Tides of Blood and Steel Read online

  Tides of Blood and Steel

  Book Two of the Northern Crusade

  By CHRISTIAN WARREN FREED

  Edited, Produced, and Published by Writer’s Edge Publishing 2014

  All rights reserved.

  © 2014 by Christian Warren Freed.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Other Novels by Christian Warren Freed

  The Northern Crusade Series

  Hammers in the Wind

  Tides of Blood and Steel

  A Whisper After Midnight

  Empire of Bones

  The Madness of Gods and Kings

  Even Gods Must Fall

  A History of Malweir Series

  Armies of the Silver Mage

  The Dragon Hunters

  Beyond the Edge of Dawn

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  About the Author

  ONE

  A New War Approaches

  The crunch of thousands of booted feet rang out over the empty plains. Deer and other animals fled at the sound. Night birds erupted from rocks and broken trees long dead. Stomp, stomp, stomp-stomp-stomp. Hobnails struck the ice-covered snow in a symphony of untamed aggression. Baleful horns bleated over the army, accompanied by the whips of the drivers. Ten thousand voices, cruel and filled with vengeance, were carried on the harsh echoes of long past winds.

  They came from mighty Druem, an almost forgotten volcano in the heart of the Deadlands. The small kingdom lies north of the Darkwall Mountains in central Malweir, butted against the harsh coast. Ever since what remained of the Goblin race conquered the land, only doom flourished. Once, long ago, there had been a dragon under the mountain. The dragon was long dead but the great enemy continued to thrive.

  Evil seldom needs much to take hold. The Dae’shan swept into the Deadlands and wasted little time in coercing the Goblin army to march west into the northern kingdoms. Cold promises were whispered over shadows. The promise of deposing kings and claiming long-forgotten dreams of power and glory enticed the Goblins from their caves. War had returned to the north, finally. Under the masterful manipulations of Amar Kit’han, the Goblin general Grugnak took his army west across the plains.

  They marched for weeks on end, often grinding a grueling pace from sun up to sun down. Nothing enticed Goblins more than the prospect of killing. They came with axe and sword, mace and hammer. Scouting parties found villages along way and the army fell upon them with fury. Only bones remained for the vultures to pick clean.

  Leagues went by. Ankles were broken. A few soldiers deserted after growing drunk on plunder. Grugnak didn’t slow the pace. Those too injured to keep up were killed and fed to the army. Goblins served no master other than their uncontrollable desires. Lesser armies would break, but not Grugnak’s. He used whip and spear. Fresh lands needed to be conquered. Lands where Men had forgotten the scourge the Goblin nation had once been.

  The army crossed mountains and small rivers. Winter deepened, slowing their progress considerably. The Dae’shan returned every so often to check on their progress, berating Grugnak for his incompetence in the process. Each time one hundred Goblins died to sate their commander’s anger. Worse, they knew the war had already fallen on Rogscroft. Two mighty armies were engaged in an all-out war for survival. Grugnak scoffed at the notion of Men fighting. Neither side would know what to think when his ten-thousand-strong army came up behind and drove them into the ground.

  They marched with audacity, daring any kingdom to rise up and repel them. None did. Word of desiccated villagers and ruined villages found way to the larger towns and cities. Kings ordered their armies to form but only in defense. No power in the north other than the Wolfsreik had enough strength to meet the Goblins head-to-head. Grugnak knew that. He placed trust in the Dae’shan, to an extent. They whispered promises of glory too rich to ignore.

  The Goblin army presented a long, winding snake rolling across the countryside. Plague and decay followed. They moved at a murderous pace, covering nearly forty miles a day. Those too weak fell away or were killed outright. Ever the whips cracked and the drums pounded a brutal song. The promise of battle sang in their hearts. The time had finally come when the Goblin nation could return to rise again. All it took was a little push in Rogscroft.

  * * * * *

  An army so large was bound to draw attention, especially one as destructive as the Goblins. Scouts from a handful of kingdoms kept pace from a distance. Careful not to be seen, they counted numbers and whispered prayers to their individual gods. None living could recall the last time such a force emerged from the Deadlands. The portents for the future were ill, indeed.

  Hidden among the sparse pines and gently rolling hills, three figures watched the Goblins with unusual scrutiny. They wore pale cloaks that blended with the freshly fallen snow. Leather-plate armor was form fitting and well used. Knee-high riding boots sank into the snow. Swords, lances, and bows jutted from a dozen places. Their sharp eyes peered intently from beneath their hoods.

  “This is not good,” the tallest said flatly. “What reason have the Goblins for leaving the Deadlands?”

