“I know, but he didn’t need to say it.” Most of his ire gone, Dorl frowned at the pungent odor coming from the salve. “Are you sure this is safe?”
“I don’t understand. My people have used this for generations,” Rekka replied. “I would not do anything to harm you.”
“That was a joke, Rekka,” he said, embarrassed for poking fun at her. The strange jungle Woman had come to mean more to him than he ever imagined. Dorl wouldn’t say it aloud, but he realized that he needed her. “It’s a defense mechanism. I use humor to calm me down. Sometimes it works, sometimes not.”
“You are a strange people to me, Dorl Theed. The jungle does not have much humor. There is no time for it. Too many things lurk in the shadows waiting to bite and sting,” Rekka said and waited.
Dorl was about to open a pack of rations when he understood what she’d said. His head snapped up in time to see her crack a soft grin. “No humor huh?”
She held out her hands submissively. “I did not say I haven’t learned it since leaving Teng. You should pay more attention to what I say instead of what you hear.”
He smiled ruefully. Perhaps I should at that. You are special, Rekka Jel. A very special woman. Smiling, he went back to his breakfast. Another sting on his neck brought another slap.
Groge could not find sleep. He tossed and turned long into the late hours of the night. Tossed and turned right up until the first hints of dawn broke the horizon. Every time he closed his eyes his mind replayed horrific events. The crunching of bone as Ironfoot’s axe split skulls. The way Boen’s sword tore so effortlessly through a stomach. The smell of blood and viscera nauseated him. It was all he could do not to vomit over the side rails. He was a black smith, not a warrior. Until now he had only known peace. That the various lowlander races could entertain such violent deeds without thought troubled his soul. Perhaps Blekling had been correct. The true god did not shine his grace down upon these heathens.
Distracted, Groge finally gave up trying to sleep and sat up. Most of the blood and gore had been washed away but his large nostrils easily detected the odors. Legends said that the Giants were once warlike but learned the error of their ways and fled to the highest mountaintops to study the teachings of their god. Peace and prosperity followed. They dedicated their lives to becoming better beings. All thoughts of violence were soon bred out of them. Groge grew up knowing nothing of warfare. His first true lesson made him want to return to Venheim.
“First time eh?” Ironfoot asked. The Dwarf was leaning back on a pile of crates close by. His thick, corded arms were folded across his chest. His eyes were closed.
Groge studied the Dwarf. They had many similar features, obviously coming from the same genetic pool. Whereas Groge was over ten feet tall, Ironfoot stood a few inches over four. One was bred for combat, the other for crafting tools and wondrous instruments.
“How do you do it?” he finally asked.
Ironfoot stifled a yawn. “I remember my first time. Puked my guts out so hard I was sure the surgeon needed to shove them back in! Ha! War is easy as soon as you learn the truth.”
“The truth?” the Giant asked.
“Simple. Truth is every soldier is expendable. If we die, so be it. Nothing you or I do is going to change that. Once you figure that out for yourself the rest is easy,” Ironfoot replied. “Still, it helps to think of your enemy as animals. After awhile all those faces turn up to haunt you night after night. That’s the worst part.”
“I don’t understand, Ironfoot. Life should be treasured, not mutilated so wantonly.” Groge scratched his cheek. The stubble was an unusual feeling. He’d always been clean-shaven when working in the forge with Joden. These last few days he had come to appreciate the ancient Giant forge master more and more. He wished he could hear Joden’s wisdom now.
“I don’t know how you Giants do things in Venheim, but life down here is hard, painful. You saw only a portion of what my people went through during the civil war. Do you think it’s an easy thing, killing one’s own people? I can assure you it’s not. Be thankful you know true peace, for the rest of the world has never known the flavor.”
