Rolnir’s words were harsh, lacking empathy while filling the council chamber with hatred. So much had changed over the past weeks he was no longer certain who he was. The one constant was how much he despised what his king had done to his kingdom, his home. Finding the proper words proved more difficult than he wanted. He frowned. Wars change Men, for the worse more so than the better. He felt twisted inside. A shallow fragment of what he had once aspired to be. Conditions of self-misery aside, Rolnir knew he could easily become lost in the doldrums of his uncertainty.
Aurec laid a supporting hand on his shoulder. “There you have it, Venten. We have a tall order to accomplish on an ill-defined timeline. General Rolnir, how soon before we can have the army mobilized?”
“Once the order is given I can have units heading for bivouac sites in the foothills by tomorrow evening,” he replied after quick mental calculations. “Moving piecemeal will keep the roads open and any unnecessary strain on the local economies.”
“It will also give us the opportunity to continue establishing positive control here in the city. The army needs to move out but the majority of combat forces are involved in restoration operations. With the massive influx of refugees into the city we’re already hard pressed to provide shelter and food,” Venten added.
As much as he didn’t like the idea, Aurec knew there was no choice. “The refugees are going to have to earn their keep. Draft every able body to the work details, but do it nicely. Rogscroft belongs to us all. Remind them of that and we should get as close to full cooperation as can be expected. Hungry people are willing to do more for less.”
“The treasury was depleted, even before Badron emptied the coffers,” Venten said quickly. “The war stretched us to our fiscal limits. We won’t be able to pay them.”
“Payment will come in the form of food and shelter,” Aurec said just as fast. “Give a soldier incentive and he’ll work twice as hard.” He smiled fondly at the memory of his father saying the exact thing several times after Aurec’s uninformed arguments about state. “Our people are nothing if not resilient. They’ll work and, while more than a few will no doubt gripe and complain, the vast majority will do their share and more to ensure this city is rebuilt. Having claim on a new home or shop won’t hurt their motivations either.”
A quiet chuckle rippled through them. Aurec continued, “Right now we’re looking at approximately one tenth of the city capable of housing people. Winter is coming to an end, thankfully, and I fully expect more refugees coming in. We must be prepared to handle them. Venten, I am entrusting the kingdom to you in my absence. Find out who did what in their previous lives. Bakers, butcher, farmers, crofters. Everyone had their place in life and we’re going to need each and every one of them in order to continue restoration efforts.”
“Your Majesty, you don’t mean to leave me behind when you begin the invasion?” Venten protested. He’d been alongside Aurec since the raid to rescue Maleela and his father, Stelskor, long before that. The very thought of being separated in the most dire of times left him winded.
“I don’t see much of a choice,” Aurec said softly. “We’ve come a long way in a matter of days but there is so much needing to be done I’d be surprised if we can accomplish it in my lifetime. I don’t suspect we’ll return before summer, next winter at the latest. Thankfully there’s no need to leave an occupation force as we’re now allies in restoring justice to the north. I can think of no one finer to leave the future of our kingdom to. Venten, you know more about running a kingdom than I ever will. Rogscroft needs your experience now.”
Humbled, Venten bowed his head and held out his hands. “How can I possibly refuse? Rest assured, young Aurec, I’ll do my best to keep recovery on pace. You don’t need to worry.”
“I didn’t think so,” Aurec replied happily. Venten’s determination often dwarfed his own. There was never any doubt of him acquiescing. Rogscroft needed a true statesman, not an upstart boy who’d be thrown the kingdom in the midst of one of the worst wars in history. “Are there any other concerns?”
“Supplies,” Vajna said. “We’ve been fairly well-off since combining our forces but maintaining adequate supply levels for the journey over the mountains and a prolonged campaign in Delranan will be problematic at best. Combine that with the fact we’re coming out of a particularly severe winter and I’ve no doubts we’ll see mild cases of starvation in some instances. The good news is water will be in abundance.”
