Rise of Dachwald (Boxed Set, Books 1 through 2)

by Lawlis, Daniel

  “But, General,” Colonel Osinduhr said, “isn’t it rather risky to launch a strike so impulsively and peremptorily without first taking the time to send a reconnoitering party ahead to see if this camp is indeed there and to see how large the opposing force is? This could be a trap!”

  “Under different circumstances I would be in complete agreement with you. If the only thing at stake were this army, then, of course, I would first send out reconnoitering parties. But you saw those people back there in Sodorf that escaped the extermination camp! The whip marks, the bruises, the branding marks, the burn marks! You saw all that! You know that what they said is true: That they are roasting Sodorfians alive, just like during the Seven Years War. If ever there were a gamble worth taking, this is it! Besides, I feel confident our army can withstand even the most heinous Dachwaldian booby traps and ambushes.

  “Now, I will concede one thing: It is very likely the Dachwaldians know we’re coming—that I can’t deny. They’ve got to know by now we’re in their country. An army of around eighty thousand men doesn’t just waltz in and go unnoticed! Of course they know we’re here—so what?! LET THEM KNOW THAT WE’RE COMING!! I really DON’T CARE!! We’re going to go to that extermination camp, and we’re going to drop every last one of them inside their own devilish pits!! Do you want the history books to say we sat around and strategized while thousands of Sodorfians were being brutally slaughtered?!!

  “Every second that goes by, a child becomes an orphan, a husband a widower, a wife a widow . . . will you face these people one day and look them in the eye and tell them you could have saved their loved ones but you didn’t because you had your noses buried in a strategy book?! Now, WHO’S WITH ME?!!!” his eyes blazed, daring someone to challenge him.

  All the officers stood and cheered. Although they had been somewhat skeptical, this fiery speech had instilled them not only with confidence, but with rage. It was time to take revenge. Time to show the Dachwaldians once and for all to stay the hell away from Sodorf.

  “READY YOUR MEN!! IN TWENTY MINUTES, WE MARCH!!!”

  “YEAHHHH!!!” his officers cheered.

  “Colonel Osinduhr, you will stay here in charge of our rear guard, in case any Dachwaldians attempt to ambush us from the south,” General Fuhdor informed him.

  “Yes, General.”

  They immediately left the large tent and passed the news throughout the ranks. Everyone began readying themselves . . . psychologically and physically. They re-sharpened their already-razor-sharp axes and swords. They slapped each other on the back and told each other how tough they were. Then they got into formation.

  It was an impressive sight to behold.

  Gleaming armor shone in the early afternoon sunlight like precious jewels. They were aligned in neat, symmetrical rows, thousands upon thousands of them, looking like men on a large chessboard.

  “MAAAARCHHHH!!!” roared the officers. They began marching. The sound of them marching in perfect cadence was like the chomping of a crunchy meal, and it reverberated for miles. It was an intimidating sound. The sound of men marching with a singular purpose. The expression on their faces as determined as that of a prize fighter determined to knock the reigning champ off his throne and onto the canvass for a little nap time. There were sins to avenge today. Sins against their brethren. After a little over an hour, they were within less than a mile from their ultimate objective. As they neared it, they entered into a deep valley. North of where they were marching was a large hill off in the distance. It was large and somewhat imposing, but it didn’t look so difficult that they would have to go around it.

  “FORWARD!!” shouted the officers, exhorting their men to not lose pace or heart. They continued marching forward. They were now in the middle of the valley—about a half mile from the base of the large hill.

  Chapter 2

  A large group of Sodorfians were being herded into Arbeitplatz. Children crying. Men and women scared, but doing their best to comfort their weeping children. Lying to them as much as their consciences would allow. They were coming here to work . . . they wanted to believe it, but were uncertain as to what the Dachwaldians truly had in store for them. Arbeitplatz covered several hundred acres of land. The fence surrounding it was about twenty feet tall, and while it was made out of wood, each individual piece of wood that stood vertically to compose the fence was sharpened to a point from which a razor-sharp spike protruded straight up into the air, as if daring anyone to try to get over it. Many of the Sodorfians began asking themselves why, if this was indeed simply a place for them to work, were there such stringent security measures. Perhaps to defend against Sodorfian attacks?

