The teleportation from Trennaron to Delranan took less than a heartbeat. Rays of blinding light exploded on the dawn, illuminating the far horizon in rainbows of color. Men and beast collapsed within a ring of melted snow and ice. Their breaths came in ragged gasps. Steam burned off their flesh and clothes. More than a few vomited. One of the horses brayed in fright. It was all Boen could do in his weakened condition to snatch the reins and prevent it from running off. The others barely managed to regain their hands and knees.
White flames burned knee high in a ring surrounding the group. Slowly subsiding into the depths of the earth from whence they came, their absence allowed the brutality of winter in. Howling winds replaced the void the light created. Fresh snow slashed into them with unabated fury. Bahr managed to shield his face from the worst of it and looked around to ensure he had the correct number of bodies with him. Living bodies. The Dae’shan will pay if anyone died from this. He wasn’t disappointed. They’d all arrived safely back in Delranan. Most were moving, at least a little, only the wizard lay curled up in the fetal position whimpering his pain away.
“I was beginning to forget how damned cold the winter was,” Boen grumbled under his breath as he used the saddle to climb to his feet. He didn’t particularly mind the cold, or the heat, but he figured it would give the others an opportunity to forget about the lances of pain reverberating through their bones.
Bahr cleared his throat with a deep sound and spit the residue onto the frozen rocks. “Try living here. You’d get all the snow you ever wanted. Funny thing is as children we couldn’t wait for it to snow so we could go out and play in it.”
“Keep your snow. I prefer the heat of the south,” the Gaimosian argued and gave his horse a playful pat on the neck. “Looks like we all made it.”
Bahr nodded agreement. A little worse for wear, but we made it. “See to the others. I’m going to help Anienam.”
Boen looked around. “What about a perimeter? Do you think we were seen?”
“It’s too early to tell. This close to dawn I’d think those lights were seen from leagues away. We need to get organized and move out before curious people start investigating. Find shelter first and then we can send out scouts to figure out exactly where we are.”
The explanation was good enough for Boen and he eagerly began snatching the others off the ground. There’d be plenty of time in the future to lament their suffering, but not now. The true measure of courage came from the heart and each was in dire need of heart at the moment. He’d be lying if he denied the whispered urge to sit down and suffer through his pain. Age hadn’t been kind to a man who spent six decades fighting and moving. His body ached. His mind betrayed his desire to keep going. Yet he pushed through the pain. There was more at stake than the private dilemma of an old man. They had a war to win.
“On your feet, lads! We’ve got to be away before the enemy knows we’ve returned,” he barked. The sternness in his tone forced heads up, much like a general on the battlefield would. “Up, Skuld. There’s no time for pain! Up and help with the horses. All of you, up!”
One by one they reluctantly obeyed until only Anienam still lay on the ground. Bahr stumbled over, nearly falling twice, and knelt beside the ancient wizard. He placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and turned his body. “Anienam, we must be moving.”
Anienam Keiss, last of the line of Mages and heir to the knowledge of Ipn Shal, turned his head so that Bahr could see his face. Tears of blood streamed down his cheeks. When he opened his eyes they were opaque. “Bahr, I can’t see.”
Bahr finished wrapping the dressing around Anienam’s head, successfully covering what remained of his now useless eyes. Any hopes they might have held that the damage was temporary quickly vanished after a closer inspection. Anienam was permanently blind. The mood around the small camp darkened considerably.
Only the wizard found reason to chuckle.
“What can be so amusing?” Bahr asked. He didn’t voice it, but they all were thinking the same thing. Anienam was their greatest asset and now he was blind. Hope began to fade.
Anienam’s head swiveled to the sound of Bahr’s voice. “Something my father once said. All magic comes with a price, especially the magic of the gods. It appears my vision is that price.”
“Nice of Artiss Gran to mention this might happen,” Dorl said glumly without taking his eyes off the small fire in the center of their camp. He’d never been a staunch advocate of the wizard but even he recognized they needed Anienam more than they needed him.
