“Sir, we’ve found something that you need to see,” a burly sergeant said. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken.
Piper asked, “When was the last time you got some sleep, sergeant?”
He adjusted the axe resting on his shoulder. “I will be fine, sir.”
Piper reached down and clapped him on the other shoulder. If this sergeant was indication, he needed to order an operational pause before the final push. Casualties went up tenfold when men were exhausted. Piper made a note to bring the subject up with Rolnir the next time they met.
“Show me,” he told the sergeant.
The hundred meter distance was slow. Sergeant Egliff pointed down into a small ravine. Piper looked and blanched. Over a dozen bodies lay heaped in a bloody mess of broken bones and tangled limbs. All wore the Black Guard uniform, Badron’s famed special forces. The ambush was still a closely held secret, but the senior commanders all knew of the defeat. Ambush was one thing, these men had been butchered.
“One of the scouts found them not long ago. It looks like all of the bodies were dumped here before dawn. The Poor bastards,” Egliff said. Any sorrow he might have felt was washed away with anger.
Piper forced himself to unclench his jaw. “Secure a detail and have them buried. Oh and Egliff, get their names. Their families deserve to know.”
“Yes, Sir,” Egliff saluted and set about his task.
Piper hated feeling like a heartless bastard, but his position demanded it. There would be time to weep for the dead later. He needed to keep his men focused on the moment. Nothing could be done to bring the dead back.
Crossbow bolts ripped from the nearby tree line. Men and horses fell screaming to their deaths. A second followed while they were still disorientated. Piper shouted, too late. Rogscroft was but a day away and the way was becoming increasingly dangerous. This was the third ambush in the last day. Prince Aurec was determined to hold every foot of land. The Wolfsreik would have no easy passage.
“Form ranks! Attack!” Piper bellowed.
A squad of light cavalry, skirmishers, peeled off from the rear of the formation and slashed into the trees. Enemy archers turned and fled before the riders managed to reach them. The squad leader, a wily veteran named Thenn, knew to halt his men before they ran into a secondary assault line. Heavy horse in trees was a recipe for disaster under any circumstance. Three ambushes and he had not managed to kill a single defender.
Piper slammed his helmet down when Thenn and his force returned to the column with dejected looks. The game was getting old. Piper was more than exhausted by the time they occupied an abandoned farmstead just before nightfall. He saw to the men, ordering the horses taken care of first and then made his way to the surgeons to visit the wounded. Satisfied, Piper reluctantly went in search of Rolnir. Piper slumped down on a field stool. It took every ounce of energy not to collapse.
“How many?” Rolnir asked without looking at him.
Piper shifted his gaze from Rolnir to the shifting flames. “Too many. They refuse to meet us in a stand-up fight. They know better. All we get is ambush after ambush. It is growing tiring.”
“Aurec is a smart man. He knows Rogscroft does not have the strength or skill to meet us in the field. I think we are going to have to settle in for the long campaign. This type of warfare is going to hound us all the way to the city gates.”
Piper spat into the fire, wiping his chin of the thin sliver of spittle. “We should burn them out, force them to retreat and give us the road.”
“No,” Rolnir replied too quickly for Piper’s liking. “King Badron doesn’t want any more destruction of the countryside than necessary. We’re trying to conquer the kingdom, not destroy it.”
“There is a steep price for that command.”
Rolnir sighed. He already knew where the conversation was headed. Piper had not been the same since his first stinging defeat in the opening days of the war. His mood was constantly sour, ever dwelling on what should have properly been shoved to the recess of memory. “The men will do what any good soldiers must. Death is a small price to pay for the immortality of our deeds. This isn’t the first time we have had to order men to their deaths.”
“No, but each death here takes me a little further from myself. I am afraid of what I might become, Rolnir.”
“Go and get some food and rest, Piper. We will speak of this later over a warm mug of spiced wine in Rogscroft. The army moves at dawn.”
Piper reluctantly rose, not because of lament, but exhaustion.
“Your boys did good today,” Rolnir called to his back.
Piper kept walking.
* * * * *
“Perhaps you could explain to me why I am still sitting in a damnable tent in the middle of the Rogscroft wilderness, General?” Badron accused. Venom dripped from his tone.
The king fumed with misdirected rage. He’d never been a brilliant tactician or showed any martial prowess on the battlefield. His father called him mediocre at best when it came to warfare, despite the time spent learning in the royal Averon war college. None of that mattered this night. Badron was king and had no faith in his commanding general.
For his part, Rolnir resisted the urge to strike his king in the mouth. “Sire, the campaign is progressing as scheduled. This is no small task we have set upon. The Wolfsreik is attempting to subjugate an entire kingdom in the middle of winter. This will take time.”
Badron’s nostrils flared. “Do not make excuses. I left this campaign to you and you are failing miserably. I…”
“What exactly do you want from me?”
The question stung just the way Rolnir intended it to. He may only be a general, but he had no intentions of being berated by a lunatic with a crown. The general of the Wolfsreik had had enough and hoped he knew how far he could get away with pushing Badron.
