The Madness of Gods and Kings (14 page)

Boen helped them ease that burden. He and a contingent of Gaimosians, Elves from Elvenara, and heavy horse from Harlegor disobeyed the orders of the king and went in search of the enemy base of operations. The quest didn’t take as long as many feared and battle was met on the mountain slopes. Boen himself met the Goblin King in battle and took his head in a duel so engaging the rest of the battle stopped in order to watch. Disheartened in seeing their king’s head roll down the blackened slope, the Goblins broke and ran. And were hunted down to the very last.

He’d heard rumors of a band of cutthroats braving the caverns to kill the Goblin women and children though he had no proof. A man was nothing without proof. Deeds meant little without witness. Boen took the Goblin King’s baldric for a trophy and rode away. His task was complete. There was nothing else to prove in Averon. Only the king didn’t view matters the same. He grew enraged over the disobedience of his orders and decreed those responsible were to be hunted down and brought to justice. Outlawed, Boen fled Averon.

His reputation had already spread. Word reached Paedwyn of how a lone Gaimosian struck the Goblin King down and turned the battle into a rout. The king of Averon, while ever grateful for the act, thought long and hard on whether to pardon the Gaimosian or not. Any simplicity bled away. Boen didn’t wait to learn the decision. His fame brought wealth and no few assassination attempts by zealots eager to curry favor with the king. Boen killed all foolish enough to cross his path and continued on into new adventures. To this day he still didn’t know whether the old king had ever rescinded the order to kill all involved.

Nor did he care. His life abounded with wealth and glory. His legend continued to grow with each new battle. Every quest went beyond the previous. Boen snorted. It seemed fitting that this last quest would not only change the course of all life on Malweir, but determine the very fate of the world. One last quest before he packed his weapons and tried to find peace in what little time he had left.

The very idea of no longer fighting his way through life frightened him in ways nothing else could. Never one to languish under family constraints, Boen didn’t know what to do with himself. He’d lived a warrior’s life from an early age. He didn’t know anything else. Combat was his legacy. It was all his people had left to them. Families and normalcy were anathema to Gaimosians. Still, the prospect of engaging in an entirely new facet of life offered great promise. Or so he told himself.

Half of the night was already gone by the time he crossed the heavily worn track. So many boots had marched through he could no longer distinguish individual prints. Boen nodded. It was the sign he’d been looking for. Wheeling down the trail, Boen rode north in pursuit of what the enemy seemed intent on concealing. To the best of his knowledge, no other scout had returned with so much as a scrap of actionable intelligence. The leadership needed to know the enemy’s intent. That left only Boen. A Gaimosian could succeed where ordinary men failed.

He rode for another hour when he spied the first glimmers of torches. His smile spread. The urge to ride ahead and meet Harnin’s forces head on nearly proved too much. Killing a handful would be self-gratifying but nonproductive in the grand scheme of the war. Seasoned, he knew better than to make rookie mistakes. There’d come a time for vengeance to boil over and for the blood to flow, but it was not now. The sound of hammers and saws working through the night enticed him. Dismounting, Boen tied his horse to the nearest tree and crept forward.

His size was a nonfactor. Bigger than most men, Boen was still able to walk with extreme stealth. Stealth he needed in order not to get caught. Bahr’s words echoed as he walked.
Whatever you do, don’t get caught. We can’t afford a fight yet
. Frowning, Boen reluctantly agreed despite being forced to abandon his greatest asset. Making no more noise than a deer, he crept close enough to get a better view. What he saw confirmed his fears.

Walls were being erected, complete with murder holes for archers and deep, wide pits ringing the perimeter to prevent direct assaults. Four towers were in various stages of completion. Boen counted close to two hundred men working through the night. No doubt more tried to find some respite from the forced labor. Hard work left tired soldiers. Judging from the amount of construction already started, they were nearly finished. Harnin One Eye had just built his first redoubt in western Delranan.

A Sheep in Wolf’s Clothing

“I’m going to piss,” Maik said as he dropped his work axe and headed off without waiting for a reply.

Tired from being worked to the bone, Maik was normally a guard in a merchant’s warehouse in Stouds. Harnin’s call up of the Wolfsreik reserves forced him to abandon his life’s work for, he wasn’t exactly sure of what any longer. He participated in the near total destruction of Chadra and marched countless leagues into the middle of nowhere to hunt down what remained of the rebellion. Maik still hadn’t seen an actual rebel yet, despite his commander’s insistence otherwise. For the last seven days and nights he’d been building a small fort in the middle of nowhere. The reasoning why was well above his pay level.

Leaving his weapons behind--after all, what could possibly attack him this far away from all traces of civilization?--Maik trudged through the snows. He tried thinking about better times, like those summer days by the lake where he and his father used to go fishing. Three feet of snow and below freezing temperatures didn’t allow for it, though. Everywhere he turned was another reminder of just how harsh life in the north could be. Unbuckling his trousers, he never saw the giant pair of hands reaching out from the night to grab his skull and twist.

