Tides of Blood and Steel (13 page)

“Yes, Sir.” There was no joy or relief in his voice. He was a soldier and soldiers followed orders.

Herger still wasn’t satisfied. “General, the Pell will not engage us. They will melt back to their caves when they see us coming in force. They are a cunning foe, unwilling to make sacrifices too easily. They will not engage us in a head-to-head fight.”

“Right now I don’t care. I want those trees burned to the ground. Take their cover from them and they will be less likely to go on the offensive.”

The idea was sound, but the Pell were not called the Shadow People for no reason. They were savage, entirely unpredictable. Rolnir would like nothing more than to seal them in their damned caves and be done with it, but that was not a possibility. He knew more men were going to die. Unfortunately there was no way around it. He had Badron breathing down his neck for results. The king had never been a soldier and this war was well beyond the scope of his experience.

Rolnir continued, “We march at dawn, gentlemen. Go and get some rest. I know things have a tendency to get heated, but I truly appreciate all that you are doing for our kingdom and our men. Good night.”

They saluted as one and wordlessly filed out. Rolnir watched patiently until only Piper remained. The look in his eyes cautioned building hatred. The war was still too young for his senior commander to be so consumed.

“Piper, a word if you don’t mind.”

Piper Joach casually retook his seat and waited.

Rolnir still wasn’t sure how to handle the situation. “How are your men holding up?”

Piper shrugged. “We are at war with a clever enemy. They are about as good as we can expect them to be.”

Rolnir expected nothing less. Now came the hard part. “And how about you?”

“There’s not much to report. I am focused on the next mission.”

“That doesn’t comfort me, Piper. I’m starting to think I need to give you some time off, away from the line so you can recollect your thoughts. It will be a chance for you to get right before our push on the city.”

Mild anger flashed. “Sir, my men and I stand ready to do our jobs the only way we know how. After everything we have been through I am surprised that you would even suggest taking a break. It is insulting. We are all men of the Wolfsreik. We will do our jobs.”

Rolnir quickly understood the silence following meant the end to the conversation. Piper clammed up, straining the atmosphere in the command tent.

“Dismissed.”

Piper Joach threw a crisp salute and left.

“Damned stubborn man,” Rolnir whispered after him.

Now that he was alone, his attention reverted to the map table. He must have looked at it a hundred times today. The army had made and was still making considerable progress. Enemy emplacements were a thorn, but were being overrun daily, leaving him with little doubt that the main effort was going to collapse on Rogscroft. Damn. He wished there was another way. A nice big battle on the open plain to settle this affair more suited him. The Wolfsreik were strong, but not urban specialists. Rolnir sighed. He supposed it was too much for Stelskor to march an army out in one final defiant gesture and lay it all on the line.

This led him to his next concern: Badron. The king was under the illusion that Rogscroft was an easy target. The last month of campaign had done nothing to assuage his building desires of conquest. Rolnir shook his head. He felt trapped. The king should never have left Chadra Keep. Rage over losing his son had pushed him beyond the point of rationality. Rolnir knew they must be careful lest the king kill them all. Still, that thought did not preclude him from doing what must be done. It was the time of day when Badron expected him. He reluctantly snatched up his wolf-skin cloak and worked his way over to the king’s tent.

“A king should not be made to wait on his subordinates,” Badron growled once Rolnir bowed.

Rolnir let the threat roll off his shoulders. He had no time for the petty games of kings. “Sire, I finished debriefing the commanders.”

“Then I trust you have something useful to report.”

“Potentially. I believe we’ve found a way to break the enemy’s hold on the mountain passes.”

Badron listened as his general explained in detail. His face was grey from the lack of sleep and the predations of the Dae’shan. Secrets were killing him, but they were secrets that
must
be kept. He shuddered to think what might happen should anyone learn about his association with the emissaries of the dark gods. He soon found himself ignoring Rolnir’s estimates of collateral damage. His thoughts turned to his daughter and his hated brother. They were more trouble than either deserved. Damn the Dae’shan for even bringing it up. And now there was Harnin. His most trusted friend had betrayed him.

Rolnir finished and asked, “Do you have anything else for me, Sire?”

“No. You may leave now.”

Badron waved him off, his mind already wandering dark corridors. The coming days were about to turn ugly; much uglier than he ever imagined in his lifetime.

Anienam’s Tale

“Well lad, looks like you’re going to get the chance to find out about that Pell Darga treasure after all,” Boen chided.

Most of the others were sullen, hiding from the reality of what they were about to undertake. The world was changed. They had already dared to enter the growing hostility in what had once been a peaceful kingdom. Along the way they learned much about themselves. Some was good, some bad. And now they had embarked upon the grand quest. It was the culmination of their lives, a point in time that none would ever be able to recreate or relive in more than fragmented memories with declining age.

Skuld looked over at the Gaimosian. “Somehow it doesn’t feel right.”

“Times like this never do.”

“How do you do it?” the boy asked.

Boen shrugged. “A life like mine is not for the weak. I’ve killed and been hunted. I have no homeland. No family. I have nothing in this world except what you see.” He reached behind his back and drew his mighty broadsword. “This sword is my life. Without it I am nothing. Do you understand?”

He didn’t.

Boen continued, encouraged by the snort of his horse. “Battle is a Gaimosian’s life. To die of old age is an insult to the tradition of my people. We Gaimosians are a proud breed. The world is now our kingdom. There is no point in trying to escape it. Thinking otherwise is a waste of time. We are what fate has made us. Nothing more, nothing less. Be at peace with this and you will finally accept yourself for what you are.”

