“What do you mean gone?” Thord demanded.
Anger filled his tone. He clenched his massive fist so tightly the knuckles bled white. The others assembled fell silent, knowing all too well their king’s wrath when angered. The Dwarf Lord ground his teeth while looking to each of his generals and advisors.
“Well?”
“Sire, the Elf scouts report there is no sign of the Goblin army. They have…vanished.” The younger Dwarf cleared his throat, shuffling uncomfortably from foot to foot.
Thord leaned menacingly closer. “An army that size cannot just disappear without any trace. The scouts must be wrong.”
Aleor, tall and slender as most Elves, stood passively with hands folded in front of him. He regarded the smaller Dwarves as curious, yet capable of great violence. For an entire clan to fall to darkness didn’t take much imagination. Any race willing to exercise violence must hold natural instincts towards fouler paths.
“King Thord, may I offer a suggestion?” he asked.
Tension left Thord’s face, at least some of it, and he waved the Elf to continue.
“My scouts have scoured all of the lands east from here to the Kergland Spine. While it is unlikely the Goblins have vanished there is the very real possibility they have altered their route of march. I suggest doubling the scouts and focus on the northern approaches. Fifty thousand enemy soldiers will have left a mass of debris in their wake. We will find them.”
“For all we know we could be marching right towards them,” Thord replied.
“Possible, but unlikely,” the Elf countered. His tone was dry, as if analyzing every aspect of the conversation before commenting. Elves were notoriously deliberate in their actions, often taking years to reach conclusions most races couldn’t afford to delay on.
“How do you mean? We can’t continue the march to Delranan without knowing where our enemy is, Elf.”
“We won’t. The Goblin army is massive, larger than any other in recorded history. We would know if they were ahead of us. The signs would be unmistakable. Faeldrin and the Minotaurs should rendezvous with us by nightfall. I’m going to take a team of scouts back to the enemy’s last known position and try to determine which way they went. We should return before the dawn. Given your leave, naturally.”
Thord lacked options. He couldn’t plan accordingly without knowing his opponent’s disposition. He relented. “Very well. Find the Goblins, Aleor. We need the intelligence.”
The Elf nodded and exited the command tent, leaving the Dwarf steaming over his sudden handicap.
FOUR
No Rest for the Wicked
The wagon groaned to a stop in the copse of thin firs shortly before nightfall. Another long day’s march pushed Bahr’s party to their limits. The running engagement with Harnin’s forces had drained their energy, supplies, and forced them off schedule. Each suffered from multiple cuts and scrapes. They lost hours of sleep. The trek across Delranan had proved arduous on enough levels to inspire doubt in the hardiest.
Bahr climbed down from the wagon, pausing to stretch the pain of sitting on the hard, wooden planks all day away. He was pushing fifty, an age when most people retired and found a life of fishing on a quiet river. Being the brother of the king didn’t allow for that sort of life. Loss and hardship seemed his place in life. His holdings and estate were burned to the ground. All he owned in Delranan was confiscated by Harnin One Eye. His true love, the Dragon’s Bane, was resting in charred pieces in Chadra’s harbor, the crew either dead or pressed into military service. Even his niece, Maleela, was missing.
Through it all, Bahr continued driving towards the final battle. He’d taken his band of reluctant heroes east and then south to Trennaron in search of a weapon few believed in. Along the way he stumbled into a greater conspiracy threatening the future of the entire world. Bahr considered himself a person of honor. He’d given his word to the wizard Anienam Keiss. One way or another he would lead his group to the ruins of Arlevon Gale. He was committed to the course, no matter how foul the potential end promised to be.
“We can’t keep on like this, Bahr,” Boen, the big Gaimosian said after he finished brushing his horse down.
“What choice do we have?” Bahr echoed Boen’s sentiments but couldn’t find a way clear of their dilemma. “Arlevon Gale is still a few days away.”
“We’re not going to last a few days, not with Harnin’s soldiers constantly hounding us every step of the way. Something needs to change.”
