Steel And Sorrow (Book 2)

by Joshua P. Simon

  Odala turned her back to Soyjid and pulled the covers over her head, even angrier with Tobin. “He probably went out on a mass scouting mission. What does it matter to you? He’s warleader. Tobin can do as he pleases,” she said bitterly.

  Soyjid kicked her bed and stormed out of the tent muttering. “Why do I even bother with you?”

  * * *

  An hour before dawn five hundred pairs of intense eyes stared at the Green Forest Clan village. The company of Kifzo warriors Tobin led had traveled over a day and a half away in order to reach their destination. At his command, the men had left behind all of Nachun’s newer armor, opting instead for lighter packs. The Kifzo had not fought this way since their invasion of the Orange Desert Clan.

  Seems like a lifetime ago.

  Tobin pushed aside the guilt that plagued him for making the same decision Kaz had so long ago.

  Kaz would have done this from the start, but this wasn’t my first choice. Charu forced my hand.

  Tobin noted the eagerness in the eyes of his men.

  Ufer crouched beside him. “Warleader, the scouts have returned. They estimate one thousand inhabitants.”

  “And the warriors using it as a base for scouting?”

  “Eight hundred.”

  More than I thought we’d come against. Nachun’s map obviously did not reflect any recent changes.

  “Location of the warriors?”

  “They’re clustered on the far side of the settlement. Those nearest us are the ones living here.”

  Tobin watched the burning coals from the night’s fires glow between the wooden structures and animal pens. His stomach knotted.

  “I’ll take four hundred men to engage their warriors. Get the rest into position here. When you hear us attack, surge into the settlement. No mercy to anyone except the children. I want them to carry the news back to Charu.”

  Ufer nodded in what looked like approval. “Warleader, if we are able to finish things quickly, the men will want to enjoy themselves with the women. I know your thoughts, but it would do good to lift their spirits after the past couple of months.”

  Ufer’s words hung in the air.

  Tobin looked around at the hungry eyes in his warriors as he considered the request. I can’t believe I’m even considering this. But the whole point of this trip is to solidify their loyalty. Tobin rolled his jaw. “Just this once, since they’ll die soon afterward.” Tobin tasted the bile creeping into the back of his throat. “But again, no children.”

  “It will be done.”

  Ufer crawled away and spread the word. Tobin glanced one last time at the sleeping village. He selected his men and steeled himself to the grim task ahead.

  What’s one more nightmare to add to the others?

  * * *

  The pounding storm hid many things in the murky gray morning. It muffled the screams of women being used. It stifled the celebratory cheers from the Kifzo who, with only thirty-eight casualties, managed to wipe out an entire settlement.

  The rain washed the blood from Tobin’s skin and clothes while the thunder hushed the wailing cries from the long lines of three hundred odd children fleeing the village in panic. Older ones carried or dragged the younger ones behind them in haste, worried that the menacing warriors would change their mind and turn their weapons on them.

  “A great victory, Warleader. The men will spread this tale like fire once we return to the main camp.”

  Tobin grunted.

  “And Charu will . . .”

  “Later Ufer. See that the men are doing as they were told.”

  “Yes, Warleader.” Footsteps faded, slopping through the fresh mud.

  Tobin stood alone on the edge of the village near the sole road leading away and watched the last of the children run into the trees, thankful that the rain masked his tears.

  * * *

  Odala left camp and ran into the woods. She slipped and fell on a wet root protruding from the ground. She examined her muddy hands and punched her leg, angry as she huddled near the base of a large pine tree. She brought her knees in close and wept.

  Her head jerked at the crunch of leaves and she saw Soyjid round the side of an oak some twenty feet from her.

  He glanced her way. “There you are. You know, it’s too dangerous for you to run off like that. It’s possible that Charu could have someone lurking nearby. They’d snatch you up in a second in order to get to Tobin.”

  Odala wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. “So? I doubt Tobin would really care.”

