“This war not ours,” Gol finally said. “Many Pell died. We hunt, we kill. That is the way of the world. Life does not care about our concerns.”
“This war will claim your way of life. You must understand that,” Mahn insisted. “The Pell are no longer safe in these mountains. King Badron will hunt you down and destroy you one hunting party at a time until nothing remains but bone and dust.”
“We will do as we must. It is the Pell way.”
Raste puffed an angered breath. “Look, we need you to win the war. The Wolfsreik and their Goblin allies are too powerful for us to fight alone. Why can’t you see that?”
“You are young, despite your experience. Time may change this. Go back to your prince. Cuul Ol has spoken.”
Mahn stopped Raste from coming forward, and making a fatal error, with a swift backhand to the chest. “Cuul Ol also gave his word that the Pell would come to our aid when we required it. That time is now. Thousands of Goblins roam the mountains and lowlands. You can’t possibly think to hide from them all, can you?”
“We do as we must,” Gol repeated. His stance shifted, becoming more defiant.
Mahn cursed silently. He wasn’t a politician or a diplomat. Dealing with a relatively primitive tribe as the Pell Darga brought him more frustration than anything else he’d ever done. It only reinforced his feelings of exhaustion and mental fatigue. So much had happened so quickly he struggled to comprehend most of it. There wasn’t much choice, however. In the end he simply followed orders and did the best he could in a terrible situation.
Mahn decided to push a little further. “Does the honor of the Pell extend to following Cuul Ol completely?”
Gol’s fingers whitened on his spear shaft. Fresh anger flared just behind his eyes. “You seek to challenge me?”
The older scout raised his empty hands. “No. I seek to awaken the truth your leaders once inspired in you.”
“Our leaders know the value of honor! We fight when Cuul Ol commands. Not before.”
Gol Mad fell silent, forcing himself to calm down. He knew what Cuul and the other chiefs had decreed. The Pell Darga weren’t strong enough to fight the combined armies ravaging their lands. Not even the remnants of Rogscroft could contend with such might. So many men had gone to the dirt before their time. So many families shattered by needless violence unsought and undeserved. Three of his brothers died fighting the wolf soldiers during the initial stages of the war; it was enough to fuel his need for vengeance as well as inspiring his caution. He learned that he was not the warrior he once imagined. There was much needed to be learned before he could return the fight sufficiently.
Sensing the internal conflicts, Mahn backed off. “Very well. Raste and I shall return to the prince and let him know of your decisions. We thank you for rescuing us. The Goblins would have torn us apart and eaten us alive if you hadn’t showed up. Thank you, Gol Mad.”
Jerking his head towards their horses, he and Raste started to leave. Enough had been done for now. The war was still young. Rushing into the future without proper follow through would only result in more death, more destruction. Mahn once bent a knee to offer fealty to King Stelskor. That bond passed to Stelskor’s son upon the sack of Rogscroft. Many men died to ensure Aurec escaped alive to fight for what remained of their kingdom. He and Raste were two of the most valuable assets the new army had available. They made it barely a handful of strides before Gol called out.
“Wait. We come. The honor of the Pell shall never be questioned. Cuul Ol will understand,” he explained. He turned and barked orders in their crude language. The Pell warriors immediately collected what useable spears and arrows lay scattered across the scene and melted back into the small pine and scrub brush.
“What about them?” Mahn gestured at the dead.
Gol gave a final look at the corpses and shrugged. “Food for wolves.”
TWO
Grunmarrow
The night passed swifter than Mahn had hoped. His fingers and toes ached, tingling from the extreme cold weather at such elevations. Winds continued to strengthen the lower they went. He glanced back at Raste, watching the younger scout shiver uncontrollably. Not even the bearskin cloak offered much protection from prolonged exposure. They needed a fire and something warm to eat and were still many leagues from being able to make that happen.
