Even Gods Must Fall (2 page)

Bitter Homecoming

Cold, almost bitter winds kissed Piper Joach’s face. Raw from prolonged exposure to the elements, his flesh was constantly pink with several areas peeling away. His lips blanched. His nose burned. His body ached from continual long days in the saddle. Yet he wouldn’t change any of it for the reward stretched out before him. A long winter’s campaign robbed him of what might have been. He’d seen friends die and killed enemies who were now considered friends. All for what? He didn’t know. The war in Rogscroft was unlike any he’d envisioned all of those years ago when he decided to join the Wolfsreik. He was tired--exhausted, more accurately--and he was finally home.

Piper stared down on his kingdom. Delranan, at least this part, was an untouched wilderness. Snow clung to pine branches, covering bushes. The air was crisp, kissed by clear skies as far as the eye could see. He should have been content. The long winter war was over. He was home. Home, however, wasn’t what it had been when he’d deployed. Delranan had become a wicked land. Brother murdered brother out of fear. Trust died. Harnin One Eye had turned this one standard for justice into a pit of the foulest quality.

“Seems peaceful enough,” Vajna commented. He stifled a short yawn. “It certainly doesn’t look like there’s much war going on in this sector.”

Piper cast a sidelong glance at the Rogscroft general turned friend. They’d ridden together since King Aurec and General Rolnir forged the alliance between Wolfsreik and Rogscroft. Various battles honed their friendship and understanding of one another, enough that both old soldiers were comfortable working with the other. More importantly, they had no issues with allowing their soldiers to take orders from the other.

“Perhaps Harnin just hasn’t made it this far east,” Piper countered cautiously. He’d had the misfortune of working with the One Eye on more than one campaign. Harnin always seemed to struggle with containing an inner rage.

Vajna yawned again. Long days in the saddle left him tired and sore. He, like the rest of the combined army, was more than ready for the war to end. “We should push ahead and secure the immediate area before he realizes we’ve arrived.”

“You realize it might be a trap?”

Vajna snorted. “I didn’t get my rank by looking pretty.”

Piper laughed. Grey and slightly overweight, Vajna was anything but handsome. Time, battles, and more worries than a sane person should be expected to shoulder brought wrinkles, lines, and liver spots aplenty to the middle-aged general.

“I’m surprised you got married looking like that,” Piper quipped. “I’ll send out scouts to secure the perimeter. Go back and have the light infantry begin deploying to valley floor.”

Vajna wheeled his horse about, back towards the haunting mountain pass. “You don’t really suppose he’s waiting for us?”

“I wouldn’t put anything past that bastard,” he replied after a moment. “We’d best be on our guard. The fun part of our travels is over.”

“Fun? I’m ready to retire.”

Vajna clicked softly and rode back to the first of the main army units. Rolnir’s premier infantry were massed by the thousands, filling the slender mountain pass. Rogscroft regulars, militia, and a few small units of Pell Darga fighters composed the rest of the five-thousand-strong vanguard. Cavalry and engineers forced their way through the Murdes Mountains. The air stank of horse flesh and sweat. Heavy weapons, catapults, and trebuchets disassembled for easy moving clogged the pass in anticipation of establishing firing positions. They were a force capable of stopping any army. Getting them deployed in fighting positions before they were overrun was the difficult part.

Each soldier harbored individual demons. More than one held doubts about his ability to attack his own people. Civil wars were vicious acts of desperation from all angles. Fears of returning home only to find relatives or loved ones opposing them threatened to bring the army to a halt. More than one soldier considered desertion, but pride and discipline kept them in place. They were the very best of Delranan’s sons. Each languished under the combined weight of tradition and family.

Piper looked back on his soldiers. They were his source of pride, having conducted themselves professionally from the moment the Wolfsreik invaded Rogscroft to their exodus from King Badron’s service. While consecutive campaigns were successful, the second in command of the north’s most powerful army couldn’t help but wonder how many of his soldiers weren’t going to live to go home again. It was a sobering feeling.