Badron jerked back into his temporary throne. Silence choked the tent. Everyone waited to see how the king could react. When he spoke, it came in slow, measured tones. “I want you to do your job and capture that city.”
“This is what your army is doing. War is not a precise event, Sire. Let me do my job without being constantly hounded for fast results and we will be at the city gates in a matter of days.”
The answer almost satisfied Badron. He dismissed Rolnir with a careless wave, his mind already racing ahead to future possibilities. He despised Stelskor and his people, but recognized that he needed the army’s full support if he was going to depose the old king. Brooding, he failed to notice Rolnir’s growing smile as the man exited the tent.
“You play a dangerous game with that one, king.”
Amar Kit’han’s voice rasped like ice breaking a window.
Badron scowled. “It is my game to play, demon.”
“Rolnir is dangerous. Do not trust your general lest he betray you.”
The king almost smiled at the irony. “Of course he will. Rolnir is my best general. There will come a time when he will make a bid to remove me. I wouldn’t have him if he wasn’t planning on it.”
The Dae’shan shuffled closer in a mass of swirling shadows. Badron still couldn’t believe that the creature walked. “It does not sit well. All you have done is about to be undone. Caution is required.”
“Caution!” Badron barked. “Why is it that all of my counselors whisper caution? My army is diseased by the word. What I need are more men with the desire to attack.”
Amar stepped into the glow of firelight. His black robes absorbed the light, sucking darkness into the tent from places Badron did not wish to know. The tent seemed...lifeless. “You have no allies in the world of Men, king. It is time to look elsewhere.”
The irritable hiss caused Badron pain. “Your words offer little encouragement.”
“Patience, king. Even in the darkest hour of the night came hope be found.”
“What are you saying?”
“Events are in motion that cannot be undone. Help is coming to you. Another army marches from the east. They mov
e quickly and will be here by the time you are ready to assault Rogscroft.”
Another army? “You just said that I have no friends. Where then is this army coming from?”
Amar Kit’han shifted minutely. “I said no allies in the world of Men.”
The king of Delranan moved back in shock for the second time. Suspicion laced his next question as if he were afraid to know the answer. “Where does this army march from?”
An unnatural pause.
“From the Deadlands. An army of Goblins comes to your aid.”
“Goblins!” Badron roared. “They are a stain on the face of the world. Each should be killed and burned lest they plague future generations. I will have no part in it.”
The Dae’shan was nonplussed. “You let emotion cloud your judgment. The Goblin army is a valuable asset if you choose to use them wisely.”
“They are filth, a scourge destined for extermination. What possible use could I have for such creatures?”
The lack of conviction in his voice gave Amar the opening he was waiting for. “Think. Why waste important lives when you can throw away wave after wave of expendable soldiers? Use the Goblins until they break and leave the vaunted Wolfsreik standing strong, ready to occupy as conquering heroes. You will be invincible with this second army under your command.”
Badron’s shoulders slumped. The fire had been drained from him. His train of thought took him down dark paths that all ended with his eventual victory. The demon had a point, reluctant as he was to admit it. A Goblin army might turn the tide irrevocably in his favor, and they had more than one use. Badron held no compunction towards unleashing the Goblins on Rogscroft. Let them spend their strength. The more dead, the better. Visions of empire entered his darkened mind.
Badron turned his gaze to the nightmare standing before him. No matter how hard or how many times he looked, there was no penetrating the shadows under the hood. The Dae’shan was as much of a mystery now as from the first time his eerie presence drifted into Badron’s bedchambers. Plans within plans, mused Badron. Curiosity was not strong enough to override caution so the king let the secret lie.
“These beasts might come in handy,” Badron spoke with false confidence. “I shall think on it. What you propose is no easy fact to accept. But enough of this. I wish to know of my brother and daughter. What news do you have?”
“Sadly none. My spies have yet to cross them. Bahr is crafty. He and his group of troublemakers know how to hide, but it will not last. Sooner or later they will make a mistake and we shall have them. Worry not about this, king. They pose no threat to your conquest of Rogscroft.”
Badron smiled politely. He held a sinking suspicion that his once beloved family was on the precipice of causing more trouble than Amar Kit’han could possibly predict.
EIGHTEEN
Ambush
Freina knelt beside the wagon tracks and lifted her snout to the frigid air. A slight breeze ruffled her black feathers, making their natural darkness ripple. She traced a clawed finger around a hoof print in the mud. The Hag almost smiled. They had found their prey at last. Freina rose to her full seven foot height and faced her sisters.
“What is it you have found, sister?” Garelda screeched.
Freina narrowed her sharp eyes. “The Humans are less than a day ahead of us and moving slowly.”
Brom, the shortest of the three, flexed her wings. The bone necklace jingled with movement. “Which direction do they move?”
“East, towards the mountains.”
Garelda’s mood darkened. “Do we tell the demon?”
Freina considered the repercussions of each action. Amar Kit’han was powerful, easily capable of destroying the Harpies. They were an ancient evil that few could master. Kit’han’s displeasure once bothered her, but no more. The thrill of the hunt was far too alluring to allow any fear to take root. But either path offered grave consequences. They must proceed with caution.
