“What nonsense is this? We’re all going to die, Dorl. It’s a sad fact of life. Don’t go giving me that sad tale of Lord Death barreling through time to tear you away from all you love long before your time. I’ve heard it before and think it’s rubbish. We’re fighters, Dorl, and fighters don’t succumb to petty weaknesses.”
“Easy for you to say! You don’t know what I’m talking about. You haven’t suffered from the nausea of imaginary fingers curling around my throat when I sleep,” Dorl added quickly.
“Are you sure that wasn’t Rekka feeling particularly frisky?”
Dorl jabbed a finger at his friend. “Leave her out of this!”
“How can I? You’ve been acting like a man with his balls cut off since the two of you became involved, as if you’ve lost your will to fight out of fear of living without her. Or vice versa. I need my old partner back, not the eunuch you’re becoming.”
“What in the hells are you talking about? Eunuch? I’m expressing a feeling no sane man would and you reduce it to mockery!” Dorl fumed.
Holding his hands up, Nothol said, “All right, calm down. I didn’t mean anything by it. But you have to admit, you haven’t been the same since we left Delranan and that frightens me more than I’m comfortable with.”
“You and me both.”
Dorl slowly lowered his hand, ashamed at being so harsh with his best, and until recently, only friend. They’d gone through so much over the last few years he couldn’t imagine facing any sort of danger without Nothol at his side. True friends seldom entered one’s life and were to be treasured when they did. Dorl wasn’t a particularly attractive or witty man. He got by on natural charm and the tenacity of a pit fighter. Life wasn’t especially kind to a man like Dorl Theed so he took what he could, when he could.
“I’m not thinking clearly I suppose,” he broke down and admitted, hoping to get Nothol off of his back. “We tend to say crazy thoughts when we’re tired. Don’t mind me.”
“I have no choice but to mind you, Dorl. We’ve come far, but there’s still more to this messed-up journey. Chances are we’re all going to die when we get to the part with the gods and Dae’shan and whatnot, but that ending hasn’t been written yet. There’s still more fighting for you and I. Don’t dwell on what we can’t change.”
“Keep your sword sharp and your privates protected,” Dorl finished their traditional pre-battle mantra. That finally brought a small grin to his weathered face, though not enough to keep Nothol from worrying further.
Nothol turned around, facing west. “Can you see the wagon?”
“No. We rode out of sight awhile back. Think we should turn around?”
“Bahr wanted us ahead of the main body in case we ran into the enemy. I don’t think he’d want us to come back without good reason. Especially not with Boen still gone,” Nothol answered.
Dorl cocked his head. “He might have come back. The Gaimosian’s not prone to following any traditional protocol in the field. He could come and go without so much as bothering to make sure one of us noticed him leave.”
“Still, can’t hurt to have a Gaimosian along to keep order,” Nothol said.
“Not at all. We’re much stronger with him along. Which means he needs to be riding scout, not us,” Dorl said. “We’re much better in defined bad situations.”
“Agreed. I worked better when those skeletons attacked us under Chadra. Not that I enjoyed it, mind you, but there was no anticipation of what was coming. The skeletons showed up and we fought.”
Dorl recalled the battle in the underground temple and how they’d nearly been killed by the dead, or undead. He still wasn’t sure what the skeletons were supposed to be. There’d been so many of them their small group almost didn’t last. It was only through the late Lord Argis’s contributions they managed to slay the last skeleton and escape back to the surface. Considering all of that, the most of rest of the events on their quest seemed too commonplace. He purposefully ignored any memories of the battle with the Gnaals in the jungle. Some things needed to remain in the past.
“Nothol, I believe it’s time we went back to what we used to make a living with,” Dorl told him. “Odd jobs here and there. The intensity level on this quest is too much for me.”
“I agree but there’s a lack of nobility in Delranan at the moment. We might need to start looking south.”
“The weather’s bound to be better at any rate. I’d almost forgotten how cold winter is.” Dorl’s mind drifted towards roaming the world with Rekka and Nothol at his side. There was little left in the frozen north keeping his interests. Perhaps what he needed was a complete change of scenery.
