Badron was tired of being countered with every order. Nothing had gone the way he’d planned since deploying the Wolfsreik. He’d been fought every step of the way. It was time for the king of Delranan to put his foot down and remind his soldiers who wore the crown.
“Sire, what I meant to say is that the kingdom has already been picked over. Between Harnin’s muster and the plague we are greatly reduced in manpower,” Bergen quickly added, sensing the rising displeasure from Badron.
“Find people. These little wooden playhouses won’t last long once Rolnir gets his entire force in the field. Make them come. I don’t care if you need to clasp them in chains. Do not fail me, lieutenant.”
* * * * *
Soldiers rampaged through the quiet village, rousing everyone in the middle of the night. Torches lit the central plaza as bleary-eyed citizens gradually filed in. Those who complained were lashed or kicked into action. A few desperate mothers attempted to hide their adolescent boys but it was already too late. Badron’s soldiers, while clumsy, were wholly effective. Soon the entire village stood assembled.
A rough-looking sergeant with a long scar, pink and puckered, running down the left side of his face thumped up to the town square and the small flight of steps to the block where merchants hawked their wares on market day. He glared down at the villagers with open disdain. His uniform was soiled, torn in places, unbefitting of a professional soldier. For many, this was their first encounter with the new Delrananian army. The feeling of disgust left in their mouths drove many to spit.
“By order of the king, the true king, not that one-eyed prick attempting to steal the throne, all military-aged males are ordered to march with us immediately. Any violators will be judged traitors and executed,” the sergeant growled.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Angry fists waved from the middle. More than one voice rose above the others in protest. The sergeant, to his credit, curled his fists and planted them on his hips while the fury ran through the villagers. He hadn’t come here intending on delivering justice to a handful of malcontents but he wasn’t opposed to hacking off an arm or two in the efforts of maintaining order.
“This ain’t our war!”
“What right do you have to come here and roust us out of our beds?”
“Don’t care about one king or the next! Go back and leave us about our business!”
Having had enough, the sergeant nodded gruffly to a squad of soldiers standing at the rear of the assembly. They immediately brandished clubs and waded into the villagers, knocking heads and limbs ruthlessly. Villagers reeled back, eager to avoid the terrible swath being cut through their ranks. Bodies tumbled. Cries rang out. The soldiers didn’t stop until they had beaten their way to the main aggressor and pummeled him to his knees. A loud crack brought their savage attack to an end. Hands snatched his prone form, dragging him up onto the market platform. He rolled once and stopped at the sergeant’s boots.
“This is what happens when you openly rebel against the crown,” he snarled through clenched teeth. “You now have five minutes before I lose my temper. Fifteen to fifty to kiss your loved ones good-bye, grab what gear you think you need, and assemble back here. Move!”
Reluctantly the crowd parted. Mothers wept. Old ladies hugged their husbands, knowing the odds of seeing them again were slim. Young boys feigned bravery. The same scene was played out across eastern Delranan throughout the night. Badron didn’t stand a chance of raising enough conscripts to beat back the combined army. They were all going to die.
EIGHT
Invasion
“How much further?”
Maleela ground her teeth at the Goblin’s impatience. She’d agreed to lead the fifty-thousand-strong force into her home kingdom in the hopes of punishing all those who had done her wrong in her short life. Goblins had already razed three villages to the ground without mercy. Bodies were hacked and cut to pieces. Feeding an army this size demanded sacrifices. Maleela wasn’t prepared to reduce herself to cannibalism, finding the act revolting. Her Goblin minions lacked any hesitation. Meat was meat.
She glared over her shoulder at the battle-scarred Goblin general at her side. Thrask was as impatient as any Human soldier she’d ever met. If he wasn’t instrumental in controlling the ravaging horde behind them she would have had the impudent Goblin executed already. The notion of leading such an army never occurred to her before her internment--or rather, enlightenment--with the Dae’shan. They’d opened her eyes to a brand new world of despair and hatred. All of those lonely nights spent dreaming of vengeance were finally being realized.
