“I came to you because I had to!” Anienam snapped, finally allowing anger to take control. “Don’t mistake my acquiescence for kindness. You are a vital part in all of this, the hinge to success or failure. My task is to keep you alive for as long as possible.”
Bahr stood in shock. He was many things: scoundrel, womanizer, disgruntled brother, but he’d never been important to anyone until now. The idea was anathema. He didn’t need to be important. Didn’t want it. All he wanted was a strong boat beneath his feet and the freedom of the open sky. Accepting his worth for all Malweir seemed wrong.
Anienam relaxed. His features softened back into the kind old Man he preferred to assume. “Fighting won’t solve anything. Let the river Men think they are in control. Should they turn on us you and the others will be ready to react. I don’t trust them either, if that helps any.”
“Only if they don’t sell us out.”
Bahr turned and called to the captain.
THIRTY-NINE
Ionascu’s Venom
The frozen plains gradually gave way to scrub grass and sand. Temperatures rose in the same manner. It wasn’t long before they abandoned their winter cloaks and furs. Rekka’s mood changed almost at once. She’d never been exposed to the cold before and was immeasurably glad to be done with it. Soon enough she’d be back in the humid jungle, a more harsh and dangerous environment than the frozen north.
Normally she spent hours a day in deep meditation. The dream masters of Teng taught calming techniques to counter the intensity of the training. It took her years to learn, forget about mastering, the skills she’d need for the rest of her life. However long that should be. Her conversation with Boen left her shaken. The longer the quest lasted the more she felt impending doom bearing down on her. Death offered no promise for the likes of Rekka. Her life was a dedication to mortal suffering with the hopes of eternal enlightenment. Still, there’d been too many close encounters to keep her mind at ease.
“Your girlfriend doesn’t seem like herself,” Nothol commented quietly.
He and Dorl sat at the edge of the barge, watching the waters rush by, or maybe it was the barge moving. They’d already been on the water long enough to grow confused. Dorl had hoped to avoid being on water again, especially after their time on Bane. Although he had to admit the probability of finding a corpse on deck was heavily reduced.
Dorl looked at Rekka with the strange combination of longing and fear. Their relationship was a dream, more than likely incapable of surviving the trials to come, certainly not the after effects if any of them lived. She belonged to a mystic cult from a foreign land with little to nothing in common with the northern sell sword. His heart was confused. As much as he wanted to sit with her in his arms and watch the world race by he knew destiny demanded otherwise. Men like him weren’t supposed to have easy, normal lives. They just weren’t. Dorl sighed in frustration.
“Who is?” he replied. “Nothing has gone right from the moment we left Stouds at the end of autumn. The closer we get to this Hamr the more I can’t help but feel like the pieces are being moved to block us. Do you think we can win?”
“I don’t even know who we’re fighting,” he answered and shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. You’re sounding like a lovesick puppy lately. I think she’s got your balls in her pocket.”
“Don’t worry about my balls,” Dorl said and frowned.
Nothol broke out laughing and was rewarded with a halfhearted punch to his left shoulder. “Why don’t you go to her?”
“And say what?”
Nothol thought for a moment. “Good point. What is to say? We’re so far out of our element up feels like down. It’s not too late to turn back.”
“Yes it damned well is and you know it,” Dorl said. “We’re in this for the haul. Although a nice fire with good food and cold beer wouldn’t hurt. Those Dwarves know how to eat.”
Rubbing his stomach in thought, Nothol agreed. “Best cooking I’ve had in a long while. Maybe Ironfoot can cook?”
“Anything has to be better than the combinations Boen puts together. I had the shits for a full day the last time he cooked,” Dorl said.
Their easy laughter spread through the others. Tensions were high, and with good reason. Hunted and alone, no one knew whether they’d live or die.
“Maybe you’re right,” Nothol finally gave in. “This is getting too dangerous. We’re not heroes, Dorl. I know that, but I can’t help feeling like a part of something special. Wouldn’t it be nice to have people remember our deeds a hundred years from now?”
