Kingdom's Forge: Book 01 - Paladin's Redemption

by Kade Derricks

  “Damn this forest,” Gallad grumbled, echoing Elam’s thoughts. A stray branch had slapped at his face and now he hacked at it with his drawn sword.

  “Patience. We’ll be there soon enough, Gallad,” Elam said. Patience was the first lesson taught to soldiers. Those without it tended to lead short lives that ended violently. In the early years of his reign, during the worst part of the struggle with the wood elves, he had learned that lesson thoroughly.

  High Mage Blythe rode opposite Gallad, at the king’s other side, speaking only rarely. Elam was just about to speak again to his son when the powerful spellcaster suddenly sat straighter in the saddle. He stared ahead.

  Elam and Gallad pulled their horses up short, waiting for the mage. From their position near the army’s center, they could catch only brief glimpses of the front.

  After a moment, Blythe stood in his stirrups to peer forward, toward the trackers.

  “Trouble?” Elam asked.

  “An attack of some sort, my lord,” he answered without turning. “My mages have met the first wood elf resistance. I felt a spell of some strange type, up ahead of us.”

  “Should we send reinforcements?” Gallad asked.

  “A moment, my Prince. I have sensed no further castings. Someone is returning now to advise us on what has happened.”

  The group waited and, as predicted, a scout darted back toward the main army host. The agile elf wove through the first infantry ranks and made his way to the king. Arriving, he knelt on the thick matted grasses, waiting for permission to speak.

  “What is your report?” Gallad asked.

  “My lords, we found a wood elf female camouflaged in the canopy above. She had hidden herself in a crude shelter built into the crotch of a maple. We scouts spotted her before she could attack, but our arrows flew wide, deflected by a wind shield she must have summoned. One of the mages threw a ball of fire at her, but she shapechanged into a large owl and fled away to the south.”

  “Did she attempt any attack at all?” Gallad asked.

  “No, my Prince. She cast only the wind to scatter our arrows before fleeing.”

  “Unavoidable. We were bound to be spotted by the wood elves’ spies at some point. This is their land. For now, at least,” Elam said. “By your judgment, scout, did she see the bulk of our army?”

  The scout’s shoulders fell. “I believe she did, my lord.”

  “Return to your post,” Elam commanded. He gestured a dismissal with his leather riding gauntlet.

  At the end of the day’s march, the scouts found an abandoned cabin alone in a shaded clearing. Though the cabin was empty, it did show signs of recent use, with fresh ashes in the hearth and swept floors. They must have fled when word arrived of us, Elam thought, rubbing a pinch of white ash between a finger and thumb.

  Another two days passed with no further sign of the wood elves. Though he would never admit to it, Elam was nervous. He expected more. He expected some sort—any sort—of resistance. This uninterrupted progress unnerved him more than an honest battle or even an ambush would have. A seen and known enemy he could prepare for. But the unseen—how to ready oneself for that? He thought of his other armies, lost without a trace. What could have happened to them? Did the wood elves have some secret weapon that had swallowed them up?

  Every evening since crossing the old road boundary, Elam held a gathering with the army’s top commanders in his tent. He began each by talking about what traps they could expect and how to counter them, and afterward, each officer took turns speaking on their respective areas. Logistics always reported first on supply conditions, followed by the cavalry commander on the status of his troops and mounts. The scout, infantry, and archer commanders each spoke in turn afterward on their own responsibilities. Ambush was on everyone’s mind.

  When the gathering ended on the fourth night, Elam asked Gallad, High Mage Blythe, General Canby, and Pilar, second-in-command of the royal guards, to remain behind. A half-dozen oil lamps lit the tent’s cavernous interior, casting long shadows on those assembled at his table. The yellow lamplight also reflected off the meticulously arranged tableware and goblets. The king clapped twice to summon a serving girl who brought in varieties of fresh meats and fruits on generous silver platters. A second followed with two heavy pitchers of wine. And she placed one at either end of the table. The group dined well, enjoying themselves and relaxing, before discussing the army’s progress.

