A Whisper After Midnight (30 page)

“We are all tired of war, General,” Aurec replied and led the way into the command tent. He continued once everyone was seated.

Growing Darkness

Captain Ironfoot finally allowed himself to drop to his knees and bow his head. His muscles burned. Pain screamed from a dozen wounds. Blood stained his beard and armor, transforming him into a vision of death. It was all he could do to remain standing. So many conflicting thoughts disturbed him. He wasn’t sure how he was still alive, much less on his feet and coherent enough to command his battalion. Or rather what remained of it. He didn’t need to look around to know that a good portion of the Feral Axe battalion lay dead in the snow. Honor demanded he felt shame for still living when so many of those he’d been responsible for weren’t. Hanging his head, the Dwarf captain jerked his axe from the chest of his last victim. The blade tore free after some struggle, accompanied by a sickly crunching sound. Blood and ichor dripped from the nicked and dulled blade.

Ironfoot stood in the center of the field of death. Crows and vultures had come from the mountains to pick at the dead. Thousands of bodies littered the snow for as far as he could see, their dark shapes and the already frozen blood in sharp contrast to the once pristine snow. An iron taint clung heavily to the air. It was unlike anything Ironfoot had ever seen. He looked up at the sound of a Dwarf retching and wondered why he didn’t feel the same.

The cannon barrage had proven horrifically effective. Believing themselves safe from the enemy artillery, the dark Dwarves emerged from their trenches to erect a stern line of defense against the oncoming infantry. They never counted on Thord moving his cannons forward. Hundreds of arms and legs and the occasional head littered the ground around the trenches in testament to the brutality Thord had unleashed. Those Dwarves that didn’t die immediately soon bled out in their trenches.

But that was only the first line. Ironfoot and his battalion had much further to go before getting back to the center of the enemy camp. It was a fight worthy of legend. One he wished he never had to partake in. The sheer amount of slaughter turned his stomach and deadened his senses.
So many friends
. Ironfoot was a soldier, had been for decades. But he, none of them, had ever seen a battle this destructive. He prayed to all of the gods that he never did again.

“Captain, I have the preliminary casualty figures,” Sergeant Bridgestormer said with an uncharacteristically low voice.

Ironfoot couldn’t find the strength to turn. He wasn’t ready for numbers. Didn’t know how the lives of his soldiers could so casually be reduced to facts and figures on a piece of parchment. Heart heavy, he waved Bridgestormer off. “Not now, Sergeant. Give them to me later, after I’m too drunk to think clearly.”

“Yes sir. What are your orders?”

Orders? To whom? For what? The crows will have this place picked clean in no time. The sun will eventually melt the blood-covered snow and the world will go on much like it always has. Why would anyone need orders?
“We cannot help the dead. Have the survivors regroup at the edge of the first trench and see to their wounds. Everyone needs to eat, if possible, and rehydrate. The enemy is broken but still has sufficient numbers to press a counter attack if they really wanted to.”

“I don’t see how anyone would want to make a second run at this,” Bridgestormer remarked. “Was a damned slaughter from the beginning.”

“Yes it was. I wonder if they had any idea what was coming?”

Shrugging, Bridgestormer replied, “Does it matter? This is war. It’s all any of us can do just to make it to tomorrow. Nothing else matters when the enemy closes with you.”

“That’s not very sympathetic, Sergeant. These were once our kin,” Ironfoot said.

“They gave as good as they got. Well, a little less. We won the field, sir. That’s what counts right now. We’ll clear the field. Burn out dead and treat the wounded. Crops will be sown and Drimmen Delf will go on like it has since the First Dawn. We are Dwarves, Captain. Never forget that. I’ll have those numbers for you when you are ready.”

Ironfoot watched his second in command amble off. Bridgestormer offered words of encouragement to others and helped many off the ground. Every guide-on and banner he found he immediately raised to plant upright. The colors of Drimmen Delf soon covered the field, waving triumphantly in the crisp midday wind

*****

“My friends, brothers, comrades in arms! Raise your mugs! Tonight we toast our heroic dead. Each and every Dwarf who gave his life so that Drimmen Delf may continue is a hero. To the dead!”

