“They’ll never get here in time,” Badron snorted.
“Time for what?”
The king waggled a finger. “Time to help save us. The traitor Rolnir and my Wolfsreik are preparing to march on the city. We don’t have the numbers to stop them, much less delay. My scouts tell me there are close to twenty thousand enemy soldiers.”
Grugnak balked, failing to comprehend where so many had come from. “How is this possible? You did not have so many soldiers.”
“No. I didn’t but Rolnir has joined forces with young King Aurec and those murderous people from the mountains. They will arrive at the city long before your relief force does.”
The implications were terrifying for the Goblin commander. He’d obeyed Amar Kit’han’s summons to leave their dreary stronghold in the Deadlands only to see most of his army destroyed, betrayed by the very Men he’d been promised would help. Now those initial dreams lay in ruins and were potentially coming undone further with the enemy marching on him. Craven instincts urged him to take what few surviving Goblins he had left and flee back to the Deadlands. If they were caught here….
“Don’t have the gall to stand and fight, eh?” Badron teased upon noticing the cagey look in Grugnak’s eyes. “I don’t blame you, but it won’t do any good. Aurec is going to unleash the wolves against us, Grugnak. Ironic isn’t it? Getting killed by my own army. The gods have a twisted sense of humor.”
Grugnak didn’t care about gods. He only wanted to live long enough to see his race rise above the prejudices and handicaps enforced by Men, Elves, and Dwarves. For too long the Goblins struggled to survive. He knew their origins. That they’d been Dwarves once, before dark powers ensnared them. Time and endless devotion to their new gods twisted the colony until they became Goblins. To this day every Goblin longed for the time when he could live above ground and feel the sun’s kiss. It was a foolish dream.
“What does the Dae’shan have to say?” the Goblin asked.
Darkness and shadow coalesced into the hovering, gaunt figure of Amar Kit’han directly behind the throne. Grugnak snarled while Badron didn’t bother looking. The wraith-like Dae’shan was an ever present whisper in his mind’s eye. Ice-colored eyes penetrated the gloom forever dominating his cowl. He radiated power, electricity dancing off his ethereal form. Amar Kit’han personified evil. Relentless, driven evil.
“You should be more careful when using my name, Goblin,” he scolded with a raspy voice. “I am not so forgiving as others.”
Badron winced, knowing there was nothing forgiving about the former Man. “He merely wished council on these new developments. What does the mighty Dae’shan have to say?”
“Rolnir betraying you was inevitable. He is a Man of great character. To do any less would be a permanent stain upon his soul. That he could coerce the bulk of his army to turn with him says a great deal. You chose wisely in making him general of your army.”
“Wisely? He’s gone over to the enemy and left me with bones!” Badron all but screamed.
Amar casually floated around the throne. “Bones? He’s taken a great weight from you and left you open to new beginnings. The Wolfsreik was never the end, merely a means to your further evolution. They were bound to turn on you when they realized Rolnir didn’t share your belief system. Proud Men often fail to see the grander schemes of life.”
“You forget to mention how they nearly wiped out the entire Goblin army in Rogscroft in the process,” Badron countered.
“That was a…regrettable act,” Amar said and paused in midsentence. Truthfully even he hadn’t foreseen the ferocity of the combined army’s attack on the Goblin army. Goblins were fighters, but not warriors. They lacked the training and discipline necessary to achieve the greatness of armies like the Wolfsreik. Losing them was unfortunate, but each death served to further his purpose. Time was running out and there was still much to do in order to prepare the gateway at Arlevon Gale for the return of the dark gods.
“Regrettable!” Grugnak roared. “My people destroyed for what? A madman’s glory?”
“Now Grugnak, King Badron, or should I say, Emperor Badron, is hardly a madman. His quest to unite the kingdoms of Delranan and Rogscroft under a single banner was bound to endure massive casualties. An entire way of life needs to be subsumed in order for the greater enterprise to exist. Rogscroft has died so that Badron can make his dreams come to pass,” Amar explained, knowing most of his rationale went beyond the Goblin’s grasp. He marveled at the primitive culture. How had they endured for so long while the rest of the world passed them by? The probability of such was limited, making them a conundrum to his attuned senses.