  “Blythe, we have now marched for half a week. Are you able to sense how far we are from our prize?” Elam asked to start the conversation.

  “My king, a great distance remains,” the mage answered. “I can, however, feel that the distance is lessening daily. This human, Dain—he is staying put. As we continue, I may be able to better estimate our distance.”

  “We have not seen any wood elf activity for two days. Do we have any idea of their numbers? They could be much weaker than we anticipated,” Gallad offered.

  “There are no firm estimates. In recent years, it has been much harder to capture slaves, so we expect that their overall population is down,” General Canby answered. The General picked at a bunch of red grapes between his words. “That being said, I have fought them many times in our people’s service and I caution against underestimating them. I believe we have an urgent matter to discuss before we move on.”

  “And that is?” Gallad asked.

  “Tonight’s logistics report. In another week, maybe sooner, we will have to turn back toward our own borders unless more supplies are brought forward. I purposefully brought more provisions than I believed were strictly necessary, but the pace is far slower than expected. We should be twenty miles further along by now.”

  “As the General no doubt knows, the mages cannot transport foodstuffs with the arcane. Our portals destroy perishable items,” Blythe said, bristling.

  “Gallad will need to take a portion of the army and return for more supplies if we are to continue,” Elam said before Canby could answer Blythe.

  “Father, surely one of Canby’s officers is more than capable of such a task. My place is here, with you at the front,” Gallad said.

  The others, looking around with nervous eyes, grew silent after the younger elf spoke. Even a Crown Prince couldn’t question his father, particularly in front of others. Many had been executed for far less. Elam would have to speak with him, sternly, once the meeting adjourned.

  “This army, like all armies, marches on its stomach. The most important factor in our victory is whether or not we can continue to feed ourselves. You will depart in the morning with the cavalry. They are wasted in this brush,” Elam said.

  Outside the tent, shouts rang out, disrupting their meal. A bright flash lit one side of the canvas and loud explosions thundered behind it. Elam’s ears rang with the echoes. Instead of feeling fear, his fists and jaw clenched in anger. Would his enemies fight without honor, striking in the night like thieves?

  Guardsman Pilar, reacting first, drew his sword and rushed to the tent’s entrance.

  “Guards…to your King!” he shouted. Four armor-plated elves raced inside, drawing steel and taking up defensive positions around Elam’s flanks. At their arrival, Pilar stepped outside.

  High Mage Blythe acted next. He cast a bubble of arcane shields around the group and then stood close at Elam’s side. The shields dulled Elam’s senses and tinted everything outside them a dingy shade of gray. Both Gallad and Canby drew their swords and moved outside, trailing Pilar.

  “Out, out! I am moving outside,” Elam ordered the guards. He would not remain cloistered up like some virgin bride while his army fought the wood elves. He needed to see what was happening. If his enemies struck from ambush, without honor, he would yet meet them and triumph. This valley was his; it could belong to no other.

  The vigilant guards moved along with him, maintaining their positions, surrounding him as he joined the others.

  Outside was pure chaos. Fires burned on the camp’s left flank near the cav
alry. Soldiers rushed about, most unarmored and searching frantically for their gear. Horses screamed and reared in fright. Dozens had broken loose and now raced through the camp, fleeing from the flames, smashing tents, and sending soldiers sprawling aside for safety.

  One unfortunate animal, singed on its flanks, headed straight for Elam. Two of the guards readied their weapons, but an arcane blast from Blythe tore the horse in half before it reached them. Elam pitied the terrified creature.

  He was watching the panic in the cavalry and deciding on how best to aid his soldiers when lightning slammed into the camp’s opposite side near the archers. Brilliant white bolts arced from soldier to soldier, and though he couldn’t smell anything through Blythe’s shields, he imagined the stench of charred flesh and hot slag from the molten armor. A hailstorm of arrows screamed overhead from the darkest woods, behind the lightning’s source. Elam heard several shatter harmlessly against Blythe’s shields.