  Soyjid stopped a few feet from her. “So you’ve heard?”

  “Of course I heard. The entire camp is buzzing with what he did.”

  “Have you spoken with him?”

  “No. I saw the men cheering for him and the look of satisfaction he wore. I ran away before he spotted me.” Her voice softened. “It reminded me of when he threatened father. I may have actually loved him once.” She paused. “But now I hate him. He tries to be good, but any man who could do the things he did is evil.” She shook her head. “When you first had me try to spy on him and he told me about some of the awful things he had done, he blamed Kaz and his father for giving him those orders or for putting him in situations where he had no choice. But he had a choice this time.”

  “I’m sure he’ll blame Charu for pushing him into this decision,” said Soyjid.

  “He’s wrong. It’s simpler than that. For all his training and physical skills, he failed.” She looked up. “Everyone says that you’ve done well with the orders given to you. Perhaps you should be commander. You wouldn’t do something so awful, would you?”

  “Never. But watch what you say, Sister. Few outside of our clan would agree with you. His men love him more today for what he’s done.”

  “You were right all along.” She sighed. “Too bad we can’t stop them.”

  Soyjid glanced around him and lowered his voice. “Who says that we can’t?”

  * * *

  “That’s the last one, Warchief.”

  Charu rubbed his temples. “You said that last time, Gidan.”

  “Scouts back-tracked the trails this time.”

  “What’s the final number?”

  “Four hundred ninety-eight children. And they’re all telling the same story.”

  So many.

  “And you’re sure they weren’t followed?”

  “Positive. I sent men to check the village in order to confirm the story, but given the circumstances I have no reason to doubt what they’ve told us.”

  Charu sighed. “Neither do I.”

  Charu left him and entered his tent. Melat’s arms found their way around his neck. Tears ran down her cheeks.

  “So you’ve heard then?” he asked in a heavy voice.

  “Yes.” She shook her head. “We knew the Blue Island Clan was cruel, but it is still shocking.”

  He pushed her aside and walked over to a table. “This is part of war.”

  “Don’t pretend to hide your emotions. I’m not one of your men. This bothers you too, doesn’t it?”

  “Of course it does,” he snapped. “Green Forest Clan or not, I wouldn’t stoop as low as Tobin did. The men want his blood now and I have half a mind to give it to them.”

  “But you won’t.” Melat came over and took his hand in hers. “You’re too smart for that. You know he is trying to goad you into making a mistake.”

  “I know.”

  Melat pulled out a message. “This came in just a few moments ago. He didn’t know Tobin was going to strike. The strategy was a last minute decision that couldn’t have been foreseen.”

  “That means little to the innocents who died.”

  “I know that, but the letter says more.” Melat paused. “He believes that Tobin is so sure the incident in the village will shake you that you should withdraw to Feruse and make him think you’re afraid. A strategy was attached to the message detailing the most likely set up of their forces if we meet them in battle there.”
<
br />   “Interesting.”

  “Do you think it will work?”

  Charu examined the strategy and saw that it seemed sound. “It could.”

  “But?”

  “But the closer we get to Feruse, the more likely we might be betrayed.”

  She smiled. “True. So then what do we do?”

  “I’ll have to think about it before making a decision.”

  Chapter 23

  “Get up you worthless piece of garbage. No son of mine would be lying on the floor like that.”

  Kroke growled as he heard his father’s voice inside his head. The man had been dead going on twenty years, yet Kroke’s hate for him had never waned. At the age of twelve he had killed his father, tired of the man’s abuse of him and his family. The rape of Kroke’s older sister had pushed him over the edge.

  He rolled himself off the stone floor and sat up in a foul mood. The smell of molding straw from the corner of his cell didn’t help his demeanor.

  And no one even thanked me. They all thought me the bigger monster for taking his life. He swore under his breath. I hope they all go to the One Below.

  Kroke lifted a hand to his face, feeling first the dried blood, and then the knot above his eye where the spear butt had struck him.

