Empire of Bones

by Christian Warren Freed

  “Agreed.”

  Bahr handed him a half-empty canteen. The hardest part of the conversation was passed, leaving the path forward ready for discussion. Compounding questions bothered him to great ends. He needed resolution before continuing, if only for his peace of mind. Trennaron wasn’t far off according to Anienam’s calculations. So close to the end of what had been a very long, grueling quest, Bahr needed to know as many variables as possible before they turned around and headed home.

  “We should be there by tomorrow I think,” Anienam said after swallowing. “Rekka’s aid in this proves invaluable. Without her we’d never be allowed to find it.”

  Bahr appreciated everything the jungle Woman had done for them, despite knowing less about her than he did the wizard. It seemed he’d made a bad habit of surrounding himself in mystery. “What makes her the key to all this?”

  Anienam fixed him with a disbelieving glare. “You can’t be serious. She’s the sole reason we’ve made it this far. Trennaron is one of the oldest places of power in the world. Natural power, tapped directly from the world’s core. Mystics and Mages swarmed there once upon a time to increase their lore. It has been guarded by the Dae’shan since the beginning of recorded time. Not the Dae’shan trying to kill us, but one who abandoned their wicked ways, choosing to remain loyal to the gods of light. A handful is chosen to defend the Guardian of Trennaron each generation. They come from all of the jungle villages. Rekka is the chosen representative from Teng. It is an incomparable honor to serve.”

  “You’re talking in circles,” Bahr said.

  “My point is the path to Trennaron will only be open to Rekka. We’d never find it by ourselves,” the wizard finished.

  Bahr nodded absently, folded his arms across his chest, and ambled back to the group. He had much to ponder before they arrived. More importantly, he thought of nothing else but keeping Rekka Jel alive.

  With Rekka in the point position, the band of adventurers trudged deeper into the jungle. They didn’t run into the Gnaals again, nor the warriors from Teng. No one went this deep into the jungle without good reason, she explained. Bad things tended to happen when the predators all outweighed the prey. The going was slow thanks to the density of the undergrowth. Despite Anienam’s reassurances that their pursuers were gone, Bahr couldn’t help but feel like he was still being watched. Still, the journey continued on.

  Skuld’s horse tripped over a half-buried root and broke its leg, forcing them to put the poor creature down. No one wanted to do it, but they couldn’t risk the wounded animal bringing some of the more dangerous jungle cats or lizards down on them. Boen took care of it once the others moved out of sight. He didn’t want the other horses getting spooked from the gore. He gave the horse a final, sorrowful pat on the neck before putting it out of its misery. Far from sentimental, Boen much preferred being around animals than people. It hurt him more to see the horse die than a friend.

  They kept moving. Losing the wagon and a horse hampered their ability to move with speed. Skuld alternated walking and riding with Rekka. They were the two lightest of the group, putting less stress on her mount that way. Unnecessary supplies were dumped. The loss was regrettable but Rekka assured them they were close enough to Trennaron not to worry. That made them worry more. Nothing had gone right since Bahr agreed to Harnin’s proposal to go into Rogscroft to rescue Maleela. They were desperate for a good break.

  Another day came and went before the group discovered the abandoned-looking one lane road in the middle of the jungle. Rekka’s mood brightened instantly. Her sudden change in attitude proved infectious, spreading through the group almost instantaneously.

  “We are close,” she told them. “Follow this trail until sundown and we will arrive. No enemies will be near. Trennaron holds great powers and is warded by the most potent magic.”

  “Good. It’s about time we were able to relax,” Boen said, grinning.

  Rekka turned her head sharply. “Relax? No. This is not the time to relax. Trennaron is protected, Gaimosian. The guardians will most assuredly try to prevent us from getting within the perimeter. We must be more wary than ever before.”

  Boen frowned but kept his thoughts private. How would it sound to the others for him to admit he wanted to go home?

  Clear of brush, the road hastened their movement. Bahr was glad to be done with the clinging jungle. He wanted to see the sun again. Feel the fresh kiss of warmth on his face one last time before entering the mythical castle. Birds of all colors became abundant the farther down the road they went. Their songs filled the air with majesty, the canopy providing a natural amphitheater of acoustics as the birds flit across the road.

