“Hey, give me a hand with this.”
Boen concealed his grin. Finally. He looked up at the man calling for him. Slightly smaller than the Gaimosian, the Wolfsreik soldier beckoned with one hand while his other rested on a log Boen guessed weighed around three hundred pounds. Between them both it was more than manageable. He rolled his shoulders to get the knots of a long day’s ride out as he walked over. Thankfully he’d had the presence of mind to keep his gloves on, otherwise his hands would be ragged slivers of flesh by the end of the night.
Wrapping his muscular arms around the near end of the log, Boen and his partner lifted. It weighed considerably more than his best guess. Grunting, they struggled over to the wall where engineers directed them. Another party relieved them and began emplacing it.
“But damn that was heavy,” the other man exclaimed.
“Too many more of those and I’ll be done for,” Boen agreed without making any of it up. It had been too long since he last exerted himself like that.
Nodding, the trooper continued, “Don’t think this place will ever finish up. We keep building and building, chopping and cutting, and it looks almost like it did before we arrived. Been the longest three weeks of my life.”
Three weeks? How is it possible this has been going on for so long without Ingrid sniffing it out? A blind man would have heard the construction and come to investigate. The only logical explanation is someone’s been bought off. We’ll be heading into a trap. I have to get back and warn the others.
“Hey, you there?”
Jerked out of thought, Boen brushed it off. “Yeah, just didn’t want to think about how much longer we got to go before we can get to the fighting.”
Sizing him up, the other man said, “Big man like you seems like he’d want to fight.” He shrugged haphazardly. “Dunno though. I’d rather be back home in my bakery. This soldier’s life ain’t for me. I figure if I can make it through this ambush we got coming up I might have a chance at getting home alive. Wife and little ones should be happy about that.”
“Home’s a powerful attraction,” Boen said, knowing he lacked any sort of empathy for fighting men away from their own beds. Gaimosians were largely immune to such simplistic notions. “I been at it for a while now. No pension for me. Figure I’ll either get run through or just die of old age when it happens.”
“Not me. I got no plans of dying. Not for that damned One Eye nor any other man. Sure, I’ll kill who needs killing but I ain’t a savage. Been a baker all my life. That’s where it’s at, not out in this cold and snow. Man ought to know better than to act up this time of year.”
If you only knew what was coming. I could kill you without effort and end your misery here. The only factor preventing that was Boen found the other man almost likable. And their conversation was beginning to make his stomach growl.
“You heard anything about when it’s going to happen?” Boen asked despite knowing better. That sort of question would either deliver vital information or mark him for what he was. It was a risk he had to take.
The pause was almost unnatural, making Boen’s hand drift towards the dagger secreted under his torso armor. “Officers are saying within the next few days. A week at most. Good thing too. I’m ready to go home.”
“You two stop right there,” a stern voice commanded.
Boen’s heart jumped and he nearly gave himself away. Both men turned, reluctantly for different reasons. Boen feared being caught; his newfound partner didn’t want to get placed on another work detail. The stiff-backed major marching towards them remained indifferent to their inner turmoil. His look was meaner than necessary, telling Boen he hadn’t been compromised, yet.
“Both of you come with me,” the major ordered.
Boen cast a glance at his counterpart before replying, “Yes sir.”
They wormed through half of the construction area without another word. Boen tried to take in as much as possible, making mental notes of important positions and emplacements, but with so much to see he quickly forgot most of it. Discouraged, the Gaimosian fell in alongside the baker and waited for his orders.
He didn’t wait long. Stopping in front of a series of massive tents, obviously for whoever commanded this detachment, the major wheeled on them. “Wait here. Lord Jarrik needs his trunks moved into the tents. Take extra care with them. Should any item drop or touch the ground I’ll have your flesh stripped from your backs. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir,” they answered in unison.