“Until there is no more to go,” she replied through clenched teeth. “How many more times do you plan on asking that question, General?”
Thrask swallowed heavily, wanting nothing more than to rip the throat from the Human girl. “We came here to fight, not walk. This is war.”
“Yes, war. War that we must walk to if we are to fight. My father and what remains of his army will be in the east. Our task, in case you have forgotten, is to march to the ruins of Arlevon Gale and await orders from our master.” She cut off her statement abruptly. Memories of her eager submission to Amar Kit’han sickened her stomach. No amount of self-rationalization could ever reduce the fact that she’d willingly bent her knee.
Thrask bristled suddenly. “Your master, not mine. Demons want to destroy the world, not rule it.”
“Why then are you here?” she demanded.
“To fight,” Thrask said with unabated pride. “We kill because we were made to. I think we should have stayed to fight Dwarves. They die much better than Man.”
“I shouldn’t think either death displeases you,” Maleela said. “Your lot seems destined to die by the sword. Fighting the Dwarves wouldn’t have accomplished anything but delay us from reaching our goals. Amar Kit’han wants us to be at the ruins within the next two days.”
Thrask shook his head. Ropes of saliva flew away. His tusks, greenish-brown on the tips, were chiseled, sharpened for tearing flesh. “We should have stayed in the Deadlands. March and march all day. Goblins need to fight.”
“There is a war coming, General Thrask. One that promises to launch our world into an unprecedented, new age of warfare. There will be blood enough, even for the likes of you,” she told him. “What is the status of the stragglers?”
Thrask shrugged. “They either keep up or fall away. No other choice. I don’t care about a few. The army will arrive in strength. You must give us bodies to kill.”
“We have been assured my father and his soldiers are ahead of us,” Maleela said. She considered telling the Goblin how the Wolfsreik was returning, along with a combined force of nearly twenty thousand. The Dae’shan’s intelligence was often spotty but Amar Kit’han was convinced he was right. Urgency was the matter of the day. She needed to push her new army harder in order to get them entrenched around Arlevon Gale before her enemies beat them to it.
“Betrayer,” Thrask spit out. “He will die. I promise.”
Maleela didn’t need his reassurances. She had a special torment in mind for her beloved father. Anyone who willingly abandoned his daughter to a lifetime of silence, cowering in the shadows while greater men strode the world around her, deserved a fate worse than death. Mental images of Badron’s suffering sent shivers down her lithe form.
“Badron is not to be harmed. Am I clear?”
Thrask snarled. “Why?”
“I will deal with my father. Once all of his soldiers are dead, once his great cities are reduced to ruins and his legacy ripped from the history books, only then will he be allowed to die. I intend to rip him to pieces, bleeding him just enough over time. Goblins aren’t the only creatures with a penchant for violence.”
“It appears not.”
Alone in her tent of tanned deer hide, Maleela struggled to find sleep. Each time she closed her eyes a host of memories assailed her. She’d given up trying to figure out how her life had devolved to this point. Perhaps she’d never been intended fo
r anything greater than the puppet of pure evil. Knowing wouldn’t change her course. She was committed to seeing this war through to fruition.
A small mirror was one of the few possessions she allowed herself on the campaign. Reluctantly, she withdrew the small piece of glass each night and stared at her reflection. She’d changed since being abducted in the Jungles of Brodein. Her cheeks were sunken. Dark circles clung to her eyes. She felt tired, borderline fatigued. Red streaks riddled her once blue eyes. Her hair was a tangled mess. Worse, she felt dark. As if a great weight had settled on her soul and slowly gnawed away any resistance she once possessed.
“Am I evil?” she asked her reflection between sobs.
“Only as evil as you wish to be.”
Maleela slowly put the mirror down and bowed her head as Amar Kit’han materialized before her. “Master.”
“Doubt is a terrible thing, Maleela,” he admonished. “It leads down many dark, twisted paths beyond our control. Madness might claim you should you pursue this train of thought.”
