Empire of Bones (7 page)

Grugnak actually snorted laughter. “You say Pell Darga are on their way here. Who remains in the mountains?”

“Precisely, Grugnak,” Amar praised. “I have several agents that will assist your passage across the Murdes Mountains and further west into Delranan. Do not fear. You will be strong when the time comes to reclaim your lost crown.”

“What of Rogscroft? I am a Man of two crowns. I will not abandon what I have fought so hard to conquer.”

“Nor should you, but there will come a time to focus your thoughts back on this frozen land. The time is fast approaching when the conflict will come to an end. Take heart, King, your hour of glory rises.”

Shadows swirled, folding in on themselves as Amar Kit’han gathered darkness and vanished. Hour of glory? Badron saw only hardship and continued trial in the coming weeks. Winter was on the low side but there were still many weeks left of snow and ice. Worse, this winter proved to be fiercer than any in recent history. Badron felt as if the entire world was against him. Doubts rose. He’d always known Amar Kit’han had ulterior motives but no amount of studying had detected anything.

He felt helpless, like a prisoner on his own throne. Reluctantly, he made his decision. “It appears we are to be companions for a while longer, Goblin. Give the order. Abandon the city.”

Grugnak growled low, his cheeks puffing out with disdain. “Not yet.”

He whirled and stormed from the throne room. There was much to be done before his Goblins so willingly abandoned their hard-earned victory.

Storms

Bahr set down the chalk pencil and rubbed his tired eyes. He’d been straining at the course maps for hours, trying to decipher the river Men code while determining their precise location. His only certainty was that they were still on the river heading south. Beyond that he was at a loss. The barge was uncharacteristically silent. Most of the others had fallen asleep after cleaning up after the battle. They’d gotten rid of the bodies and done their best to wash most of the blood and gore off, fearing the smell would torment the horses. It was fast pitched and over before anyone had a grasp of the flow. He feared the results would differ if not for Boen. The big Gaimosian was a monster with a blade: unstoppable and un-killable.

Heavy footsteps coming from behind brought a thin smile. “You don’t ever sleep, do you?”

Boen handed him a green apple and shrugged. “There will be time enough for that once I’m in the ground.”

Bahr grunted, taking a large bite from the tart fruit. Juice ran down his chin. His friend’s pragmatic view on life was very base, often leaving him questioning his own belief system. “This is usually my favorite time of the day. When everyone is asleep and there’s nothing but the wind in my hair and gentle sounds of water kissing the boat. It reminds me of simpler times.”

“If we were all so fortunate,” Boen commented. “The life of a Gaimosian is freedom. No kings to bend a knee to. No lands beholden us. We roam Malweir in search of meaning. There is no other liberty in the world quite like ours.”

“Some would view that as a curse, my friend. No homes, no place to call yours at the end of the day,” Bahr countered.

“The trappings of an easy life. Luxuries not needed,” Boen countered. “When I lay my head down I am beholden to no Man.”

“So what is the point of living?”

Boen frowned, not expecting deep philosophical conversations at such a late hour. “To truly live. How many can say they experience all life has to offer? I’m not contending ours is the perfect life. Ever since the destruction of Gaimos my people have known only restlessness. We are denied the simplicity of having home or hearth. It is not a life I’d choose to live, to be honest, Bahr. I am getting old. I’m tired. My body aches from today’s battle. There was a time when I would have shrugged it off and found a tavern. I fear my days are waning.”

“We are both in the autumn of our lives, old friend,” Bahr agreed glumly. He’d never expected to hear such confession from the proud Man. “Gaimos was destroyed more than two thousand years ago. Why have your people never settled down and built a new kingdom?”

“There is a legend that says the spirits of our ancestors are imbued within each newborn. That way we learn our history, our heritage. Each Gaimosian knows the price paid for being the dominant military power in Malweir. All of those kingdoms banding together just to wipe out our entire way of life. What a waste. We know there can be no revival of lost Gaimos. The world won’t let us.”

“I’ve never bothered thinking about it that way. I guess your lifestyle seemed so cavalier that I envied you,” Bahr admitted with a rue grin. “The only thing missing is the rescued princess.”

“What would I do with a wife?” Boen laughed. “I’ve had my share of loves over the last few decades, but the quest keeps me from settling. Women would only complicate matters. I don’t need the distractions.”