He left them in silence, both knowing better than to voice their opinions while he was still within earshot. The wait was blissfully short. Reappearing a moment later with a young lieutenant in tow, the major directed them to where they needed to go and what to move. He didn’t wait for a salute before heading off on his next task.
Good riddance as far as Boen was concerned. One part of army life that didn’t agree with him was the overabundance of extra officers lurking in the shadows with menial tasks. Fortunately the younger officer lacked any composure when dealing with what were clearly veterans. He avoided eye contact with Boen entirely, fearing to anger the giant of a man. Utilizing as little actual verbal communication as possible, he directed the pair to the wagon bed of crates.
Boen immediately guessed they were all of the pertinent maps and whatnot of the area the Wolfsreik needed in order to execute the campaign. Not to mention all of Jarrik’s personal belongings. The thought of ruining the enemy lord’s belongings brought a smile to both men. Only one feared the repercussions. This miniscule dilemma brought Boen to a dark place. He was much deeper in the enemy camp than he wanted to be, raising his chances of being caught. He needed to find a quick exit before his carefully crafted plan disintegrated and he found his head separated from his shoulders.
They were down to the final few boxes when a man that could only have been Jarrik rode up. Guards saluted. Soldiers stopped what they were doing and went to attention. Boen’s eyes narrowed as he took in his new foe. That’s when the dark-haired woman with horrible pocks scarring her face emerged. His knowledge of the current Delrananian political system wasn’t what it should be, considering this was the final kingdom in a long journey, but he had gleaned enough from Ingrid and Bahr’s conversations to know she could be none other than Inaella, former leader of the rebellion.
Killing both was certainly achievable. They’d be bleeding out on the trampled snow before any of the guards could react. He’d effectively cut the head from his enemy in the west and, hopefully, give Ingrid and Bahr enough time to accomplish their missions. Sacrifice wasn’t a new concept for Gaimosians. Many had given their lives for the greater good. He wasn’t adverse to the idea though it wouldn’t accomplish much. Artiss Gran said they all needed to arrive at Arlevon Gale if Malweir had even a remote chance of stopping the dark gods’ return. Try as he might, Boen couldn’t figure another way. The idea died as quickly as it had sparked to life. Worse, night was dragging to a close, leaving him with little time to make good his escape.
Boen and the baker finished unloading the last crate and, after he painstakingly took the effort to steal one of Jarrik’s sigils, readied to return to their original work details.
“Wait.”
Boen tensed. He’d been discovered!
Jarrik dismounted and walked up to them. Pulling his riding gloves off, the lord of Delranan extended a hand to each man. “Thank you for taking time to deliver the command tent. I know each of you is exhausted though the work is far from finished. Know that our time is almost upon us. We’ll soon be taking the fight to the enemy. All of your dedication and hard work will come to fruition soon enough. Good night, gentlemen.”
Well, I’ll be. A leader in this miserable kingdom with half a heart. It’s that woman that unnerves me. Not natural for one to be so marked. Her eyes are about as evil as I’ve ever seen. All that hatred will eat her up inside. Smiling, Boen and the baker headed off. There was still much work to be done before the Wolfsreik was ready to ta
ke the battle to the rebellion.
Halfway back to the palisade the baker halted and turned on Boen. “This is where we part ways, my big friend. Been a pleasure working with you. Stay safe out there. We need men like you once this foolishness is over.”
Boen shook his hand but emotions choked him up. As much as he found himself liking his new friend, he knew that sooner or later one of them was going to wind up dead. He much preferred it was baker. Finally, he managed, “You as well. Good night, baker.”
He stood and watched the baker go, briefly wondering where the war was going to take him. Domestic men like that didn’t belong in war. Boen decided it was time to take his leave. He headed towards the perimeter with the excuse of relieving himself. Thoughts of shedding his uncomfortable, stolen armor enticed him to move faster.
SIXTEEN
Change of Command
“Damn it!” Jarrik cursed loudly as his arrow failed to hit the target, again.
