“We expect them to take the brunt and wind up paying more attention to them than our own business,” Dorl said. “I don’t fancy taking a blade in my back.”
Neither spoke for the rest of the ride into the village. Unwanted thoughts, those stray bits of gloom both of them purposefully shoved to the forgotten corners of their minds, burst to life, forming new demons in the seclusion of solitude. Lord Death was a powerful motivator. He forced their hands to greater extremes the longer the quest extended. Now that it was all grinding to a rapid halt there seemed little chance of escaping certain, violent demise.
Banks of dark clouds rolled in as the sun sank beneath the horizon. Shades of night crawled across the land, an ominous warning to any foolish enough to be caught outside. Chickens clucked under the eaves of a series of farmhouses running the length of the only road leading into the village. The sell swords would much rather sneak in on a lesser-traveled path but neither were familiar with this part of the kingdom. Deciding there was some measure of merit in being bold, Nothol headed straight for the nearest farmhouse and hoped for the best. A quick barter later and they were granted a relatively comfortable night in the farmer’s barn, all for a nominal expense.
Bahr and the wagon rolled in a short time later, after darkness fell. No one noticed the Dwarf or Giant sneaking into the barn before the doors groaned shut. Food was prepared, the horses brushed down. Normally they wouldn’t have been allowed a fire but the farmer suffered the effects of the long, severe winter with the same frame of mind. A pit had already been dug out in the center of the floor, low enough to prevent the flames from spreading to the dried timbers of the structure. He reluctantly granted the sell swords permission to do the same, on the condition they didn’t burn his barn down or kill his livestock in the process.
Groge found the space cramped but comfortable. His twelve-foot frame snuggled into a stack of hay bales for the night. The young Giant let his mind wander as he stared longingly into the flickering fire. It was moments like this that reminded him of his time in the forges of Venheim. Satisfied and full, the Giant slowly fell asleep.
“That didn’t take long,” Boen murmured and gestured towards the sleeping Groge.
Bahr glanced up quickly and went back to the fire. “He’s fortunate. I haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep since we left Trennaron.”
“The past has a way of haunting us,” Boen concurred. “Don’t waste your time worrying over it, Bahr. Whatever happens is meant to. Nothing you or I do will change that.”
“You Gaimosians are walking contradictions. One moment you are determined to set the course of action for the world and the next willing to let it all ride. I wish I had that sense of confidence.”
Boen chuckled softly, knowing it was all for show. He felt Bahr’s gradual change the closer they got to their final destination. Anyone would undergo the same, as far as he was concerned. Recognizing you were the agent of Fate was no easy task to swallow. Boen often wondered what his life might have been like if he’d been born anything but Gaimosian. The image never materialized. He was a warrior, nothing more. His own demons struggled for dominance in the recesses of his mind. Idle thoughts of retiring to a quiet village to enjoy his final years were overpowered by the growing sense of foreboding that he was going to die soon. He shrugged his personal concern off. Death would happen in its own good time. All he needed to do was ensure Bahr and the others were given every opportunity to accomplish their tasks.
“What are we going to do about Skaning? We can’t keep trying to dodge him and expect to reach the ruins in time,” Boen asked. He idly poked a large stick into the fire. White-hot coals collapsed in the center of the flames.
Bahr continued to stare into the dancing flames. The over complications that were developing added unnecessary stress to an already stressful situation. As much as he wanted to stand and fight, to force Skaning into a final confrontation, he knew he couldn’t afford the delay. Time had grown perilously short without them noticing. His back was against the rocks.
“What can we do?” he said. “I’m sure he’s already sent riders ahead to coordinate a blocking force, cutting us off from our destination.”
“How would he know where we’re going?” Boen asked. “Skaning seems like a minor player in all of this. It’s that bastard One Eye I’m concerned with. What I would give to plunge my sword down his gullet.”
“Hopefully the need doesn’t arise. We can’t risk getting stopped by Harnin or Skaning.” Bahr frowned. His options continued to restrict.