Dorl scowled. “That implies we’re going to survive. What happens if we’re dead and wasted away without anyone ever knowing? The stakes are too high.”
“Anything worth fighting for usually is,” Nothol replied. “This is war, Dorl. If half of what Anienam says is true there’s no place for us to run that won’t be affected.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve bought in to it?”
“Bought in to what? We’re doing a good deed here,” Nothol defended.
Dorl shook his head ruefully. “What makes you think we can take on gods and win?”
“What makes you think we can’t?”
Dorl Theed had no answer. He’d never felt smaller, more insignificant. The sell sword didn’t belong in this tale. He knew it. He was a simple Man with few interests. Finding Rekka was a fluke, one he hoped to cultivate into something meaningful. He doubted she was ready or able to give up a lifetime of training and dedication to a singular purpose for the sake of love. Still, he wasn’t willing to give up. His heart finally felt content, leaving him prone to rash decisions and worse.
He’d known his share of women, never bothering to constrict himself with only one. Dorl believed there was a time and place for love, but he hadn’t discovered his own yet. At least, not until he met Rekka. Thoughts of her plagued him, stealing his focus from the task at hand. His prowess in battle lessened and made him more liability than asset. One day Dorl knew he’d put the others in jeopardy. Whether unintentional or through ignorance, his inability to concentrate was more than likely going to get one of them killed. He couldn’t live with that.
Dorl recognized the best action would be to abandon his relationship and turn his back. Knowing and being able to do that were two opposite ideations. He’d never felt more strongly about anyone and had no intentions of giving up on what might be a promising future. Old doubts lingered. Questions that never should have been asked swirled in his mind. Stay or go? Should he leave his friends to their fate out of selfishness or struggle on to whatever end the Fates decreed? He hung his head, overwhelmed.
“It’s not death I fear,” he said after long moments of listening to the frigid waters lap against the barge. “You and I have both seen enough to be inoculated. What I fear is obscurity. Falling into an abyss from which there will be no escape. I don’t want to die for reasons I don’t fully believe in.”
Nothol nodded understanding and placed his hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “Our lives have never been easy, though they’ve certainly been more comfortable than this. We come from a hard land where making difficult decisions is the way of life. How many times have we been stuck in situations we had no reason being in?”
“I hear what you’re saying and it makes sense, to an extent, but I don’t feel it in my heart, Nothol. It’s like, I don’t know, being stuck on the edge of cliff without knowing whether to turn about or plunge downward.”
“Sometimes the heart lacks clarity,” Nothol replied.
“You sound like my mother.”
“You’re acting like mine. Snap out of it, Dorl. I need you to stay frosty. You’ve had my back through a hundred shitty situations and I need it one more time. Go cry to your girlfriend tonight and come back the Man you used to be in the morning,” Nothol admonished.
Dorl’s jaw tightened as he contemplated punching his best friend. The barge gradually began to shove towards the near shore just as the sun was setting. Golden-pink light ri
ddled the grey skies, offering rare glimpses of hope. The already weary band took heart. They’d been through so much hardship and toil it was all they could do to get up in the morning and carry on. Dorl’s attitudes ran through them with varying degrees. Only through Bahr’s steadfastness did they keep pushing, keep driving south towards Trennaron.
“We’re putting in for the night,” Bahr announced as he came back from the bow. “The river Men say it’s too dangerous to keep on.” His voice lowered. “This doesn’t feel right. I want guards posted throughout the night. Otherwise we might just awake to our throats being slit.”
“Be a lot easier if you just let me get rid of them now,” Boen said, continuing his earlier arguments. “I don’t like having to watch my back for no reason.”
“We’re not having this discussion again,” Bahr said firmly. “This is their barge and they know the river far better than any of us.”
The Gaimosian snorted but stayed quiet. His mood quickly infected the others.