  The trees gradually pushed back until they formed a wide avenue capable of marching five horses abreast. Bahr spied the first golden rays of sunlight piercing through the veil of leaves, warming the plush grass. How unlike home. I’ve never seen green so vibrant. This land is so foreign to me. Almost makes me wish I’d been born down here rather than the harsh north. Life has more of a chance for success this far south.

  Rekka, followed closely by Boen and Ironfoot, emerged from the concealment of the jungle into a massive clearing. The Gaimosian whistled shrilly. He’d traveled from one side of Malweir to the other but had never seen anything so impressive. The clearing formed a perfect circle, stretching for nearly a mile in every direction. Large birds flew by the arching treetops of the great banyans ringing the field. A herd of deer, brown with thick, white stripes running over their backs grazed without fear. Wild flowers blossomed in wide patches, transforming the clearing into a patchwork of colors. No clouds marred the sky, lending the world a sense of calm, peace. Boen almost felt at ease.

  “This is an eyeful,” he murmured, slowly sheathing his sword.

  Rekka watched him. “You may yet have need of that. The protectors will know we are here already. It’s best to stay on guard.”

  “From the deer?” he asked, choosing to disbelieve her cautiousness. “I’ve never seen a more serene place, Rekka.”

  “Have you learned nothing from your travels? Often the most innocent thing is the deadliest. But no, the deer will not bother us. I used to come out and feed them. The true protectors are atop the castle walls.”

  Boen frowned and urged his horse forward. If trouble was around he wanted to meet it first. Haze filled the center of the clearing, obscuring the structure carefully hidden within. Nothing Rekka said did Trennaron any justice, for it was protected against the common person. The only ones capable of seeing it were the ones it wanted. Boen refused to believe a building was capable of deciding who looked at it. His own superstitions were mocked back in the mountains when the ghosts of his forbearers had come to him with dire warnings. He failed to heed their advice. A lament he continued to feel the effects of. Begrudgingly, he decided to let Rekka resume her place at the head of the advance.

  The mist gradually parted, as if sensing Rekka’s return. They had their first views of ancient Trennaron. No words were capable of doing it justice. The walls stretched high into the sky and equally deep underground. Alabaster as bleached bones, the city-fortress bore a goodly presence. No evil was permitted to enter, leaving Trennaron unsullied. There were no statues or monuments to vain glory. Nothing to supplant the inherent grandeur emplaced within the walls.

  Spiked crenellations jutted like spears into the sky. Unlike other fortresses, Trennaron lacked murder holes or spy ports. There was nowhere for cauldrons of boiling pitch. No guard towers housing an infinite amount of weapon stores. The great, central dome was marred only by the oculus in the center. The ground around the base of the walls remained pure. There was no evidence of a moat or barracks. Trennaron wasn’t built for warfare. Trennaron served a much higher purpose.

  Golden faces were carved into the walls. Some smiled. Others stared back. A pair of cupped palms lined the main doorway, wordlessly offering protection for whoever was permitted to enter. The desire to commit violence dissipated quickly. Trennar
on allowed no violations of its time immemorial rules. Legend whispered the gods of light constructed the castle as a focal point for wholesomeness. Virtue and righteousness were hallmarks of any who was allowed within. All else was cleansed from the soul. So long as a Guardian remained, Trennaron maintained its power. Malweir needed a place like this in such dark and troubling times.

  Boen couldn’t take his eyes from the magnificent structure. He imagined the Dwarf was having an internal fit, knowing his people would never be able to craft such a place. After all, how does one compete with the power of the gods? He spied massive figures carved from the rock, spaced evenly across the tops of the walls. Their size gave birth to much speculation. None of his private theories seemed to have much value and he was forced to abandon thoughts towards them. For reasons the Gaimosian didn’t know, he knew they were important.

  He was about to ask Rekka what they were when one of them suddenly launched into the sky. That was followed closely by a score more.

