Even Gods Must Fall

by Christian Warren Freed

  Piper sheathed his weapons and headed into the slaughter. His soldiers were well versed by now. Squads immediately set about collecting the bodies while medics and sergeants scoured their own ranks for accountability. A triage area was established near the gates. The cries and groans of the wounded were mercifully minor compared to what might have been. Memories of the hospitals in Rogscroft sickened Piper. Anything less severe was a blessing.

  Blood-stained soldiers stormed through the redoubt. There would be no prisoners. Piper joined their ranks, eager to find any relevant intelligence in the offices. Thus far none of the defenses had given up any secrets. He quietly hoped to find Badron dead in one of them, but it was a dream only. The deposed king wouldn’t be fool enough to get caught in one of these. Piper was left with pleasant thoughts but empty hands. He hoped Rolnir met with better success in the west.

  “Commander, you have to see this,” an ashen-faced sergeant said after coming out of the main headquarters building.

  Piper’s heart quickened. The look and tone of his trusted subordinate left him rattled without knowing why. The soldiers of the Wolfsreik were seasoned professionals. For one to be so visibly shaken whispered ill tidings. He hurried into the building. The stench of rotted flesh immediately struck him, making Piper gag. His eyes narrowed. What evil has been done here?

  What he witnessed went beyond anything he might have imagined. Five decomposing bodies were laid out in a circle, heads all touching. Their hands were folded over their chests, feet placed together. The ground was stained dark with blood, enough to make Piper believe each corpse had been drained entirely. A closer look showed their throats and wrists had been slit. He took in their desiccated figures, immediately noticing how shallow their midsections appeared. The sergeant stopped him before he moved closer.

  “They’ve been gutted, sir,” he explained and gestured towards the far corner of the room.

  Piper’s gaze followed the pointing finger. He bent over to void his stomach. Intestines were nailed to the wall in intricate patterns lost on the world of Men. Flies and gnats swarmed over the piles of organs on the floor. He regretted his decision and looked away. Piper stared back at the grinning corpses.

  “They died with smiles on their faces,” he breathed.

  The sergeant nodded. “Be damned if I can figure out why.”

  “What dark arts have been at work here?” Piper asked a seemingly unanswerable question. The vast majority of the army knew nothing of the fell powers lurking behind Badron. The scene played out in this room was one of nightmarish intent. Piper felt his knees weaken.

  “Sir, I believe these fellows came here willingly,” he said.

  Piper’s eyebrow rose. “Sacrificed? For what purpose? This was Badron’s last defense. He had nothing to accomplish by holding it further.”

  The sergeant shrugged, answerless.

  “I want the task force ready to march at once. General Rolnir and King Aurec must be notified of this…this ritual. Burn this building to the ground. In fact I want the entire redoubt razed from existence. Evil cannot be permitted to remain in Delranan unchecked.”

  Saluting, the sergeant wheeled about and began barking orders. Piper didn’t know why, but he had a sinking suspicion that foul times were fast approaching. He was no practitioner of magic but knew it when he saw it. Whatever, whoever, had invoked this ritual had done so with purpose. Evil had been loosed in Delranan. He only hoped it wasn’t too late.

  TWENTY-TWO

  With All Due Haste

  “Six hundred and thirty-two.”

  “So many? How does this compare to the amount of dead on the field?”

  Rolnir took a bite from a green apple. The juice trickled down his chin. “Insignificant but more than could be expected.”

  The battle was over almost as soon as it began. Less than an hour saw the demise of Badron’s main army. An army of conscripts and has-beens. They were never more than an idle threat to the combined armies of Delranan and Rogscroft but presented a major hindrance in the march west. The true battle awaited them somewhere around Chadra. With the link-up fast approaching, both men agreed they had lost valuable time dealing with Badron’s loyalists.

  Their urgency was foreshadowed by an ominous threat lurking ever out of eyesight. Rolnir and Aurec both agreed that as long as Badron remained unaccounted for the threat was valid. There was no telling how many forces the former king had amassed in the capital or word of the defenses around the city. None of the scouts dispatched had returned--a minor but worrisome fact that didn’t sit right with Rolnir.

