Even Gods Must Fall (11 page)

Reluctantly, he took a deep breath and answered, “Scouts would be best, but Boen isn’t with us. I don’t know if he will return in time.”

“The Gaimosian will rejoin us, Bahr. That much I know,” Anienam affirmed. “He’s quite resourceful for an ogre-like sort. Vengeance Knights are crude, minimalist beings but their loyalty and devotion to duty goes well beyond any other tribe or race. He’ll be at Arlevon Gale.”

“That doesn’t alleviate our need for quality scouts,” Bahr pressed. “We can’t just go into this situation blindly.”

“I agree,” Ironfoot added. “We need to scout the area first.”

Rekka slowly stood. “I will go, if this task needs to be done.”

“Absolutely not!” Dorl protested.

Rekka offered a thin smile. Her heart wanted to stay with Dorl, for if these were to be their last days alive surely she deserved to die happy, content for the first time in her two decades. The sad truth was the world didn’t care whether one person was happy or not. Destiny and Fate marched to their own tunes, tormenting those caught up in the fervor. Some survived to great glory but eventually all wound up in the ground. Win or lose, Lord Death was stalking them all.

“I am the quickest and quietest of us all. The enemy will not spy me,” she said. “You all know this to be true.”

She forced the memory of her confrontation with one of the Dae’shan in the forests of Rogscroft away. Her guard had been down, despite the heightened caution of fleeing from armed soldiers. How one of the shadow agents of the dark gods managed to come upon her unawares remained a mystery. She’d always thought she’d been trained to deal with them. Her time with the dream masters of Teng and then in Trennaron deceptively allowed her to believe she had all of the tools necessary to ensure the successful completion of this quest. Could she have been mistaken this entire time?

“She’s right, Dorl. Rekka might be the best chance we have,” Nothol told his friend. The words were difficult, even after all the gentle ribbing they gave each other.

The first arrow sliced across the camp, speeding over the fire to strike the nearest pine bole. Skuld cried out. A horse whinnied. Stunned faces had just enough time to look around before the first wave of mercenaries broke through the barrier of darkness.

“Attack!” Ironfoot roared. The Dwarf snatched his axe from the ground at his feet and charged without waiting for the others.

Shorter by far, Ironfoot ducked under an ill-timed swing and took one of the mercenaries just below the knee. The severed limb flopped to the ground an instant before the screaming man. Blood dripping from his axe, the Dwarf brought a heavy boot down on the wounded mercenary’s throat, crushing his windpipe. Another sword aimed for Ironfoot’s head. The Dwarf barely managed to bring his axe head up to block the blow. Locked in the dual blades, the sword was instantly rendered useless. Ironfoot twisted hard enough to jerk the weapon free and punch the mercenary in the chest with his axe head.

A third attacker ducked in, hoping to catch the Dwarf unawares. He came to an abrupt halt as a mighty hand clamped over his head and squeezed. The mercenary barely had time to comprehend what was happening before he died. Groge stormed into the light as he tossed the corpse off into the trees. The Giant was bewildered at the amount of enemies swarming into the tiny campsite. Any hope of Boen drawing them off the night they spent in the farmer’s barn shattered. Groge guessed there must be more than a hundred enemy soldiers trying to kill his friends.

Unfelt rage suddenly welled to life. Groge grew angry, more so than he’d ever thought possible. He attacked with boot and fist. The war bar strapped to his back alongside the Blud Hamr smoothly pulled free and reaped a terrible cost among the enemy, but still they kept coming. Their tenacity was only matched by ignorance. Groge killed for the first time without compunction or hesitation.

Nothol, Dorl, and Rekka stood back to back as they desperately tried to fend off increasing, repeated assaults from the dozen attackers surrounding them. A handful of bodies, some wounded, others dead, already lay heaped around the trio. Arrows studded the trees and ground. More than one struck the packs on the ground. Cries of agony filled the night sky. Steel crashed against steel. The sickly sound of flesh being torn asunder hovered over the camp like Lord Death’s very cape.

“Get down!”

Bahr perked up, pulling his gore-stained blade free from the mercenary he’d just impaled. The voice was oddly familiar. Enough to prompt him to obey. “Everyone down!”

A fresh hail of arrows, smaller and dark, flitted through the air where he’d just been standing. A moment later and the crossbow bolts would have riddled his body. Instead they slammed into the mercenaries, puncturing armor, helms, and flesh without prejudice. The unexpected assault was enough to drive the surviving mercenaries off. Poorly armored soldiers rushed in to fill the void but less than a handful remained in the camp. The others hurried off into the night to run down the enemy.