The armor was a little too snug, further evidence that he was getting on in life and not in the shape he had been in. Frowning, Boen tried, and failed, to adjust the leather straps on the sides. No matter what he did he reluctantly had to admit he was just too large for the armor. Hopefully he didn’t stand out among the others.
At least the helmet fits. Now I only hope this man didn’t have many friends
.

Boen glanced down at Maik’s corpse one last time before heading towards the redoubt. Bahr would be furious if he found out, but the Gaimosian had an intuitive feeling that he had to know more before heading back to the rebel camp. Building a fortress in an endless field of snow made little sense, unless Harnin had information regarding the precise whereabouts of the rebel force. Boen couldn’t shake the thought. Spies were common enough in Delranan these days. It certainly wasn’t much of a stretch of the imagination to think Ingrid’s ranks were riddled with infiltrators. He hoped to discover the truth tonight and possibly a name or two.

No one questioned him or bothered looking twice as he slipped through the lines and into the construction zone.
So far so good. Now I just need to find someone with a little rank and beat a confession out of them
. The last thought put a smile on his face. Bashing in the brains of an enemy without them realizing what was happening almost made him laugh, but laughter would have been a dead giveaway to him pretending to be one of them. No one in the redoubt had a smile or seemed the least bit happy with their lot in life. Another good omen. Soldiers didn’t mind fighting, but had nothing but complaints when it came to anything else.

He knew from personal experience that work details were the worst. Some genius with a little rank on his collar decided that the only way for him to gain acceptance from the soldiers was by having them undertake a seemingly mindless project. Idle soldiers were a waste, or so the military frame of mind went. Little did most new commanders realize was that their over eagerness to gain respect often turned sour and did exactly the opposite. Boen learned early on that the best commanders were the ones with shovels in their hands digging holes beside their soldiers. Respect was earned, never given, regardless of the luxuries of rank or privilege.

Fighting men were simple. They always complain, even under ideal conditions, and give their all for the soldiers to their left and right. Those few commanders who stay alive long enough to figure that out went on to become some of the best generals and lords in all Malweir. The rest were ground underfoot until nothing but powder remained of their bones. He’d seen it play out a thousand times over the course of his six decades. Boen, like all Gaimosians, learned quickly and had naturally ingrained martial abilities. That didn’t take away from the learning curve that could only come from raw experience. A quick look around the redoubt showed him there were few enough walking around with that kind of experience.

He knew better than to let down his guard, however. The only thing Boen had going for him was the fact that it was the middle of the night and freezing. No one wanted to be working the night shift, nor the day for that matter. Frigid temperatures left the men feeling more tired than usual and wholly disgruntled with their lives. None of that would matter should one mistake him for the man he’d just killed.
Or find the body for that matter. Combine that with this damned idiot not carrying his weapon and I had to leave my sword behind
.

Going virtually unarmed into an enemy position was beyond foolish and he needed to make every effort to blend in. Camouflage was his best defense for what he had in mind. Others accused or chided him of lacking the finesse to pull off working behind enemy lines. This was his chance to prove them wrong and quash all doubt while simultaneously producing sorely needed intelligence on enemy troop strength and movements, disposition, and operational status. All he had to do was slip away through the cracks and make his escape without being noticed well before the dawn sun broke the horizon.

Unfortunately he couldn’t count on his size and demeanor to get him out of working. The idea of going on sick call briefly entered his mind but, knowing what he did about the inner functions of an army, he’d be degraded and sent back to the line, accused of sloth more than actual sickness. No, Boen needed to find another way to move freely about the encampment.

Lacking any frame of reference for what part of the labor lines the dead man came from, Boen headed towards the largest knot of soldiers struggling to move wagon loads of freshly cut logs to construct a wooden palisade on the southern perimeter. Stones were being set on the east and north. They were giant, squared stones polished smooth and near impregnable by any weapon in the Delrananian arsenal. He mused of the miraculous Dwarven cannons shattering the defenses under a hail of smoke, shrapnel, and thunder. Having seen their full destructive force in action, he knew they’d make quick work of this redoubt, not to mention the already waning morale of the soldiers huddled within.

“Hey, give me a hand with this.”

Boen concealed his grin.
Finally
. He looked up at the man calling for him. Slightly smaller than the Gaimosian, the Wolfsreik soldier beckoned with one hand while his other rested on a log Boen guessed weighed around three hundred pounds. Between them both it was more than manageable. He rolled his shoulders to get the knots of a long day’s ride out as he walked over. Thankfully he’d had the presence of mind to keep his gloves on, otherwise his hands would be ragged slivers of flesh by the end of the night.

Wrapping his muscular arms around the near end of the log, Boen and his partner lifted. It weighed considerably more than his best guess. Grunting, they struggled over to the wall where engineers directed them. Another party relieved them and began emplacing it.

“But damn that was heavy,” the other man exclaimed.

“Too many more of those and I’ll be done for,” Boen agreed without making any of it up. It had been too long since he last exerted himself like that.

Nodding, the trooper continued, “Don’t think this place will ever finish up. We keep building and building, chopping and cutting, and it looks almost like it did before we arrived. Been the longest three weeks of my life.”

