A Whisper After Midnight (14 page)

“No truer words have been spoken. By the gods, it felt good slaying the grey skins.”

“It felt better not having to worry about your wolf soldiers though I can’t help but wonder about your true intent. Why did you stop fighting us?”

Herger took a seat on the field stool beside Vajna and ran a hand through his hair. “General Rolnir believes the time has come to part ways with our unwanted allies. The Goblins are no longer necessary to our war efforts.”

“You haven’t beaten us that soundly, Colonel,” Vajna scowled. “Why does Badron send away such a massive force? He has to know he wastes his greatest combat multiplier.”

Herger remained quiet for a few moments longer than Vajna felt comfortable with. “King Badron doesn’t know.”

Even the medics were forced to stop in shock.

Gol Mad and one hundred Pell Darga warriors came down from the foothills with spears in hand. Blood and gore dripped from body and blade and they sang terrible songs of victory and honor. More than one Pell carried a bloodied scalp at his belt. None showed signs of exhaustion, contrary to their lowland counterparts. The Pell were bred in the high mountains and better adapted to the limited oxygen and harsh conditions. Every warrior wanted more.

They halted at the edge of battle and curiously stared at the two groups of men. None of it made sense. The Wolfsreik had come to Rogscroft and the Murdes Mountains to kill and destroy two distinct ways of life. Goblins added problems but weren’t overly difficult to deal with. The Pell watched the nervous alliance, quietly wondering what was going to happen next.

“This is not good.”

Gol Mad thumbed his dulled spear tip. “No. We must be cautious. These lowlanders do not hold honor as we. Perhaps they have good reason to stop fighting.”

The first warrior bristled, insulted by the apparent betrayal. “We should attack now, while they talk.”

Gol Mad studied the youth, a lad of barely eighteen years. Once, long ago, he held the same beliefs but the war aged him in more ways than he realized. Gol valued patience now, and prudence. There was a time and place for everything. He’d seen too many friends fall because of their own ignorance. Every man had limitations but fools failed to recognize them in time. Gol Mad was a survivor. He knew that now. It fell to him to train the young, teach them how wars were really fought.

“We do not know why they talk. Attacking is not good, Daf Hu. Rushing into battle unprepared is good for only death. We wait, watch, and learn.”

The youth tensed at the rebuke, but was wise enough to keep his tongue. He’d seen others beaten for less. They lived, but bore the scars of shame for the rest of their days. Daf vowed to abide until his time for leadership arrived.

Gol Mad looked back at his warriors. “Wait here. I will speak with the wolf soldiers and our allies. Eat, drink. Prepare fires and sharpen your blades.”

They grumbled consent and followed orders as Gol marched over the blood-painted ground to the meeting place. He bowed curtly to Vajna and halted just far enough away to have room to maneuver should the meeting prove deadly.

“Ah, Colonel Herger, this is Gol Mad of the Pell Darga,” Vajna introduced. His voice was stern, betraying no hint of weakness or fear. Vajna knew the Pell’s respect hinged on his ability to project confidence and command under the worst circumstances. Anything less would result in the Pell returning to their mountains as enemies.

“We are not friends with the wolf soldiers,” Gol Mad said crisply. He planted his feet shoulder width apart, a move intended to show strength and power. It was an old Pell tactic normally used during mating rituals and rites of passage. The Pell were fierce and proud. Only the proper display of force would garner respect from a warrior.

Herger took in his enemy for the first time. Barely taller than a Goblin, Gol Mad had dark brown skin, aged and weathered by constant exposure to foul weather. Shoulder length black hair was stringy and unkempt. Almond shaped eyes were so black they appeared endless. His muscles were thin, wiry. Everything about the man suggested a cagey warrior capable of killing a Man with barely an effort. Herger was impressed.

“Nor does the Wolfsreik consider you a friend,” he replied just as strongly. “Your kind has killed many of my warriors.”

Gol flexed his shoulders. “As have yours.”

