“Usurper.”
Harnin stiffened. His one eye narrowed sharply at the sudden sound of his most-hated foe’s voice.
Succumbing to the Dae’shan had been simplistic at the time. Their promises of wealth and power enticed him to abandon all of the principles with which he’d lived his life. Greed propagated his desire to become more than history intended. Now he was all but a slave to his desires. Harnin slowly felt life slipping through his fingers, like sand being washed out to sea. His only problem lay in not being able to find a way out of the situation.
“I don’t recall summoning you, demon,” he replied weakly.
Pelthit Re hissed wicked laughter. “As if a mere mortal had the indulgences to summon one of the Dae’shan. I could take your other eye for that insolence.”
Harnin turned to face the monster who laid claim to so much of his life. “If you wanted me dead I would already be swinging from the gibbets. Why have you come this time?”
Pelthit drifted closer. Harnin found it most disturbing how he never seemed to touch the ground. The otherworldly factor in that act alone twisted his stomach. Cold, clear eyes the color of a dying sun glared at the One Eye from beneath the foreboding grey cowl always concealing the Dae’shan’s true nature.
“War is coming, One Eye.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. I’ve been fighting a war for the last few months,” Harnin snapped, reminded of his inability to crush his enemies.
“This is not a civil war, or fruitless rebellion you ignorantly waste your attentions on. Great forces are allying against Delranan. Forces your limited mortal mind cannot comprehend. I would see you come through this new challenge. There is a place for you in our new world order.”
More lies aimed at enticing me further into chains. How much more weight can I bear before I give out and collapse? Will my soul find its way to the halls of my ancestors or will I be damned to walk the face of the world for all time while all I know wilts and fades?
“I’m tired of empty promises. You come to me with sweet words better meant to entice a woman to your bed. What glory is there for a man such as me to blindly obey your whims? I’ve seen much of this world, demon, but I’ve never heard of one like you. Will you make me a king? An emperor perhaps? More likely I will be slaughtered along the way and left to rot in a forgotten corner of Delranan.” Harnin shook his head as resolutely as possible. “I want no part of your schemes. Not anymore.”
“These are not schemes, Usurper. The end of the world is nigh. The dark gods are returning. Where will you stand when they come to claim their heritage? Death is but the least of your concerns,” the Dae’shan soothed. His initial reaction was to reach out and crush the life from Harnin’s throat. Amar Kit’han would be most displeased, for the one eye still had a part to play in the coming war. Reluctantly, Pelthit Re calmed his rising anger. He hadn’t come back to Delranan to kill Harnin, but instead to merely coerce him into the proper direction. “If you should wish it, I will be more than willing to end your life the moment this war is ended. I will tear your soul from your bones so that you may watch as your brittle form withers and crumbles to dust. Your agony will rival a dying god’s, echoing down through eternity. Should you choose it.”
Harnin paled. His bluff called, he bowed meekly. “What do you wish of me?”
Pelthit grinned within the shadows. Breaking Harnin hadn’t proved much of a challenge. In fact, he found it sorely disappointing. Still, Harnin was expendable. Some people were meant to die. “The Wolfsreik approaches with alarming speed and cohesion. Their numbers are swollen thanks to the remnants of Rogscroft and the Pell Darga. You do not have enough resources to withstand the approaching storm.”
Immense sorrow awoke deep within him. Harnin felt his strings steadily ripping from him. Nothing in Delranan was capable of withstanding such a massive, armed force.
“Your situation worsens, Usurper. Badron has already returned. Even now he seeks to garner enough support to sack your northernmost fortress. Should the first one fall, the others will collapse far more quickly than it took to build them.”
Harnin raged. Helpless. Harmless. “What more can I do? Argis’s rebellion is taxing what little strength I have left. Even with him dead I continue to struggle. Continued incompetence by my commanders leaves the rebels ripe to attack us.”
