Boen casually stirred the long-handled wooden spoon in the stew pot. “Bahr knows what he’s doing. Remember, he’s the brother of the king.” A fact none of us knew until after we’d rescued Maleela. Interesting, the secrets we keep.
Ironfoot tossed his meaty hands in the air. “I don’t care if he’s the bloody king of the world. We are losing valuable time. What’s the point in dealing when we have a Giant among us? Groge could swat their people like insects.”
“Calm down, Ironfoot. Your ire won’t help our situation. We felt much the same way while your own king dithered over our intent. This is but another temporary setback.”
Ironfoot’s face shaded crimson. Planting his feet shoulder width apart, he folded his arms across his chest. “Setback? When did Gaimosian knights become known for their patience? I say we move. Now.”
Boen shook his head, fondly recalling his own rash adolescence. There was a time when he wouldn’t have waited to make a move. Sitting still like this offended him but he’d been among the others long enough to utilize his limited amount of patience. They would either get to the ruins in time or they wouldn’t. Those were the only real options. All of the pressure lay on Bahr’s shoulders, not his. When the time came for him to get involved he would. Until then his focus was on dinner.
“You realize Groge isn’t a warrior? Even with his immense size there’s not much he can actually do. Even if he wanted to. Here, taste this. It’s missing something but I don’t know what.” Boen chuckled under his breath as he raised the spoon for Ironfoot.
The Dwarf snorted and stormed off.
“He’s a jolly sort,” Rekka said as she took his place by the fire.
Boen nodded. “Dwarves are an odd breed, that’s for sure. I’d rather have him on our side than against us. Give him a little time to settle down. Dwarves aren’t known for their even temperament.”
“The more I witness of this world the less I understand it. So many different races with so many different beliefs and ways. It is very confusing,” she confessed. “Life was much simpler in the jungle.”
She paused. Memories of the jungle and her village of Teng would never grow more than what they were now. Banished, wrongfully, for the death of Cashi Dam, Rekka could never go home again. Her heart twisted with guilt, but for reasons other than Cashi. His love for her was false, based on an empty premise from when she was a child. Now she was forced to sever all ties with the people she’d grown up with, abandon all of her friendships and loyalties, and live a hollow life wandering like a Gaimosian. Unless Artiss Gran decided to keep her on.
“Malweir is a strange and wonderful place. That’s part of the beauty of being Gaimosian,” he said and paused. “Not that there’s much, mind you. We have no kingdom, no place to call home. But I’ve wandered from ocean to ocean and dealt with practically every race in the world. The wealth of experience alone is irreplaceable. Of course I still haven’t seen a dragon yet. That would be something to claim before I head for the ground. A dragon.”
“The histories all say the dragons are either dead or have returned to their ancient homeland of the Crystal Mountain. I do not think you will be able to achieve your dream.”
“It is good to have dreams, even if they never come true,” Boen countered. “What do the jungle folk dream of?”
Rekka found the question unsettling. She’d long held the belief that she knew without doubt which direction to take her life. Recent events shattered that carefully constructed world, leaving her trapped in unknown horizons. The notion was both unnerving and invigorating. “Elves,” she blurted out before realizing it.
Boen’s eyebrow rose. “Elves?”
Slightly embarrassed, she nodded. “Yes, Elves. I’ve never seen one, at none other than Faeldrin and his mercenaries.”
“I’ve seen plenty. If you think Giants and Dwarves are strange wait until you run into a band of Elves. They’re the happiest folk I’ve ever seen. Maybe they know something we don’t, who knows? There’s none in this half of Malweir, though. Most of them stay east of Averon,” Boen said. “Those Aeldruin are strong fighters, but not representative of their people. Most won’t lift a sword unless they have to. A damned better people than me to be able to do that.”
She empathized. Secretly she longed for the day when she no longer needed weapons to get her point across. Malweir might not be the friendliest of places, but there had to come a time when violence failed to solve matters. Sadly, it was naught but a dream.
