Boen strolled up after they’d all returned and began gathering the horses and supplies. The wagon the villagers of Teng gave them was irreparably broken. He supposed a thousand-pound tree landing on it would crush just about anything. His own body felt like a reflection of the wagon. Bruised and battered in more places than he knew he had, Boen hadn’t had a beating like this in a very long time. He was beginning to rethink his career as a Vengeance Knight. Perhaps it was time to hang up the sword and find a home.
“Bahr, we can’t linger,” he said.
Bahr sighed. The Gaimosian was right, but he didn’t need to voice it so soon. They all hurt and needed time to recover before forging ahead. The mental anguish over losing Maleela, perhaps for good, threatened to bring Bahr to tears. All he wanted was a moment’s peace. Peace Boen’s drive wouldn’t allow.
“What am I supposed to do, Boen?” he asked, frustrated. “My niece has been taken. Gods only know what those Harpies will do to her, and you want me to push it to the back of my mind and carry on like nothing has happened?”
“What Harpies?” Anienam asked.
Boen explained what they’d found in the jungle while Bahr glowered at him. The wizard found himself nodding as Boen told the brief tale. His heart sank. After their battle in Fedro he figured them out of the equation. Granted, his knowledge of the ancient, dying race was limited, as was everyone else’s, but he grimly concluded it was yet another mistake. Then it dawned on him.
“I very much doubt she was captured only to be killed,” he said excitedly. Catching the menace in Bahr’s eyes forced him to explain faster. “Think about it. The Gnaals left almost at the same moment Maleela was taken, or so I’m guessing. That means they all came with one purpose in mind. Distract us and steal the girl. The Dae’shan want her alive, though for what purpose I do not know.”
“Dae’shan? I thought we left them far behind,” Boen grunted.
“Technically we did, but they aren’t bound by the same physical restraints we are. They can fold the air around them and go just about anywhere in Malweir. A neat little trick that has served their deviousness well over the years.”
“Didn’t you think this was important information to know earlier?” Bahr snapped. He was tired of being the only one to defend the wizard. More people had gotten killed because of his ineptitude. How much longer before that corpse is me?
Anienam shrugged. “Would it have mattered? None of us have the ability to counter it. I told you what you needed to know to keep you on task, Bahr. Anything else was merely useless data that wouldn’t help us one bit. I’ve gotten us this far. Trust me to take us to the end.”
“But you haven’t, have you?” Bahr countered. “You’ve led us from one nightmare to another without pause. How many times have we nearly been killed since leaving Delranan? How many battles have we fought in the name of a thing most of us don’t believe in? There are times when I think you are working against us.”
He stalked off angrily.
Boen kept Anienam from following. “Leave him. He needs to work this out on his own. We’ve all been through a lot, him more so. That young girl is his only true family.”
Try as he wanted, Anienam just couldn’t relate to the concept.
“Wizard,” Boen said and lowered his voice. “Who killed Ionascu? That girl didn’t own an ounce of malice. Was it the Gnaals or Dae’shan?”
Anienam looked back to the jungle where Maleela disappeared. “Honestly I don’t know and I’m not so sure that I want to find out either. Some deeds are best left in the dark.”
Ironfoot finished tying the knot on the bandage over Skuld’s arm wound and gave it a thorough once-over. Satisfied with his work, the Dwarf captain said, “Try to keep it dry and you’ll be fine. It’s not even a real wound, come to think on it. I remember this skirmish against raiders when I took a dagger between my ribs.” He lifted his tunic and pointed to the knobbed scar running across his right side. “Right here, see? Hurt more than tickled but it drew enough blood to get me mad. I couldn’t kill that Man fast enough. See, they came out of…”
“Ironfoot,” Skuld interrupted as respectfully as he could. The shock of being stopped mid-story left him with a dumbfounded look on his face. “I’m fine, really. Thank you.”
