Tides of Blood and Steel (24 page)

Piper studied the map. All three areas were vital for trade and commerce but not necessary for his army’s approach. “Do they mean to fire the city?”

“We think so.”

Damnation. The smoke and flames would slow their approach as much as snipers in the buildings. Piper made a quick note and motioned for the captain to continue.

“All of the roads and alleys are mined with caltrops. We believe it will be like this all the way to the castle walls. The enemy no doubt will have archers in the second story windows. The way will not be easy, even for the heavy infantry.”

Piper frowned. One thought swirled through his mind. Casualties. He suddenly had a sour taste in his mouth. Perhaps they should think of letting Stelskor burn his city and wait for winter to do the rest. Doing so would certainly make life easier for the army and it would save
so many lives. Sadly, he knew Badron was not going to let that be. The king had something in mind that he was keeping to himself. Piper didn’t like it.

“What else?” he asked with a sigh.

“That is it, sir. I have scout teams creeping through the city to learn as much as they can before we assault.”

Piper heard the pause and said, “But?”

“Sir, I do not think the enemy is going to make this easy. We are going to lose a lot of men trying to take it.” He fell silent and lowered his gaze to the ground.

Piper placed a comforting hand on the captain’s shoulder. “We most likely will, which makes your intelligence reports all the more important. The more you can tell us beforehand means the more lives you will save. Go and get something to eat. You have done well.”

“Yes sir.”

He saluted and left Piper to his ruminations. Piper stared at the map with a frown. The initial report was not to his liking. He’d known from the beginning that taking the city was going to prove more trouble than it was worth, but this was nearly disheartening. Badron wasn’t going to want to delay either. He was going to waste lives because of some sort of bloodlust that no one really understood. The potential for disaster sickened Piper. Throwing on a cloak, he stormed off to find Rolnir. A quick stop in the mess tent was also in order. Perhaps it would settle his uneasy stomach.

The mood around camp was generally high. The Wolfsreik had yet to lose a major engagement in the campaign and that buoyed the soldiers’ spirits. Several ambushes and smaller skirmishes had gone against them, but the bulk of victories were on their side. Soldiers laughed and traded stories that more than likely had not happened quite the way they told them. Others sharpened swords and axes. The vast majority had already bedded down for the night for sleep was a luxury often missing from campaign. Piper made small talk with a few. He laughed and joked, projecting an air of confidence.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

Piper offered a warm smile to Borlin, the head mess sergeant. “Something cold with plenty of bubbles.”

Borlin shuffled to the back and returned with a tall pewter mug of the best field ale they had left. “Here you go, sir. It’s not much but it is damned sure cold.

Piper drank deep, the ale burning a trail to his stomach. “Damn. This has got to be the worst ale I’ve ever drunk. Do they sell this back in Chadra or did your boys brew this up from old combat boots?”

“Ha! Piss water has less of a bite, sir.”

He laughed. “Maybe, but at least it sates the thirst.”

Borlin nodded, a twisted smile on his lips. He took the empty mug and refilled it.

Piper eagerly accepted. “What are the men saying?”

“The usual. Nothing seems to bother them unless they’re in the middle of a fight or hungry.”

Piper somehow doubted Borlin spoke true. “You’re not telling me much. You’re the mess sergeant, you know more than even I do I suspect.”

The older veteran rubbed his chin wryly. He’d hoped to avoid this topic altogether. Leaders had more important matters to worry about than the rumors circulating camp.

“The men are worried. We’ve got those Pell bastards ranging behind us, raiding the supply lines and picking off our scouts, and that damned Aurec is having his way to our front. Hard times are coming. Rumor has it the city is going to be a hard one to crack.”

“They’ve had plenty of time to get ready for us,” Piper agreed. “You and I have been doing this long enough to know that no city is ever easy to take.”

Borlin snorted and shook his head. “Doesn’t make it any easier to swallow, sir.”

“No. I don’t suppose it would.”

“You’ve got a lot of worry on your face, sir. The men will do their jobs. Don’t you worry about that. We’ll take that damned city and be back in Chadra before the end of winter.”

Piper admired Borlin’s attitude. The sergeant was a man to hold his tongue when things went south. He was also a friend. They’d been on numerous campaigns together and Borlin had consistently proven to be the man you wanted at your back when times were bad.

“These are difficult times,” he said. “All we can do is our best.”

Piper didn’t say it. He didn’t have to. Both understood the number of live troops they brought home depended on the king. An old northern proverb claimed that madness had a way of spreading so it was best not to mention it. Piper had no intention of provoking such a chance this late into the campaign.

“Aye. It seems like they are. Would you be wanting any more ale, sir?”

Piper grimaced. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Borlin took the mug back and bit off a laugh. “Have a good night, sir. Trust the men to do their jobs. It will all work out at the end.”

“Good night, Borlin.”

Piper left the mess tent and stalked his way through the camp. A strange calm settled over them all. Piper was thankful for it. The men needed to relax. War was taxing in many ways. Waiting was one of the worst. Piper
shook his head slowly. He never considered himself a necessarily strong person. He was good with a sword and had a good head for tactics, but that was about it. What he lacked was emotional control. Twice already in this campaign he found himself at extremes. The initial disaster at the outset of the invasion took him to undiscovered lows while the string of victories bolstered his desire to fight. Far from foolish, Piper realized his emotional stability depended on Prince Aurec’s success or failure. Piper was the sort to hold grudges; he very much wanted that man dead.

“What troubles you tonight?”

He looked up, startled and embarrassed at being caught off guard. Rolnir emerged from the night, hands clasped behind his back. The darkness made him look much older than his forty-four years. The war did not sit well with him either.

