Empire of Bones

by Christian Warren Freed

  Most struck a fresh body, though one or two managed to hit the same soldier. It didn’t matter. The Wolfsreik were taken off guard. Orlek bellowed and his fighters charged while the enemy was still disoriented enough to lack cohesion. Ingrid was the last to rise, despite her jittery nerves and an unquenchable desire to strike first blood. Her timid roar disappeared in the growing chorus. She pointed her sword at the closest soldier, one of the fallen scouts. He was trapped beneath his horse; his leg crushed from the fall. Ingrid hesitated when she caught him staring back at her. The fright in his eyes was evident to a blind man.

  “Do it,” Orlek ordered with sternness that made her flinch.

  Ingrid spent hours thinking of what it would take to turn the rebellion to her way of thinking, her vision for a stronger Delranan. How many imaginary soldiers had she killed over the course of the winter? How many times did she stand triumphantly over her vanquished enemies while her fighters cheered her name? Reality was much harsher than her dreams. Ingrid plunged her sword down into the fallen soldier. She vomited as the soft flesh tore and gave way to bone and the hidden organs within. The soldier gave a short cry while dark blood frothed on his lips. His eyes rolled back into his head in death. Tears filled Ingrid’s eyes. She never saw Harlan’s gallant charge from behind.

  “Here, you need to drink this,” Orlek said brusquely.

  Ingrid, eyes burning from her tears, couldn’t stand to look up into his face. She feared whatever judgments he had reserved for her. Shame heaped upon her slender shoulders. She’d been so eager to get into the fight that she never considered the cost it would take from her soul. Talking of battles and deeds of grandeur was well and fine, but the cold reality of watching a Man she killed turn pale blue in a puddle of his own blood twisted her stomach. She wasn’t cut out to be a field commander.

  “Take it, Ingrid. You need warmth inside you,” Orlek insisted. “There will be a time for self-loathing when this war is done.”

  She stared blankly at the snow.

  Frowning, Orlek bunched his heavy cloak and sat beside her, forcing the flask into her trembling hands. “We’re at war. Men die. There is no escaping that fact. The only way the enemy will die is if we kill them. You did what you had to do.”

  “I killed him,” she protested.

  He shook his head. “No. You killed an enemy asset. He was a soldier that would have run you through without second thought. Worse if you’d been taken alive. Men like that like to have fun with their captives before they kill them. Be thankful you struck first. The alternative would not have been to your liking.”

  “How do you do it?” she asked slowly. Each word inspired fresh pain.

  He shrugged. “I don’t think about it. You must harden your heart to do the kind of work I do. Killing isn’t easy, especially for someone who’s never done it. I’d like to tell you it gets easier with time, but it doesn’t. Not if you let it get to you. The best way to do it is to put it from your mind immediately.”

  Orlek neglected to mention how the faces continue to haunt you night after night. He didn’t figure she needed to worry about that right now. They’d just scored a major victory, even on such a small scale, and needed to capitalize on it before the enemy regained momentum. Other patrols were still out in the countryside. The faster the rebellion struck, the easier it would be to spread the enemy out. They desperately needed the Wolfsreik to disperse in order to strike harder and to greater effect. He couldn’t do that with Ingrid wallowing in grief.

  He fixed a stern, almost fatherly look at her. “Ingrid, there is no time for this. We are at a critical crossroads. Harnin will send all of his might here once he learns of what we did. It’s time to spread out and bring this kingdom to its knees. The people need you. I thought you purged the weakness from our ranks when we left Chadra and overthrew Inaella?”

  Ingrid abandoned her misery and shot Orlek a foul glare. “You know why I did what I did, Orlek. Your hands are just as red as mine. The rebellion had grown stagnant. I did what needed to be done for the good of the kingdom.”

  “The kingdom or your own ego?” he asked.

  “My ego has nothing to do with this! I am a patriot. Harnin One Eye has ruined our land, killed our people, and invited darkness into our hearts. He needs to be removed before we are all reduced to corpses frozen and forgotten in the harsh winter freeze.”

