Even Gods Must Fall

by Christian Warren Freed

  “Antechamber?” Venten asked.

  Elstep nodded. “Been using it as an administration center since the king left. The lads’ll be real glad to have you back. Not all of them are as bright as me, my lord. They need some help over there.”

  Venten smiled at the chamberlain’s candor. “Thank you, Elstep.”

  Red streaks ran horizontally through his eyes. The ride back from the army encampment at the base of the Murdes Mountains had been long, though not particularly grueling. Venten found the only harrowing part was from not knowing whether all of the Goblin threat in the lands between the castle and the mountains was cleared out. Fortune allowed him trouble-free passage and he was able to make the journey in three days. Limited food left him slightly famished, a condition he managed to remedy after meeting with Elstep. Stomach full, he only lacked sleep, but at his age he figured there’d be enough time for rest once he was put in the ground.

  An unmerciful stack of unread reports and requisitions stared back at him from the corner of the small field desk. Normally he preferred something much bigger but all of the real furniture had either been cut up and used for firewood or had been desecrated by the Goblins. Coming from the field, Venten found little room for complaint, though not even a full belly was enough to prompt him to dig into the paperwork.

  Clerks and random administrative personnel busied about their work, just as eager to finish their day as he was to avoid it. Venten had hoped to be done with public life. He wasn’t suited for menial tasks involved with the daily operation of a major city. Life demanded more than hiding behind reports or sitting in one meeting after the other. The open steppes often called to him during those brief moments of isolation when he was able focus on himself. Never one for love or material possessions, Venten tried his best to live a simple life. Devotion to Stelskor and the winter war prevented that from happening.

  “Lord Venten, I have Major Brun here. He’s the Wolfsreik officer placed in charge of the security forces.”

  Rubbing his tired eyes, Venten waved Elstep to continue. The chamberlain bowed and stepped aside so Brun could enter. The soldier of the Wolfsreik snapped a crisp salute, albeit an unnecessary one, and clasped his hands behind his back.

  “Sir, welcome back to Rogscroft,” Brun said with pleasant tones.

  Venten took in the young officer. Slender with just enough muscle concealed beneath his leather-plate armor, Brun had thick black hair and almost piercing blue eyes. He stood a hand taller than six feet and wore a broadsword strapped to his right hip.

  “Major, salutes won’t be necessary. I am not royalty,” Venten said.

  “Understood, but for the sake of appearances I believe it wise to maintain proper decorum, especially in front of the rank and file. With the war so far to the west it is easy for them to forget there is still a very real threat.”

  “Of course. Very well, Major Brun, I agree,” Venten conceded. “I trust you have something good to report this early morning. Elstep is a cruel taskmaster. I only arrived at dawn and he’s yet to afford me the opportunity to sleep.”

  He grinned at hearing Elstep cough in the background.

  Brun offered a curt nod. “Sir, to date we have yet to encounter any remnants of the Goblin army or loyalists to Badron. Bandits are our major concern. We’ve doubled patrols after discovering a few recently burned farmsteads in efforts to counter the threat.”

  No matter how dire times grew there were always others who preyed on those less fortunate, even amongst themselves. “Have there been any civilian-related casualties?”

  “A handful, no more than fifteen,” Brun confirmed. “Thus far they’ve been confined to a pair of families trying to endure the hardships on their own. We’ve also captured or killed over a score of bandits.”

  “I don’t foresee these raids lessening until the king returns,” Venten guessed. “Still, we must take a more active role in protecting the outlying properties, especially the farms. Too many fields will remain fallow come the spring.”

  Brun appeared uncomfortable with the order but was professional enough to follow it without question. “Yes sir, I’ll order increased presence patrols. Might we also look into finding the source of these bandits and attempt to root them out?”

  Venten gave the matter some consideration. He dreaded wasting resources on finding an elusive force more interested in self-preservation than occupation. Time, money, and manpower were in limited supply. His first priority was to ensure the city was able to support the current and projected population. That couldn’t be accomplished without hunting down those who preyed on the weak. He felt trapped.