A wolf bayed off in the distant valleys, followed quickly by another. Their song echoed a haunting melody that sent fresh chills down Mahn’s spine. Once, long ago, wolf song soothed him. Now it only served to remind him of the Wolfsreik and their wave of carnage sweeping across the north. Shadows came alive. Each tree and bush hid an enemy soldier waiting to kill. He knew it was mere childish superstitions. He knew they were creatures doing only what nature created them for. That didn’t stop his apprehensions from growing.
There was nothing natural about the Wolfsreik. They were the ultimate fighting force in the northern kingdoms, perhaps rivaling those of the king of Averon far to the south. Their name inspired deep fears. Made the mightiest tremble at the knee. Mahn once thought they had a chance to stop the Wolfsreik, but then Badron unleashed an entire army of Goblins. The initial invasion campaign ended quickly, but not without massive casualties. He and Raste and what remained of the scouting corps infiltrated the ruined carcass of the city to discover how badly Badron’s armies spent their strength breaking down the walls. What he saw surprised him.
Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Goblins lay where they fell. In fact, most of the bodies littering Rogscroft were the squat, grey warriors. Very few Men lay among the dead, leading Mahn to believe that all was not well with the alliance between Delranan and the Goblins. That fact could be exploited if only it could be confirmed. Scouts were sent repeatedly out to the lowlands with specific instructions to find any truth in Mahn’s suspicions. Most failed to return, forcing the young prince to withdraw his forces and wait out the winter.
“The nights get too cold up here,” Mahn said, trying to spark conversation from the sullen Raste.
The younger scout frowned and nodded. “Winter has been very harsh this year. Do you think the Pell will fight?”
“Hard to say. I know they want to, despite the reluctance Gol stated. They are a proud people unused to being cowed in their own lands. This band will join us.”
He left the thought hanging. Too many variables obscured his normally good hunches. New snow started to fall. The flakes were cold as they melted on his near frozen face. Mahn had suffered through many winters, most colder than this, but he’d always had the comforts of a warm home and spiced wine after. The Murdes Mountains were no place for sane men to travel under the best conditions, much less the dead of winter. A thought crept in, strange and alien. He suddenly felt regret for having wasted his life in servitude. Any chance of having a wife, family, and any normalcy in his life were gone, slashed away like so much detritus. His shoulders slumped just a touch.
“We’re going to need more than this bunch,” Raste said. “Badron has to have at least twenty thousand troops committed to this war. Even with the Pell we wouldn’t be able to half that.”
“Haven’t you learned anything, Raste? Look at what Aurec managed on the plains before the Wolfsreik brought their full force to bear.”
“And for what?” Raste countered darkly. “Rogscroft still fell. The only way to win is by using their own tactics against them. We need to make Delranan fear us.”
Mahn looked at Raste sadly. How do I tell him that has never been our way? We were largely a peaceful society until the war began. He’s letting his anger drive his emotions. It will be the death of him. “Prince Aurec will figure it out. We can win this war if we stay true to our principles, Raste. Don’t let the enemy change who you are.”
“They already have.”
The scouts rode on in silence, disturbed only by the sounds of the iced-over snow breaking beneath each footstep.
*****
Grunmarrow was everything a military camp should b
e. Secluded in the foothills of the Murdes Mountains and accessible by a single road, the stone buildings were well protected from attack and concealed just enough to keep others guessing its whereabouts. In the six weeks since Delranan had invaded, not a single patrol, Goblin or Man, came close to discovering the hidden base. Massive stone formations ringed the camp. A small stream flowed down from the mountains, providing drinking, cooking, and washing water. Ancient pine trees filled the small draw.
Foresight and careful planning filled the storehouses long before winter set in. Stelskor was a very prudent man and had taken every precaution to properly equip the defenders at Grunmarrow for a long winter. Sacks of grains and flour, dried meats, canned fruits and vegetables, as well as grain for the herd animals, filled dozens of specially built storerooms deep into the mountainside. Candles, cloth, blankets, weapons, and armor filled even more. The two smiths echoed metal-working constantly long into the night. Fletchers cut arrows from ash limbs. Fishermen and farmers provided for the ample civilian population. Grunmarrow was everything a military camp should be. It only lacked morale.