  Within five minutes, the initial shock was over. The golden elves, battle-hardened from their earlier engagements with the orcs, recovered quickly. A tight knot of infantry formed up near the camp’s center, interlocking their shields and overlapping them for protection. Slowly, they marched toward the lightning’s source. Elam saw two mages dive underneath their shields and then start casting their own spells into the forest. Each blast of arcane power exploded on impact, showering bright sparks through the thick foliage. The sparks lit a small patch of forest momentarily, and Elam’s archers fired their own deadly arrows at any wood elf they spotted.

  The enemy spellcasters fought back. They focused their lightning and fireblasts on the group, but their spells vanished when they met the golden elves’ own invisible spellshields.

  In another five minutes, the battle had ended. The wood elves had lost their advantage and faded back with speed and stealth into the deep forests. Golden infantrymen formed into small fire brigades and were dousing the flames.

  Elam waited outside his tent, issuing orders until the last fire died. Echoing his mood, the army seemed more angry than afraid.

  “Casualties, General?” he asked an approaching Canby.

  “Estimates only at this point, but we lost a quarter of the cavalry’s horses. Just over a hundred soldiers are dead with another two hundred badly wounded. We found fifty or so wood elf dead,” Canby replied.

  “Blythe, your mages?” Elam asked.

  “I lost two with a third injured,” the mage replied, venom in his voice.

  “I want to reward those two who joined that infantry group. Also the commander of those footmen.”

  “I will see to it,” Canby said.

  “Father, let me take the remaining cavalry into the forest to ride the wood elf savages down. They cannot attack our camp with impunity,” Gallad said. His son’s voice was tight, strained with barely concealed rage. In Elam’s own youth, he would have felt the same way he knew his son felt in this moment, and would have desired to do the same.

  The king saw things differently now.

  “No. Following them would invite disaster. You—each of you—must see this for what it is…victory.” Elam smiled broadly.

  “Victory?” Gallad shot back, his voice rising further. “Our losses were greater than theirs. For every one we killed we lost two men. The skulking wood elf cowards attacked our camp at night. They need to be punished, father, you know this.”

  “In defense of their homeland, the best Teldrain could muster was to barely wound us. With surprise on their side, and several days’ preparation, this is the best they could do. They have no force capable of contending with us. They have nothing. We will win this war as soon as we find Teran.” Elam smiled. “I say again. This is victory.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Sera knew Dain delayed. He had meant to ride off with his winnings, leaving their lands days ago. But the first day arrived and cold sheets of rain fell in torrents that choked the creeks and flooded the low places. He didn’t want to ride in the clammy cold. On the second day all the roads had still been muddy. No use making Boon carry all that extra weight, he’d claimed. Then, this morning, he had promised to take Jin fishing in the creek when she’d begged him. Jin had dug for worms in the clearing for hours the evening before to prepare. Sera couldn’t recall a time when her daughter had been so excited.

  She and Dain had left before sunrise and hadn’t returned.

  Sera still wasn’t sure why she had kissed him. Neither of them had spoken of it since. She knew she shouldn’t have done it. She had Jin to raise, and was no reckless girl playing at kissing games. But Dain had looked so dashing, handsome, and strong. And—as he had looked out at the arena, expression calm but knuckles white where they gripped the hilt of his tomahawk—so alone.

  He was a stranger among her people. Not even an elf. A great knight, her father called him. And King Teldrain was never one to use such words lightly. Her mother had named him the savior of their people. He had saved her daughter from murder already, and then saved her father as well. Sera owed him a debt for both, though he did not hold it over her head, as she knew some would have. She’d watched him prove himself in combat against the strongest wood elves in their land, including the unbeatable Cleeger. Her brothers, even Jace, grudgingly admitted he was a fine warrior. Her potions may have aided him, but his strength and cunning and bravery carried the day.

