The river Man threw up his hands. “How can I feed my family if you not pay? We don’t know you. You can rob us too easy.”
“Nobody is going to rob you.” If anything it’ll be the other way around. “But we’re not going to pay you for services you haven’t performed. You get us there and you get the rest of the money. You don’t and your kids will starve before spring.”
Pretending to think, the river Man held up a hand and went back to the rest of his crew. They spoke in a low, guttural tongue that seemed animated and aggressive. One of them barked a deep laugh before being hissed quiet by the others.
“We should just get take the barge and get rid of them now,” Boen suggested.
Bahr might have thought the Man was joking if he didn’t know the Gaimosian so well.
Faeldrin shook his head. “No. Doubtless there will be tolls and unseen checkpoints along the way. The river folk may be hard workers but they are mistrusting and will slit your throats if you provide the opportunity. Bahr, do not waiver. They will respect you if you stand fast. I’m sure your offer is more than sufficient.”
“We’re risking a lot on a handful of scum,” Boen added.
Ironfoot listened to the exchange and had to agree with Boen. River Men were of the worst sort. They stole and killed when they had the numbers. Trusting any of them was a death sentence. Sent as King Thord’s personal representative, he didn’t feel it his place, yet, to get involved with their affairs. He’d never been in the company of Men for long and learning the rules proved complicated at best.
Bahr nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off of the river Men. “They must know we’re on to them.”
Faeldrin cocked his head. “Doubtful. They’re not counted among the wisest of any race. I think they truly believe we are hanging on every word, hoping for the best.”
“More the fools them,” Boen replied. “They don’t look very crafty. Even if they get the jump on us I could probably take them by myself.”
“Don’t be so sure, my friend,” Faeldrin cautioned. “Vengeance Knights are renowned the world over for being the very best, but our rather dim new friends aren’t interested in reputations. You being who you are won’t keep them from trying to kill you in your sleep.”
“All the more reason to kill them now.” Knowing he wasn’t going to win this fight, Boen headed back towards the wagon. He’d spent too many months pent up with Bahr and the others. Too many easy nights sleeping in soft beds and eating better than a Gaimosian should. Bahr was a capable Man who didn’t need a Vengeance Knight hanging around to get him out of scrapes.
“We need more up front,” the river Man said upon returning. “Half not enough. Think of our families.”
“I am thinking of your families. Without us you will all perish. Getting us down river as quickly as possible is in your best interests. Half now. That’s final.”
The river Man pretended to think again. His narrow eyes constantly roved between Elf, Dwarf, and Man. He knew Bahr. Everyone on the water knew the Sea Wolf. That didn’t change the fact he intended to rob him blind the moment Bahr wasn’t looking. With a reluctant smile, the river Man threw up his hands. “You hurt my heart, and I know my family will suffer but deal. Half. No funny stuff though. We have a reputation.”
They shook on it, all the while Bahr tried to keep from bursting into laughter. The only reputation the river Men had was one of murderers and thieves. “We’ll load in the morning and set off right after first light.”
“Fine. Fine. Night is no time to travel the river. Too many foul things lurk in the night,” the river Man agreed. “In the morning.”
“Do you think they’ll still be here in the morning?” Ironfoot asked once the river Man was far enough away.
“We haven’t paid them yet. They’ll be here. Then the fun begins,” Bahr said.
Indeed. There will be more fun than you can imagine. Anienam tried to clear the foul thoughts from poisoning his mind. He knew the river Men’s true intent. They’d been touched by darkness. It was only a matter of time before they turned and tried to kill Bahr and the rest. No point in lamenting what hadn’t happened. The wizard sighed and cast a slender pebble into the river. The hungry waters lapped it up without so much as a ripple.
THIRTY-TWO
Schemes
Amar Kit’han studied the ball of flame curled in the palm of his hand. The soft blue-heat tickled his shadowed fingers. It was a rare moment of Humanity. So rare he’d nearly forgotten what he had once been. Life was so fragile, so easy to break. Becoming Dae’shan was the logical conclusion to what his life was. Branded a petty criminal and murderer, he was hunted down, driven from one village to the next. He had to abandon society and took to the wilds.