  Against his better judgment he had allowed himself to be captured.

  That woman is going to be the death of me. I should have fought them. Better to die fighting than like this.

  Three plain stone walls and one of iron bars faced outward to what appeared to be a long hallway. The flickering light provided by torches hanging on the wall sconces didn’t allow him to see much else.

  He spat. Worse than Jeldor’s dungeons.

  “Psst.”

  Kroke jumped at the sound and his hand went for a knife. Naturally, he found none.

  “Kroke. Is that you? Are you awake?”

  “Who’s there?” he hissed.

  “It’s Geran.”

  “Who?” asked Kroke.

  “Geran. I’m a member of the Royal Guard.”

  “Ah,” said Kroke, wishing he had paid attention to the names of the men he had traveled with. “What happened to Elyse?”

  “I think the queen is being held on a separate level. I know she isn’t down here.”

  “Who is down here?”

  “Four others from the guard. We’re the only ones who survived when we were attacked.”

  “Four? Can any of you still fight?”

  “Not all of us. Niken and I are ok. The captain is also with us, but he’s still unconscious after Markus questioned him earlier. They’re doing the same to Faust right now. It seems like we’re going to be next.”

  “Do you know what they’re looking for?” asked Kroke.

  “Not specifically,” said Geran.

  “Were you all awake when they brought us down here?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Start giving me details. Anything you can remember. How many floors down we are, the number of guards, possible routes of escape, potential problems—anything you can think of.”

  “Why? It’s not like we can get out of here.”

  “Just do it,” snapped Kroke.

  “Sure,” said Geran, his voice a little shaky. “But Niken has a better memory for that sort of thing.”

  “Quit wasting time and someone start talking.” Kroke listened intently while he searched himself, double-checking to make sure the guards found all his knives. He had to give them credit. They were thorough.

  Good thing I keep more than knives on me.

  Out of habit, Kroke dressed in little armor, hating the way it restricted his movements. Yet, he always wore a pair of snug gauntlets to protect his wrists and arms for the close quarter fighting he preferred. The releases for the guards were hard to spot, so he wasn’t surprised to find them still on.

  He slid two small catches out, twisted them, and then pushed down near his wrist. His right gauntlet opened. Inside, he found a piece of folded leather. He unfolded the leather and removed several pieces of slender, curved metal. He put the leather back and clasped the gauntlet around his arm again.

  They should have had the sense to chain me like Jeldor did, he thought while listening to Niken.

  Kroke started working on the lock of his cell, reaching his hands through the metal bars and pressing his face against the cold steel as he maneuvered the slivers of metal in the key hole.

  Niken wrapped up his description of the dungeon and its inhabitants at about the same time. “That’s about all I can recall,” whispered the man.

  “You did well. Many wouldn’t have caught half as much as you did,” said Kroke, honestly. The man had a sharp mind.

  We could use someone like him in the Hell Patrol.

  Geran whispered. “Hey what’s that noise? Are you picking the lock?”

  “Yes,” grunted Kroke as he twisted his arm around to get a better angle.

  “Don’t bother. We tried earlier. It’s newer and one we’ve never seen.”

  Kroke ignored the man as he concentrated on his task. Kroke had picked his fair share of locks when he worked as an assassin before joining the Hell Patrol. A target was usually most susceptible when relaxed in their home. Though Kroke practiced his lock-picking skills far less than he used to, he could still recall all his old tricks.

  A click sounded and he allowed himself a grin.

  “One Above,” said Geran. “Did you get it?”

  “Yes,” said Kroke.

  “Well hurry up and get us out of here.”

  A door slammed from down the corridor and footsteps followed.

  “Hurry,” added Geran. “They’re coming for one of us next.”

  Kroke swore. “No time. Keep the guards distracted when they get here. I’ll do the rest.”

  “The rest of what?” asked Niken.

  “Just do it,” hissed Kroke. “And pretend I’m still unconscious.”

