Dark Winds

by Christopher Patterson

  The man started to cry. Weakness. It made Patûk sick to his stomach. Then again, this man was barely more than a boy.

  “Stand, Corporal,” Patûk said.

  The man obeyed, sobbing quietly and head still hung.

  “Lieutenant Phurnan’s mistake should not be yours,” the General said. “I will not hold you responsible for his follies. I have never surrendered in my life; then again, I have never charged a powerful foe uphill.”

  Lieutenant Bu walked into Patûk’s tent.

  “Report, Lieutenant.”

  The Lieutenant bowed and saluted.

  “We were following them,” Bu replied, “and then we lost them.”

  Patûk Al’Banan felt his teeth grind. Lieutenant Bu had proven himself, but he couldn’t take any more failure this day.

  “Why?” Patûk asked.

  “It is as if they disappeared, sir,” Bu replied.

  “Are we following ghosts?” The General’s voice rose.

  “No, sir,” Bu said, backing up a step and bowing low, “although, they act like ghosts in these forests.”

  “And what of Phurnan?”

  “Sir.” Bu looked to the Corporal who still stood before the General.

  “Yes. Corporal, you are dismissed. Tend to your men. You need not fear punishment, for none will come.”

  The Corporal bowed and left the tent.

  “I hope I am not getting soft in my older years, Lieutenant.”

  “Soft, sir?” Bu asked.

  “In the past, I am quite certain I would have had those men who surrendered burned. If the men think I am growing soft . . .”

  “Do not confuse wisdom for weakness, sir,” Bu said.

  “I do not know if I like your tone, Lieutenant,” Patûk said. He heard the steel in his own voice.

  “I do not mean disrespect.” Lieutenant Bu bowed. “You are a wise leader. It would be ill advised to punish men for the stupidity of an officer. I do believe that your men would lose trust in you more if you did punish these soldiers for simply following orders over executing them for surrendering.”

  Patûk crossed his hands behind his back and turned to walk to his sitting chair. Andu stood there, pitcher in hand. Patûk nodded, and the Sergeant poured two cups of spiced wine.

  “Where is Li?” Patûk Al’Banan asked.

  “Here, my lord.” The lazy-eyed man walked from out of a shadow in the corner of the tent.

  “I do not like it when you do that,” Patûk grumbled. “I feel as if you are spying on me.”

  “Me, my lord,” Li replied, his voice the epitome of indifference. “No. I loathe spies and secrecy.”

  Patûk saw Bu’s stare as he took a draught of his wine.

  “Calm yourself, Lieutenant.” Patûk laughed. “What of Lieutenant Phurnan?”

  “Dead, sir,” Bu replied.

  “Really? Are you sure?” the General asked.

  “Quite, General. My spies,” Bu hung on the word and stared at Li, “reported that mountain trolls killed him. Ate him.”

  “Pity,” Patûk said with a scoffing laugh.

  He saw the look the Lieutenant gave him.

  “He was a stupid man, Lieutenant, and a terrible officer, for sure. But he was of pure blood. He deserved a better death than that.”

  “I beg your pardon, my lord,” Li said, “but does the purity of his blood make him an honorable man?”

  “I think you forget your place, Li,” Patûk said.

  “My apologies, my lord.” Li bowed. “But would Lieutenant Bu deserve less of a death because he is not of pure blood?”

  Patûk’s jaw tightened.

  “Truly, you forget your place.”

  “My apologies again, my lord, but you did ask me to advise you. This would be my advice. You have men, such as Lieutenant Bu, who are loyal to you, despite not being of pure blood. Would you sacrifice their loyalty because of the circumstances of their birth?”

  “No, of course not,” Patûk replied. “That is something the Stévockians do. What is your point?”

  “You have many in service to you who serve loyally, despite their birth, and they come not from wealthy families. And yet, you have men such as this Lieutenant Phurnan as your leaders. If Lieutenant Bu had been in command of these men, would the outcome have been the same? You have many men who are incompetent as officers. This is a thorn in your heel. Would it not be prudent to start elevating those loyal to you to places of importance?”

