well armed, with each warrior carrying some type of sword, heavy maul, or hammer. Those marching beneath certain standards also carried crossbows, steel-tipped spears, and barbed pikes. The formations wore dyed tabards in an assortment of dark colours overtop of studded leather armour reinforced with metal plates. They marched as a unified whole, at once both confident and with resolute purpose.
“How many do you count?” Leoric asked. He leaned against the handle of his shovel, staring at the passing column with genuine concern. He had been watching the early morning procession for quite some time before Finn Callum had sauntered up to join him.
“With the dust those bastards are kicking up, it’s hard to tell. At least four thousand,” Finn replied, anxiously biting his lower lip. “But I’d wager there are more than a dozen unique standards assembled down there. Why they aren’t all tearing each other apart is my greatest concern.”
“Even over their numbers?” Leoric asked with some surprise.
“Aye, even over their numbers,” Finn replied sternly. “Someone, or something, must have had a hand in this unification of the tribes. The goblins’ bloody civil wars have kept our lands relatively safe from any military campaigns for ages. The savages have always done much of the nasty work of the Shield themselves. Something has changed the order of things here in the Wilds, and I believe it is just as important to uncover that secret as it is for you and the others to escape and warn the borderland keeps.”
“Gods... there are a lot of them. It looks like the Derlak, Sunfo’ol, She’rian, and Trafa’l are leading the whole procession, but I don’t recognize that black banner in the vanguard,” Leoric commented.
Finn squinted into the morning light before answering. “There’s a serpent on the banner, so that would be the Mori’el. They live near the southern edge of the Wilds, closer to Kelamyre than Darkenedge. Our patrols have engaged with them often, and they were part of the ambush
that tore my company apart. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of them.”
“The Marshal always believed that the tribes were hiding their true strength, and the difficult terrain in the Wilds always did hamper our attempts at determining even approximate troop numbers. Before we were ambushed, I don’t think any of the veterans of Darkenedge had seen a raiding party number much more than six score, all from the same tribe, of course,” Leoric said, continuing to marvel at the terrifying sight.
“Any of the keeps, Hilltop included, would be hard-pressed to hold off a siege against an army of this size,” Finn stated.
“I think you may be right.”
“I doubt this army represents one of the lead elements of our enemy,” Finn explained patiently. “If the outlying patrols of our forts have already been hit by sizable forces, it is fair to assume that large companies of goblins already lay claim to much of the land we once patrolled with relative impunity. Did you note the way they marched, Leoric?” he asked.
“Like they’ve been training for a lengthy period of time,” Leoric answered gravely.
“Exactly,” Finn nodded. “And that can only mean that this invasion has been a long time coming.”
“The Shield must be warned,” Leoric declared, a determined tone to his voice. “I have been waiting for a sign, something that would prompt me to act, but I still wonder why the others would follow me.”
“You have an element of trust in those eyes of yours, Leoric; that in itself brings confidence and a calm assurance to any who call you friend. Unlike Joram, you don’t strive for power and influence; it is instead part of your nature. Strangely, Auric possesses a similar aura.”
“Auric?” Leoric questioned, raising an eyebrow.
“There is much that man hides, always speaking with that evasive tongue of his. Look past his strange demeanor, and I guarantee you’ll find something deeper. When he was younger, he would have been a formidable presence. I suspect that after a lifetime of slavery that he is tired and knows that the better part of his life is now behind him. It is easier to let a younger man take up the burden.”
“Burden?” Leoric asked, confused by the soldier’s choice of words.
“The burden of leadership, Leoric,” Finn answered simply.
“The leadership of our community is not in question, Finn. You are the highest ranking officer among us; that mantle is yours,” Leoric replied.
“My rank means nothing to these people, least of all to those who have watched you defend the weak and support the greater good,” Finn added.
Falling silent, Leoric frowned and turned back towards the procession. Hearing such compliments from Finn Callum made him uncomfortable. He was a simple retired farmer, thrust into the role of soldier after circumstances had left him bereft of wife and child. He was no leader of men, no champion of the poor; only a man hoping to do some good in a world filled with despair.
“What kind of leader leaves his friends?” Leoric asked.
A rueful smile appeared on Finn’s lips. “The kind that ensures those left behind have the confidence to weather their own storm. You’d be surprised by the result of a little inspiration.”
“You know, for a borderland captain, you have quite a way with words.” Leoric chuckled. “In all seriousness, I’d like your honest assessment of that army,” he motioned towards the slowly disappearing dust cloud.
“Well for one thing, they are slow. Without any mounted troops, I think that even in unknown territory, your band would travel faster. The wagon train will be slowed by the mud when it rains and, in general, by the tangled trails of the Wilds. Granted their outriders are most assuredly swift, but I would say the lot of you have a chance,” Finn finished.
“I agree with your assessment, Captain Callum. We leave soon,” Leoric declared.
“When?”
“Tomorrow night.”