Vajna felt his heart ready to burst. He cursed his own ignorance for allowing the two sides to interact. Pell and Wolfsreik had been mortal enemies for generations. Scores had been killed during the war and neither seemed willing to back down and accept the other. Aurec never dreamed of a scenario where all three worlds collided. None of them did. Yet the impossible was developing before his eyes and he felt powerless from keeping it intact.

Gol broke first, pointed teeth showing in a terse grin. He nodded his approval. The challenge had been successfully met and, while neither would ever be friendly towards the other, they respected the other as warriors. “You have a strong voice, wolf soldier. I like that.”

Herger extended his thick slab of a hand. “There shall be no more bloodshed between our two clans this day. You have my word, shadow warrior.”

Only now did Vajna exhale his nerves. His worst case scenario didn’t come to pass, yet. “What about the surviving Goblins? They can bring reinforcements.”

“Their main body is leagues away,” Herger said. “We don’t have anything to worry about in that regard.”

A New King

Grunmarrow finally came alive on Mid Winter Day. Normally a day for massive celebrations among the northern kingdoms, it bore special significance for the resistance of Rogscroft. This day of days Prince Aurec was to be crowned to king. Winter flowers were strung across the buildings and cleared pathways. Men and women worked tirelessly to improve the grim camp to a small measure of regality. Huge fires were stoked overnight and the smell of cooking pig and cattle hovered over the buildings. Children played, giddy in excitement they couldn’t comprehend. Finally, the people of Rogscroft had reason to feel good.

Aurec stood under the vine-crusted archway with bowed head as the high priest waved a freshly cut sage branch over each shoulder and the crown of Aurec’s head. The prince fought back the urge to cry, so powerful was the moment. He’d never thought the day would come. Pride, elation, and bitter disappointment clashed in his mind, nearly rendering him down to a mass of quivering flesh. His thoughts were focused on his late father, the king.
Only, I’m the king now. Rogscroft has been given to me, to protect and restore. I pray I am up to the task. Father, guide my hands
.

With a nod, the priest bade Aurec kneel. The recently laid wood paneling was cool to his knee. A slight breeze tickled his face. He closed his eyes, locked in furious debate over whether he possessed the merits necessary to be a proper king. He just didn’t know and that frightened him to no ends. So many had perished due to the fatal combination of his lack of leadership and the wicked depredations of the Goblins. Worse, he felt alone. No allies had heeded the call for aid. Cuul Ol and his Pell warriors did their best, but they were never many and lacked the training and discipline of a proper army.

A simple diadem was placed on his head. No jewels or gold. Wrought iron hammered and tempered into a practical thing would be the crown of Rogscroft, at least until the time came when the king could rightfully sit upon his throne again. Aurec insisted. The real crown was lost, more likely destroyed when Badron assumed control. That was well and fine. He didn’t feel he deserved such richness in these dark times. A warrior king was needed if the kingdom was to have a future. Aurec must become that king or fall into the obscurity of history.

The priest raised his hands to the skies and tipped back his head. “In the name of the gods of light I now proclaim Aurec, son of Stelskor, king of Rogscroft. May his reign be lengthy and his decisions wise. Rise, my liege.”

Aurec was so engrossed in his thoughts he almost failed to hear the command. Sniffing back the tears, he rose and turned to face those assembled.
My people
. His knees trembled despite having grown up in the court. This was different. Nothing he had seen or done could have prepared him for what must come next.

Cheers erupted, spreading through the hundreds and hundreds of spectators. Soldiers slammed their swords on shields or stamped their boots. Men and women chanted his name in reverence. They bore no doubts that Aurec was now their king. Select children ran up to Aurec with bouquets of flowers. Trumpets blared, announcing to the heavens that Rogscroft had a new lord. For the moment all thoughts and memories of the war were replaced by unfiltered joy.

