A Whisper After Midnight

by Christian Warren Freed

  Rolnir exhaled a long, slow breath. “I’m hearing reports, rumors mostly, that Harnin One Eye has overthrown the loyalist government and assumed control of Delranan. Badron knows this and is consumed with taking back his kingdom, even if it costs all our lives trying to break through the passes. All indicators point to us on the verge of civil war.”

  “You know how rumors are. You can’t trust them. Too many times a slip of information turns into an avalanche of doom and gloom.”

  “I wish it were that simple, Piper. I really do, but this information comes from scouts returning back to the camp. I took a trip up to Dredl to speak with some of the resupply boat captains.”

  This is news to me. Explains where you disappeared to awhile back though. “And? What did they say?” Piper asked.

  “Chaos has taken Chadra. The people live in constant fear. Bodies are found in the streets daily. Harnin has grown more corrupt than Badron.” He fell silent, staring off into nowhere.

  “That is...distressful. Should we take the army back and restore order?” Piper asked, not knowing what else to say. He’d never dreamed of such a scenario. Briefly his thoughts turned to his friends and family, what few he still had, and the horrors they must be going through. He wanted to go home, help where he could, but one Man wasn’t enough to change the world.

  Rolnir reluctantly shook his head. “No, we’d never be able to get back in time with enough strength and Badron won’t let us leave. Whatever dark purpose drives these two must be some sort of disease. I can’t figure it out. We’re in this deep, Piper.”

  They both knew of Badron’s gradual change. He hadn’t been the same since the loss of his only son back in autumn. Darkness crept into his world. His decisions seemed guided, demented and perverse. Rolnir couldn’t make sense of how the king changed. Certain inner circle members whispered of a strange figure lurking behind the throne, speaking into the king’s ear. It conspired against Delranan, driven by some unseen agenda. Worse, neither Man had been able to find a way to be alone with Badron since the sack of Rogscroft.

  “How many dead? Chadra isn’t a large city.”

  Rolnir finished his water. “A few dozen every day. There is one bright bit of news, however. Lord Argis has turned against the king and leads the insurrection.”

  Piper’s eyes flew wide. “Insurrection? We need to return immediately! Rogscroft can wait. Delranan needs us.”

  “Calm yourself, my friend. We can’t. Let Argis run his rebellion and hope for the best. I have a feeling we’re going to be needed here before too long.”

  “So what do we do? Our options grow smaller as the days progress,” Piper said. “We don’t run. We can’t leave. This feels hopeless.”

  Rolnir snorted a laugh. “Because it is! If I were a lesser Man I’d have sent scouts out to find Aurec and negotiate a truce.”

  He stopped abruptly, instantly aware of the severity of what he’d just said. Treason! I’ve spent a life dedicated to soldiering only to succumb to thoughts of treason. Perhaps it’s time I stepped down. Retire before my mind gets me into too much trouble. “I’m tired, Piper. Go and check on Herger. He’s a good man but prone to rashness. Make sure he sends the right battalions. We can’t afford any mistakes at this junction.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Piper saluted and left. Rolnir stared after him for a while before finally drooping his head and letting go of the cold breath he’d been holding.

  SEVEN

  The Plight of Lord Argis

  Armed guards patrolled the streets of Chadra around the clock since Harnin One Eye assumed control of the kingdom. His reach went deep, but loosened the further away from the capital the kingdom stretched. Yet for all his show of force, Harnin lacked complete control of Chadra. Argis’s rebellion was much stronger than he originally believed. The attack on the armory at the docks showed him how wrong he’d been. The rebellion was stronger than he’d anticipated, forcing him to adjust his initial plans. What he’d intended to be brutally quick and efficient denigrated into a series of hit-and-miss attacks ranging throughout the city and down to Stouds on the coast.

  Every day the rebellion continued meant another day closer to the mountain passes clearing. Harnin dreaded the Wolfsreik’s return, knowing it would mean the end of all of his grand schemes. Not that he was helpless. His agents sent word to the rest of the northern kingdoms for the best assassins. Many declined, citing regicide as going a step too far, but enough were eager to make their names. Their combined guile should prove more than enough to deal with Badron. Or so Harnin hoped.

