Argis hadn’t expected much in the way of military brilliance from the farmer, but his words offered a measure of comfort.
“Did the battle go well?”
“Well enough,” Argis said. “We took out another patrol and lost only one.”
“Harnin will be furious.”
“He should be. That brings the total to forty soldiers since we began.” Argis traced a line down the main avenue. “I think he is going to try to force our hand soon. Look here. So far all of our attacks have been focused in and around the central market area. He knows this. If I were him, I would set a trap and try to end this rebellion before word travels back to Rogscroft and the king.”
Fenning leaned closer to get a better look. “It makes sense, but how can we be sure? Harnin edges closer to depravity. Too many have already been tortured and murdered on his witch hunt. There is no way of telling what he might do.”
“Our freedom comes with a heavy price,” Argis agreed. “I have no desire to shed more of our people’s blood but Harnin is not giving me much choice. He will stop at nothing to achieve his ends.”
“Meaning we might well lose.”
“Such can be said about every engagement.”
Fenning poured himself a mug of water. “What are you thinking?”
“I honestly do not know. I can’t go up against well-trained soldiers with poorly trained civilians, despite their good intentions. We are not prepared to pay that butcher’s bill. The only way we stand a chance is by sticking to our same tactics. We need to adjust our focus. Harnin cannot be everywhere at once.”
He wasn’t sure if he believed himself or not. Too many already lay dead as price for the arrogance of a single man. Where did it end? Argis hadn’t a clue.
Sleep remained elusive to Joefke. Amendeas’s face leered at him from the chasm of death every time he tried to close his eyes. The reluctant warrior tossed and turned in a fit. Amendeas had never been a friend. They hadn’t even met until a week ago. But to Joefke, the younger lad’s death had been pointless. There was no reason for it. The why of it continued to torment him. Joefke hated the word. He’d never been a soldier and was firmly convinced he wanted no part of it. Killing wasn’t natural. Argis and the others might think differently. Fine, let them. He had no intentions of becoming one of them. Unable to take anymore, Joefke rolled out of bed and went to find Argis.
“I thought I told you to get some sleep,” Argis reminded him once he entered.
Joefke pulled his cloak tighter. The hilltop Chadra Keep sat on was off in the distance. Mists shrouded most of the ancient building. “How do you do it?”
Argis turned. “Do what?”
“The killing. The fighting. It is not what I imagined.”
“It never is.”
Joefke was confused. “Then why do it?”
He shrugged. “Some men are born for it. The only reason I keep going is for our people. A leader is nothing without his people.”
“Was this war necessary?”
“King Badron has lost his way. He’s forgotten what it means to be a king. Harnin is no better. They have slipped into depravity and allowed a rot to fester in the heart of Delranan. If we do not step forward to combat this evil now, we stand to lose our very way of life. I fight, and kill when I have to, in the name of my people.”
Joefke’s heart stirred, though he wasn’t entirely convinced. He’d lost friends and slain countrymen. Neither sat well on his psyche. A terrible weight settled over his soul. He looked to the older man and asked, “When does it stop?”
“It has been my experience that it never does,” Argis sadly admitted. His dark eyes narrowed at the unspoken prospect.
Howling winds whipped through the sleeping city streets with the ferocity of a demonic predator. A bad omen.
TWENTY
Council of the Pell
Cuul Ol warmed himself in the last bit of sunlight. Normally he would have smiled, for this was his most favorite time of day. Times were anything but normal. The war was already over a month old. His people had done their part, but he still doubted it was enough to stem the fury of the wolf soldiers. The Pell protected the mountain passes as much as possible until the snows came. Now it was all but impossible for Delranan to send in reinforcements by land.
The war had moved beyond his people, and for that he was grateful. The fires of battle raged deep in Rogscroft’s heartland. Cuul continued to track the Wolfsreik’s progress. Occasionally fleeting dreams took root. What he could do with such a force at his beck and call! Cuul Ol would become the terror folk whispered his people were. He sighed and looked down at the massive army spread out below, wondering how much longer he could keep tracking them. An uneasy feeling gnawed in the pit of his stomach. It was almost as if the enemy king wanted to lure them into ineffectiveness.