  “We don’t have the capacity to deal with so many prisoners,” Aurec told him.

  “There’s not much that can be done about that now. Executing them isn’t an option.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting that, General,” Aurec said quickly to avoid raising unwarranted suspicion in his closest ally. “Nor can we leave them here.”

  “Making our position undesirable at best,” the general concluded. “We’re going to have to take them with us.”

  “A risk at best.”

  Their respective columns had converged after the battle. Rolnir immediately dispatched riders to summon the king. The battle proved significant in that it removed a massive fighting force in the central portion of the kingdom. It was an army they could ill afford to have roaming behind them. Rolnir hadn’t required the additional strength in defeating the loyalists but was experienced enough to recognize the evolving threat. He didn’t know what lay ahead but the ill feeling settling on the back of his neck was enough to change the plan.

  Aurec wasn’t that far away and their forces converged scant hours after the battle. Word was sent to General Vajna’s column as well but with orders to carry on according to schedule. This way they’d at least be screened from any large forces moving down from the north. Aurec didn’t suspect Badron had that many units to spare but without being able to discern where the battle against the rebellion was he wasn’t willing to take the chance.

  “Most of them were forced into service. They’re not warriors, Aurec.”

  Rolnir took another bite, the tart fruit making him salivate. Fresh fruit was a luxury they hadn’t counted on until raiding the first of Harnin’s fortresses. The army scavenged all of the supplies and food they could find, a rare sack of winter green apples going directly to Rolnir. Those closest knew the general greatly appreciated the fruit. That wasn’t lost on him as he understood the desire of his soldiers to show appreciation for all that he’d done for them since the war began. Bringing any soldier home alive was cause for celebration.

  “That doesn’t make them any less dangerous,” Aurec countered. “We’re here on specific purpose, Rolnir. These people, kinsmen or not, are our enemies. Each is capable of plunging a blade into our backs the moment we turn away.”

  “I don’t believe so. Look at them. We’ve killed the majority of their friends. There’s no fight left in them.”

  Aurec disagreed. He’d seen the fight people had when all they knew was threatened. His own people hadn’t given up even after their king lay dead and their city in ruins. Reminding one of those responsible for that calamity wasn’t proper etiquette, especially now that they were fast allies and becoming friends.

  “A cornered dog bites most,” Aurec recited an old Rogscroft saying. He’d been that cornered dog but was able to find a way to turn defeat into victory, or what they hoped was about to become victory.

  Rolnir nodded sagely. “Truth if I ever heard it, but that doesn’t solve our dilemma. These prisoners are going to have to come with us. We can’t afford to lose troop strength with taking them back to one of the redoubts and placing them under guard.”

  “Agreed, but what value is there in forcing them to march with us? We’ll waste equal strength and time in making them march.”

  There was wisdom in that, but choices were limited. Rolnir wasn’t going to allow his people to be senselessly slaughtered after they’d been taken prisoner, but neither
was he willing to let them go about their merry way. The conundrum vexed him. He silently wished they’d have had the good graces to fight to the death instead of throwing down their weapons.

  “Perhaps they can be turned?” Rolnir suggested.

  Aurec paused. His brow knitted, he found the lack of thinking the matter through disturbing. His father never would have missed that. Then again, his father had the experience of over forty years on the throne and was expected to know such things. Aurec hadn’t been king for more than a month. Mistakes were to be expected, but he’d never admit it. He was king, and kings were meant to make difficult decisions on a moment’s notice.

  “Turned how? You’ve seen the fanaticism they exhibit. Whatever Harnin and Badron did to them it is clear they are not the same innocent civilians you recall, my friend,” he finally said. “They are poisoned by lies and ill intent.”

  “That may be so, but they are all we have to work with. If only a portion willingly join us I’ll consider it a victory.”