Anienam waved off the concern. “Nonsense. He’s not to blame. I told you. Magic comes with a price. I have paid the price and there’s no point in lamenting over it. My lack of vision changes nothing. The fate of Malweir rests in our hands. I don’t need eyes to carry on.”
“What about residual effects?” Bahr asked.
The wizard shrugged nonchalantly. “Time will tell. In the meantime I suggest you stop worrying over me. I can manage. After all, I’m just a passenger on the wagon.”
True enough, but we rely on you more than I’m comfortable with. You being crippled unexpectedly dampens our plans considerably. This was a turn of events we didn’t need. Bahr added another small branch to the fire and rocked back on his heels as he mulled over their next course of action. Their options were constricted, more so than before. He was the type of man who never liked relying on anyone other than himself, priding himself on his ability to be self-sustaining. All that changed when Anienam purposefully entered his life. Bahr dreaded facing the coming challenges without the wizard’s eyesight.
He shook his head ruefully. “I just don’t see how you can fend for yourself or use your magic well without your vision.”
Anienam stiffened angrily. “I’m blind, not an invalid. I don’t need vision to use magic, Bahr. We keep moving as if nothing’s different. The dark gods and their spawn will not care one whit for my handicaps. Neither should you.”
“It’s not that easy.”
He cocked his head. “How so?”
Bahr shrugged, not expecting to actually explain his reasoning. Each time he thought he found the thread leading down the correct path he paused and swallowed the words. None of them felt right. Frowning, he decided to stall. “You are the only one among us with magic and we’re about to go up against not only a pantheon of gods but their magic using minions here on Malweir. How can we successfully counter whatever evils await us with you in a diminished state?”
Anienam began to understand more clearly. He’d been at odds with most of the group since the beginning of their quest, some dating back to the voyage to rescue Maleela from Rogscroft under false pretense. Only now did they realize he was more vital than they imagined. More than an enigmatic old man, Anienam possessed raw power and the wealth of knowledge capable of seeing them on to victory. They were scared, unsure of what the future held. If he wasn’t quietly lamenting his own suffering he might have found time to chuckle at their newfound sympathy.
“Bahr, all of you, can rest assured that I am more than capable of handling my end of this affair. Our way ahead is fraught with danger, more so than any we have encountered to date. I cannot promise any of you will survive, but I retain my full ability to wield magic. You do your parts and I will handle mine. Now please, can we change the subject? Or get a meal finished? My stomach is very upset with me at the moment.”
Bahr gave in. There were times when even the soundest argument was trumped by hunger. He motioned for Skuld and Dorl to start cooking the brace of rabbits they’d caught after finding a suitable clearing. Boen rummaged through some of the supply sacks on the wagon and produced a handful of potatoes and a few carrots to add to the pot. He wasn’t much for stews or soups, but was experienced enough to know when the heavy, gravy-like stew was good for a soldier in the field.
Handing the vegetables to Skuld he said, “Here, cut these up and toss them in. The heavier the stew the better on a night like this.”
Skuld accepted and we
nt about his work. Long fingers of dark draped across the land like curtains of despair. Bahr looked up to the frozen fields long buried under snow and ice and wondered what would become of his homeland. Never caring for kingdom or crown, he was in the unique position to care for a land and people who didn’t care for him. He doubted he’d be welcomed with open arms upon his return, especially after the debacle his brother had plunged Delranan into. His thoughts gradually turned to the two scout teams out patrolling the wilds, hoping they went unnoticed.
* * * * *
“Don’t you get cold?” Ironfoot grumbled, pulling the collar of his bearskin cloak tighter around his shoulders. His battle axe nestled snugly on his back, easily drawn in the event of trouble. His eyes were nearly lost beneath a heavy forehead and thicker brows but they were sharp, missing nothing as he and Groge stalked across the land.
