Tides of Blood and Steel (36 page)

“We were supposed to win,” he whispered.

“Fall back!” bellowed the order over the battlefield. “Fall back to the stairs!”

The defenders collapsed as orderly as possible. Raste knew that had the reinforcements not arrived it would have turned to a slaughter. His heart doubted it was going to end any other way.

King Stelskor struggled to stay calm as he watched his enemies press in from all sides. Companies of Wolfsreik were steadily enlarging their hold on his walls while the Goblin army continued to waste lives at the front gates. He occasionally caught glimpses of his son, his silver armor reflecting the demonic red glow from so many fires. The king bit his trembling lower lip. Hope was lost. The enemy numbers were too much to defeat. Tears softened his once hard face.

“Sire, you must go now,” Paneolus urged. “Time is gone.”

“I cannot. Not while brave men still stand,” he all but whimpered.

Venten shot the minister of state a pleading stare. Stelskor had never looked so old. His regality was gone, transformed by age and wrinkles. His skin was much paler than it once had been. His eyes had lost their luster and now simmered a dull brown. Venten frowned. “You are the city, Sire. So long as you survive, we do. You must evacuate now before the chance is lost.”

A flash of old confidence flared. “Have you no confidence in me, my old general?”

The others in the small band stared at him in muted shock. Venten held his tongue. This was no time for secrets and his was the least important. More important issues demanded attention.

“Sire, faith has nothing to do with reality. This city is lost. The only thing that remains undetermined is how many men will die before the end. Sound the retreat. Let us make haste to Grunmarrow with as many men as we may.”

“What say the rest of you?” the king demanded.

Paneolus shook his head, excess rolls of flesh jiggling uncontrollably. As minister of state, it was his responsibility to manage all aspects of the governance of Rogscroft. He had failed. “Sire, leave now. There will be no other chance.”

Stelskor turned his eye towards General Vajna. The general of the armies folded his thickly corded arms across his barrel chest and looked down at his boots. The shame of defeat wormed deep into his psyche. “We must retreat.”

Venten made to talk, but was cut off curtly by the king. “I already know your counsel. All of you have provided me and this proud city sage counsel for years. But look around you. Everywhere brave men die, men from both sides. This is a sad day.”

He turned, leaving the marbled balcony to sit upon his throne one last time. His hands slid, almost caressed, along the arms. His head nestled into that familiar spot on the cushioned back. Stelskor closed his eyes and sighed from the heavy weight in his soul.

“Very well. Sound retreat. Start with the wounded. I do not want a single man left behind for our enemy’s amusement.”

Paneolus and Vajna bowed and were gone amidst a host of bodyguards and administrative assistants.

Stelskor stopped Venten from following. “Wait a moment, old friend.”

He winced, suddenly afraid of what was coming.

Stelskor stared deep into his eyes, making Venten worm uncomfortably. “Find my son, Venten. Get him out of here alive no matter what he says. Guide him in the coming days. Rogscroft is going to need strong leadership if we’re to find a way out of this mess.”

The old general nodded. “I shall do my best, Sire.”

Argis

“We should start with burning down the barracks at the docks. Harnin won’t be able to attack us so quickly without a nearby base of operations,” Joefke told them.

He tapped the tip of his index finger on the torn and faded map.

“It might buy us a little time, but how much?” old man Fenning said as he casually chewed a mint leaf.

Joefke rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t slept in two days. “Harnin isn’t going to just walk away or offer terms at the bargaining table, old man. Every little victory gives us more credit and more willing bodies. That will be enough to turn the tide before the end.”

Fenning offered an empathetic glance. “Maybe. Maybe it will be enough.”

More than anything, Joefke hated being treated like a child. He had already proven himself a dozen times in the rebellion, earning Argis’s praise more than once. He very much wanted to quit and go home, but that was impossible now. There was no safe place in Delranan. Innocent people were being abducted, never to be heard from again. Paranoia was out of control.

Inaella, a black-haired beauty who chose to hide behind heavy, burdensome clothing, interrupted. “I think Joefke is right. We can hurt their ability to hunt us by burning the barracks.”

“At what cost?” Fenning asked them.

“Sacrifice, Fenning,” Joefke answered. “Isn’t that what Argis has been preaching this whole time? It is the only way we will win.”

The room fell silent at the mention of Argis’s name. The former Delranan lord was strangely missing. Joefke was deeply troubled, but refused to speak those fears aloud. Argis never missed a council meeting. Never.

The door suddenly burst open. A wild-haired youth of no more than twenty summers slipped past the pair of guards. His face was flushed and he gasped for breath.

“What is the meaning of this?” Fenning demanded.

“They…they have Lord Argis!”

Joefke felt his world shatter. “How is this possible?”

“The city guard raided the house he was staying in. I watched soldiers drag Argis away, I swear!”

Glass walls shattered. The rebellion lived or died with Argis. The future of Delranan had shifted drastically.

“Where is he now?” Inaella asked. The panic in her voice terrified Joefke.

“Up to the Keep, ma’am.”

Joefke’s blood chilled. “We have to get him before Harnin gets him inside those walls. It’s the only chance we have.”

“That is exactly what the enemy wants us to do,” Fenning warned. “We’ll be slaughtered if we move now.”

“We owe him our lives!” Joefke protested.

“This is the reason we shouldn’t waste them in an ill-conceived rescue attempt.”

“He has a point, Joefke,” Inaella added. “We risk everything by going to the Keep unprepared. It’s what Harnin has been hoping for, to break us and force us to act brashly. Besides, there is no way we can assemble a force strong enough in time. You know this is true.”

