Tides of Blood and Steel (17 page)

She wasn’t convinced. The answer was too easy. “Did you see how fast Nothol killed that man? It is not natural. No man should be that comfortable taking life.”

“Such things are not for us to decide. We alone cannot change the face of the world. We must look beyond the fragile borders of our morality and see the world for what it is.”

“Anienam, that does not make sense. How will Malweir ever change when the cycle of violence keeps perpetuating itself?” she demanded.

“Life on this planet has existed for thousands of years. Some might argue longer,” he replied. “There are times of peace and times of struggle. You were born into a world at struggle.”

She shook her head, almost angrily. “That means nothing. How many civilizations have been destroyed because people would not stand up and do what is right? I refuse to believe we are inherently violent despite this seemingly endless cycle of self destruction we are bent on. Shouldn’t we strive to better ourselves?”

She was right. Next to Goblins and Dwarves, Man was the most violent race on the planet. Greed was often the spark. It was the drive to constantly want more that fueled the fires of aggression and kept the world in one war or another. Not even Anienam could fathom why though. He’d spent centuries roaming the world on a never-ending quest to do good and vanquish the agents of the dark gods. That quest finally brought him here, to the frozen northern kingdoms and what he believed was going to be the last war.

“What you say is undeniably true,” he admitted. “I am most impressed by your reasoning, but that does not mean we do not have redeeming qualities.”

“Such as?”

He sighed. Even a wizard had a limit to patience. “Unquestionable loyalty is a good place to begin.” He gestured to the sell swords. “Take them. What keeps them together? One wishes for a normal life filled with a wife and children. The other is undecided and content. They remain by each other’s side out of loyalty. Do not think for a moment that they take pride in any of the killing they do. Violence does not make the measure of a man, Maleela. I have walked Malweir for centuries and have done just as much bad as good, and all from good intentions.”

“Yet by your own admission good and evil are subjective.”

“Good and evil are indefinable. We are all given the opportunity to choose which paths to follow. That is the greatest gift from the gods.”

She fell silent. The old man had given her much to consider. She’d never placed much emphasis on such things until now. All she knew was that life was hard and her father hated her for what she had done. It was a pain she had never got over and now she doubted she would ever get the chance. Maleela was almost certain that one of them, perhaps both, was going to die before this quest was finished.

Skuld moaned softly and rolled over. Dawn was breaking over the distant Murdes Mountains in shades of crimson and violet.

Bahr finally called a halt not long after. He judged they’d ridden far enough out and could afford to rest.

“Rein in the wagon,” Boen called out when he caught Bahr’s nod. “We take one hour.”

Nothol and Dorl knew their jobs and didn’t hesitate to wheel their horses about and ride back the way they’d just came.

“Are they leaving us?” Skuld asked groggily.

Boen smiled at his innocence. “No, boy. We wouldn’t be so lucky. They’re going back to sweep the area and ensure we are not being tracked.”

“But why? There is no one following us,” Skuld said. He felt like everything happening was beyond his scope of understanding. He was a common street thief thrown into a world more dangerous and predatory than his imagination was capable of grasping. It was enough to keep him restless.

Boen offered a warm smile. He liked Skuld, but the boy was no Gaimosian. One of the biggest issues Boen had in dealing with others was that he often forgot they did not come from the same bloodlines as he did. Gaimosians were proud, natural-born warriors. That eventually led to their downfall, but it was the stuff of legends. Boen took things for granted that were difficult or daunting to most others. He didn’t consider it a shortcoming, but it was enough to slow him.

“Just because we killed a handful of brigands does not mean the others will sit back and accept our success,” he explained. “Revenge is a powerful thing. The ones who live will want revenge for their friends.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“They will come. It is natural. Men are predictable beasts, Skuld. Think no more on this. Battle will find us in its own good time. Go and stretch your body. Endless hours of riding, even on a wagon, have a way of twisting your back. Perhaps I will teach you how to use a blade properly.”

Skuld beamed. He enjoyed talking to Boen. The man was like the father he’d never known. He felt part of something, a new and mysterious feeling. It was the simple prospect of learning how to use a sword that bolstered his confidence.

“Go on,” Boen shooed him off.

“The boy has potential,” Bahr commented once Skuld was out of earshot.

Boen shook his head ruefully. “He should not be here. This quest goes beyond the limits of his strengths.”

“The same could be said for all of us. I’m not looking forward to crossing these mountains in winter.”

Boen glanced at the sky. The grey was oddly soothing, reminding him of the trials in his life. He breathed deeply. Moisture dampened the air. “The snows are not far off. Our biggest concern is the wagon. I do not think it will hold up if we run into a bad storm.”

“Hopefully the passes will stay open long enough for us to find this forge and get back.”

“Assuming the Giants have the hammer. This might be the beginning of a long journey.”

The Sea Wolf frowned. The first few snowflakes splashed on his dark green riding cloak and dissolved. Another winter, he thought. Bahr hated winter.

“How did we get entangled in this?” Boen surprised his friend. “Gods and Giants. I never would have believed such things a season ago. There has got to be an easier life than this, Bahr.”

“I am sure there is but you and I both know that neither of us would know what to do with it. Like it or not, this is our life. It is all we are.” He forced a shiver. “Dorl and Nothol should be back soon.”

Boen snorted, his breath shooting a plume of mist into the air. “With the enemy close behind no doubt.”

“Ha! Like you would have it any other way.” He clapped Boen’s shoulder playfully.

They walked back to the wagon to snatch a quick meal of dried venison and dark bread. Bahr dug into a sack and produced a quarter wheel of yellow cheese and cut two large chunks, one for each of them.