  Orlek cracked a tight grin and began to nod. “Good. That’s the spark that drew me to you. Never lose it, not for an instant. We won’t survive the war if you do.”

  “You make this all seem so reasonable, as if it’s supposed to happen,” she replied, already calming down. “I don’t like killing, Orlek. I feel dirty.”

  He nodded again. “Killing’s a dirty business. I’d like to say you get used to it but that would be a lie. My advice to you is to stay back in Fendi. You’re in charge. Be in charge.”

  She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Reluctantly, she drank from the flask. It burned all the way down into her stomach. Ingrid coughed as she felt the heat spread throughout her body. She sputtered, “Are you trying to kill me?”

  He broke out with laughter. “This is Fendi’s finest, Ingrid.”

  “More like cow piss,” she scoffed before realizing the absurdity of what she’d said. A year ago she never would have been caught using vulgarity. Funny how much leading a war changed people.

  She and Orlek shared a much needed laugh and he helped her to her feet. It was past time they returned to the quiet northern village. Without another word the rebels finished consolidating whatever they could use and headed back to Fendi. The trek was quick and uneventful. Thoughts already turned towards getting drunk in celebration, regardless of Orlek’s caution. Their victory was minor with great threat of reprisal once word got back to Chadra Keep. Until then much needed to be done.

  Secured in the relative safety of the inn’s common room, Ingrid and Orlek eagerly awaited Harlan’s return. The enigmatic Man remained a mystery; one Ingrid wasn’t comfortable with having in her life while so many enemies roamed the kingdom. They weren’t safe until Harnin’s entire regime was removed from power.

  “He’s late,” she said between bites of rather gamey mutton. She’d never been a fan of lamb, but whoever was responsible for cooking the chewy meat on her plate thoroughly reinforced her feelings. Ingrid swore to starve before touching lamb again.

  Orlek washed a bite of fat-laced meat down with dry red wine. “Relax, Ingrid. He’ll be here.”

  “Unless he’s dead,” she countered hurriedly.

  “Your optimism inspires me,” he said and frowned. “Harlan will be here. Just have a little faith. We have other items to worry over.”

  “I know, but I can’t help it. Especially after all we went through in Chadra. The supplies are being distributed throughout the village. Our share is being loaded and taken to one of the safe houses in the countryside, the old bear caves I believe. More people are pouring in. Keeping them armed and fed is proving to be a hassle.” She paused, never imaging the trials of leadership could be so grueling. “We can only hope the other villages are meeting with equal success.”

  “The One Eye won’t know what hit him if we can organize the kingdom before he wields the Wolfsreik. They’re good soldiers, some of the best, but even they can’t be everywhere at once. We still have a chance, Ingrid,” Orlek told her. The confidence lacing his words left her inspired precisely when she needed it.

  The door opened suddenly followed closely by Harlan and a swirl of snow. A fresh storm had blown in shortly after the rebels returned and was inundating Fendi with at least another foot. Orlek and Ingrid’s plans were put on hold until the snows blew out. He stomped the slush from his boots and shook the snow from his hair.

  “You look cold,” Orlek remarked.

  Harlan frowned sharply. “You go stand outside in this weather. I don’t think winter is ever going to end.”

  “Look at the bright side, there’s a good chance we’ll all be dea
d before spring,” Orlek said. “What news do you bring?”

  Harlan took a moment to pull his bluish hands from his brown leather gloves and warm them over the fire. “Better than we expected. I was able to coordinate a series of attacks on their supply lines across a quarter of the kingdom. We raided three supply convoys and a mounted patrol. Not a bad way to start the war.”

  “The war has been going on for far too long already, Harlan,” Ingrid reminded him. “What about casualties?”

  “Minimal. Seven dead, thirteen wounded,” Harlan answered. “The enemy suffered far worse and we managed to secure the majority of the supplies before they were damaged.”