“At least we won’t die of thirst,” Aurec said and half laughed. “Find a way to keep us fed. I don’t care how. I need Cuul Ol and his clan leaders. They must have stores available or know of a way for us to obtain more.”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult,” Rolnir said. “Plenty of our supply lines were raided during the crossing. I’m assuming the Pell have more than enough stocked up to see us through to spring.”
Aurec snickered. What little he’d managed to learn from the Pell Darga certainly didn’t refute Rolnir’s claims. “Very well. Gentlemen, the time to take the war into Delranan has come. Generals Rolnir and Vajna, you have your orders. Get the army moving and ready to cross the mountains the moment the weather allows. Venten, good luck to you. Dealing with civilians is far worse than angry soldiers not being paid.”
“What of me, Your Majesty?” Thorsson asked dourly. He bore a wary look, as if dreading what came next.
Aurec turned to the grizzled veteran. “You, Sergeant Major, will be at my side the entire way. Someone here needs to slap me back into my place when I get out of hand.”
Thorsson nodded. “I can do that.”
Satisfied they’d planned as well as possible for their limited intelligence, Aurec gave each a final look before saluting them. His stomach threatened to pull up out of his mouth. Defending Rogscroft was one thing, invading another kingdom completely different. History looked unfavorably on invaders, but he wasn’t going to Delranan in the hopes of attaining glory or riches. Aurec meant to liberate a people from tyranny. He hoped his father would be proud.
THIRTY-FOUR
Heroes Chosen
Bahr couldn’t take his eyes off of Groge or the Blud Hamr. He’d been remarkably unimpressed with the weapon when first setting eyes on it. The only difference he was able to discern was that it was larger, much larger, than a normal war hammer. He wasn’t even sure it was crafted for war, to be fair. It seemed too delicate, as if it would shatter on impact. His hastily formed opinions dissolved the moment the Giant took hold. Untamed power all but drove them all to their knees.
Thin, blue lines of electricity danced across the surface. The blinding white light skewed the normal colors, turning the world into shades of colors Bahr had never known. There few times when he’d felt as insignificant as in the moment the hammer’s power flared. A proud Man, Bahr went through life focused on the now. He’d witnessed mystery and mayhem in equal shares but never a moment so pristine as now.
He eyed the Giant with newfound approval. The youthful Groge stood straighter, sterner. His boyish façade melted away, exposing a gritty, untested warrior. Bahr wondered if Groge’s stance on nonviolence melted with it. In a way he hoped not. There was too much violence in the world. Too many foul souls trying to break down justice and order. More good people were needed, even if they came in the form of a Giant from Venheim, a land many had either forgotten or simply didn’t believe existed.
“Groge of Venheim, you have been accepted by the Blud Hamr as if only fitting since it was your very clan that crafted it.” Artiss’s explanation was loud enough so each of them could hear without straining. “It was your very first ancestor who was commissioned by the gods of light in anticipation of future events. They knew the treachery of their dark brethren ran deep and such tools would be required before the end. You are the legacy of their forethought.”
Groge bowed his head without taking his eyes off the hammer. He felt stronger, somehow wiser, as if the hammer imbued him with unknown fragments of historical fact. “I�
�never knew,” was all he managed to say.
Artiss drifted closer. “Nor should you have. How can anyone go through life knowing that they have been preordained to participate in a battle to decide the fate of an entire world? Do not begrudge the gods of light for their discretion. It was that foresight that enabled you to develop into the Giant you are now. All of you. Gods can be cruel or kind in equal part. Their kindness left all of you to grow and learn at your own pace.
“While I will not presume to know their true purpose, the gods of light manipulated genetics and time to bring you all together at specific points in your lives. You are the best and bravest of all the races. Victory or defeat rests squarely in your hands. Will you stand and rise above all of your predecessors or fall in abject failure while Malweir burns around you? I do not have the answers though I wish I had. This war is unlike any other that has been fought since recorded history began. Thousands of years long and costing millions of lives, the final battle between the gods is about to occur. You are the chosen heroes, arrayed against an undeniable cast of utter evil.”
Boen stretched his lower jaw. “You make it sound dark.”
