“It’s as if the battle never happened,” Bahr whispered.
Boen grunted. “Proficient aren’t they? Makes Gaimosians look lazy.”
“Not the word I’d choose to describe your people, Boen.”
He chuckled. “I’ve been called much worse, though it didn’t turn out well for the one that said it.”
“How long do you think it will take to load the boats? As much as I appreciate Dwarven hospitality I have this pressing feeling in the back of my mind. Time is against us.”
The Gaimosian didn’t much care for the sudden change in conversation. More and more his thoughts turned against the tiny band, of returning to his roots and wandering the southern kingdoms alone. He wasn’t cut out for working with large groups. Too many personalities and opinions for him. Boen enjoyed the quiet solitude of endless leagues of open plains, campsites by a small fire, and bathing in streams. Humanity tended to cluster so close they stifled each other. His natural distrust in society stemmed from generations of atoning for the sins of their fathers. Gaimosians were a hated breed, only thought highly of in martial matters.
He got along with Bahr and most of the others well enough but felt like he was missing a large part of himself. The raid on the Black Hammer Dwarves allowed him the opportunity to unleash his inner rage and sate the need for battle. Boen strode through the Dwarves like an avenging god and it still wasn’t enough. He felt as if he was slowly fading the longer he stayed part of the group.
Bahr’s concerns only made matters worse. The Sea Wolf was used to getting his way, but that was on a wooden deck with a boat and crew under his feet. Boen didn’t enjoy being told what to do. Never had. He and Bahr worked well together but so much time solely in small company drove him past frustration. He needed to be free again. It was the only way to soothe his frayed nerves.
“We have enough hands to unload the wagon quickly enough. What do we do with the horses? We can’t leave them. Dwarves have no use for horses,” he said with a heavy heart.
“I’ve arranged for a barge to carry us. The Fern River is wide enough that we should only need the barge and one boat to get us moving,” Bahr answered. If what the Elf said turns out to be true, which I have no reason to doubt.
“Can’t say as that I’m excited to get back on the water,” Boen grumbled. “I prefer my horse or my damned legs.”
“Sacrifices need making,” Bahr smiled. “We’ll move far quicker on the river, leaving us with plenty of time to make the return voyage, on land.”
“Assuming we’ll still be alive to do so. I don’t like our chances. Too much has gone wrong already,” Boen confided. “Don’t forget the battle with the Harpies in Fedro. We may have wounded one and lost the others when the Dwarves captured us but Harpies are relentless trackers. They’ll soon be on our trail again.”
“Harpies are the least of my concerns, Boen.” He looked back to the wagon before lowering his voice and adding, “I only hope the wizard has his timeline straight. Otherwise this will all be for naught.”
“There is more than time to concern yourself with,” Boen said. “The river isn’t as safe as you think. We’ll be in a confined space for an extended period of time. Bandits and murderers prey upon travel barges. Once we get to the Jebel Desert we’ll suffer under intense heat and beasts best left to the imagination. The Graven Forest is no better. Mind what the Elf said. His Aeldruin have fought in every kingdom. They know the dangers far better than you or I. It would be nice to have some of them come along.”
“I tried. It’s not their fight. What we have is what we’ve got,” Bahr said.
“Are you convinced this quest is necessary? Look at our band. They’re no heroes. Hells, half of them aren’t fit to travel long distances, much less find an impossible weapon and defeat the dark gods.”
Bahr exhaled slowly. Boen’s concerns reflected his own fears but he didn’t see any other option. He couldn’t go home and wasn’t entirely sure of Anienam’s sincerity. The wizard had a habit of speaking in circles, a tactic Bahr felt certain was designed to confuse the others and conceal the wizard’s true intent. Boat captains were a superstitious lot but Bahr maintained doubts about the dark gods. So much negative had happened in his life he didn’t need gods or servants of gods.