He couldn’t recall his name nor where he originally came from. Those details didn’t matter. He had no desire to remain Human. To squander what little life was given to him. He wanted more. The gods heard his pleas. It was no accident the night the Dae’shan came to him with their dark temptations. Perhaps he should have said no. Should have turned them away but temptation proved too powerful. He gave in and sold his soul.
What happened next was the end of one life and the beginning of something else. Neither alive nor dead, he became a monster. The flames consumed him. Unimaginable pain wracked his body as the Dae’shan used their fell powers to un-create him. Flesh melted from his skeleton. His bones incinerated to dust, blown away in a soft breeze. It lasted months. They claimed the pain purified him. It removed the petty Human jealousies. The weaknesses of flesh and mind. Through fire and pain he was reborn. Remade into a greater power. He mattered.
Stripped of his mortal frame, the fragility of his thoughts and limitations of body and spirit, Amar Kit’han immersed himself entirely in what he’d become. He’d found being unsubstantial disquieting at first. Having no body wasn’t right. It was only when he began to explore his newly bestowed powers that he accepted what he was. Like so many who had come before, he fell under their spell and became a monster.
Amar killed because he could. With a thought he snapped necks or shattered minds. He reveled in the anticipation of ruining lives. All of the people who had wronged him in his previous life became victims. Their bodies hung from the branches of large oak trees until they’d been picked clean to the bone. Even that wasn’t enough. He kept their souls and tormented them every day for years. He thought he might find satisfaction but remained hollow inside. Their deaths were comparatively insignificant given his knowledge of the universe. Time and space were limitless, as was his ability to redefine everything he knew.
Torment became his favorite tool. He twisted and shaped minds into creatures so devolved from their Humanity. They became crawling deviants willing to do his foulest bidding. The power swelled his head. Amar Kit’han could do no wrong. He executed the will of the dark gods with ruthless enthusiasm. The only possible hindrance was the greed of his comrades.
“Badron has lost his army,” Kodan Bak hissed as he entered the cold chamber.
Amar Kit’han didn’t bother turning. His red eyes continued to stare off into the night, relishing the feeling of total oblivion soothing the cavity where his soul had been. “It was but a matter of time. He still has the Goblin army at his side.”
“Goblins aren’t much better than dirt dwellers. They will not be enough to accomplish what we need.”
“What do we need, Kodan Bak?” Amar snapped. Power whipped from his shadows, cracking the walls and bringing part of the ceiling down around them. “New leadership perhaps? How you’d enjoy seeing me removed so that you might assume the role. The gods did not choose you though, did they? You were found lacking, weak. Unworthy of their greatest gifts. Remember your place, before it is you who finds the short path to nonexistence.”
Energy rippled around the Dae’shan in waves, distorting the air with rancor and spite. “You know of what I speak, Amar Kit’han. We were charged with bringing ruin to the northern kingdoms. Badron cannot continue his ca
mpaign without his army. Goblins have their uses but they are few.”
“Indeed, but there is more at work. Pelthit Re spreads corruption across Delranan. That kingdom is the key to all of our plans. It must be in total chaos by the appointed hour. I did not expect him to turn the One Eye so easily to our will, nor the results. Pelthit Re should be commended.”
“Delranan already slides towards irreversible doom,” Kodan offered. “But it is not enough. With the Wolfsreik free of Badron’s influence they will stand in our way. My spies confirm they have already linked up with the remnants of Rogscroft’s army and the Pell Darga. Their leader refused to succumb to corruption.”
“Do we know what his plans are?” Amar asked.
“There are whispers that he intends to take his army back to Delranan to put an end to the One Eye’s tyranny.”
Amar floated higher. The Wolfsreik had become a major problem, whether he chose to admit that to Kodan Bak or not. There was no way his forces could defeat the combined strength of three armies, no matter how many Goblins Grugnak managed to funnel in to Rogscroft. The war for the north threatened to sour.
