The Madness of Gods and Kings

by Christian Warren Freed

  Rekka swept her gaze over the men, trying to understand their base ways better. The pair had been companions for many years and through many adventures. They knew each other better than she ever hoped to with another person. Her blossoming love with Dorl left her more content than she’d been in her short life, but she still felt like she was missing an important piece. What, she didn’t know.

  “We should offer our thanks for this blessing,” she said once they’d finished their banter. Raised to believe one should only kill when absolutely necessary, Rekka appreciated the bounty the elk represented. It would feed them for many meals. Thankfully Groge wasn’t partial to eating red meat. Otherwise the elk wouldn’t last a night.

  Dorl looked at Nothol and repressed the urge to shrug. Food was food. He’d never celebrated the life of any animal and, truthfully, didn’t feel like starting now. Still, he wasn’t willing to upset Rekka over so simple a task. “Sure, but we need to drain it, skin it, and dress it before it starts getting dark. I don’t want to be caught out here after nightfall.”

  Ignoring him, Rekka skipped over and knelt beside the corpse. She gingerly touched it above the eye and raised her hands to the skies, offering half mumbled words of praise to the gods of light for providing such bounty. Dorl and Nothol watched, mesmerized by the simple perfection of the moment. Such times were rare in this new world. Finished, Rekka drew her dagger and slit the great bull’s throat to drain the blood while she split it down the belly and began dressing it out so they could quarter and pack it for transport back to camp.

  Sunlight turned the snows frosted shades of gold. A small flock of snow geese honked as they drifted past. Dorl almost relaxed enough to enjoy the moment. Almost, before he spied movement across the plains. His heart clenched with that old fear that had accompanied him since first leaving Delranan. Moments later that familiar sound drifted to them. It was the sound of armor rattling.

  He reached out and slapped Nothol on the bicep without looking. “Soldiers.”

  Nothol raised his eyes, following Dorl’s pointed finger. “Soldiers” was the simplistic form. What he saw was a lot of soldiers, enough to run through Ingrid’s paltry band of rebels without breaking a sweat. They were in trouble. No amount of experience was enough to prevent panic from springing to life. The odd chance of death was ever present, a permanent companion for men in their line of work, but he wasn’t ready for death to come today.

  “Have they seen us?” he asked in a whisper.

  Dorl didn’t think so but they couldn’t take the chance. “Get down. There’s no way we can outrun them. Our best bet is to take cover and hope they pass us by.”

  Nothol frowned. “What if they have dogs? They’ll smell the blood and come running.”

  Resisting the urge to smack his best friend from mucking things up further, Dorl hurried over to Rekka and explained the situation. The warrior woman from Teng drew her sword and huddled down over the elk’s corpse.

  “They are too many to fight,” she said while counting heads.

  As they trudged closer, Dorl was able to make out the colors and insignia of Wolfsreik reservists. A heavy foot patrol meant one thing: they were too close to the enemy base of operations for this area. Any thought of salvaging the meat dissolved. Dorl knew what needed to be done, though he doubted he had the courage to do it. Bahr and Ingrid needed to be warned. He started low crawling back towards Nothol and the small stand of holly bushes. The red berries seemed almost obscene combined with the unending fields of snow stretching for as far as the eye could see.

  Nothol looked worried. “Do you run?”

  “Go ahead. You go left and I’ll wait for you to draw them off,” Dorl chided. Contrary to popular belief, there was such a thing as a stupid question. If it came to a fight it was going to be nasty and end unfavorably for the sell swords. Dorl didn’t fancy dying in the middle of nowhere, with no one to recall his last deeds. Abandoned by the rest of the world, he’d wither and turn to dust without anyone ever knowing where he met his end. Not a particularly deep thinker, Dorl Theed eagerly began thinking of ways to survive the day.

  Sunlight glinted off spear tips. The patrol, close to fifty men, or half a company, marched dangerously close to their position. They looked forward, always towards where that next foot would step and hoping to catch a glimpse of their final destination. Scouts and flankers were meant to search the general area while the main body marched. Ideally the scouts would spy the enemy and give warning, allowing the infantry to form up in battle ranks and either attack or defend based on enemy troop strengths.