Three weeks? How is it possible this has been going on for so long without Ingrid sniffing it out? A blind man would have heard the construction and come to investigate. The only logical explanation is someone’s been bought off
.
We’ll be heading into a trap. I have to get back and warn the others.

“Hey, you there?”

Jerked out of thought, Boen brushed it off. “Yeah, just didn’t want to think about how much longer we got to go before we can get to the fighting.”

Sizing him up, the other man said, “Big man like you seems like he’d want to fight.” He shrugged haphazardly. “Dunno though. I’d rather be back home in my bakery. This soldier’s life ain’t for me. I figure if I can make it through this ambush we got coming up I might have a chance at getting home alive. Wife and little ones should be happy about that.”

“Home’s a powerful attraction,” Boen said, knowing he lacked any sort of empathy for fighting men away from their own beds. Gaimosians were largely immune to such simplistic notions. “I been at it for a while now. No pension for me. Figure I’ll either get run through or just die of old age when it happens.”

“Not me. I got no plans of dying. Not for that damned One Eye nor any other man. Sure, I’ll kill who needs killing but I ain’t a savage. Been a baker all my life. That’s where it’s at, not out in this cold and snow. Man ought to know better than to act up this time of year.”

If you only knew what was coming. I could kill you without effort and end your misery here
. The only factor preventing that was Boen found the other man almost likable. And their conversation was beginning to make his stomach growl.

“You heard anything about when it’s going to happen?” Boen asked despite knowing better. That sort of question would either deliver vital information or mark him for what he was. It was a risk he had to take.

The pause was almost unnatural, making Boen’s hand drift towards the dagger secreted under his torso armor. “Officers are saying within the next few days. A week at most. Good thing too. I’m ready to go home.”

“You two stop right there,” a stern voice commanded.

Boen’s heart jumped and he nearly gave himself away. Both men turned, reluctantly for different reasons. Boen feared being caught; his newfound partner didn’t want to get placed on another work detail. The stiff-backed major marching towards them remained indifferent to their inner turmoil. His look was meaner than necessary, telling Boen he hadn’t been compromised, yet.

“Both of you come with me,” the major ordered.

Boen cast a glance at his counterpart before replying, “Yes sir.”

They wormed through half of the construction area without another word. Boen tried to take in as much as possible, making mental notes of important positions and emplacements, but with so much to see he quickly forgot most of it. Discouraged, the Gaimosian fell in alongside the baker and waited for his orders.

He didn’t wait long. Stopping in front of a series of massive tents, obviously for whoever commanded this detachment, the major wheeled on them. “Wait here. Lord Jarrik needs his trunks moved into the tents. Take extra care with them. Should any item drop or touch the ground I’ll have your flesh stripped from your backs. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” they answered in unison.

He left them in silence, both knowing better than to voice their opinions while he was still within earshot. The wait was blissfully short. Reappearing a moment later with a young lieutenant in tow, the major directed them to where they needed to go and what to move. He didn’t wait for a salute before heading off on his next task.

Good riddance as far as Boen was concerned. One part of army life that didn’t agree with him was the overabundance of extra officers lurking in the shadows with menial tasks. Fortunately the younger officer lacked any composure when dealing with what were clearly veterans. He avoided eye contact with Boen entirely, fearing to anger the giant of a man. Utilizing as little actual verbal communication as possible, he directed the pair to the wagon bed of crates.

Boen immediately guessed they were all of the pertinent maps and whatnot of the area the Wolfsreik needed in order to execute the campaign. Not to mention all of Jarrik’s personal belongings. The thought of ruining the enemy lord’s belongings brought a smile to both men. Only one feared the repercussions. This miniscule dilemma brought Boen to a dark place. He was much deeper in the enemy camp than he wanted to be, raising his chances of being caught. He needed to find a quick exit before his carefully crafted plan disintegrated and he found his head separated from his shoulders.

They were down to the final few boxes when a man that could only have been Jarrik rode up. Guards saluted. Soldiers stopped what they were doing and went to attention. Boen’s eyes narrowed as he took in his new foe. That’s when the dark-haired woman with horrible pocks scarring her face emerged. His knowledge of the current Delrananian political system wasn’t what it should be, considering this was the final kingdom in a long journey, but he had gleaned enough from Ingrid and Bahr’s conversations to know she could be none other than Inaella, former leader of the rebellion.

Killing both was certainly achievable. They’d be bleeding out on the trampled snow before any of the guards could react. He’d effectively cut the head from his enemy in the west and, hopefully, give Ingrid and Bahr enough time to accomplish their missions. Sacrifice wasn’t a new concept for Gaimosians. Many had given their lives for the greater good. He wasn’t adverse to the idea though it wouldn’t accomplish much. Artiss Gran said they all needed to arrive at Arlevon Gale if Malweir had even a remote chance of stopping the dark gods’ return. Try as he might, Boen couldn’t figure another way. The idea died as quickly as it had sparked to life. Worse, night was dragging to a close, leaving him with little time to make good his escape.