  “Yes, but keep them at a minimum,” he said. “This city must come first. Am I correct in assuming you are also in charge of reconstruction efforts?”

  Brun flushed. “Unfortunately. I must confess to not being trained in nation rebuilding. I’m a warrior, Lord Venten, not a statesman.”

  “I can assist with that. I’d like to take a tour of the city after lunch. Once the people see there is a civilian at least partly responsible for helping rebuild, I believe they will calm down slightly,” Venten said.

  Brun was clearly relieved. Extreme stress had added years onto his face. The knowledge that Venten, a person the people of Rogscroft knew and respected, had finally arrived to assume control melted years of stress on the young major.

  “Sir, I’ll have a detail sent to escort you to my command post in the city.”

  As much as sleep hounded him, Venten couldn’t allow himself to rest until after he’d made his rounds in the city. He returned Brun’s salute and hesitantly reached for the first report.

  Amazed was the best he could describe the efforts underway in Rogscroft’s center. Hundreds of workers erected scaffoldings, hammered boards, raised trusses, or carried supplies back and forth. Venten was reminded of colony ants, ever busy and tireless. Dozens of houses had already been rebuilt along with a handful of shops. He spied two large warehouses further down the road. Progress was well beyond what he or Aurec envisioned at this stage.

  Venten found Brun overseeing a series of outgoing work details. Reports indicated that reconstruction continued around the clock, suggesting strong feelings of hope among the general population. The elder statesman took heart. All was not lost after all. Waiting for Brun to finish issuing orders, Venten studied the crude map tacked onto the back wall of the tent. It represented the city and immediate areas. All rebuilding efforts seemed to be working out from the castle. Work crews cleared one street at a time while others swept in behind to begin new construction. Checkpoints and way stations had been established at strategic points throughout the city to facilitate safe passage of personnel and supplies. Impressed, Venten helped himself to a clay mug of steaming coffee.

  “I expect this street to be cleared by nightfall. Our pace has been slacking lately. It’s time to pick it back up.”

  A silver-haired carpenter with thick webs of lines creasing his leathered skin frowned. “What’s the rush? Winter’s near done and we don’t have any timeline to follow. Not like we’re being paid for this, Major.”

  Brun’s frown outdid his accuser’s. “We’ve been through this before, Iocta. The war’s not going to last forever and there’ll be thousands of soldiers returning home when it’s finished. This city needs to be as far along as possible in order to house so large a force.”

  “I’m not arguing that part, Major, but some of the folks are ready to head home and start seeing to their own lives again,” Iocta pressed. “This ain’t our war.”

  “But it is.”

  All heads turned towards the unassuming Venten. Most clearly didn’t know who he was.

  “Who’re you to say? We done our part and now it’s time to go home.”

  Brun spoke up first. “This is Lord Venten, regent of Rogscroft until the king returns.”

  Iocta’s eyes widened. “My…my apologies, Lord Venten. We wasn’t aware King Aurec had sent you back.”

  “I don’t s
ee as to how that matters any. We all have a duty to our kingdom. The war may no longer be active here but it is far from over. Our obligation, if ever there was one, is to restore our city and kingdom to as much of its former glory as possible before King Aurec returns. You are the blood of Rogscroft, Iocta. You and everyone else like you. The army fights for us, but the life of this kingdom flows through your blood.”

  “That’s all well and fine but folks are tired of hiding in these stinking ruins. We got our own lives to look to.”

  “Indeed. Farmers need to be preparing for spring planting. Herds need to be replenished. Trade routes reestablished. Need I continue? Let the army worry about beating Badron and the Goblins. They aren’t my concerns. I need you, all of you, to help me try and restore order to this once great land. Are you willing to do that for me?”