  If the Wolfsreik was using scouts, Dorl and the others were already dead. Their horses were back at camp. Abandoned by the rest of their companions, the trio couldn’t head back to Bahr without risking giving away their position and bringing the entire enemy army down on their heads. Dorl doubted capture was in their mandate. At this point in the war neither side must be willing to take many prisoners. It always circles back to death. Like an ill guest I can’t avoid. Maybe I need to retire and move south.

  He was able to exhale in relief a short while later as the enemy patrol marched off to the north. Whatever they were about, it had nothing to do with fruitlessly searching the empty fields and small groves of pines peppering the landscape. They were on a mission, but what continued to bother the sell sword almost to the point where he considered following just to find out. Disregarding the notion as foolish, with more than a few stern words of admonishment for himself, Dorl finally rose and sheathed his sword.

  “We’re safe now,” he said needlessly.

  Nothol threw a snowball at him. “We haven’t been safe since joining Bahr last autumn. Good thing they didn’t have dogs. I like them too much to kill one.”

  “Not even to save me?” Dorl asked.

  Nothol merely laughed and went to help Rekka finish quartering the elk. Waste not.

  “Are you positive?” Bahr asked. His face was drawn, lips pursed in thought. The redness in his cheeks seemed almost permanent again and his eyes carried red strings of stress.

  Ingrid passed Orlek a worried glance. The rebellion was fluid, thankfully, but it would take time for her to pack everything up and move out to their next position. Time they apparently didn’t have.

  Dorl nodded too eagerly. “Yes. They were heavily armed and armored and not worried about running in to anything they couldn’t handle. Whatever they were about, they were moving with a purpose.”

  “But to where? We can’t move without knowing their destination,” Orlek jumped in. His natural soldier instincts were jump-started. It had been nearly a week since their last engagement at the old farmhouse.

  Dorl shot him an incredulous glare. “You can go after them all you want. I didn’t sign on to fight a war.”

  He calmed, slightly, after Bahr silenced him with a curt wave. “The question isn’t where they are going so much as why. Heavy patrols serve no purpose this far out in the wilds. Unfortunately for my party, the enemy is too active for us to slip through unnoticed.”

  “Meaning what exactly?” the sell sword pressed. He didn’t like the notion of being pirated by his own employer. He jumped after Nothol slapped the back of his head. “What was that for?”

  “For being stupid,” Nothol answered squarely. “Bahr hasn’t led us wrong since this whole blasted affair began. Sure, we keep running into situations beyond our control but he’s brought each and every one of us back from the beginning. Well, all save Ionascu and he wasn’t a big loss.”

  “Ionascu? Harnin’s worm?” Orlek asked, prompting Ingrid to again question just what her second in command had once been.

  Bahr grunted. “The same. Delranan needn’t worry about him again. His body is rotting in the Jungles of Brodein.”

  “And good riddance.” Dorl scowled at the foul memories of being around the broken man. Even before Harnin’s torturers mangled his arms and legs, Ionascu had been a pain for the expedition. Losing him was more blessing than bane.

&nbs
p; Placing his hands on his hips, Orlek looked to Ingrid and said, “It seems our guests haven’t told us everything yet.”

  “Nor should they. We all have secrets, Orlek,” Ingrid said softly. “If Bahr was our enemy these three would have sold us out to the Wolfsreik already. I think we have a unique opportunity here. A chance to finally, irreversibly, turn the tide in the rebellion and crush our enemies without them even knowing it.”

  “How so?” Bahr asked hesitantly. He didn’t like the idea of being corralled in to fighting yet another war. There were only so many battles he and his group could fight before their luck, and time, ran out. How much remained to be seen.

  “The rebellion isn’t as strong as it might have been. The plague wiped out most of our able-bodied fighters. Those few who remained fled to the countryside and are now scattered, at my discretion of course. We can fight. Can even steal victories from Harnin’s slacking forces. But we lack the heavy punch to crush our enemy for good. Your name alone will draw more fighters, more support to our cause. Even if you don’t participate, which I am not asking you to, I can utilize your name and presence for the betterment of the kingdom.”