Aurec let them have their moment, for it was as much for his subjects as for himself. The cheering continued for many minutes before finally quieting down. It was time for the king to speak. He’d rehearsed this speech a thousand times, knew exactly what he wanted to say, the message he needed to convey. Here, now as he looked out into the sea of expectant faces, all of those carefully prepared words fled. He cleared his throat and spoke from his heart instead.

“My father helped make this kingdom, our kingdom, strong. He gave us a developed economy, a good army, and the ability to live our lives in freedom and prosperity. He gave each and every one of us the option of being good people.” He paused to look into as many eyes as possible as he scanned from left to right. “I have none of that. We are at the edge of breaking, balancing against the dim tide of despair. But we are not broken yet! Our hearts beat strong in defeat. I look into your eyes and see the very same pride that fills my heart. You give me hope. Strength. You give me the will to carry on in the hopes that we can once again build Rogscroft to a place of prominence.”

More cheers. He flushed with embarrassment. Never before had anyone so cheered his name or his words.

Aurec held up a hand for silence and continued. “Today begins a new era. Already our soldiers are taking the war back to the enemy. They fight not for me but for you. You are the heart of our kingdom. Without you I am nothing but a fool with a crown. I cannot promise you victory, only my sincerest pledge to keep fighting until the last beat of my heart. For you and for Rogscroft!”

Drums pleated a steady rhythm, echoing across Grunmarrow with pride, fury, and excitement. Aurec walked back through the throngs, shaking hands and offering praise while accepting it from more than he’d imagined. He was beyond exhausted by the time he managed to worm his way to the feasting pavilion. Cups of wine, confiscated from Wolfsreik supply convoys, filled every hand. He greedily accepted one and drank deep. The taste was bitter and from a berry he wasn’t familiar with but he drank it anyway.

Attendants began establishing the receiving line, for it was the king’s duty to welcome all of his invited guests before the feast could begin. Normally this was done in the finest attire with a small orchestra playing in the background. Grunmarrow offered no such luxuries. Most came dressed in their field uniforms or with whatever had the least amount of stains. While the final preparations were being made, Aurec took the time to seek out his most important guest. He found the Pell chieftain sitting alone beside an empty fountain.

“I cannot thank you enough for coming down from your mountains,” Aurec began.

Cuul Ol smiled. “It is an honor, young king.”

Aurec snorted. “King. I doubt I will ever get used to the title. It wasn’t that long ago that I was an impetuous boy intent on bringing our two peoples together.”

“It wasn’t long ago we held no desire to interact with your kind. Such strange times we live in.”

“Unfortunate times,” Aurec added.

The Pell shrugged. “We do not get to choose the time we live in, Aurec. The old gods will use us as they will. Who are we to argue?”

“You are a wise man, Cuul. I could use more like you at my council. I feel overwhelmed. Like this task is above me,” Aurec confided. “I know I can do the job, but not sure if I can do it well. These people are on the edge. All it will take is a small breeze and they are lost. This isn’t how I imagined my reign would begin.”

Cuul surprised him by laughing. “No good leader is born from softness. Trials and hardships are necessary. You have been bled many times since autumn and you do not break. You bend, like any tree in a strong gale, but your roots are deep. I think you will endure this storm. There will be light again.”

“Light or dark I can’t see a way out of the war without much more bloodshed,” Aurec replied. “My offer stands, Cuul Ol. Will you join my council? I need more warriors to plan an effective strategy against Delranan.”

The Pell sighed and sat on a cold stone bench. “You ask much. The Pell Darga would be without a leader in these dark times. How can I abandon my people now?”

“I’m not asking you to. What I need is your advice and knowledge,” the king replied quickly to alleviate any misunderstanding. “I can’t remain in Grunmarrow. The war is progressing again and I need to be able to control it from the field.”

“You seek to be a warrior king? Some would call that reckless.”

Aurec held out his hands. “What choice have I? The enemy holds all of the advantages. They need to be taught fear.”

“Fear is very powerful,” Cuul agreed. “The wolf soldiers use fear very well. Perhaps not as well as the foul
grugk
. The grey skins are like a plague upon us.”