The old Ironfoot, the one who was content working in the mines and fighting Goblins and Dark Dwarves, would have lashed out at the boy. Instead he chuckled. Being around Men must have made him soft. He lacked the brutal edge his people were renowned for. Rubbing his scar, Ironfoot lowered his tunic and went off. Perhaps the boy was right. There was a time and a place for stories. Preferably over a mug of dark ale.
Shrugging his indifference, Ironfoot ambled off to see who else needed help. He purposefully avoided the complications of Dorl and Rekka. There were just some problems he didn’t want to get involved with. Besides, he had two wives of his own and it was a constant struggle to keep just one of them content. Let Dorl handle his own issues. Nothol seemed to be in just as much of a funk. Ironfoot suspected the sell sword felt responsible for the turn of events. It was a foolish notion. No one person was responsible for anything that had happened. Nothol Coll was just being selfish. The failure of their situation was the result of all their shortcomings.
Not wanting anything to do with Ionascu’s corpse, Ironfoot marched on by without offering a second look. He hoped the broken worm-of-a-Man died poorly. Such people didn’t deserve honorable deaths. A Dwarf in that state would have taken his own life rather than continue to live in shame. Men had no such compunctions, however. Ionascu lived with venom in his heart and yellow on his back. The Dwarf more than once briefly considered planting his axe in the Man’s back. He’d be ridding them of a great cancer in the process. Much of the discourse among them stemmed from Ionascu. The Dwarf knew no one missed him, despite Anienam’s insistence they each had a part to play. Frowning, he passed the dead Man and found himself standing before Groge.
The Giant sat by himself, weeping heavily. Ironfoot stopped short, suddenly unsure if he was ready, or capable, of handling the young Giant’s issues. Not that there was much real choice. Boen and Bahr could handle themselves and he’d already made the rounds through the others. Ironfoot steeled himself for the worst. Groge it was.
“I didn’t know Giants cried,” he said lightheartedly.
Groge didn’t look up but instead buried his face deeper in his hands. Ironfoot immediately had a bad feeling. He wasn’t the most emotional Dwarf. His previous philosophy revolved around the proper use of an axe to solve problems. He looked the Giant over and came to the conclusion his axe wouldn’t make a scratch. Best not to irritate the lad.
“Nothing can be that bad. You’re a warrior now, lad. Time to start acting like it.”
“I’m not a warrior. I’ve never committed a single act in anger,” Groge said after wiping his eyes on the back of a sleeve. “Being in the lowlands is changing me, Ironfoot.”
“Change is a natural part of life,” the Dwarf replied. “Doesn’t make any sense fighting it. Life moves on regardless of our desires. You got your hands bloody for the first time and lived to tell of it. That’s a good thing.”
“Is it?” Groge lifted his massive head to stare him in the eyes. “How can any being enjoy taking life? I feel less because of it. Generations of my people have hidden from this primal rage. I am the first to come close to succumbing. There is no honor, no pride left in me. I have failed my people.”
Ironfoot was shocked. Confessions were often viewed as a sign of weakness. He didn’t know the Giant well, but what he did know suggested a being of the highest honor. “Saving your friends lives isn’t honorable? You beat back that Gnaal, keeping the wizard and the girl alive. Don’t wallow in self pity over fighting evil.
“I don’t understand. You have great strength and a good heart. What disgrace have you placed on the Giants?” the Dwarf growled. He despised anyone feeling sorry for themselves. Even if that someone was close to twelve feet tall.
Groge exhaled a deep breath that smelled of rotten vegetables and chewed meat. “Long ago my people roamed the kingdoms of Malweir. We fought in the Mage Wars, killing many countless numbers of enemy soldiers. It was a terrible time. Those Giants lost to the killing frenzy attacked everything that got too close, including their own kind. Once the war ended, what remained of my people fled into the mountains with vows of peace. Peace at all costs. I broke that peace. I could feel the hate building in me, Ironfoot. It whispered to me, begging for release so that it could feed. I’m scared.”