Bahr slowly picked himself up from the blood-smeared snow and took the offered hand. Surprising strength pulled him up. His gaze swept up from his rescuer’s boots to the worn pants, dented body armor, and the haggard beard that only comes from not being able to shave for a few weeks.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, stunned.

Orlek snorted his amusement. “Nice to see you too, and don’t mention it.”

“Ah, sorry. We weren’t expecting to see you. Thanks for bailing us out,” Bahr said, suddenly embarrassed at not thanking the rugged-looking soldier. “But that wasn’t your voice I heard.”

“No, it was mine.”

Bahr smiled. “Ingrid, what are you doing here?”

“We’ve been tracking this group since you left us. It appears our enemy is falling back to the east and we are hurrying to follow,” Ingrid explained.

“We could have handled them. This wasn’t your fight,” he insisted.

Ingrid pursed her lips. “Perhaps not but there is more you need to know, Bahr. We’ve come across a massive force of Goblins driving up from the south. They are heading towards the ruins of Arlevon Gale.”

Bahr’s heart nearly burst. The great enemy Anienam had been warning them of. “How?”

“We haven’t been able to figure that out. It appears they arrived a few days ago and have been slaughtering every village they find along their path. Their numbers are almost uncountable.”

“You’ve seen them?” Bahr asked.

Ingrid fervently shook her head. “No, but based on the debris trail they’ve left we can only assume they number in the tens of thousands.”

“There is no force that large in Malweir,” Ironfoot countered. The idea of running into a massive army turned his stomach. The long-standing animosity between Dwarf and Goblin fueled his sudden hatred.

“I don’t know what more to say,” Ingrid defended. “We’re caught in an impossible situation. Harnin’s forces are in full retreat and the Goblins are moving in the same direction.”

“We figure this part of Delranan has already been destroyed. There’s not much left of our kingdom to reclaim,” Orlek added.

Bahr recoiled as if gut punched. He’d never wanted any part in ruling Delranan but to discover it was crumbling and without any hope of relief wounded him deeply. His strength of conviction suddenly renewed, Bahr knew what must be done. He had to confront his brother and end this cycle of violence before all hope was lost.

“Ingrid, we must find a way to get our people out of harm’s way if there’s to be any future for Delranan,” he said in measured tones.

Ingrid smiled genuinely for the first time in days. Hope had been rekindled.

Fateful Decisions

The last body was tossed unceremoniously in the makeshift pit Nothol and Dorl dug shortly before midnight. Most of the rebels had returned. They’d managed to hunt down another score or so of the enemy before turning back. Smiles and exhaustion combined in the former civilians. Any semblance of their old life was gone. Warfare and loss transformed them from meager peasants and farmers to hardened killers with little room for compassion. Ingrid and Orlek ran them through constant drills, for each life was precious to the rebellion leadership.

The striking blond shivered under the warmth of her wolf-skin cloak. The furs would normally have been enough to ward away the cold. Winter was especially fierce this year, almost as if some fell power was enhancing it. Ingrid believed that there was no way the storms could continue into spring the way they had, not without evil influences. She had briefly conferred with Anienam when the two groups met earlier and was left with an unexplainable feeling of dread. The sudden arrival of the Goblins all but confirmed her feelings.

Her eyes were stern, watching silently as dirt was pushed over the mound of corpses. It was more mercy than they deserved. Foreign fighters had no place in Delranan and deserved the kiss of hard steel under the midnight sun. Orlek stood by her side, more for defending the image of her strength than for her well-being. She appreciated all he’d done for her and the love that had sprung from working so closely together during the toughest times. As much as it pained her to admit, her old life was gone. The loss of her late husband faded, replaced by her burgeoning love for Orlek. Never in her dreams had she expected to find another love. It was that fear that led her to the rebellion and into Orlek’s mysterious arms.

“This is unnecessary,” he told her without looking.

“We can’t afford to leave the bodies lying around,” she replied. “Skaning is still out there. If he discovers these bodies we’ll be hunted down for sure.”

“I thought we wanted a stand-up fight? These mercenaries are filth. They don’t belong in our kingdom.” Orlek’s voice darkened with undisguised contempt.

