After several tense moments of silence Raste finally said, “You should be one of the old, grey-bearded scholars at the academy. Scout life doesn’t agree with you any longer.”
Mahn chuckled absently. The boy had a point. His merriment was disturbed by Cuul Ol summoning them to the chieftain fire. Hesitant, Mahn obeyed. The scouts were unceremoniously invited to sit alongside the chiefs, war-hardened men of distinction among the clans. No fop made it through the trials to assume leadership of a clan. Each eyed the scouts with the strange combination of admiration and mistrust.
“You being here again is most unusual,” Cuul began.
Gol Mad, the Pell warrior initially sent to Aurec with news of the Pell’s decision to help with the war, seemed almost upset, thus living up to his name. “You should not be here. This is sacred to Pell.”
Mahn held out his hands, palms up. “We come with the greatest respect for the people of the Pell Darga. It is not our intent to spy upon you.”
He cursed silently, wishing Aurec would have sent a proper statesman. But Cuul Ol had insisted on the scouts. Perhaps there was something to be said for familiarity. Mahn wasn’t the sort born with a golden tongue. He handled his own when it came to verbal duels in the barracks. Most soldiers were low on wit, but dealing as an ambassador for his entire people was almost too much for him to handle. Almost. Reservations aside, he intended on making the most of the situation. After all, his life hung in the balance.
Sint Ap had been opposed to aiding the lowlanders from the beginning. His pinched face and narrow eyes looked upon the scouts with obvious distaste. “Your wars are not our problem. We live here. Not on lowlands. Keep your wars to yourselves.”
“You have to see this war affects us all. How many Pell have died since the Wolf soldiers invaded Rogscroft?”
“Too many,” Cuul Ol replied sadly.
“Should Badron or Harnin One Eye succeed, your entire race will burn. Their hatred knows no moral constraint. Their soldiers, and Goblins, will march into the mountains and hunt you down to the last child for what you’ve done to help King Aurec. No one is safe.” Mahn rocked back on his cushion, hoping his words bore enough weight to persuade the secretive mountain people.
“Pell will fight!” Gol Mad shouted as he slammed his spear butt into the compact ground.
“Not against what is coming,” Mahn countered, growing tiresome. “No one can withstand the power of this evil if we do not band together. All we ask is that you grant us passage through your secret paths so that we may take the war back to Delranan where it was spawned. King Aurec does not ask you to fight with us.”
The Pell bickered amongst themselves, deepening Mahn’s worry. He’d seen what they were capable of on the battlefield. The Goblin slaughter was some of the fiercest combat he could imagine and the Pell handled it without hesitation. How anyone could willingly undertake such savageness was beyond Mahn. Like his young counterpart, he only killed when necessary. Everything else was a waste of life.
Unsure where to turn next, he offered Raste a false smile and waited. What else was there? The Pell would either agree or not. He’d spoken his piece as compellingly as he could. Men were fickle beings, capable of immense violence or creations of grandeur rivaling the gods. He’d seen the best and worst over the course of his life and now prayed that the best would return. Too many sleepless nights of strife tortured him. It was time for change.
Cuul Ol at last broke away from the conversation and looked Mahn in the eyes. There was wildness Mahn had seldom seen lurking behind the dark brown. “We will show you secret ways. And we will fight!”
EIGHTEEN
Decision Factors
Swords clashed. Spears were leveled, shields raised. Horses cried out in bloodless screams. The roar of thousands of soldiers crashing together echoed across the frozen lands. Arrows hissed across the sky and struck their targets with deafening thwacks. Men roared as the two lines collided. The sound was as thunder rumbling through the heavens.
General Rolnir and King Aurec stood atop a small knoll watching with active interest. Fists clenched, the freshly crowned king of Rogscroft felt his blood boil. Not a true warrior, the young king received a forced education over the course of winter. The worst thing he had ever done was watch his soldiers die while executing his orders. The pain in such knowledge was irreversible. How was he supposed to go to the families of the deceased and express condolences when their deaths were his fault? How my father managed for so many years is beyond me. But then again, we weren’t in a war like this.
