Tides of Blood and Steel

by Christian Warren Freed

  Harnin One Eye ripped his wooden-handled dagger from the insurgent’s chest in disdain. A slender thread of bright red blood splashed his tunic. Frustration caused the veins on his neck to stand out, pulsing darkly. Another prisoner and the same results. Harnin stabbed down hard. The blade lodged deep into bone. He turned and left the cooling corpse for his orderlies to remove.

  “Your tactics don’t work,” Jarrik said.

  “I can see that!” he snapped back. “More drastic measures are necessary.”

  Skaning slammed his fist into the wall. “These are our people! We cannot continue murdering them without cause!”

  “Without cause? They started this war! Need I remind you that the king’s own son was murdered not two hundred meters from where you and I now stand?” Harnin raged.

  Skaning met his cold glare. “By Rogscroft, not by our own folk. You carry this vendetta too far, Harnin.”

  “Perhaps I need to take it a step further.”

  The younger Skaning dropped back into a fighting stance. “If you think you can.”

  “Enough of this!” Jarrik barked. “We’ll get nowhere by fighting ourselves. I’m sure King Badron expects better of us.”

  “Nor would he want us killing his citizens,” Skaning replied.

  Jarrik stepped between them. “What would you suggest? I’m afraid that Harnin is right. We must try something else if we hope to end this war.”

  “Find a military target and I will give my full support.”

  Harnin spat. “This is what we are trying to do! Argis is behind this insurrection. Find him and we end the rebellion.”

  “Argis is cunning. He betrayed us and no one saw it coming,” Jarrik commented.

  “He is the head. We need to find and kill him.”

  Skaning remained unconvinced. “What if he is not?”

  “What?” Jarrik and Harnin asked at the same time.

  “Hear me out. Argis betrayed us, that much is true. But what if he was turned by someone else? This rebellion is too well prepared to be run by one man. Argis might only be one of several.”

  Harnin lashed out. His boot made a squishing sound when it struck the body of the man he had just killed. Blood splashed.

  “Do not take me for a fool! You cry that my methods are too extreme, but they have yet to make a prisoner talk. You then dare to steal the blame from Argis and place it on any one of us? What you suggest would tear this kingdom to shreds. Perhaps if I begin hacking off limbs I will find my answers.”

  Jarrik groaned. “Listen to yourself. What you propose will turn the entire population against us, including our own soldiers. Do you want to be the one who has to explain to the king how you lost his kingdom?”

  “So long as Argis remains free and alive he is a threat,” Harnin said, ignoring him. “Where does it end? With our deaths? His? Or should Chadra Keep be burned to the ground? None of you have the answers. Regardless if Argis is their leader or not, he must die. The others are disaffected peasants following nobility. Kill the nobility and they go back to plowing their fields.”

  Silence settled over them. Skaning tried not to stare at the One Eye. The younger lord had always been one of Badron’s staunched supporters, but he valued Delranan above any one man. The kingdom must come first. Anything less defeated the purpose. He wanted to run Harnin through for his indulgences. Doing so would only serve to brand him a traitor. The youngest captain instead decided to bite back on his pride and bide time. Harnin would make his mistake soon enough and all Skaning had to do was wait to reap the benefits.

  Jarrik cleared his throat. “We need to focus all of our efforts on finding Argis.”

  Finally, Harnin spoke in more measured tones. “There is another facet that even Badron had not the time to consider.”

  They looked at him expectantly.

  “Argis must be in league with Rogscroft.”

  Simple. A clear, concise statement with deep running implications. Harnin knew he had them in the palm of his hand now. Delranan and Rogscroft had never been close allies, but they’d seldom let their animosity flare into open hostility. King Stelskor certainly had his share of flaws and prejudices, just as Badron did. The one thing he didn’t have was reason to attack Badron. In that context, the attack on the keep made no sense. The death of Badron’s only heir was only helpful if they managed to kill the father as well.

  Jarrik spoke first. “That doesn’t make sense. How could Argis have done so?”