“Isn’t it? Boen, of vanquished Gaimos, you fight an impossible battle. How many others came before you and fell? The numbers of your own kin would astound you. I make no promises of your survival. This battle will claim several of you, win or lose,” Artiss explained grimly. His face hardened, as if he knew a secret he remained unwilling to divulge. A secret, which if it escaped his lips, could easily damn their quest long before the heroes reached the ruins of Arlevon Gale.
The Gaimosian lifted a heavy hand to stop Artiss from lecturing further. “All I need to know is who to attack, ancient one. I’ve been a warrior for a long time. Warfare makes sense. Keep your magic and mystic nonsense.”
Any offense Artiss took went unknown. The last true Dae’shan merely blinked twice and turned to Bahr. “Captain Bahr, brother of Badron. You have hidden in the shadows for far too long, ignoring your birthright. The time has come for you to claim what is yours. Delranan has fallen into squalor, decay. The people bleed every day. They need strength and honor restored if there is to be any hope of victory. You can no longer hide from responsibility. Are you willing to become more than the sum of all your predecessors?”
Bahr felt like he’d been slapped in the face. Memories of being scolded by his father distracted him. Times weren’t so simple anymore. He felt nervous, as if being forced into an uncompromising situation that never should have been. In truth he knew it was always there, lurking in the unseen distance like a long lost relative. Years bled off his life as he lived in constant denial. Life was so much easier avoiding all of the worry and trouble. He had the freedom of the open seas but, in retrospect, came to realize that freedom was actually a restrictive prison keeping him from achieving anything in life more than a mere sea captain. The sudden realization that most of his life was little more than abstract failure haunted him.
He looked up at the hovering Dae’shan and swallowed his nerves. “I am, though it is not a task I look forward to.”
“Difficult decisions seldom are,” Artiss replied sagely. “We are all the children of our own created environments, Bahr. Personal demons plague each of us. The ones awaiting in Delranan happen to be yours. I cannot change the past, nor see into the future. What fate you may meet, what fate any of you may meet, once you return to the northern kingdoms, is beyond my scope of knowledge.”
“That isn’t very reassuring,” Dorl blurted before Nothol could stop him.
Artiss turned to the sell sword and fixed him with a withering glare. “Dorl Theed, ever you have suffered from self-doubt and an undeniable lack of conviction. What you possess in skill and wisdom is lost behind an endless wall of fear. Lord Death will come quickly if you do not find a way to give yourself fully to the mission. Wars are won through will. There are certainly times when it becomes necessary for each of us to question whether the direction we choose is correct, but you have gone far beyond that point. All decisions but one has been taken from you. Either commit fully to this quest or abandon all you have struggled to obtain over the course of your short life. The choice is, naturally, yours, but choose wisely. In unity there is strength of purpose. You cannot achieve such on your own.”
Dorl opened his mouth and closed it quickly as if knowing the answer didn’t need to be said immediately. The combination of shame and regret left his shoulders sagged, his head bowed enough for each to notice. He understood Artiss’s reasoning, though he mildly disagreed with being chastised in front of his friends. Not as proud as Boen or experienced as Bahr, Dorl stumbled through life in the best manner he knew. He’d never been confronted with a life-altering choice like the one before him. Making it wasn’t going to be easy.
“Take heart. You have fine friends. Nothol Coll couldn’t be a finer friend to have at your side. He has ensured your life on many occasions and will for many years to come. Cherish that friendship for not everyone has it. You’ve been doubly blessed. Rekka Jel is one of the finest I have ever known. Selfless and competent, she is the epitome of professionalism, loyalty, and courage.” Artiss paused to smile warmly at her. “Rekka, I realize we’ve only interacted a handful of times during your tenure but my words are heartfelt. It has been an honor having you in Trennaron.”
His words left her suddenly uncomfortable. “I don’t understand.”
“I release you from your service. Go with my goodwill and blessings. The dangers you face ahead are far more perilous than you can possibly imagine. These fine Men will need you, as does Master Theed if I’m not mistaken.” Artiss turned before she had the opportunity to argue. He was the master of Trennaron. No living soul on Malweir had claim over his authority.
