The Madness of Gods and Kings

by Christian Warren Freed

  Strong words. I wonder if he is the one to forge an empire from the ashes of what’s left over? Rolnir ran his fingers through his red beard while he continued to think of what tomorrow might look like. Lesser men might not grasp the full effect of events building now. Historians might misjudge the people responsible for creating a vastly different future, one with unlimited potential of trade or equality. Rolnir suspected the people sitting around him in the command tent would be made into mythical, demi-god figures by the survivors of Delranan and Rogscroft.

  One fact he knew for certain was the world was changing. The old ways were slowly eroding out of complacency and the complete lack of relevance. A new age was rising. He felt it in his bones. Futuristic visions of tomorrow haunted his dreams. He didn’t know which way the tide was turning, but the air of change was undeniable. Being a part of such a momentous event left him with mixed emotions. Perhaps one day he’d be able to look fondly back on this moment and realize it was the singular point in time when his life finally changed for the better.

  “All that remains is for Mahn and Raste to return with word from our Pell allies,” Aurec said.

  His tone soured slightly, allowing his doubts to bleed out. As much as he enjoyed having Cuul Ol and the Pell Darga for allies he wasn’t wholly sure he could trust them. The Shadow People of the Murdes Mountains were elusive and confrontational. They’d enjoyed countless decades of anonymity, ever apart from the rest of the world. What nightmares did they endure to force them into seclusion? History not being his subject, Aurec could only guess at the events that forced the Pell up into their mountain isolation, knowing his own people were close to following the same pattern. The young king of Rogscroft closed his eyes and hoped against all hope that he wouldn’t share the same twisted fate.

  NINETEEN

  Battle in the West

  Night was busy crawling across the land. It was that murky period after light and before dark. Visibility was difficult. One couldn’t see with clarity much further than a few meters. It was the perfect time for an attack. Modern armies almost never fought at night. Too much could go wrong. Fratricide was commonplace under poor conditions. In order to combat that sad fact, Ingrid had her rebels each marked with red bands of cloth on their arms. The majority of Jarrik’s forces would be in proper Wolfsreik uniforms but, according to Boen, there were enough mercenaries within the partially constructed redoubt to lend pause.

  Hundreds of rebel fighters had converged on this position to execute a loosely coordinated assault. Much to Orlek’s disappointment, Bahr and his crew decided to stay out of the way. They hadn’t come all the way back to Delranan just to fight a rebellion. Getting to the ruins of Arlevon Gale was the only priority Bahr had. Everything else simply stood in the way. They watched the rebels pack out for the raid and slip quietly away. Only Boen volunteered to lead them, for he alone had been within the vast defensive structure. Bahr reluctantly agreed, though he knew the Gaimosian well enough to know he wasn’t going to try very hard to stay out of the fight. Damned thickheaded Vengeance Knights. Who in their right minds decided toppling Gaimos was a good idea in the first place? They all but cursed the rest of the world!

  Ingrid stalked along beside the big Gaimosian--whether from pride, arrogance, or the need to see this matter through remained in doubt. She was one of the strongest women Bahr had ever met. Knowing she led the fight to restore normalcy, the sense of righteousness to a broken people, left him with hope for the future. Her dyed white cloak and leggings blended perfectly with the snow-covered world.

  Determination twisted her face. She felt the sense of urgency that only a commander on the battlefield could. Many of her friends, her fighters, would fall this night, but it was a blood price they had to pay if Delranan was to be free from the tyrannical hands of Harnin One Eye. Orlek and Boen trotted at her sides. One insisted he wasn’t here to fight. The other vowed to risk his life in order to keep her alive.

  She didn’t particularly enjoy that feeling. Orlek was a fine warrior and was becoming a good friend. His rugged demeanor and roguish charm marked him for a dangerous man, but she couldn’t help feel a certain closeness to him. Love was a word she felt uncomfortable using since her husband was killed. Love was the curse of the world. Fools spent their lives in pursuit of a mythical emotion that resulted in hopeless despair more times than not. Love was singularly responsible for more death and hardship than any other emotion. Yet no matter how hard she tried to steel her heart against letting love back into her grieving soul, after all she’d dedicated her work in the rebellion to compensate losing her husband, Ingrid couldn’t deny the raw feelings building within.