“I never thought to see such numbers,” said a familiar voice from behind.
Cuul looked back at Sintl Ap. “Impressive, yes.”
The taller Pell folded his arms across his massive chest. “Would that be ours. Then we need not hide in the mountains.”
“Dreams, Sintl Ap. Nothing more than dreams. Let us focus on now.”
Sintl Ap eyed him aggressively. “New leadership might be necessary.”
“You should have spear if you wish to challenge,” Cuul Ol growled.
Both warriors flexed and postured, but did no more. Sintl Ap knew he could not best the Pell leader in single combat and the thought died there.
“What do we do now? The alliance with Rogscroft remains. We cannot abandon them.”
The question was more valid than any recently asked. The Pell Darga had done their part, but at great price. Forests had been burned. Trails and favored hunting spots destroyed and lost. Many Pell warriors fell under enemy blades and arrows. The Murdes Mountains were safe again. Winter had come and no one was foolish enough to attempt a crossing. The people of Rogscroft were not so fortunate. Whole villages were erased from existence by the Wolfsreik. The entire civilization teetered on the brink of extinction.
Cuul Ol scratched the thin stubble of his jaw. “Prince Aurec has been a strong friend. We need his support. Only he found the courage to find us. We cannot leave them to the wolf soldiers.”
“We owe them no loyalty, Cuul Ol. The people of the Pell must come first.”
“At what cost? We are no more than barbarians to the world. Long ago our people turned from the rest of Malweir. We were once violent yet vowed to change. Do we sacrifice what humanity we have to maintain this image?”
Sintl Ap grunted and spat. “We are more kin to the Dwarves than Men. Let the wolf soldiers do as they will. The Pell must come first.”
“I hear your counsel, but it does not feel right.”
“I do not…”
Cuul Ol snapped his hand up angrily. “No! I have spoken. Summon Durgas, I have a task for him.”
* * * * *
Moonlight lent a haunting chill to the snow-covered rocks and trees. Durgas crouched behind a broken boulder, staring out at the eerie landscape. The Pell Darga were a superstitious people and he found much ill with this night. His face was painted grey with chalk and ash. Twenty of his best warriors hid behind him, each painted similarly. They wore dark vests of bear and deer hide. Each was armed with a brace of short spears and enough provisions to last them for two days.
Durgas paused to drink from his leather canteen. He’d been pushing his men since midday. They had one simple task. Cuul Ol was specific: scout the lands south and east to find access to the routes into the heart of Rogscroft. His company was to be the scouts for the rest of the Pell army. They’d spent that time marching through difficult terrain. The first pass was entirely shut off due to snow. Durgas led his company on to the next, where they now sat and waited. Pell warriors were among the more patient in Malweir. They often spent days stalking their prey, striking only when victory was assured. The path before him made him pause.
He turned to young Phin Ga. “Take
Unt and Telor and go east. Move one thousand paces and swing north.”
The three youths sped off and were quickly swallowed in the half darkness. Durgas didn’t say it, but he was nervous. They had seen no sign of enemy forces since descending the mountain peaks. Ten thousand soldiers with supplies and animals had disappeared without a trace. Durgas didn’t understand. He’d been a hunter his entire life and never once had seen anything comparable. A savage chill danced the length of his spine.
He silently tightened the cap on his canteen and was about to replace it in his pack when a blood-chilling scream shattered the calm. The sound was too human to be mistaken. Durgas clutched his spear tighter and readied for battle.
“Something comes!” hissed another warrior.
Durgas narrowed his gaze in the direction his warrior pointed. His heart froze. An unnatural darkness came rolling across the plain straight for them.
“Run! We cannot fight this!”
