“You need more training,” Ironfoot grunted as he chopped through a thick pine bough.
Groge did the same, though from much higher up. “Training for what?”
“For being a soldier. It takes skill to move through terrain unseen, unheard. No Dwarf would have ever allowed himself to be heard approaching through this scrub,” Ironfoot half scolded. He found it difficult to remember Groge was older, but barely considered an adult among his people. The Dwarf simply didn’t understand some of the other races.
Thoughts like that made him miss Drimmen Delf. He ached to be back in the mighty caverns, in front of roaring fires trading stories of exaggerated battlefield heroism. Ironfoot had earned his place among the greatest tales from his experience in the raid on the dark Dwarves’ cannon batteries. Unfortunately King Thord sent him off with Bahr before he got the opportunity. The Dwarf captain relished his chance to stand before his peers with tales of his adventures in lands far from the Dwarf kingdom. His place of honor as grand story master was secured for generations, provided he made it home alive.
Groge offered a child-like grin that was lost between the branches. “Ironfoot, you know I am no warrior. I am just an apprentice to a forge master. Wars are not what I was created for. I am a craftsman.”
Shaking his head, Ironfoot grumbled, “Indeed. This isn’t Venheim, Groge. We are alone in a savage world. Everyone we meet seems inclined to kill us. You’re the biggest of our group and could be a terrible force once you learn how to use your natural skills. I’d go so far as to think even Boen would respect you.”
He embellished slightly. Boen was Gaimosian. He didn’t respect anyone, regardless of their race, unless they were Gaimosian. That definitely made Groge’s quest more difficult, if not impossible. Ironfoot decided not to bother explaining that last part. What the youth didn’t know wasn’t going to hurt him any. His lack of experience just might, however.
Ironfoot set his axe down. “Groge, I need you to understand this.” He paused for the young Giant to kneel down. Damnation. Even kneeling he’s still more than twice as tall as I am. “This is war. I know Bahr has tried to steer us clear of actual fighting, but this is war. Not all of our merry little group is going to survive to see it through. We’ve already lost two before reaching Trennaron.”
“I understand, Ironfoot. I do.”
“No, I don’t think you really do. Ionascu was a waste of life. It was only a matter of time before Lord Death claimed him. I won’t pretend to lie to you. We are better off without him. He was cancerous. Maleela’s loss hurts worse.”
“But we don’t know if she’s dead,” Groge protested.
“Does it matter? She might as well be. The emptiness of her place among us fills many with grief. Can you honestly say that won’t affect them once the final battle begins?”
Groge shook his head. “Why does this matter?”
“It matters because we all need to be at our very best if we’re going to survive. That means I need you to take an interest in weapons and fighting, even if for the sake of saving some of the rest of us.” Ironfoot slapped him on the kneecap. “Besides, if you can’t use that hammer for anything you can always step on people.”
They shared a brief laugh. Groge wiped his eyes clear before saying, “Very well. I will do my best to learn just enough to keep us all alive. I’ll do it for you, Ironfoot.”
“No lad, do it for yourself.”
The brigands struck the camp while most of the defenders were gathering firewood or water from a nearby stream. Only Anienam and his warder, Skuld, remained behind. They were quickly overwhelmed and held at sword point as the score of brigands rummaged through sacks and personal belongings in search of a quick reward. The street thief wanted to retaliate, despite knowing he’d be run through long before reaching the brigand guarding him.
“These people have shit! I say we kill the old man, take the boy to sell him to the slave traders in the desert, and burn the wagon,” a tall man with a pencil-thin, black moustache snapped.
Several heads nodded agreement.
One other stepped forward. Heavily muscled, or perhaps just bundled nicely against the cold, he bore the look of an ex-soldier. Skuld had seen his sort before. Thinking they were better than everyone else, they shoved others aside and took what they wanted from ones unwilling to stand up for their rights. Skuld had fought against men like this his entire life. The perception that any one man was greater than the next offended him. He may have been raised in the streets of Chadra, but his worth was unquestionable.