  Sera promised herself that she wouldn’t kiss him again, but that did little to keep her from the wanting. She wanted to kiss him again, wanted to hold him to her, wanted to be with him as a woman is with a man. Most of all, she wanted to fulfill Jin’s vision.

  The sun-browned angles of his face and his warm green eyes followed her through her dreams. He claimed the gold was all he cared for, but she knew better. She knew that he felt the same, that he longed to be with her, but Sera vowed she wouldn’t encourage him further. Her mind urged her to keep that vow…but her heart. Her heart wanted what it wanted.

  Her mother had laughed when Sera told her of the dilemma.

  “It was much the same for your father and me. Teldrain walked by my door every day for a month without a single word. He would go more than a mile out of his way to pass by my house every morning, and then twice again when he took lunch. Each evening he would come by a final time on his way home,” Selasa said. “I wanted him to stop, to talk to me, but he never would.”

  “What did you do?” Sera asked.

  “I decided to put an end to his walking.”

  “How?” Sera said.

  A contented expression spread over her mother’s face. “I baked. I baked the sweetest apple crumb pie I could, and then I placed it on a window to cool just before I knew he would pass by for lunch. When your father saw the pie he paused to smell it, and I opened my front door and told him I had burned my hand baking it and asked if he would mind healing me.”

  Sera smiled. “Father fell for that?”

  “Of course. Men allow themselves to be deceived for the things they truly want. Besides, the moment I saw him outside, I intentionally burned myself on the stove and rushed out to him.”

  “You burned yourself on purpose?” Sera said.

  Selasa rubbed a faded scar on her left hand. “This will always remind me, not of the burn, but of your father. The pain was temporary. It has long since faded. But the memory of meeting your father, the concern in his eyes and the warmth of his hands, that remains.” She looked into Sera’s eyes. A primal intensity blazed in them. “My dear, if you want something badly enough, you don’t notice the pain it takes to get it.”

  Sera hadn’t been sure if they were still speaking only of her mother’s sly trick.

  As she cleared away the remains of the morning’s breakfast, she couldn’t help but think of him. Dain had protected Jin, healed her father, and won the tournament, yet he neither bragged nor boasted about himself. His tournament winnings went unspent, for the most part, and he saved most of them away into his saddlebags. What little he did spend went to commissio
ning an unrevealed project from craftsman Ginoor, and buying himself a few clothes along with a new pair of boots.

  So much of him remained a mystery. Still she had observed a few things.

  Dark secrets troubled him. He carried them locked away inside, but once, just after arriving at the cabin and late at night, she’d heard him call out aloud in his sleep. It wasn’t a cry for help. He sounded more betrayed than anything else and mumbled something about a dark rider. That night, she had entered his room and laid a minor spellward on his room to protect his dreams. She often wondered what nightmares hunted him. What could possibly cause him to fear?

  She also knew that her earlier words had wounded him. When Dain first asked her to leave with him, offering to take Jin as well, her refusal had broken open an awkward span between them. But this was her home, the only one she’d ever known. Her ancestors were buried here. Her parents were here. How could she leave? She couldn’t abandon her family, her people, for a near-stranger.

  But that’s not quite true, is it, a small voice inside her head whispered. You could leave, you simply choose not to.

  She pushed the thought out of her mind. She was the daughter of a king and queen and had responsibilities to her people. Besides, the moment is gone now and there is this cursed span between us.

  Since the kiss, the span felt closer—Dain nearer, but a cautious gap still remained.

  She longed to go back to those sweet days before the hated rift between them had opened. Back then, she’d tricked herself into believing they could somehow be a real family. Dared to hope that Jin could have a real father. She knew Dain cared deeply for Jin, and she for him. He never missed a day practicing on her swordwork. Jace and Tarol didn’t approve of the training, but her father had thrown back his head and roared with laughter when he had heard.

  “Maybe someday she’ll get a stab at that arrogant fool, Elam, himself. Wouldn’t that be something? Her carving up the great golden king,” Teldrain had said.