Courage fled his voice as panic took him. He knew the darkness was evil, the forbidden taint he had felt since arriving. No weapon of the Pell was capable of halting such monstrosity. They fled. Pure hatred overtook them one at a time. Darkness touched the last man not fast enough to escape. Flesh melted from his bones and he screamed in such misery the moon wept blood. Durgas pressed on. He knew that he was dead if he stopped running. The darkness did not give him a choice. It swirled around the survivors, enveloping them in a tightening ring.
“Hold!”
The command barked across the tiny clearing they were in. Durgas lowered his slightly spear slightly as two nightmarish figures began to take shape. His warriors clustered together, more from childhood instinct than the urge to combat this new terror. The two figures were wrapped in cloaks of the darkest night. Waves of terror pulsed off of them, creeping into the Pell hunters and crushing their once proud resolve. Durgas watched in horror as the figures unfolded their arms and… waited. The Pell hunter had but one choice.
“Kill them!”
Two words and the fate of his command was sealed. Vogen, the youngest of the bunch, leapt at their foe. Another hunter dropped to his knees. Blood streamed from his eyes, nose, and mouth. White froth bubbled on his lips as his body began to convulse. The man fell dead, his face forever locked in a visage of agony. Durgas swore he heard an evil hiss from the dark figure. The rest of the hunters charged. They never stood a chance. Vogen died instantly. The figure on the right lashed out with a pulsing wave of power. Lances of dark light tore through Vogen’s flesh. He died without a sound.
Durgas watched as a temporal essence was jerked from Vogen’s body. He swore he saw his friend’s face turn to him in a silent scream before being absorbed by the darkness. “No!”
He looked around in despair. His men fell dead all around and he was powerless to stop it. Soon only four remained. Neither of the enemy figures carried weapons. They didn’t need to. Every moment was an economy of motion. Hundreds of years of killing, imbued with dark powers, made them the perfect killing machines. Death came swiftly whenever they struck. It was a small mercy.
Durgas recognized that he was already dead. The taller figure let his deceptive cloak open just enough to allow the terrified Pell a glimpse of his shadowed face. Durgas wet himself. He looked upon the face of evil and quailed. Death could not come quickly enough. Still, he managed to resist the urge to drop to his knees and succumb freely. It took the last measure of strength to break away from the malevolent stare of the darkness.
He tried to shout but his voice came out weak and broken. “Run!”
The survivors fled into the night in different directions. The second figure moved to follow but was held back.
Kodan Bak snapped. “They will reveal us to the others.”
Amar frowned at the insubordination. “They will not live so long.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I allowed their leader to see my face. He knows that death stalks them all.”
Kodan Bak bit back a retort. It was not his place to openly criticize, however. “What do you propose?”
His voice measured, Amar concealed his emotion. “We hunt. Our foe is brave, yet foolish. I wish to see the well of their strength before they die.”
“You plan on attacking their tribes?”
“Only if they prove worthy.”
Amar doubted his own words. The ample corpses littered around them suggested their enemy was not as strong as either had believed. The Pell would make excellent sacrifices when the dark gods were finally freed.
“Few mortals prove worthy for the hunt. This is a waste of time. Let me finish them so that we may be about our business.”
“Give them a moment more,” Amar whispered. “I want to drink their fear when we drain their essence.”
Durgas ran as fast as his body would take him. His breath came out in dagger-like plumes on the cold night air. He had dropped his pack and all but one of his short spears in the hasty retreat. Shame assailed his sensibility when he realized that none of the other three survivors were in sight. He had lost them. Guilt ridiculed him mercilessly with each new step. So many dead in the same number of heartbeats. His mind groaned under the strain. Sanity threatened to abandon him.
He desperately wanted to live. That instinct drove him on when all else fled to dust. Every step should have taken him further from the lingering death. Should have. Instead he felt icy fingers reaching out to tickle his nape with promises of a violent demise. Desperation followed. It was a new and terrifying experience for the Pell warrior. Durgas pushed himself harder with the grim knowledge that it was not going to be enough. He was a dead man.