  “And do what with the men who are already officers?”

  Li just shrugged.

  “Their families support our cause. Killing a wealthy man’s son would certainly stop the inflow of his money,” the General explained.

  “You do not have to kill them, my lord,” Li said. “Besides, in my experience, men will support opportunity and power.”

  Patûk crossed his arms in front of his chest and lowered his chin to his chest.

  “So, should we forget about this map, the city of Orvencrest?”

  Patûk saw Li smile.

  “My lord, I would not forget about the dwarvish city. Nor would I forget about those trying to find it. But perhaps your efforts are a little misplaced.”

  “I need to start showing our power,” Patûk said, lifting his head and crossing his hands behind his back again. “We need to make ourselves known.”

  “I believe that will cause conflict, my lord,” Li said. Patûk groaned and felt his jaw tighten. “But, yes, I do believe it will also rally men to your cause.”

  Patûk smiled.

  “And what is it, my lord?”

  “What is what, my secretive advisor?” Patûk asked.

  “What is your cause?”

  The General looked at Lieutenant Bu, and the look he gave Patûk asked the same question.

  “To depose the usurper, of course,” Patûk replied.

  “Yes, my lord,” Li said. “And then what?”

  “What?” the General asked.

  “What do you plan on doing after you have deposed the usurper?” Li questioned. “Do you wish to be Lord of the East, or High Lord Chancellor, or King—Emperor, perhaps?”

  “My loyalties are to the Aztûkians.”

  “And how have they supported you, my lord?” Li asked. “Do they give you money, men, information?”

  How long had it been since he had received money from Martûk, patron of the Aztûkians, or Bartûk, his son? How long had it been since he received information about the usurper from them? When was the last time a large influx of men had come into his camp, into his service?

  “Are they willing to risk all, as you have, as much as men such as Lieutenant Bu has,” Li continued, “for if you lose, you will give all—and more. Your pure blood followers will most likely find their lives, wealth, position in politics spared for loyalty. You and any who are not pure will certainly become acquainted with the horrors of Stévockian wrath. What do you offer these men who serve you? What does their future hold?”

  Patûk lifted his chin up, stared at the ceiling of his tent for a moment. He looked to Li, his half-closed eyes, that haughty half-smile that always crossed his lips. He looked to Bu.

  “Li, you have given me much to think about. For that, I thank you. But you would be wise to remember your place as advisor.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Li bowed.

  “Leave me,” Patûk commanded.

  Bu, Andu, and Li all bowed and left. Patûk sat and drained the contents of his wine cup in one swallow. He poured himself more and drank again.

  “How many of my officers would cringe at the thought of serving themselves wine?” he muttered.

  He stood and paced his tent. He looked down at his hands. Worn. He looked at his boots. Worn. His pants. Worn. He felt his face. Worn. If he could see his soul, feel his soul. Worn.

  “What has it all been for?”

  That was a question he had never asked. He had always just acted.

  “Bao Zi.”

  His personal guardsman walked
out from the shadows of his tent, from the opposite corner in which Li had stood. They had never known he was there. That’s what he was good at—secrecy. Perhaps he should’ve been his Officer of Spies.

  “Do you wish to be an officer, Bao Zi? Do you wish to be my Master of Spies?”

  “No, my lord.” Bao Zi shook his head.

  A man of few words. Patûk felt himself smile.

  “If I may, my lord,” Bao Zi added.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Perhaps, if you had asked me that question twenty years ago, I would have said yes. But today . . . no. I am thankful for the lot I have drawn in life—and I am thankful for the position you have given me, my lord.”

  “Very well, my old friend. I need you to take word to the Stévockians, Martûk—and his son Bartûk. It is time they supported us again, more so than they have in the past. It is time to make a move.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “And send some of your men to meet Pavin Abashar. It is time we joined our forces.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Bao Zi bowed and turned to leave but then turned back to face Patûk. “And if he asks, who should lead your combined forces?”

  “Me, of course,” Patûk replied.

  “Yes, of course, my lord.”

  Bu turned to Li.

  “What are you about, seneschal?”