His lack of faith translated into deeds. Bahr lived in the now. Tomorrow meant little. He had no home. No family other than Maleela. Not even a boat to roam the sea. Everything he had been was gone. A lesser Man would have succumb to his hate and gone on a rampage. Bahr liked to think himself more civilized that. Instead he turned his aggressions inward and struggled to find some way to turn his fortunes about. Only the longer he stayed on this quest the further he found his thoughts.
Confused and partially depressed, the Sea Wolf looked hard at Boen. “Every one of them has come through when they were needed. Each has a specific skill set that has aided us since leaving Delranan the first time. It almost makes me comfortable with who we have.”
“Despite there not being a proper warrior in the bunch?”
“I’ve got you and Rekka,” Bahr countered. “She’s worth more than her weight in gold when it comes to a fight. Dorl and Nothol know their way around the business end of a sword. Groge is large enough to make a grown Man shit his breeks. Skuld’s a good lad as well.”
“You left out the wizard.”
Bahr debated what to say. Being unsure of Anienam’s true intent left him confused. He wanted to trust the wizard, but couldn’t. “Yes, I did.”
They went on in silence for a while longer as the road wound down out of the mountains and into the valley. Most of the road had been cleared of snow thanks in no small way to the army of Dwarves marching out to war and back. A thin layer of ice coated what snow remained, making the ground treacherous. Pine boughs drooped under the weight of the ice, giving the land a pristine look Bahr hadn’t expected.
His memories of the raid distorted the views he took in now. He’d expected a land thoroughly devastated by cannon fire and worse. Trees splintered to shreds. Massive craters in the ground. Instead he found a world untouched by the horrors of war. It seems the Black Hammer clans never made it this far after all. Thord embellished. He chuckled softly. Kings were supposed to make matters sound worse than they were. How else did they expect to get anything positive accomplished?
Ironfoot marched them over a recently constructed bridge and down into the forest. Cool water flowed unhindered beneath them, reminding Bahr of simpler times. He suddenly longed for the days when he could build a small cabin in the middle of nowhere, prop his feet up on the front porch and enjoy a scene such as this. Too much of his life had been squandered on raiding and quests. He awoke one morning to find he was old. The better part of his life well past. Instead of wealth or happiness all he had were questions. Where did it all go? Have I wasted what little time I have on this world? Death beckoned. He felt it curling wicked fingers towards him from the distance, beckoning.
“Bahr seems troubled.”
Dorl looked up. “He should be. We’re in too deep.”
Rekka stifled a short yawn. “He is a good Man. I trust him to do the right thing.”
“So do I, insomuch as I trust anyone. We wouldn’t have gotten this far without his thinking. That doesn’t change the fact that we’re heading into trouble.”
She smiled softly and cupped his cheek. “Dorl Theed, you are brave. You’ve no need to fear now.”
“It’s not fear, Rekka my love, it’s common sense,” Dorl replied, taking a moment to kiss her lightly. “Death is stalking us.”
“Death stalks everyone from the moment of birth. My people do not share your superstitious beliefs in death’s evil nature. We are born. We die. It is as simple as that. Death holds no nefarious purpose. What stalks us is the Dae’shan.”
“There’s been no sight of them since the woods around Praeg.”
Memories of her confrontation in the middle of the night continued to plague her months after it happened. Why h
ad the Dae’shan come to her? They must have known what role she was meant to play in the unfolding drama. Her people had been sworn defenders of Trennaron since Artiss Gran first arrived and had the fortress constructed. Killing her would prove a major setback in Anienam’s plans but wouldn’t halt them. Perhaps they thought to turn me, to sway me to their dark cause. What glory would be heaped upon the one who managed to turn a guardian!
“No, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t still after us,” she said. “I fear the next part of our journey will be the worst.”
Dorl studied her face quietly, searching for any sign of jest, but Rekka remained stoic. She knew what awaited and refused to tell more. He wasn’t sure what worried him the most. The thought of turning back to Delranan began to sound much better.
THIRTY
Anienam’s Tale
The Dwarf Lord watched his guests slowly wind down from the mountains and through the forest. Normally he wouldn’t have seen anything but they had a Giant who managed to stand nearly as tall as half of the trees. A Giant! Here in my kingdom. What would the other kings think should I deign to tell them our ancient cousins still exist?