“You make it sound as if they’re no fun to be around. I know this lady in Stouds that will change your mind,” Bahr teased.

Boen gave him a mildly angered look. “Don’t go putting words in my mouth. I like just fine. I just don’t have the time to take care of one proper-like. Besides, I don’t see a wife in your cabin.”

Bahr lowered his head slightly. He’d never been married, often blaming his brother for the lack of happiness he experienced. Their animosity kept him from his own kingdom more times than not. It was only recently Bahr realized he was using that excuse as a mask. Truth be told, he didn’t know how to be a husband any more than he wanted to be king. Walking away from both seemed the easiest course in his life and he made those decisions without regret, until now. He tried to imagine what it would feel like to come home to a house filled with children’s laughter and the smell of a freshly cooked meal on the table. It was naught more than a dream.

His life was on the water and a troubled marriage it had become. Everything he’d ever known or come to care about was steadily slipping through his fingers. His boat and estate burned. His crew dead. Only Maleela for family or at least family he still cared for. He was as close to being Gaimosian as possible.

Reluctantly, he admitted, “We are more alike than I care to think on, Boen. The only difference is where you were born to live this life, I chose it. I wonder what that makes me.”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t make you anything but a Man. Don’t try to change the world, Bahr. History seldom remembers the exploits of a single Man.”

“Try telling that to the wizard. He seems determined to either prove history wrong or make us all heroes in the end.”

Boen’s gaze tightened. “Heroes usually become such after they die.”

The barge sailed on through the rest of the night and into a tepid dawn. Humidity rose well before the sun. Their clothes stuck to them and everyone had a generally miserable feeling. The biggest noticeable difference came from the massive amount of insects swarming the barge. Gnats and midges hovered in thick clouds, hungry for an easy meal. Mosquitoes with white bands on their legs constantly buzzed around their heads and hands. Every few moments the crisp report of a slap could be heard across the vessel.

“How in the world can anyone live like this?” Dorl grumbled as he tried not to scratch the latest series of bites on the back of his hand.

Rekka grinned sheepishly and handed him a small pouch containing a salve. “Rub this over the bites. It will help with the swelling and pain.”

“What is it?” he asked, hesitant to accept something foreign.

“A salve made from various jungle plants. It lessens the misery long enough for your body to absorb the poison,” she explained. She continued after noticing his queer look. “You are entering my world now. Forget all you know about the frozen north. The jungle is unlike anything you have ever experienced.”

“That’s not very comforting,” he replied dryly. “I happen to like the snow.”

Nothol glanced up from oiling his sword. His eyebrows peaked. “No you don’t. You complain every day.”

“Shut up, Nothol. I’m talking to her, not you,” Dorl fumed. “Besides, I’m just trying to make a point. These bugs are killing me!”

Nothol chuckled and went back to his sword. Sometimes it wasn’t worth arguing. Doral shook his head in distress and began applying the salve. It wasn’t long before Rekka joined in on the joke.

“You haven’t seen anything yet. There are spiders bigger than your hand, centipedes well over a foot long and can kill with a single sting, wasps and…”

“All right I get the point!” Dorl all but screeched. “There’s bugs. Plenty of bugs.”

“Want me to see if the wizard can fashion you some sort of special cape to keep you safe?” Nothol asked.

“Keep talking like that and you’ll need one for yourself,” Dorl fired back.

Sheathing his sword, Nothol rose and bowed at the waist. “You ladies enjoy your beauty regime. I’m heading up to the bridge.”

Dorl’s narrow eyes focused on his friend’s back. He muttered under his breath, “Beauty regime. Say that again and I’ll slice your lips off.”

“He is joking,” Rekka said, head cocked.

“I know, but he didn’t need to say it.” Most of his ire gone, Dorl frowned at the pungent odor coming from the salve. “Are you sure this is safe?”

“I don’t understand. My people have used this for generations,” Rekka replied. “I would not do anything to harm you.”

“That was a joke, Rekka,” he said, embarrassed for poking fun at her. The strange jungle Woman had come to mean more to him than he ever imagined. Dorl wouldn’t say it aloud, but he realized that he needed her. “It’s a defense mechanism. I use humor to calm me down. Sometimes it works, sometimes not.”

“You are a strange people to me, Dorl Theed. The jungle does not have much humor. There is no time for it. Too many things lurk in the shadows waiting to bite and sting,” Rekka said and waited.