“Worry not over the rebellion. Their fire will burn and fade before long. The one who leads them is strong, but she lacks faith in her cause. Instead you must focus on Badron. He will take back the crown and your head with it. Take what forces you have in Chadra and ride out to the eastern defenses. Meet Badron head-on before he has the opportunity to make an impact. This is the only way.”
“Ride? To the front lines with a massive army heading towards me? Are you mad?”
He couldn’t believe what was being asked. The Dae’shan might be immensely powerful and immortal, but those traits certainly didn’t pass down to Harnin. Already partially crippled and steadily being driven mad, the One Eye wouldn’t accomplish much away from his seat of power in Chadra Keep. He’d become cloistered within the wooden halls without realizing it. Delranan’s seat of power became his tomb.
“No more mad than you, hiding within these pathetic, wooden walls. Do you truly believe this Keep can last forever? How long will the empty ramparts hold back the tide of the Wolfsreik before it crashes over the top and into the halls? Do not be so naïve as to place faith in mortal constructs. Even the mightiest fortress falls.”
Pelthit Re grew tired of this game. He’d undertaken twisting Harnin as a pet project while Amar and Kodan dithered with Badron. Their attentions were fixed on the king of Delranan; Pelthit was able to almost completely transform Harnin into much less than a man. It had been centuries since he last attempted such prolific and irreversible changes, and he found the ordeal less than satisfying. Harnin had been too willing of a subject. If it weren’t for Amar Kit’han’s insistence that Harnin live to confront Badron, he would already be dead.
“You spend your days like a rat trapped within the walls, frightened the rat catchers are awaiting the moment you show your face. This is no kind of life for a man destined for greatness. The dark gods are forgiving, Usurper. They reward those who distinguish themselves in the dark cause.” Pelthit dug deeper, hoping to inspire that last fragment of fear residing deep within Harnin. “Delranan needs strength in the coming days. Total darkness is set to consume Malweir. Entire races will be ground from existence. I would like to see your kingdom rise above the tide and rebuild to greater glory. All it takes is for you to ride out and meet your nemesis before he can do the same to you.”
“Does Badron have even a sliver of a chance of success?” Harnin asked meekly. The anger and fear had bled from his voice. Defeated, he resigned to follow the Dae’shan’s instructions. At this point he’d do anything to retain control of his kingdom.
“He does, but only if you wallow away within these walls,” Pelthit chided. “Conscript the survivors and ride out to meet him. Break him in the wilds and parade his body throughout the kingdom. Only then you will finally attain the strength to undergo the coming struggle.”
Harnin nodded slowly. “I can best Badron. He lacks any support. I can beat him and finally stop looking over my shoulder. But what of the Wolfsreik?”
“One item at a time. Find and kill Badron and the rest will be taken care of. You have my word.” His last few words dissolved along with him, leaving Harnin standing in the echoes of the past.
* * * * *
“How much further? I grow weary of this skulking,” Grugnak growled to the wizened, old man guiding them.
The deposed king of Delranan took a small force of handpicked warriors into the nearest fishing village upon putting in to shore and abducted one who claimed to know the land intimately. Through sputtered protests and more than one attempt at escape, their guide was finally subdued under threat of having his family murdered before his eyes. Badron still didn’t trust him.
Grugnak slathered at his side, eager to slay the fisherman and move on. His hatred for men worsened the longer the Goblin commander was trapped alongside them. His pitiful hundreds were a pale shadow of their former strength. Ten thousand Goblins had marched from the Deadlands under the promise of plundering one of the finer kingdoms of Men. Their initial conquests were drowned under the heels of Wolfsreik boots. He’d stood upon battlefields where his forces were overrun by their former allies. Thousands of his best lay dead, forgotten by all but time. That travesty needed to be avenged.
Badron scowled at the smaller Goblin. “Patience, Grugnak. This gentleman is going to lead us unerringly to the first redoubt. You may kill him later if he doesn’t.”
