The Madness of Gods and Kings (4 page)

The Army Moves West

The column of horses wound nearly a full league back to the east, to the city of Rogscroft. Bundled under thick cloaks from wolves and bears, the riders shivered under the cold steel of their body armor. Sharpened spears jutted from their sleeves attached to each saddle. Swords clanged and jangled with each bouncing step. Banners waved in the light breeze. What had been a sight reviled--the bloodstained wolf head on snow-colored background--was now celebrated in the small towns and hamlets as the Wolfsreik marched west towards the Murdes Mountains.

Just a few short months ago they’d come fighting and killing their way across Rogscroft to lay siege to the capital before conquering the kingdom. King Badron executed King Stelskor and claimed the kingdom in the name of Delranan. The victory, which should have gone down in history as one of the Wolfsreik’s proudest moments, became tainted by the unexpected involvement of an army of Goblins. The Wolfsreik’s commanding general, Rolnir, suspected foul deliberations between his king and the Goblin commander. Worse, dark influences altered Badron, subtly at first but progressed to the point of brazen dementia. Rolnir did the only thing he could in order to keep his army intact. He rebelled.

Virtually all of his army, those still combat effective to carry on, sided with him. Only a handful of units that were closest to Badron refused. Rolnir had nearly seven thousand soldiers ready to throw into the field. Another fifteen hundred were wounded, most not severe enough to stay out of the war. The rest were either dead or on their death beds. Seven tenths of his army remained intact and, combined with the survivors of Rogscroft and the mountain tribes of the Pell Darga, he found himself in command of nearly fifteen thousand soldiers. There was no greater military force in the north.

Commander Piper Joach looked back at the snake his command had transformed into with a mixed grin and grimace. Compared to what lie ahead, they’d already accomplished the easy part. Rogscroft had been secured from Badron’s insanity and was already being rebuilt. Rolnir commanded the allied armies as they drove what remained of the enemy out. Most of the Goblin force was dead, ambushed by the Wolfsreik at the turn of the tide. All that remained was to drive them back into the Murdes Mountains and let the Pell deal with them.

Only that wasn’t enough. The mountain passes were buried under feet of snow and all but impassable. Goblins and traitor soldiers alike would flounder and be caught or killed by Cuul Ol’s odd fighters. They had orders to offer any captured Wolfsreik soldier the opportunity to return to the army, but Piper had a feeling none would make it that far. He’d seen the Pell Darga in action, fought against them personally, and the thought of them sent chills down his spine.

Far from handsome, Piper fit the role of second in command perfectly. He’d been the first to engage the Rogscroft defenders and, while he considered the battle a stinging defeat, opened the way for the main body of the army to invade. He bore scars from a dozen wounds, marring his chiseled facial features. Proud eyes watched all keenly beneath thin, brown eyebrows. Lightly muscled, he wore his armor like a second skin.

He was the perfect soldier. Everyone in the allied army knew his name and his exploits. He demurely shrugged aside any accolades while remaining focused on the mission. A mission he wasn’t sure of the purpose any longer. The invasion of Rogscroft had been simple. Badron responded to the murder of his only son and attacked after following the evidence. Only when the Goblins became involved did Piper’s notion of justice begin to muddle. Right and wrong mixed without jurisdiction. In the end he was forced to follow his commander, and his heart.

Cold winds blasted down from the north, driving under his cloak to the millimeters of space separating armor and clothes. Piper spent his entire life enduring the harsh conditions of Delranan. The north was no place for weakness. Men and women alike learned to grow hard from an early age. Punishing winters were offset by humid, blistering summers. The only respite came from fleeing south. The men of the north were among the toughest in all Malweir. That didn’t mean Piper enjoyed freezing in the elements when he might have been sitting in front of a roaring fire with a mug of his favorite ale.

Dreams of that moment kept him going. A professional soldier, he forced aside his simple dreams of warmth in order to lead his men back to their homeland. He’d never be able to rest until they reclaimed Delranan from Badron and Harnin. Peace came with a price too few understood or were willing to pay. He’d already buried more friends than he ever wanted and was burdened with the knowledge that yet more would go to the ground before the campaign ended. Cut off from Delranan, neither he nor Rolnir knew what to expect upon their return. All reports suggested Harnin had systematically transformed Delranan into a living nightmare.