He’d never be able to live with himself if he didn’t at least try to stop the brigands. “You’ll never get away with this.”
He was rewarded by a swift backhand across the face and a chorus of laughter.
“Pipe down, boy. The world’s not going to miss one old man and gutter trash boy,” the moustache said.
Anienam remained quiet, though he could hear Skuld struggling to understand why. The last wizard on Malweir should be more assertive. Magic should already be rendering these common thieves into ash. Alas, his magic didn’t work that way. Anienam was vowed to preserving life, not exploring new ways to destroy it. Besides, he couldn’t tell Skuld that it was all going to be fine. Not without the brigands hearing.
“Leave him be. We don’t want our property damaged. Nobody will buy a boy with marks on his face,” their leader laughed.
Glaring, the moustache slammed a fist hard into Skuld’s stomach, doubling him over.
Between tears and the sudden urge to vomit, Skuld struggled to rise and show his defiance. “You…shouldn’t…have done…that.”
The moustache looked up at the rest of his group with mock surprise. “The boy’s a comedian! I haven’t laughed so hard in years.”
“Maybe we should keep him around as a jester. Every court needs a fool,” the leader said.
“Dress him in a costume and make him dance!”
“Parade him around. We need a good laugh!”
“The old man can be his keeper!”
Laughter sang across the campsite. The brigands went about their work, steadily growing more agitated that the wagon held practically nothing of importance.
Finally the leader could take no more. Hands held high, he marched to the center and faced his men. “Let’s put it to a vote, lads. Keep ‘em or kill ‘em!”
The man standing directly in front of him suddenly pitched forward with a gargled cry and a spray of hot blood bursting from his back. The ensuing roar took everyone by surprise. Stunned faces turned to see Ironfoot barreling out of the trees. The Dwarf ripped his axe from the dead brigand and dove into full attack. His first blow disemboweled the nearest brigand. The second took a head from the shoulders. By then the others recovered enough to defend themselves. It wasn’t enough.
No one anticipated the Giant breaking through trees. Still unsure of weapons, Groge kicked the nearest man. The body flew hard and fast through the trees, striking a large poplar with a bone-breaking crunch. He quickly reached down to snatch another by the neck, throttling him before he could get his hands up in a futile attempt at stopping the Giant.
“RUN!” the leader bellowed. Fighting a lone Dwarf was one thing, but a Dwarf and a Giant were an entirely different matter. The situation had become untenable. They were all going to die unless they fled back to their cave deep in the forest.
They never had the chance to run. Boen and the others arrived moments later, sealing the brigands in what devolved into a slaughter. Not a one was left alive. Some managed to put up a fight before being ground under sword and axe. The moustache faced off against Rekka, a small woman who should know better than to play with swords. Grinning savagely, he lunged hard and fast. Rekka sidestepped and tore his throat open with a lightning fast strike. He died with the most confused look etched on his face.
The last survivor, their leader, dropped his weapons and raised his hands in surrender. “Please! I’m unarmed! You can’t kill an unarmed man.”
&nb
sp; Boen jerked his sword free from the stomach of his last opponent and stalked towards the leader. Without a word he plunged his sword into the leader’s chest so hard three inches burst from his back. The last brigand dead, the battle was over. Fuming, the Gaimosian ripped his blade free and paused to wipe the blood and gore on the dead man’s chest before sheathing it. His menacing glare kept the others at bay, though Bahr stared him down from across the small battlefield.
They’d all seen, and some had done, harsh acts of violence before. Most were done through necessity, but what Boen just finished went beyond comprehension. He’d been relatively calm the entire journey, save for his continual tirades and need to get into a fight. Killing an unarmed man who had already surrendered was murder. Gaimosians didn’t murder unless there was no other way around it.
