“Soon. We’ve crushed the majority of the Goblin army and Badron barely has a thousand fighting Men left. He’ll fold and retreat back to Delranan.” Back to another war altogether. What have you done, Harnin? Are all those reports accurate? When I get home will I find it just like Rogscroft?
Aurec stretched, watching another column of haggard infantry trudge past. Their bodies were close to breaking but defiance flared in their eyes. They’d carry the fight to the heart of their kingdom and beyond, all at his behest. It was this moment Aurec realized just how abominable leading soldiers was. The strength and power of wielding an army was nothing compared to the inconsolable guilt he felt with every death.
“Who commanded the first battle?” he asked suddenly.
Rolnir eyed the young king queerly. “Piper Joach, why?”
“He was a formidable opponent.”
“You gave him a run for his life. Many good soldiers were lost that day. He took the loss personally, you know. Piper is a proud Man. He blames himself for what happened, even though it was a technical victory.”
Aurec nodded gloomily. “And now he leads the advance.”
“It’s where he feels most comfortable. Getting him back in the proper frame of mind took a bit of doing, but he’s one of the best at what he does. I wouldn’t trust this army in anyone else’s hands,” Rolnir said.
“I need to speak with him before we reach the city,” Aurec told him.
Rolnir said nothing as more soldiers marched past. His opinions of the young king just went up.
* * * * *
Meters turned to kilometers. Kilometers stretched into leagues. The combined army pushed closer to the objective. Men were tired. Horses exhausted. But the will to fight never left them. Former enemies formed tentative bonds. Silent animosity turned to timid laughs and finally all-out camaraderie. Even the stoic Pell warriors mingled with the lowland soldiers. The longer they spent on the road the closer they became. Bonds of fellowship sprung to life. Piper watched them all with newfound pride. He’d never thought such a thing possible.
“Sun’s about to set. We need to find a bivouac,” Vajna told him. The older general wore three days’ worth of stubble and it irritated him to no end.
Piper offered a small grin. “Yes, General. I’ll have the scouts begin.”
The pair shared a laugh that would have been construed as grave insult only weeks earlier. Time in the saddle at the sharp end of the sword brought them closer together, until they actually liked working together. Piper and Vajna played off of each other’s skill and weaknesses effectively to form a cohesive command structure. Goblins and Badron loyalists ambushed them a handful more times since the first battle, each time with adjusted tactics. More and more the scouts were falling prey to traps, ambushes, and petty chicanery.
“How much longer until we reach the city?” Piper asked. It was the same question he’d asked every morning and every evening. The answer never satisfied.
“At this pace?” Vajna replied with an eyebrow peaked. “Who can say? These damned hidden traps are slowing our progress more than I expected. The scouts are forced to pick their way across terrain that should be easily passable.”
“With mounting losses,” Piper added. “We need a new strategy.”
A great commotion erupted among the soldiers of the vanguard just behind them. Piper turned to find King Aurec’s escort riding down a hastily formed avenue, making straight for him. He sighed. What now?
Vajna stiffened and snapped to attention, saluting with a clenched fist held tightly above his heart. Aurec slid daftly from the saddle and returned the gesture, welcoming the rigid formality of the military.
“The front is no place for you, sire,” Vajna admonished. He’d already suffered the loss of one king. Losing another was unthinkable.
Aurec sighed. It was an old conversation had with everyone in the chain of command. No one believed there were times when a king needed to be seen leading from the front. Anything beyond the forward line of troops wasn’t safe for anyone. “Relax, General. I came here for specific purpose and promise to return to the main body as soon as I’m finished.” He turned to Piper and took a deep breath. “Commander Joach, it is my understanding that you commanded opposite me at the very first engagement.”
Piper swallowed hard. Where are you going with this? “Yes, I had the honor of first combat.”
“A lot of good Men on both sides fell that day,” Aurec continued. The words, while difficult to say, were heartfelt. “You were a worthy opponent. I wanted you to know, before we reach the city, that I hold no ill will towards you. It is my honor to serve alongside you now as we begin the reclamation of Rogscroft. You are a good commander, Piper. And good commanders are a rarity in these troubled times.”