Bahr threw up his hands. “What? We’ve done all we can to elude Skaning yet they’re still on our trail. It’s not as if we can hide easily. Not with Groge. His tracks alone are larger than the rest of ours combined.”
Boen grinned at the thought of the Giant youth stumbling along in the wagon’s wake. He’d initially thought the Giant would be enough of a deterrence to keep Harnin’s soldiers at bay. Such wasn’t the case. Enemy soldiers continually threw themselves at the Giant once they’d overcome the initial shock of facing a twelve-foot-tall warrior. They died just as easily.
“What I don’t understand is Skaning’s willingness to throw away lives,” Bahr added. “Harnin can’t have that many disposable troops to dedicate to running us down.”
“The rebellion’s drawn attention to this part of the kingdom. Ingrid and her people have stirred up a hornet’s nest,” Boen said. “There’s no feasible way to reach the ruins without detection.”
“I don’t think we can make it if that’s the case.”
Bahr’s reluctance to fight was contrary to all they’d been through since initially being hired to rescue Maleela from Rogscroft. Battles followed in a never-ending stream as they crossed half of Malweir. He was tired. His mind wasn’t as sharp as it had been. Age and hardship combined to lower his stamina and esteem. Thoughts of sailing away to another land entertained him on those rare moments when he was alone. It was past time to move on. Delranan wasn’t what it once was, even for a man who turned his back on the throne when he was barely out of his teens.
His easygoing life was in fragments, broken and scattered beyond repair. What remained accompanied him on this quest. A pair of could-have-been sell swords. An enigmatic wizard who spoke of days long past, now blinded by the powers of the gods. A strange woman from the Jungles of Brodein with an affectation towards Dorl Theed. Skuld, the stowaway struggling to find his place in life. A surly Dwarf warrior who enjoyed killing a little too much for Bahr’s liking. A Giant with the emotional development of a human child and Boen, the Vengeance Knight who knew nothing but battle. Not the worst of friends but not what he expected after such a long life.
“It’s time to change tactics,” Boen suggested.
Bahr cocked his head. “How do you mean?”
He knew they couldn’t take Skaning’s forces head-on. His small band of heroes was no match for a sizeable force--a force neither Boen nor Bahr knew how large. Running accomplished nothing. It was only a matter of time before a stray arrow took one of them out, or worse. They were trapped between the rocks with no plausible escape route.
The Gaimosian continued. “What do you know of this Skaning?”
Bahr took a moment to think. “He’s not the best or brightest in Badron’s court. Young, brash, that makes him prone to mistakes. What he lacks in experience he more than makes up for with ferocity. He’s a killer, Boen, just not one with honor.”
“That would explain why none of the soldiers we’ve killed wore uniforms.” Boen grunted. “I doubt they’re more than mercenaries.”
“Meaning they can do whatever it takes to ensure our deaths,” Bahr concluded.
The Gaimosian nodded. “And we can do what needs to be done as well. Mercenaries don’t garner the same treatment as uniformed soldiers.”
Bahr disagreed. Combatants should be treated accordingly regardless of their affiliation. Executing someone simply because they were mercenaries was akin to murder in his eyes. He purposefully avoided the discussion, knowing Gaimosians were viewed in s
imilar light.
“We can’t afford taking prisoners, Bahr,” Boen pressed, mistaking silence for acquiescence. “Sooner or later they’re going to get the better of us. There is only so much Ironfoot and I can do to prevent it. Our weapons are blunted. Armor needs to be repaired.” He lowered his voice so only Bahr heard. “We’re at the breaking point. These people have been through every imaginable scenario you or I can think of. There’s only so much left to give.”
“What would you have me do, Boen? This quest is committed to stopping the Dae’shan from releasing the dark gods. We’ve gone well beyond the point of turning back.”
Disturbed, Boen folded his burly arms across his chest and began pacing. “We won’t make it to Arlevon Gale. Not like this.”
“I don’t know any other option,” Bahr said after a few minutes passed.
Boen glared, briefly, at his friend. “So be it. I’m going out to scout the area. Save me some of that deer.”