“You’re too trusting,” Dorl added, uncharacteristically. “Can’t we use Anienam to help us out?”
The wizard suppressed his frown. “It doesn’t work that way. Without a proper threat I don’t have a target to channel my energies. Besides, any use of power will only alert our enemies to our whereabouts. Trennaron is still very far away. We need to maintain as low of a profile as possible if we’re to find success.”
“You would think having a Giant along would be enough of a deterrent,” Nothol said. “I damned sure wouldn’t try us.”
“Unfortunately you’ve got a little more sense than most,” Bahr added. “Establish the roster as soon as we dock and get some rest. I have a feeling these river Men are going to give us a few surprises before we arrive at our destination.”
Ionascu listened to the banter with venom in his heart. Once, and only briefly, he considered joining them. Becoming a member of their group. It was in his best interests. Harnin’s betrayal left him no better than Bahr. Crippled and alone, Ionascu contemplated taking his own life but lacked the courage. His heart burned darkly. Revenge demanded to be fulfilled. The strange visitors continued to approach him in his dreams, giving him new purpose and the intensity he’d long forgotten. They whispered promises he couldn’t ignore.
Ionascu thought back to his first moments aboard the Dragon’s Bane and the almost immediate sense of animosity exuded by Bahr and the others, as if they knew his true identity. He laughed at their ignorance. Mild complacency kept him from striking out, that and the underlying fear of not knowing whom to trust. As great as his desire for revenge might be he still wasn’t willing to completely trust the visitors in his mind. The crippled Man pulled his patchwork blanket higher around his neck as cold winds tickled his flesh.
The hard tack of his dagger pressed tightly against his side. None of the others knew he was armed or they surely would have taken it by now. Ionascu studied his companions while trying to determine which to kill first. Hatred for Bahr was minimal. If anything the brother of the king had been kind enough and even stood up for him when Harnin betrayed him. The One Eye needed to die, but he knew he’d never get the opportunity to exact such punishment. The wizard, on the other hand, posed the greatest threat. He watched Ionascu with suspicious eyes, suggesting he knew too much. But how to kill a wizard?
He frowned. Perhaps Badron’s daughter should get the honor of having his blade rake across her throat first. She’d been a thorn in his side from before her abduction. Killing her left him feeling warm inside. With Badron’s son dead she was the last of his bloodline. Delranan would never be the same after his family was successfully removed from the throne. Ionascu contemplated the future, slowly falling under the sway of the voices in his head. They offered delicate temptations and the unforeseen paths to a better life. They promised to heal his broken mind and body, making him stronger, faster, wiser. They whispered his role for the future and the coming storm. He sighed contentment. The voices were his only constant. His true friends during the long winter night. A wry grin on his face, he drifted back to their alluring embrace.
During it all the river Man captain stood at the bow watching them with foul thoughts of his own.
FORTY
Expectations
Artiss Gran stood atop the crumbling battlements of Trennaron. His tired eyes endlessly searched for his approaching guests. His ancient body was on the brink of giving out. Long days turned into years and then centuries. All of his hopes and dreams ended the day he became one of the Dae’shan. He became more than what his physical form restricted. He became a messenger of the gods, both light and dark, and all was well with the world.
Until Amar Kit’han decided the world was not enough. Amar subverted the Dae’shan, twisting them through vicious lies and wicked intent. The others willingly gave themselves to their new direction but Artiss couldn’t. Too much of his Humanity remained to so callously abandon his own race. He stood his ground and broke away from the others. The Dae’shan were only ever four. No more, no less. Artiss’s departure left them sorely lacking much of their combined strength. Amar never forgave him and never forgot his treachery. Centuries passed without conflict until recently. The veil between dimensions was weakening. The dark gods saw their way back into Malweir. Amar Kit’han and the fractured Dae’shan were sent back into the world to pave the way.