For once the Dwarf didn’t know what to say. He tried to compare his own experiences with what the youthful Giant was going through but couldn’t find any suitable. He was born to be a warrior. They fought mock battles in the training pits under watchful eyes. Everything in Dwarven culture spoke of martial prowess. To hear a being as large as Groge complain that he’d violated some ancient law governing self-control was ridiculous. A smaller individual would get a crisp slap on the back and a few choice harsh words to get his head back in the fight. Ironfoot simply didn’t know how to handle a Giant.
“You’re the only one that can get past this,” he finally said. “Keep in mind that you did a good thing here and that time is running out to make your peace. My bones tell me there’s a war coming. We’re going to need you before too long.”
The rest of the day passed quickly. They ate, tried to recover from their ordeal, and sat around in prolonged periods of awkward silence. Sleep, while desperately needed, was long in coming for all but Boen. The Gaimosian could sleep after anything. Dorl attributed it to his advanced age. Old people needed sleep more than the young. He felt childish with jealousy over such a simple thing, but Boen made the rest of them look bad. The sell sword stretched and dropped back onto his sleeping roll.
Instead of finding sleep he found himself looking at Rekka as she oiled and sharpened her sword. The pristine condition was gone, battered away against the leathery hide of the Gnaal. He doubted she’d ever be able to get it back into proper shape. While she busied herself in her work, Dorl noticed the olive-skinned jungle warrior steadily stripping his friends of their weapons, clothes, and belongings. The slender Man painstakingly closed their eyes and did his best to clean the worst of their wounds. He was clearly in pain, having seen his friends die so violently. Worse was the knowledge that he alone had survived. Shame racked his battered body.
The lone survivor of the Teng warriors finished burying his comrades in their village custom. He stripped the bodies of everything but a loincloth, tied their hands and feet together, and gently took them all to the nearest body of water where he found a large banyan tree. Their bodies would forever be interned in a nameless part of the jungle, swallowed by other life forms so that all life might benefit. With a heavy heart he returned to the ruined campsite and collected what he could carry on his back.
He hefted his broken spear and looked Rekka squarely in the eyes with an accusatory gesture. “Their deaths are on your hands, Rekka Jel. Never return to Teng, for you will be hunted and executed for the murder of Cashi Dam and these warriors. You are a traitor. I name you outcast.”
Rekka said nothing. She bowed her head in acknowledgment and returned to her sword. Dorl made to stand up and defend her but was stopped with a loving hand on his forearm. There were some battles he wasn’t meant to fight.
TWENTY-FOUR
Trennaron
Endless miles of jungle dragged on at a grueling pace, punishing the invaders who dared to delve into the unseen heart of Brodein. The small band of adventurers pushed on without much regard for their surroundings. The singular purpose of reaching the mythical temple of Trennaron drove them when all else withered and died. Each of them lost weight. Their clothes began to rot and fall apart. The jungle intended to claim them much as it had countless others over the centuries. Not even the wizard was strong enough to stop it.
The days began to blend together. Differences between night and day lost meaning. The canopy blocking out the sun and moon thickened the deeper they went. Only Ironfoot found comfort in the confining atmosphere. Much of the jungle reminded him of his caverns in Drimmen Delf. He took the point position for most of their trek while Anienam recovered his sorely depleted strength. Only Rekka knew what to expect when they finally arrived at Trennaron and she was being more tight-lipped than usual.
Grief and guilt haunted Bahr. Life as a sea captain was one fraught with peril, constantly exposing him to near winless situations. Failure was a strange companion he’d grown accustomed to being near. This sort of failure threatened to steal his will to continue. Strange that so little a thing could cause intense amounts of damage. He wasn’t used to having a family, not from the day he abandoned his right to the throne and went in search of his own life. Having a meaningful relationship, even one still budding, ripped out of his hands on a whim bore great holes in the corners of his soul. Her abduction was his fault. Carelessness led them into the jungle. His lack of understanding of the situation worsened all of their lives.
Yet they continued with him, not saying a word of the past. They followed his guidance with the unspoken knowledge that he was going to steer them in the right direction, get them to their final destination and, hopefully, bring them home alive. It was a great weight threatening to become a burden. He was used to being a leader. Taking charge and being responsible for the lives of his crew went hand in hand with being captain. He enjoyed it. Relished the opportunity to watch his people develop and grow under his tutelage. This quest was changing his mind. He didn’t want to be responsible for anyone. Bad things clung to them when he was.
