“Come on, scum. That steel’s doing nothing but getting cold.” He spit at the leader.
It worked. The mercenary captain lunged without thinking. Boen ducked back, raising his sword to block a savage swing. Steel clashed, sending sparks down to the ground. Boen grit his teeth as he absorbed the force of impact. Stronger than the Gaimosian anticipated, the mercenary tried to shove him back. Boen dug in his heels and shoved back.
They stood locked like that for tense seconds. Sweat beaded on their brows. Muscles strained. Boen gradually won. He outweighed the mercenary by a good thirty pounds and was several inches taller. It took longer than he figured but the mercenary was cast back. Boen charged in to finish him off. He slashed with a pair of jabs, taking the enemy off guard. Once he spotted his opening, Boen ripped his sword up diagonally. The tip of his sword caught the mercenary at the base of his throat, tearing out much of his neck and partially decapitating him. Hot blood melted snow. One of the mercenaries doubled over and retched.
Boen continued with a series of well-rehearsed attack moves on the nearest mercenary. Striking from high, the Gaimosian drove down with powerful blows. The strength of his assault forced the surviving enemy back. One tripped over a half-buried root and tried to roll away before he got trampled. Boen leapt over the fallen man and plunged his sword into the soft belly below the mercenary’s armor.
Hands reached up to grab his ankle before he could jerk his sword free from the dying mercenary. Boen became off balance and fell. Weaponless, he kicked back and was rewarded with a muffled cry. He felt bone crunch under his boot heel. Both legs freed, Boen pulled himself up and fell on the prone mercenary. He rained down blow after blow on the already ruined face the mercenary was so desperately trying to protect. His defense was nothing compared to the inherent savagery of a Vengeance Knight. Boen didn’t stop striking until the mercenary was long dead.
Chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath, Boen slowly climbed off of the corpse. He couldn’t feel his hands but knew enough that several knuckles had been split open. He judged at least one finger was broken as well. As much as he would have liked to stop and inspect the damages, Boen lacked time. The mercenaries had alluded to having him painted into a corner, meaning they weren’t the only squad in the immediate area.
Boen jerked his sword free, but not before having to put his foot on the corpse’s chest and twisting hard. Again the horrid braying of dogs sang over the night landscape. Prompted to move faster, the Gaimosian hurried back to collect his meager belongings. Using his hands proved overly difficult, making him regret not wearing his riding gloves. He rolled up his sleeping mat as fast as possible and secured it to his saddle bags. Untying his mount from the large-bole pine, Boen climbed aboard and continued the trek east, or so he hoped. With no moonlight to gauge his progress he could only use his internal compass and sense of direction to keep moving in what he hoped was the right direction.
He’d ridden through the remainder of the night and well into the dawn before daring to stop again. The stream had petered out, turning in a direction away from the ruins. Boen kept moving, stopping only long enough to take care of his horse. Both were exhausted and ready for the ordeal to end. Only Boen recognized the importance of the moment. He was supposed to link up with Bahr and the others by tomorrow at the latest. Time was quickly becoming his greatest enemy.
The Delrananian dawn proved uneventful, which suited his liking. He managed a fast meal of dried meat, a wedge of yellow cheese, and old bread before washing it down with stream water. His stomach grumbled for something warm, betraying all that his mind had so delicately established. The water cooled his inner core. Already trying to shiver away the cold from the night, Boen wished he had time for a fire. Instead of worrying over what might have been, he led his horse to the last bend in the stream and let it drink.
The first sign something was wrong came a short while later. He’d grown used to being alone despite numerous engagements with the enemy. Vultures circled ahead, enough to give him cause to worry. The smell came next: an overpowering stench of rotting flesh and spilled blood. Boen knew he needed to investigate, timeline or not. Climbing back into the saddle, horse and rider edged towards the vultures.
