A Whisper After Midnight (3 page)

*****

Grunmarrow was everything a military camp should be. Secluded in the foothills of the Murdes Mountains and accessible by a single road, the stone buildings were well protected from attack and concealed just enough to keep others guessing its whereabouts. In the six weeks since Delranan had invaded, not a single patrol, Goblin or Man, came close to discovering the hidden base. Massive stone formations ringed the camp. A small stream flowed down from the mountains, providing drinking, cooking, and washing water. Ancient pine trees filled the small draw.

Foresight and careful planning filled the storehouses long before winter set in. Stelskor was a very prudent man and had taken every precaution to properly equip the defenders at Grunmarrow for a long winter. Sacks of grains and flour, dried meats, canned fruits and vegetables, as well as grain for the herd animals, filled dozens of specially built storerooms deep into the mountainside. Candles, cloth, blankets, weapons, and armor filled even more. The two smiths echoed metal-working constantly long into the night. Fletchers cut arrows from ash limbs. Fishermen and farmers provided for the ample civilian population. Grunmarrow was everything a military camp should be. It only lacked morale.

Prince Aurec sat upon his favorite tree stump, lamenting the loss of his beloved Maleela. He failed to accept that it was his kidnapping of her that instigated the war. Badron had had his eyes on Rogscroft since both he and Stelskor were boys. He merely used Maleela’s disappearance as an excuse. The resulting wave of destruction proved almost incomprehensible. None of the survivors ever thought to see death and wanton destruction on such massive levels. Six months later and Aurec was still in shock.

His eyes focused on the flames dancing up before him from the small fire at his feet. Gold, red, and orange flickered around the tiniest hint of blue, buried deep in the flames. Aurec didn’t want to look away. Didn’t want to accept responsibility for the thousands of men, women and children, his people, living in Grunmarrow while two enemy armies ravaged their kingdom. Didn’t want to be more than a lover to Maleela and perhaps one day a father. He’d never asked to become king, but his inner council decided it was past time he accepted the crown and bore the title of king of Rogscroft. He’d argued. Oh how he’d argued. Rogscroft was no more, reduced to an occupied territory. What use did the displaced have for a throneless king? His words fell on deaf ears. The people needed leadership and it was his inherent responsibility.

The ceremony was set for the end of the week, giving Aurec plenty of time to daydream about running away. Again, he’d protested against one. Venten and several others put him back in his place by reminding the young prince that the ceremony was for the people’s benefit, not his. He could wallow away his nights in solitude as long as the citizens of Rogscroft took some measure of comfort in seeing a new king crowned. So much had happened that the coronation might be the only thing keeping many a good man or woman from ending it all in the cold winter. Too many had already died, leaving the rest a precious commodity.

Sergeant Thorsson saluted crisply and considered waiting for Aurec to reply before giving his report, briefly. “Sire, Mahn and the other scouts have returned. They…ah brought guests as well.”

Aurec scarcely looked up. “Guests? We have no allies, Sergeant. Who will have come?”

“The Pell Darga.”

His immediate reply shook away some of the disease clinging to Aurec. The Pell had openly declared war against the Wolfsreik and Goblins but had yet to actually do much about it. The war continued on at an agonizingly slow pace with very few engagements. Having their representatives in Grunmarrow might be the catalyst they needed to turn the war and begin a new campaign. A spark flared. The old Aurec started to awaken.

“Is it Cuul Ol? How many have come? Are they ready to fight?” he asked too fast.

Thorsson enjoyed seeing the prince regain some of his old self but the questions were too much to handle. He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I don’t have the answers you seek, sire. Perhaps Mahn can address them more appropriately.”

Aurec shot up. “Take me to him, Sergeant.”

Thorsson grinned and led the way through the small huts and homes, emerging into the camp’s outer defensive perimeter. There awaited Mahn and the compliment of Pell hunters. Any hope Aurec had of using the Pell to overpower the Wolfsreik died upon seeing too few arrayed in the open field. The Pell hadn’t come after all.