“Ironfoot seems to have taken his new task well,” Brek said casually.
Thord grunted. “He’s a stiff bastard. Reminds me of myself, long ago of course. I didn’t think he’d change his mind so quickly though.”
“He had his reasons,” Brek replied. “Still, he was the one who captured them. It makes sense having him be the one now.”
“It does. He’s a good lad. I’m thinking about promoting him when he returns.”
“His actions in the battle merit that. I can give him a regiment. Have you made up your mind about helping them?” Brek asked. The battle of Bode Hill aroused his martial instincts. His desire to return to war intensified.
Thord shook his head. “No. We still haven’t taken account of our dead and wounded. Not to mention the remnants of the Black Hammer clans are still out there. We may have beaten them but they are still Dwarves and we all know how stubborn Dwarves can be.”
They shared a laugh, though Brek’s mind was already going over battle plans and tactics to hunt down the survivors. Wars were fought and won by ruthless persecution, not sitting back and waiting for your enemy to make their move. He’d lost too many Dwarves by doing just that. Thord’s war of attrition ground the army down needlessly. Brek would have attacked and continued to attack until the enemy broke before they managed to get their cannons emplaced. When death finally claimed him he would stand before Gru and be forced to atone for his misdeeds. Brek needed to find a way to redeem himself before that happened, else he would be banished from the halls of his fathers for eternity.
“They are here,” he said, looking up at the heavy sound of boots crunching ice.
“It’s about time. I’m getting damned cold standing up on this hill,” Thord complained.
“Company, halt!”
The Dwarves ground to an immediate stop and separated back into two files lining the road. Ironfoot motioned Bahr and the others through as his Dwarves saluted. Bahr tried to look at as many of the honor guard as he could, returning their hard stares with nods and an occasional grin. Several Dwarves offered curt thanks or cheers. They all knew what Bahr and his group had done and were grateful beyond words.
Ironfoot led Bahr up the last few meters and stopped. “Sire, our guests await your words before departing Drimmen Delf.”
“Very good, Captain Ironfoot,” Thord said, his tone jovial. “Bahr, it is with mixed emotions that I send you off. You and your people will always have a place among us for your deeds and service to the Dwarf kingdoms. Wars are never pleasant. We learned that the hard way. If it hadn’t been for you we’d still be deadlocked in the trenches.”
“We are more than happy to help. Darkness seems to be spreading. It is the hour for good people to stand together,” Bahr replied.
“Indeed. You’ve received enough supplies to last your journey?”
Bahr nodded. “More than enough. I speak for all of us when I thank you for your hospitality. We might have already failed if not for Captain Ironfoot’s intervention on your western doorstep.”
If Thord took offense he kept it to himself. Instead he clasped Bahr on the shoulder. “Fare well on your travels, Sea Wolf. Be mindful, the way south is not an easy one. Bandits and marauders will attempt to waylay you, in addition to whatever darkness stalks you.”
“Thank you, King Thord. I am in your debt. Perhaps when all of this is ended we can sit down and do proper justice to those kegs of ale you have stored for special occasions.”
“Ha! No Dwarf needs a special occasion to drink! You are always welcome in my kingdom. Now go. Faeldrin and his Elves are waiting at the base of the hill. They will finish escorting you to the river and the boats. Captain Ironfoot, are you ready?”
“Yes sire.”
Bahr looked down in surprise to see the Dwarf strapping a heavy pack to his back. “Ready for what?”
“I’ve decided that your quest is so important that it cannot be allowed to fail. Drimmen Delf will have a representative to aid you in whatever way necessary. Ironfoot has volunteered,” Thord announced.
Only Anienam seemed unsurprised. “He is most welcome.”