The Dae’shan continued, “You are forgetting the one unifying truth of us all. We are here to bring enlightenment to another people. Goblins and Men working together hasn’t been seen on Malweir in our entire history. These are times of great honor. With that honor comes responsibility. Are either of you willing to sacrifice it all?”
Badron held out his palms. “Look around you, Amar, I already have. My army is gone. I sit on a throne of lies and my own kingdom has been usurped by the one Man I thought was my closest ally. You bring another army that proved useful for a while, but they too were stolen from my grasp. I am a powerless king. A haunted figurehead of something I still don’t understand.”
“Such is truth about many great leaders,” Amar said politely.
Grugnak fumed with unbridled aggression. “I have nothing. My army is destroyed. The time has come for me to leave.”
“Are you forgetting the new Goblin force even now marching from the Deadlands?” Amar taunted. “When was the last time you heard of such strength in Goblin numbers? Never. You have given them something they never dreamed of. They are suddenly important and awake. Kingdoms will tremble under their boots, Grugnak. Don’t be so foolish as to dismiss this unlocked potential. Even if they don’t follow your command.”
The Goblin’s eyes narrowed threateningly, even though he was no match for the impossible powers of the Dae’shan. Feeling helpless, Grugnak meekly stood by while the monster hovering before him continued to dissemble.
“It’s not about who commands the sheep, but who stands atop the pedestal when the dust settles. Others have tried to accomplish what you are so close to. The Silver Mage nearly succeeded, but was found wanting. The crystal of Tol Shere proved too much for his limited mind to comprehend. It drove him mad and was regrettably lost when a small band of heroes were coerced to stand up to him.”
“Why are you telling us this?” Badron asked. He failed to see how the abysmal performance of one Man was comparable to his long-term suffering.
“One Man cannot succeed alone,” Amar answered too quickly for Badron’s liking. “Therein lays the great failing of Mankind. Your lack of vision hampers any ability to achieve true greatness. Would you cripple your campaign to control the north? To turn it into an empire rivaling mighty Averon to the south? All your life you’ve plotted, impatiently waiting for this day, and now you so willingly abandon it? This is one of the reasons I gave up my mortality. The acuity of your dreams is a waste of precious life spark.”
“I did not ask you to bandy words of pettiness over my character, demon,” Badron retorted. “I need counsel. All of my advisors have abandoned me. Even fortune has turned her back, leaving me you.”
Amar held up a hand, his bony fingers glowing in the faint light. “Mind your next words. Lesser Men have suffered worse for such.”
“You offer platitudes and fragmented wisdom but no clear path out of the darkness,” Badron said with measured tones. “Where is the end? The way out of this building nightmare? I need answers, Amar Kit’han. Not mixed words meant to confuse.”
“The toughest answers must be found from within. No outside influence is capable of enlightening you,” Amar replied.
Badron lowered his head into his hands in defeat. “Then I have no choice but to abandon the city before Rolnir arrives.”
“Minor defeats are
to be expected along the way, King,” Amar soothed. “Perhaps leaving Rogscroft is your best answer. The Goblin army will not arrive in time. In fact, I’ve given instructions for them to bypass this ruined city at all costs.”
“You betray me, demon.”
Lightning flashed, blinding Man and Goblin. Heat sizzled off the Dae’shan’s black robes. “Enough! The Goblin relief force must arrive in Delranan intact. They will have a hard enough time crossing Dwarf lands. I don’t need them wasting unnecessary lives here in what is sure to be a pointless conflict. Take what forces you have left and flee towards the mountains.”
“The mountains? You are trying to get me killed,” Badron accused. He no longer saw hope. The dawn would come and claim him, leaving his corpse to the wolves. “Even should we make it that far, the Pell Darga will fall upon us before we can begin the climb.”