  Iocta rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he digested Venten’s words. A lifelong carpenter, he’d never bothered sticking his neck out beyond the circumference of his business. Now he was one of the more prominent advisors to rebuilding an entire kingdom. The responsibility was enough to force him to the cups. He appreciated Venten’s return, making his decision almost too easy. “I will keep the crews at work. Like you say, this is our kingdom too.”

  It was a minor victory but one Venten claimed vigorously.

  * * * * *

  “Commander Joach departed shortly before your arrival, sire,” General Vajna said with a flare of disappointment.

  King Aurec and General Rolnir exchanged deceptive glances. Clearly the decision to part their two most successful commanders hadn’t been an easy one to arrive at, but both felt it was in the army’s best interests. They hadn’t expected such stiff resistance among Harnin’s forces. Devoting time, effort, and personnel to the current problem distracted from the overall objectives both had set forth before departing Rogscroft, but was a necessary part of the reconquest campaign.

  Aurec addressed Vajna’s concerns. “General, I fully trust in your ability to defeat the enemy. If anything, our task is made more difficult with this line of fortresses.”

  “All the more reason to keep the vanguard together. We’ve already taken out one of these monstrosities. How much harder can the others be? The lads know what to expect now. Give us a week and the entire eastern sector will be broken wide open.”

  “Making Piper the correct one for this task. However, that doesn’t mean I can afford to squander another general, especially not one of your experience and caliber, Vajna,” Rolnir said. “You’re more valuable to me, and the army, here.”

  Sense of importance suddenly inflated, Vajna felt humble. “This doesn’t sit well with me, but I am honored in your opinion, General.”

  Problem solved, Aurec was able to continue, “Vajna, the army has occupied the foothills and immediate plains along the Murdes Mountains. As we speak, columns are forming for the push into the heart of Delranan. I’ll lead one, Rolnir another, and you the last. Our objective the retaking of Chadra Keep. Do not stop. Do not wait. Attack with all possible aggression. Crush any who stand in your way.”

  “What of the other two columns? Surely we can’t accurately coordinate our movements spread out across a third of the kingdom,” Vajna protested.

  “A calculated risk we must take,” Rolnir said.

  Vajna studied king and general while he contemplated what was about to happen. In theory it should all work. Harnin had a skeleton force at best, no more than seven thousand with a large portion dedicated to the defensive line. The rest would be spread out in vain efforts to engage the rebellion. He saw opportunity to win the war and be home before the spring.

  “When do we attack?”

  Aurec smiled. “All three columns are presently lining in order of march. They will push out under cover of darkness where we will each ride out to assume control.”

  “Our departure point will be here, at the ruins of Arlevon Gale. The army will splinter in two days’ time. Once each column reaches Chadra they will encircle the city, thus pinning loyalist forces within,” Rolnir explained. “Good luck, General.”

  “And to the both of you,” Vajna replied. His heart was lighter than it had been for a long time. Confidence swelling, the old soldier felt invigorated enough to finish his portion of the crusade and finally head home for much-needed rest.

  “How does it feel to be home?” Aurec asked Rolnir once the formality of tactics was finished.

  “Not as good as it will be once I discover whether my house is still standing or not,” the redhead general of the Wolfsreik replied. In truth he dreaded his homecoming, knowing he and the other officers in his command had been branded traitors. How many families had already been rounded up and put in slave labor gangs or, worse, murdered in their beds while the army was busy in another kingdom?

  “I can’t make any promises, though I sincerely hope your kingdom isn’t in as much disarray as my own,” Aurec answered. Barely twenty-one, the boy king was beginning to sound more like a seasoned professional. War and the hard cruelty of winter helped forge him into the king Rogscroft needed. Hard when necessary and compassionate when the situation called for it, Aurec was well on the path to becoming as great a king as his father had been.

  Rolnir nodded. “Fair enough.”

  Nothing else needed to be said. All three looked inward as their thoughts gradually shifted back to what they hoped was the last stage of the campaign.