His features, once pleasant and angular, contorted with rage. He felt abandoned. A good man’s life was nothing to these people. Joefke decided that the members of the council had become ineffective. He no longer wanted anything to do with them.

“The only truth is that you are all cowards! That man gave up everything for us, for the kingdom, so that we could build a better future. You repay his efforts by choosing to condemn him to torment and death from the security of an anonymous room while pretending we are not at war. That is not good enough for me. He’s about to die for your cowardice. I will not let that rest on my soul.”

“Joefke, hear us out,” Inaella urged softly.

He spun on her, pointing fiercely. “I am done listening. Stay away from me, all of you. I am done with this, with you. You have shown me you don’t know how to lead.”

He stormed out, leaving the council submersed in a combination of guilt and shock. The younger man had always been a hothead. This outburst only proved Fenning’s point. The older farmer hung his head. His eyes bore a glassy look. Part of him wanted to call the man back, but pride wouldn’t let him. The combined loss of Argis and Joefke would haunt the council much more severely than they could understand until it was far too late.

Joefke crept through the shadows. Frost formed under his nose, in his eyebrows. He clung to the trees and buildings lining the main road up to Chadra Keep. His heart struggled to burst free from the fleshy prison of his chest. The sweat forming on his chest threatened to freeze. Sounds amplified beyond reason. Instincts begged him to turn back now. He knew he was going to get caught. Delranan’s darkest hour swallowed him.

He pushed forward, trying desperately to stay focused and on task. His conscience whispered for him to abandon this foolish quest and rejoin the council. Like Fenning, pride wouldn’t allow it. Joefke swallowed his rising disgust with himself and pushed on. The jangle of steel chains drifted from just up ahead. He surged forward and was rewarded with a fast glimpse of Argis. His heart sank with defeat. A full platoon of guards surrounded the former lord. Hope of rescue deflated, Joefke nearly cried. Heavy infantry. The guards were heavy infantry, not the paltry city guards that had been conscripted to stem the rising violence. Joefke hung his head. Dawn was not coming for the rebellion.

The armored column marched up the hill and into the gaping jaws of Chadra Keep. Joefke leaned heavily against the nearest building and watched helplessly as the gates closed behind the last rank. For the first time since joining the rebellion, he truly felt lost. Pain and horror mocked him. He sank to his knees and stared up at the forbidding wooden walls of the Keep long into the night.

* * * * *

“We finally have him,” Jarrik said as smugly as possible.

Harnin One Eye watched him with an evil look.
Finally
. The last obstacle to solidifying his claim on Delranan was about to be removed. Not even Badron and the Wolfsreik were going to return in time.

“Where is he now?”

“Burg escorted him into the dungeons.”

Harnin nodded absently. His mind already raced ahead to infinite futures. “Is he unharmed?”

“As far as I know, though not from a lack of want.”

Harnin’s face hardened. “My orders are not to be disregarded. I was very clear on this matter, Jarrik.”

Jarrik struggled with the urge to lash back. “My men understand perfectly. No harm has come to Lord Argis.”

“Argis is no longer a lord in this kingdom! He forfeited that right when he turned his back on king and land.”

Harnin pulled on a bearskin cloak, cinching the ball tight around his waist.

“What are you planning?” Jarrik asked suspiciously.

Harnin shot him a sharp, almost malevolent smile. “I am going to have him executed from the top of these very walls not long from now.”

“What? Why wait?”

“I want the word to spread to every corner of this city. All of Chadra will come to watch the fate of traitors. A new day is about to dawn for us. The rebellion is over.”

Jarrik remained unconvinced. “And the king? What will Badron think when he comes home?”

“That is my concern, not yours. See to the defenses. I do not want my gift to the people interrupted by Argis’s friends.”

Harnin stormed from the room, leaving the younger Jarrik enraged and feeling slightly endangered. Jarrik swore he heard the faint hissing of laughter coming from the darkest corner of the room.

“Open it.”

Harnin’s voice carried a harsh edge, partially from the unforgiving rock walls lining the dungeons. A pair of guards obeyed quickly lest they earned the One Eye’s displeasure. The door groaned open. Harnin took one step inside and waited for his eye to adjust to the gloom. He smiled as Argis came into view. Overwhelming vindication for all of the hard work and time he had put into consolidating his hold on the throne threatened to steal this singular moment of joy.

Harnin turned back to one of the guards. “Has he spoken?”

“Not yet, my lord.”

“Good. You may leave us.”

Harnin waited until the door clicked shut before moving closer to the limp body hanging by chains on the far wall. He used an index finger to trace a line through decades’ worth of grime on the wall. “How many people have we put in this cell, you and I?”

Argis barely lifted his head.

“Hundreds? None has been as important as you, my friend.”

He wiped his finger clean on Argis’s torn tunic. “Have you nothing to say?”

“Friend?” Argis asked. His voice cracked, broken from a lack of water. “That word no longer applies to you and me.”

Harnin barked a menacing laugh. “We were never friends, Argis. Only passing acquaintances in the scheme of time.”

“Let me go and we can pass one final time.”

“You would like that, eh? The great traitor Argis allowed a final folly before meeting his demise at the tip of a sword.” His glare sharpened. “The very breath you draw is a mockery to all Delranan stands for.”

Argis tried to spit, but lacked the saliva. “You should have been killed at birth for the snake you are, One Eye. Delranan bleeds corruption. We are not the men we once were, do you not see it? Decadence and evil run freely across the land.”

An accusing finger jabbed in his face. “Propagated by you and your rebellion! We had peace before the king left. His absence allowed your brand to infest the furthest corners in this society and for that there can be no reconciliation.”

“Kill me and get it over with then. I am tired of your voice.”