Tamed by a lifetime of preparing for combat, Rolnir was the exact opposite. Where Aurec saw savage movements and loss of life, Rolnir looked for errors, tactical judgments of field commanders. A consummate professional, the general of the Wolfsreik lived for his soldiers and the thrill of the hunt. Each battle presented unique challenges and circumstances that were virtually impossible to duplicate. He enjoyed the thrill of the challenge. Matching wits with the enemy commander was the ultimate game. There was no other feeling quite like it.
“The men are rusty,” he offered. His tone was callous, measured.
Aurec didn’t agree. “They seem fine to me. I’ve never been in such a frenzied battle.”
“Your Highness, take my word for it, the lack of recent fighting has left these soldiers rusty. A few more training drills and they’ll be ready for a real fight.”
As a prince growing up in the castle, he was privileged enough to watch his father’s soldiers and royal guards go through endless training exercises. All of his childhood amazements and wonder inspired countless dreams and mock battles with sticks plucked from the gardens. The commanders humored him, offering miniscule classes on how to fight or defend himself. Aurec was adopted as a sort of mascot but his presence only detracted from training.
“I wish I had more to offer, but I’ll trust you, General,” he said. Admitting he wasn’t the supreme authority on everything was good for his ego from time to time. Too many leaders simply assumed they knew everything. He refused to fall into that trap. “How long will it take for them to be ready to attack Harnin?”
Rolnir scratched his jaw. “We could attack the moment the first infantry battalions arrive on the lowlands. That’s not the issue. Arriving piecemeal into whatever his defenses are will grind us to dust. We need to attack in force. I imagine even a poorly trained army of this size could sweep through him in a single day. Our largest problem is getting three armies’ worth of soldiers to set aside their training in order to incorporate one united training method. Which brings me, or rather you, to an important crossroad.”
“That being?” Aurec asked. He tensed, dreading further criticism.
Fixing him with a stern look, Rolnir said, “You need to establish definitions for victory. Going there to fight is well and fine but the army needs to know what the overall objectives are.”
Not the conversation I wanted this morning but one that can’t be put off any longer. Not if I want our army to survive the coming fight. Father, I wish you were here to guide me. Sometimes I feel so lost without you. Thankfully he had Venten and a host of others with more than enough experience. Reluctantly, he turned from the mock fighting just before the two lines of opposing cavalry crossed.
“Summon the council and tell them it’s going to be a long day,” he said and sighed. There were times when being in charge had more downfalls than pleasantries. Today was going to be one.
* * * * *
Command Sergeant Major Thorsson loathed going back inside the command group tents. While being in a warm environment away from the elements was fine, he felt the longer he was in his current position the more he missed being around the soldiers. Stagnation crept in around his naturally rough demeanor and he didn’t like it. Some soldiers were meant to fight, others to lead. He preferred fighting.
“You can’t delay for too long.”
Frowning, he turned to see Venten marching towards him. Already aged enough to retire, and then some,
the former advisor to the king and mentor to Aurec turned brevet general, walked with a pronounced limp. Physically he wasn’t half the man he’d once been, but his mind was sharp as a whip. He also understood how a man like Thorsson wasn’t prone to sitting through pointless meetings where those who didn’t fight theorized.
“That’s easy for you to say,” Thorsson replied. “How do you manage?”
Venten chuckled. “I’ve been doing it for so long I know when to pay attention and when to avoid falling asleep.”
“I feel like stabbing my eyes out listening to them drone on,” Thorsson admitted. “I never thought it was going to be harder than actual combat.”
“You’ve seen nothing yet. Wait until Aurec establishes his court in Rogscroft. You’ll put in for retirement faster than you agreed to accept this position,” Venten said with a playful slap on the back.