  Her request unanticipated, Bahr cracked his knuckles and began to pace around the fire. Deep inside he loved his kingdom, though whether enough to halt everything for it remained to be seen. The fate of a single kingdom was insignificant compared to the entire world unknowingly counting on his actions. He felt torn for the first time in decades. Both choices presented unique challenges that robbed from the other. Could he forsake one for the other? Which weighed more? The lives of a few thousand or all of Malweir? Naturally the answer was obvious. He had sworn his life to accomplishing the task set before him by Artiss Gran and even Anienam Keiss. His internal debate quickly faded away. In the end there never was a choice.

  “I can’t tell you what we’re committed to doing,” he began slowly, taking time to pick and choose his words. Ingrid was ensorcelled by her rebellion and restoring order to Delranan. She didn’t need to bear the weight of his problems moving forward. “But know that our actions, whether we fail or succeed, will determine the fate of all life on Malweir. None of us asked for this task, but we’ve come too far and done too much to quit now. We must continue east, back towards the Murdes Mountains will all possible dispatch.”

  “Your travel companions alone merit your hesitance in aiding us,” she replied. “Giants, Dwarves, Gaimosians, and a wizard. Who could possibly travel with such friends in times like this? I won’t pretend that I’m not disappointed by your answer. We need all the help we can get. What we have now is barely enough to keep holding on and winter doesn’t seem to want to end any time soon. Perhaps there is a temporary solution to both of our problems.”

  He halted. “I’m listening.”

  Her heart skipped with joy. “You have an army of at least two thousand spread out in front of you. Going around is out of the question as you are on a strict timeline. Fighting through isn’t an option either due to the risk you and your companions face.”

  Bahr nodded. As much as he’d like to fight for his kingdom he simply couldn’t. The Dae’shan said they all needed to arrive at Arlevon Gale in order to have any possibility of success.

  “I suggest we discover what interests the Wolfsreik so much and make a coordinated strike.” She held up her hand to stop his expected protests. “If we force Jarrik to concentrate his forces and meet us, on our terms, we’ll draw their attention away from the rest of the kingdom, thus giving you a clear avenue to the east. What happens after that is beyond my control, however. What do you say?”

  Dorl Theed hung his head. The prospect of another battle soured his stomach. Always back to death.

  After long, deliberate moments of contemplation, Bahr reached his hand out. “I think it sounds like a viable option. You have a deal, Ingrid.”

  The two sealed their agreement with a firm handshake. Dorl whimpered quietly.

  FOURTEEN

  The Heroes Go East

  Ironfoot strapped his boiled leather armor down on the sides, adjusting the right so it fit snug but still loose enough for him to swing his axe without losing breath. He’d combed his beard out for the first time since leaving Drimmen Delf. The prospect of battle enthused him in ways the others thought mad. Not that he cared. He was a warrior. Dying in battle was the ultimate honor for any Dwarf to attain. Only Boen understood, for he too felt the irresistible pull towards combat. Whistling, he thumped his chest twice. Satisfied with his work, he headed back to the wagon to finish oiling his helm.

  “He said it just like that?” Skuld asked, eyes wide with shock. The young man couldn’t believe how easily Bahr had turned a potentially dangerous situation into one where they were able to continue on to Arlevon Gale.

  Dorl waved him off, not troubling to be bothered with insignificant questioning. “I tell you, Anienam, we’re all going to die before we get to where we’re going.”

  “How are we supposed to get there if we die before we do?” Nothol asked in jest.

  “You shut your mouth. You had a chance to speak up and tell the old man what needs to happen but you chose not to,” Dorl growled.

  Nothol’s face brightened with mirth. “I chose to keep my head on my shoulders. This isn’t a game, you damned fool. I’m starting to think you are too focused about dying than trying to see this through to the end. We’ve got our opportunity to escape Harnin’s men without getting killed in the process.”

  “Not if they find us before we can slip through their lines,” Dorl countered too quickly. “Old Anienam can’t see the enemy to fight them if we get stopped. Groge still doesn’t want to fight, and I’ll not be the one who tries to get him to change his mind. One swat from him and I’d be paste on the rocks.”

