The Madness of Gods and Kings

by Christian Warren Freed

“Isn’t it?” the wizard asked innocently enough.

  Slightly exasperated, Bahr turned to him and replied, “No. We’ve all killed during this quest. Yourself included. I don’t hold any particular reservations towards taking a life, especially when it comes down to them or one of my friends. But I have an issue with murder. The absence of morality bothers me more than I want to admit.”

  “The mark of a good man. Very few in this day and age have the moral compass that you do. I feel confident that you’re in charge when I think on that particular fact. Very confident indeed.” Anienam fell silent, having said all he needed to.

  Bahr stayed quiet for a while. The scenery remained unchanged. An endless sea of pristine white intermingled with spears of faded green and brown. The occasional hawk or snow eagle circled overhead. Most complained of the extreme cold, but Bahr found comfort in being alone in such wild conditions. He enjoyed the company of his thoughts. The only sound were the wagon wheels creaking and groaning. These moments didn’t last. They rarely did. Inevitably someone had to speak. If not for the stigma of being a hermit, Bahr might have already wandered off into the unexplored wilderness of Malweir, never to be seen again.

  His mind felt calmer after the short period of quiet. Refreshed for reasons beyond his comprehension, Bahr turned to Anienam and said, “Thank you.”

  Anienam reached out and pat Bahr’s leg. “You have no reason to doubt yourself. There is no other being I would entrust our lives to. No one.”

  Comforted by the wizard’s admission, Bahr flicked the reins and looked forward. Arlevon Gale was drawing closer.

  * * * * *

  Skaning slammed his fist onto the charred desk. “Why am I just now hearing of this?”

  The young reserve sergeant swallowed his rising fear. “Sir, we’ve only just discovered their involvement in the assault. Chances are their group was far away by the time the battle was finished.”

  “That’s not good enough, sergeant. How am I supposed to explain to Lord Harnin that the king’s brother was here and escaped without us even knowing of it?”

  Secretly the sergeant was thankful that task didn’t fall on his shoulders. Coming to see Skaning was bad enough. He couldn’t imagine standing before the dreaded One Eye. Not and living to see the next dawn. Thankfully, Skaning continued his tirade, preventing the sergeant from replying.

  “This is unacceptable! We had the rebellion and Bahr within our grasps only to let them slip away unmolested. Bring me my commanders. I want the Sea Wolf caught. Perhaps then Harnin will forgive our failures.”

  Saluting briskly, the sergeant dashed off before Skaning had the chance to change his mind. Less than an hour later all of Skaning’s and Jarrik’s former commanders stood before the young lord, shifting nervously from foot to foot. Eyes cast in corners, hoping to find that same nervousness in their peers. These were troubling times in the kingdom. Jarrik’s apparent suicide followed by Inaella’s disappearing into the wilderness left many loyalists unsure of where they stood. Skaning marched to the redoubt with orders to kill the leadership and assume command. The few that managed to survive the rebellion assault anxiously awaited their fates.

  Skaning didn’t care for any of that. His sole focus rested on catching Bahr and producing a trophy worthy of keeping his head attached when Harnin learned of the battle’s events. He drew a deep breath and narrowed his gaze. “The battle against the rebels did not go accordingly. You all are responsible for the deaths of too many loyal soldiers. Soldiers that are sorely needed on the eastern front.”

  More shifting. A nervous gulp. Eyes growing large.

  “What concerns me most is the Sea Wolf was nearby and none of you knew it. Finding him is our first priority. I want Bahr’s head on this desk as soon as possible. Do I make myself understood?” His hardened gaze swept the room.

  Heads nodded. A few murmured consent. Whether Skaning’s or Jarrik’s, these men were all his now. His fate would be theirs.

  “Now go. Bring me Bahr’s head.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Hunted

  The battle with the brigands ended almost as quickly as it developed. Ill-advised battles often did. Bahr ordered the bodies buried not far from the campsite. This far away from civilization there was scant chance of them being discovered any time soon. He didn’t recall hearing about bandits this far west and wondered what foulness drove them so far away from the rest of the kingdom they risked death from the elements. There was but one answer. Harnin One Eye. Delranan must have fallen far for criminals to take such dire measures.