“Winter seems to be taking her sweet time moving on this year,” General Vajna commented upon noticing the look of consternation pinching Piper’s face. The Rogscroft man grimaced as another blast of wind slashed through.

Suppressing a shiver, Piper nodded. “It grows most tedious.”

While neither considered the other a friend, both men had grown to respect the other. Once enemies, Piper and Vajna had tried their best to kill the other before Rolnir defected and changed the scheme of the war. Now they shared command of the massive vanguard as it slowly ground through mounds of heavy snow into the foothills of the Murdes Mountains.

“I hope the passes aren’t too congested,” Vajna continued. “Spending time in the mountains isn’t my idea of fun. Nor the men’s I suspect.”

Piper thought back to the beginning of the campaign when he’d led the Wolfsreik over the Murdes Mountains and down into Rogscroft and replied, “The snows weren’t very deep the first time passing through. Of course we had the Pell to deal with instead.”

Nodding, Vajna said, “We’ve had more than our share of ill dealings with them in the past. Nasty fighters but good to have on your side. I’m glad Aurec managed to gain their trust over these last few years.”

Otherwise they’d never be able to cross the mountains intact. The Pell Darga had been driven from their homes in the east long ago and settled in the heart of the mountain range separating Rogscroft and Delranan. Fiercely independent, they ignored the laws of most lowland kingdoms in favor of their own brand of justice. They’d spent generations fighting with the peoples of both kingdoms, earning a fierce reputation. Fact turned to fear and fear into legend. Eventually the Pell Darga became the creatures mothers warned their children of. Until Aurec made peace with their chieftain, Cuul Ol, no one had any reason to believe otherwise.

“They are among the fiercest warriors I’ve ever encountered,” Piper added respectfully. He found it odd how allegiances shifted so casually. What had once been improbable only a few short months ago was now taken for granted. The war proceeded with unprecedented twists, making it difficult to follow, even for a seasoned veteran like Piper. In the end it came down to one simple conclusion: his sole purpose was to keep as many of his soldiers alive as possible until the end of the war. Nothing else mattered.

“We’re less than a day away from the base of the mountains,” Vajna explained, shifting the focus of the conversation before it devolved into past hatreds and rivalries. “The sun’s going down. I suggest finding a bivouac site. There’s no sense in trying to scout out the mountains in the night. Nor letting the men freeze while they wait.”

Piper agreed. He couldn’t wait to warm his frozen toes, even if for only a little while. “I’ll lead a scouting patrol out and do the rounds. Badron may have already taken ship back to Delranan but there is still a strong Goblin force somewhere between us and the mountains. Set up camp at the first suitable place and get the fires going. I don’t want to lose anyone to the cold. This damned war’s already taken enough from all of us.”

“Stay safe.”

“As much as I can be,” he replied.

Piper wouldn’t feel safe until the Goblins were found and eradicated. Their filth was a blight on the world, one threatening to spread if Badron was suddenly in league with them. Technically subordinate by rank, both Piper and Vajna agreed that it would be best if he remained in command of the Wolfsreik regulars until the war’s conclusion. Vajna had no qualms with that. He doubted his own men would find it easy to take orders from a man from another kingdom, much less one who’d been an enemy only months before.

The alliance was still extremely fragile. Petty fights and arguments broke out almost daily, resulting in several trips to the field hospitals, prisons, and more than one body being buried. Those guilty were punished according to their infractions, regardless of which army they had once served. Rolnir and King Aurec understood that the only way to forge a strong alliance was by enacting a singular set of rules for everyone. Balance must be maintained in order to facilitate the full assimilation of three different cultures. Failure here meant failure at the end.