He wasn’t the finest soldier in King Thord’s retinue, nor the most professional. He’d been chosen for the sheer fact that he had not only captured Bahr and the others after they trespassed on Dwarven lands, but also led the raid in which Bahr and Boen performed the vital task of destroying the dark Dwarf cannons at Bode Hill. Ironfoot was deemed the most logical choice, though he didn’t fail to notice how none of his peers volunteered for the task. He vowed to have words with his fellow captains upon his return.
Groge wanted to shrug indifference to Ironfoot’s comment but felt awkward. His tribe had been locked away from the rest of the world for so long they knew next to nothing of modern Malweir. He struggled to adapt to the subtleties and nuances of the lowland races, lost within the knowledge that their ability to work with and understand each other before the inevitable final battle arrived. Thus far he’d only bonded, loosely, with Skuld, Boen and the stout Dwarven warrior.
“I seldom feel cold or hot,” he replied. “Living on the roof of the world gives you thick skin, as does spending the majority of each day in the forges.”
No stranger to iron work, the Dwarf admitted the logic of the statement. He’d done his time in the smiths deep under the mountains, crafting weapons and armor. Every Dwarf did. It was a rite of passage from youth to adult. That being said, Ironfoot had no desire to live or work high atop the mountain peaks without the comforts and heat he’d spent a lifetime taking for granted. Groge could keep his lofty home.
“Doesn’t the wind tear through there?” he asked, more for conversational purposes than the need to know.
Groge nodded. “It does, but we aren’t foolish enough to be caught in the open when it does. Personally I prefer sitting in front of a warm fire with a tankard of ale than being outside.”
They shared a brief laugh abruptly cut off by the sudden snap of a branch. Ironfoot had his axe in his hands in one swift movement as he immediately took cover behind the nearest tree. Not so conveniently sized, the young Giant froze in place and scanned the surrounding forest. Night had fallen, shrouding the area in the hazy world trapped between light and dark. Bushes could well be enemy soldiers drawing ever closer and Groge would be none the wiser. Never the warrior, he felt the pull of the Blud Hamr. It called to him, whispering the promises of power should he take it in his hand and use it against the enemy. Conflicted, Groge struggled with the newfound urge to commit violence.
“What do you see?” Ironfoot hissed. He crouched, ready to strike.
Groge continued looking in the direction the sound came from. He saw nothing. But something or someone had broken the branch. But who? What? His inability to find even the most remote trace of movement stilled his blood. His hand drifted towards the hammer. Another snap, crisp and loud in the night air, immediately drew his attention. His heart thumped louder, surely drawing attention from the perpetrator. Unused to tense situations, even after their harrowing flight from the Gnaals in the jungle, the Giant bordered on panic. He relaxed instantly when a female elk emerged from the dark, calmly going about her business. His sigh was audible.
“I must be getting old. Sent into a frenzy over an elk,” Ironfoot snarled as he sheathed his axe. Crisis averted, the unlikely pair continued with their patrol. It was getting late and both were starving.
* * * * *
Rekka Jel and Dorl Theed stalked through the undergrowth of the lightly wooded area to the south of the camp with the grace of experienced trackers. Neither spoke, knowing all too well the dangers Delranan posed. They’d already been run out of the kingdom once, harried practically the entire way by Harnin’s forces. Rekka briefly thought of her confrontation with the Dae’shan in the woods of Rogscroft. She’d been taken off guard for the first time since Artiss Gran dispatched her to Delranan and vowed never to let that happen again. Their lives depended on her ability to perform her job. The momentary respite in Trennaron did nothing to remove or reduce the edge she’d spent countless years building. It was her greatest protection.