Her thoughts dissolved on her tongue at the sight of a warrior marching sternly towards them. Boen noticed her change in demeanor and glanced up. The man was one of the ones who captured them.
“I’m Orlek, I was ordered to provide you all with shelter and what little food we have to spare.”
Boen nodded his appreciation and subtly unclenched his fist. “My thanks to you, though we don’t need your food. We’ve enough of our own, for now.”
Orlek was unimpressed. Whether they ate or not wasn’t his concern. He’d done what Ingrid instructed. As far as he was concerned his task was complete. “That’s your business. The boss doesn’t want you to starve or freeze tonight. Looks to be a rough one. Bundle up and take shelter under the cover of the trees. That should protect you enough.”
He glanced over Boen. Even without weapons the big man was a formidable opponent. He doubted there’d be much of a fight. Even with his knowledge of hand-to-hand combat, Orlek wouldn’t last long. The idea was mildly enticing and might prove entertaining if the weather permitted, but now wasn’t the time.
“Best get moving now, while there’s still some daylight left,” he added. He started walking away but stopped and turned. “Where are you from?”
Boen grinned savagely. “Nowhere.”
A cold sensation ran through Orlek as he realized why the big man seemed dangerous. Because he was. He was staring down a Vengeance Knight.
The fire was warm, but the wind still managed to worm through the stacked trees at precisely the wrong moments. Orlek would have liked to have been in a nice tavern with no elements to deal with. Life as a soldier wasn’t that kind. He grunted. Probably why he didn’t last very long in the rank and file. Still, he couldn’t complain about being part of the rebellion. Before Ingrid came along he was just another body with a sword. A part of the initial mission to raid the weapons locker on the docks, he’d worked with Joefke and Lord Argis. That had been a battle worthy of remembering. Nothing he’d done since fleeing from Chadra held much meaning, despite his elevation in rank. Nothing, that is, but his blooming love for Ingrid.
Thoughts of tempered blond kept him warm on cold nights. She was a remarkable woman just beginning to come into her full potential. He hoped she survived this war. Delranan needed better people like her. Hells, he needed her. She caught him staring fondly at her from across the fire and flashed a tender smile. It warmed his heart to know she might feel the same.
“What do you think?” she asked him.
Orlek rubbed a hand over the top of his head. “They’re a dangerous bunch. The Giant alone could kill every one of us without breaking a sweat. A Giant, Ingrid! Who would have thought we’d have one in our camp? They’re not supposed to exist.”
“All legends are based on some form of reality,” she said. “They do appear to be quite the eclectic group. A Giant, Dwarf, Gaimosian, and more. What do you make of the old man and that strange woman they travel with?”
Orlek’s face turned serious. “I’ve heard whispers he’s a wizard and she’s his bodyguard.”
Ingrid paused. Bahr never mentioned a wizard being part of this. The last she knew, all of the wizards and Mages had died out. Having one, if it was true, in her hands would drastically alter the balance in the war. She’d be able to drive Harnin from Chadra and assume the stewardship of Delranan until a rightful king was emplaced. Even the best-laid plans are filled with faults. This was no different. With Bahr returned, there was no chance for her to sit on the throne. Not that she wanted
to rule. Quite the opposite, Ingrid merely wanted Delranan to be free again with a just ruler in place.
“We can use this to our advantage,” she said, her mind already racing ahead.
Orlek wasn’t convinced. Nothing about the group suggested they were interested in helping the rebellion. “I agree but don’t see how. My guess is they are going to leave just as soon as the sun comes up and there’s not much we can do to stop them. Not unless we get attacked by Harnin’s forces first.”
She briefly toyed with the idea before discarding it. Bringing Harnin down on them wouldn’t solve anything. The latest reports from the field had Lord Jarrik and Inaella leading the two-thousand-man force hunting them down. She shuddered to think what the pockmarked woman would do if she ever got her hands around Ingrid’s throat. As much as it pained her to admit it, the war was not going very well. Her fighters were tired, sorely trained, and running out of the desire to carry on. The initial boost they’d gotten when she took the fight into the countryside was fading. She needed to come up with a victory fast or risk losing it all out of sheer indifference.