  “What do you mean, sir?” Li asked.

  Bu grabbed the seneschal’s arm and pulled him close. He could smell perfume and spiced wine on the man.

  “You know what I mean, servant.”

  “I am afraid I do not,” Li said.

  “I’ll run my sword through your belly right now.”

  “And General Patûk Al’Banan will take no offense at you killing his seneschal?” Li asked.

  Bu hated losing his temper. It didn’t happen often. He released Li’s arm, knowing he wouldn’t kill the man. The General favored Bu, he knew that, but he also favored this snake.

  “Why were you singing my praises in there, after defaming my position in the General’s army?”

  “Ah, what was that about?” Li said.

  “Yes.”

  “I was not singing your praises, Lieutenant,” Li said. “I was singing the praises of all the common, ignoble, non-pure blooded men that serve my lord. But . . . the General does favor you.”

  “So?”

  “I am an opportunist, Lieutenant. You will continue to rise in the General’s favor. I suspect that, given the right direction, the General will succeed. When he does, those close to him will be placed in positions of importance. And when the General passes on, who will take his place?”

  “Certainly not me,” Bu said.

  Li shrugged.

  “He is a wise man. He rewards those who serve him well. And he is working to bring about change,” Li said.

  “Well, one good turn deserves another,” Bu said. “You keep an eye out for me, watch my back, and I will do the same for you. I suspect some of the officers, when they find out they are no longer officers, will be quite unhappy. When that happens, it won’t take long for them to realize it was you who suggested their demotions.”

  Li nodded and bowed, turned, and walked into the camp without looking back. Bu watched him. Even with his back turned, he didn’t trust that snake.

  Chapter 57

  THE FOREST SEEMED TO GET denser as they walked. As evening crept upon them, the atmosphere already dark because of the canopy overhead, the dwarves continued to argue about the map and what direction they should be traveling.

  “What are they arguing about?” Bryon had asked.

  Erik just shrugged. The last thing Bryon or Switch needed to hear was that the dwarves were lost. It seemed as if they were never meant to find the lost city of Orvencrest. Even more disheartening was the fact that the map was filled with ancient runes that even Threhof and Balzarak had problems deciphering. When Erik first saw the map, he simply assumed they were just decorations, a cartographer’s embellishments.

  As night overcame them, the argument went from the map to whether or not they should build a fire. Finally, they agreed to do so, and as they sat there, barely moving or talking, Erik heard a distant howl.

  “That’s a big wolf,” Bryon said.

  “That’s no wolf,” Erik replied. “That’s a troll.”

  Bryon sat up.

  “I wouldn’t worry too much,” Demik said.

  “Oh, and why not?” Bryon asked. “Are they afraid of dwarves?”

  “Aye, they are,” Demik replied.

  The night was quiet, save for the dwarves whispering to each other. Erik understood most of what they all said, arguments about the map and where to go. It seemed they had a better idea and had come to a conclusion and a compromise, but that still didn’t ease Erik’s mind. Then Turk asked a question. It seemed to come from out of nowhere, and it was an odd question, Erik thought, one about runes he found when they were traveling through the tunnels towards Thorakest and about some young dwarf that had been executed for treason in another dwarvish city.

  It almost seemed a secret question, filled with cryptic meanings and carefully chosen words, even though they were the only ones there. Threhof looked angry when Turk spoke, and even chastised him, while Beldar gasped and Dwain just shook his head and clicked his tongue disappointedly. Even Nafer hissed at his friend, pointing an accusatory finger and saying something so fast, Erik couldn’t catch the meaning. Turk kept saying something about them. But when Balzarak nodded and, from what Erik could gather, affirmed Turk’s questions, the camp fell silent, and the dwarves said no more. The hush was so noticeable, that Bryon nudged Erik with his elbow.

  “What’s going on?” Bryon whispered.

  “How should I know?” Erik replied with a shrug.

  “Don’t give me that,” Bryon said. “I know you understand them.”

  “Why don’t you learn their language if you’re so intrigued?” Erik asked, taking a sip from his waterskin.