Finally she answered, “No, we follow first. The demon will want to know where the Humans are going.”
“But the Murdes Mountains are not safe, even for our kind. Let the demons deal with these creatures themselves,” Brom cautioned.
Freina flared angrily. “We follow the Humans.”
The Harpies leapt into the air. The hunt had begun.
* * * * *
Rekka Jel abruptly stiffened in her saddle. Her senses warned of a latent danger moving closer, as if stalking them. It was a familiar feeling. The sense had developed when she was still a child. Strange beasts often came from the depths of the great jungle in search of an easy meal or just to cause carnage before disappearing back into the thick canopy. This time felt much the same. She knew they were being hunted.
Maleela was the first to notice. “Rekka, what is it?”
The diminutive warrior woman had a faraway glaze. “Something is coming for us.”
“More thugs from Praeg?” the princess automatically asked.
“I do not believe so. Those men weren’t dangerous despite their numbers. This is a feeling of something far worse, sinister. We must be cautious until we know what it is.”
Maleela suppressed an involuntary shudder. Rekka’s warning combined with the looming Mountains of Death churned her stomach. The world she had grown up reading about closed in on her. Invisible walls made her feel small. Too much death and despair danced ever out of reach yet close enough to torment her dreams. She wanted to be back in Aurec’s arms. The singular thought of him already being dead because of her father brought tears to her eyes. Her father. The man was a menace to all of Malweir. She struggled inwardly to keep from screaming at the top of her lungs.
Forcing herself to stay focused, Maleela asked, “Have you ever been in the mountains before?”
Rekka shook her head. “No. I followed the river almost all the way north before crossing overland to your kingdom.”
“How far away is your land?”
“Almost a full moon cycle provided the weather stays agreeable. The jungles of Brodein are far away.”
Maleela suddenly had romantic notions of what the green jungle must be like. “Is it beautiful? I would very much like to see a world where the cold of winter does not kiss the lands.”
“The jungles are beautiful and dangerous. It is green and humid. Snow never comes. Even if it did the canopy of branches and leaves would catch it and keep it high enough for the sun to melt. There are flowers of every color and beasts that are best left unmentioned.”
Rekka fell silent, leaving Maleela to daydream about an alien world.
Boen took a seat on a small tree stump, humming as he pulled out a sharpening stone. The crisp crackling of the fire provided all the company he needed as he began sharpening his sword. He, like all Gaimosians, was a relatively solitary man, neither needing nor craving the company of others. Some considered this to be a severe social dilemma though he cared less. Boen lived the life his people had been forced to live for all the generations since the fall of Gaimos.
He often wondered how his blood had fallen so low. Gaimos had once been prosperous. It was called the jewel of the west, filled with a proud people who saw war as a profession while the rest of Malweir struggled sluggishly through petty conflicts. It was the combination of that pride and prowess that sparked a mighty coalition of nations to gather and make war on Gaimos’s very steps. When the smoke cleared, his people were scattered, his kingdom ash. Gaimos was no more. Those who survived went on to become the world’s best mercenaries. Some were also the founders of the order of Mages so long ago. A wild form of magic ran through their veins, allowing their select few to rise above the misery of the world around them and make a positive difference. He snorted. Magic. It was a useless tool that had burned itself out of Malweir. Today the few Gaimosians remaining in their bloodline were known as the Vengeance Knights.
Soft footsteps made him pause and look up. “You should be sleeping.”
Skuld eased into the light. “I have too much on my mind.
I can’t sleep.”
Boen grunted and resumed sharpening his sword. “You are much too young to carry so many worries.”
“I can’t help it. All I ever wanted was a better life than what I had. This isn’t it. There has been so much killing that I do not think I can go on.”
“Malweir is not the world in the romance stories. It is dangerous.”
Skuld looked up expectantly, hopefully. “How do you do it?”
Boen held up his mighty broadsword. The blade was made from lost technologies. The integrity of the steel was far superior to the weapons produced now. He admired the way the melted snow dripped down the length of the blade.
“This blade gives me the strength I need. This blade and fire in my blood,” he answered mystically.
Skuld had no idea what he was talking about. The spell of warrior and combat had broken in Praeg when he saw the true face of battle, though it surely was more of a slaughter than a battle. His thoughts drifted to what little Boen had said of his ancient homeland. He was amazed at the inner strength the Gaimosian constantly displayed. He was quite sure he didn’t possess that same kind of strength. He’d only fostered dreams of greatness, not attempted to realize them. Sneaking aboard the Dragon’s Bane was perhaps the most important and foolhardy thing he had ever done.
He looked into the flickering flames. “How much of that strength is the sword and how much is what you have inside?”
Boen was impressed by the boy’s wit. “We are different people and cannot be so compared. You have much ahead of you, young Skuld. I think this life has more in store for you than what you are willing to believe. Do not abandon hope. The past cannot be undone.”
“I wish I could be so sure.”
“Patience, lad. A flower does not bloom in a single day. You have already learned much of the path, but not enough just yet.”
Tides of Blood and Steel Page 15