Boen crossed a large road littered with thousands of tracks, both horse and boot. His nerves tingled suddenly. Even his horse felt it. He slowed, eyes scanning his surroundings for any signs of mischief. The raw stench became almost overpowering. He kept moving, determined to learn the source of his unease. Boen emerged from behind a screen of boulders and witnessed one of the most horrific scenes in his long life. Nothing he had done came close to comparing to the vast amount of skeletons and partially digested corpses littering the ground for as far as his eyes could see. Boen leaned over and vomited.
EIGHTEEN
Despair
“We should arrive before too long. Another day at the most.”
Bahr looked to Ingrid with a combination of doubt and worry.
As much as she tried to cling to hope, Ingrid slowly came to realize that their situation was growing increasingly dire. Bahr failed to get an accurate read on her despite multiple conversations and strategy sessions. Frustrated, he gradually accepted that she was his only chance for reaching his goal.
“I don’t like it,” he replied. “We’ve been hounded since returning to Delranan. Why has the enemy abandoned their hunt now?”
“You question being left alone?”
“I question the sudden change of tactics with us so close to Arlevon Gale,” he answered.
Ingrid’s blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “I’ve come to accept these moments as tender mercies best left unquestioned, Sea Wolf. Be thankful Harnin’s killers aren’t on our heels. I fear we’ll all have need of strength before this ends.”
Bahr held his tongue. Flashbacks of the ruins of Chadra continued to haunt him. It was a moment he didn’t speak of, fearing it would invoke animosity among the two groups. She’d been there, but not after the fall. For him to recite what he witnessed would not only show incredible insensitivity but also demonstrate an ill-perceived weakness built into the rebellion. Bahr was no stranger to creating waves but not without proper cause. Reluctant as he was to admit it, the Sea Wolf needed Ingrid’s fighters if he ever hoped to break through enemy lines and destroy the Olagath Stone.
“We must be ready to abandon Delranan if there is any chance of victory,” he told her without pause. “I don’t believe we can win if we hold on to the cities and villages.”
Ingrid fumed. Her cheeks flushed. “That is all we have left. These people cling to the promise our rebellion offers. We can fight, but won’t win without their support, Bahr. Most are displaced, disenfranchised to the point they seek to flee south in the vain hopes of escaping this conflict. Even if they succeed our cause will suffer.”
“Hasn’t there been enough suffering? Delranan isn’t destroyed yet. We can rebuild the cities and grow new crops. It’s the people that matter most,” he defended.
“The old kingdom is dead, Bahr. It falls upon us to rebuild what little remains,” she told him. Her blunt tone left no doubt of her intentions.
His eyes widened. “You seek to reestablish the throne?”
“Would that not be the prudent course? Delranan needs leadership. Strong leadership capable of seeing her through these dark times. While I have no aspirations of claiming the crown I am desperately seeking qualified people. No, I’m not about to begin courting you. You’ve made it clear you want no part in the politics of the day.”
Her mood soured. She knew Bahr was the legitimate answer to all of their problems but he was too stubborn, too stuck in an old train of thought to push aside his misgivings and do what was right for all. That left her with few choices. Orlek and Harlan would push for her to take the throne, but she wasn’t a ruler. Leading the rebellion hadn’t been her objective when the war started. She only assumed the position when Inaella and the previous council failed utterly.
&nbs
p; “Bahr, I don’t mean to force you into a decision you have no desire in making. This isn’t your war, nor do I expect you to commit. We each have different paths to walk. You claim the very gods themselves have anointed your band to stop a war far surpassing the scope of our humanity. Who am I to disagree after all I’ve seen? If you must take the fight to the enemy in the old ruins we will accompany you to the forest edge as agreed.
“There our partnership ends. You fight your battles and I will take the rebellion to fight ours. Harnin One Eye needs to answer for his sins,” she said with resolve Bahr admired.
“What happens when this ends? Will any of us be able to return to our old lives?” he asked without expecting an answer.
Ingrid surprised him. “Does it matter? There is no going back into the past. What’s done is done. All we have is to look forward to the next dawn.”
