Empire of Bones

by Christian Warren Freed

  “What’s our next move?” Venten asked. He was eager to begin the cleansing process, to honor the late king.

  Aurec sighed, still unsure which direction he wanted to move. Badron was loose somewhere in the kingdom, along with an unknown number of Goblins and Men. There was no telling what damage they were capable of. “Badron has to be our first concern. As long as he remains at large he poses a threat to the stability of Rogscroft. We need to have units scouring the countryside for him. I would very much like to put Badron’s head on the same pike he used on my father.”

  “He’s fleeing back to Delranan in all likelihood,” the elder Man said. “There’s no place for him to hide here. Every man, woman, and child will be looking for him.”

  “Badron’s experienced enough not to move without knowing he could succeed. There must be some factor we’re missing. I need Rolnir here,” Aurec said.

  “He’s en route,” Vajna replied. “Piper Joach is seeing to the disposition of the army but it’s a mess. Every major industry and public work has been demolished. It will take weeks just to rebuild enough to keep the snow off our heads. Badron did a very thorough job in ruining the kingdom before he fled.”

  “If he fled at all,” Aurec countered. “We must assume he is trying to get back to Delranan, as Venten suggested, but why? Reports are Harnin One Eye has claimed the throne for himself and turned the kingdom into a shallow effigy of what it once was. So what does he hope to accomplish by going home?”

  “I don’t see the point in worrying about that. Once he’s gone, good riddance. Rogscroft is ours again and we have the solemn duty to rebuild it.” Vajna, of them all, seemed tired of the war. He wanted to hang up his sword belt and retire already.

  “Badron is my priority! He will pay for what he’s done to our people, my family, and this kingdom!” Aurec shouted. The words echoed throughout the empty throne room.

  Even Venten took a step back. No one had ever heard Aurec’s rage before and the strength of conviction in his words shook their faith in what was morally right. The war changed many things. They were all vastly different from that first moment the Wolfsreik began the long march east. Death and suffering, once reduced to war gaming, were now so prevalent they had grown calloused to the sights of battle. Aurec was stronger, tougher, and meaner than a Man his age should be. All thanks to Badron. Venten frowned, knowing there was only one inevitable conclusion to this sad state of affairs. One of them needed to die.

  “Sire, General Rolnir is here,” an aide announced from the entrance to the throne room.

  Aurec waved him in, the angry scowl gradually fading as his mind calmed. He watched the Wolfsreik’s commanding officer enter with the loping gait he now associated with the wolf soldiers. The fur cloak hugging him reminded Aurec of a wild animal, a barely restrained beast in search of fresh victims. The young king envied the general though he’d never admit it. War came easy to one like Rolnir. Not so for Aurec. He wanted to be hard. To be the warrior king so many legends revolved around. Only he didn’t have it in him. He was forced to rely on Men like Rolnir and Vajna in order to execute his will on his enemies.

  “The city is a disgrace,” Rolnir said after stopping. He folded his arms across his wide chest and planted his feet shoulder width apart. The stance of a true warrior. “Badron and Grugnak have done everything they can to bog us down with recovery operations. It will be months, perhaps years before Rogscroft returns to any semblance of a habitable place.”

  “Time we can’t afford to waste if we’re to bring this war to a close,” Aurec replied.

  Rolnir’s light red eyebrow rose sharply. “Is that your true intent?”

  “Among other things.”

  Venten shifted his gaze from the king to the general. He’d been in the royal courts a long time and had seen many scenarios most people simply wouldn’t believe, but this was beyond any of his reckoning. Aurec was determined to pursue this struggle to the ends of his people. The former general-turned advisor wanted nothing more than to retire to a secluded part of the world and be forgotten by history. He feared he wouldn’t live to see the end of this war. So many friends had fallen over the course of the winter. Every time he turned around another empty chair sat at the table. Madness consumed those still living. Madness threatened to drag Aurec down and reduce him to his basest form. Venten needed to find a way to reverse the change, for the good of the king and his kingdom.

  “Badron still has a card to play,” he spoke up.