  Aurec didn’t see any other viable option. Time was running out. The urgency he felt resonated through the army for reasons none could explain. Something dark, sinister was drawing near and forcing the army to pick up their pace. He didn’t know why, but the young king felt the inexplicable need to reach Arlevon Gale soon.

  “Very well, General. Set your plan in motion. We need to be moving again,” the king commanded.

  Rolnir finished speaking and patiently folded his arms across his chest. That patience was a façade, for he was most eager to get underway. The road to Arlevon Gale was short but would take doubly long now that his force had grown. Speed was an abandoned concept. Massive armies were only able to move at an insubstantial pace. He carried his gaze out across the sea of faces. Many were dazed, lost in the shock and despair of the battle’s aftermath. Others harbored hateful feelings. More, he was satisfied to see, clung intently on his every word.

  Having said his piece, the general of the Wolfsreik turned and went back to his tent to determine the order of march. Not more than a few minutes later, before he even had time to sit, a runner came in with news. Rolnir accepted the missive with joy and hurried to find Aurec. Yet another wonder had fallen upon the army.

  “All the way to the ruins?” Mahn asked.

  Even the brash Raste seemed to choke on the orders. Aurec resisted the urge to grin, knowing he was likely sending two of his closest friends and companions to their deaths. It was no easy task and one Aurec didn’t take lightly. There was a time when he’d have gone himself, despite the urgings of Venten. Back when he was an irresponsible prince with more testosterone than wisdom and he cared nothing for duties. Aurec was often scolded for being reckless. Now he was asking others to do what he would have done and been chastised for.

  Raste blurted out, “Those ruins are haunted!”

  “Quiet, lad. He’s king now,” Mahn replied. “Sorry, sire. It won’t happen again. He’s nervous is all.”

  “I am not. I just don’t want to go sticking my head out for no reason,” Raste defended.

  Aurec listened to them carry on for a while. Their camaraderie lightened his spirits, reminding him of why he wore the crown. Men like Mahn and Raste were the heart of his kingdom. So long as people like that were willing to follow, Aurec was committed to lead.

  “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like you two to leave immediately,” he said.

  Mahn blushed while the younger, more impetuous Raste could only frown. “My apologies, sire, but you know how he gets from time to time.”

  “I do not. You’re the stubborn one!” Raste countered.

  Aurec held up his hands. “Gentlemen, please. Time is running out and I need to know what we’re heading into. How soon can you get back?”

  Mahn interlaced his fingers and thought. His knowledge of Delranan was more extensive than Aurec’s but he was still a foreigner. “Less than half a day I suppose but I’d like one or two of Rolnir’s scouts to come along just in case.”

  “Get them. Mahn, this is important. I can’t commit our forces without intelligence,” Aurec insisted.

  “You’ll get it, sire. We’ll be back before you know it.”

  Aurec nodded his thanks. “Meet us on this road. The army will leave shortly after you. Don’t stop for anything and return as fast as you can.”

  He watched the scouts depart. His mind raced ahead to the infinite number of possibilities waiting just out of view. The world had changed in the short span of the war. Kingdoms, once proud and glorious, were laid low by famine, strife, and rebellion. How many thousands lay dead were beyond his knowledge, but the king of Rogscroft feared it was beyond count. He knew, but would never admit, that neither kingdom would be the same again. That fear propelled him to move quicker than he liked.

  “I bring good news!” Rolnir called excitedly as he walked up.

  Aurec closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. It had been a long time since last someone delivered news that could be construed as good.

  “Four hundred and fifty-one of the prisoners have agreed to fight with us.”

  Aurec broke into a wide smile. “That lessens our burden considerably. What of the others? Is there a chance they can be turned?”

  Rolnir shook his head. “I’m afraid not. We’ve already separated them from the main body. They’ll be under guard the rest of the way. I have to be honest and tell you I fully expect them to attempt to either escape or cause havoc among the ranks. Badron and Harnin were cunning. There’s no telling what lies these people still believe.”