Hundreds of Dwarves gathered in the main drinking hall raised their mugs, horns, and cups, echoing King Thord’s words. The very ground trembled as Dwarves stamped their feet and pounded hammer-like fists on row upon row of wooden tables. Roaring fires lined the walls. Some cooked giant boars or deer. Others just for heat. Barrels of ale and beer, dark and rich, emptied almost as soon as porters managed to roll them in. Bands played harsh music in the style of ancient Dwarven custom that echoed around the hall.

The celebration feast was an old tradition. Dwarves gathered to give praise to the gods and their fallen. That didn’t diminish the massive effort being undertaken on the battlefield as hordes of Dwarves recovered bodies, weapons, and any other paraphernalia from the battle. The feast came first, followed the next night by the funerals. With the amount of casualties it was going to take almost an entire forest to burn all of the bodies. The Dwarves didn’t think on it. Each funeral pyre was constructed with love and pride. It was considered a great honor to participate in a warrior’s funeral.

Thord drained his mug and slammed it down, signaling for a refill. His beard was already sopping from spilled ale. His belch rivaled the beating drums, prompting laughs from those closest. Even Anienam barked a laugh or two, much to the surprise of his comrades. They were guests of honor, each having contributed to the Dwarf victory. Faeldrin and the Aeldruin occupied a table opposite of the Dwarf king. All fifty strong had come out of the battle unscathed. They secured the river crossings, burning bridges to prevent the dark Dwarves from escaping.

“My ancestors must be laughing down on me!” Thord bellowed. “Elf, Man, and Giant all celebrating in the middle of the Hraldfeist. Ha. These are strange days indeed.”

Faeldrin grinned and tilted his head out of respect. “Very little surprises me after having spent centuries wandering Malweir. I must admit this is a first for my Aeldruin as well, King Thord. We are humbled to be part of such celebrations.”

“The honor is mine. You have been immense aid in our war. For that I name you Dwarf-friend from now until the breaking of the world.” They clasped forearms, one thickly corded and muscled, the other thin yet powerful. “Alas, I wish I could say having an Elf in Drimmen Delf was the strangest happening but so many forces have come at once.”

“Wars seldom develop the way we envision before the first arrow is fired,” Anienam said cheerfully.

“Or cannon,” Bahr added. He still wasn’t sure how or where he fit in. The desire to get back on the road proved almost overwhelming, making it difficult to concentrate on the sights and sounds of the hall.

Thord laughed again. “Damned right. I bet you’ve never dreamed of such weapons.”

“No,” Bahr admitted. “And now that I’ve seen them in action I pray the technology never makes it south into the kingdoms of Men. Such a thing would change the face of Malweir.”

“You can’t halt progress, Sea Wolf,” Thord countered. “Still, most Men I know are petty and wicked. Cannons would ruin everything.”

Boen listened intently, though with a different perspective. He imagined an army of Gaimosians with cannons. Gaimos would never have fallen. Western Malweir would be settled, instead of the lawlessness running rampant now. No, he reasoned. Too many kingdoms banded together because Gaimos had grown too powerful for its own good. Boen decided Gaimos would still have fallen and his people scattered, leaderless to all corners of the world.

Bahr found himself agreeing with the Dwarf. “Do you think the dark Dwarves will return, or have we beaten them to the point where they know better?”

“It’s been my experience evil always finds a way to return,” Anienam said. “And good always finds a way to allow it. A very strange world, ours. Centuries later and I’m still trying to learn the rules.”

“One of the sad state of affairs, I’m afraid,” Faeldrin seconded. “Now that the battle is ended you will want to be on your way.”

“As soon as possible, which will more than likely be the day after tomorrow if we keep drinking like this,” Bahr said. “It’s been a long time since I got drunk.”

“Warriors deserve to feast and drink. We stand in the aftermath of great accomplishment. Your quest will hold a day or two I deem,” Thord replied. “If the wizard agrees with that, of course.”

