Empire of Bones

by Christian Warren Freed

  “Can you do it quietly?”

  Boen grinned. He knew the old Sea Wolf would give in. “Quietly enough. It’ll be finished in a few seconds.”

  “Leave one alive, just in case we need to deal with their friends later,” Bahr instructed.

  “One is a very good number,” Boen replied. “Fitting for a Gaimosian. I’ll go get the Dwarf. You keep the others out of it.”

  “Are you sure you don’t need Dorl or Nothol?”

  He shook his head. “They’ll just get in my way.”

  Bahr started planning ahead. They were still days away from the jungle and the mythical city of Trennaron, if it even existed. Bahr had his doubts. He trusted his friends, though Anienam Keiss remained an enigma. The last surviving son of the ancient order of Mages continually steered them in the right direction despite having secret designs of his own. The Sea Wolf knew he wasn’t being told everything and, for one used to being in command of his own destiny, chafed at the restriction. He decided it was time for the old fool to come clean. Before anyone else died.

  “Fine. Make it quick. I’m going to have a little chat with our wizard,” Bahr said.

  Boen left without another word. A true professional, he was one of the best at what he did. Hundreds had died at his hands. He was a mercenary, assassin, and sword for hire. Kings and queens sought the remnants of vanquished Gaimos for all of their dirty work. He didn’t mind. Kingdomless, Gaimosians roamed the world in search of that one quest that would give their lives definition. None of that mattered to Bahr. Should Boen fail, or even one of the river Men escape, it would mean the end of their quest. A quest he still wasn’t sure was going to end well.

  Nerves growing, Bahr made his way to the back of the barge to confront Anienam. He found the wizard expecting him. “Are you ever surprised?”

  Anienam shrugged and popped a piece of old bread in his mouth. “Rarely, though normal people have a tendency to do strange things unexpectedly. What troubles you, Bahr?”

  He pursed his lips, struggling to decide how to say what he felt. “Honestly, you do.”

  Anienam flashed that devious smile he’d done a thousand times already. “I can’t say as that I’m surprised, perhaps only that it’s taken this long. Speak your mind, Bahr.”

  “Now isn’t the time,” Bahr cautioned.

  Anienam swallowed. “Boen is going to do it finally?”

  Bahr scowled. He hated how the wizard knew things without being told. “Can you conjure a spell to keep them from shouting out?”

  “If you wish,” the wizard replied. “Though I hardly see how that will help.”

  “It will keep them from alerting any lookouts they have on the shore.”

  “Bahr, the river Men are pirates. Men you know how to deal with. Killing this bunch will only delay the inevitable, not stop it.”

  “How long before we reach Trennaron?” He hated feeling rushed but time was against them. They had less than one hundred days before the hour when the dark gods would make their next attempt at entering Malweir. That felt like a long time, but Bahr was no fool. They’d lost countless days already and still had to make the return trip to Delranan. He doubted they’d be able to do it in time.

  Bahr cursed his luck. The dark gods were akin to myths. He wasn’t sure they existed at all, despite Anienam’s assurances. According to legend the dark gods were banished countless millennia ago but, like all evil, managed to find a way to return. Once every thousand years the planes of existence aligned perfectly, creating a bridge back to Malweir. This singularity led to the corruption of the crystal of Tol Shere and the subversion of the Dae’shan, not to mention a thousand other calamities plaguing Malweir’s history.

  Once every thousand years and it happens to fall during my lifetime. What a charmed life I liveIt got worse. There were only three places in all of Malweir where the dark gods could come back. Two had previously been destroyed, leaving only Arlevon Gale in the remote regions of Delranan. Bahr’s kingdom had become the battleground for the fate of the world and he didn’t like it. He didn’t know, but hundreds had already died in both Delranan and neighboring Rogscroft.

  “Three, perhaps five days,” Anienam replied. “Getting to the jungle will be easy, through it another matter. Fortunately we have Rekka with us. She is from Teng and quite capable.”