  Bahr had little time to spare on random thoughts. They were dead and buried, already forgotten by the rest of the world. His concern lay on pushing the quest ahead. They packed up shortly after dawn and headed east on the nearest road winding through the forest. Snow dropped from overladen branches, crashing down in the unseen distance. Horses jumped at the sound. Riders soothed them accordingly while keeping a clear eye out for more brigands.

  The sun rose without being witnessed. Storm clouds darkened the horizon. Bahr took it as an ill omen. Even after a long, uneventful night he still couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched and hunted. Rather than expose his concerns and potentially needlessly worry the others, Bahr kept quiet as he guided the wagon. His eyes never stopped roving, however, for being caught unawares like the prior night might spell disaster.

  There was a lethargic air surrounding the quest. Few of them managed to sit erect in their saddles any longer. Ground down by constant travel and a seemingly unending string of small engagements with various enemies, the group struggled just to get up in the mornings. Only Rekka seemed unaffected by their ordeal. The diminutive woman from the Jungles of Brodein carried on as if she’d been born into it. Bahr had to admire her. Without even knowing it she was the glue that kept them all together when times grew too dark.

  He paused to consider her blossoming relationship with Dorl. It was the worst-kept secret among the group. The only one who didn’t know was dead back in the jungle, but Ionascu never cared much for any of them. His loss was more of a blessing, liberating them from the burden of having to care and worry over an invalid. Ionascu’s treachery brought him to a well-deserved end, but Bahr took little comfort in his loss. Something must have gone extremely wrong for Maleela to snap and take his life. Compounding Bahr’s misery, his niece was missing and there was nothing he could do for her.

  Life seldom asks what we think or want. It takes and gives as it sees fit. Bahr rode on, trying to abandon thoughts of his niece and refocusing back on Dorl and Rekka Jel. Awkward as it seemed, their relationship suited them. Bahr once longed for the same, until he realized life wasn’t meant to be that simple for him. Turning his back on Delranan had been more than difficult, it was downright intolerable. He knew that he was going to die without producing an heir. Without knowing a woman’s love. A true woman, not a midnight dalliance with a nameless lass he didn’t intend on seeing more than once or twice. The weight of that sacrifice drove him down.

  That two entirely opposite people could find love in the middle of what might well be the end of the world astounded him. A skeptic might think otherwise. That it was impossible for anyone to find love under the constant threat of death. Bahr knew better. The simple looks they gave each other confirmed it. The way they held hands when they thought no one was looking warmed his heart. Oddly, he felt embarrassed when one of them caught his stares.

  Broaching the subject with any of the others was pointless. They’d mock him for spying and play it off for him being overly sentimental in his twilight years. Suddenly foolish, Bahr knew he wouldn’t be able to defend his position. He was the rock. Their anchor in the storm. The slightest hint of supposed weakness would crack their increasingly desperate, fragile shell beyond the point of repair. Bahr, of all people, needed to remain strong. He was a pillar beckoning them to the very end, whatever that may be.

  He never wanted the weight of that responsibility. It was one of the reasons he turned
his back on family and left Delranan in search of his own name. Bahr was remarkably strong. His will was iron, unbreakable. What he lacked was the desire to be a leader. Greatness comes for a man in its own time. Bahr was subsumed by the desires of many far beyond his reckoning. Delranan would live or burn away in the fires of agony all at his discretion. Such choices should never be made by a single being.

  Anienam tried to condition the Sea Wolf from the moment he turned up on Bahr’s doorstep all those months ago. Barely a season had gone by, but the days dragged endlessly. The burden of decades heaped upon their shoulders. Questions formed. Impossible to answer, they furrowed brows in confusion and the slightest hint of despair. How many more battles could they endure before all hope abandoned them? Who would live to see the end, if any? Did glory await them under the premise of salvation or was it a hole in the cold earth? Bahr internalized all of these issues before arriving at one inescapable conclusion: he didn’t know.

  The wagon plodded forward as he lost himself deep in seemingly irreverent thought. So engrossed was he, he failed to notice Anienam Keiss slowly turn his head towards him. Judgment was being reserved.