Nothol shrugged nonchalantly. “I wasn’t overly fond of the humidity in the jungle. It made my skin itch.”
“Worse than the freezing up here?” Dorl couldn’t believe it. The humidity, from what he’d learned from Rekka and Anienam, often broke materials down at an incredible rate. That explains why the villagers of Teng didn’t seem too concerned over clothing or material possessions. I wouldn’t either if they were only going to rot away shortly after getting them. There must be some happy medium where we can settle down and find fat purses. “What about Averon?”
“Don’t you think there’s enough of our sort already down there? I can’t imagine the self-proclaimed high king enjoying having to put up with the two of us for long,” Nothol said and grinned.
He’d only been to Averon once. The splendor of the central kingdom went unmatched by the rest of the world. Gold-capped towers poked high into the sky, pennants waving in the breeze. Vast armies maintained the peace, extending far beyond their own borders. Not since the war with Gren had there been a large struggle on the plains. The people of Averon enjoyed wealth, freedom, and peace for the durations of their lives. It was a dream for those born in the bitter reality of the northern kingdoms.
Now more than ever, the peoples of the north wanted an escape. So many had already fallen--from many kingdoms--that the continuation of their race was in doubt. A war that had originally begun as a feud between kings quickly spread to consume numerous races. They’d witnessed the effects all the way in Drimmen Delf. Anienam theorized the Dwarf civil war was the result of Dae’shan manipulations. Dwarves, Elves, Pell Darga, Goblins, and Men were all involved now.
“People are people,” Dorl replied. “Life has to be easy away from all of this. I’m tired, Nothol. I’ve had enough of our life in Delranan.”
Nothol regarded him quietly. How could he tell Dorl he was struggling with the same emotions, the same feelings of dissatisfaction tugging at his conscience? “We’re all tired. Bahr’s pushing us harder than we’ve ever been pushed before. It’s almost over, Dorl. We’ll be at the ruins soon enough and once Groge smashes whatever he needs to with that hammer we’ll be free to head on to a better life.”
“If any of us are still alive to do so,” Dorl added softly.
He turned his horse and headed back on the trail.
TWENTY-TWO
The Army Moves West
The longer Mahn and Raste remained in the mountains the more anxious King Aurec became. His trusted scouts, men who’d led his beleaguered forces into and out of more terrible situations than any other since the war began, had been gone for far too long for the young king’s liking. Worse, Aurec felt continually restrained as time went by. He’d always known the crown of Rogscroft was meant to be his. Attaining it at such a young age wasn’t in the bargain, but King Badron left him no alternative. The brutal murder of Aurec’s father changed how life would forever be in his tiny kingdom.
Until the siege of the capital city, Aurec had been free to come and go as he pleased. The majority of his time was spent trying to find new ways to stymie the invading Wolfsreik. He was only answerable to his own soldiers. Their lives came before his, at least in his estimation. Others would argue differently. A king’s first duty was to survive. Others were meant to die in his stead. It was a sad fact Aurec wasn’t willing to accept.
> Since being crowned in the tiny celebration in Grunmarrow, Aurec had been strategically kept from the field. His council of advisors and those who automatically assumed they knew best managed to successfully divert his focus from grabbing a horse and riding to the front where he felt most comfortable. Instead of leading troops in the field he was mired with bureaucratic items which devoured his time. Refugees pouring into the capital city. Minor skirmishes with remaining Goblin forces strewn across western Rogscroft. Supply issues. Armory issues. Horses. Wagons. Weapons. Houses. Fresh water. Food. It was so much he wanted to resign. To give his crown, the legacy of his family, to a random passerby. Aurec had just learned a valuable lesson: there was no freedom in royalty.