“Bring me Bahr. I have to try and convince him to help us. We are, after all, his people.” The dominant glimmer in her eyes was one he’d seen too many times before. It thrilled him in different ways. Perhaps hope loomed on the horizon after all.
TEN
Aurec’s Decisions
The last few battalions straggled into the night’s encampment on weary legs. On the move since dawn, they were the rearguard and forced to endure endless leagues of stop-and-go movement. The elastic tendencies of an army on the move was well known by every infantrymen ever made, and none appreciated it. Stretching moments of standing still followed by having to hurry to catch up to the unit in front of the column drove many of the younger soldiers mad. Only the generals on their horses seemed unaffected.
Fires raged, having been set by the vanguard and logistics battalions Rolnir pushed to the head of the column. He believed in taking care of his men and that meant having warmth and hot food waiting for them when they reached the camp each and every day. As was his custom, he waited on foot for the very last man to pass before retiring for the night to a seemingly endless stream of meetings with his senior staff.
Normally the Wolfsreik operated alone in the field. He was the closest thing to a god the soldiers knew and that’s how it should be. King Badron’s decision to tag along with the main body during the Rogscroft invasion was frowned upon but he was the king. Rolnir was forced to shift tactics and endure what he considered pointless questioning from the king. The waste of man hours from standing in audience alone was infuriating. Thankfully King Aurec was the opposite. Here was a man Rolnir could enjoy working with.
That easy-mannered work relationship didn’t figure in to how he was going to explain to the freshly crowned king that the mountains were next to impassable. He smiled and waved at the last few ranks, reaching out to slap a few beleaguered men on their shoulders while shouting words of encouragement. Soldiers liked to feel appreciated. He had when he went up through the ranks. Every little thing to boost morale was being done. Most of these men were beyond sore, exhausted, and mentally fatigued. They only had so much left to give. Soldiers were hard men by necessity, but he felt he’d already asked for too much. Gloom cast over his face as he slowly headed towards the command tents. The Murdes Mountains loomed over them majestically in the background.
One minor problem lost amidst the horrors of war. What did I do to get myself in this situation? Life used to be so simple, now I’m mired in an unending nightmare from which there is no escape. At least the Pell are on our side. Fighting them once was bad enough. I do hope the young king can pull off what he’s got in mind. Otherwise….
Lost in thought, Rolnir wormed through the army offering absentminded words of encouragement as weary men collapsed in front of fires, wolfed down their meals, or cleaned their weapons and gear. A life of marching was hard on any race. The slackers were long weeded out. All that remained were the resolute. The veterans. Muscles were hardened from overuse. Body fat was burned away from countless days of marching and fighting. Wars were not for the faint of heart. It takes a special breed of man to watch his friends die around him and still go willingly into battle. Empty places around the campfires haunted the survivors. Fond memories of those lost. Yet they carried on, for kingdom and each other. Rolnir could give them no less.
He ducked entering the command tent, returning the salutes of the pair of Rogscroft guards. Rolnir grinned ruefully. There was a time when the men at the door were staunch enemies. How fickle war was, he mused. Enemies become friends while allies turn their backs. The warmth from the fire hit him immediately, nearly making him forget the frigidness of the early night. A mass of bodies shuffled around. Most had parchments and evening reports from each small unit commander detailing the status of their soldiers and supply needs. The senior commanders would be along shortly for their nightly debriefing. Rolnir was in no mood to listen to the repetitive statistics, not tonight.
He felt lethargic, stale. Going home harbored mixed emotions he was only now coming to realize he wasn’t prepared to deal with. They’d camped less than a day from the mountains yet close enough to remain enshrouded in the shadows for most of the day. Rolnir much preferred the open plains. There were too many places to hide in the mountains, making him uneasy.
Piper walked up and forced a mug of ale into his hands. “Last troops are tucked safely away in their bivouac I see?”