  Cursing, Ingrid shoved the thoughts from her mind and tried to concentrate on the mission. Boen offered detail schematics for the redoubt, including major weaknesses. With a little luck she’d be able to funnel the main body of her assault through the gaps and gut the redoubt while skirmishers and archers kept the defenders occupied on the walls. Firing the parapet was her first priority. Once the wooden wall began burning she’d have the distraction the rebellion needed.

  Hope struggled to overwhelm the rest of her emotions. She’d been beaten down for so long it felt strange to have a glimpse at true victory. All of the skirmishes and ambushes conducted up to this point were mere bumps in prelude to the rebellion’s first major victory. Killing or capturing Jarrik and Inaella certainly brought anticipation. Lord Argis betrayed the king and his one-eyed advisor in the attempt of reclaiming Delranan for the people. His death came at the hands of people like Jarrik and the bitter, broken Inaella.

  Clearly Harnin decided to concentrate his efforts in the west here, in this centralized location. Ingrid stumbled upon it by sheer coincidence. Her forces were scattered in small groups to facilitate widespread chaos against the Wolfsreik oppression. Never did she dare to dream her tactical dispersion would result in being in such a ready position for assault. With a little luck and a quick strike they’d burn the redoubt to the ground and kill most of the garrison.

  Harlan and the other elements of the rebellion converged on the redoubt over the past few days, bulking the forces at her disposal close to fifteen hundred fighters. It was the largest force she’d wielded in combat to date and very nearly numerically even with what Jarrik had. They weren’t the best fighters in Delranan, nor the best armed, but they were all she had. Each had endured many months of nonstop warfare. They’d lost friends and made new ones. Each had the same passion as Ingrid, a fact she sought to capitalize on tonight. Victory often came through zealotry. She prayed that was the case.

  Boen raised his fist and the rebels halted, crouching down to reduce their silhouette against the fading light. He looked Ingrid in the eye and motioned her forward with a hooked finger.

  “What is it?”

  Pointing through a small stand of trees, Boen replied, “The main avenue is just beyond these trees. While there weren’t any guards posted the other night I’d advise sending a few people ahead to be sure. We’re close enough to the redoubt for Jarrik to mount a serious counterassault on limited notice.”

  Ingrid’s heart nearly seized. All of her carefully articulated hope, dreams, and well wishes for a future kingdom felt as if they’d been dashed against the rocks, shattered beyond repair. If Jarrik remotely suspected the rebellion was about to strike, her losses would effectively end the rebellion for good. There’d be no rebuilding from such a massacre.

  * * * * *

  The first signs of an attack came from the small blanket of arrows peppering the guards on the walls. Successive waves of shafts struck wood and flesh, effectively keeping the defenders from getting a good look at their attackers. A few were killed, more wounded. Orlek didn’t expect many to actually die from the attack. Effective in select hands, bows were more for rapid rates of fire and shock value than actual casualty producing. They did however, keep heads down.

  Fire arrows came next. Cowering against the walls from unseen shafts streaking down in the night w
as one thing, facing waves of flames arcing towards them completely another. Smoke soon drifted into the early night sky. A bell began clanging. Soldiers rushed from tents, chow lines, and work details to man positions on the walls. Light cavalry hurried to the long barns to saddle and ready their war horses. Amidst the confusion, Orlek began the assault.

  Hundreds of camouflaged infantry dashed across the exposed area leading up to the walls, an area that normally would have been the perfect killing ground but was rendered ineffective because of the time of night. Ingrid had chosen wisely. Rebels hit the gap in the wooden palisade, cutting down those defenders who were able to man the wall in time. Standing at the opening, blood dripping from his chest armor, Orlek bellowed and led his fighters in.