“That’s not encouraging,” Thorsson scowled.
Together they entered the main command tent. Thorsson was relieved that no one else had arrived. He didn’t like it when they all stared at him for being a few moments late. And, this way, he got to pick his seat. His brief stint in the command world left him with the distinct impression that sergeants were frowned upon by senior leadership, despite the fact they were the backbone of the army. Guess it’s always been like that. The men who do the fighting go unremembered while the genius who thinks up the plans gets the fame and glory. Not that I ever wanted to be famous, but there comes a point when a little recognition is due. If not for me at least for the troops.
Sensing his turmoil, Venten poured two mugs of coffee and handed Thorsson one. “You realize they value your insights?”
“I wonder at times,” he replied. The coffee burned his lips but instantly warmed him.
“Understandable. I was once much lower than you, if that helps. Performing menial tasks that I felt certain the people in power didn’t appreciate or even know about. For the most part I was right. Those in power don’t tend to think about the results of their orders. Aurec is different. He always has been.”
“In what ways?” Thorsson asked. His interaction with royalty had been severely nonexistent until the siege. Of course he’d seen Stelskor and Aurec but never had the pleasure of speaking to either. His life revolved around soldiers. Being in the thick of things gave him purpose, a sense of direction. The sergeant major stumbled through his current position, often reverting back to his simple sergeant days when he wasn’t accountable to anyone but his own soldiers.
Venten swallowed a mouthful of the slightly burnt coffee. He was amazed that after all of his years of experience he still hadn’t tasted anything worth calling coffee. “You bring dimension to the group. Generals and field commanders are all well and fine but the king needs to hear the voice of the common soldier. We can sit here all day long theorizing this tactic or that, but it’s the soldiers who are going to execute our orders. Small-unit commanders and sergeants are vital in the war effort. The king is busy incorporating a new academy system to develop the lower ranks. So far as I know there is no other kingdom attempting such.”
Thorsson saw the raw potential a leader-development system offered. An army that didn’t rely on generals or nobles! He found excitement in the concept. Soldiers would fight harder for their direct supervisors. These were the men on the line right beside the soldiers. Death was just as likely to strike the low-level leader as it was the new soldier. He imagined there might be loyalty or discipline issues, but the benefits would heavily outweigh the detractors.
“We’d be unmatched,” he partially whispered.
Venten cocked his head. “As long as it works. We’d still have to contend with powerful armies in the future. Who’s to say how long the Wolfsreik will remain our allies? Politics change so rapidly there’s no point in predicting.”
The tent opened, allowing Aurec, Vajna, Rolnir, and Piper Joach to file in and take up their seats.
Aurec visibly brightened when his gaze fell on Venten. Now more than ever he felt the need to console his inner turmoil with his old friend and mentor. Leading a kingdom was far more difficult than he imagined, much less trying to rebuild the ruins of one while prosecuting a war simultaneously.
“Good, you’re both here,” he said as he acknowledged both Venten and Thorsson. The newly minted command sergeant major seemed different, more attentive perhaps. Aurec shook it off and began, “Gentlemen, I’ve summoned this impromptu meeting because General Rolnir has brought up valid points I, up until this point, hadn’t considered. For simplicity’s sake, we need to know what our objectives are for winning this war. Thoughts?”
Venten couldn’t keep the grin from his face. Young Aurec is learning quickly what it means to be king and a true leader. Rogscroft will be in good hands for many years, so long as he doesn’t get killed before the end of this war. “We’ve already accomplished our primary task: driving Badron and his Goblin filth out of Rogscroft. The kingdom is largely secure and we are in the reconstruction phase. If we go by those parameters we have already achieved victory.”
“While I agree with most of what you say, I’d argue your victory is temporary at best,” Rolnir countered immediately. Arms folded across his chest, the Wolfsreik general was working through multiple scenarios in his head. “Once Badron returns to Delranan, his focus will be on Harnin One Eye. Should he find victory, he’ll be back.”