  Rekka Jel was an incredible asset, one Bahr was more than happy to have in his favor. Her skills with a sword were almost a match for Boen. She didn’t speak much and had only recently taken a passionate liking for Dorl Theed. The relationship threatened to cause havoc between the members of his band, but he wasn’t worried about Rekka. She was as cold as deep winter. Dorl, however, was a ball of emotion Bahr didn’t want to deal with.

  “How can we be sure this Hamr still exists?” Bahr asked. He had a thousand unanswered questions, each of which capable of altering the future. “We’re trusting an ancient text that no one remembers.”

  “Much of the future is already built in the past. We are just wanderers through this great story, Bahr. The tools to defeat the dark gods were created thousands of years ago with the knowledge that there would be a finale. We are living in that time. The final battle is looming on the horizon and we are the key players. Everything else is merely part of the great show.”

  “Great show? How many lives are going to be lost because of this game?” Bahr demanded, his voice rising before he realized it. A few heads turned their way. “My kingdom is the battleground between good and evil. Will there be anything left?”

  “One cannot say. All I know is that at the end of these hundred days either good or evil will triumph,” the wizard said with sadness in his voice. “I don’t predict the future, Bahr. The risk is too great.”

  Not hearing what he needed, Bahr grunted and stormed off.

  Boen yawned and slid the thin rope from his sleeve, pulling it tight. The Dwarf captain, Ironfoot, was already on the opposite side of the barge doing the same. Boen’s best chance was to strike quickly and tear through his enemy like a late summer storm. He casually walked up behind the nearest river Man. Most Men would feel their hearts race, their palms sweat, and their mouth go dry. Boen was Gaimosian. He did this for a living. It was as easy as breathing. His one concern stemmed from having to do it in the middle of the day. The river Men insisted the river was too dangerous to traverse in the night and put to shore at the end of each day. One of these days they’d put in to an ambush.

  The river Man glanced over his shoulder and nodded gruffly to the bigger Boen. Smiling fiercely, the Gaimosian threw the rope around the pirate’s neck and twisted sharply. A sharp crack broke the Man’s neck. Boen dropped him and hurried to the next. He only had a few moments before the others got wind of what was going on. Speed was his asset. He launched himself at the next, crushing the Man’s throat with a strong punch. Gagging, the body dropped into the river. Boen snarled but there was nothing he could do about it. The river Man leader drew his curved saber and barked orders in his native language. Boen threw down his rope and drew his mighty broadsword. The weapon was easily three times as heavy as the saber and twice as thick.

  Boen gestured for the man to make his move. Doubt flickered in his eyes, giving the Gaimosian the time he needed to attack. Unsure, the river Man tried to throw up his saber in defense. It was already too late. Boen raised his sword and brought it crashing down on the swarthy man. There was so much force his saber sliced deeply into the man’s chest and shoulder. The river Man screamed even as Boen brought the pommel around and punched a strong blow in his face.

  A second man, hidden behind crates of supplies, leapt onto Boen’s back, punching and biting anywhere he found vulnerable. The Gaimosian left the crippled captain and managed to snatch his attacker by the collar, dragging him up and over his back. The man landed on top of his captain, face down. Boen stabbed down. His sword pierced both men and lodged in the deck. Knowing it would take too long to reclaim the weapon, Boen drew a dagger and spun to search for new targets.


  There were ten river Men in all, leaving six more somewhere on the barge. Ironfoot’s job was to storm the wheelhouse and take out the bridge crew. Boen got the heavy work by design. He stalked his way down the deck. The barge was massive for a river boat. Nearly fifty feet long and twenty-five wide, it was large enough to fit their wagon, a Giant, and all of the horses while still having both crew and passenger cabins. Bahr and the others were within the passenger cabin, leaving the Gaimosian free range of the deck.

  The others were valuable fighters but he meant what he told Bahr. They would only get in his way. He needed the room and ability to maneuver without worrying about friendly fire or people bumping into him. Gaimosians worked best alone. A river Man lying atop a stack of crates took a swing for his head. Boen ducked and stabbed up, catching the man in the throat. Blood sprayed down on Boen’s head as he twisted the blade and ripped it free. The Man died without a sound. Boen kept moving.