Boen offered, “I could go out into the village. See who’s sympathetic to the rebellion and stir up enough trouble to swamp Skaning’s soldiers here long enough for us to get a day’s ride on them. I’m sure the people would be more than willing to exercise their anger after the long winter.”
“I don’t want any unnecessary deaths heaped upon our cause, Boen,” Bahr said, rejecting the idea.
“What cause? The way I see it I’m only here to watch your back. You and the others while you destroy this gateway between worlds. This isn’t my crusade, Bahr, and I damned sure don’t have a problem with a little spilled blood.”
Bahr felt deflated. None of his ideas offered a sliver of hope and he was steadily sinking down into feelings of emptiness. “What do you propose, Boen? We incite a riot and let those mercenaries slaughter the countryside?”
The malevolent gleam in Boen’s eyes lasted a brief second too long. “No, but it’s past time for a blooding. Let me stay behind. I’ll lead them off our trail and double back to you before you reach Arlevon Gale. I might be fortunate to take out enough of them to make this Skaning change his mind on pursuing us. Let him go back to Ingrid and fight it out.”
The idea wasn’t without merit. Boen could single-handedly wipe out most if not all of the pack of mercenaries hounding them. All he needed was the proper vehicle to administer Gaimosian justice. Tempting as it sounded, Bahr couldn’t afford for his greatest, strongest asset to disappear.
“Anienam and Artiss Gran both said we are all needed at the end,” he countered. “We need you here, with us.”
Boen waved off his concern with mild disgust. “Bah! I’m tired of these mystics and self-proclaimed wizards trying to dictate our lives. Are we not free men? How much longer are we expected to languish under the control of beings lacking the concepts of free will?”
“I’m not arguing that, Boen, but we’ve been shown what’s to come. I need you by my side, if for nothing else but the strength you possess. The others are capable in their own fields, but you, you are the truest version of a warrior we have. I figure there are less than two hundred on our trail. Who knows how many await ahead?”
“Ahead or behind makes no difference. We’ve got to confront the nearest threat and neutralize it before it can be allowed to grow. Bahr, you know I’m right. Let me deal with these mercenaries my way.”
Bahr hung his head in defeat. His latent fear of losing the Gaimosian was preventing him from making the logical decision. They’d been hounded since leaving Ingrid and the rebellion, causing exhaustion in a matter of days. Boen’s unexpected assault would give them time to recover and properly prepare for the coming battle. Still, Anienam’s warning hovered in the back of his mind. All were necessary to succeed. The Sea Wolf used both hands to wipe his face, cleansing the doubt and self-castigation in the process. He’d been a slave to inaction for too long. It was time to take the fight back to their enemies.
“Very well,” he conceded. “Take what you need and depart before dawn. The rest of us will hurry to the ruins. I’d like to make it well ahead of the final moment.”
“You’d do well to lose the wagon. It’s only a few days. Carry your supplies on horseback and you’ll move much quicker,” Boen suggested. His feral grin inspired dread in Bahr’s heart, making him almost feel sorry for the mercenaries.
“Agreed. I’m sure the farmer won’t object to parting with a few horses.”
“Can’t see why he wo
uld. Cheer up, Bahr. This should be fun.”
Fun? How can any of this be construed as fun? We’re all going to die, but at least you get the opportunity to rush into Lord Death’s arms the way you wish. “I’ll take your word for it. This doesn’t sit well with me, not in the least. Hurry back. We’re going to need you, my friend.”
Boen leaned over and slapped him roughly on the shoulder. “It wouldn’t be a war without a Gaimosian involved. Get some sleep. You need it more than the others. I haven’t seen you sleep in too long.”
“I don’t take much comfort in you watching me sleep,” Bahr tried to joke.
Boen smiled. “I guess we’ve been in the field too long. Maybe I should stroll down to that village and find a nice wench for the evening.”
“Do people still say wench?”
“Does it matter? Good night, Bahr.”