A pair of screams shattered the night. His heart sank. Dead. They were all dead but him. Hopefully the four who had run would make it back to inform Cuul Ol and the others. Hopefully, but he doubted it. Sorrow gripped him. These were men he had known his entire life. Friends, companions through a host of trials. And now they were gone. Durgas finally understood what failure meant. Resigned to his fate, he stopped running, turned, and hefted his spear. There was no point in running. The wait was short. Black mists crept out from the shadows. Durgas clutched his weapon tighter. The mists coalesced into the shape of a man.
“You should not have stopped running,” the Dae’shan hissed.
Durgas shook his head. “No more running.”
Amar Kit’han took a step forward. Murder gleamed in his eyes. “Do you not fear me?”
“I know death for what it is.”
Amar cocked his head. Interesting. This mortal still clings to courage. He idly toyed with claiming the man’s soul and making him a brother, absurd as it was. The dark gods would not tolerate such blasphemy.
“Death I am.”
Durgas had time to scream once.
TWENTY-ONE
Preparations for Siege
“Our scouts have ranged to the city walls. The enemy is ready for siege.”
Piper Joach listened as the captain spoke. The excitement in the junior officer belied relative inexperience. Piper knew sieges were no easy feat and the king was continuing to place pressure on the army. He shook his head. The Wolfsreik’s strength was speed. Momentum won wars. Right now they had anything but.
“What is the strength of their defenses?” he asked.
The captain moved to the stained map he had already laid out. “They have lines dug along three avenues of approach. My men report pitch being emplaced here, here, and here.”
Piper studied the map. All three areas were vital for trade and commerce but not necessary for his army’s approach. “Do they mean to fire the city?”
“We think so.”
Damnation. The smoke and flames would slow their approach as much as snipers in the buildings. Piper made a quick note and motioned for the captain to continue.
“All of the roads and alleys are mined with caltrops. We believe it will be like this all the way to the castle walls. The enemy no doubt will have archers in the second story windows. The way
will not be easy, even for the heavy infantry.”
Piper frowned. One thought swirled through his mind. Casualties. He suddenly had a sour taste in his mouth. Perhaps they should think of letting Stelskor burn his city and wait for winter to do the rest. Doing so would certainly make life easier for the army and it would save so many lives. Sadly, he knew Badron was not going to let that be. The king had something in mind that he was keeping to himself. Piper didn’t like it.
“What else?” he asked with a sigh.
“That is it, sir. I have scout teams creeping through the city to learn as much as they can before we assault.”
Piper heard the pause and said, “But?”
“Sir, I do not think the enemy is going to make this easy. We are going to lose a lot of men trying to take it.” He fell silent and lowered his gaze to the ground.
Piper placed a comforting hand on the captain’s shoulder. “We most likely will, which makes your intelligence reports all the more important. The more you can tell us beforehand means the more lives you will save. Go and get something to eat. You have done well.”
“Yes sir.”
He saluted and left Piper to his ruminations. Piper stared at the map with a frown. The initial report was not to his liking. He’d known from the beginning that taking the city was going to prove more trouble than it was worth, but this was nearly disheartening. Badron wasn’t going to want to delay either. He was going to waste lives because of some sort of bloodlust that no one really understood. The potential for disaster sickened Piper. Throwing on a cloak, he stormed off to find Rolnir. A quick stop in the mess tent was also in order. Perhaps it would settle his uneasy stomach.
The mood around camp was generally high. The Wolfsreik had yet to lose a major engagement in the campaign and that buoyed the soldiers’ spirits. Several ambushes and smaller skirmishes had gone against them, but the bulk of victories were on their side. Soldiers laughed and traded stories that more than likely had not happened quite the way they told them. Others sharpened swords and axes. The vast majority had already bedded down for the night for sleep was a luxury often missing from campaign. Piper made small talk with a few. He laughed and joked, projecting an air of confidence.
Tides of Blood and Steel Page 17