Ironfoot fell silent, letting his words sink in. He hadn’t meant to sound so severe, but there was no other way for the youth to learn quickly. Life on Malweir was filled with misery; there was often inconsolable suffering. The sooner Groge understood that, the easier his life would be. They didn’t have time for extended learning cycles. With the jungle fast approaching and then the trek to Trennaron, this adventure was steadily picking up pace. Besides which, Ironfoot wasn’t convinced the river Men had abandoned their plans of revenge that easily. He hoped he was wrong. The world needed more innocence.
Groge stewed on this for a while longer. Never in his life had he imagined becoming entangled in such a web of violence that was practically second thought. The casual disregard for life was appalling on many levels, most of which he failed to comprehend. Groge knew some of the others looked to him as their greatest military asset without knowing a thing about him. The Giant wasn’t sure if he was a pacifist or merely a concerned citizen of the world. He viewed life as the most precious gift their god bestowed upon the world. To treat it as anything less was almost sacrilegious.
Ironfoot cracked his eyes open and noticed his dilemma. “Don’t think too hard on it, my young friend. If any of us had a clue what was going on we wouldn’t be anywhere near here. Trust in Anienam. He is a venerable Man. We are fortunate to have him with us.”
“He is…enigmatic,” Groge replied thoughtfully.
“Name one old timer that isn’t,” the Dwarf laughed and rolled back over to get some more sleep.
Groge reluctantly gave him that point and went off in search of Anienam Keiss. He had many internal conflicts spawning, irritating his rationale to great ends. Compounding his rising confusion was the fractured belief system. From what he gathered, the old gods were gone. Good gods left Malweir to its devices while the dark gods struggled to return. The very reason he had come down from the mountain peaks. He was the only one capable of handling the Blud Hamr. Each race also had its own gods. It was a confusing mixture of deities that mostly shared the same qualities. His head began to hurt from the hundreds of different scenarios and variants concerning gods. Couldn’t these people see that having a singular deity was infinitely more satisfying and less confusing?
The Giants long ago abandoned their worship of multiple gods. Many found it distasteful; confusing and filled with obstacles. Questions rose after the gods of light abandoned Malweir. What god would willingly leave his subjects to the depredations of evil? The Giants cast their old gods over the side of the mountain and settled on a single entity worthy of worship. That the lowlander races continued their antiquated beliefs was an enigma to Groge.
He found Anienam sitting atop the wheelhouse, casually swinging his legs like a child on the banks of a great river. “Hello, Groge. How goes your morning?”
The Giant bowed reverently. “My mind is troubled, Anienam.”
Smiling, the wizard nodded as if he already knew. “These are indeed troubling times but there is always hope lurking in the strangest places.”
“More riddles?”
His shoulders rose slowly. “Keeps people on their toes. My father used to simply infuriate people with them. He probably would have gotten into a few fights if he weren’t a powerful Mage.”
“I fail to understand how you can joke in the middle of such serious times,” Groge admonished, feeling guilty immediately after. “Anienam, what in Malweir is worth saving if people so casually throw life away? This does not sit well in my heart or mind.”
The wizard sighed. He’d been expecting such concerns from more than one of the already beleaguered band of would-be heroes. Only now that it came, he wasn’t sure how to answer. “Who can say why we kill one another? I don’t have the answer you seek, Groge. This is the way life has played out in the countless generations since the gods of light left. I don’t think
this act should be viewed as entirely evil. Wicked Men roam Malweir and it falls upon the shoulders of the just to ensure they cannot build their brand of terror. We kill in order to stop evil from spreading. There is no glory or pride in being able to take a life, but it sometimes must be done.”
“But why would the gods leave this world in such disarray? Did they abandon all life to the depredations of the foul?” Groge’s massive slab of forehead scrunched in thought.
Anienam wished he had the answers. How many times over the years had he longed to be able to speak with the old gods, if only to learn the truth of their departure? Did they truly think Malweir could rule itself in their stead without conflict? “I like to think they left it for us to make a better place, even if that means cleansing the wicked.”
“How can you justify taking a life, though? I was taught from an early age that all life is precious, put here for specific purpose. To have just one life snubbed without much thought or effort affects the balance.”