“So few,” he whispered.

Mahn and Gol Mad noticed the prince first and quickly made their way to his audience. The older scout immediately noticed the growing despair in Aurec’s eyes but was warned not to question by a stiff shake of Thorsson’s head. Instead he saluted and began his report. “Sire, this is Gol Mad, from Cuul Ol’s clan. He’s brought fifty warriors.”

Eyes flicked back and forth as Aurec silently processed the news, or rather what hadn’t been said. Mahn carefully avoided mentioning any sort of formal commitment by Cuul or whether these Pell had agreed to fight in the lowlands. Stifling his sigh, Aurec reached forward to greet the Pell.

“Welcome, Gol Mad. You are most welcome to Grunmarrow. I would offer to throw you and your warriors a feast but we are slightly underprepared for such festivities.”

Many of the words were lost on him, but Gol still managed to sound courteous. “It does the Pell good to see a new king in Rogscroft. We come to fight. To kill wolf soldiers and their foul-skinned friends.”

So much for small talk
. Mahn added, “There is still no official word from the larger clans, leading me to believe Cuul Ol and the others already have their hands filled. The Goblin column Gol saved us from was at least one hundred strong. Never before have their numbers been so high in the mountains. Sire, I believe a new phase of the war is beginning.”

“In the middle of winter? Badron has to be mad if he expects to tackle the Pell and nature in these blasted peaks,” Aurec responded.

“Agreed but the two most likely courses of action are the Wolfsreik scouting for an open passage back into Delranan for reinforcements and supplies or they are preparing to find and destroy as many of the clans as possible before spring. No one in their right mind would expect a full assault this deep into the winter,” Mahn said.

“I need to know numbers, Mahn, before I can commit what little forces I have to the fight. We’ve done well enough raiding supply columns and striking scouting parties, but if what you say is correct we won’t stand a chance against so many.” Aurec turned back to the Pell. “Does Cuul know the Goblins are moving in force against the clans?”

“Many Pell have given their lives against the grey skins. We fight. Cuul Ol and other leaders swear to kill all that come.”

Thorsson nodded approvingly. His opinion of the Pell improved, slightly, making him wish more of his own men were ready and willing to commit themselves so wholeheartedly to the cause. Perhaps then they might have a chance to win the war properly. He glanced back over his shoulder at the sound of approaching footsteps and saw the freshly reinstated General Venten wearily make his way to Aurec’s side.

“Damned illness is keeping me from doing my job,” he coughed and spat. Bright red blood laced the phlegm. “I guess our friends decided to come down from the mountains and join the fun.”

“General, you are hero in some circles,” Gol acknowledged with a bow. “Many warriors sing your glory.”

“I didn’t know I was a hero but I’ll take it,” Venten replied with as much of a smile as he could manage before another fit of coughs wracked him.

Mahn’s eyes crossed ever so slightly at the mention of heroes. Leaning close, he whispered, “Have you got a story to tell?”

Venten shrugged.

“Gol Mad, please make yourself at home among us. We are honored to host the Pell at our fires,” Aurec continued.

“My apologies, prince. We cannot stay. I am here to hear your words for Cuul Ol.”

“I don’t understand.”

Gol adjusted the grip on his short spear. His dark brown skin seemed almost out of place among so much snow and stone. A good foot shorter than Aurec, he was also in contrast to the more well-fed lowlanders. His body was a mass of muscle and terrible strength, folded and shaped by years of harsh living conditions and the fires of combat. The lines on his face came from constant beatings by the weather and his eyes were hard as flint. Shoulder length black hair framed his wide shoulders, giving him a wild, unkempt appearance. Gol Mad and his Pell warriors were natural killers. All they needed was a little push in the right direction.

“The council of elders agreed to war, but we are not strong enough to fight in big battles like you want. We strike at our enemies in the mountains and trees. That is where we are best. At home. Your kind call us Shadow People, and we are. I come to see your camp, your army, and return to Cuul Ol and tell him what I saw.”