  Horses snorted as they strode through calf-deep snows. Aurec’s pathfinders, Mahn and Raste, had taken a platoon forward to scout out the nearest major roads in order to facilitate the army moving faster. They’d been in Delranan for less than a full day and were already thirty leagues into the kingdom’s interior. Most of the roads were cleared, a dual-edged blade if Aurec had ever seen one. Clear roads meant enough columns of infantry or cavalry had already gone by, heading east, or the local villagers had gone stir-crazy from being trapped within their homes over the course of the unusually long winter. Either way it was a risk he needed to take. The drive west couldn’t afford to be slowed down, not with the end goal almost in sight.

  Aurec’s real fear was that the discipline of the army would break down the longer the campaign lasted. Men would want to return to their homes as those repressed worries came to light. Each would be thinking of their own families at this point. Aurec sympathized with them, for he lamented Maleela’s loss every night. A small part of his mind whispered that she was already dead, forgotten on some desolate stretch of Malweir he’d never heard of.

  He’d ridden at the head of the five-thousand-strong column deep into the night and was borderline exhausted. Youthful exuberance was all but lost on the new king. He should still be sowing his wild tendencies, not burdened with the worries of the crown and a kingdom. Aurec missed his father, for that was the logical destination for all of his worries. The pain of seeing Stelskor’s beheaded corpse continued to war within Aurec’s heart and mind. Yet the longer the war dragged on the more he felt less than the day prior. His nerves were numbed. His mind was hardened by brutal statistics and casualties reports.

  He seldom saw faces, recalled names. Each soldier in uniform was a number. A statistic. The impersonal nature of his position left him hollow. He needed more than the war was willing to give back. Already he felt old, used up. Thoughts of a warm bed and belly full of properly cooked food, not the meager rations the army cooks prided themselves on producing once a night, mocked him through the chaos of battlefields. The war continued to change him on fundamental levels. Some were positive while most reduced his opinion of what a ruler should be. No one being should have the ability to decide who lived or died. No one. Yet he was co-commander of nearly twenty thousand soldiers, many of whom weren’t going to go home alive.

  It had taken many long nights before Aurec came to accept that casualties were an awful part of war. He despised losing troops in combat, but recognized they were almost necessary. War was the most brutal, twisted event any race could endure and it was entire
ly too common. His faith in the gods decreased daily, for what omnipotent beings responsible for the creation of the world would so casually allow their creations to wholesale slaughter one another?

  Aurec turned inward. His thoughts centered on bringing as many of his soldiers home as possible. The war dominated his dreams. Thinking about anything else merely served to distract him from what needed his attention. Men were willing to die under his banner, proudly wearing his colors on their armor as they waded through the slaughter of others who might once have been friends. It was a grizzly task.

  Mahn rode in a short time later, out of breath and red faced. His eyes harbored a nervous twitch that led Aurec to believe their easy march was about to end.

  “Sire, we’ve come across tracks. A lot of tracks. We’re not alone out here.”

  Aurec’s frown was concealed, thankfully, by the night. He couldn’t stop from looking left or right, though. “Are you sure they’re not ours?”

  The question was almost foolish, a desperate grab towards answers he hoped weren’t what Mahn said next.

  “They’re Goblin prints,” Mahn confirmed.

  “Goblins? How? We all but destroyed them in Rogscroft,” Aurec protested. “There’s no way they could have gotten here before us.”

  “I don’t know, sire, but after these last few months I’d recognize their prints blindfolded. All I can report is what I’ve seen.”

  “Pick riders to send word to each of the other columns. I can’t have two-thirds of my army marching blindly into a trap,” Aurec ordered.

  Mahn nodded and rode on, leaving the king of Rogscroft and commander in chief of the combined army at yet another loss. The more he thought he was getting ahead, the more setbacks reared up to slap him back into place. Goblins already in Delranan. What have we gotten ourselves into?

  ELEVEN

  The Olagath Stone