“Sergeant at Arms! Deploy the scouts. Double screen. Just because we can’t see the enemy doesn’t mean he isn’t there,” Piper ordered.

The veteran scout saluted crisply. Flakes of snow peppered his beard. Flint-like eyes took in his commander with a measure of approval, as if saying it was about time. Harnin One Eye went disliked by nearly all of the army. Piper hoped it would make his job easier.

It was near dusk by the time the scouts returned with curious news. Harnin had no forces deployed along this stretch of the Murdes Mountains, having little to no knowledge of the Pell Darga’s secret passes. Several teams of scouts rode as far west as the line of freshly constructed fortresses running from north to south.

Piper took the news with casual interest. Static defenses always held the same inherent weakness: they could be ridden around and totally avoided while the invading army continued towards the exposed capital. The risk of leaving active combat forces behind the advancing elements was practically negligent considering most of the soldiers garrisoning the forts were ill-equipped infantry. They’d be ridden down and wiped out without causing much hassle to the invaders. That sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach returned at the thought of invading his own kingdom.

Delaying served no purpose. Piper regretted what needed doing, but saw little point in avoiding the inevitable. The time for action was once again upon him. He listened as the scouts went into detail, drawing maps with sticks in the fresh snow. Piper recognized many of the prominent land features. Wheels began turning. He knew Rolnir trusted him implicitly so the slender man started forming plans for attack. The maneuver was risky, but might prove beneficial if his forces were able to claim the first fortress before Harnin caught wind of their presence.

“How large is the garrison?” he asked, suddenly impatient.

The scout cocked his head and gently stabbed the bowed stick into the snow repeatedly. “Can’t be more than a hundred, sir. Shouldn’t be an issue if we hit them in the middle of the night.”

“A night raid on unfamiliar ground? The end result may not be what we’re looking for,” Piper countered. He didn’t want to dismiss his scout’s suggestion, knowing that in doing so he would effectively severe the free-flowing line of communication through the ranks. “What about pickets? Roving guards? What kind of defenses do they have emplaced to halt our progress?”

“Didn’t see any pickets or anything,” a second scout said quietly. “We ran into a bunch of trenches and pits, though. Ought to prove troublesome for cavalry and such.”

“We can’t risk an open charge anyway. The thunder of hooves will alert the defenders well enough in advance for them to reach their positions and open fire with whatever they have. Arrows and scorpions I’m assuming.” Piper paused. His mind reeled through various options available to him. A spark ignited. He turned to the lead scout. “Sergeant, bring me the engineer captain. I’ve got a job opportunity for him.”

Nodding at his subordinate, the sergeant folded his arms across his chest and continued studying the crude map. “Got something devious in mind, commander?”

“Perhaps. That all depends on if our wonderful engineers can bridge the defenses and blow a hole in the outer wall,” Piper said.

“Light skirmishers or heavy infantry for the assault?”

Piper thought for a moment. Both had advantages and disadvantages. Skirmishers weren’t designed for lengthy battles in confined spaces. Their lack of armor and limited selection of weapons reduced nearly fifty pounds from their fighting weight, however, giving them a distinct advantage over more cumbersome infantry. Casualties threatened to be high if Piper decided on them. Without knowing the depth and capacity of Harnin’s army, Piper was loath to trade lives for ground.

Heavy infantry offered a different scenario. Slow and unwieldy, they were armed enough to render every living soul within the fort dead without much trouble. Strength in numbers often relied on interlocking shield walls on the open plain. That specialized defense was immediately rendered useless the moment they breached the walls. Conversely, their armor and weapons were enough to literally crush any opponent.

“I want archers to slip down within range as soon as it gets darks. They’re to begin firing to cover the infantry attack.”

The scout nodded again. “What about them engineers? Oden won’t be too pleased with getting shot at while his boys are busy filling in holes.”

“He’ll get over it. The engineers need to employ without cover. We can’t risk giving away our attack plan while they prepare the way,” Piper said and grinned.

“I’m sure he’ll come looking for you,” the scout said and shrugged. The move was well rehearsed, too well for Piper’s comfort.