Half a dozen shafts stuck up from the snow, leaving the center of his target untouched. He’d never claimed to be an archer. His lack of skill of any sort left no room for doubt in that matter. Jarrik preferred a sword in his hands and to meet the end face to face. Killing from a distance, while effective, wasn’t honorable. Not that there was much honor to go around his beleaguered kingdom of late.
Delranan had fallen into disrepair. A kingless land content on devouring itself from the inside. Jarrik didn’t pretend to understand any longer. His onetime admiration for Harnin dissolved a little more daily. Darkness surrounded the One Eye, so foul Jarrik considered severing ties. The longer the rebellion dragged on the worse Harnin became. Any aspirations of ruling Delranan in his stead slowly bled away.
Hammers clanged in the background. Axes chopped. Saw ground a near perpetual buzzing noise. He thought of trying to blame his archery woes on the construction going on around him but Inaella would see through the ruse with little effort. Discretion the better deed, he kept his complaints private. She’d already grown too desperate since leaving Chadra. There was an illness in her. Residue from the plague perhaps, he wasn’t positive. All he knew was that she was steadily turning into the nightmarish presence Harnin was. What evils can change people so easily? Am I next?
“I would think a lord of Delranan highly capable in all manners of military tactics and weapons,” Inaella’s voice rasped over the cold ground.
Oh how he grew to despise her. The rot devouring his beloved kingdom threatened to consume them all. Abandoning Harnin and Chadra Keep enticed him more as days went by. Loosening his draw, Jarrik turned on the scarred woman. “Feel free to prove yourself my better. I’m in no mood to bandy words with you this morning, Inaella.”
Wordlessly, she closed the distance between them as quickly as a great predator and took the bow from his hands. Her demeanor changed immediately. What grace she possessed was replaced by the poise of a cold-blooded killer. The arrows were longer than her relatively short arms were accustomed to. The bow larger. That didn’t matter. Setting arrow to string, Inaella drew and took aim. A slight breeze wafted through without her so much as blinking. Exhaling slowly, she loosed.
Jarrik sucked his breath in as the shaft sped true, striking the center of the pristine bullseye. Smugly, Inaella turned back to him and gently handed back the bow. “Archery was a hobby for aristocratic women before the war. Choose your insults more wisely next time, Lord Jarrik. Or take the time to do a little research before opening your mouth.”
His teeth audibly ground. “Were it not for Harnin’s orders I would have you quartered before the entire force. Or perhaps you’d enjoy spending the rest of your days servicing the men on the eve of battle?”
His threats were empty and she knew it. Harnin despised both of them, but recognized the need for each if he was going to end the rebellion and focus on the returning ten-thousand-man Wolfsreik coming from the east. Inaella had grown bolder as the days went by. Leaving Chadra gave her new life. Sense of purpose was restored. Each step into the wild brought her closer to the much-anticipated reunion with Ingrid the Usurper. The pain and suffering she had in mind for her former student went beyond anything even the Dae’shan concocted.
She stood defiantly before him, feet planted shoulder width apart, arms folded across her chest. “Enough childish banter. Did you notice anything peculiar about those men who helped download the wagon last night?”
What is she playing at now? “No, why?”
“The bigger one didn’t have a Delrananian accent. Strange, considering we are deep in alleged enemy territory.” The way her lips twisted downward when she pursed them sickened him enough that he looked away.
“What of it? Plenty of mercenaries have come to help fight. Harnin’s coin is as good as any other kingdom’s.” His mind drifted back to their briefing meeting hours ago but, he hesitantly confessed, he’d been much too exhausted to remember much. He vaguely recalled shaking their hands and being wholly impressed with how large the one had been. Men like that were uncommon, easily standing out amongst their peers.
Frowning, Inaella pushed further by adding, “He was no mercenary. The smaller one had the sound and feel of a man from Chadra. The other, the more dangerous-looking one, was a true warrior. Not some mercenary scum or part-time reservist.”