“Perhaps it is time for a new direction,” he finally said.
“What do you mean? We cannot stop now. The hour is almost upon us and we have yet to find and prepare the temple at Arlevon Gale. And what of the wizard? He has grown most worrisome. More is needed to halt his progress, if not stop him altogether.”
Amar desperately wanted to forget about Anienam Keiss. The wizard was a poison. “How that old fool has managed to avoid being ensnared in our traps for so long confuses me. We have tried for so long to remove the Mages and their ilk yet he persists. He’s been relatively harmless until now. I have no reason to believe he is capable of changing suddenly. Still, he has the potential to bring us all to ruin.”
“He’s assembled a powerful band of allies,” Kodan suggested.
“Pah! Would-be heroes. We have seen their like before. One of them always cracks and brings darkness to the group. It is only a matter of time before we can achieve similar results.”
“But the Giant…”
“Is of no consequence. He is a boy by their standards and ignorant of the true ways of the world. He will not live long enough to wield the Blud Hamr.”
Kodan’s robes swirled, billowing out briefly. “If they reach Trennaron and Artiss Gran we will not find it so easy to kill them.”
“Artiss Gran has lived for far too long. His treason will be dealt with shortly. Even now he feels his powers wane. Trennaron was never meant to be a bastion of hope. He will fail and fall into disgrace. Perhaps I shall keep him around like these Humans keep whipped dogs.”
“He was once one of us,” Kodan said. “His powers remain so long as the Dae’shan do.”
“Not enough to save him from my wrath. Enough of him. Artiss Gran had his uses but was found wanting. The dark gods will abuse him in ways he could never dream. I will deal with him personally, but there is time. Our focus must stay on Delranan. The kingdom stands on the brink but is not yet ready to fall. Perhaps a change of strategy is required.”
“What do you have in mind?”
Amar grinned, savage and ruthless. “We bring the kingdom to its knees, so low it will never recover. Only then will it be prepared to receive the dark gods. Bring me the prisoners.”
THIRTY-THREE
Plague
Night had fallen on Delranan. The hard working citizens of Chadra, those still able to work and go about their daily lives, shuffled back to their homes or, for those still single, to their favorite taverns or inns for a hearty meal and cold mead. Armed patrols marched through the streets enforcing Harnin’s law. A strict curfew had been established for three hours after sunset. There were no exceptions. Jails were filled with law breakers. Others were beaten badly enough they didn’t get caught again. Those few who managed to avoid the soldiers continued to tempt fate.
Word of the raid on the rebellion’s headquarters spread much too quickly to be coincidence. Harnin’s agents spread a talented mixture of truth and propaganda even before the raid took place. Many civilians believed the rebellion had been decapitated and left aimless in the gutters. Others didn’t care. Some, some knew the truth and continued to fight. One thing was certain. The recent raid practically finished the rebellion’s raids. Any effective form of fighting or communication was cut off. It was only a matter of time before the end.
Private Ragnar sheathed his sword and removed his heavy metal helmet. He’d spent the last eight hours patrolling Chadra and was looking forward to a good meal and perhaps a little attention from one of the Women working the floor of Felt’s tonight. His eyes gleamed with anticipation, though for Woman or food he wasn’t decided. The rest of his four-man team entered the Felt and assumed their usual table in the center of the common room. The atmosphere wasn’t one he looked forward to. It stank of heavy smoke and old vomit and had seen better days. The walls were stained from decades of smoke and half of the floorboards were rotted. Still, the foot was decent and so were the Women.
“Damned cold out tonight,” Ragnar said as he leaned back in his chair.
Sergeant Belk agreed. “Colder than a frostbitten she-bitch. Not the sort of night we need to be out in.”
The others nodded. After all, he was the one giving orders. A long-haired blond who had seen better days and was a little heavier than the year before ambled up to them with her usual perfunctory smile. “Lads, what will it be?”
