Winds of War

by Rhett C. Bruno

  Torsten approached the old man and knelt. “Who are you?”

  “I…I’m a simple merchant,” he stammered.

  “He’s helping the spy!” someone shouted from the quickly growing crowd. Torsten glared back at him, then turned his attention back to the merchant.

  “I swear in the name of Iam! These men are my protection, Grint Strongiron’s company.”

  “Who is that?” Torsten asked.

  “Me ye dolt!” the wobbly-eyed dwarf barked. “Finest company west of the lake.”

  “A merchant?” Torsten asked. The man nodded emphatically. “Where are your goods?”

  “We were on our way to Winde Port to meet with the Traders Guild when we were set upon by bandits. They stole our caravan, my wares, everything. We hoped to find them in the city, but then this…”

  “Finest company, yet you were taken by a couple of bandits?”

  “Wouldn’t have happened if anybody listened to me,” the dwarf grumbled. “Never stop on the road to help a pretty woman, I tell ye. Especially not a knife-ear witch.”

  Torsten’s brow furrowed. “Did you say Panpingese witch?”

  “I said knife-ear. Her pretty boy mate stole the caravan while we tried to help her. By Meungor’s axe, that’s what we get for trying to be good citizens.”

  “Keep telling yourself that Grint,” the Shesaitju said.

  “She wasn’t no witch,” another one said.

  “Might as well’ve been, the way she conned ye,” the dwarf said.

  “Conned you, too.”

  “Not another word out of you, spy!” the soldier restraining him snapped and shoved him back into the dirt.

  Torsten looked into the terror-stricken eyes of the old trader, then couldn’t help but smirk. It wasn’t that he endorsed thieving, but he had a feeling he knew exactly who was behind what happened. It was Whitney, the newly minted noble, and Sora, the Panpingese blood mage who Iam saw fit to use as his vessel back in the Webbed Woods, saving them from Redstar’s wrath.

  “All right, everyone off them,” Torsten ordered. “They’re telling the truth.”

  His own men looked at him, perplexed. Mak the Mountainous scoffed.

  “The gray man stays,” he grizzled. “By edict of your king.”

  “Don’t you see what happened to Winde Port because of that?” Torsten said. “We’re safer with him far away from here.”

  “I promise, we will go far... very far...” the Shesaitju mercenary stammered.

  “Safer still with him dead!” Mak shouted to a chorus of agreement from all those present. “Why should we listen to you anyway? It wasn’t the King’s choice to go to Marimount, I hear.”

  Torsten kept his head high. “No, but that doesn’t mean locking every Shesaitju behind a wall is right.”

  Mak laughed and turned to a crowd of his people. A warlock stood, emotionless, amongst fur-clad warriors. Torsten wasn’t sure he’d fully realized how much of his army wasn’t his own until then. How many weren’t even faithful to Iam.

  “So now the Wearer doubts his own king, the beloved nephew of Arch Warlock Redstar!” Mak announced. “Yet we’re supposed to follow him into battle, bells on our ears?”

  “He’ll let the gray men slaughter us!” shouted another. “I say kill the spy!”

  Mak brandished his axe while others held the trading crew down. Grint’s company writhed and shouted in protest. The axe went up, but before it fell, Torsten swung his giant claymore to stop it.

  “Enough!” Torsten’s thunderous roar combined with the clang of metal brought an abrupt end to the fighting. “We are together in this fight, whether any of you likes it or not. King Pi shares the blood of both our peoples. Can we not work together to bring glory to his name?”

  Everyone watched in silence. Drad Mak didn’t let off his axe or soften his glare. The Shesaitju warrior scurried away through the dirt toward his crew.

  “We’ll play nice when you get on your knees, kiss the ground, and thank the goddess for your existence,” Mak said, seething.

  “How dare you speak to our Wearer that way!” the Glass soldier holding the dwarf yelled.

  “He is nothing to me.”

  Both sides erupted. Punches were thrown. Someone tackled someone, and Torsten couldn’t see much more in the cloud of dust and snow that formed as a scrum broke out. All he was sure to do was shove the dwarf, trader, and the mercenary crew out of the way.