Prince Aurec sat upon his favorite tree stump, lamenting the loss of his beloved Maleela. He failed to accept that it was his kidnapping of her that instigated the war. Badron had had his eyes on Rogscroft since both he and Stelskor were boys. He merely used Maleela’s disappearance as an excuse. The resulting wave of destruction proved almost incomprehensible. None of the survivors ever thought to see death and wanton destruction on such massive levels. Six months later and Aurec was still in shock.
His eyes focused on the flames dancing up before him from the small fire at his feet. Gold, red, and orange flickered around the tiniest hint of blue, buried deep in the flames. Aurec didn’t want to look away. Didn’t want to accept responsibility for the thousands of men, women and children, his people, living in Grunmarrow while two enemy armies ravaged their kingdom. Didn’t want to be more than a lover to Maleela and perhaps one day a father. He’d never asked to become king, but his inner council decided it was past time he accepted the crown and bore the title of king of Rogscroft. He’d argued. Oh how he’d argued. Rogscroft was no more, reduced to an occupied territory. What use did the displaced have for a throneless king? His words fell on deaf ears. The people needed leadership and it was his inherent responsibility.
The ceremony was set for the end of the week, giving Aurec plenty of time to daydream about running away. Again, he’d protested against one. Venten and several others put him back in his place by reminding the young prince that the ceremony was for the people’s benefit, not his. He could wallow away his nights in solitude as long as the citizens of Rogscroft took some measure of comfort in seeing a new king crowned. So much had happened that the coronation might be the only thing keeping many a good man or woman from ending it all in the cold winter. Too many had already died, leaving the rest a precious commodity.
Sergeant Thorsson saluted crisply and considered waiting for Aurec to reply before giving his report, briefly. “Sire, Mahn and the other scouts have returned. They…ah brought guests as well.”
Aurec scarcely looked up. “Guests? We have no allies, Sergeant. Who will have come?”
“The Pell Darga.”
His immediate reply shook away some of the disease clinging to Aurec. The Pell had openly declared war against the Wolfsreik and Goblins but had yet to actually do much about it. The war continued on at an agonizingly slow pace with very few engagements. Having their representatives in Grunmarrow might be the catalyst they needed to turn the war and begin a new campaign. A spark flared. The old Aurec started to awaken.
“Is it Cuul Ol? How many have come? Are they ready to fight?” he asked too fast.
Thorsson enjoyed seeing the prince regain some of his old self but the questions were too much to handle. He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I don’t have the answers you seek, sire. Perhaps Mahn can address them more appropriately.”
Aurec shot up. “Take me to him, Sergeant.”
Thorsson grinned and led the way through the small huts and homes, emerging into the camp’s outer defensive perimeter. There awaited Mahn and the compliment of Pell hunters. Any hope Aurec had of using the Pell to overpower the Wolfsreik died upon seeing too few arrayed in the open field. The Pell hadn’t come after all.
“So few,” he whispered.
Mahn and Gol Mad noticed the prince first and quickly made their way to his audience. The older scout immediately noticed the growing despair in Aurec’s eyes but was warned not to question by a stiff shake of Thorsson’s head. Instead he saluted and began his report. “Sire, this is Gol Mad, from Cuul Ol’s clan. He’s brought fifty warriors.”
Eyes flicked back and forth as Aurec silently processed the news, or rather what hadn’t been said. Mahn carefully avoided mentioning any sort of formal commitment by Cuul or whether these Pell had agreed to fight in the lowlands. Stifling his sigh, Aurec reached forward to greet the Pell.
“Welcome, Gol Mad. You are most welcome to Grunmarrow. I would offer to throw you and your warriors a feast but we are slightly underprepared for such festivities.”
Many of the words were lost on him, but Gol still managed to sound courteous. “It does the Pell good to see a new king in Rogscroft. We come to fight. To kill wolf soldiers and their foul-skinned friends.”