As much as he thought she was grasping for a scapegoat to punish, Jarrik couldn’t risk her being right and not doing anything about it. “Very well. I’ll have the camp scoured and both brought to me. We’ll get to the bottom of your paranoia soon enough.”
“I doubt you’ll find the one I am most interested in. He’ll no doubt be long gone from here by now. The other headed towards the wagons by the palisade.”
She wanted to say more. To issue commands to double the watch. To have commanders on all levels physically verify the identities of everyone in camp. But Jarrik bore the boneheaded stubbornness most men in power suffered from. He’d done things so long in the same fashion that thinking differently was anathema. Kingdoms rotted under such unwillingness to change. No doubt that was among the core causes of the discontent miring her beloved kingdom now.
Having spoken her mind, partially, Inaella excused herself and retired to her tent. She’d had enough of Jarrik’s macho attitudes to last the rest of the campaign. The time had come to begin distancing herself from Jarrik, Harnin, and the entire sordid mess. Her only problem stemmed from not having anywhere else to turn to. She lacked personnel, resources, and the physical presence to change the hearts and minds of the kingdom. Alone, friendless and bitter, Inaella collapsed in on herself daily while secretly looking for a way out, a way to end the abject suffering she was forced to endure from the unending after effects of the plague. Life could be most cruel at times. Most cruel indeed.
Yet no matter how she tried to figure out the course to a better future, her thoughts returned to the dire nature of reality. The sands of her personal hourglass were bleeding through her slender fingers much too quickly for her liking. Logically she should have already died. The strange combination of plague and betrayal certainly left her dead inside. It was only a matter of time before her mortal shell followed.
Inaella snuck a quick glance back at Jarrik, who busied himself with refilling his quiver. Jarrik wasn’t a bad man, she reluctantly decided. The conclusion shocked her. Much of her former life was spent idolizing those in power. She’d dressed in pretty gowns, attended glamorous parties in the name of the king, and traveled across the northern kingdoms carelessly tossing money away. Those days were naught but already fading memory. The madness of the kings of Delranan continually strived to strip their subjects of humanity.
Feral instincts were becoming commonplace among the population. Neighbor turned on neighbor in a ruthless game of survival. Families were torn asunder by fears and rampant paranoia. Several of her kin had been killed. Some thanks to the plague, the others from violence. Inaella had a unique opportunity right at this moment, one drawing to a close with each passing breath. She could pa
ck what scarce belongings were still in her possession and flee south or stay behind to rot alongside the rest of the kingdom. Neither choice enticed her enough to act on. Resigned to whatever inglorious destiny Fate decree, Inaella closed the tent flap.
Jarrik caught the brief flutter of movement from her tent and scowled. The woman was more trouble than she was worth. Her knowledge of the rebellion had proven invaluable during the cleansing of Chadra, but that usefulness eroded the further away from civilization they went. She’d become an increasing liability, one threatening to lead his neck to the hangman’s noose. Jarrik feared the longer the campaign wore on the more Harnin was ready to exterminate their entire command.
Once an ardent supporter of the usurper lord, Jarrik now failed to find any value in his allegiance. The war seemed endless. His holdings in Chadra were gone. The houses of the lords had been among the first targets in the rebellion’s sights. Little by little his wealth bled dry as he was forced to fund his campaign. Jarrik wasn’t particularly brave, despite once having aspirations of attaching himself to Harnin’s coattails in the vain hopes of achieving glory and, very distantly, a chance at the crown.
Delranan continually crumbled around his best efforts. Jarrik took some time before arriving at the only possible conclusion. Harnin One Eye was busily and actively trying to destroy the previous way of life and bring the entire kingdom to ruin. Stopping him was a most grievous waste of time. The fate of the kingdom was decided. It was merely a matter of time before the end came. Jarrik feared for those unable to defend themselves or find safe passage south. Their corpses would fertilize forgotten fields for years without ever being discovered.
The Madness of Gods and Kings Page 13