  “Think about it. Rumors are that the Pell Darga often come down from their mountains to trade with Stelskor. You were here the night of the attack. You both were. How many Pell short spears did we find in our dead? I believe they made contact with Argis and turned him against the very people he swore to protect.”

  “If what you say is true, this changes everything,” Jarrik replied.

  Harnin nodded slowly. “Making Argis more dangerous. He has to die for his crimes against our people.”

  “We shall double our efforts,” Jarrik said after a few moments of silence. His amber eyes narrowed in newfound intent. The curve of his jaw steeled. “If he is in this city we shall find him.”

  “King Badron deserves no less, Captain.”

  Jarrik slapped Skaning on the chest with the back of his hand. “Come on, we have work to do.”

  Harnin watched them leave. His breathing slowed back to normal. Skaning had come close to guessing the truth, and that was of great concern. Fortunately the man was still young enough to be naïve. Otherwise Harnin would have killed him where he stood. Suspicions haunting his conscience, Harnin turned away. His thoughts were already back on the prisoners. The acting lord of Delranan bore no illusions about halting his tortures. A dark part of him came alive with each new scream, each rivulet of dark blood draining from the victims. Half of the time he hadn’t even bothered to ask questions. It was enough to watch them die.

  Smiling, he looked down at the blood stain on his tunic and left the dungeons.

  “You play a dangerous game.”

  Harnin’s heart leapt to his throat as the voice whispered in his ear. The darkness of the throne room was only broken by the half-dead fire in a distant brazier. He panicked. Fatigue had tired him, forcing down his guard. A shadow moved, ever so slightly, from behind the throne.

  “All of Delranan’s captains are equally dangerous.”

  Harnin reached for his short sword, knowing it would be of no avail. “Show yourself, assassin.”

  Wicked laughter mocked him. “Were I an assassin you would already be torn limb from limb and fed to your own dogs. Put away your sword, Harnin One Eye.”

  Pelthit Re lowered his shadows and became visible. The Dae’shan had been conspicuously absent these last few weeks, enough that Harnin failed to recognize his voice. That in itself was troubling enough.

  “Why do you return now? When I do not need you?” Harnin questioned.

  “The hour grows late and you have come to the edge of losing all you have struggled so hard for.”

  Harnin felt a sudden tightness in his chest, like some giant invisible hand trying to crush his life out. The Dae’shan slipped around the front of the ancient cedar throne. His cowled head angled down in silent contempt. Men were so reliant on trivial symbols of power that it prevented them from achieving any true power.

  Harnin gasped for breath. “How?”

  An impossible wind lashed across the chamber. Dying embers danced in the air as they trailed aimlessly away. Pelthit Re sat himself upon the throne once Harnin fell to his knees. Corporeal hands gently grasped the arms, intricately carved into the heads of wolves.

  “Your arrogance has allowed this. Argis is now a hero to the people. They rally behind his name as if he were a legend, a god amongst men. Will you allow him to deliver them from their nightmares? History often forgets villains.”

  The constriction faded. Harnin glared up with a pinched expression. “Argis is a traitor to the kingdom.”

  “Yes, one you helped create. Y
our blind subservience to that decrepit old man you call king has led you into ruin’s arms. I fear you might not recover before he returns.”

  Taunts. The Dae’shan sought the weakness in Harnin and tried to exploit it. The One Eye felt insulted, his pride slapped. He also found a newly kindled hunger gnawing at him. All his life he had been forced to stand in the shadow of a lesser man. Pelthit Re had been delivered to show him how life was meant to be. His life was now stagnant, brackish from the lack of ambition he knew he was supposed to have. Harnin wanted it, wanted it all.

  “Help me,” he begged from his knees. It was a single thread of hope.

  Pelthit Re cocked his head. “Why?”

  Harnin bowed. “I want Badron’s power. I want his life, the glory, and the pride. Argis is a threat, yes, but with your help I can quench his life and turn Delranan into the kingdom it should have been.”

  “Perhaps,” the Dae’shan answered in a harsh cackle. “You should rise, kings do not kneel.”

  The Dae’shan was gone, faded back into nothingness, by the time Harnin struggled to his feet. All that remained was a hollow glow in the seat of the throne.