Dorl was about to open a pack of rations when he understood what she’d said. His head snapped up in time to see her crack a soft grin. “No humor huh?”

She held out her hands submissively. “I did not say I haven’t learned it since leaving Teng. You should pay more attention to what I say instead of what you hear.”

He smiled ruefully.
Perhaps I should at that. You are special, Rekka Jel. A very special woman
. Smiling, he went back to his breakfast. Another sting on his neck brought another slap.

Groge could not find sleep. He tossed and turned long into the late hours of the night. Tossed and turned right up until the first hints of dawn broke the horizon. Every time he closed his eyes his mind replayed horrific events. The crunching of bone as Ironfoot’s axe split skulls. The way Boen’s sword tore so effortlessly through a stomach. The smell of blood and viscera nauseated him. It was all he could do not to vomit over the side rails. He was a black smith, not a warrior. Until now he had only known peace. That the various lowlander races could entertain such violent deeds without thought troubled his soul. Perhaps Blekling had been correct. The true god did not shine his grace down upon these heathens.

Distracted, Groge finally gave up trying to sleep and sat up. Most of the blood and gore had been washed away but his large nostrils easily detected the odors. Legends said that the Giants were once warlike but learned the error of their ways and fled to the highest mountaintops to study the teachings of their god. Peace and prosperity followed. They dedicated their lives to becoming better beings. All thoughts of violence were soon bred out of them. Groge grew up knowing nothing of warfare. His first true lesson made him want to return to Venheim.

“First time eh?” Ironfoot asked. The Dwarf was leaning back on a pile of crates close by. His thick, corded arms were folded across his chest. His eyes were closed.

Groge studied the Dwarf. They had many similar features, obviously coming from the same genetic pool. Whereas Groge was over ten feet tall, Ironfoot stood a few inches over four. One was bred for combat, the other for crafting tools and wondrous instruments.

“How do you do it?” he finally asked.

Ironfoot stifled a yawn. “I remember my first time. Puked my guts out so hard I was sure the surgeon needed to shove them back in! Ha! War is easy as soon as you learn the truth.”

“The truth?” the Giant asked.

“Simple. Truth is every soldier is expendable. If we die, so be it. Nothing you or I do is going to change that. Once you figure that out for yourself the rest is easy,” Ironfoot replied. “Still, it helps to think of your enemy as animals. After awhile all those faces turn up to haunt you night after night. That’s the worst part.”

“I don’t understand, Ironfoot. Life should be treasured, not mutilated so wantonly.” Groge scratched his cheek. The stubble was an unusual feeling. He’d always been clean-shaven when working in the forge with Joden. These last few days he had come to appreciate the ancient Giant forge master more and more. He wished he could hear Joden’s wisdom now.

“I don’t know how you Giants do things in Venheim, but life down here is hard, painful. You saw only a portion of what my people went through during the civil war. Do you think it’s an easy thing, killing one’s own people? I can assure you it’s not. Be thankful you know true peace, for the rest of the world has never known the flavor.”

Ironfoot fell silent, letting his words sink in. He hadn’t meant to sound so severe, but there was no other way for the youth to learn quickly. Life on Malweir was filled with misery; there was often inconsolable suffering. The sooner Groge understood that, the easier his life would be. They didn’t have time for extended learning cycles. With the jungle fast approaching and then the trek to Trennaron, this adventure was steadily picking up pace. Besides which, Ironfoot wasn’t convinced the river Men had abandoned their plans of revenge that easily. He hoped he was wrong. The world needed more innocence.

Groge stewed on this for a while longer. Never in his life had he imagined becoming entangled in such a web of violence that was practically second thought. The casual disregard for life was appalling on many levels, most of which he failed to comprehend. Groge knew some of the others looked to him as their greatest military asset without knowing a thing about him. The Giant wasn’t sure if he was a pacifist or merely a concerned citizen of the world. He viewed life as the most precious gift their god bestowed upon the world. To treat it as anything less was almost sacrilegious.

Ironfoot cracked his eyes open and noticed his dilemma. “Don’t think too hard on it, my young friend. If any of us had a clue what was going on we wouldn’t be anywhere near here. Trust in Anienam. He is a venerable Man. We are fortunate to have him with us.”

“He is…enigmatic,” Groge replied thoughtfully.