So much for small talk. Mahn added, “There is still no official word from the larger clans, leading me to believe Cuul Ol and the others already have their hands filled. The Goblin column Gol saved us from was at least one hundred strong. Never before have their numbers been so high in the mountains. Sire, I believe a new phase of the war is beginning.”
“In the middle of winter? Badron has to be mad if he expects to tackle the Pell and nature in these blasted peaks,” Aurec responded.
“Agreed but the two most likely courses of action are the Wolfsreik scouting for an open passage back into Delranan for reinforcements and supplies or they are preparing to find and destroy as many of the clans as possible before spring. No one in their right mind would expect a full assault this deep into the winter,” Mahn said.
“I need to know numbers, Mahn, before I can commit what little forces I have to the fight. We’ve done well enough raiding supply columns and striking scouting parties, but if what you say is correct we won’t stand a chance against so many.” Aurec turned back to the Pell. “Does Cuul know the Goblins are moving in force against the clans?”
“Many Pell have given their lives against the grey skins. We fight. Cuul Ol and other leaders swear to kill all that come.”
Thorsson nodded approvingly. His opinion of the Pell improved, slightly, making him wish more of his own men were ready and willing to commit themselves so wholeheartedly to the cause. Perhaps then they might have a chance to win the war properly. He glanced back over his shoulder at the sound of approaching footsteps and saw the freshly reinstated General Venten wearily make his way to Aurec’s side.
“Damned illness is keeping me from doing my job,” he coughed and spat. Bright red blood laced the phlegm. “I guess our friends decided to come down from the mountains and join the fun.”
“General, you are hero in some circles,” Gol acknowledged with a bow. “Many warriors sing your glory.”
“I didn’t know I was a hero but I’ll take it,” Venten replied with as much of a smile as he could manage before another fit of coughs wracked him.
Mahn’s eyes crossed ever so slightly at the mention of heroes. Leaning close, he whispered, “Have you got a story to tell?”
Venten shrugged.
“Gol Mad, please make yourself at home among us. We are honored to host the Pell at our fires,” Aurec continued.
“My apologies, prince. We cannot stay. I am here to hear your words for Cuul Ol.”
“I don’t understand.”
Gol adjusted the grip on his short spear. His dark brown skin seemed almost out of place among so much snow and stone. A good foot shorter than Aurec, he was
also in contrast to the more well-fed lowlanders. His body was a mass of muscle and terrible strength, folded and shaped by years of harsh living conditions and the fires of combat. The lines on his face came from constant beatings by the weather and his eyes were hard as flint. Shoulder length black hair framed his wide shoulders, giving him a wild, unkempt appearance. Gol Mad and his Pell warriors were natural killers. All they needed was a little push in the right direction.
“The council of elders agreed to war, but we are not strong enough to fight in big battles like you want. We strike at our enemies in the mountains and trees. That is where we are best. At home. Your kind call us Shadow People, and we are. I come to see your camp, your army, and return to Cuul Ol and tell him what I saw.”
Aurec paused, taken aback. He’d been expecting an army of Pell coming down from their mountain haunts to take the fight back to the Wolfsreik. Instead he found a meager war band that might have the drive to fight but were restrained by complicated orders. He felt like hitting something. “Of course, Gol Mad. Please, take food and drink by our fires. Rest the night before returning to the mountains.”
Satisfied, Gol said, “We will eat and rest for a time. Thank you, prince.”
They waited until he returned to his people before speaking. Aurec began. “You could have done a better job convincing them to join us. Cuul Ol’s proclamation happened months ago and we still haven’t seen much support.”
“Sire, I don’t think they have much support to give,” Mahn countered. “My impression is that they are beleaguered under Goblin attacks. This band saved Raste and I from a serious problem. We owe them a lot.”
“I could use about a hundred of them to help train the new recruits, even some of the old ones. I’m not cut out to be an instructor. My talents are wasted in camp,” Thorsson said. His desire to be out in the field almost overpowered his sense of duty to the new king.
A Whisper After Midnight Page 2