  They killed everyone they could find. Disorganized by the now roaring flames on the western wall, Jarrik’s reserves valiantly attempted to defend the redoubt. Men ran screaming from wounds. Others died where they fell, steam pulsing from their cooling bodies. Orlek managed to breech halfway through the interior before he realized there weren’t nearly as many defenders as there were supposed to be.

  A lone horn blew baleful tunes across the battlefield. The sounds of battle slowed. Men stopped running, looking around for the source. Orlek briefly closed his eyes. It was a trap. Jarrik had lured the rebels into thinking they had the upper hand. He had to move quickly if any of the rebels were going to survive the night.

  “Out! All of you! Fall back to the rendezvous point!” he roared and began shoving those closest to him back towards the gap.

  Those closest to him panicked. Some dropped their weapons as they turned to flee. Others, still trying to get into the redoubt, continued forcing their way inside. The jam quickly turned ugly, making it next to impossible to escape. Orlek had only one option, though he was loath to do it. Collecting as many fighters as he could, the grizzled veteran led them towards what had to be the command structure. If, just if, he could break in and seize the Wolfsreik commanding officer, he might be able to negotiate an escape. If not, they were all going to die.

  A pair of guards flanked the doors to the partially finished building in the center of the redoubt. Sprinting to close the gap, Orlek leapt over a freshly slain body and brought his sword down diagonally. Too slow, the guard cried out as blood fountained from the wide line arcing down from his shoulder to his navel. Entrails spilled onto the mud, followed closely by the rapidly dying guard. Distracted, Orlek yelled as the second guard’s sword plunged into his thigh. Rebels charged in to cut the guard down before he had the chance of killing Orlek. Once dead, the rebels paused to help their leader.

  “Go on! Keep moving. Take the building!” Orlek insisted.

  Those closest were reluctant to leave him behind. Orlek was their leader, the driving force behind the assault. They’d be lost without him at their front. Another horn note blasted over the area, this time much closer. Whatever trickery Jarrik had planned was getting closer to revealing itself. Desperation set in. Orlek looked out over the courtyard and was dismayed to see many of his fighters on the ground in pools of their blood. Wolfsreik infantry were pouring from the barracks now, evening the odds in moments. Momentum was at the point of shifting completely. He had to move now or die with his men.

  Orlek snatched the rag torn from a dead guard’s tunic and pulled it tightly three inches above the wound to stop the blood flow. The tourniquet was meant to save his life, though he’d probably lose the leg once the battle was finished. He snorted. Who was he kidding? He didn’t think he was going to need to worry about it. Leaning on a rebel for support, Orlek limped into the command center.

  * * * * *

  Harlan couldn’t help but grin tersely as flight after flight of fire arrows sped towards the redoubt. Watching flames stretch up over the tops of the walls enthused him in ways much failed to do of late. Once a self-defined playboy, Harlan had wandered Delranan and the rest of the north in search of pointless love and adventure. He’d chosen the worst possible moment for his return. The war broke out shortly after, leaving him trapped in a land intent on devouring itself from the inside. Siding with the rebellion was the only logical choice.

  Excited tension filled him, making it difficult to stand still. No hero, he wanted to be storming the walls with Orlek; it was the only time he’d ever been jealous of his swarthy companion. Instead Ingrid posted him to the flanks with what he considered a menial assignment. Guarding against fleeing soldiers seemed to lack any distinguishing characteristic of glory. And glory was the one factor he needed to cement his name in the future kingdom. A few defenders panicked and tried to escape over the walls. Their bodies decorated the ground.

  It wasn’t enough. According to Boen, the redoubt was filled with hundreds of enemy soldiers. While Harlan recognized the odds were almost even, nothing the rebels had in their arsenal or tactical knowledge base was enough to contend with even the Wolfsreik reserves in a head-to-head fight. Harlan was the biggest proponent for their guerilla-style war, thinking Ingrid mad to brazenly conduct this raid. Still, he couldn’t help but admire her tenacity. Should she actually pull it off, the raid would go down as one of the greatest military maneuvers in the kingdom’s storied history. He’d finally get his chance to play the hero.