“Good. I need to see him immediately. Time is slipping away from our advantage. Get the archers emplaced.”

The sergeant saluted crisply and wheeled about.

“Sergeant, has there been any word of General Vajna’s return?” Piper asked, already knowing the answer.

The scout shook his head and kept walking.

* * * * *

“Well, my friend, this appears to be the end of our time.”

Venten stood erect, gazing up at his former pupil and friend-turned king. He’d done all he could for young Aurec but it didn’t feel enough. The kingdom was slowly rebuilding, but from the raw chaos Badron and his Goblin horde visited it would be decades before Rogscroft returned to any semblance of normalcy. The purifying mission into Delranan would not only remove a tyrant from the throne, but secure Rogscroft’s western borders for at least another generation provided Aurec and Rolnir found a suitable candidate for the throne.

The former general–now advisor--struggled with his emotions. He’d been around Aurec since the boy was born. Guiding, leading, scolding when necessary, Venten was the epitome of what a mentor should be. His love for the freshly crowned king of Rogscroft went beyond vocalization. The boy was like a son to old Venten.

“This is not the way I would part company, Aurec,” Venten said before his voice betrayed him.

“It is what’s best for the kingdom. I need to accompany General Rolnir and the army. Rogscroft needs you to come out of retirement, Venten. I can’t imagine a snake like Paneolus worming his way back into politics with all of us away.” Aurec winced at the memory of dismissing the self-serving politician only weeks before. He started thinking more severe actions should have been taken.

Venten frowned. “Paneolus doesn’t have the backing to make a bid for the throne. He’s more vulture than opportunist. A lesser man can defend Rogscroft while the army is deployed. I won’t ask again. Allow me to accompany you on this campaign.”

Though it hurt him to do so, Aurec couldn’t allow Venten to tag along. “I can’t, Venten. Rogscroft needs your experience. There’s no telling how long it’s going to take to subdue Harnin and find Badron. The kingdom can’t be left without strength. I do not ask this of you lightly. You’ve been my conscience whispering in my ears for many years. I am going to miss you.”

Satisfied yet disappointed, Venten stretched out and took Aurec’s hand. “You’ve grown into a fine person, Aurec. Your father would be proud. I’ll do my best to keep reconstruction on pace. Hopefully we’ll at least have the rubble cleared away by the time you return.”

Hundreds of villagers and refugees were already streaming back to the capital city. The thousand-strong detachment of Rogscroft soldiers left behind were immediately responsible for not only housing the incoming personnel but finding appropriate work for each. If Rogscroft was to be rebuilt it was going to be through the combined efforts of every single citizen capable.

“I’ve never had any doubts as to your qualities, Venten. Neither did my father. You’re the best qualified to…to rule in the event I don’t return.”

Aurec’s voice trailed off. After all they’d been through, from stealing Maleela away from Chadra Keep in the middle of the night to routing the Goblin army out of Rogscroft, Aurec seldom bothered thinking on death. If Lord Death chose to claim him there was nothing the fledgling king could do to prevent it. Standing on the very border of his kingdom, about to depart all he knew and loved, Aurec suddenly felt icy fingers clawing down his spine.

Venten refused to comment. Idle thoughts of death plagued every soldier and king. Aurec should be no different. There were times when it was good to be reminded of the consequence of failure. Venten didn’t fear for Aurec’s life nearly as much as the king did. Brash at times, Aurec was highly capable. Whether he lived or died was out of either of their hands.

“Go with the blessings of all Rogscroft, sire,” the old advisor finally said. “I look forward to hearing of your exploits upon your return.”

Aurec grinned warmly and turned his horse towards the mountains. It wouldn’t do to allow Venten to see the tears building in his eyes. The king rode off, heading towards a war he didn’t fully understand and a fate only the gods might know. Unlike his previous campaigns, Aurec lacked the urgency required for what was to come. He’d never intended on invading Delranan, despite the urgings of his council. He’d already accomplished all of his goals save one. Maleela, princess of Delranan and love of his life, was missing and possibly dead.