Grugnak actually snorted laughter. “You say Pell Darga are on their way here. Who remains in the mountains?”
“Precisely, Grugnak,” Amar praised. “I have several agents that will assist your passage across the Murdes Mountains and further west into Delranan. Do not fear. You will be strong when the time comes to reclaim your lost crown.”
“What of Rogscroft? I am a Man of two crowns. I will not abandon what I have fought so hard to conquer.”
“Nor should you, but there will come a time to focus your thoughts back on this frozen land. The time is fast approaching when the conflict will come to an end. Take heart, King, your hour of glory rises.”
Shadows swirled, folding in on themselves as Amar Kit’han gathered darkness and vanished. Hour of glory? Badron saw only hardship and continued trial in the coming weeks. Winter was on the low side but there were still many weeks left of snow and ice. Worse, this winter proved to be fiercer than any in recent history. Badron felt as if the entire world was against him. Doubts rose. He’d always known Amar Kit’han had ulterior motives but no amount of studying had detected anything.
He felt helpless, like a prisoner on his own throne. Reluctantly, he made his decision. “It appears we are to be companions for a while longer, Goblin. Give the order. Abandon the city.”
Grugnak growled low, his cheeks puffing out with disdain. “Not yet.”
He whirled and stormed from the throne room. There was much to be done before his Goblins so willingly abandoned their hard-earned victory.
EIGHT
Storms
Bahr set down the chalk pencil and rubbed his tired eyes. He’d been straining at the course maps for hours, trying to decipher the river Men code while determining their precise location. His only certainty was that they were still on the river heading south. Beyond that he was at a loss. The barge was uncharacteristically silent. Most of the others had fallen asleep after cleaning up after the battle. They’d gotten rid of the bodies and done their best to wash most of the blood and gore off, fearing the smell would torment the horses. It was fast pitched and over before anyone had a grasp of the flow. He feared the results would differ if not for Boen. The big Gaimosian was a monster with a blade: unstoppable and un-killable.
Heavy footsteps coming from behind brought a thin smile. “You don’t ever sleep, do you?”
Boen handed him a green apple and shrugged. “There will be time enough for that once I’m in the ground.”
Bahr grunted, taking a large bite from the tart fruit. Juice ran down his chin. His friend’s pragmatic view on life was very base, often leaving him questioning his own belief system. “This is usually my favorite time of the day. When everyone is asleep and there’s nothing but the wind in my hair and gentle sounds of water kissing the boat. It reminds me of simpler times.”
“If we were all so fortunate,” Boen commented. “The life of a Gaimosian is freedom. No kings to bend a knee to. No lands beholden us. We roam Malweir in search of meaning. There is no other liberty in the world quite like ours.”
“Some would view that as a curse, my friend. No homes, no place to call yours at the end of the day,” Bahr countered.
“The trappings of an easy life. Luxuries not needed,” Boen countered. “When I lay my head down I am beholden to no Man.”
“So what is the point of living?”
Boen frowned, not expecting deep philosophical conversations at such a late hour. “To truly live. How many can say they experience all life has to offer? I’m not contending ours is the perfect life. Ever since the destruction of Gaimos my people have known only restlessness. We are denied the simplicity of having home or hearth. It is not a life I’d choose to live, to be honest, Bahr. I am getting old. I’m tired. My body aches from today’s battle. There was a time when I would have shrugged it off and found a tavern. I fear my days are waning.”
“We are both in the autumn of our lives, old friend,” Bahr agreed glumly. He’d never expected to hear such confession from the proud Man. “Gaimos was destroyed more than two thousand years ago. Why have your people never settled down and built a new kingdom?”
“There is a legend that says the spirits of our ancestors are imbued within each newborn. That way we learn our history, our heritage. Each Gaimosian knows the price paid for being the dominant military power in Malweir. All of those kingdoms banding together just to wipe out our entire way of life. What a waste. We know there can be no revival of lost Gaimos. The world won’t let us.”