“Our lead scouts have returned.” Piper’s voice was bland.

Rolnir gently bit his bottom lip. “Come inside. I assume you have much to tell me.”

“None of it good.”

* * * * *

King Badron eyed his two senior officers with a snarl of contempt. He listened to as much of their initial assessment as he could stand, which wasn’t much, before waving them silent. Piper and Rolnir might have thought their concerns were valid, but they lacked the foresight of being king. Badron was sorely tempted to have them flogged for incompetence. The king was many things. Patient was not one of them. Dark circles permanently scarred his eyes. He’d lost weight and didn’t sleep well anymore. Nightly visits from the Dae’shan filled his mind with dark nightmares. Badron knew he bordered on losing control and he felt powerless to stop it.

“All I ask is that you do your jobs,” he said in a carefully measured voice.

“We are, Sire.”

Rolnir regretted the words almost as soon as he spoke them. This was not the first of Badron’s childish temper tantrums they had sat through. The one constant was that the end results were unpredictable. A junior captain had already been executed for having the spine to talk back to the king.

“Are you? Why do you keep bringing me petty concerns while my bastard enemy mocks me from the safety of his walls? Do I have need of a new general?”

Anger flashed across Rolnir’s face. He had gotten away with lashing out at the king once but doubted success a second time. Instead, he composed himself. “Sire, the Wolfsreik has never let down any king in our history. Rogscroft will fall, but I will not commit thousands of lives due to impatience. Too many will die. Those are lives we cannot afford to lose this far from home.”

“Losses are not my concern, general.”

Cold laced his words. Both military men felt like they’d just been slapped. Never would they have believed that a king of Delranan could act so callously towards his own men.

“Their lives are all we have!” Piper shouted.

Rolnir shot him a stern glare. Piper backed down, ashamed of his uncharacteristic outburst.

“Forgive him, Sire. He speaks out of place. He is right, however. The more men we lose, the less effective we are. I can’t condone any action that will only waste lives. I won’t.” Rolnir lifted his chin slightly, almost daring the king to challenge.

“Calm down, Rolnir,” Badron said and held up a staying hand. “I have no intention of throwing my army away.”

The emphasis on
my
did not go unnoticed.

“What do you mean?”

“Help is marching to us. We will not assault Rogscroft alone.”

Badron struggled to contain himself. He had no way of telling how receptive his officers would be to the news that it was a Goblin army en route. He still had mixed emotions about the situation. His one hope came from the thought that many Goblins were going to be killed in the assault.

Rolnir immediately grew suspicious. “What army? We have few allies here in the north. What land does this army come from?”

A pause. “The Deadlands.”

“Goblins!” hissed Piper.

Badron nodded. “Yes. An army of Goblins.”

“You have damned us all. Goblins are a blight on the world. What madness led you to this?”

“You yourself said we can ill afford to waste lives,” Badron began to explain quickly before their anger grew. He deliberately left pertinent questions unanswered. No one needed to know how the Goblins had been contacted. In the end, Rolnir seemed partially satisfied. The key selling point was the ultimate betrayal of the Goblins once Rogscroft fell.

Cold winds bit into Rolnir and Piper as they left the royal tent.

Piper pulled his cloak tighter. “I don’t like this. We shouldn’t make this deal.”

“What choice do we have? Badron has already committed us. The Goblins are on their way.”

“Don’t you want to know how he made the alliance?”

“No.”

* * * * *

Fifty leagues away, the terrible Goblin army marched. Whips lashed them on at a frenzied pace. They’d already covered five hundred leagues in four weeks, stopping only for a few hours of rest a day. Grugnak watched his army with pride. It had been a long time since last they went to war. He salivated with the thought of sinking his fangs into human flesh. His hatred for mankind was almost unmatched. The Goblin lord only hated Dwarves more. The army continued to march.

Dreams

Maleela startled awake. Her heart raced. A light sheen of sweat covered her body. Her normally soft brown eyes were widened with fright. Just a dream, she tried to convince herself. She slowed her breathing, willing her body to respond to practicality. She felt lost and confused. A wide range of emotions collided within her. Maleela had never been overly close to her uncle, but her dreams were becoming more disturbing, horrifically vivid. Most of the men in her family alienated her, Badron most of all. Nothing she did was good enough for him. The guilt from her mother’s death was hard to suppress even though it wasn’t her fault. Badron thought otherwise. Maleela was entirely expendable. Shaking her head, she wiped her face off.

Bahr glanced up from the flames of their small fire. “Bad dreams again?”

“How did you know?”

His gaze softened. “I heard you. I’m surprised you didn’t wake anyone up. What was it that made you worry so?”

“I dreamed of fire and pain.”

She fell silent. The horror of it still felt real. Maleela closed her eyes and found herself standing in a maze of thorns. Each bush was over ten feet tall, an impenetrable mass of menacing spikes. Greenish mist swirled across the base, adding a haunted look. A full moon hung threateningly over the horizon. The sky itself was pitch black with not a cloud in sight. Even the stars seemed to have disappeared, eclipsed by a nameless menace.

Maleela froze, desperately trying to open her eyes again. She trembled and shook, but no matter how hard she tried, her eyes refused to obey her. Heavy footsteps marched closer. Gouts of flames sprang up in a constricting circle. She heard the menacing roar of faceless monsters in the unseen miasma beyond the flames. Her knees almost gave out. Her heart quickened. The ground shook with each new footstep. She knew it was death and was powerless to escape. Waves of pain spread from the approaching figure. She screamed.

“Your screams are like the sweetest wine.”

The voice boomed across the world. All of her darkest thoughts came to life with the sound. At last the nightmare came into view. Maleela screamed again as a beast of indescribable horror crept through the flames.