She was light enough to barely leave any tracks, a feat Dorl couldn’t hope to match. He lumbered through the snow in comparison. Rekka found his attempts at stealth amusing, if not entirely hazardous. Eventually he’d make enough noise to rouse the suspicion of any eavesdroppers or spies in the area. She couldn’t let that happen but neither did she feel the need to chastise him for something beyond his control. He was far heavier than she and not trained in the arts of stealth. Jungle life demanded she control her movements lest she get caught and killed by one of the great predators. The people of Delranan had no natural predators large enough to worry over. Bears were the only animal capable of killing a man and they were seldom seen outside of the mountains and deep forests. Or so she’d been told by Artiss Gran.
Rekka took little comfort in that knowledge. That now familiar, eerie feeling of being stalked crept through her muscles. Her eyes never stayed on one target long enough to be caught in a trap. A professional tracker, she was unhurried in her task. Her sword rested lightly in her small hands. The weapon was an extension of her being. She’d spent countless hours drilling and training with the weapon until it became part of her. Rekka often questioned the need for such excessive techniques, never fully understanding or appreciating their value until this quest. She whispered silent prayers to the gods of light and continued the patrol.
Any comfort Rekka might have felt did not translate over to Dorl. Born and raised in the north, he was accustomed to winter’s harshness. That didn’t mean he enjoyed the cold. He hated it as much as he could hate anything. The deep, wild lands of Delranan weren’t his choice place for operating. He much preferred the cities and larger towns to conduct his business. Worse, he didn’t have Nothol with him to watch his back. The sell swords had worked together for so long they perfectly complemented each other. While his blossoming love with Rekka made him a better person, he still wasn’t used to working with her in a tactical sense.
Frustrated after sinking knee deep into yet another snow drift, Dorl cursed under his breath. “This is pointless. No one is out here.”
Rekka shut out his complaints. Her unyielding brown eyes focused intently on the dry creek bed that had become a game trail a few meters in front of them. She looked to both sides, ensuring nothing was near and knelt down at the creek edge. She traced a hand over the snow, lightly enough not to disturb it.
Dorl finally managed to pull his leg free and stumbled beside her. “What is it? Do you see something?”
Rekka ignored him and hopped down the short drop into the creek. What she saw made her freeze. Her sword rose instinctively. Hundreds of horse tracks, mixed with military issue boot prints, filled the creek bed. She pointed. “We are not alone.”
Dorl Theed gazed upon the seemingly endless stream of tracks and felt his world crumble. The tracks were less than a day old, if he was any judge. Not only were they not alone, but whoever else was here had a lot of strength. They needed to get back and warn the others.
EIGHT
Into the Wild
“We must back up and move, now,” Rekka said as she reentered the small camp.
The glow of their
fire, small as it was, could be seen from nearly a third of a league away, marking their position for any prying eyes. She smelled the smoke long before spotting the glow. Rekka was torn. They needed the fire. The chances of freezing this deep in the wilds was too great to ignore. Compounding matters was Anienam’s sudden malady. Whatever comforts Trennaron offered were quickly becoming distant memory. They were back in the north, where the weak perished without thought.
Bahr rose from beside Anienam. “What do you mean?”
She explained quickly, knowing time was expiring. Bahr listened as she told of the tracks and what it meant. He didn’t feel the same concern as she, but recognized the fact they couldn’t stay where they were. Artiss Gran had given him a warning before they left Trennaron. The Blud Hamr was one of the most powerful magical talismans ever created. Evil would be drawn to it like moths to a flame. As much as he wanted to believe the tracks were nothing more than hunters he couldn’t take the risk. Army issue boots meant only one thing: the enemy was moving through the area. They had to be more cautious than ever before.
Reluctantly he nodded his agreement. “Pack everything nonessential. We leave at first light.”
“Will it be safe to travel in daylight?” Groge asked.
“More so than during the night,” Bahr answered. “It’s too risky to walk the horses in the dark and if our foes are nearby they will hear us or spot the lanterns long before we have the chance to flee. At least in sunlight we’ll be on even ground. All of you get some sleep now. I’ll take first watch.”
The Madness of Gods and Kings Page 6