  As the mass of anxious Sodorfians poured through the gates, they were all being observed very carefully by the watchful eye of Feiklen. He studied their every move like a cat watching a bird. He watched their facial expressions. The way they communicated with each other. Their eyes. He was looking for a special kind of Sodorfian. He had already seen several that just might fit the profile.

  One was middle-aged. His name was Polunk, and his shifty eyes darted around quickly, alertly, scanning the camp’s walls, looking at the guards, quickly looking down or away whenever his observations seemed noticed.

  A good candidate, Feiklen thought.

  Feiklen’s penetrating eyes continued scanning the masses of Sodorfians entering Arbeitplatz. After about twenty more minutes he spotted several more Sodorfians that seemed to fit the profile. As the Sodorfians continued streaming into the camp, he had some of his guards take the men he had selected from the crowd and bring them into his office. He wanted these twelve brought in one at a time. He was going to try to find out which could be used for the task he had in mind . . . a task Tristan had demanded be accomplished.

  The first was brought in.

  “Have a seat,” Feiklen said. Feiklen was sitting behind a spacious desk. He had the Sodorfian sit down in the chair in front of his desk.

  “What’s your name, Sodorfian?” Feiklen asked roughly.

  “Achensine,” he replied.

  “Achensine, do you know why you’re here?” Feiklen asked.

  “No, sir,” he replied.

  “You disappoint me,” Feiklen said dryly. Having said these words he nodded his head towards Kihlgun, who was standing behind Achensine. Kihlgun walked towards him, put him into a powerful stranglehold and began to squeeze. Achensine tried to push away from the desk with his feet enough so that he could stand up and try to turn around and face Kihlgun and escape the stranglehold.

  It was no use.

  Not only would he never have been able to escape from such a hold being applied by a warrior as strong and skilled in Gicksin as Kihlgun anyway, but he only had about two or three seconds to do so, because that was all the time it took for Kihlgun to crush his windpipe. Achensine’s face turned purple, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he died.

  “Very disappointing,” Feiklen said dryly. “Very disappointing.”

  Kihlgun picked up the corpse and put it in the room behind him. He could be disposed of later. There were more interviews that needed to be done.

  “Bring the next one in,” said Feiklen.

  Kihlgun opened the door, walked down the hallway, and then summoned another Sodorfian.

  “Come with me,” Kihlgun said. The Sodorfian stood up and followed him down the hallway and into Feiklen’s room for his interview. Unfortunately, he didn’t fare any better than Achensine. After a mere thirty seconds, one of his answers wasn’t quite to Feiklen’s satisfaction, so, after a nod of the head to Kihlgun, he also ended up in the three-second stranglehold.

  This lack of success continued for quite some time. One Sodorfian after another came into the room to be interviewed, and the only thing each succeeded in doing was adding to the growing pile of corpses in the back room.

  Only one candidate left. Kihlgun went down the hallway and summoned him.

  Polunk eyed his surroundings like a fox sensing a trap. His discomfort
increased when he noticed that none of the men that had been summoned were even in the room into which he had just walked. His shrewd eyes also immediately noticed the fact that small chips of wood lay on the floor right below the front of Feiklen’s desk. Perhaps someone had been kicking at the desk for some reason, he thought to himself. Feiklen eyed him closely as well, and for a brief second as they looked at each other it was as if there was a sort of mutual understanding between them. Two wolves that just happened to be in rival packs. But wolves nonetheless.

  “My name is Feiklen. What’s your name, Sodorfian?” asked Feiklen immediately.

  “Polunk,” he said flatly.

  “What do you do, or, perhaps better said, what did you do?”

  “I was an accountant,” he said.