He stood at the western edge of the main camp as he had every dawn after sending his favorite scouts into the mountains with Cuul Ol. His black bear cloak immediately marked him to everyone within the army camp. None were so foolish as to approach him during these private moments, which was a small grace he was immeasurably grateful for. Running a broken kingdom and conducting one of the largest wars in recent history was taxing beyond belief. The young boy forced into becoming a man was reaching his breaking point.
Five days came and went without sight or sound of Mahn and Raste. Without them, the army was trapped in place. Rolnir and Vajna organized a steady series of drills and training exercises to reinforce a new standard discipline throughout the army. Soldiers being soldiers, there was much grumbling throughout the ranks as they struggled to learn new ways of doing the same old business. It was all coming together nicely, despite varying degrees of difficulty. Aurec couldn’t complain. They had the time to spare, after all.
Sounds of early morning training drills echoed across the open plain, losing itself deep into the mountains. Aurec once enjoyed the sounds of steel clashing. Now he cringed with visions of men being slaughtered for reasons they didn’t understand. War was neither glamorous or to be celebrated. War, in his humble opinion, was one of the worst acts any race could partake in. Some of the best and brightest from each generation ignorantly gave up their lives so that others might live. He didn’t find any value in that. All lives should be considered equally important. Any ruler who thought otherwise didn’t deserve to wear their crown.
“Training is proceeding as well as can be expected,” he told Rolnir at the sound of his boots crunching the fresh layer of frost covering the snow.
Rolnir, nearly twice as old as the king, grinned ruefully. He admired Aurec’s inherent sharpness. It was a good quality for any man planning to sit on a throne for more than a few years. “I don’t have many complaints, though I’ve heard plenty from the men.”
“I’d be worried if they weren’t complaining,” Rolnir replied. “My experience has been that soldiers’ griping is a surefire sign things are going according to plan.”
“Based on that we should be more than prepared for whatever the One Eye has in store for us,” Aurec joked.
The Wolfsreik general couldn’t have agreed more. “Any sign?”
“None. I’m starting to question if sending them back with Cuul Ol was a wise decision.”
Rolnir studied the young king briefly. Fresh lines had formed in the corners of his bright eyes. His hair was shaggier, more unkempt than usual. Aurec had lost weight, they all had. “Don’t waste your time with second guessing. The Pell are worthy allies. While I once viewed them as enemies they’ve proven themselves time and again.”
“That doesn’t negate the possibility of them having an ulterior motivation for coming to my aid. Cuul Ol is an honorable man, though there are others with strong voices less so. You have no idea how difficult it was to convince them to allow my group to pass into and back from Delranan unmolested.” Aurec paused. There was an unspoken tension between Delranan and Rogscroft allies concerning the raid that resulted in the death of Badron’s son. That singular deed sparked the war.
Rolnir ignored the unspoken intent. What was done was done. There was no point in lamenting moments in time that were unchangeable. The only way to maintain any semblance of sanity was by continuing to look ahead. Tomorrow was a new dawn filled with unlimited potential. Thinking anything less was a disservice.
“What’s the first thing you’re going to do once this horrible war is over?” the general asked softly. Too much time wasted on deep thoughts helped to break a man.
“I need to find Maleela. My heart tells me she yet lives. I’m nothing without her, Rolnir. She and I were supposed to be married.” Sadness tainted his voice.
Rolnir reached out to lay a rough hand on Aurec’s forearm. “I give you my word that I will assist you. She may be the love of your life, but she is my princess. What sort of man would I be if I didn’t at least try?”
“Thank you,” Aurec said with tears welling.
Rolnir smiled briefly before his eyes fell on a pair of figures riding back from the Murdes Mountains. “It appears our scouts have returned.”
XXXX
“No tricks? The Pell will help?” Aurec asked.
Mahn ran a weathered hand through his thinning hair and swallowed another mouthful of water. “Yes, Sire. There was resistance but Cuul was finally able to sway the others.”
“You paused. What else concerns you?” Rolnir asked sharply.