The old man’s knees trembled, threatening to buckle. He closed his eyes and prayed this nightmare ended soon. “Please, milord. I got a family. Mouths to feed.”
“So did I,” Badron growled menacingly. “Life seldom asks us what we want. Instead it takes from us, ripping and twisting away all of those things that once made life special. Any endearing quality I once possessed lay dead in the halls of my own Keep while a usurper sits upon the throne. Do not think for an instant I won’t allow my Goblin companion to rip your body to shreds just so that he might have fresh meat for supper.”
Throwing his hands up to protect his face, the old man begged, “Please. I wasn’t part of no rebellion. We didn’t know of what happened in Chadra until just recent. I swear.”
Badron’s eyes narrowed warily. “What happened in Chadra?”
He’d known about Harnin’s betrayal and the construction of the defensive positions for some time. Amar Kit’han took pleasure in detailing how the rebellion further stripped away the strength of his kingdom while Harnin struggled just to maintain the semblance of power.
“You…you don’t know?” the old man asked, eyes now wide in shock. “Why, a terrible plague ran through the major towns. More than half the population was wiped out by it, or so we heard. But we’re all the way on the coast and don’t have much interaction with the interior folks. We only just found out when a trader caravan rode through. Said the capital is all but burned to the ground and no more.”
No more? My beloved city burned to the ground under the disease of plague! My beloved kingdom ruined beyond repair! What have I allowed to happen? Harnin will pay for what he’s done. I swear it upon my ancestors. I will strike that one-eyed bastard’s head from his shoulders and feed his body to the wolves.
When he at last found his voice, it was shaky, unstable. “Has this plague burned itself out yet? I can’t risk marching into Chadra only to take ill.”
The old man was more than willing to deliver any information the mad king required. Anything to keep his life at least a little longer. “So far as we was told, aye. Trader said those still well enough were fleeing into the countryside before the One Eye accused them of being traitors.”
Badron scoffed. As if Harnin had the authority to accuse anyone else of his own crimes. “You’re not a rebel are you? I suddenly find myself growing suspicious with your desire to help me. I don’t need another traitor in my midst.”
“Never been no rebellion out this way. We keeps to ourselves as much as possible. This ain’t our war.”
“But it is. This is a war for the very soul of Delranan. How could anyone who calls himself a patriot stand idle and watch it burn around him? I’m beginning not to like your tone, fisherman.”
Hanging his head, certain death was able to snatch him from the mortal world, the fisherman struggled to find a way to buy a few more precious moments. “Milord! Folks in our village have always been loyal to the crown. My own father served in the Wolfsreik when I was but a pup. Delranan is our heart and blood. T’would never seek to turn against you.”
“We shall see. Now, lead us to the redoubt quickly,” Badron demanded. “I have no qualms with putting your head upon a spike to use as my banner.”
Whimpering, the fisherman led them deeper into Delranan and Badron’s appointment with destiny.
The former king of Delranan brooded as he stalked through the light forest. His thoughts centered around Harnin One Eye, former friend and confidant. A man who might have become the interim heir to the throne. One who certainly rose higher upon the death of Badron’s only son. Now a mortal enemy, Harnin continued to drive a wedge between king and kingdom.
New thoughts entered his mind. Wandering in solitude was a dangerous thing. Badron began to wonder if Harnin had had a hand in killing the heir to throne in order to get closer to power. It wouldn’t have been the first time in Delranan’s history. Badron fumed. His son had been his life, the promise of a better future to ensure his kingdom’s prosperity. Those dreams died on the polished, wooden floors of Chadra Keep in pools of blood and compounding misery.
The very concept that Harnin helped orchestrate the break-in and murder of so many guards the night Maleela was abducted hardened his heart. Badron conceded the One Eye often dreamed of power. It was only natural for one in his position. Badron managed to keep him in check, but that sense of control went out of his hands the moment he ill advisedly went on campaign with the army. The bastard even cautioned me against going, as if he’d planned it all out ahead of time. I should have killed him when I had the chance.