  Ingrid was pleased, and more than a little surprised, with their initial successes, but the feeling was compounded with the knowledge that their base of operations was no longer secure. “Fendi is untenable. It’s time to move.”

  “In this storm?” Harlan asked. “We’d lose more than we can afford. It’s not worth the risk, Ingrid. At least wait until it blows over.”

  Orlek agreed. “Harlan’s right. Moving in the storm isn’t worth risking all we’ve won thus far. We still have time.”

  “Time is as much our enemy as the Wolfsreik, but perhaps there is merit in your approach. Our foes are as hampered by the storm as we are,” Ingrid relented. “I want everyone ready to move the moment the last flake hits the ground. Harnin will be relentless in his pursuit. He knows, as do I, that we stand on the precipice. The success or failure of our next move could very well determine the course of this war.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Beleaguered

  The decanter burst into thousands of tiny pieces as it crashed into the cold stone wall. One of the wolfhounds, patiently curled up under the aged table, snapped up and began barking. Torchlight flickered angrily across the walls. Centered in the rage, Harnin One Eye stood with clenched fists. His body trembled with unbridled anger.

  “I entrusted you!” he seethed. “I gave you my confidence, despite my better judgments. You took my soldiers into the city and managed to get several of them killed. For what?”

  Inaella stood her ground. “For the knowledge that the rebellion has been successfully driven out of the city and into the countryside.”

  “Dispersed into smaller units capable of evading my army!” Harnin shouted back. “I had your precious rebellion dead within the city limits. Your ineptitude pushed them out where it will be next to impossible to get without burning the entire kingdom to the ground.”

  “You wanted your city back, One Eye. I gave it to you. You had Lord Argis executed from the tops of these walls, infuriating the general population and you dare accuse me of incompetence?” Inaella pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Your zealousness led us to this point. The rebellion was never confined to just Chadra. We were spread across Delranan in small cells waiting for the proper time when we could make a coordinated assault on every one of your power bases. Chadra was the control center for it all. You whine that I ruined your designs when in truth I gave you what you needed most: the total displacement of the rebellion command and control center. None of those cells can function in any other way but independently from now on. Accuse me all you wish, Lord Harnin, but you and I both know the inescapable truth of my actions.”

  Harnin paused. The desire to take her head surged through his blood. She’d quickly grown to be cancerous to all he stood for. Even when she’d been his enemy, Inaella was seldom this effective. The rebellion had never been more than poorly trained amateurs, even with Argis’s training. This aristocrat woman, oh yes, he knew exactly who she’d been before all this, was part of everything wrong in Delranan. Yet he couldn’t ignore the feeling that she had already done more for him than most of his lords combined. She was quickly becoming an indispensible asset. His anger subsided slowly.

  “How do you propose to get at all of the smaller cells?” he asked suddenly. Accusations no longer held sway in his discussion. He needed to step back and think clearly if he was going to have his kingdom secured before Badron and the Wolfsreik returned. That’s when the real fight begins.

  Inaella smoothed the front of her light brown dress and pursed her lips with thought. “Ingrid is a commoner. While she might have been married to an officer, she isn’t one. She lacks the foresight to track the entire war. She’ll take her time, moving cautiously while she tries to validate her tactics. The plague ravaged their ranks. Whatever dregs remain pose no significant threat.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  She offered her best false smile. “Disperse the Wolfsreik into company-sized elements and scour every village, town, and city in Delranan. Take away their hiding places. Force them into the open where you can bring your full might to bear. You can crush the rebellion in one fell swoop and focus your attention on the coming war when the king returns.”

  She was careful not to include herself in the conversation. Harnin was notoriously unstable. Who knew what might upset him. It didn’t take much imagination to envision him cleansing his own ranks, and what better place to start than with her? She needed to tread carefully in order to secure her rightful place in the new court of the kingdom.