Anienam viewed the Giant with much greater respect. The youth had insight and deep thinking patterns the wizard himself often lacked. He was a worthy addition to their band. “You view this debate from the wrong angle. Instead of disrupting the balance you should think of it as restoring the balance. Evil must be checked if we are to advance civilization. When I was a boy no one would ever have dreamed of gunpowder weapons like the Dwarves use. A lifetime brokers many changes. What will Malweir be like a hundred years after I’m gone? Certainly I will never know but it comforts me to think our actions today will affect the greater outcome.”
“You think by killing, even someone evil, we can make Malweir a better world? I might be able to see that point of view if not for the willingness to degrade our morality by stooping to the same level as evil.”
“Good and evil aren’t as clearly defined as you want to believe,” Anienam countered. “Often enough we find the lines blurred. Don’t be so quick to judge others for their actions. You might find yourself in a similar situation before too long. Remember, only you have the ability to wield the Blud Hamr.”
Groge fell silent. He’d come to the wizard to exorcise the storm brewing in his mind but was left with more questions. With much to ponder, he failed to notice Anienam stiffen suddenly. The wizard turned his head skyward, sniffing the building winds. Danger rode the wind. He immediately grew concerned and went to the wheelhouse.
“There’s a storm coming,” he announced upon throwing the door open.
Bahr looked back at him. “I see it. It doesn’t look like much from here.”
“No, this storm is unnatural, Bahr.”
“What are you saying?” Bahr asked, his eyes narrowed with concern.
Anienam shook his head, as if still locked in doubt. “There is magical taint in the air. I fear we are being assaulted.”
Bahr exhaled a deep breath and tried to decide his best course of action before the storm struck. He was steadily growing weary of this journey.
NINE
Shipwrecked
“Hold on to something!” Bahr shouted moments before the next wave slammed into the starboard side of the barge.
Walls of water poured over the barge. Lightning shredded the skies. Thunder exploded directly overhead, so low Bahr though the heavens were being destroyed. Several side boards had already been torn away, leaving the hull exposed to onrushing waters. Horses screamed above the storm. Most of the others were huddled in the relative security of the passenger cabin while nature destroyed the already fragile barge.
Anienam gripped the captain’s chair for dear life. His robes were soaked. His white beard was plastered to his chest. He looked like a drowned animal. Red-streaked eyes desperately scanned the horizon for any sign of a break. He found none. The world conspired against them and it was all he could do to hold on before the waters rose to swallow them all.
“Can’t you do anything?” Bahr shouted.
Anienam felt powerless. “This is no mere storm. It is beyond my power to counter!”
Disgruntled, Bahr spat onto the deck. “We’re not going to last much longer. The ship is already breaking up.”
“Perhaps it is time to run aground and abandon ship,” Anienam suggested.
Reluctant as he was to admit it, Bahr found merit in the idea. They’d be able to better defend themselves against the battering storm on land. The risk of sinking would be gone. Lightning struck the prow of the barge. Wood and metal exploded. Bahr ducked as a large sliver of wood slammed into the front of the wheelhouse. Time was running out. He quickly made a decision, trusting it was the right one.
“I’m putting this thing to shore. Go below and get everyone ready to move.”
Anienam released his death grip on the chair and staggered towards the door. “What of the wagon and supplies?”
“Get as much as we can and hope to salvage the rest. Move quickly or there’ll be nothing left,” Bahr said. Including us.
The wizard left Bahr alone. Not that there was much he could in the wheelhouse to begin with. Bahr was content with taking sole responsibility of the barge and their lives. It was fitting for a sea captain. Besides, the wizard proclaimed he couldn’t counter the magic being used against them, making him rather mundane. This was a task Bahr needed total concentration for. He needed to be alone. He looked up just in time to see a massive oak tree slicing towards the barge like a massive spear and followed closely by a wall of water. He barely had time to curse before they both hit.