  “Winde Port is under occupation,” he told them. “I suggest you head back the way you came.” He regarded the Shesaitju man who was clearly shaken. Torsten was smart enough to know the man had nothing to do with this rebellion. Lost on the road without a wagon thanks to Whitney, they probably didn’t have any idea there even was a rebellion. “And I’d suggest keeping him out of any taverns.”

  “Flower picking humans,” the dwarf groaned. “This is why I prefer the Dragon’s Tail. Let’s go, boys. Leave the knights to their foolish quarrels.” He gave the old trader a nudge, shocking the man who was busy staring at the brawl.

  Torsten watched them leave, then squeezed the grip of his sword. The sounds of fighting and cursing were deafening. He went to turn, to demand order when a familiar voice stayed his hand.

  “Better off letting them vent, sir,” Wardric said, approaching on horseback from the side.

  “They’ll kill each other before we get anywhere,” Torsten replied.

  “They won’t,” Wardric assured him. “I’ve been thinking—yeah, I do that from time to time—if we lose, Redstar loses. The Black Sands will wipe him out as well and whatever influence he plans on gaining over the Crown will die with him.”

  “Is it wrong that a part of me thinks that might be preferable?” Torsten looked across the field to Redstar who was barely fazed by the chaos. He sat in a circle beside Freydis and a group of Drav Cra warlocks all covered head to toe in furs and small, heathen tokens and bones. A dire wolf lay at his back, sleeping. They had candles arrayed in a circle between them, lines of blood crossing between them.

  “I fear that man’s devotion to his goddess above any army in this land,” Torsten said.

  “I’m with you sir, but if we face all our enemies at the same time—”

  “They’ll pick us off like wolves, I know. Which is why I hope not to fight a battle here.”

  “But starving Muskigo out won’t work.”

  Torsten looked up the hill they were camped on. A group of horses clomped in from the northwest along with a gold-trimmed carriage. They flew the blue of the Glass Kingdom, but flying proudly above the carriage was another standard—a family crest, a ship with a coin.

  “Right on schedule,” Torsten said. “Come with me, I have a plan.”

  They returned to the center of the camp where several tents stood in a defensive position. The King’s Shield tents were more lavish than the rest, but Torsten was beginning to appreciate why. Most of the men of his order had spent years training. They needed to stay warm and well-fed if there was any chance of defeating Muskigo’s rebellion.

  A map of the Winde Port region was unfurled atop a small, round table. There was no need for figurines to show where Muskigo was. He owned the entire city, from Merchants Row to Trader’s Bay.

  “You invited me?” Redstar said as he approached, a gray dire wolf at his side. The giant creature weaved in and out of a line of King’s Shieldsmen, making each of them quiver.

  “The time to decide our next move has come,” Torsten said.

  “For someone so loyal to Iam, you spend an awful lot of time believing you have any control over our next move.”

  “A man who walks no path cannot be steered to a new one.”

  “A convenient sentiment.” Redstar clapped his hands, then plopped down on the seat at the end of the table. A seat reserved for Torsten during war meetings. “Now, I can’t wait to hear this plan.”

  Wardric scowled at him. Torsten raised a calming hand. A seat was no more than a seat so long as they all worked in concert
.

  “Muskigo is everything,” Torsten said. “His ruse has inspired his followers to believe they can win even though they lost more than we at Marimount. He thinks he can dig in here and hold us while more Shesaitju rebellions spring up across the southern peninsula. And he’s right.”

  “Sir?” Wardric asked, incredulous.

  A flicker of interest showed on Redstar’s birthmarked face. He leaned forward and started twirling the tip of his dagger on the table.

  “To attack head on is to sacrifice the lives of his captives and a vast portion of our combined army,” Torsten said. “I won’t allow the King’s people to die in chains.”

  “How very unlike your benefactors,” Redstar remarked. “Liam would’ve trampled them himself if it meant victory. And my sister... well… we’ve all seen firsthand how she feels about her subjects.”

  “That’s enough out of you!” Wardric growled. “If you have nothing to add, you might as well leave.”

  “Shall I take my people with me?”

  Wardric bit his lip. “Just show some damn respect to your Wearer.”