  Aurec extended his hands. “What card? He’s abandoned the city he once craved above all else. His army has sided with us and what remains of the Goblins are fleeing with him. Tell me, Venten, what card does he have left?”

  “Maleela.”

  The singular answer made Aurec’s heart skip. So focused on the prosecution of the war as he’d been he had all but forgotten her. No, not forgotten. Merely set aside in order to win. Any thoughts of her weakened his resolved. Left him hollow. With her by his side he felt like he could do no wrong. Perhaps if she remained with him he’d be able to find a clear path through this mess.

  “You don’t know for certain,” was all he managed to say.

  “No, but the possibility certainly exists. You must prepare yourself for every eventuality, Aurec. His hatred for her is well documented. What’s to stop him from using her to get you to lay down your sword and surrender all we’ve won?” Venten pressed. He needed the boy to think clearly with his mind rather than with his sword.

  Rolnir coughed gently, drawing all attention. “While I have no confirmed reports, rumor has it the princess escaped with her uncle and a small band of others, more than likely the same ones that rescued her in the first place, and headed south. This information is unsupported and months old already. I haven’t had much fresh information since snows closed the mountain passes.”

  “It’s a risk we can’t afford to take,” Aurec said slowly.

  Venten disagreed. “It’s a risk that doesn’t matter. We didn’t seek out this war, but it came to our doorstep regardless. We struggled through many hardships to reach this point and you would abandon it all for the sake of one? Think with your mind, not your heart.”

  “One? She is so much more than just a number, Venten. You’ve served my family well for decades. Will you so blindly caution to throw away all I stand for? If Badron has her I will not risk her death for the sake of vain glory.”

  “Badron isn’t the one you need to worry about,” Rolnir suggested. “The last reports I received from Delranan said that Harnin has taken the kingdom for himself. Badron, so far as we know, is still in Rogscroft trying to find the fastest way home. That means the sea. He knows he can’t cross the Murdes Mountains in deep winter. He’ll make for the coast and secure passage west. Once he boards that ship we lose all chance of stopping him. I advise sending strike units north with all dispatch to intercept and capture Badron.”

  Aurec looked at everyone in the room. His eyes bore the same steely hardness of flint in the morning sun. “Capture isn’t good enough. I want Badron dead.”

  TWENTY

  Shadow Games

  The Goblin warrior raised his sword and attacked. His actions, deceptively spry for one of his weight and shape, were easily anticipated. Grugnak sidestepped the assault and lashed his own sword down. The razor-sharp edge ripped across the exposed warrior’s back. Dark blood sprayed across the sullied snow drifts as the Goblin screamed. Not wasting momentum, the Goblin commander spun the rest of the way around and took his warrior’s head.

  Three others leapt in to attack before he had the satisfaction of watching the head drop and roll. Grugnak was hard pressed. It took every ounce of will to keep from being killed by his own warriors. They fought without honor, using tooth, claw, and sword in their efforts to bring him down. He lacked time to look but knew Badron and his handful of remaining loyal Men were besieged similarly. Bodies already littered the ground. Some Human, most Goblin.

  The betrayal wasn’t unprecedented.
So many others had been cut down by their minions over time. What would have been an act of cowardice in civilized kingdoms was a way of life for the Goblins. Grugnak, however, had no intentions of letting his reign slip away so easily on a nameless field far from the security of the Deadlands. He hacked and tore into his warriors with unparalleled ruthlessness.

  A fist knocked two teeth out. He spat them with a mouthful of blood and saliva and drove his short dagger into the warrior’s exposed armpit. The Goblin died horribly. Two others drove him to the ground. Fists rained down, breaking bones and bruising him deeply. He snarled and cursed. Darkness clogged his vision. His heart pounded in his ears, obscuring all other sounds. Grugnak felt Lord Death reach his long fingers out to curl around him. Not ready to die yet, the Goblin commander swung and cut the ankle of the nearest warrior. Blood spurted into his face as the smaller Goblin fell.