  “Why do you keep spooking?”

  Dorl glanced at Nothol. “We’re being hunted, Nothol. I can feel it.”

  “You’re being paranoid. I doubt there’s another soul within twenty leagues.”

  Nothol’s carefree attitude didn’t translate this time. Dorl tried, unsuccessfully, to abandon his feelings of dread only to find them infinitely stronger as time progressed. This unbidden fear affected every aspect of his life and it trembled his knees. He wasn’t a man prone to giving in to his emotions. Life was hard. Hiding from it made little sense to the sell sword. A fighter by trade, Dorl Theed was suddenly faced with the nearly overwhelming desire to turn and run. The shame was almost unbearable.

  He fixed Nothol with a baleful glare. “Just like those bandits we ran into, right? Nothol, we’ve been hounded from the moment we broke out of Harnin’s dungeons. I think Skuld is the only one of us who hasn’t been wounded.”

  “Lucky bastard,” Nothol agreed wistfully.

  Dorl paused to nod. He had his share of scars crisscrossing his body but the boy proved remarkably fortunate thus far. “Every time we think we’re finally in the clear something else pops up to block our way. Mark my words, we’re being hunted.”

  Nothol made a show of looking around. “By whom? You might not have noticed, but we’re in the ass end of the world.”

  “Agreed but we don’t seem to have an issue with running into people. The rebellion found us easily enough. Then there was that mishap with the assault on Harnin’s new fort. The bandits, need I continue?”

  Observantly recognizing he wasn’t going to win, Nothol caved, slightly. “Fine. You think we’re being hunted. I ask by whom? I’ve got your back no matter what, my friend, but I need to have an idea what’s coming up against us. Otherwise I’ll just be sitting here aloof like certain others among our illustrious party.”

  His voice lowered ominously at the last sentence, lending the ruffled sell sword a nefarious appeal. A small part of him enjoyed the conspiratorial aspect of it all. Twisting Dorl’s words against him wasn’t as challenging as it had once been, but it still offered a measure of friendly maliciousness. He regarded his friend for a few moments longer in hopes of getting a rise, looking away only when Dorl refused to play by the rules.

  “Dorl, who’s coming for us?” he asked in all seriousness.

  For once, Dorl Theed didn’t have any answers. He gave Nothol a mournful look before resuming his watch on the surrounding forest. Scratching branches reminded him of wicked fingers raking frozen glass. All of the evil he’d seen during this quest inspired fresh terrors he’d never thought possible. Visions of the Gnaal left him scarred emotionally. Their nightmarish forms were beyond mortal comprehension. Such creatures weren’t meant to exist. So why had the Mages created them in the first place? He failed to imagine the depths of depravity necessary to envision such a monster.

  He liked to think he was a simple man. Dorl lived by a lone code. Take care of your friends and they’ll take care of you. Hopefully. He and Nothol had stuck by each other through numerous adventures, though more adequately categorized as mishaps, making them uniquely qualified to undertake this quest.

  Perhaps Anienam had known all along. The old man was enigmatic if nothing else. When he spoke it was in riddles. Infuriating, to be sure, but Dorl thought it necessary given the severity of what they were about to endure. To struggle through centuries of an endless war in the hopes, slim as they might be, of finally defeating the eternal enemy must be frightening. Friendless, the last wizard scoured the lands in search of those handpicked by the gods. The very thought left Dorl weak.

  Neither wealthy nor particularly brave, Dorl Theed was content with just being a good man. He stumbled through life making the best of bad situations, which was a lesson he’d do well to remember out in the forest. Chosen by the gods? Now that the thought took shape he couldn’t get past it. What did it mean? Why was he, of all people, chosen to step forward and defend, defend what exactly? He still wasn’t sure. Assuming it would be far too presumptuous to second guess the gods, Dorl went along for the ride. Living or dying didn’t mean much until Rekka became involved.