“I think we can manage an extra day,” Anienam said. “We’ve certainly earned the respite and sorely need the rest and refitting. Bahr would know better, but we need food, fresh water, feed for the horses. Much more I suppose but I am no logistician. I feel claustrophobic just thinking about it.”

Thord leaned over to Bahr after the wizard wandered off and said, “What a strange, old Man. Sometimes I think the world is a better place with only one of his kind.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Bahr said. “He is right, however. We’ll need supplies for the journey south. Also, I would like to take advantage of your armories. Our weapons are in a sore state after the raid and I suspect we’ll have need of them soon enough after leaving Drimmen Delf.”

“They are at your disposal. I’ll have my quartermasters prepare everything once you give them a list of your needs,” Thord replied.

Faeldrin said, “You make it sound as if you’ve been in one long running engagement.”

“It feels like we have.” Bahr finished his ale and recounted their misadventures since being hired by Harnin One Eye. He made sure to leave out his relationship with Badron as well as Maleela’s affair with Prince Aurec. He finished with the wounding of the Harpy in Fedro. Both Elf and Dwarf stood with mouths agape.

“There is more going on than you know, Bahr,” Faeldrin said. “My scouts have received reports from Rogscroft. The Wolfsreik succeeded in toppling the monarchy. King Stelskor was executed by Badron. His body swings from the battlements of the city proper.”

From his table, isolated in the corner, Ionascu glanced up. Strips of cooked boar hung from the corners of his mouth as he listened intently to the Dwarf Lord.

“Rogscroft was the only force capable of keeping Delranan’s aggression in check. I don’t understand how Badron was able to defeat them so easily.”

“He had a lot of aid,” Thord answered. “We spotted an army of Goblins marching west. They must have been at least ten thousand strong. Unfortunately my army was in no position to give chase. The Black Hammer clans had already infiltrated our valley and were preparing to lay siege. I’m beginning to think the wizard is right. Dark times have befallen Malweir.”

“All the more reason for us helping you crush the dark Dwarf rebellion,” Faeldrin said. “The Aeldruin haven’t seen this much action since we enlisted to attack the dragon in the Deadlands, with Anienam’s father. I’m thinking it might be time to take my force west, to Rogscroft.”

“Fifty Elves against twenty thousand Goblins and Men?” Bahr asked. “Even you must find those odds too much.”

The Elf lord grinned. “Odds are for gamblers, my friend. We Elves have been here since the dawn of the world. We know enough when not to interfere.”

Bahr still thought the Elf was crazy. No one in their right mind would travel into the war-torn kingdom now, after it had fallen to a demented king intent on murdering his way to power across half the continent. His brother had always been consumed with gaining power and status, but lacked the proper motivation to pursue his desires. Bahr quietly searched out Maleela, knowing she lay at the center of it all.
The poor lass. All she wanted was a quiet life married to the young prince of Rogscroft. I let love and false pretense ruin that. It’s a wonder she doesn’t hate me for my sins
.

He thankfully accepted the refill of ale and drank deeply. Guilt gnawed at him. He wasn’t sure what his motivations had been when Harnin first came to him, but it wasn’t out of pure love. Maleela was a dear girl. Of that he had no doubts, but they were never close. He’d always assumed it stemmed from her father’s animosity. Bahr was all but an outcast. Badron had seen to that. Now he and his niece were on the run and lost on an impossible journey. The dire warning of the Old Mother haunted him. Maleela was the only one of the family worth saving, at least in his eyes. If she should fall to darkness…He let the thought fade. There was no point in dwelling on the worst possible outcome.

“We drift too far away from the point,” Thord said after finishing his second mug. “The Black Hammer clans have been defeated but we didn’t kill as many as I would have liked. They retain a sizeable force, enough to cause havoc up and down the Spine. Even going by river won’t be safe until you get south, down into the Jebel Desert and beyond.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Bahr countered. “Time is escaping us. We must find Trennaron and get the Blood Hamr back to the north.”

“Provided the city exists,” Faeldrin added. “Our records have no mention of Trennaron for more than a thousand years. Whatever splendor the city once held has either vanished into myth or been carefully removed. I profess to having great interest in your quest.”