  Kroke quickly removed the small tools from the keyhole and made sure the lock stayed open before he moved away from the bars and settled back on the stone floor in roughly the same spot and position as earlier. He closed his eyes and listened to the distinctive gait of multiple men, their strides out of step with each other. The footsteps stopped in front of his cell.

  “He still out?” asked a harsh voice.

  “Aye,” said Niken. “We haven’t heard him budge.”

  The footsteps shuffled over. “Well, then I guess one of you will have to be next.” Someone pulled a sword from its sheathe. “Open the door.” Keys began to jingle.

  Kroke cracked his eye and saw the shadows of three men silhouetted against the opposite wall, standing in front of Geran and Niken’s cell. Kroke slowly eased himself off the ground.

  “You. Get against the back wall. You. You’re coming with us. And hurry up with the blasted key.”

  Kroke inched himself closer to the iron bars of his cell as the other guard muttered something under his breath.

  “Wait,” said Geran. “Where’s Faust? How come you didn’t bring him back with you?”

  One of the guards chuckled. “He didn’t make it through the duke’s questioning. Let’s hope you’re tougher, or better yet, more honest. Tell Markus what he wants to know and it’ll be a whole lot easier on all of us.”

  Kroke heard the lock on the cell door next to him click. He rushed to his feet and slammed into the door of his cell. The high pitch squeal of the rusted hinges echoed in the damp underground corridor. The three guardsmen wheeled toward him, shocked. The door of Geran’s cell flung open as a set of thick hands pulled the guard carrying the keys inside.

  The guardsman closest to Kroke stepped forward to thrust with his sword. Kroke sidestepped and grabbed the guard’s arm, using the man’s momentum to pull him forward as he jammed a lock pick into his eye. The soldier cried out and released the grip on his sword. Kroke snatched it before it fell, flipped it around, and stabbed it through the man’s chest.

  Kroke yanked t
he sword free as he dodged a slash from another guard. Kroke brought his blade up to meet the man’s next attack when a Royal Guard charged through the open cell and slammed into Kroke’s opponent. The man crumpled to the floor and Kroke finished him off quickly.

  The Royal Guard held out a hand. “I’m Niken.”

  Kroke nodded as he took it. Geran joined them in the hallway with an unconscious body over his shoulder.

  The captain.

  Niken scooped up a sword. “I’ll lead the way.”

  Kroke grabbed his arm. “No. You’ll make too much noise. I can get us out of here. Just don’t follow me too closely or say a word. If I get turned around, I’ll ask you.”

  Kroke pushed past Niken before he could respond.

  * * *

  Elyse paced back and forth in her cell. Lobella sat in a corner near Olasi’s family. It seemed that Markus had taken nothing to chance, imprisoning not only his father and mother, but also his siblings, their spouses, and their children. Truth be told, the large room seemed rather small with so many people crammed into it. The only privacy was a half wall which separated the privy. Unlike the hopeless feeling she had when locked in the bowels of Jeldor’s castle, rage consumed her.

  How could I have been so utterly stupid to fall for this? Even after being warned I took the risk anyway, hoping it would pay off. Now look at me. She dug her nails into her palms. She wanted to scream.

  She stopped. How did Illyan know Markus was a traitor when no one else did? They are half a kingdom apart. And why doesn’t Markus remember sending me the letter in the first place? Someone must have set me up. But who? One Above, let me get out of this place and I promise to not only apologize to Illyan for all that I’ve done, but also get to the bottom of this.

  She glanced over to the back corner where Duke Olasi lay asleep on a pile of hay. Severely ill, the letter had not deceived Elyse about the duke’s condition. Arine, Olasi’s granddaughter, sat at the duke’s side. She saw Elyse watching the duke and came up to the queen.

  “How is he?” asked Elyse in a hushed voice.

  “Not good. We can only do so much for him here. I’m afraid that unless he receives some sort of medical attention, he’ll die.” Arine brushed aside her blonde locks and wiped away the tear trailing down her cheek.