  “Another three attacks last night,” Jarrik reported, throwing a stack of parchments to the aged oak table.

  Harnin didn’t bother looking down. His gaze remained fixed on the rising sun. Sparkling rays of golden light ripped through the veil of darkness. Once, such a sight would have inspired him, but now he felt hollow. Darkness proved more comfortable. He came to despise what the daylight represented, the purity of the light becoming offensive.

  “How many casualties?” he asked without taking his eyes off the diminishing night.

  Jarrik passed a wary glance to his side, to Inion. “Too many by all reports. Six dead and thirteen more injured. We can’t keep sustaining such loses.”

  Harnin wasn’t concerned. “How many rebels?”

  Young and thickly muscled, Skaning folded his arms over his chest and spat. “Two.”

  Finally Harnin turned. “Two what?”

  “Two dead. That’s it. No wounded, no blood trails.”

  “We are losing this war,” Inion added.

  Harnin rose much too swiftly, sweeping the clay jar from the table. It crashed into the wall, stale beer splashing. “There is no room for seditious thoughts in my kingdom, Inion. Another word and I’ll have your head.”

  Inion swallowed hard. Another time and he might have accepted the challenge but a dark power lingered around Harnin, making it near impossible to harm him. Inion had seen it once. The manifestation of evil lurking just over Harnin’s shadow. It disappeared quickly, as if letting Inion know it was there to dissuade the thought of striking out.

  Skaning slammed a meaty fist into the table. “Damn it, Harnin, he speaks the truth. We are losing Men daily without any notion of the rebels’ losses. Our militias aren’t recruiting the numbers needed to sustain this conflict.”

  “Conscript more!” Harnin raged.

  “Most of the population is sympathetic to the rebellion. They see the bodies hanging from the streets. The way our soldiers patrol Chadra with iron authority.”

  “I declared martial law for a reason,” Harnin replied. “Keep the people in their homes all day if necessary. I will not let this kingdom fall apart now.”

  “The curfew isn’t working. Rebels violate it at will, raiding store rooms or small guard outposts. The Wolfsreik reserves we have aren’t fully trained soldiers and because of it our casualty ratio is worse than three to one. Numbers are against us, Harnin.”

  Thoughts of having Skaning flayed danced in his eyes. Reluctantly, Harnin was forced to admit he still needed the big captain in order to secure his newly stolen kingdom. Once that was finished he would have the luxury of disposing of the more uncooperative members at will. “You bring me problems but no solutions. What then do you propose to do about Lord Argis and his little insurrection?”

  The assembled captains of Delranan shuffled anxiously. Argis had been one of their best. Now a rogue, his knowledge of the inner workings of the kingdom was wreaking havoc on the defenders. Even imprisoned, his name lent strength to those disaffected by Harnin’s rule. As much as Harnin wanted to execute him, they knew Argis was more useful alive than dead. A fact that continually gnawed at the one eye.

  “Argis rots in our dungeons, but his name inspires many who would otherwise not take up arms,” Jarrik answered. “We can’t kill him or the entire population will turn against us. They’d rout us out of Chadra Keep in a matter of days and we’d be the ones hanging from the gibb
ets.”

  “My torturers are ineffective. Argis has not said a word against his rebel friends,” Skaning added. “He’s one tough, old bastard.”

  “Break him! I don’t care how, but break him,” Harnin snapped. His thin frame trembled with rage. Veins popped out of his temples. His remaining eye threatened to tear. “He is becoming a bane to my rule.”

  “We can’t kill him! Not even secretly,” Jarrik reiterated. “He has become the rebellion. Posters and crude images plaster every street and alley. We tear them down but they are back the next day. His name is revered as a god among the lower class. Destroy him physically and all you succeed in doing is making him a martyr.”