Piper was speechless.
Thankfully he didn’t need to think long. A pair of riders came storming back from the front. Piper immediately frowned, thinking back to the initial Goblin ambush. He turned to give the order for the vanguard to mount up and get in battle order.
“Flames! The city is burning!”
Aurec and Vajna exchanged worried looks. The capital city was burning to the ground.
FOURTEEN
The Jungles of Brodein
The thunderstorm raged unchecked above them, though only a few drops of rain managed to win through the double canopy. What served as a cloak also trapped the heat in. Bahr and the others felt like they were melting under the sweltering humidity. Insects assaulted with impunity, injecting their special venoms through Rekka’s mystery salve. Snakes and rodents of every shape and size moved through the underbrush. Larger mammals stalked the shadows and giant reptiles splashed in unseen pools. The jungle was harsh, unforgiving and exacting a terrible toll. Mercy was for the weak. Kindness a fool’s gesture. Here only the strong made it through to the next day.
Ionascu ambled along on the back of the swayback mare given to them to haul the wagon. His legs had been beaten near useless by Harnin’s goons, leaving him with a debilitating limp that would only slow the group down. Bahr gave him the choice of riding the mare or dying in the jungle. He scowled but climbed aboard. The broken Man steadily devolved into delirium. His morbid songs turned outright offensive, bawdy and lewd. His scratchy voice echoed sharply through the jungle. Already he’d forced them to halt on numerous occasions as uncontrollable bouts of vomiting and diarrhea ravaged his already frail body, making him regret not heeding Rekka’s earlier advice. Normally Bahr would have shut him up but they needed even a petty distraction to keep them from focusing on the constant pounding the jungle bore down on them.
They’d already gone nearly a week into the jungle and hadn’t met a soul. Every night the Gnaal returned. A relentless predator always a measured step behind. It was hunting them, tracking the travel-weary band with defined purpose. Anienam worried more as the days went on. He lacked the strength to combat the monster despite centuries of magical lore and experience. The Mages were prepared for many things, but seldom were they called to battle demons of their own design. The best he could do was keep it at bay. But for how long, he didn’t know.
Clothes were perpetually damp, clinging to the skin. It wouldn’t be long before many of them began to suffer from immersion foot, jungle rot, or malaria. Anienam was an accomplished wizard but he lacked the medicinal skills necessary to keep them healthy. Perhaps Rekka had a few more tricks in her bag, though he doubted it. The jungle was an animal with a mind of its own. There was no viable solution to this dilemma or the compounding circumstances of them being hunted. Anienam simply didn’t have the answers they were all looking at him to provide. He felt like a failure about to turn catastrophic.
“If this keeps up we’re going to fall apart,” Dorl griped under his breath. He’d given up trying to wipe the sweat from his brow, convinced it was going to saturate his flesh to the point where he’d become waterlogged.
Rekka reached out to gently squeeze his forearm. “You must learn the jungle. Make it your ally. Only
then will you be at peace.”
“Peace?” he asked quickly. “What kind of peace can there possibly be trapped in all of the rain and swamps with who-knows-how-many monsters lurking out of sight?”
“There are no monsters here, only creatures you are unfamiliar with in the north. Brodein will continue to torment you until you either conform or perish. Those are the only options. My people learn from a very young age what works and what doesn’t. Fighting the inevitable only makes the situation worse.”
Rekka fell silent. Her focus was immediately drawn to a small copse of banyan trees. Her hand drifted to her sword as she tensed.
“What do you…what is it?” Dorl asked, his voice quickly dropping to a whisper.
She gestured with her chin. “In those trees. We are being watched.”
“Shit. Nothol, go back and get Boen.”
Nothol casually drew his blade and crept back. He didn’t need to know the situation. His best friend’s word was enough. Whatever Dorl and Rekka spied was enough to spook them. Nothol reached Boen in moments.
The Gaimosian noticed the bared steel and puffed his chest out. “What is it?”