  * * * * *

  “You should mind your tongue,” Jarrik scolded.

  Skaning spun on his friend, pointing an accusing finger a little too close to his face. “Harnin is out of control. You know I am right. We risk ruin if we sit by and watch him lead us further down this dark road.”

  “What would you have me do?” Anger flashed behind his eyes.

  “Stand up for our people. We are the captains of Delranan.”

  Jarrik clenched a fist. “Mind yourself. You may have taken the place of Argis on this council, but you have not risen to his level. Above all we serve the king. Do not forget this. Ever.”

  His warning was thinly veiled. Threats and suspicion haunted every corner in their kingdom now. No one was safe from accusations, least of all the once vaunted captains. Scores of people had been rounded up in a massive purge. The people lived in fear. Friend turned in friend, brother betrayed brother. No one knew who might be taken next, but no one wanted to die for protecting someone.

  Skaning took it as an insult. “I have been a captain for nearly two years! Argis has nothing to do with that.”

  “Of course he does!” Jarrik threw his arms wide. “Argis is the only reason you gained your title so quickly. Harnin is smart enough to remember that. Watch yourself before the One Eye decides to pursue that thought further.”

  “I am not worried about Harnin, at least not in that aspect.”

  Jarrik halted. Confusion twisted his handsome features. “Why insist on provoking his ire? He is not an enemy worth having.”

  “Harnin will be an enemy for as long as he continues this course of action. I cannot control my emotions,” Skaning explained. He leaned closer so that no one else might overhear his next words. “I believe there is more. He does not act alone.”

  “What more?” Jarrik’s tone darkened enough to put Skaning on guard.

  “Ever since King Badron left, Harnin has become an entirely different man. He craves bloodshed instead of humility. He willingly sacrifices his people chasing shadows. How did this happen so quickly? He was not always such.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Jarrik said without conviction. “Harnin is the sole entrusted regent to the throne. Who could possibly be helping him and what is there to gain?”

  “I do not know, but think about it. He was always the most rational of us. There was a time, even right after the king’s son was killed, that he wouldn’t have dreamed of harming his own people. What changed? You cannot expect me to believe that Argis is to blame.”

  “He leads a rebellion, Skaning. The man is dangerous to Harnin and Delranan.”

  “So much of a threat that he warrants all of our attention? The rebellion did not exist before we created it.”

  “Are you mad? Argis allowed the enemy to breach our defenses and steal the princess. We would not be at war if not for him!”

  “You cannot blame it on one man, Jarrik. It took all of us to arrive here. Do not believe, but there is something sinister driving Harnin.”

  Jarrik began to pace in tight circles. “Who? What? Without someone to pin the blame on, you only offer baseless claims.”

  Skaning exhaled a deep breath. “I have said my piece. Take it for what you will.”

  “I want to believe you, I truly do, but our hands are tied unless you can find out who this person is.”

  The young captain nodded, almost ashamed he did not have the answers. “I will discover the truth in this.”

  They parted without another word. Jarrik watched the younger man leave. Skaning had an air of confidence, like he felt better doing the right thing. Jarrik spat. Right and wrong were terms that offered little in the changing kingdom. He saw Skaning for what he was, a threat. If the boy did discover his imaginary truths, he would need to be dealt with. Jarrik decided to keep a close watch until then.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The Dragon’s Teeth

  “This is it.”

  Boen stepped past Bahr to stand at the center of his freshest nightmare. Disbelief continued to twist his features with concern. He hadn’t been the same since his encounter with the ghosts of his forefathers. The big man acted skittish when confronted now with the new unknown. Part of him had no desire to carry on, but his heart demanded that he learn the truth of why so many of his blood had been slaughtered so far from home in such a god-awful place. Or perhaps they’d been drawn here by some unexplainable power?

  Boen shook his head. Snow fell from his unruly hair. “Can’t be.”

  A permanent mist concealed the area. He might have easily led them past here if not for his previous encounter and the urging of the wizard. The old man had been locked in a meditative trance when he suddenly leapt up on the driver’s bench and shouted for them to stop.