With the difficult decision now behind him, Leoric was now focused on the countless small details that needed his attention. If the escape attempt was to have any real chance of success they needed to be prepared. He quietly passed confirmation to the others in the small group, each member’s reaction revealing an overwhelming sense of relief. Cara’s eyes had immediately welled up with tears; of joy or sadness, Leoric could not tell. Benoit and Angvald had gripped him tightly in a communal embrace. Lastly, Auric had merely given a slight nod, with what seemed like a look of approval dancing behind his cagey eyes. Recalling Finn’s earlier comments, Leoric could not help but pause and wonder what the old man might be hiding behind that gaze.
Leoric turned his thoughts back to the business at hand. It would not pay to make a mistake now, not after the great risks they had all taken in preparing for the journey. Yet he could not get Kieri out of his mind. She was completely unaware of the plans, and had no idea what was soon to occur. She would go to sleep tomorrow evening under his protection, but would wake to find him gone… vanished… and soon to be nothing more than a memory.
I promised her I would protect her…
Disheartened, Leoric silently cursed his luck. It felt like a cruel twist of fate and tragically poetic, that after such a long period of struggle and frustration, that they would be blessed with only one short week together. For Leoric, it was a time like few he could remember.
After moving out from under the brutal hand of the sadist Joram, Kieri had quickly rediscovered her love for life; a love that she communicated flawlessly with every word, gesture, and smile. Leoric had known her to forever be wearing a look of sadness, but that had disappeared. The weight that she had carried while with with Joram had dissipated, almost as if it had never existed.
She had moved into the dorm with the other women without much notice. Joram had attempted to persuade her otherwise, but with Leoric’s powerful presence looming at her shoulder, she had refused the man. Joram had reacted by sending a dark stare of hatred in their direction as he stalked back across the compound towards his private home.
Leoric had remained on guard with Angvald that night, certain that the once dominant bully would undoubtedly strike out in revenge. Leoric believed that it was not in Joram’s nature to do otherwise.
But nothing untoward had occurred; at least not as of yet, Leoric reminded himself. The camp itself remained on high alert for the better part of the following days, with most captives anticipating a final showdown between the camp’s two divided factions. Seven days after Kieri left Joram for Leoric, most were still waiting for the moment of retribution.
Leoric soon found himself among the press of people jostling to find a spot within the common room. Surrounded by a bevy of friends, Cara and Angvald included, Kieri caught his eye from across the crowded floor. She waved at him, and Leoric could barely suppress the urge to throw aside all his carefully laid plans and remain here in the camp with her. How she had managed to capture his heart remained a mystery, one that he had little compulsion to solve. He preferred to simply enjoy every moment that remained.
“What’s with the sad look?” Kieri frowned, hugging him tightly.
Feigning surprise, Leoric gave a weak attempt at a smile. “I was just thinking is all. Can’t a man do that without being questioned?”
“Sometimes you are so odd,” she smiled, kissing him lightly on the cheek. It was a small public gesture that had become quite frequent. It reminded Leoric that Kieri had truly chosen him, and that she was unafraid of hiding that attraction.
“I saw you talking with Angvald and Cara. What lies were those two telling about me?” he asked mockingly.
“Now look who’s asking all the questions,” Kieri pouted, wrapping her fingers around his hand. “And I’ll have you know that Angvald warned me that you’d ask just such a question, so I can only wonder if his tales aren’t really true.”
Leoric gently led her through the crowd, his heart pounding as he struggled to deal with his present dilem
ma. Leading her towards the back entrance, he gamely avoided her curious stare as she realized where he was leading them.
Once outside, they walked silently towards one of the large wagons that Auric lovingly maintained for his journeys into Lok’Dal hie. Holding Kieri’s hand tightly, he continued to avoid her eyes, even as he gently lifted her into the front seat. Sliding into the spot beside her, he looked up and stared off into the night sky.
“Leoric, what’s wrong?” Kieri asked. “You don’t seem yourself.”
Ignoring the question, Leoric continued to watch the stars. “Do you ever wonder whether or not people in whose lives we’ve spent time remember us? Do we ever enter their thoughts on occasion?” he asked quietly.
Kieri firmly grasped his chin, turning his head in her direction. “Look at me,” she said, a touch of sorrow in her voice. “Tell me what’s going on. Is this about your daughter?”
Leoric glanced downward at the mention of Maya. Everything led back to her, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Just as he had abandoned her, so too was he now planning to abandon the woman he loved.
“This isn’t about Maya,” he finally said. “Kieri, would you miss me? Would you forget me if I was gone?” he asked abruptly.
She looked deep into his eyes. “Leo, you know I would. I would miss you every day and would always wonder about your well-being. But why ask such a terrible thing?” she whispered.
In that moment, broken by her sheer anguish and confusion, Leoric made one of the most painful decisions of his life. Reaching out and grasping Kieri’s outstretched hands, he pulled her close.
His body trembled as he whispered in her ear, “Kieri, I have to leave you.”
“W... what are you talking about?” she cried, devastated by his words. Tears ran down her cheeks as she tried to pull away from him, but he would not let her go. Unwilling to prolong the hurt for any longer, Leoric looked at her earnestly and told her everything.