  His eyes didn’t leave Feiklen’s.

  “Do you know why you’re here, Polunk?” Feiklen asked him.

  “You plan to slaughter all of us, just like you attempted during the Seven Years war around 830 years ago. This whole camp is simply an extermination camp. Sure, you might pick a few of the most strapping men to do some very hard work for the new military machine that Dachwald is preparing to unleash on the world, but that isn’t the primary purpose of this place. That is just to deceive Sodorfians, make them behave like good little lambs as they come here to be slaughtered,” Polunk replied, his gaze never leaving Feiklen’s eyes.

  Feiklen was impressed. He neither expected an answer that was so accurate nor so blunt.

  “Well,” Feiklen responded, having a hard time deciding just how to respond to such an accurate summation not only of the camp, but of the overall situation in Dachwald, “suppose I were to concede that perhaps there is some truth in what you say—why do you think you are here, right now, in my office?”

  “Well, with regards to the hypothetical premise of your question, if you concede some truth in my words, I would concede then there is some truthfulness in you. As for why I am here, you obviously need some dirty work done. What do I get in exchange?”

  Feiklen felt like he had just been kicked in the groin. For a moment he felt like he was negotiating with a fellow Moscorian. For an even briefer moment, he wondered if this person wasn’t a Moscorian. Perhaps one he wasn’t well acquainted with. He had never met someone outside the Moscorians with such a survival-of-the-fittest mentality. Not only was he surprised at the mere fact that this person had been so perceptive and so bold as to flat-out tell him the truth about what the place was for and what the fate of most of its guests would be, he was nearly blown out of his seat by this man’s shameless candor and wits.

  “Don’t you even want to know what the job is?” asked Feiklen, unable to keep from chuckling a little bit. He felt like he had just met his Sodorfian counterpart.

  “No, that can come later. What do I get?”

  Yes, he had made a good pick. Too bad you’re a Sodorfian. You might have made a great Moscorian, Feiklen thought to himself.

  “Well, basically what you get is freedom. You get to escape.”

  “That sounds good. Now, what do I have to do, and what’s the catch?”

  “It’ll be so easy you might even have a hard time believing it. For reasons I can’t disclose, an escape must take place of a group of prisoners, and they must make it all the way to Sodorf. Now, without someone like you, endowed with the wits of a fox, most of these people wouldn’t be smart enough to escape out of a box with a map on the inside. As you may have noticed, the layout of this idyllic getaway consists of multiple huts, each of which can hold about a hundred people. What you are going to do is convince as many people in your cabin as you can to escape. The thing is, though, you must do so without them knowing that the escape itself is going to be permitted to occur.”

  Feiklen paused briefly to try and determine Polunk’s reaction to what he had been told thus far. He sensed he was intrigued. He continued, “I am going to explain everything you have to do to successfully orchestrate this escape. There will be arrangements made so that the guards will know when this escape is happening and will allow it to be a success. This is not something that is going to happen tomorrow. You and the rest of the designated escapees will have to spend at least a few weeks here. These few weeks will be no picnic. There will be some rough treatment, you’ll get bruised up a bit, but I’ll make sure my guards know not to go too far with you. I know this might not sound too great, but the alternative is being thrown alive into a fiery pit,” Feiklen finished, shrugging his shoulders.

  Polunk’s response was devoid of fear or urgency. It was utterly to the point. “How is the escape supposed to work?” Polunk asked dryly.