“What else is there for me to consider?” she asked.
Amar cocked his head. Truthfully he’d anticipated her question. Long nights had been spent watching her. Studying her thoughts and the absence of dreams. She proved the perfect specimen for his experiments. Maleela was broken, a tortured soul beyond salvation. Or so he hoped. She harbored great reserves of strength her father and uncle couldn’t compete with. Turning her was no easy feat, but one he’d accomplished with relative quickness. The princess of Delranan had given herself to his cause freely.
“Tomorrow,” he said.
Maleela raised her head, staring intently into the swirling shadows of his cloak. “What does tomorrow have to do with anything?”
“Careful, princess. You might not enjoy what you find by peering too closely at me. Many who have went blind from hysteria,” he cautioned.
“I’m not afraid. The darkness comforts me,” she said.
“Perhaps it does, but that doesn’t prepare you for the nightmares I carry.” He paused before returning to his earlier thought. Maleela wasn’t a fool. The slightest chance she intended on playing him for one existed. He couldn’t be foolish enough to trust her, not until her loyalty was proven. “Tomorrow is the promise of the future. A future where you are the last of your bloodline. A future where there will be no torment or mistreatment by lesser beings. If you continue to serve me I will make you a goddess.”
“A goddess? Somehow I doubt the dark gods will approve of my elevation in status,” she snorted.
Amar bowed curtly. “I am assured certain….privileges upon the completion of my task. The pantheon will be half empty, after all. The end of this struggle can only be decided with the eradication of the gods of light. Would you willingly ignore the promises tomorrow offers?”
Maleela reeled, shocked at his admission. She’d never expected to be more than the forgotten princess. Her life was one continuous string of disappointments. For the Dae’shan to openly admit to entertaining the thought of letting her rise above all of her tormentors and peers and stand beside the very beings responsible for so much hardship and strife was astounding. She’d never been taken into confidence before, not even with Aurec as they planned their long, unending life together.
Those dreams seemed so foolish now. Heir to the throne, she intended on taking her army across the face of the world. No mortal obstacle could withstand the might of the Goblin force behind her. All she required was for Thrask to remain moderately loyal in order for her to achieve her goals. His worth expired once that was finished.
A sudden thought dawned, sparked by his demure comments. Maleela raised her eyes to peer harder at the Dae’shan. This mystical figure that shouldn’t, by any means, exist, was apprehensive around her. Why? What untold powers welled within her that frightened a creature capable of toppling kingdoms to the point he made her a nervous ally? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Some truths were best left undiscovered.
“You want to become a god,” she whispered. “That’s what this is all about. You’re tired of your station in life and want something more. How has no one seen this before? Close you keep your secrets, demon.”
“Perceptive, but it will not avail you,” he seethed. “Yes, I wish to ascend. This world is trite, far beneath my talents. What better reward for millennia of servitude than to accept me into their ranks? Haven’t I earned it? Countless souls have died by my manipulations, all in the name of what we are about to attempt. Malweir deserves new leadership. The kingdoms of Men and Elves must fall. It is the natural order of things.”
Maleela turned her back on him. “I was a fool. To think you had my best interests in mind when you all but enslaved me.”
“I serve but one master, the dark gods. I am the extension of their will. Should they deem my efforts here on Malweir worthy I will gladly accept their approval,” he said and paused. Conflicting thoughts raged within his time-worn mind. “There are few certainties in life, even for one as old as the world itself. Your death is one of the very few promises you have to look forward to. Serve me well and I can change that. Fail me…and your suffering will become legendary.”
Angered and slightly disturbed at the unveiled threat, the young princess meekly folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. She felt his pain radiating from the dark robes. The horror lurking in the shadows of his cowl. What god could require such servants? To utterly destroy the soul and recreate the essence of his being without regard for personal feeling or compassion? Maleela felt true fear for the first time in her life.