  “At this point I’m willing to make that concession,” Harnin replied. “What will it take to bring this rebellion to its knees?”

  No one answered, telling Harnin everything he needed to know about his captains. It was time for a change. Delranan wallowed under the ineffective guidance of former leaders lacking the vision to push the kingdom to greater heights. Complacency rendered them all but useless. Only he knew the truth. The truth that history was written on deeds of Men willing to step outside of their comfort zones, step forward to make their claim against the stars and even the gods. Men fought and died in the name of kings but the future changed only at the behest of visionaries.

  The arrival of the Dae’shan Pelthit Re, initially foreboding, turned into greed, corruption. Harnin came to realize and accept the Dae’shan was a blessing to his dreams of power. He’d languished under Badron’s rule for decades, growing increasingly frustrated with the direction the kingdom went. He knew he could do better; achieve more and bring Delranan to the front of Malweir’s mighty kingdoms. His dreams rivaled the strength and power of Averon in the south. The north deserved to rule, deserved to take its rightful place among the true powers in the world. Harnin intended to make that happen. He only needed to remove the captains standing in his way.

  *****

  Hours turned to days. Days to nights and then weeks. He sat in a windowless room, locked in total darkness until time lost meaning. Rotten food and stagnant water was delivered at random intervals. He’d tried keeping track in the beginning but soon gave up. A pair of rats occasionally crawled out from the walls to nibble on his toes and fingers when he slept, scurrying away to safety before he could kill them. He lived in his own filth. The five-by-five-foot room stank of human waste and bile.

  Argis had once been among the elite; a noble of mighty Delranan. He’d been the first to charge into battle the night Chadra Keep was assaulted. The first to discover the body of Badron’s son. He’d stood beside his king without question through good times and bad. But every loyalty reaches the point of question. His came when Badron announced the final plans for the invasion of Rogscroft. Argis couldn’t see why. He empathized with the misery the king felt over the loss of his son and kidnapping of his daughter, but didn’t see the justification for a full-blown invasion. With no one to turn to, Argis began to doubt. His mind strayed what was right and wrong before deciding that Badron was wrong.

  He rebelled. Quietly at first. He made his way through the various social circles, feeling out who would follow him and who might lead. A core group of the most diverse people gradually came together, forming the nucleus of the rebellion. All it needed was a spark. Argis provided the spark. It had been he that unlocked the long forgotten exit at the base of the mountain Chadra Keep had been built on. He alone knew of the attempt to steal Maleela away from her father; a father who hated her with every fiber in his body. Badron had never forgiven her for the death of her mother in childbirth.

  For a time the rebellion went well. The Wolfsreik reserve forces were caught off guard and put on the defensive. Argis insisted the rebels only kill when necessary while maintaining maximum enemy casualties. A wounded man was worse than a dead one. Supply depots and arms rooms were raided, stealing from Harnin. Each assault produced a drain on enemy combat strength and, hopefully, weakened their resolve to engage their own people. It worked. Many of the Wolfsreik had friends and family in Chadra, neutralizing them from doing what they did best.

  Harnin demanded they assault the city with extreme prejudice but the commanders refused. The rebellion gained ground, winning the people over. Harnin struck back, placing the kingdom under strict martial law and authorizing summary executions in the street for those unfortunates caught performing subversive acts. Panic soon gripped Chadra. A mass exodus began and Harnin let them go. The smaller the population made it easier for him to conduct his war. Argis knew it was only a matter of time before the rebellion faltered.

  He lay on his back and stared up towards the dark ceiling. Eyes open or closed, it didn’t matter. Argis had come to accept his confinement. What didn’t make sense was why he was still alive. Common sense said he should have been executed long ago. But Harnin had grown wicked and cunning since the army left for the war to the east. His imagination visited odd horrors on the land. At first they came every day to brag about their deeds, attempting to break his spirit. When that didn’t work they brought in prisoners and threatened to kill them if he didn’t talk. His lips never parted and the bodies were dragged away in trails of blood. Eventually torturers abandoned their earlier policies and introduced him to foul instruments designed to deliver maximum pain. Argis screamed and cried but still said nothing.