“This cheese is horrible,” Boen grimaced between mouthfuls.

“No one said you had to eat it.”

“I will take it if you do not want it,” Anienam offered cheerfully. He rounded the wagon with a smile almost as large as his stomach.

Boen stayed him with a hand. “Hold yourself, wizard. I’m a bigger man with a bigger appetite, despite the quality of the food.”

Anienam waved him off. “Oh bother. Eat your own food, Gaimosian. Just remember to slide any uneaten tidbits my way.”

They laughed. Humor was the one thing men needed on a campaign if they expected to maintain some measure of sanity. Dark hours lessened with the wonders of humor, even if most people did not quite understand the quirks in it. Only Ionascu remained silent. His narrow eyes never stopped watching them with a growing cloud of disdain. These were not his people. He desired to be back in Chadra, enjoying the spoils of his efforts.

Boen pulled the stopper from a flagon of ale they’d confiscated in Praeg and drank deeply. “Tell us, wizard, what is so damned important about this hammer? How can we be sure it even exists? It has been my experience that such tokens are naught but legend and myth.”

Anienam took the offered ale to wash down the last of his bread. “The Blud Hamr exists, I assure you. It is the one thing capable of destroying the curse of the dark gods. Or so I recall reading.”

“Is this from that book you risked your life for in Chadra?” Maleela asked. She drew her knees up and wrapped her lithe arms around them.

“That and the royal libraries down in Averon.”

Rekka Jel busied herself by sharpening her sword. She occasionally looked up when a certain word or phrase caught her interest. Rekka was a pragmatic woman. Her people did not bother with what if or why. They focused on the now and the events they could control. Life was too precious to be spent worrying about potential futures. The jungles of Brodein were harsh, unpredictable. Death was just as easy to find as life.

“I have a hard time with placing my life in the hands of some mythical weapon,” Boen stated aggressively.

“Phaelor is real enough. That is the sword young Fennic used to kill the Silver Mage in Gren. Sometimes all we need is faith, Boen.”

“Easy for you to say. I have never seen this sword, or the head of the hammer. I need more to go on than whims and dreams. When was the last time anyone saw it?”

Anienam paused, if but slightly. “Phaelor was last used by the Elves close to one hundred years ago.”

“And the hammer?” Boen was growing impatient. The old man was stalling.

“The hammer has not been seen since the time the book was written.”

Bahr did not like the sound of that. “Which was when?”

“Longer than any of us can recall. My guess would be hundreds of years at minimum. The Mage War has been over for a long time.”

The ensuing silence was almost frightening. Their quest suddenly become a lot less clear. Uncertainty and doubt gnawed at their reasoning. Hundreds of years. Not even the fabled long lives of the Elves were enough to remember those days.

Bahr attempted to wipe the stress from his face. He supposed they were fortunate the sell swords weren’t back yet. Dorl would have exploded. They still will, he surmised. Things had gone from bad to worse.

Anienam felt the balance shifting away. “We have no reason to believe that it does not exist or that it is not being well cared for.”

“In Venheim?” Maleela asked.

“Possibly, but who can say for sure? The Giants keep their secrets closely guarded. I still have much to read. The authors do not jump to conclusions. Keep hope in your hearts,” he told them with as much confidence he could muster.

“We’re doomed,” Ionascu chuckled eerily from his perch.

A Rebellion Born

“How? That is all I want to know. How can one old man and a cripple escape from this dungeon so easily?” Harnin fumed at his captains.

Silence was the reply. Technically Harnin had no authority over the others. They were all captains of Delranan, but since Harnin had fallen under the subversive influence of the Dae’shan, he had risen above them and secured power. He had become a far greater tyrant than Badron ever dreamed of. Harnin wanted power, raw and unadulterated. A thousand deaths were not enough to sate his thirst. He was a man in need of death.

“We believe they had assistance from inside the keep,” Jarrik answered. He had been one of Badron’s staunchest supporters and was easily converted by Harnin.

Harnin’s gaze hardened. “Thank you for stating the obvious. I want the guard purged. Find out who the traitor is and have him executed.”

“There is little doubt who it is, Harnin.”

“Who?”

Jarrik cleared his throat. “There is but one of us who is not here. Lord Argis must be the traitor. How else can he explain his rash of absences?”

The weight was removed and had served a dual purpose. Jarrik was glad to finally get Argis’s name in the open. He also saw a sliver of space for advancement and the possible replacement of Harnin. Jarrik quietly plotted, patiently awaiting the day when Delranan would be his.

“Badron should have taken him on campaign. He would be more fortunate to find a Rogscroft arrow in his heart than with what I have in mind,” Harnin cursed. “Ulfdane, step forward. I have a task for you.”

A young blond man slipped between the others. He had the sharp look of a wolf on the hunt. Huge muscles bunched beneath his leather jerkin. His arms were thickly corded and veined. He was every bit the symbolic champion Harnin needed.

“My lord,” his deep voice rumbled.

“Find me Argis. I want his head.”

Jarrik spoke up. “Why should he remain here in Chadra? Argis has to know that we will have guessed his involvement by now. He surely would have left with Bahr.”

“No. He is still here. There is more for him than the blind devotion to the king’s daughter. Argis is in Delranan.”

Heimdol rubbed his chins. “If what you say is true, perhaps he has a hand in this rumored rebellion.”

Harnin grimaced at the fat redhead. Rebellion. He hadn’t thought much of those rumors until now. Nothing had happened publicly and no public credence was being given to the rumors of some underground movement. People complained about raised tariffs and the amount of supplies being diverted to the army, but that was their right and it was common enough. No ruler had ever had the full support of the population.

“Who witnessed the escape?”