SIX
Boen
The Vengeance Knight was gone long before the first rays of sunlight slit the veil of night. He’d packed his bags and oiled his sword before bedding down, making leaving all the easier. Everyone but Ironfoot was asleep as he saddled his horse. The two warriors clasped hands and said a terse good-bye before Boen slipped out into the snow. There was no room for emotion, nor were either inclined to show any. True warriors committed to the task, ever seeking to improve their martial prowess through the test of combat. Wars were won or lost on less.
Boen pulled his bearskin cloak tightly around his shoulders to prevent the wind from driving down between his armor and tunic. Winter had been excessively harsh in Delranan, leading to thoughts of finding a better job in the central plains. Averon was the greatest, richest kingdom in Malweir, surely there must be some odd quest Boen could accomplish down there. Not that it mattered at the moment. He was trapped in a power struggle with no viable escape route. He long held a sneaking suspicion that any attempt to flee, to leave the group for safer climates, would result in being shuffled right back into the middle of it all.
Never a believer in fate or destiny, Boen carried his troubles on his back and faced each day like a true Gaimosian. Tomorrow was never promised, to anyone. He lived each day as if it might be the last and was content with it. Until now. The threat of an early demise clung to the quest like violent clouds raging in from the sea. Lord Death took particular interest in Bahr and the rest though for what purpose remained concealed. Boen couldn’t help but feel matters were stacked against him. As if he was meant to fall. The notion proved particularly disturbing.
All his long life he’d done as his blood commanded. He defended the weak and innocent from the depredations of violent people. He’d fought in more wars than he remembered and bore hundreds of scars in memoriam. All the pain and suffering of being Gaimosian developed his life down roads most were too frightened to travel. This new war went far beyond the limitations of mere mortals. He was about to tangle with gods. The prospect was both frightening and exhilarating.
Gods! How does a mortal compete with a being as old as time? A being without shape or figure who controls the very core of power itself? The creators of the world! Boen couldn’t wait to cross blades with one, whether it was light or dark. He didn’t care much for either sect of gods. Living a good life and trying to do right was all that mattered to Gaimosians. Boen was no different. He long held the belief that if there were gods in the world they despised Gaimosians enough to let them fall into ruin. He had no need for gods if they were willing to do that.
He’d ridden nearly a league before the sun rose. Lack of camouflage or the need for concealment allowed him to move faster. He wanted to be found. Disappointment started to creep into his idle mind as dawn broke. He should have seen signs of the enemy by now. Could he be mistaken? Could Skaning and his force have ridden by the Gaimosian without ever crossing paths, even now readying to slaughter Bahr and the others? The prospect of abandoning his friends at their moment of need soured his great stomach. He briefly contemplated turning back before realizing even if he did the end would already have fallen.
Boen stifled a quick yawn, flexing his right hand. It took longer for him to limber up these days. Six decades of harsh living left him filled with aches and pains. He found he now spent more time stretching and preparing for a fight than actually fighting. Thankfully his skills with a blade weren’t diminished, otherwise he’d be in the ground already. Clenching his fingers repeatedly, Boen looked down and was rewarded with the sight of numerous horse tracks. At last!
Nervous excitement fluttered in his chest. Sliding from the saddle, snow pillowing around his boots, Boen knelt down to gingerly run his gloved fingertips over the tracks. Fresh. No more than a half-day old. Seems old Skaning is in a hurry to have a sword shoved up his ass. Well, I’ll be more than happy to oblige. All he had to do was turn to follow the tracks and catch them unaware. More likely than not the young lord of Delranan bedded down for the night. Their camp couldn’t be that far away, not and still allow them to remain within striking distance.
“Seems I’ll get the chance to spill a little blood after all,” Boen mused to his horse. The animal bucked its head in silent understanding. Having been bred for war, the horse was a willing extension of Boen’s combat power. They’d ridden together for close to ten years. Finding him stable in Bahr’s barns right before Harnin burned them to the ground encouraged Boen. The horse was perhaps his truest friend.