Amar Kit’han approved of her reluctance to further reduce her station. Perhaps she was the one after all. “Very good. Your tongue will land you in more trouble than you are worth. Continue pushing the army. I want them emplaced around Arlevon Gale by tomorrow night. Our enemies are gathering and these Goblins are all that stands between them and the ruins. The ritual must not be interrupted, even at the cost of all fifty thousand Goblins.”
“They will obey their orders or Thrask will flay them alive.” Maleela bowed her head meekly as the Dae’shan hovered closer. “The enemy will not penetrate our lines, but you owe me my revenge.”
Amar laughed, a hissing sound reminding Maleela of a dying serpent. “You shall have your revenge. King Badron does not yet know it, but he marches to his impending demise.”
“That’s all I care about.” Maleela scowled but held her tongue. She’d said her piece and was loath to push much further.
The Dae’shan collected power around him and dissolved away, leaving Maleela reeling in shock and sudden sickness. She dropped to a knee and retched her breakfast. She failed to see General Thrask peering cautiously at her from behind the command tent.
NINE
The Wolfsreik Returns
Black smoke clouded the air over what remained of the enemy fortress. Vultures and crows flocked just out of arrow range, eager for the survivors to depart. Bodies littered the inner courtyard amidst a sea of broken spears and arrows. Soldiers searched the dead, ensuring there were no pretend victims capable of a surprise attack. The sickly sound of steel piercing flesh echoed occasionally throughout the fortress.
Piper clipped his helmet to his belt, removed a soiled leather glove, and wiped the sweat and grime from his face. He’d survived more battles than a professional soldier in his position should have. This was but another in a long, unending war. It pained him to look down on so many countrymen. The defenders weren’t necessarily bad people. Just because they were forced to support Harnin One Eye on his foolish crusade didn’t turn them evil. They were kinsmen, brothers in what had once been the strongest kingdom of the north. Greed and apathy changed all of that.
“Commander Joach, we have a few prisoners. The rest of the garrison is dead,” announced a grim-faced lieutenant. Blood ran from a small cut under his right eye.
Piper winced. He guessed there were over three hundred defenders. Three out of three hundred. How many more need to
shed their lives in this foolhardy crusade? Will the gods ever be satisfied with our sacrifices? “Bring the survivors to me. General Rolnir will want to glean as much intelligence from them as possible before sending them away.”
“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant threw a crisp salute, impressive considering how long the army had been in the field, and spun off barking orders.
Only three. Piper respected the defenders’ willingness to fight until the last but failed to understand their passion. Most soldiers would have surrendered the moment they realized they were impossibly outnumbered. They knew they were fighting countrymen. Didn’t they? What possible lies could Harnin have spun to drive them into such fervor? For the first time in many years Piper felt stymied with unanswerable problems.
There were no reasons he could imagine to make any soldier, especially part-time reservists, fight to the death against a battle-hardened, seasoned army. None. The Wolfsreik second in command assumed it was witchcraft or worse. Coldness prickled his skin at the very thought that the same dark powers ever lurking behind Badron might have worked their way deep into Delranan to corrupt all. Confronting armies was one matter, fighting full-fledged fanatics something far worse. He had no tools capable of fighting magic.
Seeing no point in pursuing such troubling thoughts, Piper looked back to the ruins of the outer wall. He’d hoped to be able to capture the fortress intact, using it as a base of operations once the army readied to make the push west. Such was impossible now, at least not without massive reconstruction efforts. Neither he nor General Rolnir had the time to dedicate to such a mundane task. The war needed to continue at as rapid of a pace as possible. King Aurec wanted the campaign ended and his army returned to Rogscroft before summer.
Stepping over a pair of defenders’ corpses, Piper grimaced at the gruesome way both had been killed. Wide, red stripes ran diagonally down their chests, spilling out onto a grim combination of mud and partially melted snow. Their open eyes seemed to glare skyward, as if accusing the gods of failing them. Piper began to suspect drug use. It seemed the only viable assumption given how animalistic the defense had been.
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