Daring any of them to comment, Boen swiveled his gaze to each before stalking back to his horse. His chest rose and fell rapidly. Steam poured off of his head and hands. His breath nearly froze the moment it touched the open air. He could feel their eyes on him as he walked away, and he could care less. None of them noticed the pain hidden behind his eyes or the way he just wanted to leave this life behind. Boen, for all of his faults and strengths, was tired.
TWENTY-SIX
The Quest Continues
Warming his hands over the fire, Bahr had finally had enough. The uncomfortable silence mocked him with indecision. The time had come to confront Boen and get this matter aired out before they continued and it caused problems when the quest needed to be cohesive. He spit roughly to the side and fixed Boen with his sternest look.
Boen gradually lifted his head, catching the look from the tops of his eyes. “Go on.”
Slightly taken off guard, Bahr recoiled and said, “What was all that about? I’ve known you for decades and never have I seen you commit blatant murder.”
“Murder?” Boen asked sharply. “He would have killed us all if I didn’t do what I did. That man was a cold-blooded killer. I saw it in his eyes.”
“He was an unarmed prisoner,” Bahr countered.
“So you think. The moment one of us would have reached for him he would have taken their weapon and killed quicker than the rest of us could react.”
“You don’t know that.”
Boen’s laugh was pure mockery. “Don’t I? That one was clearly their leader. Don’t you find it odd how quickly he decided to surrender once the rest of his thugs were dead or wounded?”
Bahr shook his head sadly. “No one in their right mind wants to die, Boen. He was a coward and did the prudent thing. Would you have gone down swinging?”
He’d never asked a more pointless question. Of course he would. Gaimosians may be the world’s premier warriors, but their stubborn adherence to their rules of combat resulted in so many futile deaths. How many had died since the fall of Gaimos that didn’t need to? And for what? Names and deeds are recorded in history but no one actually remembers.
Boen glowered, but held his tongue. At last he reached out to the fire and dangled his fingers just inches away from the lapping flames. “I know in my gut that man was going to try something. Beating him to it was my only recourse.”
“There is no proof,” Bahr argued, weaker than before.
“You don’t understand. I am Gaimosian and make no excuses for my actions. I killed a threat. What’s done is done. Let it go, Bahr.”
“I can’t. What you did wasn’t right. We’re supposed to be better than that. We’re the heroes in this tale.”
“Heroes?” Boen asked. “I don’t recall asking to be a hero. The only reason I am part of this sordid affair is because I had the bad fortune of being in Delranan when this old man came calling. If it weren’t for that I’d be far away going about my business with no knowledge of your deeds. I didn’t ask to be a hero.”
“No one does,” Anienam said from across the fire. His blind eyes, wrapped under folds of cloth, seemed to glare at the Gaimosian. “None of us were asked to be a part of this quest. Yet for reasons we’ll never know each of us was fated to be in Delranan at precisely the right moment. Our opinions weren’t required.”
“You stay out of this,” Boen growled, pointing an accusing finger before realizing the act was foolish. “I’ve gone through more foul experiences at your side than a lifetime of wandering Malweir could ever prepare me for. This is between Bahr and me.”
“But it’s not. Your actions with the brigands affects us all,” the blind wizard countered.
Bahr added, “He’s right. No one is arguing you acted inappropriately according to how you read the situation.”
“Then what?”
A pause. “The morality of your deed. Killing is one thing. I’d argue it’s a natural state for mortal men to engage in, but what you did was murder. Ethically it’s wrong, Boen.”
Throwing his hands up in exasperation, the Gaimosian rose. “Ethically? Who gives a damn about ethics here, now? We’re struggling just to stay alive. Friends are being wounded, even killed while our enemies continue to strengthen around us. Your very niece was stolen while we battled against creatures that simply shouldn’t exist. What difference do ethics make in the middle of this whole, impossible ordeal? I’m prepared to answer for my actions when I move on to the next world. Are you?”