  “Malcontents are more trouble than they’re worth, but they can’t be that much of an issue,” Aurec said. “Do you think it wise to keep the others together?”

  “No. I’ve already got company commanders breaking down the numbers. Each battalion will take fifty or so but won’t arm them unless we get into a serious fight,” Rolnir explained. “Either way that’s a sizeable addition to our main body that we hadn’t counted on. I could use a mug of ale right now.”

  “We all could. I’ll make you a deal, Rolnir. When all of this is said and done I’ll treat the entire army to a round.”

  “Done. That’s one thing you’ll never need to convince us on,” Rolnir said and smiled. His red hair almost matched his wind-burned cheeks. His eyes sparkled brightly, knowing that their ordeal was at long last coming to a close. The war was almost over.

  But it wasn’t won yet. More would die before the end, and great many of the faces he’d looked at for years. Those were the losses that hurt the most. The empty seat at the table where a longtime friend once sat. Ghosts of old friends lingered in the haze of memory, prompting Rolnir to wonder just how many more were about to join the established crowd. No matter how many times he was forced to endure the personal loss, Rolnir doubted he’d ever get used to it. War might have been a natural state of affairs in the world but it left hollowed-out shells in the survivors.

  Aurec caught that faraway look and immediately felt the attraction. He too knew what it meant to lose. Unlike Rolnir, the young king lacked years of experience. That fact didn’t diminish his emotions. Aurec had lost count of how many graves he’d helped take a shovel to since the winter war began. How many more awaited them?

  “That drink is going to have to wait. Best not to tell the soldiers yet. I need them focused on the war, not the aftermath,” Rolnir finally said with a sigh. “How soon do you want to be on the march?”

  “The scouts just left. We should give them a few hours’ head start. If our suspicions are true it would be nice to have time to react accordingly.”

  Rolnir nodded agreement. “We’re entering the tricky stage of the campaign. Caution and prudence should be our weapons of choice at this juncture.”

  “Indeed, but unfortunately time disagrees with you. Let’s get them up and moving. Arlevon Gale awaits us,” Aurec said.

  “I pray that’s all,” Rolnir added.

  The young king couldn’t have agreed more.

  * *
* * *

  They’d scouted half of the northern kingdoms over the past six months, often riding behind enemy lines in extremely dangerous situations. Mahn reckoned they should have been captured or killed no less than eight times, not counting the siege of Rogscroft. Blind luck and no small amount of skill saved them. At least it had until now. Mahn harbored no illusions that the task his king had given him was in any way minor or easy. He’d been around long enough to recognize danger without getting cast into it.

  Aurec was hiding information that might be useful. Mahn was certain. There was something nefarious going on in the ruins, but what? The destruction of the enemy bivouac site reduced Badron’s fighting strength considerably, prompting Mahn to wonder just how large of an army they were facing. The longer the war dragged on the more suspicious the veteran scout became. He’d give his life for Aurec or any of the others but wanted to know it was for the right reasons. Suicide was foolish.

  The ruins of Arlevon Gale were said to be haunted by more than ghosts. Mahn knew next to nothing about them, though the pair of Delrananian scouts accompanying them spoke with extreme caution. Better had died for less and the sons of Delranan were no fools. They deflected Mahn’s questions, mostly, and tried to focus on their mission. Mahn couldn’t argue with them. After all, soldiers were expected to follow orders. They went to the ruins because their general told them to.

  “How much further? It’s so dark I can barely see in front of my horse,” Mahn whispered.

  The lead Delrananian scout squinted to try and get a better look at their surroundings. “Not much. We should be coming up on them once we clear the trees.”

  “Good. This place gives me a bad feeling.” Raste’s voice was low, anxious.

  Mahn seconded the emotion. He felt a thousand pair of eyes watching. Each time he turned the feeling shifted. Always fluid, he couldn’t pin down the location the feeling stemmed from. Without proof, he couldn’t bring it before the others, not without sounding like a witless old timer. He bit his tongue, keeping those suspicions to himself while his hand crept closer to his sword.