The Sea Wolf watched him ride off. Once the Gaimosian became angered, there were no words capable of calming him. Hopefully a quick ride around the camp would enable him to blow off his rising bitterness. Bahr wished he had such an outlet instead of feeling trapped in a tightening snare.
Trip wires were already set out, roughly one hundred meters from the camp. Knee high, the wires were suggested by the Dwarf captain, Ironfoot, as an early warning system. As of yet they hadn’t been discovered, though Bahr debated whether it was by sheer luck or deliberate. Anienam supposedly ensorcelled the camp with a protection spell, preventing the enemy from noticing the fire or the smells of roasting meat. The wizard wasn’t the most liked among the group but his acceptance was growing the closer they got to the ruins. Perhaps his unexpected blinding played a large part or, as Bahr suspected, it was due to the approaching battle against the ultimate evil.
Bahr reentered the camp locked in thought. For all of his experience and quality he couldn’t find an escape from their current situation. The enemy seemed to be multiplying, as if the entire western campaign had abandoned the rebellion in order to hunt him down. Logically it made sense. Badron was deposed and his only surviving child was missing. That left Bahr as the only blood relative to the current monarchy. His presence in Delranan remained a threat to Harnin’s plans for as long as he lived.
Briefly, so quick a thought he was ashamed to have it, Bahr considered abandoning the others in the hopes Skaning wanted him alone. Anienam and the sole true Dae’shan, Artiss Gran, both insisted that the only way for the group to succeed was by having all members arrive at the final nexus together. Everyone has a part to play. The only chance Malweir has to survive rests in your combined hands. Memories of that conversation atop the walls of Trennaron plagued his peace of mind.
He knew he should consider their progress fortunate. Thus far they’d only suffered two losses. Ionascu, the broken former spy, was clearly murdered by Maleela in the jungle. Bahr wasn’t surprised. Ionascu was greatly hated. His loss was hardly felt and did wonders for the group chemistry. Bahr never fully understood Anienam’s reasoning from bringing Ionascu out of Harnin’s dungeons after they’d been captured and tortured. He offered nothing to the group but animosity. The overall dynamic improved in his absence.
Maleela, on the other hand, was the reason they had all come together. Hired by Harnin One Eye after the daring midnight raid on Chadra Keep, they’d ranged into Rogscroft and stole her away. The wizard believed Maleela’s future held great portent yet failed to suggest finding her. Bahr feared his niece was already dead. They’d never been close. In fact, Bahr often did his utmost to forget all blood bonds with his brother’s side of the family. Their relationship grew the longer the quest prolonged. Now she was gone he could do no more than weep at her loss.
“You need to abandon your regrets, Bahr. They will only make our enemy’s job easier.”
Bahr exhaled sharply. He hadn’t wanted to get into a conversation with the wizard this evening. “Anienam. Can you sense any soldiers nearby?”
“You know my powers don’t work like that.” The blind wizard cocked his head as if listening to the wind. “This is an amazing world, don’t you think? Here we are, a tiny group of the most mismatched races you could conceive and we are all that stands between life or eternal darkness.”
Bahr snorted. “Aye. The gods have a sick sense of humor.”
“I don’t think humor has much to do with it. We were destined to carry out this task. Our wants and needs are nothing to the gods. After all, why should they be? The gods created this world and all life on it. We are nothing if not the playthings of the gods.”
“I don’t fancy being a plaything for anyone or anything,” Bahr said and frowned. “This has gone on long enough. Maybe it’s time for the gods to be gone altogether.”
“What are you saying? That we’d be better off without their influences?” Anienam asked. His mood visibly darkened at the possibilities intoned in Bahr’s train of thought.
Bahr paused, suddenly conscious of where his thoughts were leading. “Perhaps. We’ve been ignorant tools for far too long. What good have the gods done for us? The good ones abandoned Malweir long before any of us here were thought of. The dark ones only want to destroy everything. We don’t need either sect, wizard. Perhaps the time has finally come for the world to govern itself. Malweir continues daily without divine interference. Most of the old races have abandoned their belief in the gods altogether. Look at Groge. His people worship a singular deity. What do your books have to say about that?”