Boen resheathed his sword and swung his gaze back to the road. He knew better than to believe his words had much impact on the boy. Skuld was too young to understand, too impressionable. Maybe that was a good thing. Too many people stumbled through life thinking they knew what was going on around them. Time and again he’d see those same people cut down in the prime of their ignorance. Boen was determined not to let that happen to Skuld. He liked the boy.

“Living on the streets, I used to dream of being a great warrior,” Skuld quietly admitted. “Now I am not so sure. The world is not what I imagined it was.”

Boen smiled softly. Fond memories of his own childhood drifted back to him. “Our dreams are always more reaching as children. The disappointment of adulthood robs us of that.”

“We rescued the princess so shouldn’t we be heroes? Aren’t those men always revered as heroes?”

“Sometimes,” Boen said and nodded. “Then again, it has been my experience that those things rarely happen. Most princesses have the good sense to stay home and live a normal life. Ours just happens to be a bit feisty.”

Skuld laughed for the first time in weeks. It did him good, made him feel almost sane again. His thoughts had been much too foul lately. He had nothing else going for himself, and he was smart enough to know better than to abandon his newfound friends. Instinct pleaded with him to leave now and not look back. Skuld couldn’t. His friends were literally the only thing keeping him going. He needed them.

Boen took a moment. “Don’t wrap your mind on such trivial matters. We’ll be in the mountains soon enough. Use this time to rest. You will have need of your strength soon enough.”

“Thank you, Boen.”

His words were genuine. The Gaimosian was like an older brother to him and Skuld valued his advice.

“Don’t mention it. You would have done the same if our roles were reversed. Get some sleep, boy.”

Boen urged his horse forward. A light snow drifted lazily across the sky. They were already a day out of Chadra and still hadn’t seen any sign of Harnin. Bahr was satisfied with the pace, but knew better than to let down his guard. They weren’t out of danger yet, and were only heading into even more in the days and weeks to come. One more day and they would arrive at Praeg. If Harnin hadn’t caught up to them by then, it was safe to assume he wasn’t going to.

Praeg was by no means a safe haven, but it was far enough away from Chadra to relax his nerves a little. He planned on staying in the village just long enough to properly equip the team for a winter journey in the heart of the most dangerous mountains in northern Malweir. The mountains were still two weeks away and he wasn’t relishing the thought of what they were going to find once they got there.

Bahr glanced over at the wizard. Anienam sat in the back of the wagon rereading his book. He regarded the little man with renewed interest. An oddity was an understatement. The wizard was dangerous.

“Have you learned anything new?”

Anienam looked up. “Eh?”

“I asked if you’d learned anything new.”

Bahr couldn’t exactly tell, but it appeared Anienam rolled his eyes. “None of this is new, Captain Bahr. This book is over a thousand years old. There are many mysteries in this life. Perhaps if men had better memories we would not be in this position now,” he cackled.

Bahr snorted. “All of the damned people in this world, we are stuck with a grumpy old man on the edge of insanity! Can you just answer my questions without the games? I’ve grown weary of this.”

He wasn’t in the mood for Anienam’s sarcastic comments and attitude. Today was not the day.

“We all need a good sense of humor after all that has happened and for what is to come. Our test is not going to be easy.”

Bahr glowered at him.

“Believe me, I have a feeling that the level of violence we are about to witness is going to leave those of us who have the good fortune to survive scarred forever. Laugh, Bahr. Laugh while we still can.”

There was an inherent threat tangled in his words, a threat big enough for Bahr to take notice. “What do you know?”

“Nothing really. The text alludes to cataclysmic events, most of which do not concern us. The war these men fought in was one of the worst in our history. Their words are not encouraging.”

“Which war?” Bahr asked.

“The great Mage War. It was the one war that almost destroyed Malweir. The death toll was in the hundreds of thousands. It was by sheer fortune that any survived.”

The Mage War. It was well known to every race, a dark time in everyone’s past that was almost their demise. Bahr couldn’t begin to guess why Anienam was the only one of them with fond memories. The war was the height of human vanity. Mages brought Malweir to the edge of ruin and were wiped out themselves for their sins. He believed it was better that much power should not be allowed to run free as it was clear that no one was able to control it. Bahr found himself with grave misgivings about the future. Anienam was the progeny of those Mages and an enigma. He might turn on them in a fit of madness.

“That war is ancient history. The Mage order is no more,” Bahr replied. “What does the book say about the hammer? What is it supposed to do?”

“The book doesn’t get that far. I believe these men all died before they were able to use it,” Anienam replied seriously. He bore a dour expression. The implications for the future were severe and all but a few were bad.

Bahr said nothing. Best to let the man keep talking while was in the mood.

“The Blud Hamr is a token of power. There have been many such tokens over the course of time. The most famous of which was the cracked crystal of Tol Shere and, of course, the fabled star silver sword, Phaelor. It was Phaelor that finally destroyed the crystal and ended the war. The Elves took it back, you know. They feared it falling into the wrong hands. A shame, really. The sword always chooses its master.”

“The hammer,” Bahr gently urged.

The wizard snapped back into focus. “The Blood Hammer is rumored to have been made by the gods of light back when the world was young. They knew the schism coming and made certain moves to defend themselves.”

“What would a god need to defend himself from? Aren’t they all the same?”

“There is no reference for an answer. Most of what we knew about the gods and their ilk was lost when the libraries at Ipn Shal burned. I do not know what powers the hammer bears, but the Giant clans will have the answers. There are no finer smiths in the entire world.”

Bahr’s heart slowed. Hope diminished. “Are you suggesting that we are about to go to war with the gods and we do not know what we are doing?”