Mahn appreciated Rolnir’s ability to catch minor details. He had indeed been reluctant to offer the other piece of information. Aurec needed all of the positive news he could get. Mahn felt guilty for bringing even a sliver of bad news back. “Sire, I believe we need to move quickly. Cuul Ol still controls the main vote among the elders but his support is weakening. Many of the other chieftains are of the mind to leave us to our worries. Something about having been through this all before in another land. I honestly don’t think we can continue to trust the Pell Darga in the same manner as we have.”
Aurec was no fool. Inexperienced yes, but never a fool. His father taught him better than that. Aurec always felt his alliance with the Pell Darga was based on mutual benefit. From what he could tell, Cuul Ol had no benefit in allowing the lowland armies to cross the Murdes Mountains at will. How much longer would it be before they decided the Pell were a nuisance and seek to either turn on their former allies or turn their backs entirely? Alliances were only as good as either party needed them.
“We’ve enjoyed a healthy relationship with Cuul Ol over the last half year,” Aurec said, choosing his words carefully. “Should the Pell chieftains decide to sever our alliance we will naturally abide. Good relations are necessary if we’re to rebuild both Rogscroft and Delranan.”
“Relations that might need to take into account alternate routes between our kingdoms,” Rolnir countered. “The mountain passes will be useless should the Pell choose to betray us.”
“I don’t get the feeling that Cuul will allow for any betrayal so long as he remains in control,” Mahn said, shaking his head. “He’s very powerful.”
Aurec nodded. “Unfortunately those in power are apt to lose it quickly. If the other chieftains are as insistent on changing command as you suggest, Cuul might find a short spear wedged between his shoulders.”
There was no denying the logic in his statement. If any of the chieftains wanted control, they wouldn’t hesitate to reach out and claim it. The internal problems the Pell suffered weren’t his concern at the moment. He needed to get twenty thousand soldiers with full equipment and supplies across one of the deadliest mountain ranges in Malweir and have them arrive in fighting shape for what promised to be a long campaign that would test loyalties and strain allies.
Rolnir paused to clear his thoughts. He didn’t relish the idea of having to fight the Pell on their terrain again. The first time bore near-disastrous results for the Wolfsreik. It certainly ground the offensive to a crawl as supply trains were all but obliterated in the passes. The general theorized marching past burned wagons and frozen corpses of half-forgotten friends wouldn’t sit well with many of the army. Maintaining discipline was going to be
even more important on the return trip.
“I’ll order the infantry to double their watch just in case,” he said.
Aurec fixed him with a curious stare. “You don’t seem to have much faith in our allies.”
“Faith is something earned, not given. Once we get the army down on the flatlands in Delranan safely and begin the next stage of our campaign will the Pell have retained my confidence.” Rolnir was ever the pragmatic man.
The king nodded. “Fair enough. Mahn, when will the Pell be ready to guide us through?”
“Now. Cuul Ol and several others have emplaced at the foot of the mountains to begin guiding us through,” the scout replied quickly. “They claim we should be nearly finished with the crossing in only a matter of days.”
“Days? To move an army this size?” General Vajna asked, not believing a word.
Mahn nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”
“Did you get to see these passes?” Piper Joach asked from his stool beside the fire. He’d avoided most of the conversation out of principle. All he needed were orders and the ability to shift laterally as he saw fit. The rest could be accomplished without his interference.
“We did not, but I have them marked on the map,” the scout said. Seeing where the line of questioning was headed, he preempted the next obvious question. “I have no reason to believe we are being led into a trap. Cuul Ol himself will be awaiting us. I think the Pell, for the most part, understand the necessity of this war and want to help in any way possible. It’s only a few rabble-rousers keeping the fires of dissent from burning out.”
Rolnir, satisfied by the answer, asked, “Will they continue to honor their military commitments? We’ve got a tough campaign ahead of us and, frankly, I’m not overly keen on using the Wolfsreik to subdue my own population. Badron may have been a world-class lunatic without regard for personal life but the people of Delranan aren’t like that. We sorely need the Pell to take out the first line of defenses Harnin has established.”
The Madness of Gods and Kings Page 19