What secret are you keeping from me? Do you hate them because it reminds you of what you once were? Oh, Orlek, I wish you’d trust me
. “I won’t argue with that but we have to proceed with caution. Matters have changed. The Goblins threaten to undo everything we have worked for these long months.”

“Do you think Harnin is behind this latest move? I can’t imagine him willingly working with those filthy creatures.”

Ingrid didn’t know. At this point in the rebellion she wasn’t willing to put anything past the One Eye. He was as shrewd as he was spiteful. Lives meant nothing to the current lord of Delranan. “We can’t fight an army of Goblins. The best we can hope for is to destroy the loyalist forces and fall back until the Goblins retire.”

“Goblins keep what they capture, Ingrid. Delranan will become a sordid pit used for their foul purpose,” Orlek warned. “We must find a way.”

She was about to break into tears when a thought came to her. “Do you suppose they’re mixed up in this nonsense with Bahr? He’s heading for the ruins as well. It might just be that whatever evil forces control Harnin and the Goblins is mixed up with Bahr’s quest.”

“To what end? He’s already got the upper hand. None of this makes sense to me,” Orlek said. “We need to get word to Harlan and combine our forces. Should any of the three elements be picked off by Goblins, our strength will be reduced, permanently.”

“I’m going to find out,” she said. Defiance twisted her once flawless face.

“Where are you going?” Orlek demanded.

“To make a deal. Send word to Harlan. I want all three columns to converge before we reach Arlevon Gale,” she called back over her shoulder.

The leader of the rebellion stormed off to confront the Sea Wolf. Too many times she’d been behind on intelligence, leaving her struggling to improvise plans on the run. How many friends were left buried, much like these mercenaries, or shoved away in one of Harnin’s dungeons? More than she cared to acknowledge. The pain of losing so many people she had counted on not only diminished her feeling of value but hampered the rebellion immeasurably. Ingrid needed to find that one key to change her lot. Otherwise….

“Captain Bahr, a word please,” she snapped when he was within earshot.

Bahr winced at the sound of her voice and slowly turned from Anienam. The wizard, to his credit, stood with a barely concealed bemused look.

“What can I do for you, Ingrid?” Bahr reluctantly asked.

Ingrid continued until she stood a pace away. Folding her arms across her chest, she gave him her most defiant look. “You haven’t been entirely honest with me. That needs to change, now. What do you know about this Goblin army apparently heading towards Arlevon Gale? This can’t be coincidence. Not with the rebellion already struggling for survival.”

“I’m afraid the One Eye doesn’t take me into his confidence the way he once did,” Bahr snapped back. Traces of anger lingered in his dark eyes. He hoped his silent warning was enough to back Ingrid off, at least for the time being.

Her impatience got the better of her. Ingrid attacked. “Harnin knows he’s losing the west. Each skirmish we fight depletes his forces. Badron’s inevitable return keeps the majority of his troops in the east. Even with our diminished strength we are driving Harnin out of the wilder lands. Your coming changes everything. A return, which I might add, is highly suspicious. There is no magic in this part of Malweir. How then did you travel the hundreds of leagues from the Jungles of Brodein to Delranan in the span of a heartbeat? Your blind wizard doesn’t seem capable of such a feat.”

She cut him off when he opened his mouth to speak. “Please let me finish. I don’t care how you returned. That’s your business. I am merely suggesting that whatever means you arrived by could easily have been duplicated by the Goblin army, meaning they are either hunting you or are entirely ignorant of your little band, heading towards the same conclusion. Either prospect is too unsettling for my tastes, Bahr. I can defeat the mercenaries and reservists. I can’t fight an army of Goblins. Yet neither can you sprint the final stretch across Delranan unseen.”

Bahr’s eyes narrowed. The lines on his face whitened against his snow-burned face. “What are you saying?”

Good. Not as unreasonable as I imagined
. “What I am proposing is an alliance. One of convenience to be sure, but an alliance. We will ensure you reach the ruins and you help us figure out a way to bring down this Goblin filth. Deal?”

Unaccustomed to dealing with rational people, Bahr hesitated. The immediate threat of being destroyed by dark powers fled behind the prospect of suddenly being responsible for the lives, and imminent deaths, of nearly two thousand loyal citizens of Delranan nearly dropped him to his knees. Unfortunately his options were gradually shrinking. This latest assault by Skaning’s mercenaries left him rattled. More than anything he missed Boen.