  With one active opponent remaining, Grugnak was able to slide from beneath and get to his knees. The warrior was stunned, providing Grugnak the opening he needed to plunge his dagger into the other Goblin’s belly. Guts and offal spilled as Grugnak disemboweled him. Disgusted, yet savagely satiated, the Goblin commander rose to his feet quickly and stalked towards the wounded Goblin desperately trying to crawl away.

  “Thought you’d best me, scum?” Grugnak taunted before bringing his booted foot crushing down on the warrior’s skull.

  He looked for more targets but the traitors were either all dead or hiding away within the ranks to await another opportunity. Blood cooled on his armor and hands. His body ached from the severity of a beating he hadn’t felt since obtaining adulthood. Disappointment grew as he noticed Badron and his Men still standing, their own battle having ended. They’d come out alive, if not unscathed. Fate had other designs for the fallen king.

  “Explain this,” Badron demanded as he stormed up to Grugnak.

  The Goblin contemplated taking the king’s head. Killing him would give immediate satisfaction but little else. Without Badron’s support Grugnak knew he’d be replaced and executed the moment the new Goblin army arrived. His inability to defeat Rogscroft and Delranan rendered him ineffective. No doubt Amar Kit’han already planned for his succession. Grugnak needed to find a way to make himself vital to the coming war.

  “I do not control my warriors any more than you did your wolf soldiers,” he snarled. Spit and blood leaked from the corners of his mouth, down over the overextended lower jaw. “It is the season for betrayal.”

  “The Wolfsreik were subverted by that impetuous boy. Your Goblins are supposed to compensate their defection.” The king of Delranan fumed but had little else. He wasn’t strong enough to best the Goblin and they both knew it. Deception was necessary if he hoped to maintain their turbulent relationship, at least until the reinforcements arrived. “We must get to the coast in short order. Before the Dae’shan can counter my intentions.”

  “You seek to turn against them?” Grugnak asked.

  Madness sparked in Badron’s dark eyes. “I intend on reclaiming my kingdom and building a new army. The north is exposed, Grugnak. Wide open for an empire. I will become that emperor. Malweir needs a change.”

  “You speak strange thoughts. Fifty thousand Goblins march west to sweep the kingdoms of Men under their boots. Your empire will be short-lived unless you obey the Dae’shan.”

  “I am no one’s slave,” Badron seethed. His fists clenched with rage.

  All his life had been spent dedicated to others. He served his grandfather and father during their reigns. He served his people from the moment the diadem was placed upon his brow. He served his family, even after the death of his beloved wife. He served the Dae’shan, unwittingly, in their quest to open the gates to the dark gods’ prison so that Malweir would once again belong to them. Badron was tired of being a servant. He was a king of Men. The rule of the north belonged to him, not mythical gods or the foul-skinned Goblins.

  “Can you trust your warriors to stay loyal long enough to reach Delranan?” he asked quickly. Badron was no fool. He harbored no illusions of the Goblins remaining at his side to the end. Grugnak’s look spoke of a blade in the back the moment he thought it suited him best. Without the full support of the Wolfsreik, Badron lacked the allies he needed to put matters right. He needed a new army, fast.

  “No promises. We have not killed all of the traitors. War will see the strong survive. All others will be ground under our boots,” Grugnak replied with surety.

  Badron paused, choosing his next words carefully. Their already unstable alliance threatened to dissolve rapidly if both leaders continued with their headstrong attitudes. Both firmly believed Man and Goblin didn’t mix. Whatever trick of Fate changed the lost Dwarves into Goblins so long ago continued to bend and twist them into a miserable ruin of flesh. Their minds devolved into fragments of the past. Neither leader knew the truth of the past, though they were forced to endure the continuing echoes.

  “You don’t believe they will have need for you,” Badron said. “Why should they? An entirely different Goblin army, five times the size of yours, is heading this way with a different chain of command, following new orders. Poor Grugnak, you’ve been replaced and don’t even know it. Amar Kit’han used you and discarded you like so much refuse.”