“I’ve never bothered thinking about it that way. I guess your lifestyle seemed so cavalier that I envied you,” Bahr admitted with a rue grin. “The only thing missing is the rescued princess.”
“What would I do with a wife?” Boen laughed. “I’ve had my share of loves over the last few decades, but the quest keeps me from settling. Women would only complicate matters. I don’t need the distractions.”
“You make it sound as if they’re no fun to be around. I know this lady in Stouds that will change your mind,” Bahr teased.
Boen gave him a mildly angered look. “Don’t go putting words in my mouth. I like just fine. I just don’t have the time to take care of one proper-like. Besides, I don’t see a wife in your cabin.”
Bahr lowered his head slightly. He’d never been married, often blaming his brother for the lack of happiness he experienced. Their animosity kept him from his own kingdom more times than not. It was only recently Bahr realized he was using that excuse as a mask. Truth be told, he didn’t know how to be a husband any more than he wanted to be king. Walking away from both seemed the easiest course in his life and he made those decisions without regret, until now. He tried to imagine what it would feel like to come home to a house filled with children’s laughter and the smell of a freshly cooked meal on the table. It was naught more than a dream.
His life was on the water and a troubled marriage it had become. Everything he’d ever known or come to care about was steadily slipping through his fingers. His boat and estate burned. His crew dead. Only Maleela for family or at least family he still cared for. He was as close to being Gaimosian as possible.
Reluctantly, he admitted, “We are more alike than I care to think on, Boen. The only difference is where you were born to live this life, I chose it. I wonder what that makes me.”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t make you anything but a Man. Don’t try to change the world, Bahr. History seldom remembers the exploits of a single Man.”
“Try telling that to the wizard. He seems determined to either prove history wrong or make us all heroes in the end.”
Boen’s gaze tightened. “Heroes usually become such after they die.”
The barge sailed on through the rest of the night and into a tepid dawn. Humidity rose well before the sun. Their clothes stuck to them and everyone had a generally miserable feeling. The biggest noticeable difference came from the massive amount of insects swarming the barge. Gnats and midges hovered in thick clouds, hungry for an easy meal. Mosquitoes with white bands on their legs constantly buzzed around their heads and hands. Every few moments the crisp report of a slap could be heard across the ves
sel.
“How in the world can anyone live like this?” Dorl grumbled as he tried not to scratch the latest series of bites on the back of his hand.
Rekka grinned sheepishly and handed him a small pouch containing a salve. “Rub this over the bites. It will help with the swelling and pain.”
“What is it?” he asked, hesitant to accept something foreign.
“A salve made from various jungle plants. It lessens the misery long enough for your body to absorb the poison,” she explained. She continued after noticing his queer look. “You are entering my world now. Forget all you know about the frozen north. The jungle is unlike anything you have ever experienced.”
“That’s not very comforting,” he replied dryly. “I happen to like the snow.”
Nothol glanced up from oiling his sword. His eyebrows peaked. “No you don’t. You complain every day.”
“Shut up, Nothol. I’m talking to her, not you,” Dorl fumed. “Besides, I’m just trying to make a point. These bugs are killing me!”
Nothol chuckled and went back to his sword. Sometimes it wasn’t worth arguing. Doral shook his head in distress and began applying the salve. It wasn’t long before Rekka joined in on the joke.
“You haven’t seen anything yet. There are spiders bigger than your hand, centipedes well over a foot long and can kill with a single sting, wasps and…”
“All right I get the point!” Dorl all but screeched. “There’s bugs. Plenty of bugs.”
“Want me to see if the wizard can fashion you some sort of special cape to keep you safe?” Nothol asked.
“Keep talking like that and you’ll need one for yourself,” Dorl fired back.
Sheathing his sword, Nothol rose and bowed at the waist. “You ladies enjoy your beauty regime. I’m heading up to the bridge.”
Dorl’s narrow eyes focused on his friend’s back. He muttered under his breath, “Beauty regime. Say that again and I’ll slice your lips off.”
“He is joking,” Rekka said, head cocked.
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