Aurec paused, taken aback. He’d been expecting an army of Pell coming down from their mountain haunts to take the fight back to the Wolfsreik. Instead he found a meager war band that might have the drive to fight but were restrained by complicated orders. He felt like hitting something. “Of course, Gol Mad. Please, take food and drink by our fires. Rest the night before returning to the mountains.”

Satisfied, Gol said, “We will eat and rest for a time. Thank you, prince.”

They waited until he returned to his people before speaking. Aurec began. “You could have done a better job convincing them to join us. Cuul Ol’s proclamation happened months ago and we still haven’t seen much support.”

“Sire, I don’t think they have much support to give,” Mahn countered. “My impression is that they are beleaguered under Goblin attacks. This band saved Raste and I from a serious problem. We owe them a lot.”

“I could use about a hundred of them to help train the new recruits, even some of the old ones. I’m not cut out to be an instructor. My talents are wasted in camp,” Thorsson said. His desire to be out in the field almost overpowered his sense of duty to the new king.

Venten coughed again, understanding exactly how the sergeant felt. He’d been with Aurec since birth and had earned his place during the opening campaign of the war. Unfortunately his health continued to decline since the fall of Rogscroft. He couldn’t take to the field any more than the wounded Thorsson. “We all have new jobs, Thorsson. I was just a bodyguard until Grunmarrow. Now I’m the chief of state.”

“Don’t forget hero,” Mahn added.

He frowned.

“There must be something we can do to convince the Pell we need them. It’s not a matter of just getting them to fight. Any fool can do that, but we will lose this war without their full support. Mahn, how were the Goblins equipped?”

“Heavy infantry. They were hunting,” he answered. “Though for us or the Pell I don’t know. We didn’t have much time to analyze the battlefield afterwards.”

Aurec shook his head and placed both hands on his hips. “Keep working on them, all of you. We have to find a way to get them to fight. Otherwise…”

Venten laid a gentle hand on Aurec’s shoulder, much the way a father would his son. “Go and take some rest, sire. We’ll figure out how to break them.”

“I hope so, for all of our sakes,” Aurec said and returned to his hut. His thoughts had already turned back to Maleela and the broken love they shared.

Doubts

Far away, at the southern end of the Murdes Mountains, rambled the much abused wagon carrying Maleela and her companions. They’d set out from Venheim a week ago and were still trapped in the dark limestone and granite mountains, all despite Groge’s assurance that he knew the correct paths down out of the mountains. Of course, he’d never been out of Venheim before, a fact none of the others bothered to consider before setting out.

Maleela wasn’t herself. She doubted any of them were these days; especially after all they’d been through. Kidnapped by the love of her life from her very bedchambers, she’d been hunted ever since. Bahr, her uncle, unwittingly aided her father in stealing her back, thus paving the way for his invasion of Rogscroft. She felt helpless; like it was all her fault. Worse, she discovered a dark hatred festered deep in her soul, but for what she didn’t know.

“You seem troubled,” Anienam Keiss, the odd wizard, commented from his driver’s seat on the wagon.

“We should all be troubled, Anienam,” she answered. “How does any of this make sense to you? We’re chasing ghosts.”

The wizard snickered softly. “What do you mean?”

She shot him a withering glare. “Seriously? Look at us. A boy. Two sell swords that I still haven’t decided if they are mentally capable or not. A foreign woman who’s killed more men than any of the rest of us except perhaps Boen.” She gestured towards the massive Gaimosian Knight riding at the front of the group. “I’m convinced you’re borderline insane and I don’t know what I’m doing. That brings us to our Giant wonder boy who’s never left home. And what are we doing? Travelling halfway across Malweir in search of an ancient weapon that may or may not exist to defeat powers that have existed since the dawn of life. Have I left anything out?”

“Our friend Ionascu,” Anienam added. “He’s perhaps the most broken of us all. I truly don’t trust him.”

“Precisely my point! None of us belong together and you expect us to save the world from something that seemingly can’t be defeated. What’s the point?” she asked.