Though blind, Anienam looked down upon Bahr with newfound approval. The Sea Wolf was finally shedding his outer skin and revealing his true nature. Granted, it had taken longer than he anticipated, but Anienam was sure Bahr now had the practical understanding necessary to complete the difficult task appointed to him. A good sign, but is it already too late?
“What you propose is tricky. Each race is imbued with the ability to self-govern. We all enjoy certain freedoms that a lifetime of slavish devotion to the old gods disempowers. The gods can be seen as lethargic. The gods of light left this plane long ago, vowing to allow us the right to self-rule.”
“They don’t seem overly interested in returning to deal with their problems, though, do they?” Bahr added. “They could have come back to stop the dark gods at any point.”
“Perhaps they wanted to test us,” Anienam said.
“So this is all some grand experiment? For what purpose?”
“That is an answer I fear we will discover all too soon.”
Bahr let the conversation drop. Something he failed to identify in the wizard’s tone bothered him for reasons he wasn’t sure. All he wanted at the moment was to sit down, enjoy his share of roasted venison, and fall asleep. The rest of the world could wait.
He practically collapsed onto a folding stool procured from the fine vaults of Trennaron and listened to the conversation between Dorl and Nothol. Bahr could always count on the travel banter of his favorite sell swords to brighten the mood.
“I’m not saying that, you thick-brained fool,” Dorl fumed. His face reddened from frustration. “Alls I’m saying is that the meat is starting to taste old.”
“Of course it’s old, dummy. Boen killed it near on a week ago!” Nothol replied, feigning his own frustration. The vast majority of his comments were always meant to incite the infantile feeling of aggression Dorl kept pent up.
Dorl blinked twice as the realization struck. “No. You’re not going to get away with this again. This is my point of view. I’m not giving it over to you just because.”
Nothol sat back and held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, be that way. I wasn’t looking for a fight anyway. It’s still too cold for that.”
Satisfied with the victory, Dorl said, “Good. That’s settled.”
“The meat is getting a little rank.”
“Damn it, Nothol! I’m going on guard duty.”
The camp broke out in laughter as the shorter sell sword hasti
ly snatched his weapons and trudged off to rove the perimeter.
“Why do you do that?” Rekka Jel asked once the merriment died down. Since joining the quest in Chadra, she and Dorl had grown to become lovers. Her newfound emotions failed to translate into understanding for the northerners or their rigid ways. Rekka never bothered thinking of her relationship lasting beyond the approaching battle. There was a good chance many, if not all, of their ragged group would be dead before the end. A life in the north with Dorl hadn’t become a possibility until she’d been banished from her village of Teng through a series of unfortunate events.
Nothol smiled warmly. “It keeps him on his toes. Don’t tell him I ever said this, and I’ll deny it if you do, but I need Dorl around. He’s watched my back for years and that’s an irreplaceable feeling.”
“He cares deeply for you,” she said.
“Let’s not get mushy. Emotional types don’t last long in this profession.” Of course, we’re not likely to last much longer anyway. What have we gotten ourselves into, I wonder? “Just know that I will do everything I can to keep his scruffy hide alive. No matter the cost.”
The usually glib sell sword went back to his dinner without another word, leaving Rekka quietly analyzing the evolving dynamic of the group. They were an odd collection, each unique in their skill set. Normally none would be seen together but necessity and increased engagements forged them into a deadly weapon. Briefly, she wondered what her life would be like if she’d elected not to leave Trennaron.
The sudden commotion on the far side of camp broke her thoughts. Her head snapped up. Hands reached for her sword. She squinted in the dying light, relaxing only slightly upon spying Boen’s massive frame rumbling back into camp. He was out of breath and exuded danger. The Gaimosian brought dire news. She sensed his adrenaline and knew he ached for the sweet release only battle offered.
“We’re in trouble,” he said between ragged breaths.
Bahr looked to his friend. “How close?”
“Not far.” Boen shook his head. “I don’t know how they’re tracking us, either. Every time we stop they seem to make a straight line towards our position.”
Even Gods Must Fall Page 4