He stalked off. Grooming his horse helped take his edge off. There was a calming effect from running the brush over his friend. Silence would lower his rage. Being alone would help him remember his roots. He knew without a doubt their supposed prisoner had ill intent in his mind. Killing him was Boen’s only option. Already pushed to the extreme, their band didn’t have the capacity to ward over prisoners. At some point during the haphazard incarceration their prisoner would have made his move. Blood would have been spilled and more bodies laid to rest in the cold snow. He’d done the others a favor by killing the brigand. Why couldn’t they understand it?
Sighing, Boen reflected on his monotonous past. He’d been born into a warrior’s life. How many hundreds of lives were ended by his blade, he didn’t know. All that mattered was adhering to the Gaimosian code. He lived and breathed for the security of others. Seldom did he manage to find the time to put his own desires first. He was a Vengeance Knight. People feared his name. Feared the very idea of his race. More often than not his kind was shunned. Doors were slammed and locked. Windows shuttered.
His was a legacy of bloodshed. Intense moments of extreme violence. But was it enough? He’d never questioned his lot in life until now. None but Gaimosians understood, for they worked towards a unified goal. Each sought revenge against the men and women of the kingdoms who foolishly banded to destroy Gaimos. Kings and nobles were murdered in battle. Armies were destroyed under Gaimosian leadership. When revenge was finally achieved, the survivors of Gaimos would reunite and carve out a new kingdom. All Malweir would tremble. Boen doubted he’d live long enough to see those days of glory renewed. It was a fanciful dream. Sighing, he set brush to horse and began brushing.
Dawn broke behind heavy, angry clouds. The quest packed up and continued on. Arlevon Gale was still many days away and the ride became increasingly perilous. Their circuitous route took them too close to Chadra, though Bahr argued that it was the one place Harnin wouldn’t seek to look for discontent. Truthfully, the One Eye didn’t know Bahr had returned or for what reason. Conversely, they didn’t know he’d already taken off to the eastern front for his confrontation with the returning Badron. Only a handful of rebels knew of the king’s brother. Potential implications for the future were staggering, yet deceptively hidden behind the fog of war.
Bahr intended to use this lack of knowledge to his advantage. His decision to push the quest faster, harder, left many grumbling displeasure, but it was the right move. Each step brought them closer to Chadra and the heart of his enemy’s command. Bahr wanted to depose the usurper and reclaim the throne en route to their date with destiny. Anienam cautioned otherwise. Time was not in their favor.
It was a tired son
g. Time had been their enemy for months now and they were still standing. How many more enemies did they need to battle before their well-deserved rest? Bahr harbored no illusions towards their survival. He fully expected them all to die in the final battle. Well, all except Anienam. The old wizard was wily beyond need and the only one capable of escaping the very worst the dark gods had to throw at them. The thought left a sour taste in the Sea Wolf’s mouth.
He glanced over at the blind man, trying to keep his dissatisfaction from showing. They’d had their differences along the way, certainly more bad times than good, but Bahr held a deep respect for the wizard. Naturally he’d never admit it. Pride often led to a man’s downfall. Bahr tried his best to keep pride from overwhelming his common sense. That tactic didn’t always work, but at least he tried.
“You’re brooding,” Anienam remarked with a wry grin. The wagon plodded on.
Bahr checked his initial reaction, deciding not to get into another heated argument. “Aren’t I allowed to?”
Anienam shrugged. “From time to time. I don’t see what purpose it serves now, though. As Boen said, what’s done is done.”
Boen. As much as I agree with his actions I can’t condone the abrupt murder of an unarmed man, no matter how devious his real intent was. Bahr shook his head. I wish I had the answers we all need. The longer this quest goes on the more I get the feeling that I’m leading us all to our deaths.
“That doesn’t make what he did right,” was all Bahr managed.
“What constitutes right or wrong? That brigand intended on killing us all and taking our belongings. He ordered his men to abduct Skuld and myself and was busy robbing us when you all returned. Did they put down their weapons? Did they turn and flee back into the forest? No. They acted according to their natures. Boen did the same. Can you condemn a man for following a lifetime of training?”
“You know it’s not that easy, Anienam.”
The Madness of Gods and Kings Page 22