  Rekka Jel. Dorl reluctantly admitted that she was largely, though inadvertently, to blame for his sudden hesitancy towards fighting. Did he want to live more than before? Was she the sole reason he held life in higher regard? He’d never known love before. The thought that it might happen to him was preposterous. He was a sell sword, prone to drinking, whoring, and taking fat purses for minimal work. The prospect of dying, now that he’d fallen deeper in love than he was willing to admit, left him rattled.

  Crazy as it sounded, Rekka had become his world. He’d willingly lay down his life for her, knowing in his heart she’d do the same without question. There was only one other in all Malweir he felt confident enough in to do the same. Nothol Coll. Blessed to have such friends, Dorl started to rethink his inability to relax. If they were being hunted, not for the first time since leaving Delranan, there was absolutely nothing he could do to change it. Mind locked deep in conflict, Dorl was left with one conclusion.

  “Let the bastards come,” he mumbled under his breath.

  Nothol eyed him strangely but kept his lips shut.

  Luck abandoned them a few hours later when they stumbled upon a trail of freshly crisscrossing horse tracks. Nothol peered down, knowing instinctively that the depth of the prints meant heavily armed and armored riders. Wolfsreik. He didn’t recall any of the rebels wearing decent armor and, to the best of his knowledge, they hadn’t ranged this far east yet. He was about to tell Dorl when a horn blast rattled nearby tree branches.

  “Dorl, ride back to the wagon and tell Bahr to push the pace. We’re going to have company soon,” he ordered. Panic danced in his tone. The prospect of confronting a heavily armed force of semi-professional soldiers blanched the experienced sell sword. He’d listened to Boen’s recounting of the assault and had seen the real Wolfsreik in action during various raids and police actions. Even with a Gaimosian and slightly demented wizard in their company, Nothol knew they just didn’t have enough to withstand a serious assault.

  Dorl instantly recognized the spark of fear in his best friend’s eyes and wheeled his horse about wordlessly. Heels dug in and horse and rider took off at a sprint. Time slipped through their fingers as he desperately attempted to salvage their quest before the snows ran red with blood. A second horn blast sent chills through him. Dorl didn’t dare look back. Couldn’t think of his friend alone against the tide. Visions of battles yet to come, battles turned violently into slaughter, haunted every stride. He not only rode for his life, but for the very life of the world. It was a daunting task for anyone, much less a small-time sell sword on the verge of losing his nerve entirely. Dorl rode harder.

  * * * * *

  The thunder of hooves so
unded angrily across the late afternoon sky. Snow kicked up with each hoof as the leagues raced by. Wolf skin cloaks trailed behind the riders, all mercenaries under Skaning’s personal command. Their faces were grim and nearly frozen. Normally chalky skin was bright red. Ice crystals formed in eyebrows, moustaches, and beards. They gripped their reins with murderous intent. Each was eager to be the one to claim Bahr, brother of Badron, for his own. What better trophy could there be than the head of the brother of the deposed king?

  Broken down into twenty-man units, the mercenaries spread out in a wide semi-circle meant to force Bahr back towards Chadra. Skaning already sent riders ahead to wait for word while he concentrated the rest of his two-thousand-man force for the final push to destroy the rebellion. Capturing Bahr became a secondary objective. He admitted it always had been. His only purpose in executing the task was to achieve greater glory in Harnin’s eyes and cement his place in the new Delranan.

  His true intent was to seek out and thoroughly destroy the rebellion to the point where there’d be no regeneration. Ingrid’s days were numbered. Her forces had taken a beating during the botched assault. Naturally they’d claim Jarrik’s death as their own, parading the information across Delranan in a blistering propaganda campaign designed to inspire false hope in the people. Skaning scoffed. It would all be for naught. Jarrik’s suicide had nothing to do with Ingrid or her petty force. He died because Harnin wanted it.

  Maps covered the burned walls and charcoal table. Skaning knew more about this portion of Delranan than Jarrik had, but that knowledge was tainted by childhood memories hazed over time. His father often took Skaning and his three brothers into the west on hunting expeditions in deep winter, claiming the adverse conditions toughened the boys up. He was a man who couldn’t stomach having weak children. Skaning grew up under his father’s totalitarian hand, shaping and forming his life on the harshness of necessity. Ascending to Badron’s court was only natural given the brutality with which he’d grown from.