  The first sign things weren’t going according to schedule was the lack of bodies trying to escape. Best-case scenario had Orlek’s fighters hacking them down in their beds. Harlan wasn’t an idealist by any measure. The horn blast coming from the frozen plains to his north confirmed those darkest fears he didn’t want to admit. Ingrid had been duped. They all had.

  “What was that?” a nervous young lady with bright, blond hair asked.

  Thankful it was finally dark, Harlan spit his displeasure. “Keep firing but be prepared to fall back on my signal. If that horn is what I think it is this fight is about to turn nasty. I’ll be right back.”

  Clearly not liking the answer, she strung another arrow and fired.

  Harlan stalked off, moving as quickly as he thought safe. Night presented different challenges, some he hoped the enemy suffered from as well. They’d already salted the roads leading into the redoubt with homemade caltrops of sharpened wood. The spiked weapons would cripple any horse stepping on them and cause confusion to the remainder of the force. Harlan had seen them used effectively in the east. Implementing them here was too easy. Ingrid needed every advantage she could muster just to hold on.

  The caltrops were highly effective, but only so long as the enemy stayed on the main roads. Once they realized what was happening any good commander worth his salt would divide his forces and come around the road. Harlan hoped the reserve commanders followed doctrine. He had a surprise for that as well. He dropped behind a row of holly bushes, the thorny leaves pricking his exposed hands as he slid.

  Night had grown dark and cold. He strained to make out any attacking force. Trees and boulders became Giants crawling across the world. His mind played tricks on him. Each time he blinked he imagined he spotted the fleeting images of soldiers stealthily marching his way. The end of the world crept nigh. He blinked. Rubbed his eyes. Finally, the glow of torches rewarded his diligence. A lot of torches from what he could guess.

  “Sneaky bastards,” he whispered to no one. Close to two hundred cavalry was barreling towards the redoubt and Harlan’s rebels. Two hundred heavily armed and angry, professional soldiers. Harlan didn’t stand a chance. Yet if he left he’d abandon Ingrid and Orlek to a fate worse than death. Seems my timing is never right. My mother always told me not to try to be a hero. If she could only see me now.

  Knowing he couldn’t abandon his only true friends to the horrors of Harnin One Eye, Harlan hurried back to his line of archers. The time had come to shift focus and execute the second phase of his defense. He only prayed it worked enough to give those within the enemy fort enough time to escape.

  “All of you, follow me quickly. Just as we rehearsed.” The urgency in his voice made them move faster.

  Every
third archer shifted and hurried to their alternate positions. He briefly contemplated bringing more but the attackers needed all the aid they could get. Harlan dashed to the front of the column and began placing archers where he thought they had the best chance of creating massive havoc. A quick glance confirmed the enemy cavalry was much closer and in great numbers. There are times I wish I was wrong. This is one of them.

  Withholding the order to fire was among the hardest things he’d ever done, but firing now would only give away their position and prevent maximum damage. He only had one shot at halting the cavalry advance. One chance to help Orlek and Ingrid escape before the raid turned completely sour. He could hear the horses breathing. Smell their sweat. Each step closer made their riders more discernible. So close he could almost make out faces.

  His heart began to pound. A series of hand signals made his archers nock and draw. Harlan struggled to keep his nerves from taking control. If just one should slip their hold and fire, the ambush would fail. Cavalry would divide and run the archers down without any casualties. With the burning walls of the redoubt in plain view, the cavalry broke into a charge. Hooves thundered over the fields. The clanging of armor jarred his bones. Harlan could feel tension building. They were so close.

  Please don’t loose. Please don’t loose. He could hear the battle raging behind him, though in whose favor remained to be seen. Harlan couldn’t concern himself over elements beyond his control. All he could do was wait helplessly until the cavalry struck the caltrop field. And strike they did. Horse and rider barreled unwittingly into the field. The lead ranks were crippled before pain registered fully. Panicking, several riders pulled their reins too hard and their mounts tipped.