“I don’t know. Rekka seems pretty spooked. They said to bring you,” Nothol whispered.
Boen drew his sword and started walking. “Show me.”
The pair wormed through the small trees and came up behind the sell sword. Dorl didn’t bother looking but merely pointed into the trees. Boen squinted. His thick fingers flexed on the hilt of his sword. The time had come, another in an endless string, for battle. Boen relished the thought of exacting his brand of vengeance against whatever kept them up through the dark hours of the night. He readied to attack.
“Put your weapons down and you will live,” called a stern, thick voice from the shadows.
Boen snarled. “Show yourself and I might. Keep skulking and I’ll tear out your guts.”
A handful of thick arrows slammed into the ground at his feet in reply. Boen tensed, ready to attack. Only Rekka managed to hold him back.
“No, do nothing.”
“Are you mad? They’ll kill us all if we just stand here,” he raged back.
She shook her head fervently. “No they won’t. Trust me.”
“Who walks among the outlanders?” the same voice asked.
Rekka balked before slinking in front of the warriors. Her sword waivered slightly. “I am Rekka Jel. Chosen to defend the Guardian of ancient Trennaron and companion of the wizard Anienam Keiss.”
“Rekka Jel has not been seen in many cycles,” the voice returned. “You cannot be who you claim.”
“I have no reason to lie. I am from the village of Teng,” she replied defiantly. An odd memory tugged at the corners of her mind. She felt she recognized the voice, but couldn’t place it. Confused, Rekka stood her ground.
“Lower your weapons, imposter. I will look on you for myself and see whether you claim falsehoods,” the voice demanded. “Should any of your companions move they will die where they stand.”
“I don’t take orders from jungle rats,” Boen snapped. “Come in the open and face me like a Man.”
“Why would I want to do that? You are clearly more powerful and murderous than any I have in my party. Facing you would be suicide and I very much wish to live. Lower your weapon, outlander. The next arrow will find its way to your heart. Not even your immense size can stop the poison for very long.”
Rekka gave the Gaimosian a knowing look. Despite his grievance at being told what to do, Boen slid his sword back into the scabbard and waited. Satisfied, she eased forward to stand between the two groups. She blinked twice, the partial combination of boredom and apprehension, and did her best to appear nonthreatening. Rekka hadn’t been in the jungle for a very long time, or seen any of the local tribesmen since being selected for her assignment, but she’d lost none of the edge required when dealing with them. Incomparable to the bitter northerners, the jungle tribes were hard in their own way. They followed the ways of nature, often letting the jungle dictate life or death. Rekka understood her confronters better than the peoples from the north.
“You have the looks of a tribeswoman, but we do not recognize you,” her accuser said as he stepped into the light.
Rekka cocked her head in recognition. “I know you.”
He was tall and lean, too lean to pose a viable threat to any perhaps except Ionascu. Years of harsh living left him muscled, sculpted like a statue in one of the grand cities. Jet black hair clung down to his shoulders. His cheeks were hollow, giving him a hungry look. Hawkish eyes the color of warm caramel glared at them under caterpillar thick eyebrows. His hands, while large for his medium frame, were calloused from a lifetime of hard labor. The leather loincloth hung down to his knees, matched by moccasins made from the same animal. Weaponless save for a long spear, he slammed the metal-capped butt in the soft ground and planted his feet shoulder width apart.
“Why have you come to the jungle? This is no place for your kind,” he asked.
Rekka, head still cocked, answered slowly, “You are Cashi Dam. We are from the same tribe, though you seem to have forgotten. I am Rekka Jel.”
“So you said,” he snorted derisively. “But these are foul times. How can I take you at your word? Especially in the company of so many outlanders.”
“You expect me to believe you have forgotten how you attempted to seduce me in the jungle one night?” she retorted.
Dorl shot her a dubious look. Just then Groge burst into the small clearing. All of the villagers rocked back at the sight, never imagining such a large creature.
“What’s all this?” Bahr asked. Ironfoot stood at his side, axe barred and ready for a fight.