* * * * *
Maleela groaned. She tried to move, to pull herself out from under the wreckage, but the pain was much too sharp. She fell back into the water and screwed her eyes shut. Unsure of what had happened, the princess no longer heard the horrific pounding in her head or felt the undulations tearing the barge apart. She wasn’t moving and that was a good thing. The pain in her leg convinced her at least one bone was broken, perhaps more. A quick glance showed the water line barely went half way up her prone figure. Random rays of sunlight poked down through the thinning cloud cover, lending the world a surreal effect.
“Is anyone there?” she called weakly. “Help.”
A crow cawed from the unseen distance. She hadn’t felt so alone since the night her uncle and his cohorts conspired to steal her away from Aurec and Rogscroft. Many hollow nights followed that point but none as hollow as lying in the wreckage of the barge, praying she wasn’t the only survivor.
“Princess? Is that you?”
She felt hope. “Who is that?”
“It’s Nothol Coll. Where are you?” he called back.
She looked around but nothing looked familiar. The barge was almost unrecognizable and there was a substantial amount of leaves floating around and more than a few branches. They had to be on land. “I’m not sure but it looks like I’m still inside the passenger cabin.”
Silence followed. A long silence she felt was never going to end. Finally Nothol answered, “Don’t move. I think I can find you. The barge is pretty much a wreck. We’re lucky to be alive.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. I think my leg might be broken,” she said.
“Just hang on. I’ll be there in a minute.”
The confidence in his voice reassured her enough that her latent fears subsided. The prospect of being the lone survivor ended abruptly. She wasn’t alone, though who knew how many of the others managed to make it to shore. Try as she could, Maleela remembered nothing of the impact or crash. Violent images of the storm assailed her thoughts.
“Maleela?” Nothol called again not much later.
She heard him rustling around not too far away. “Here! I’m half in the water by a stack of burlap sacks.”
The overpowering stench of rotting fish tickled her nose, bringing her to the point of vomiting. Despite all of the hardships endured over the last half of a year, she still wasn’t accustomed to being around such rank living conditions. Royalty seldom was. A half-crushed box slide aside, revealing Nothol’s haggard face. C
overed with grime and dried blood, he still managed to smile sheepishly.
“I’ll have you out just as soon as I can move some of this debris around. We took a nasty hit just before the crash,” he explained. “That tree hit like one of those Dwarven cannons. Anienam said it was powerful magic that did it.”
“I didn’t think there were any other magic users in this part of Malweir,” she remarked idly, not having anything else to do. The conversation eased her troubled mind. “Does he know who did this?”
“He’s keeping it to himself if he does,” Nothol answered. “Between you and me, I don’t rightly trust him much. He keeps too many secrets.”
“I agree, though no doubt many of them are for our own protection. He is the last descendant of the Mages. That can’t be an easy burden to bear.”
Nothol grunted. His cheeks puffed out and flushed crimson as he forced an enormous stack of crates out of the way. “Not my place to say. Bahr hired me to watch his back and that’s just what I aim to do until this queer little quest is finished.”
He squeezed into the narrow gap and knelt in front of her.
“Do you think it will ever be over?” she asked. Her voice was suddenly leaden, weary.
He paused. The question took him off guard. “I never gave it any thought. There’s no point in worrying about things we can’t control. Thinking about death gets us nowhere. All I need to do is pay attention to here, now. I figure the rest will take care of itself.”
“You’re a pragmatic Man, Nothol Coll. I’m glad you’re on our side,” she said, and meant it. Too many nefarious individuals hampered life. Men like Nothol and Dorl Theed were rare. They weren’t heroes or villains, but something in between. They often rose to the top during times of extreme duress. Maleela only felt safer in Aurec’s arms. Briefly her thoughts strayed to her lost love. She had no idea if he even lived. Given the abuses distributed by her father to the people of Rogscroft, Maleela imagined the entire royal family was either imprisoned or dead. Badron would settle for nothing less. Enraged, she blinked away tears of frustration. She vowed to make her father pay for all of the damage he had caused.
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