  “Maybe I will,” Bryon said, “but right now, instead of being an ass, maybe you could just tell me what came over them so suddenly. They were arguing so intently and then stopped.”

  “I honestly don’t know,” Erik replied. A darkness came over him, an ill feeling, as he watched the dwarves from across the fire. It danced off their faces and cast eerie shadows and, for a moment, Erik wondered if the shadows were some external symbol of the gloom in their minds.

  “Whatever it is,” Erik said, “it’s not good.

  A gentle breeze blew against Erik’s face as he sat on that hill, under the great tree with low hanging branches. The grass, raising almost chest high as Erik sat there, was damp, even in the comforting warmth of the sun. He saw him out there, the Lieutenant that had led his men in a foolish attack. It was as Erik had suspected. He looked chewed upon, bite marks along his ribs and even his face, maggots crawling in and out of his festering wounds.

  When the Lieutenant saw Erik, he wailed and cursed, but it only made Erik laugh. He had learned that the dead could not climb the hill, so as he entered this world of dreams every night, in this field of grass, he made his way to the hill and the tree and the man whom he knew, but still couldn’t remember from where, although he wasn’t here in this dream. He almost felt pity for the easterner, but then he remembered his folly, and the way he spoke of his men, and the way his men spoke of him.

  “Fool,” Erik mouthed.

  When Erik awoke, he couldn’t feel the breeze anymore, and the warmth faded. The wetness of the grass went away, and the cursing voices of dead men faded to a distant echo. He sat up to see his brother wiping sweat away from his brow.

  “Are you all right, brother?” Erik asked, crouching next to Befel.

  “Yeah,” Befel replied. “Just had a hard time sleeping.”

  “Bad dreams?”

  Befel shook his head.

  “I think it’s partly my shoulder, the air, yesterday’s battle,” Befel said. “I don’t think I have ever seen that much blo
od. So much blood.” “You can’t drink sweet wine right now,” Erik said, “but maybe Turk can take a look at you.”

  “No.” Befel shook his head. “He’s busy with Bofim. And this is an old wound.”

  Befel rubbed his shoulder while Erik watched Turk tend to Bofim’s nose and eyes, seemingly bruised even more a day later, even though the dwarvish warrior that had befriended Erik first seemed in better spirits today.

  “This forest looks old,” Erik said to Turk when the dwarf was alone.

  “How does old look?” Turk asked.

  “I don’t know,” Erik said with a shrug, “but if I were to imagine an ancient forest untouched by men or dwarves, this would be it.”

  “Good observation,” Turk replied. “Dwarves don’t come here much. All of the cities exist in the northern part of these mountains.”

  “What does that mean?” Erik asked.

  “This part of the mountain is wild,” Turk replied.

  “Wild?” Erik asked.

  “Unchecked, unmanaged,” Turk replied, “at least, more so than the lands around Thorakest. Ancient creatures—giant cougars and bears and wolves and badgers—live here as well as mountain trolls and horned antegants.”

  Erik pondered for a moment, remembering the cave bear that attacked them. He couldn’t imagine cougars and wolves and badgers that size.

  “Does this forest scare you?” Erik asked.

  “A little,” Turk replied after pausing for a moment. “I think you would be a fool if it didn’t.”

  “So, are we still lost?” Erik asked. “In this ancient forest.”

  “Lost?” Turk questioned with a smile. “You’ve been eavesdropping on dwarvish conversations. A dwarf is never lost.”

  Erik returned the smile and gave a short chuckle.

  “I don’t know, honestly,” Turk added. “I think General Balzarak has a general idea of where we are going. This map is full of ancient riddles and runes that I didn’t recognize—that even the General is having a hard time deciphering.”

  “Do you think the city even exists?” Erik asked. “Or have we been sent on a fool’s errand with some ulterior motive?”

  “Have we . . .? Most certainly,” Turk replied, again with that smile. “But rest assured, the city or Orvencrest exists . . . or at least did exist. This map is a fickle thing. When was the cartographer here? A generation ago? A hundred years? Did the Lord of the East use his dark magic? How have things changed? Does the forest want us to find the city?”