He sighed. Once, long ago, he relished the feel of fresh wind on his face. It was the only reason he could think that he still made the daily pilgrimage up to the top of Trennaron. Mortal needs and desires extinguished the moment he accepted his robes and was transformed. He looked down at the massive structure built deep in the jungle, wondering how he’d come to be the guardian of the Blud Hamr. Knowing it was the only weapon capable of killing the dark gods and how badly Amar Kit’han wanted it destroyed gave him purpose but no comfort. Part of him had always known he was meant to come here. Just as he suspected, without ever saying, that the rest of the Dae’shan would stumble and fall into shadow. Some things were just meant to be.
Massive stone gargoyles decorated the walls and towers. Their pointed ears listened to the winds, massive wings curled over their backs protecting them from sunlight and worse. A series of square towers ringed the interior complex. Artiss knew the actual chamber the Hamr was kept in was far underground. So deep that lava flowed around it. Ancient wards protected the building from evil, but those wards were weakening with time. Artiss took comfort with the knowledge that the last of the Mage bloodline was approaching. If only they could beat Amar Kit’han here Malweir might stand a chance.
The jungle had been cleared back a good hundred meters. A worn cobblestone road was overgrown and barely discernible even from his vantage. Brambles and snaking vines overran the road, a reminder that the jungle took what it wanted. Small tribal villages peppered the jungles. Many of which dedicated a large portion of their society to becoming guardians of Trennaron. Artiss had little to do with that but they provided a much needed outer layer of security. Human intervention had prevented many incursions, by the Dae’shan and worse.
Artiss looked down, catching the faintest glimmer of movement under the massive banyan trees off to his right. Squinting, he was able to discern the mighty outline of a Gnaal. A remnant of the dark Mages. Artiss frowned. He had enough power to defeat the genetic monsters, but little left to defend Trennaron. Gnaals were nearly extinct, and a good thing too. Nearly ten feet tall, the monster had skin the color of darkest midnight and was covered with boils and lesions weeping endless streams of puss and worse. Foul eyes watched the castle, searching for any exploitable weakness. Artiss knew it wouldn’t wait long.
“So, my brothers have at last realized my hour has arrived,” Artiss said. His grey-white robes floated in the stale wind. Having given up the black preferred by Amar Kit’han long ago, he quested to return the Dae’shan to the spirit of neutrality they were originally intended for.
Hot winds blew across Trennaron, carrying the stench of rot and
decay. The war had finally come to this ancient and most holy place. Artiss Gran would be hard pressed to defend it long enough for Anienam Keiss and his selected heroes to arrive. Frowning, the former Dae’shan balled his fists and collected power. If it was a fight Amar Kit’han wanted, a fight he was going to get.
END
Begin Book four of The Northern Crusade, Empire of Bones, Now.
Empire of Bones
Other Novels by Christian Warren Freed
The Northern Crusade Series
Hammers in the Wind
Tides of Blood and Steel
A Whisper After Midnight
Empire of Bones
The Madness of Gods and Kings
Even Gods Must Fall
A History of Malweir Series
Armies of the Silver Mage
The Dragon Hunters
Beyond the Edge of Dawn
If you liked this title, perhaps you should try one of these.
The Dark Ranger
(Book One of the Many Kingdoms series)
Dark Ranger is the first book in the Many Kingdoms trilogy, a familiar fairytale world of monsters and wizards, evil and magic.
Garrett is a Ranger of the Light, a sworn guardian of the natural world and its inhabitants. His duty is to root out evil and destroy it before it can destroy the land he cherishes, but he finds it difficult to identify that evil in himself. His heart is broken by the brutal murder of his beloved, and his thirst for revenge leaves him vulnerable to the manipulation of the blood-wizard, Scythe.
Fellow rangers Wren and Nolan are determined to reclaim their friend's soul and bring him back to the Light. They are aided by a wandering dwarf and a wild fairy who longs for humanity. But as the companions discover, even magic can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved.
A Whisper After Midnight Page 31