“Helga! Fair maiden of the Felt,” Belk said loudly. “Just the sight of your bosom fills me with warmth.”
She slapped his reaching hand away. “That’ll not get you as warm as you think, scoundrel. Ales?”
“Ales and roast mutton and bread,” he said glumly.
Ragnar piped in, “And yellow cheese. I’m hungry tonight.”
Helga gave him a wink and walked off. The others immediately turned to the youngest soldier. They bombarded him with so many questions his head started to hurt. It took Belk to get them calm again. Then he took over.
“What’s all that about, lad? She got something for you?”
Ragnar grinned sheepishly. He didn’t know but wasn’t averse to finding out. A woman like that would keep him warm all night.
The door burst open and a bedraggled-looking man limped to the bar. Those few patrons smart enough to look away did so at once. Those less fortunate found themselves helplessly attracted to the inevitable confrontation. Belk gestured Ragnar to follow and they took up seats on either side of the newcomer. The man coughed violently. His entire body spasmed. A tiny trickle of blood seeped from his nose.
“What happened to you, friend?” Belk tried to ask seriously. He already figured the man had run into another patrol. Probably Tor’s by the look of him.
Coughing almost uncontrollably, the man gave Belk a deadpan stare. Belk shifted back with shock. He looked into eyes the darkest red, sunken and shallow. The man’s face bore a haunted sheen. His skin was grey, like boiled meat. Small, dark spots speckled his exposed flesh. Belk had never seen the like. Then the man coughed in his face.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Ragnar snapped. “You’ll lose your head for that.”
The stranger turned slowly, fixing Ragnar with a baleful glare. He smiled once, coughed, and fell dead at their feet.
Ragnar rolled off of Helga, covered in sweat and grinning like a child. He hadn’t had that much fun since before the Wolfsreik marched to war and it felt good. Helga yawned and stretched. The moment was lost on her. He was another customer and she was closer to getting off of her shift.
“A could get used to having a woman like you around,” he said, placing his hands behind his head.
Helga looked back over her shoulder as she slid from the bed. “You’re a good boy, but a bit young for my tastes. It was fun giving you a ride though.”
A damned sight more than fun. I’ve half a mind to ask for your hand. Ragnar chuckled at the thought. That’s when he firs
t noticed the slight burning sensation deep in his lungs. He idly reached up and rubbed his chest. The burn worsened over the course of the night. By morning both he and Helga would be dead. Unfortunately Helga managed to slip from the room and go back to the rest of the girls first.
Belk shut the door to his meager home and went to the dying fire. Shuffling the embers to build more flame, he took a few blocks of wood and tossed them in. Satisfied he’d done enough, he went to check on his children. Belk had five boys and two girls and wanted more. He’d come from a big family, blessed with so few deaths. Having children made sense and eased his burden, allowing him to spend more time doing his job since the reserves got called up to active duty.
He loved his family but the Wolfsreik paid more. Lord Harnin even went so far as to offer bounties for rebellion soldiers. Alive was worth more than dead, but Belk wasn’t that picky. He kept a fat purse and food on the table. Anyone with seven children knew how difficult it was keeping them all fed and clothed. He checked the girls first. Both were curled under heavy blankets and fast asleep. All of the boys but one were also asleep. Belk spoke softly to the lad and closed the door behind him.
What more is there to say than I love you? A good lad. My strongest. He’ll make a fine man. Belk removed his weapon belt and cloak and yawned. It wasn’t until he collapsed in his favorite chair that he started thinking about what had happened in the tavern. Belk was no stranger to death, but never in such a personal manner. The look of the man’s eyes left Belk haunted. He felt unclean. Contemptible. He didn’t understand what could transform a healthy man into death walking.
Belk stared into the flames. “What happened tonight?”
He would never get the answer. By dawn Sergeant Belk would be dead, along with all but one of his children. His wife left before any of them awoke. Her body was found a short time later in the central market place.
A Whisper After Midnight Page 26