  “What rocks? Everywhere you look is snow!” Nothol all but shouted.

  Dorl grinned sheepishly. Finally, he was beginning to make the other sell sword lose his patience. A rare turn of events indeed.

  “Gentlemen, you worry over naught,” Anienam interrupted. Being referred to as merely the “old, blind man” was wearing thin. He thought about a small demonstration to reaffirm their faith but decided it would only succeed in bringing attention to their whereabouts. “Bahr is entirely capable of seeing to our best needs. Keep faith, young sell sword. It would be a shame if I boiled your tongue in your mouth just to keep you quiet.”

  Dorl’s hand flew to his mouth and he walked off, grumbling to himself lest the wizard overhear and take action.

  Skuld leaned close to Anienam and whispered, “Can you really do that?”

  Patting his arm gently, Anienam replied, “Probably, but I don’t really know.”

  Chuckling softly, the former street urchin of Chadra went back to double checking the supplies on the back of the wagon were secure. Their journey promised to be difficult, more so due to them not being able to use the roads from fear of being captured. Fortunately Groge had volunteered to take point and trample a suitable path for horse, rider, and wagon. His massive stride could clear meters of snow without much effort, thus saving them the trouble of digging through the larger drifts.

  He didn’t mind. Walking suited him, giving the Giant the time he needed to get his mind right. It also alleviated the need for pointless conversation. He’d come to enjoy the company of the others but they weren’t Giants. He was surprised to find a longing in his heart to return home. To be among the heat of the forges, even the criticisms of Blekling and the others so content with keeping change from Venheim. Change was coming, Groge mused. Change that none of them had the power or authority to withstand. He wondered if home would remain the home of his youth for much longer.

  Boen watched him lumber away, one hand gently rubbing the stubble on his chin. The big Gaimosian knew what it felt like to be conflicted with internal debate. He’d undergone more than his share in his youth. Being a kingdomless knight was one thing, learning to accept that you would never have a home, a land, no lord to call king,
or a place to raise a family among others of your own kind was disheartening. It had taken Boen several years to come to terms with his lot in life. Once embraced, however, he never looked back.

  “He’ll be fine,” Ironfoot grunted from a nearby stump. He made slow circles with an oiled rag over the top of his battle helm.

  Boen looked down and said, “I’m not worried about the Giant. He’s a strapping lad that could crush us if he chose to. What bothers me is whether or not he’ll discover he has what it takes to make the hard choices when the time comes. A life of solitude isn’t for the weak of heart.”

  “I suppose not,” the Dwarf replied. Part of a strong clan, he found the concept of being a singular warrior oddly frightening. Warriors needed to band together. There was strength in numbers. Weakness dominated those who lacked someone to watch their backs when times grew dark. Ironfoot reluctantly viewed his companions as fellow warriors who, in theory, had his back.

  Boen nodded, his mind already thinking ahead. “Trust me, I know. Groge is a good lad. He’ll be there for us when we need him. Too bad we’re trying not to run in to the enemy. We’re due for a good fight. It’s been too long.”

  “Agreed. We haven’t had a proper battle since the river men,” Ironfoot said. Those memories continued to fade rapidly as each subsequent trial broadened their nightmares. A battle with mere men en route to the jungle was almost a thing too common to recall.

  Boen frowned. A deep foreboding suggested they were about to come to a crossroads where neither of them would ever want to fight again or risk being lost to the iron. He let the thought fade and went back to his own preparations. The time for talk was gradually coming to a close. War was upon them. Gaimosians thrived on warfare.

  * * * * *

  “I don’t expect many of you to understand why we make this agreement,” Ingrid told her assembled rebels. “Bahr’s name alone will change the course of our struggle, but he cannot, nor will I expect him to, stay for longer than his will. We both are sworn to sacred oaths. Today I have sent riders out to the other companies. We will consolidate and engage Lord Jarrik and his Wolfsreik murderers on our terms. Today we begin the quest to reclaim Delranan for ourselves. No longer will the tyranny of a few dominate the lives of all! We were born free and, by the gods, I will see to it that we all meet our ends as free men and women. Today we take the first steps in toppling Harnin One Eye!”