  Frustrated, Harnin soon abandoned that tactic as well. What happened next was much worse. They simply left Argis alone in his cell. A forgotten relic of what might have been. Food and water were shoved into his cell and the door closed quickly. Light entered for only a fraction of a minute before darkness reclaimed the cell. He began hearing voices. They called to him, beckoning him with impossible promises of freedom and reward. He laughed. Madness threatened to settle in. He briefly thought about trying to escape but the opportunity never presented itself. Nor had anyone come to rescue him. Argis felt trapped, damned.

  A noise drew his attention. So faint he thought he imagined it. Sitting up, he slowly swept the cell for any sign of something out of the ordinary. His sight may have been taken, but he’d been locked in darkness for so long the cell took on a haunting glow.

  “You cannot see me, but know that I watch you,” a hideous voice said.

  Argis felt his heart clutch and his skin flushed cold. “Who are you?”

  “I have had many names, none of them important to one in your position. Just know that it is through my urgings that the One Eye has brought your kingdom to the edge of permanent chaos. Does that satisfy you, Lord Argis?”

  “Set me free so that I might put blade to your throat and I’ll be satisfied,” he replied. Every syllable was a struggle to maintain what little composure he had.

  A foreign sound mocked him from the dark. Laughter? “If a mortal blade could kill me we would not be having this conversation.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  There was a pause, as if his confronter was in thought. “Want? There is nothing a Man in your position can offer me. Now if you were a free Man….”

  Argis never believed in demons. Superstitions were for the weak and old. But the creature in his cell gave him pause. There was an inherently evil quality emanating from the creature. So strong it turned Argis’s stomach. So strong he was sure demons did exist.

  “A free Man is capable of a great many things. The power of the human mind can transcend physical strength. Take you to unexplored heights. Strength and power lie at your feet if only you had the courage to reach out and claim them.”

  Tears broke from the corners of his eyes. “Leave me, demon. I am not the Man you seek.”

  “Demon? Would a demon offer you the opportunity to rise above all of your peers and become the Man you should be?”

  Weeping freely, Argis replied, “Yes.”

  “You know so little of the true nature of the world. Ancient dogmas mire your race in decrepitude. I offer you the future and you rebuke me out of what? Spite? Fear? I ha
ve no need of such emotions.”

  Darkness strengthened, threatening to cast Argis into unconsciousness. He swooned. The eerie combination of madness and darkness claimed his mind and when he regained control of awareness he discovered he was alone.

  EIGHT

  The Hags

  The screaming began shortly after midnight. A door broke open. Splinters flew through the front room of the small home. The rush of wings blew out the already cooling fire. Smoke and ash filled the air. Claws ripped and slashed. A sword gleamed momentarily in the cold, pale moonlight before falling to the floor, the severed hand still gripping the hilt. Blood, hot and bright red, splashed across the walls and furniture. The attack ended almost as quickly as it began. Three bodies lay in ruined heaps of flesh: the parents and a small daughter. Each body was grasped by one of the Hags and dragged away to the foothills.

  Those foolish enough to venture into the streets watched the three monstrous shapes take flight and disappear into the clouds. Whispers spread quickly. Demons had come to Fedro, claiming the damned and condemning the rest. Grown Men and Women fell to their knees while performing gestures intended to ward off evil spirits. Some cried. Others slammed their doors and bolted them. Still others went for weapons, anything they could use to defend against the monsters. Fedro became subsumed by paranoia. It didn’t take long before those with clear heads turned towards the strangers in town. Blame was only a matter of time.

  “They are here,” Rekka Jel said from her post by the window.

  They’d taken rooms in the back of the first floor, close enough to the rear door to make an escape if necessary. Their foul experience in Praeg set everyone on edge, heightening security and apprehensions. Sleep came lightly even after their time spent in the forge of Giants. Bahr remained filled with suspicions. Having a traitor among them kept him on edge.