“With what army?” Vajna asked. “The strength of Delranan is now allied with us. For which I am eternally grateful, by the way. Even if he managed to raise an army he’d still have to cross the Murdes Mountains and deal with the wrath of the Pell Darga.”
“Vajna brings forth a good point. Where would Badron find a fighting force capable of mounting an invasion?” Venten asked.
Rolnir offered a deadpan look. “Goblins.”
“We defeated them already. What remains are ghosts of their former strength,” Aurec said.
Shaking his head, Rolnir continued, “We destroyed this army. Goblins breed faster than any other race in Malweir. It is not inconceivable for them to have another, larger force en route to offer support for the first army.”
“Rogscroft has no proper defense to stop another invasion,” Vajna said. His face had gone ashen with the thought of another Goblin invasion.
“Not with the war in the west under way,” Rolnir confirmed.
Aurec, feeling the conversation was heading in the wrong direction for what he wanted, interrupted, “Bringing us back to my original point. What constitutes victory in the west? If there is even the remotest possibility of another Goblin army marching on us, we need to conduct our campaign quickly and return home. Personally I have no aspirations of occupying Delranan.”
“Then victory would fall on capturing or killing Badron and Harnin and emplacing a proper monarchy,” Venten added. Decades of political experience made him take the leap quickly.
“The royal family is no more,” Piper cut in. “Badron’s only son was murdered. His daughter has disappeared, more than likely dead. His brother is no better than a pirate, seldom home to mind his own kingdom. Who would we place upon the throne?”
Aurec’s face darkened at the mention of Maleela. His heart bled for his love. Not knowing whether she lived or not all but crippled him on those lonely nights when life grew too difficult to bear. Still, he couldn’t let that detract from what needed to be done.
Surprisingly, Rolnir spoke next. “Perhaps it is time for new leadership. Badron’s family has held the throne for generations. Delranan has collapsed under their rule. A man like Venten would bring us out of the darkness.”
“There is no one in the entire kingdom worthy of that title,” Piper snapped. The shadows under his eyes suggested a dearth of sleep, making him edgy.
“What do you say, Venten? Care to become a regent?” Aurec asked, half-playfully.
The older Venten had nothing to say.
Aurec continued, “So, we finish Badron and Harnin. I suggest disbanding whatever military
and police forces currently in place. I have no intentions of leaving an occupying force once we cut the head from the snake. Who we leave in command is as important as ending this campaign quickly but I think it’s too early to begin serious discussion on the matter.”
“It seems our dilemma is solved,” Rolnir said thoughtfully. “Victory means the immediate and irreversible removal of both Badron and Harnin and the disbandment of all uniformed services. Naturally the Wolfsreik will need to deploy around the kingdom in order to maintain peace and stability. We’re not exactly trained for support and stability operations but our time here in Rogscroft has helped.”
“Under the circumstances I would have to agree. We’ve yet to encounter any citizens in the towns or villages who have anything negative to say about your soldiers,” Venten complimented. It was a minor mercy for which he was eternally grateful. Too many armies carried out campaigns that left the conquered kingdom pillaged of resources and life. That Rolnir managed to prevent the same from happening to Rogscroft was both a wonder and a blessing.
Rolnir nodded his appreciation. “They’d best not. Discipline has always been one of our strongest principles. I expect my soldiers to live under the same code of honor I do.”
“A matter I want you to instill in the rest of the army. Combining three kingdoms’ worth of traditions, doctrine, and standards isn’t an easy task. I certainly don’t envy you but I wouldn’t think of having another in your place.” Aurec panned the room. “We have the chance to make history. Through our actions, the blood of our soldiers, and the courage of those we intend to liberate, we can achieve a feat that has seldom been accomplished. The north will be free from this dark malaise and our two kingdoms will finally know peace and prosperity.”
The Madness of Gods and Kings Page 15