  He came across a pair of bodies gruesomely savaged. They lay at awkward angles and had been hacked, inexpertly, to death. Boen frowned. The Dwarf was more zealous when it came to fighting than he was. Seven dead, three to go. He knew the rest would be located in or around the wheelhouse. Boen took the short flight of stairs leading up to the bridge and stepped over a corpse hanging down the first three steps. He’d died where he tried to escape. Inside Boen found another body shoved into a corner. The last, which he presumed was the captain, stood with hands tied behind his head and a dirty rag shoved in his mouth.

  Ironfoot turned from his view out the bridge window and nodded briskly. “They didn’t put up much of a fight.”

  Boen noticed the specks of blood staining the Dwarf’s sleeves and knuckles. He’d been expecting more and knew he must look like a complete mess compared to the general cleanliness of his comrade. “The ship is secure. That the captain?”

  “As near as I can tell he is,” Ironfoot replied. The Dwarf combed his thick fingers through his rust-colored beard and spit. “He’s not very compliant.”

  “Would you be?” Boen asked. “Keep us in the middle of the river. I’ll get Bahr. We’re not stopping tonight.”

  The river captain glowered at Boen.

  Once the bodies were dumped overboard and most of the blood washed off so as not to upset the horses, Bahr followed Boen back to the wheelhouse. He glanced at the captain before gesturing for his gag to be removed.

  “You bastards! I’ll see your throats slit from ea…”

  Ironfoot backhanded the captainacross the mouth. A tooth fell out as the river captain grimaced. “Enough talk.”

  Bahr ignored the Dwarf, instead crouching down to eye level with their captive. “Where is the ambush set up?”

  The river captain spit at him. “Ambush? You’re the murderers! You killed my crew. Good men. I’ll see you hung from the walls of Paedwyn for this.”

  Boen laughed hard.

  Bahr leaned in closer. “What you fail to realize is that you’re expendable. We don’t need a captain because I am one. Now, tell me where your friends set up their ambush and we might let you live.”

  The river Man, wild-eyed, looked from Bahr to Boen before exhaling heavily and hanging his head. He knew he was dead either way.

  FOUR

  A Long Night

  Bahr piloted the barge down the Fern River well after night fell. They placed Ironfoot on the bow since he and the Giant Groge had the best night vision. Groge stood in front of the wheelhouse, his massive height allowing him to look into the bridge without bending down. The river captain remained tied and under guard. Only the gentle sounds of water lapping against the aged wooden hulls marked their passing.

  “I still don’t agree with how you handled this situation,” Anienam admitted once the wheelhouse cleared out.

  Bahr shook his head. He was tired, frustrated, and more than a little anxious to be done with this task. Anienam’s doubts only pushed him closer to snapping. “Like it or not it’s already finished. The river Men are pirates and it was only a matter of time before they turned us over to their friends. We took the best path available.”

  “Killing should never be the best path,” the wizard scolded. “We both know what that leads to, Bahr. There will be time enough for dying in the days ahead.”

  “What would you have me do? Let them all go or just sit idle while they rob and kill us?” Bahr asked. “I’ve dealt with these types before and it never ends well. Boen saved our lives, yours included, by taking control of this barge.”

  “Perhaps,” was all he said.

  The water continued pushing the barge south. Bahr, not feeling like talking, watched the river for signs of submerged rocks or rapids. He may have been a captain but his skill and trade was on the open sea, not the narrow confines of an unfamiliar river. His instincts warned him to scan the shoreline for signs of the enemy but the river demanded his full attention. The true danger lay in uncertainty. Like most of the others, he’d never traveled this far south.

  Bahr smoothly turned the wheel controlling the rudder, straightening the barge with the center of the river. It felt good to be standing at the helm again. Disturbingly, his legs seemed to have forgotten the feel of the water. He frowned. It had been far too long. His thoughts gradually turned back to the river captain. The swarthy Man was rightfully incensed at being captured and forced to watch the bodies of his crew unceremoniously dumped into the river, but what he’d planned for Bahr and the others was far more diabolical.