  “My apologies.” Redstar pointed his dagger with a limp wrist. “Proceed, my Lord.”

  Torsten caught himself staring at Redstar. Normally, one with such a grotesque birthmark covering half his face, making the eyebrow scraggily and gray, wouldn’t have been so confident. Torsten had been waiting since the moment they departed Yarrington for him to drop his smirk, yet it seemed permanently affixed.

  “Yes,” Torsten sighed, tearing his gaze away. He pointed to a spot on the map: the heart of the city. “The prefect of… late prefect of Winde Port… lived on this estate. Our scouts on the ridge tell me that Muskigo’s Serpent Guards stand outside as he makes himself comfortable within.”

  “A conqueror with taste,” Redstar remarked, back to spinning his dagger. “I like him already.”

  “We have a chance to end this before it escalates, to kill Muskigo and persuade the Caleef to sign a new treaty aimed to spare his people the same fate.”

  “Sir, that estate is old as the Glass itself,” Wardric said, “in the most well-defended portion of the entire city along Merchant Canal.”

  “And that's why we will come from beneath,” a new voice said.

  Yuri Darkings entered the tent and lowered his hood. His finely embroidered leather jacket could be confused for armor, but Torsten knew it was all for show. Just one of the puffy sleeves could feed South Corner for half a year.

  The longtime Master of Coin was back where he belonged. No longer hiding from the wrath of the Queen, he was every bit the picture of the wealth the Glass Kingdom brought with it to the lands it touched. His gray hair was perfectly combed, mustache trimmed above his lip. But more importantly, he had the tanned skinned of a man from Winde Port where the sun shone but for a few months of winter and when the morning fog rolled through.

  “Lord Darkings, I’m glad you could finally join us.” Torsten bowed.

  “Apologies for the wait, Wearer,” he replied. “I didn’t stop even for a bite to eat after receiving your message.” He turned to Redstar. “Ah, and the royal uncle. I hear you are the one I should thank for talking sense into our young king and getting me my old post back.”

  “I have an eye for men of value,” Redstar said. He nodded, but for a moment Torsten thought he could see a flicker of surprise in the man’s features—as if Yuri’s arrival wasn’t something he’d calculated into his plans.

  “Yes, well, Lord Darkings is from Winde Port,” Torsten said. “In fact, before Liam named him Master of Coin for the whole kingdom, he served as such for Prefect Calhoun.”

  “How is the old badger?”

  Torsten hung his head. “He is with Iam now.” He decided it best not to elaborate on how Muskigo had rolled the man’s head across the ground like no more than a worthless piece of trash.

  Yuri traced his eyes in prayer. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner.”

  “There is nothing anyone could have done. The man now enjoying the comfort of his halls is a monster bent on vengeance.”

  “And now, so am I.” Yuri bent over the map and scanned it intently. He ran his finger back and forth, then stopped at a bluff a short way north of the city on the western side of the Winder’s River. “Here,” he said.

  “What is it?” Wardric said.

  “There is an old tunnel that leads out here, branching off the sewer lines. Merchants once used it to smuggle contraband before the Winde Traders Guild took control.”

  Redstar chuckled, purposefully loud.

  “What?” Torsten questioned.

  “Nothing. I’m simply amused by his use of the word contraband. You Glass folk are so terrified to admit what you truly are, it’s maddening.”

  “And what is that?” Wardric said.

  Redstar grinned. “The same as everybody else.”

  “Are you finished?” Yuri said before anybody could respond, a harsh edge to his tone. “I don’t care what you are to the King, or what recommendations you stole from Sir Unger and claim as your own. In regards to me, you have no title, and you will not interrupt a member of the Royal Council again.”

  Torsten coughed in shock. Redstar’s dagger spun too far and fell off the table.

  “Now, if I may continue.” Yuri cleared his throat. “These tunnels lead beneath Winder’s Wharf and tie into the sewers leading directly beneath the prefect's estate. The Shesaitju haven’t the luxury of building atop dwarven ruins. The sands do not permit sewers, leaving their… filth to be funneled through an aboveground system. They will not be mindful of the tunnels beneath them.”