Feigning a smile, Rolnir accepted the mug gratefully and drank deeply. “Do you remember a time before all of this? I can’t.”
“This doesn’t sound like you,” Piper admonished. “I’m supposed to be the one down on his luck and all. What’s wrong?”
Feeling trapped in his memories, Rolnir stood with downcast eyes for a moment. “Nothing,” he finally answered. “Just tired is all. Is everyone here?”
A nod. “Our young king is busy in the back discussing matters with Vajna. The others are busy pouring over the maps.”
Rolnir asked, “Why aren’t you?”
Piper shrugged. “I can only look at a map for so long before my eyes begin to hurt. Besides, maps don’t do much of anything. Especially when I have scouts.”
Borderline arrogant, Piper was steadily, if too slowly, getting back to his old self. This war had taken an exhaustive toll on the second in command. He’d lost too much weight and bore an unnatural amount of guilt in his once-sharp eyes. Too much pain did that to a man, and Piper was just another soldier. He seldom utilized his position for anything other than to snag a mug of ale from time to time. A professional, he’d rather be out with the soldiers, living as they did. His men appreciated that, even if they never voiced it.
“You’d better not get us lost,” Rolnir scolded.
“Where we are going? Not bloody likely,” the thinner man said and almost laughed.
Enough said, the duo headed towards Aurec. Rolnir couldn’t put the meeting off any longer without looking like a fool. Most conversation stopped with their arrival. Heads turned and nodded or bowed in acknowledgment. Rolnir greeted them all in kind. They’d become familiar faces by now. Not exactly treasured, but welcome enough that he’d regret losing any of them. The unifying endearing factor stemmed from most of them having prior military experience. He appreciated that aspect, knowing they’d tend to have more compassion for the army than a politician would.
King Aurec was the first to break the crowd and shake Rolnir’s hand. “Ah, General Rolnir, now we can begin.”
Aurec had developed, out of necessity, over the course of winter. He’d been a brash, impulsive young man when he stole into Chadra Keep to rescue his love from Badron’s harsh grasp. The resulting war and beheading of his own father broke him and reforged him into a stronger, more mature man. Barely into his twenties, he was now monarch to a beleaguered kingdom.
Not feeling the need to explain his nightly actions, the Wolfsreik general ma
rched over to take his place at the makeshift table occupying the rear tent. Vajna was already there, the older general looking haggard but in good spirits. Venten sat beside the king. His frost-white hair and face full of lines made him look older than he felt. A lifetime of being advisor to the king and a soldier before that had hardened him. Thorsson, now command sergeant major of the combined army, stood, as was the preference of most senior, noncommissioned officers. They largely despised meetings, thinking of the myriad tasks they could be accomplishing at that same moment.
Raste and Mahn were the most unusual of the group. Scouts, the pair was mostly absent. They’d survived improbable situations over the course of the war and didn’t really seem to get along. Yet they were among the most competent men Rolnir ever led. The Pell Darga chieftain, Cuul Ol, squatted beside the table. A man of the mountains, he was uncomfortable with lowland civilization and its faults. His dark, weather-stained skin stuck out from the rest of the pale-skinned warriors. If he noticed he didn’t care. They’d all grown to become equals over the course of the winter war.
“We are faced with a difficult decision, one I wish we could have delayed a little longer to let nature do the job for us,” Aurec said evenly. His gaze swept over the council of leaders. “We’re less than a day from the Murdes Mountains and still awaiting reports on whether the passes are clear or not. The way I see it we have three choices. First, we wait for the spring thaw, but with winter being more severe than in recent years, who can say how long that will take. Or we could spend countless man hours digging our way through. The men will be exhausted by the time we reach Delranan. Add the fact that we don’t know what to expect once we arrive, we could well be slaughtered. The last option is to march south around the mountains. I don’t need to tell any of you how many weeks this will add to our task, perhaps months. Gentlemen, my mind is torn. I want to hear what you think.”
The Madness of Gods and Kings Page 8