Bahr appreciated her words but heard them laced with futility. “I wonder if that will be enough. Maybe Dorl is right. Maybe it’s best if we all just disappeared back into obscurity.” He snorted. “The wizard wouldn’t agree. The old fool is convinced we are here to serve some higher purpose that’s been building for thousands of years.”
“Anienam is a sage man. I wish I had a dozen like him in the beginning.”
Bahr laughed; a warm, tender sound as genuine as it was mirthful. “He’s crazy enough to make anyone take to the cups. The old coot is half mad but a decent enough sort when you get past his mannerisms. I’m still trying to figure out if he’s insane or just playing at it.”
“He does seem a bit eccentric,” she agreed. “But a valuable asset nonetheless.”
“No arguments there. We would have been killed a long time ago if not for him,” Bahr added. He and Anienam continued to think on separate paths but their wounds were slowly healing.
“Yet you torment him to no ends,” Ingrid added, choosing her words carefully so as not to provoke another fit.
Bahr didn’t have a reply. They were opposing personalities thrust into a rigid situation not of their choosing. He wondered what life would have been like had he not been born royalty and perhaps Anienam was passed over by Dakeb the Mage all those years ago. Would destiny still have found a way to involve them in this sordid tale? He supposed wondering didn’t do anything productive. Their lot was cast and it would all be over in the next day or so. Live or die, he was at the end of the journey. At last.
There was no anticipation of what was to come. He wasn’t the sort prone to worrying over life or death. Everyone ended up in the same place. Whether by fire or earth, darkness returned to claim them all. Bahr felt the irresistible pull of Lord Death growing as his days waned. The autumn of his life was quickly changing to winter and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. His time was nearly up, forcing him to stark conclusions a younger person wouldn’t associate with. Bahr knew he was going to die. Perhaps not in the coming battle, but in the immediate years ahead. Already sixty, he was tired and ready to move on. After all, there was only so much one could accomplish in six decades.
“I do, but not without reason. He is enigmatic, making it difficult to relate to. We’ve all had our doubts about him over the course of the quest. He speaks in riddles and often holds back pertinent information, though for what purpose we don’t know. I don’t trust him, but I’ve come to respect him. Anienam may not be like other men, but he is most useful in tight situations.”
Ingrid glanced over to him. The soft curve of her face reminded him of simpler times. “You have the oddest assortment of traveling companions I have ever heard of. These must truly be foul times for a company of misfits to hold a Dwarf, Giant, wizard, and Gaimosian.” She paused. “I must admit I find that woman, Rekka Jel, intriguing.”
Bahr nodded. “She is at that. I don’t know what made me take her aboard when we left port, but she’s got the fighting spirit of a berserker. I wouldn’t cross swords with her if my life depended on it.”
They rode on in silence for a while, each enjoying the illusion of solitude while in the company of several hundred others. The column of rebels stretched out behind them like a lazy snake crawling across the face of the world. Old legends spoke of a giant wyrm that would come at the end of the world to devour all unsuspecting souls. Only the bravest would band together and defeat the great wyrm but at terrible cost. Bahr wondered if the wyrm had been loosed upon the world and was slowly heading for him.
Far from superstitious, Bahr quickly dismissed the ancient folklore for what it was. Myths were often forgotten over time while legends tended to live on. Bahr was living in an age of rising legends but the future was no place for the living. He turned his thoughts inward. It had been too many years since he had time, or the effort, to think of himself.
The rebellion finished what he never had the courage to start. He harbored no love for the rest of Delranan but struggled with the pain of so much heartbreak and devastation visited upon his people. Ingrid presented him with another side he’d seldom considered. The people were strong. Even after so much, they remained a force to be reckoned with. Bahr felt pride knowing he came from such stock but wasn’t comfortable with the idea of belonging. Delranan wasn’t his home anymore.
He’d lost everything but had gained a brand new world, a new life, to explore. The son of a king had gone on to visit Venheim and Trennaron. He’d drunk mead with a Dwarf king and battled impossible demon figures halfway across Malweir. How many others could claim such without falsifying their deeds? Yet of all the places he’d seen during his travels he could think of none suitable to call home. Perhaps he was becoming more like Boen than he wished to admit. Or perhaps, just perhaps, he already was exactly like the wandering Gaimosian.