Climbing, slowly, back into the saddle, Boen snatched the reins and turned in the direction the tracks led. “Right back to where I came from. These boys are going to pay for wasting my time.”
Boen took his time. A group as large as the mercenary band didn’t move very fast, nor were they able to cover great distances. He’d catch them long before they knew what struck.
The trail ended outside of a large copse of firs. Boen remained mounted, trusting in a quick getaway and what he hoped would amount to a prolonged trek across half of Delranan. If his plan worked he’d be leading Skaning and his cronies to Arlevon Gale and the mounting conflict threatening to tear the world apart. Perhaps some of them would come to terms and abandon their wicked masters. Perhaps not. Boen doubted any of them were stern enough to survive the coming storm.
A guard was stationed on the eastern flank. Boen searched for a long while before arriving at the conclusion Skaning was a damned fool. He’d only focused on securing the portion of the perimeter where he believed the only threat to be. How has this fool managed to gain a lordship? He should be dead already. Ingrid and the rebels could be right behind, striking without warning. Boen concluded the mercenaries were no better than armed brigands. No real fighting force worthy of mention would find themselves so woefully underprepared in the face of imminent danger.
Fools with pointy sticks, he decided. Their previous engagements weren’t as violent or climactic as the river men had been but there were more than enough mercenaries to cause trouble. Even Boen wasn’t strong enough to defeat two hundred fighters. Satisfied the majority of the camp was still asleep and lacking any sort of vigilance, Boen drew his broadsword and charged.
The thunder of hooves awakened a handful but by then it was already too late. Boen was crashing through sleeping roles, trampling those unfortunate enough to be caught asleep. His sword hacked and slashed those precious defenders quick witted enough to get up. Ropes of blood flew across branch and snow. Men screamed. Boen roared as only a Vengeance Knight could. His pass through the camp lasted a handful of heartbeats. In that short period of time he’d struck down three and trampled another five to what he hoped was a painful death.
Boen raced off into the forests. Snow kicked up in his wake. Shouts and roars, oaths of vengeance trailed after him as the mercenary camp was struck. Skaning gave in to his fury and ordered them after the Gaimosian. All thoughts of Bahr, brother of the king, fled as the irrepressible desire for payback subsumed reason. Men strapped on their armor and weapons and climbed into saddles. The dead and wounded were forgotten, left in the care of a skeleton group consisting o
f the lone medic. Skaning led the charge, never realizing Boen had slowed enough to allow them to catch up.
The chase ranged across fields and small patches of woods. Boen took them due north, hoping to put enough distance between them and Bahr that they wouldn’t be any hindrance in the next three days. Standing his ground wasn’t an option. If the enemy was smart they would surround him at distance and gun him down with enough arrows to slay an army. Boen wasn’t counting on them being intelligent, especially now that their ire was up.
Foresight would have given Boen time to plan a few surprises along his escape route, but time and necessity seldom cared for one’s desires. Boen had no other option but to flee as fast and hard as he could. The rest would settle itself. Not even his great endurance was enough to outlast his foes forever. At some point his faithful mount would flounder, giving out long before they reached Arlevon Gale. His one hope, slender as it was, came from the need to reach safety by nightfall. Unfortunately the day had just begun.
Exhausted, horse covered in sweat, Boen dashed into the trees as the sun dropped. The snow was blessing and bane. No matter how hard he tried there was simply no way he was going to lose his pursuers. Not with several feet of snow covering the ground in most places. He’d tried running up streams and over rocks where the heat of the sun melted the snow and ice. None of it worked. Skaning’s mercenaries continued, plodding their way closer and closer.
Boen tried, unsuccessfully, to get Skaning to split his forces but the young lord was wise enough to know that was akin to a death sentence. No good commander divided his strength, especially not when facing a lone warrior. Frustrated and hampered at every turn, Boen welcomed nightfall. Tired as he was, so too must be the others. The chase was long, arduous at times, and time consuming. He hadn’t been involved in such a situation for as long as he could recall, leaving him certain neither had the mercenaries.
Even Gods Must Fall Page 6