  The Goblin pointed an accusing finger. “Mind your tongue, Man! As long as I live I command the Goblin forces in the west.”

  “We shall see,” Badron said quietly and stalked back to his horse.

  There was still another day’s travel before they’d reach the far northern shores. Another day of looking over their shoulders, fearing the sight of the Wolfsreik marching over the next rise. Rogscroft had become the most dangerous kingdom in the north, mostly attributed to Badron’s actions. Despite all he’d accomplished here, it was no longer safe for the king of Delranan. The time had come to abandon his fading dreams.

  This war was the culmination of his desire to humble King Stelskor. To break his mighty kingdom across the Wolfsreik’s knee and leave Rogscroft a mangled corpse incapable of recovery. He’d done that and so much more. The havoc caused by the Goblin army was unparalleled in recent history. Stelskor’s corpse was frozen, awaiting spring to begin rotting like the animal carcass it was. The major cities were reduced to mounds of rubble. A large portion of the population was dead or being slowly starved. Rogscroft would never recover, if not for one minor complication he hadn’t been able to eliminate. Aurec and the traitorous Wolfsreik changed the entire dynamic.

  Instead of razing the countryside, his army now aided in recovery and reconstruction efforts while fervently driving out all pockets of resistance. Goblins and loyal soldiers were murdered wherever they were found. Worse than his own Men hunting him, Badron found the Pell Darga most contemptible. The dark-skinned mountain people struck like wraiths, leaving only corpses and bloodstains to mark their passing. Their short spears were found in the backs of dozens of his remaining forces. If the current attrition rate continued he’d have nothing left when he made it back to Delranan.

  Left with two options, the king of Delranan considered turning on the troublesome Goblins now and forging ahead alone. He’d lose a great number of his own soldiers in the process, but the end justified the means. The unexpected freedom of solitude would allow him to accomplish his primary objective of reclaiming his kingdom from the One Eye. Grugnak’s Goblins were in the way and easy targets. Wheels began to turn. The time was fast approaching when he could shed the excess weight of the Goblin army and look to the future.

  Badron quickly mounted and ordered his soldiers to move out. There was still much ground to cover if he hoped to return to his kingdom and reclaim the stolen throne. Leagues rolled by as the beleaguered warriors fled north. Grugnak and his Goblins hung back, letting the Men take the lead. They’d already been proven as the Pell’s targets of choice. Goblins might be universally hated, but Badron had done the Pell wrong. Revenge was a trait in every race. An inescapable seduction of the mortal spirit. Badron’s
soldiers would die first, unless they turned on the Goblins. Grugnak laughed quietly. He was looking forward to the coming battle.

  * * * * *

  “He is breaking,” Kodan Bak whispered. His acidic words drifted across the winds like a poisonous cloud. “You should have chosen another.”

  Amar Kit’han, floating inches above the frozen ground, merely shook his hooded head. “No. Badron is the catalyst the dark gods need. The gateway between realms is weakened with each new death. Badron’s grief and hatred are pouring negative energies into the material separating our existence. Soon it will be enough to power the doorway.”

  “How many must die in order to begin the process?” Kodan asked. “We’ve been subverting Humanity for centuries, all for this singular event. Our enemies are many, allies thin.”

  “We don’t need allies, Kodan Bak. We are the Dae’shan. Ours is a higher purpose. The time has finally come for us to abandon King Badron. Summon what minions we have. We must go to Arlevon Gale.”

  “Nothing is in order,” the lesser Dae’shan countered. “The Gnaals have not returned from Brodein. Maleela has not been captured. Bahr and the wizard continue towards Trennaron unchecked. What success do you find in anything that has happened?”

  Electricity formed a protective shield around Amar. His transparent body shimmered in haze. “Success, in this instance, is immeasurable. The tangible effects of so many deaths weaken the veil. The dark gods require sacrifice. The power from each soul taken has been harvested by the Olagath Stone since we came to the north. Once the stone reaches maximum capacity we shall strike a blow that will all but cripple the two kingdoms. The psychic scream will pierce the veil and bring forth our masters.”