The group parted ways, offering a final chorus of cheers and well wishes to the honor guard. Their last sight of Bode Hill was of Thord standing with hands on his hips, cloak billowing in the wind. The merriment followed down to where Faeldrin awaited. The Elves were more than eager to be underway, as they weren’t a people to be kept underground. Faeldrin introduced his chief lieutenants and they set out at a brisk clip. Time being of the essence, the two groups wasted little in formalities.
“I’ve never seen an Elf before,” Maleela told Anienam. “They’re so pale, almost like my people.”
He smiled, old memories drifting lazily by. “Oh, they’re not all like that. Some have pitch black hair and rather swarthy features. Others are almost bronzed from the sun. All in all a very intriguing people.”
The Aeldruin suddenly broke out in song though the words were in their own tongue. Maleela closed her eyes and let the tones take her to faraway lands. She quickly found herself lost in a more elegant time, one without the struggles miring her life. Longing for the days when she needn’t worry about the crown or her place in Delranan’s history, a thin smile crawled across her face.
Anienam watched her sadly. He’d seen too much of the future. Too many dark possibilities looming in her future, unavoidable and desperate. He knew of the warnings given to Bahr by the Old Mother. Maleela’s destiny lay down foul paths best left untraveled. He wanted to take her away and keep her away from the coming storm, but he was only one Man. There was only so much he could do. Worse, he knew he had to let her fall if the quest was to succeed.
“It’s beautiful,” she finally said.
Anienam cleared his throat. “Yes. It is an old song. One they used to sing before going into battle I believe. It’s funny how only the Elves can make a song about going to war sound so nice. A very remarkable people.”
“Your description somewhat spoils the mood, Anienam,” she chided. “Were Elves ever in Delranan? I mean before Man?”
“I’m afraid not, princess,” Faeldrin said from alongside the wagon. “The weather is much too harsh for our kind to thrive. We don’t enjoy the cold very much.”
She laughed. “I don’t either. The drab skies are the worst part. All you see is grey for months on end.”
“Elves need warmth and life. We need to be in the forests, tending to the trees. Our culture lives to take care of nature.”
“Yet you still carry arms and go to war. That seems contradictory,” she said.
“Dire times call for strength. Malweir is a dangerous world. I can’t recall the last time there was a lasting peace.” He paused, lost in thought.
“What hope do we have for the future if peace is just a lie?”
Faeldrin smiled, impr
essed with her quickness. He turned to Anienam. “She is smart, my friend. Ward this one closely. Such wit is rare. Maleela, peace is not a lie, though it certainly seems like it. It is an unobtainable goal if anything. There are too many strong-willed people for us all to get along, or so that has been my experience. Every ruler seems to think theirs in the only way of doing things. Convoluted at best, considering each race has distinct character traits. Our inherent ability to strive towards what we think is right is both blessing and curse.”
“But without that uniqueness we are all the same. There wouldn’t be any great works of art or monuments to important figures,” she protested. “There wouldn’t be anything remarkable or memorable in the world.”
“As I said, a cruel jest. There are times I wonder if the world would be better off if we all minded our own business and stayed in our own lands,” Faeldrin’s said as his voice turned sour.
Anienam, stifling a yawn, finally spoke up. “The first order of Mages began from a single race. More specifically, a single group of people. They learned they had magic within them, but they weren’t alone. Magic flowed through every race. Soon, the founders roamed the face of Malweir in search of others with the gift. Mages from every race imaginable came to fill the halls of Ipn Shal. A grand time all but lost to the vagaries of time. The Mages brought us all together. They helped make the wonders of the world possible and took light, illumination to those lacking such basic gifts.”
“I was there, Anienam, when Mage-kind disintegrated on itself. The world was not a nice place,” Faeldrin replied tartly. “Sides were drawn. No race remained neutral. They couldn’t, not if they wanted to survive. Even that wasn’t enough. Tens of thousands died for reasons few knew. Even more struggled through the aftermath and attempted to rebuild what little remained of their cultures. Following generations were taught to despise magic and the Mages. I would not be so quick to sing the praises of your ancestors, Anienam Keiss. Not when the hurt is still too real for some of us.”
A Whisper After Midnight Page 24