Remnants of the Goblin army marched at his heels. They plodded through the undergrowth with the grace of Ogres devouring cattle. Badron winced each time a small tree was knocked down. Snarls and wicked laughing drifted on the wind. The Goblins clearly weren’t interested in being obscure. Grugnak had increasing difficulty keeping them from lashing out at Badron’s remaining soldiers. Their allegiance slipped further apart daily. Not that Badron cared. The Goblins were merely a means to an end. Should they all die attempting to sack the redoubt, he wouldn’t mind. Their filth needed to be expunged from Malweir entirely. The deposed king of Delranan continued on, following a weak fisherman whose loyalty remained questionable. Soon, very soon, his time was coming. Delranan would be his once again and the world would burn for it. Hatred raged in his cold, dark eyes.
TWENTY-FIVE
No Forest Safe
“I’m tired of freezing. We’ve been cold for too long.”
Nothol rolled his eyes. A few days had passed since they parted ways with the rebellion and, while there’d been no sign of enemy activity, none of them could shake the feeling that they were being hunted. Nerves stood on end, worsening the longer they spent on the road.
One of the horses had gone lame the morning before. Bahr was forced to put it down. Just to make matters worse it was one of the wagon horses. The Sea Wolf reluctantly gave up his horse for a replacement and the exhausted band carried on. They’d gained the border of a small forest whose name escaped them and pushed in. All were eager to get out of the elements and find warmth with a fire and freshly roasted meat.
“Do you get tired of complaining? You’re looking at the wrong side of the situation, Dorl. Each day we spend out in this lovely wilderness is one closer to reaching our objective and finally being able to go about our business. Don’t worry so much about the cold as what might happen when we get to the ruins.”
“You’re the reason I drink. I hope you know that,” Dorl replied tersely.
Nothol shrugged. “I suppose we all need a reason. You’re welcome.”
“Not funny. How much further did Bahr want us to scout today? I can feel the sun going down.” He shivered gently beneath his furs. It had become almost comforting since returning to Delranan. The constant motion served as a reminder of his misery.
Nothol reached back to grab his canteen. “I don’t know. All of these trees look the same to me. We’re not really doing much good out here. Even if we get captured or killed they’re too far behind to know about it until it’s way too late.”
Dorl’s eyes narrowed. “Why’d you go and bring that up? I’m not trying to think about death, you daft bastard. A warm fire and a belly full of cooked food, hot, cooked food, is all I
need to get my mind right again. Bring up death again and we’re going to fight.”
“Ha! You couldn’t beat yourself up right now,” Nothol chided. “I guess we should start looking for a suitable campsite. A fire does sound pretty good right now.”
They kept riding, bickering back and forth. Neither noticed the three sets of eyes watching their every movement from within the shadows of a nearby stand of holly bushes.
The wagon ground to a halt not long after Dorl rode back with news of a suitable position. Words of praise and relief were passed to the sell sword. Everyone was tired of travelling and ready to take advantage of those precious few hours when they weren’t heading towards the inevitable confrontation between good and evil. Ironfoot and Groge headed off to chop down pine branches to use as protection from the wind, and to reduce the fire’s visibility to prying eyes when it got dark.
The Dwarf and Giant were perhaps the most unlikely pair working in tandem at any point on Malweir. Groge, despite being taller and much larger, was a relative novice compared to the experienced, disgruntled Ironfoot. The Dwarf stalked his way through the underbrush like a warrior on the hunt. Martial prowess was ingrained in every Dwarf, and these skills translated into every action they performed, regardless of intensity or relevance. Groge, conversely, was the exact opposite. Giants weren’t the warriors of old. He stumbled and plodded his way through the forest like an inexperienced child.
The Madness of Gods and Kings Page 21