They marched the rest of the day, guided into the village of Teng by Cashi Dam and his band of hunters. Few words were spoken along the way, though Anienam immediately went forward to strike bonds of fellowship with the villagers. Dorl continued to hold his opinions, though he caught himself giving her angered looks. He had much to think on and none of it good.
Teng was one of those rare places that time seemed to forget. Thatch-roofed huts no larger than wagons dotted a series of small clearings. Bluish smoke from cook fires drifted up into the canopy. Jungle pigs, chickens, and an odd species of domesticated lizards wandered freely throughout the village. No one seemed to mind or notice. Small pens half filled with goats, sheep, and a small, horned deer-like animal were secured off on the far perimeter. The village stank of animal secretions and waste.
Women carried children on their backs, along with massive baskets of dirty clothes, rice, and vegetables. Young would-be warriors sparred with wooden rattans under the watchful gaze of seasoned warriors. Old Men sat around a small fire chewing a root found only in the deep jungle. They spoke in hushed tones with glazed eyes and trembling hands. Small children ran and played a rudimentary form of ball with their feet, laughing and giggling the entire way.
Bahr felt like he’d stepped into another world. Malweir, as he knew it, stopped the moment he entered Brodein and became something else upon entering Teng. Try as he might, he failed to reason how any society could exist in these almost prehistoric conditions in the modern world. They lacked all modern conveniences, though he couldn’t figure out if that was bad or good. Too much often led to greed. He’d seen too many friends fall prey to trappings of their own creation. Did these jungle people do the same? He doubted it. There was nothing to covet, unless animal pelts held more value than gems or Women.
Cashi Dam gestured for them to halt. “Wait here while I speak with our elders. Few are allowed to see Teng. Do not move from this spot.”
Anienam answered for the group, not trusting the others to convey the proper decorum. The last thing he wanted was to get into a battle with Rekka’s people so close to Trennaron. He’d spent countless hours putting together the perfect group of fighters and thinkers. Each had individual merit, strengthening the group in ways none knew. Any loss suffered needlessly would not only hamp
er their quest but send Malweir on a course of self destruction.
“You have our word, Cashi Dam. We will not move.”
Satisfied with the wizard’s word, the warrior stalked off into the village.
“You take many liberties with our generosity,” Boen accused. “I need no one to speak for me. I’m Gaimosian.”
“That’s exactly what worries me,” Anienam fired back. “You need to step back and think with your mind instead of your sword. These are docile people unless you come threatening. Their spears and arrows are dipped with toxins I can’t counter. We need them on our side if we’re going to make it to Trennaron on time.”
“Gaimosians do not forget injustices,” Boen threatened.
The wizard sighed, knowing it was all macho positioning in order to save face. He’d never had time for such childish games. The end goal was much more serious than even Boen understood. Should they stumble or fall, the body count would rise higher than all of the wars of the past combined. Malweir couldn’t sustain such loses without total extinction of many races.
“What injustice comes from taking a moment to think?” he asked after a moment. “We are invaders as far as they’re concerned. They met our threat with one of their own. No one was harmed, no grave insults delivered. Give me time to settle an accord. It worked in Venheim and Drimmen Delf. Why can’t it work in Teng as well?”
Boen folded his massive arms across his barrel chest and grunted. Even he couldn’t argue with cold logic. For all his bluster, he had no inclination towards killing these backward villagers. They weren’t worth the effort. At least that’s what he told himself.
Satisfied the immediate threat had passed, Anienam looked to the others. “Does anyone else have an issue with me settling this my way?”
Bored stares met his. They’d seen and heard it all too many times before. For most, this was just another pointless delay in a quest they didn’t want to be part of. They’d lost weight, shed blood, and seen unimaginable nightmares unfold. Countless deaths of all types haunted many in the cold hours in the middle of the night. They were tired. Tired of loss. Tired of battles. Tired of being hunted and hounded by monstrosities that shouldn’t exist. Reaching Trennaron and getting the Blud Hamr represented the end of their struggles, or so the general consensus thought. Only Anienam knew the true depths of what they were going to endure before the end. And he was loath to tell more until absolutely necessary.
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