  The man had a gravitas which even Redstar seemed to respect. Torsten had never seen him speak out much while Liam was alive, but that was no longer the case. Now, he was the oldest on the Royal Council by decades, old enough to remember when the Glass Kingdom only comprised a small corner of Pantego. When even Winde Port was a lawless, free-trading city without a Crown.

  “Precisely,” Torsten said. “Yuri has a contact in the city who will lead me and a small cohort of our finest men beneath the estate. We will end Muskigo’s reign of terror before they know what hits them.”

  “And if you fail?” Redstar said.

  “We won’t.”

  Redstar stood and circled the table, his glare fixed on Yuri. “The city teems with gray skins. If any spots your torches before you make it, they’ll be on top of you in seconds. Are you really going to hand me lead over this great army so easily?”

  “No, because you and your wolves and your finest men are going to come with us. They will help Yuri’s men navigate the dark without need of torches, and I’ve seen what you are capable of. If we’re unable to take Muskigo down by blade, you’ll bring the entire estate down around us.”

  “My, my, Sir Unger, now you’re so willing to abuse my unholy gifts?”

  “Countless lives are at stake. I have to believe Iam brought you to our side for a reason. But with our finest warriors working together, I have no doubt we will succeed.”

  “So, let me get this straight. You want me to sacrifice my best people for this impulsive plan, and if things go wrong, which knowing you they no doubt will, give my life for the Glass?” Redstar chuckled.

  “If it’s meant to be.”

  “My apologies, Sir Unger. But I must reject this plan.”

  “You don’t get to.”

  Redstar chuckled again. “You see, Wearer, that is where you are wrong. I’ve beseeched my goddess for guidance, and hers are the only orders I will heed. She warned me you would send us on a suicide mission. She tells me that if we wait and pray, we will know the time to strike when the cold is driven away by wind and flame.”

  “You would cower back here until spring?” Wardric said.

  “If the goddess wills it. Or do you forget the last time we ignored her warning and allowed Torsten here to lead us astray.”

  Torsten’s anger was cooled only by noticing a few of the King’s Shieldsme
n surrounding the tent, watching. “The cryptic messages you concoct aren’t a warning, Redstar. They are an excuse for cowardice. We were all deceived, and now is our chance to make it right. We need our best men to carry this out, yours and mine. That is an order.”

  “Unfortunately, I still must decline.”

  “That is treason,” Yuri said. “You’re worse than your sister.”

  “Careful, my Lord. Saying that, I might accuse you of the same.”

  Torsten looked down and realized he’d been squeezing his fists so tight his palms were sore. He stepped in front of Redstar but didn’t draw his dagger. Instead, he stared into the man’s eyes—the man who’d tried to murder him in the Webbed Woods, and had hurt so many countless others.

  “Redstar, I know we don’t trust each other, but this is our chance,” he said. “Do it for your sister or your nephew. By Iam, do it for yourself. Even if we die killing him, you’ll be remembered as more than the uncle who cursed a child. You’ll be a legend, remembered forever for saving the lives of thousands.”

  “Just as Nesilia was remembered for giving her life so Iam may end the God Feud?” he said. “Excuse me if I have a hard time believing you.”

  “Forget gods,” Torsten said, unable to believe his own words. He took Redstar by the shoulders. “Do this, and I will forgive you for everything you have done. I might even begin to trust you.”

  Redstar closed his eyes. His lips twitched at the corners as if he were picturing what it might be like to experience a triumphant return to Yarrington. Torsten thought he finally got to him until he opened his mouth again.

  “Whilst I’m touched by your sentiment,” he mused. “I cannot so easily throw aside the will of my goddess.”

  “Damnit Redstar!” Torsten released him and slapped aside a group of tankards sitting on the table. “What must I do to get you to fight beside us? Every minute, one of your people starts a brawl and you do nothing. You’re a member of the royal family, and if you would just demonstrate the worth of this alliance, we could return peace to the kingdom.”

  Redstar backed away and strolled around the table. He stopped behind Yuri and massaged the man’s shoulders before being promptly shrugged away. “It has been made plainly apparent that neither I nor my goddess are your equal,” he said. “But my army is to yours, and they will follow me no matter what. We will not risk fighting again. I must obey my goddess.”