The one hundred men in the scout company divided into two equal groups. Piper led the one that rode north while the other hurried south. They’d cross paths halfway around and meet back up at the starting point in a few hours, hopefully before the sun dipped over the distant horizon. Daylight temperatures were tolerable, if just, but the combination of darkness and wind chill drove the cold deeper past freezing. Piper didn’t relish the idea of moving through unfamiliar terrain while worrying about freezing a finger off.

Still, he had no other choice but to move slower than normal. Uneven snows left the terrain hazardous. They’d already lost several horses on the push west, each one further constricting their combat capabilities. He knew it was just the beginning. The soldiers, all of them, were tired. They’d been fighting for months. Mistakes stemmed from exhaustion. Mistakes got people killed. More soldiers died from accidents and diseases than enemy contact. Until the day came when that was no longer true, Piper was forced to make the difficult choices.

Soon the sounds of axes and hammers ringing across the snow-covered fields faded. The scouts had gone far enough away from Vajna’s camp that they felt totally alone. Already shadows crawled across the world as the sun began to drop. Piper shivered as the temperature plunged more cruelly than any dagger ever could. His face was red, raw in places. His lips burned. His eyes were sore, tired, and on fire. Thoughts of going home didn’t help, leaving him truly miserable for the first time in many years. He made a note to give Rolnir a piece of his mind when the main body joined back up with the vanguard.

“Rider coming in, sir!” the burly sergeant with flowing crimson hair announced and pointed.

Piper followed the direction and his heart leapt at seeing how fast the rider was approaching. Snow kicked up with each thundering step. Speed meant trouble. His horse pranced with nervous anticipation, causing Piper to pat its neck reassuringly. “I feel it too. We might be heading into a fight.”

The sergeant shot him an interested look, his mind racing over pre-combat procedures in the event of a fight.

Too anxious for his own good, Piper gestured his sergeant to follow and rode forward to meet the flustered scout. The rider reined to a halt and tried to catch his breath.

“What’s the word?” Piper asked.

“Commander, we ran into a small column of Goblins marching this way. Must be a few hundred of the bastards. Looked like they were dragging fresh kills. We saw smoke coming from the direction they’re marching out of.”

Piper frowned. The Goblins were still strong enough to be raiding villages successfully. He glanced back at his fifty men. They were light cavalry, not meant for heavy charges. Piper’s force was specifically designed to engage the enemy fleetingly and keep them distracted until the heavy infantry arrived. They were never meant to fight a pitched battle against large numbers of infantry. Pikes and horses didn’t mix well.

“How well armed are they?” he asked, the words coming out rushed.

The scout used a sleeve to wipe the sweat dripping down his face. “Enough to give us trouble. They got pikes and spears. Bevin saw a few axes, too. All of ‘em carried swords and were heading this way.

“We have enough to keep them busy, but not destroy them, Commander,” the sergeant offered thoughtfully.

Piper struggled with the urge to strike something. “We don’t have a choice. A force that size can cause mayhem across the countryside. If what this man says is true they’re fresh off of a kill. We have a chance to strike now and catch them with their guard down.”

“We’re going to need help.”

“Dispatch three men back to General Vajna. He’s to bring five hundred men as quickly as possible,” Piper ordered.

An eyebrow rose. “You mean to attack them at night?”

“Is there a choice?” Piper didn’t want to. Night attacks were hazardous for all parties. Goblins were creatures that lived without the sun. Darkness was their element. Fighting a numerically superior force at night and on unfamiliar ground was tantamount to suicide. A thought sprang to life, quickly growing from spark to flame. “Have the rest of the men gather as much kindling and torchwood as possible in the next few minutes. We’ll have a nasty surprise waiting for those Goblin scum when they arrive.”

* * * * *

Rolnir came upon the battlefield shortly after dawn, having ridden through the night to reach the vanguard. A regiment of heavy infantrymen panted behind him. They’d come expecting to dig their scouts out of a mess but were almost stopped in their tracks when the sun showed the full extent of the fight. Bodies littered the area for hundreds of meters. Most were the dark, grey bodies of Goblins but more than enough were Wolfsreik. Rolnir lamented the losses but saw them as manageable enough to call it a victory. Piper and Vajna were standing in the center of the field pouring over maps and captured documents.