  The ambush spot was still a few hours away, at least according to their prisoner. At the southern fringes of the Jebel Desert was a great bend, causing a bottleneck. The river Men had been using it for years to conduct their raids. While the captain insisted there would be no more than a score of his people waiting, Bahr expected far more. Wordlessly, he piloted the barge south.

  Dorl Theed finished checking his quiver and stretched. “I don’t care for this.”

  His longtime friend and partner on many quests, Nothol Coll, rolled his eyes. They’d been sell swords for nearly a decade and had gotten into more trouble than most people did their entire lives. That was fine with both, but this latest quest was grinding them down. Worse, Dorl was growing increasingly more focused on his love for Rekka Jel. Nothol knew that any slip of concentration might end with their deaths. He needed his friend to keep his mind clear.

  “You complain too much,” he chided. “Bahr has gotten us this far. Trust him to get us the rest of the way.”

  Dorl snorted. “The way to where? We’ve been attacked nonstop since fleeing Chadra. Sooner or later our luck will run out.”

  “Keep talking like that and it’ll be sooner. You’ve changed.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Nothol sighed. “I mean you used to be the fearless one. You never hesitated to jump into desperate situations. Now you’ve got a in your life I’m starting to think you handed her your balls.”

  “Mind your tongue, Nothol,” Dorl bristled. “I’m still dangerous enough to cut your tongue out.”

  Nothol laughed in his face and checked the string of his bow. “Now you’re delusional. You and I both know I’m better at swords, bows, and any other weapon you can think of. Stop trying to show off for your girlfriend.”

  Rekka sat atop the wheelhouse overhearing their conversation. Her soft, almond-shaped eyes lit up as they fell on Dorl. Amusement danced across her face. She felt no jealousy or anger off of Nothol Coll. Instead, their relationship sparked melancholy. She’d never had such strong ties of friendship and was envious of them. Her sword sharp and sitting in her lap, she continued to listen while thinking of how the villagers of Teng were going to receive her return.

  She’d been away for a very long time, more than five years. The dream masters trained her group to serve the gods of light. Never did they imagine the end battle for the world would occur in their lifetimes. Barely out of her teens, Rekka was sent to Trennaron to serve the last true Dae’shan, Artiss Gran. It was a great honor be
stowed on the trainee with the highest scores and most prowess. Only one a generation received the detail. Rekka was honored. Her family would be heaped with pride until her dying days.

  The Dae’shan continued to serve the gods of light, defending the castle of Trennaron from evil influences. Many great secrets were stored within the castle. Secrets some argued were best left forgotten. The Mages often traveled deep into the jungle to share knowledge and even store their most precious lore with the guardian. Artiss Gran was the gentlest of souls. His even thinking and mild demeanor left him at odds with his fellow Dae’shan. The rift grew between them until he decided to flee. Amar Kit’han, now a servant of the dark gods, never forgave him.

  Rekka trained under Artiss for many years. Instead of weapons, she learned from books and maps. He entrusted her with a wealth of knowledge that few ever obtained. However good her life was, it was also cursed. She knew, as did Artiss, that the time was fast approaching when all of her skills and dedication would be put to the test and she might have to give her life for the cause of the righteous. Dying didn’t bother her. She came from dust and knew she must eventually return to it. Her life was solely dedicated to good. Developing emotions for Dorl left her exposed, suddenly uncertain.

  Love was unlike any other emotion she’d ever felt. Her pride in serving Artiss had gone unmatched for nearly a decade before she happened upon Dorl Theed. The sometimes foppish sell sword had a charm and charisma that compelled her attention. He was a good Man, even if he didn’t know it himself. Rekka considered herself fortunate to have found a Man she could confide in. She prayed their time together would be enough to fulfill their need for companionship. Both were lonely souls in need of more. She wasn’t sure she could provide more. Her death at the end of this quest was almost a certainty, leaving her with the question: how does one give more than they have?

  “Captain Bahr says to get ready. We’re coming up on the spot,” Skuld announced to each of them as he made his way from stern to bow. The young street thief was steadily growing into a Man before their eyes. He’d snuck aboard the Dragon’s Bane thinking to find treasures in the Murdes Mountains. What he got was much more.