Rekka bowed meekly as mixed emotions ran through her. She’d accepted the position with the full understanding that it was for the duration of her lifespan. Cashi Dam’s misguided love drove her willingly into Artiss Gran’s arms, liberating her from the smallness of her previous world. She became so much more than what simple village life offered. She mattered. Now she didn’t. Artiss Gran released her from her obligations while silently condemning her to whatever fate the gods had in store for the others. The mixed poison was difficult to swallow, despite the knowledge she’d be at Dorl’s side through the end. She took her place there now, leaving Artiss free to move on to the next.
The Dwarf captain bristled under the scrutiny, planting his feet shoulder width apart and folding his thickly corded arms across his barrel chest.
“Ironfoot, rare has it been for one of the Drimmen Delf Dwarves to grace these halls yet your kind have been among the staunchest supporters of righteousness in the world. You are a fine warrior. One unparalleled across many cultures. The time is quickly approaching when your martial prowess will be tested. You will bend. Whether you break or not depends not only on yourself but these individuals around you. Do not give in to fear for it is the mind killer. Others will look to you for their safety, even knowing you may not be able to provide it. The wars you’ve fought in the past helped defined the Dwarf you’ve become but they pale in comparison to the nightmares coming to you. Be firm. Be a Dwarf and the sun will shine on your steel again.”
Ironfoot twisted his lower jaw from right to left and spit a wad of phlegm at his feet. He was a Dwarf of Drimmen Delf. What more needed to be said? Silently criticizing the Dae’shan, Ironfoot waited for him to finish going through the group. His mind was already on to packing out and deciding which weapons would best suit his needs in the next phase of the quest. Logistical issues notwithstanding, Ironfoot had plenty to worry over before considering his return to his home.
“Perhaps young Skuld will be able to finally decide on his course in life,” Artiss transitioned without delay. “You have the foundations of a strong Man capable of a great many achievements. Life is an open book in your hands if only you can remove the cobwebs clogging your mind. You’ve been given many avenues of development to p
ursue. Warrior, wizard, thief. Only one of them is the right choice. All others paths lead to violent demise. Fear not, young man. I see greatness in your future.”
“Thank you,” was all Skuld managed to say before shyness got the better of him.
Artiss nodded just as politely. His gaze finally settled on the wizard where he spent many long moments locked in private deliberations. Anienam Keiss was perhaps the singular most key element to the entire equation. He’d been privileged to be the last in a long line of powerful, influential figures but didn’t truly understand what that meant. He was a protector. A guardian of the wealth of knowledge passed down through the ages. The last in line. Artiss briefly wondered what was going to happen to the wealth of Ipn Shal when the last Mage finally passed. Part of Malweir would die as well.
“Anienam, you and I might have grown to become friends if the situation was different, but times such as these seldom give us the opportunity to choose our course. You carry the heaviest burden of us all, myself included. I empathize with your pain. Doubt is in your mind as well. You worry over every minor decision. Fret over what might have been. Always wondering if you made the correct choice. These are the burdens of knowledge and leadership. Your father was once a great Man. He advised kings and queens while defending Malweir from the evil of the crystal of Tol Shere and Sidian the Silver Mage. You worry whether you have the same ability. I can think of no better person to lead this group into Arlevon Gale.”
“All of you, this war is coming quickly to an end,” Artiss announced. “Whether you like the thought or not you are all key personnel to bringing that end about. Succeed or fail, your actions will affect the lives of every living soul on Malweir. I applaud each of you for willingly, though I realize that term may be slightly skewed, stepping forward to defend life. Without your contributions I fear darkness would have already won. There is still time enough to reach Arlevon Gale and stop my errant brethren from succeeding. The dark gods cannot return to Malweir until the appointed hour in which the passage between dimensions is aligned. Groge must use the Blud Hamr to destroy the Olagath Stone at the moment the nexus opens. Only then will you stop the dark gods and end this conflict that has consumed the world for tens of thousands of years.”
Empire of Bones Page 30