  “The protectors have awakened!” Rekka shouted.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Ingrid’s War

  Half buried in the snow, Ingrid struggled to keep from shivering. Her teeth chattered to the sound of stones smashing together. Even with gloves on, her fingers turned bluish. Cold penetrated down into her bones. Her only comfort came from the knowledge that twenty others suffered the same. Brave people all, they’d given up the comparative comforts of their homes in order to assist Ingrid in turning the tide of the war back against Harnin. Most of the events in Chadra were hearsay this far out in the countryside, but each and every one of the people Harlan mustered were true patriots to Delranan. Their allegiances ran above crown and king.

  They’d been waiting, half buried in the snow since before dawn to ambush the Wolfsreik supply train reported to be moving from one of the outlying bases back to what remained of Chadra. Ingrid’s orders were specific and based on Harlan’s scouts. Hopefully the intel panned out, otherwise the rebellion would be in need of a new command structure. All enemy personnel were to be eliminated while as much of the supplies as possible were confiscated. The people in the villages needed the supplies to sustain themselves until spring.

  Orlek argued against her going. She insisted the only way to endear these new fighters to her cause was by leading from the front. Inaella’s greatest failing as a leader was her refusal to be seen as an example for the rank and file to emulate. Ingrid was determined not to make the same mistakes. Of course that doesn’t prevent me from making entirely different ones. I’ve never been a soldier, unlike Orlek or Harlan. This is all so new to me. All I can do is give my people the best they deserve and pray Harnin folds before we do. She knew there was no alternative. Death awaited every other avenue except success.

  She looked over at the nearest snow covered body. Orlek. His eyes never tired as he scanned the road for signs of the enemy’s approach. She envied his ability to always keep going in the face of adversity. Unanswered questions ran rampant through her mind as she toyed with trying to figure out what he’d been before the nightmare began. Everyone had a story to tell and, while the vast majority of them were plain and uninteresting, Orlek clearly had something he wanted hidden. Ingrid wanted to know what. Not that she needed to. Her life was a growing mass of complications, but the simple knowledge would go so far in soothing her aching psyche. At this point she needed every victory she could get, no matter how obscure.

  A stiff wind blew snow in her face. The light powder was unsettling and got down her blouse. Ingrid shivered, wondering how it was possible she could get any colder than what she already was. Cold. Miserable and bordering on being dejected, Ingrid was ready to give in. She was starting to doubt the accuracy of Harlan’s intelligence network. Placing both hands beneath her, Ingrid readied to pop up.

  “Hsss,” Orlek said quietly. “They’re coming.”

  Ingrid felt trapped between powerful emotions. Her cheeks reddened from her foolishness in believing her people had failed her while her adrenaline began to pump with the prospect of meeting the enemy in the open field instead of the confines of the city. Until now she’d only battled in Chadra and a handful of the closer villages surrounding the capital. Fighting in the undisguised wilderness was an alien concept. She had trouble conceptualizing how her fighters would be able to successfully camouflage themselves while being in the open.

  Orlek quickly showed her. The open tundra comprising the vast majority of Delranan was lightly forested between stretches of seemingly endless leagues of open plains. There were perfect places for ambushes, most natural. This wasn’t one of them. They had a clear view of the road stretching on, a dark streak in the middle of pristine snow. Fortunately the drifts were piled so high Orlek managed to plant the strike force without any trace of being seen. He and Ingrid went into position last. Each dragged large pine boughs behind them to cover all of the snow shoe tracks peppering the otherwise unspoiled snow.

  Caltrops littered the road, threatening to become as much of a danger to her people as for the Wolfsreik horses. She preferred to take the horses alive. They didn’t have much fodder but were in sore need of animals for quicker transport across the kingdom. Orlek argued against it. The horses were bred for war, even the draft horses. They’d prove more difficult than they were worth in the long run. Killing them might be the kindest mercy she could do. Despite the illusions of righteousness swirling in her dreams, Ingrid knew very few professional soldiers had switched sides.

  “I don’t see anything,” she whispered back.