  Bahr dismissed Boen’s misgivings. “It has to be. Look at the mist. This is the only place we have encountered mist since we got in these mountains. You said so yourself.”

  “There was one other,” Boen replied tersely.

  Details of the ghosts remained his private memories. It was too personal to share. He searched every shadow, every crevice partially hidden from view. Boen did not want to see them again; his blood still ran cold from their last meeting. Yet disappointment plagued him. He had been wrong. The ghosts did not reappear. Boen felt… alone? Bahr listened, but thought nothing of it. He was convinced they had successfully arrived at the teeth of the dragon.

  “The book says we would come to a place where the rocks are tinged in red and form teeth. It will appear as a mouth,” Anienam added.

  Boen reluctantly moved towards the nearest rock. He reached out with a gloved hand to touch the porous surface. Flakes of red clung to the worn leather. The rock was easily twice as tall as a man. He squinted into the mists. More rocks choked the area. There was an ancient feel here. Boen resisted the urge to turn and leave.

  “I told you,” he said.

  Bahr came forward, staring with mouth agape. The rocks were dark red, as if they bled. A hint of a smile shadowed his face. “I’ll be damned.”

  “I knew it!” Anienam shouted gleefully. “This is the entrance to the Borgin Pass!”

  Dorl Theed passed a sidelong glance to Nothol. “Great, now what do we do?”

  He had a valid point. All of their time and energy had been dedicated to finding this mythical marker in the untamed mountains. Now that they had actually succeeded they found themselves at an unexpected crossroads.

  “The forge of Giants lies down this road,” the wizard continued.

  Growing discomfort continued to spread among them. He needed to stop it and restore a sense of order. They had come far and this was not the time to fracture. Cold mist kissed their exposed skin. Anienam finished whispering his spell and the mist parted long enough for the group to stop deliberating and see the area for what it was. Massive, conical rocks were
visible. Most sprang up from the ground while others hung from rock outcroppings. Maleela gasped with awe and shuddered. She felt as if she were standing in a giant maw, about to be devoured.

  “It is like a dragon’s mouth,” she whispered.

  Bahr turned to stare at her. “What?”

  She edged closer. “The rocks, they look like teeth, Uncle.”

  An odd feeling of doom clung to them. Ancient and malevolent forces gathered here. She wanted to leave now.

  “Perhaps these are a real dragon’s bones,” Nothol suggested.

  “Nonsense. There hasn’t been a dragon in this part of Malweir in hundreds of years,” Bahr scoffed.

  Anienam clambered down from the wagon to get a better look. Despite all of his experience and travels, he had never been to the Murdes Mountains. The sights around him were astounding. He tentatively, reverently, reached out to touch one of the razor sharp rocks.

  “Incredible,” he said admiringly. “Dragons may be rare, but they are not extinct. They are merely sleeping.”

  “Asleep? Until when?” Dorl asked.

  The wizard offered a tight smile. “Who can say? We are but one insignificant race in a grand world.”

  “That has nothing to do with these being actual teeth,” Bahr said, trying to refocus them. “I’m sure the men that wrote your book thought the same things. Wizard, can you be certain this is the correct place?”

  “Yes, I believe so. The book is very specific. The mists. The red stones resembling teeth. It all corresponds.”

  Pleased with the reply, Bahr said, “Good. We are in the right place.”

  “We should be moving,” Boen urged.

  Anienam stayed them with a glare. “Not so fast. We don’t know what awaits us down this road. The pass might be filled with traps, or worse.”

  “Worse?” Dorl hissed.

  “The men who wrote the book never made it beyond this point. Once we leave here, we will be blind.”

  “Wizard, those traps will be there regardless of whether we delay or not,” Boen grumbled. Specters leered at him in his mind’s eye.

  Anienam conceded the Gaimosian was right, but Anienam had a lurking suspicion they were heading into grave danger. He sighed, but relented. The best thing he could for them all was prepare. Magic might be the only thing that could save their lives in the days to come. He resumed his place on the wagon.