  Mention of Badron darkened whatever bright spot colored his mood. He lacked the manpower, logistics, and weapons to fight the main body of the army. His one advantage lay in the fact that the army had been at war for months and would be depleted almost enough to make the field even. None of that mattered unless he managed to get rid of the rebellion and consolidate his power base. Fresh winter storms hampered the construction of several small defensive positions being established along the roads leading from the Murdes Mountains to the east. Every likely avenue of approach was being covered with traps, ambushes, and revetments capable of holding up the enemy for weeks.

  “You denounce this Ingrid in one sentence and praise her in the next,” he said. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you are not wholly on my side, Inaella.”

  The sound of her grinding teeth grated through the chamber. “She will die by my hand before this is done. I swear to you. There is no love in my heart for the rebellion. True, I gave them everything for the period of time I was on the council. She betrayed my trust and left me to die while her followers stole all I’d won. Kill all the others for yourself, but I will make Ingrid pay for her crimes.”

  Harnin wore a pleased look. “Good. Hatred is a cornerstone for people in our business. We grow stale without the driving force of hate. Dark days are coming to Delranan. Those caught without hate in their hearts will be driven to the ground and crushed beneath the rest. Embrace your hatred, Inaella. Use it to determine your actions and you will find yourself rising in my estimation. Perhaps one day you might even have a voice in my new kingdom.”

  He dismissed her with a simple wave. Insulted, Inaella held her tongue and stormed out. Her mind twisted with opposing thoughts as she wormed her way through Chadra Keep. Life had changed so dramatically over the past few months, she hardly recognized herself anymore. Her skin itched constantly from the scarring. Residual effects from the plague caused havoc in her body. She walked with a limp now and seldom went anywhere with her hood down. Inaella prided herself on being a realist, and realism demanded she accept she’d gone from the educated, aristocrat wife to a hideous being with a twisted soul. Fortunately she was beyond the point of disgust. All of her focus centered on revenge.

  Every time she closed her eyes Ingrid’s face mocked her. That effervescent smile framed by golden locks of hair. A faint measure of perfection meant to drive her down into the depths of despair. Hate was a fairly new concept for her. Inaella spent much of her life in the lap of luxury, never having to struggle for anything. She’d been given all she asked for and more. Life as an heiress to a major factor with holdings in three kingdoms offered much. She attended the grandest balls and wore jewelry crafted by Dwarves. Inaella was the envy of society.

  Those days were finished. The rebellion changed everything. Her home was bur
ned when Harnin ousted everyone who’d benefited under Badron’s reign. Her husband was killed for trying to defend his home and family. At the time she wasn’t strong. She fled into the night rather than stand at her husband’s side. She abandoned everything she owned, everything she was, for the false security of her own life. There was little doubt of her turning to the fledgling rebellion. Inaella poured all of her anguish and self-loathing into turning the tide against Harnin. It was all for naught.

  Ingrid robbed her of her revenge. Stole the opportunity to strike back into the enemy’s heart in the name of her husband and for everyone who had lost in the early days of rebellion. Ingrid became the hero Inaella could never be. She became the face of the rebellion, a guiding force drawing others like moths to the flame. The rebellion had been a faceless entity until Ingrid’s usurpation.

  “You carry much grief with you.”

  She froze. Her hand immediately dropped to the dagger hidden in her robes while she searched the half shadows filling the hallway. “Show yourself.”

  “Not yet. The time is not right for you to see me. Take comfort in knowing that you are not alone. There are powerful forces moving behind the scenes in Delranan. Know that you are being looked after.”

  “I don’t need looking after,” she said defiantly. Her slender fingers clenched the dagger’s hilt. “What Woman needs a faceless voice whispering cunning encouragement while hiding in the night? I am my own Woman. Save your petty assurances for those less fortunate.”

  Something rustled in the darkness. “Are you? How far you have fallen from grace, Inaella. The leaves have fallen from your tree yet you still cling to the falsity of independence. What do you have left but the rot devouring you from the inside?”