  Avoiding the direct question momentarily, Feiklen sat back in his chair and said, “You know, I’m impressed with you. It’s actually quite difficult for me to even believe you are a Sodorfian. Never in my life have I ever met a Sodorfian with such a keen sense of survival. It’s awe-inspiring. Now, as far as how the escape is going to work—I can’t go into detail on that at this time. Although I certainly have a good feeling about you and feel you can be trusted, I believe actions speak louder than words. What I want you to do now is to go back amongst the rest of the Sodorfian inmates and simply blend in. Don’t worry about our arrangement; all of my guards will know who you are, and while there will be no overt favoritism towards you, they’ll make sure you don’t suffer any serious injuries. I’ll have my eye on you: that I promise you. Don’t jump to the insane, dangerous, erroneous conclusion that you are the only one amongst the prisoners who is doing special work for me in exchange for favors! There are others. I have others whose sole purpose is simply to keep an eye on you. And if you let it slip out to one person that this escape is going to be permitted to happen by the Dachwaldian guards, I’ll have you roasted so slowly and painfully, you’ll scream yourself hoarse hours before you actually die! Are we on the same page?!”

  “I’ve got it,” he responded directly. “I do have one question, however. Until I am notified by you, do you even want me to drop hints suggesting that perhaps escape might be a good idea, or should I not even mention anything like that until the designated time?”

  “Wait for now. Before the method and the exact circumstances of the escape are actually decided, I don’t want you to even suggest to anyone that you want to escape. Now, obviously, general statements indicating you’re not happy here and that you would like to escape are fine; if you didn’t make any comments like that, you’d stand out like a crack in a mirror. What I don’t want you to do, however, is suggest you actually have an escape plan or that you know of a possible means of escape.”

  “Understood.”

  “Good. Now, go out and join the rest of the prisoners. You’ll be assigned to Hut H; you’ll be shown where it is. And remember, I have my eye on you!”

  Polunk’s expression communicated that he understood. He was escorted outside by Kihlgun and then handed over to another Moscorian guard and taken to Hut H.

  Kihlgun walked back to the room.

  “What do you think, Feiklen?” he asked; “can we trust him?”

  “I think so,” he said. “I must admit I admire the cold-blooded instincts of that SOB. It’s a shame that we’ll have to kill him anyway just to make sure he never reveals our arrangement to anyone,” he said chuckling.

  “Yeah, a real shame!” Kihlgun concurred, laughing.

  Feiklen unfortunately wasn’t lying to Polunk when he told him that he’d be treated roughly at times. On several occasions, one of the Moscorian guards gave him several good knocks with a wooden staff and barked at him to work harder or he’d be cleaning latrines with his tongue. Some people in Hut H were flogged; a few were branded. Some of these punishments were meted out to keep up appearances, but many were given simply due to the cruel nature of the Moscorians. Over the next several weeks, Feiklen kept his eye on Polunk like a snake watching a mouse. He did a particularly large amount of spying on him through a small window through which he could observe all of the prisoners. He watch
ed them toiling away, digging ditches and holes and performing other menial tasks. Feiklen was looking for any sign that the prisoners were giving Polunk any special attention. The kind of attention a man with an escape plan got in a place like this. He didn’t seem to. Everything seemed just right.

  Once he became convinced Polunk could indeed be trusted with this secret and that he was disciplined enough to encourage the prisoners to escape, he decided to begin preparations immediately. He had Polunk brought into his office. The last several weeks had taken their toll on Polunk, but he still appeared strong. He had some bruises on his face; he had become a bit thinner; but, if anything, he appeared even more alert, his survival instincts more acute.

  “You’ve managed to survive here for the last several weeks—that in and of itself is no measly accomplishment,” said Feiklen. “I’ve been watching you closely, as I said I would. Watching to see if the other prisoners are looking at you in any special way, as they most certainly would if you had revealed our little secret. They don’t appear to be. Furthermore, my informants have confirmed you haven’t revealed anything, so I’m gonna go ahead and proceed with the plan. If all goes well, within weeks you will be not only out of this prison camp, but out of Dachwald altogether. This will be good for you because, as you’ve learned, Dachwald’s a damn dangerous place for Sodorfians. They’re fish swimming in a lake full of alligators. My advice would be to not stop in Sodorf. I’d just keep on heading south like a pack of snarling wolves were snapping at your heels. I think you, being an intelligent man, can understand why this would be advisable,” Feiklen said.

  “What do I need to do?” was Polunk’s laconic response.