“I won’t be responsible for your lives, Ingrid. This quest is meant to be small, secretive. Our only hope of winning is by going unseen,” he protested.

Anienam stepped forward. “Perhaps there is another way of thinking, Captain. We are very close to our goal but our strength is diminished. The sudden appearance of Goblins changes everything. Ingrid offers us increased strength and the potential of a diversion should we find the way barred.”

“I have no intention of sacrificing my people,” Ingrid said. “This is my kingdom as much as it is yours, Bahr. We will fight if we see fit, but I’m not going to fight a war for you.”

“That’s a fairly large contradiction,” he snorted. “First you demand we work together and now you threaten to abandon my people when we would need you the most. Make up your mind, woman. I’m in no mood for games.”

Ingrid glared hotly at the grizzled, old sea captain. The sound of her teeth grating could be heard. She admired Bahr’s willingness to stick to his principles. Turning him to serve the kingdom wasn’t likely going to happen, forcing her to take another route. Perhaps Bahr wasn’t meant for the throne after all. She decided it was in her best interests to play along, for the time being.

“Very well,” she drawled out. “We’ll provide you with enough cover until you get close enough to do what you have to, but the moment it gets too much I’m taking my forces and heading back into the wild.”

Realizing there was no way out of his predicament, Bahr nodded. It was a meek gesture at best. “Deal.”

“So it’s settled. We are coming with you,” Ingrid said as she extended her hand to seal the accord.

* * * * *

Harlan slid his spyglass closed and returned it to the leather pouch around his shoulder. “Light infantry column. No more than a platoon. We attack the same as before. I want cavalry wings to sweep in from both flanks while pikes and swordsmen punch up the middle. Archers fire after all elements are on the move. We can’t afford to let the enemy form a phalanx and defend properly. Questions?”

His officers and brevet noncommissioned officers shook their heads. This was a well-rehearsed drill they’d executed a score of times since taking the war to the wild. By nightfall Harnin would be down another fifty soldiers. These small-level engagements were tedious, but kept the rebels motivated enough to go on to the next one. Harlan used his natural guile to keep his forces in high spirits. The promise of plunder from the dead enemy went just as far. Smiling, Harlan wheeled his horse around to take his place on the right flank.

Horses lined up in the tree line, Harlan looked up and down his line. One hundred of his finest nodded their readiness. The field commander nodded back and slowly spurred his mount forward. Drawing his sword, he raised it above his head and slowly pointed towards the unsuspecting enemy infantry column marching into death’s jaws. The line cleared the trees. He was rewarded by spying the second cavalry wing emerging from their cover. Trusting his infantry was already moving, Harlan ordered the charge.

The thunder of hooves echoed like the anger of the gods across the snow-covered field. Men roared. Horses snickered and whinnied. Shadows blurred overhead as the first two flights of arrows sped into the enemy ranks in rapid succession. Harlan grinned. Often considered foppish, he intended on furthering his reputation. One of the enemy soldiers was going to lose his head in an undignified manner. All for the legend of Harlan.

“Speed of horse! Attack!” he roared.

Seconds ticked slowly by. Hearts beat in slow motion. The world stopped turning long enough to watch as two hundred horses crashed into the lightly armored and confused infantry. Bodies fell in heaps. Caught unawares, the enemy’s infantry were quickly overwhelmed. Less than a few minutes later Harlan and his rebels were stripping the dead of everything useful.

“Bring up the infantry. We need to be moving in the event a relief force is en route,” Harlan ordered. He knelt to wipe the blood from his blade. True to his word, he had singled out the enemy leader and took his head in one swoop. Men would sing his glory in bars and taverns across western Delranan.

Weapons, coin, supplies, and serviceable uniforms and equipment were pulled away from the dead, some of it exchanged for more worn items. The rebels were gradually turning the tide of battle but their personal belongings were being worn down. Each victory helped replenish their sorely depleted stores. Lost in their purpose, none of the rebels noticed their archers and infantry were already dead.

Snarls. Growls. The bitter hatred only made possible from thousands of years of animosity spread across the battlefield as thousands of Goblin warriors sprinted the final hundred meters to crash into Harlan’s position. Men and women fell dead without being able to draw their weapons. Harlan’s mouth dropped as he recognized the twisted irony of the moment.
Taken by my own ploys. But where did these beasts come from?
Harlan hefted his sword with weary arms and charged the Goblin mass. His only lament was that there’d be none left alive to capture his last chance at glory.