  Orlek grinned, his brown-stained teeth in sharp contrast to the pure white of the snow. “Put your ear to the ground and listen. You can feel the vibrations of their footsteps. We have less than fifteen minutes.”

  Ingrid believed Orlek was suffering from frostbite of the mind. How could anyone hear vibrations in the ground and accurately judge distance and rate of travel? Regardless of how she truly felt, it was her responsibility to ensure her people were ready. Ingrid rose cautiously, barely her head and shoulders poking above the frozen surface. Any fears she had faded. One by one she noticed the subtle shift of a pile of snow marking where one of her fighters was hidden. They were already preparing.

  They’d rehearsed the drill to the point each knew their tasks as well as those of the person to their left or right. Orlek was a harsh task master who put his people to the test. He berated their mistakes while calmly praising outstanding performance. He brokered no failure. Anyone caught not doing their jobs was summarily dismissed and hidden away to prevent them from betraying the rebellion the way Inaella had.

  “Relax,” Orlek hissed. “They know their jobs.”

  She wanted to believe but this batch was unproven on the battlefield. They might easily break and run the moment pressure grew too intense. Each one understood death was more than likely, a fact she made no qualms of admitting. The failures of the past continued to plague her decisions towards the future. Orlek was forced to reel her in from time to time, a deed he strongly considered performing now. Ingrid was giddy to the point she threatened to give away their positions.

  “We need these supplies,” she said unnecessarily.

  He let it go. Everyone calmed their nerves in their own way. Who was he to criticize hers? She was no great combat leader. Not even a mediocre one truth be told, but she pursued this rebellion with such passion, such fervor, he was swept up in the tide. Ingrid believed in a free Delranan. He wished more like her would spring forth. The rebellion needed bodies, strength in numbers, if they were going to outlast Harnin’s five-thousand strong Wolfsreik. That still left them with the bulk of the ten-thousand-strong main army returning whenever the war in Rogscroft ended. Orlek focused on his current enemy. He’d worry about the rest when the time came.

  Minutes dragged by. She didn’t think the supply convoy would ever arrive, but it did. And in much greater strength than she had anticipated. Fortunately Orlek was used to being underestimated. His group of fighters was strategically e
mplaced along the western edge of the road, ready to ambush as soon as the horses stepped on the caltrops. A second, larger body, led by Harlan, was hidden in a stand of pines about a hundred meters away. They would remain hidden until the battle began and sweep in from the rear while the enemy was distracted. In theory the plan was sound. Orlek was about to find out just how sound.

  Ingrid crinkled her nose at the stench of horse and riders who’d been in the field for too long. She didn’t know how anyone could let their hygiene go for so long. The first riders came into view, followed closely by the wagons. Another thirty soldiers accompanied the supply train. Few of them were actually paying attention. They’d grown complacent since the demise of Chadra and the majority of the rebellion, just like Orlek predicted. None of them expected to run into serious trouble this far out in the countryside. That would be their downfall.

  Patience wasn’t one of her strong suits. Ingrid forced herself to remain still. It was one of the worst tortures she could imagine. She felt certain the scouts looked her in the eyes a dozen times while the convoy continued on. Her heart quickened. Her mouth dried unnaturally. The sword at her side felt cumbersome. She wasn’t a soldier. Pretending to be one now out of vain glory was foolish at best. Why wasn’t the enemy attacking? She knew they’d seen her. What were they waiting for? The sickness of their cruelty pervaded her innermost confidence. She couldn’t stand it any longer.

  Orlek rose in a small avalanche of snow. His bow was strung and drawn. His eyes were sharp. Tensed muscles begged to be released. To exercise their anger in the song of flesh and steel. A horse kicked out and went down in a hail of grotesque screams. The second horse followed closely behind. Orlek fired. His aim was true. The shaft took the wagon master in the throat, pitching him off the side. The wagon teams immediately went out of control and bolted forward into the nightmarish mess of the caltrops even as the stricken scouts shouted and tried to warn them off. The rest of Orlek’s fighters rose and fired one arrow each at the nearest targets.