Sudden commotion ahead of the column broke his train of thought. Bahr squinted into the midday sun. A handful of riders approached. Most were Ingrid’s outriders. Two weren’t. Bahr frowned the closer they came. The two strangers were haggard looking. Their clothes were torn and covered with old blood. He could see their eyes now and the sight chilled his blood. They were scared to death. Both shook uncontrollably, threatening to topple from the saddle.
Ingrid spurred her horse forward to meet them, forcing Bahr to catch up. She glanced at the newcomers over once and tried to keep the dismay from her face. “Gentlemen, welcome.”
“Ma’am, we spotted these two riding like demons down from the north,” one of her outriders explained. “Neither been able to speak yet. We figure they run into some pretty nasty action with Commander Harlan’s troops.”
“How do you figure they’re with Harlan?” she asked, stiffening.
“Well ma’am, you can’t really see it but they got the proper insignia sewn into their tunics,” the second outrider told her.
Ingrid’s blood went cold. Horrible images of what might have happened to Harlan and his column played havoc with her nerves. He was responsible for nearly nine hundred fighters. If the others were in the same condition as the pair sitting before her, she worried greatly. Fully a third of her field force might easily have been destroyed.
Ingrid felt pity for the pair but as a commander she lacked the luxury of expressing such. She licked her lips. “Trooper, what happened to you? Where is Commander Harlan?”
One of Harlan’s people slowly raised his gaze, the thousand-yard stare looking far beyond Ingrid and Bahr. When he spoke, his words were broken, horrified. “He…they…all dead. We just mana….”
The onslaught of tears sent his haggard body into convulsions, effectively cutting off what little conversation remained. His mind hovered over the faintest definition of snapping, leaving him lost in the void until Lord Death came to claim him. Ingrid almost hoped it would be soon. No one deserved to live like this.
“All dead? How is this possible? He had one of the largest forces in western Delranan.” She fumed, failing to admit the only possible conclusion. Harlan must have run across the Goblin army and been obliterated.
“Can we verify this?” Bahr said, speaking quic
kly in order to maintain Ingrid’s grasp of power. Any lack of decisiveness would instantly erode her already tenuous hold on the fragments of the rebellion. “We need to have proof before we act.”
“Lord Bahr, I’ve already ordered a pair of scouts to check the area these two came from,” the lead outrider said with rigid formality.
Bahr waved his protocol off. “I’m not lord. Bahr is enough. Let us know the moment they return. If Harlan ran into what I think he did we all might be in trouble.”
The Sea Wolf cast a worried glance to Ingrid, who merely sat atop her horse with trembling lips and fresh doubts darkening her eyes. Keeping her on course was going to prove problematic. From what he knew, she was the sort who was governed by her emotions.
Ingrid stared deeply into the fire without blinking. Her hands shook, ever so slightly, but enough for Bahr to take notice. She’d barely uttered a word since the bloodied survivors of Harlan’s column arrived. The inconceivable had just happened and her power was greatly reduced. She lost the end of the war from her vision, knowing that Harnin One Eye would take his murderous forces west and crush her without effort. She had nothing left with which to stop him. Months of constant struggle and overriding sorrow crashed down around her carefully constructed world. She had failed.
Unused to giving in to tragedy, Bahr resisted the urge to reach out and slap Ingrid back to reality. She needed a firm yet cautious hand. Too much force would push her deeper into the misery of her mind’s construction. The rebellion, and his cause as well, would be lost in mere moments.
“Ingrid, you still have almost two thousand people to see to,” he said. His tone was gentle, quiet. “You can’t be seen like this.”
“And offer them false hope?” she replied. Venom dripped from her words. “It’s over, Bahr. I failed. All this time I thought I was leading our people to victory but have only succeeded in getting them slaughtered. I wish I had never taken control.”
Even Gods Must Fall Page 17