Camp was established in the middle of a small stand of teak trees. Verdant moss blanketed the ground, providing a natural bed more comfortable than any they’d had since leaving Chadra so many months ago. Small talk broke the monotony, but there wasn’t any real feeling to it. The sheer impossibility of what the Gnaals represented left them shaken in ways no one wanted to admit. Confidence waned at a time when it was needed to improve.
Bahr finished brushing his horse down and idly picked the coarse hair from the brush. The repetition soothed him and helped him forget the troubles hounding him. He looked out towards the camp, taking in each of them singularly. Dorl was bordering on becoming a jealous wreck. Rekka might as well be a statue. Nothol was oddly quiet, still blaming himself for losing sight of Maleela in the first place. Skuld stood on the edge. The boy was ready to break. Bahr hoped not. He rather liked the former stowaway. Boen was as implacable as ever. Groge hadn’t spoken much since his combat with the Gnaal. Ionascu was already mad, making Bahr wish they’d killed him long ago. He couldn’t stand listening to another off-key song.
The only one that didn’t seem bothered by what had happened was the Dwarf. Dour as he was taciturn, Ironfoot marched on without complaint. The stout Dwarf never tired. Never complained. He was a credit to his race and to warriors everywhere. Bahr wished he had more Dwarves along. He could conquer a kingdom with enough, despite their crude mannerisms and affinity for warm ale. Still, they were second best in a fight only to the Gaimosians. His initial reluctance to accept Ironfoot into the ranks faded after the battle with the river Men. Ironfoot fought with a deadly combination of skill and ferocity. He was quite possibly their most valuable asset.
Bahr’s gaze finally fell on the wizard. Anienam Keiss was a shadow of the cocky Man waiting on Bahr’s rain-swept doorstep. The swagger of self righteousness was gone, lost somewhere between being buried under Chadra and the jungle. His overarching sense of purpose seemed diminished, as if he had lost his confidence. Bahr was ashamed to admit he took a measure of perverse enjoyment out of it, but he needed Anienam at full speed if they were going to succeed in getting the Blud Hamr and return safely to Delranan. Shoving the brush back into a saddlebag, Bahr headed over to the wizard. It was time they talked.
“I was wondering when you’d come around,” Anienam said indignantly. They hadn’t spoken since the outburst at the
end of the battle.
Bahr felt his cheeks flush. It was a difficult thing for a grown Man, swallowing his pride. “We should go somewhere. I don’t want to disturb the others. They’ve been through enough. Let them rest while they can.”
“Agreed.” He held out his hand for Bahr to pull him to his feet and they walked back to the opposite side of the horses.
“I’m a man, Anienam. I make no excuses for my actions, nor do I expect anyone to do the same for me. This world is harsh and I need to be harsh along with it. That being said, I was…wrong to lash out at you. It wasn’t your fault Maleela was taken. You didn’t deserve my wrath.” Bahr felt better with the admission, but still had a long way to go to get back to where they were at the beginning of the quest.
Anienam graciously accepted the admission. He knew it was as close to an apology as a Man as proud as Bahr was going to give. It worked. “Captain Bahr, we have all been stressed greatly. This quest has taxed us all. I admit I’ve not been my best, nor have I given you all I have.” He held up a hand to prevent Bahr from interrupting. “There is good reason for that. Much of what we are about to experience will test the limits of your faith and comprehension. We are dealing with forces beyond the scope of your imagination. I thought it best not to encumber the others with these details until absolutely necessary.”
“While I question your decision-making capabilities, I won’t deny the others have been through more than any of us imagined,” Bahr gave in. “But you and I need to have a reckoning. The longer this journey lasts the more I find myself doubting you. We need complete trust if we’re to continue. Anything less will take us past the edge of ruin.”
Empire of Bones Page 20