  Their leader shook his head, frowning. “I don’t know, but no good will come of it. What kingdoms lie in their path?”

  “There is naught but empty lands from here to the Fern River. After that is Rogscroft and Delranan.”

  Cocking his head, the leader replied, “You forget Drimmen Delf.”

  “The Dwarves will not intervene, despite their long-standing hatred of the Goblins.”

  “Odd, considering they were once the same,” said the taller. “Are you sure we should get involved?”

  “No war needs to be fought, or so I’ve long believed,” the leader said. “King Thord has asked for our aid and we are bound by honor to give it. The Dwarves are decent enough folk, for mountain dwellers. Our duties lay in Drimmen Del
f.”

  “What of the Goblins? That is a large army.”

  Giving the enemy one final look, the leader said, “News will spread quickly. They head to attack the world of Men and Men must fight them. We ride for Drimmen Delf. Our war is separate.” For now, at least.

  * * * * *

  Arlevon Gale was a hallowed place, long forgotten by Men and gods. It was once a mighty city in an inhospitable land. Priests and holy men traveled across Malweir to come to the sole place of power capable of delivering their prayers successfully to the gods, for here the veil between dimensions was thinnest. Ever receptive of the cries and pleas of the people, the gods relished the attention. After all, how can a god exist without believers?

  Now only ruins remained. The surrounding area was overgrown with thick, winter vines and heavy undergrowth. Trees broke through the original layers of stone and rotted wood. Defaced statues stared accusingly, their features long worn away. They once guarded the paths to the inner citadel. Crumbling towers jutted up from the improvised forest. The stone, once an immaculate steel grey, now languished under years of neglect and grime. Empty windows stared out at the world like so many empty eyes, accusingly and sad. Most of the wood had rotted away, leaving a hollow shell of former splendor. Arlevon Gale was forgotten, but sometimes forgotten things refuse to die.

  “This place hasn’t been used in centuries,” Kodan Bak remarked snidely. Concealed in his billowing onyx cloak, the Dae’shan floated inches above the ground. Flat red eyes glared from beneath his cowl.

  Amar Kit’han’s frown was lost within the solitude of his own hood. “Humans are forgetful creatures, Kodan. Underestimating them will prove your downfall.”

  “We have stood for ages, unchecked and unhampered by the plodding rituals of the mortals. They are an ignorant race incapable of maintaining any semblance of dignity.”

  “You forget we were once human.”

  “A fact I’d do well to keep forgotten. Mortal flesh was a hindrance. A means to an end if you will,” Kodan replied.

  Amar Kit’han, eldest of the four Dae’shan, folded his arms across his chest and turned away. He’d endured hundreds of years of counterplotting and subterfuge from his subordinate. There was no doubt Kodan Bak wanted to be in control. His desires bled from his robes like venom from a snake. But what the lesser Dae’shan had for ambition, he lacked in execution. Kodan Bak was a creature of convenience and delay. Thus far the situation to usurp Amar hadn’t presented itself.

  “Our former humanity is most assuredly a weakness, but can be used to advantage,” he said and paused. “If you are wise enough.”

  Kodan ignored the rebuke. “Wisdom is relative to desire. Why have you brought me here?”

  “This is where the final battle will happen. Arlevon Gale was once a place of immense power, rival only to the great nexuses.”

  “Which have all been either destroyed or closed to us,” Kodan reminded bitterly. Yet another reason to despise the blundering mortals and their determination to remain independent.

  “True, but the power within these ruins is enough,” Amar insisted. “There will be only one chance before the moment is lost. We must not fail.”

  He stared down at the faint blue aura clinging to the ground. The power was ripe, aching to be accessed. With the collapse of the Mages nearly three centuries ago, a power vacuum emerged. Only a handful could access the true strength of the world. Amar Kit’han knew the advantages lay in his favor. But for one: Anienam Keiss, last descendant of the Mages and adopted son of the great Dakeb. A time of reckoning was fast approaching. A time when Dae’shan and Mage would end their long-running war. Only one would walk away, and even Amar Kit’han’s inflated sense of confidence wasn’t enough to convince him that it would be him.

  “The pieces are in motion, Kodan Bak. The final game has begun. We must be quick to seize the advantage,” he paused, debating whether or not to speak the next thought. “I worry that the last Mage spawn is gathering strength. We must exhaust all possible resources in trying to stop him.”

  “He should have been dealt with long ago,” Kodan sniped. “You leave too many windows open. Your inaction will return to haunt us before this affair is ended. What of Pelthit Re? It has been too long since we last heard word from him.”

  Amar tilted his head skyward, as if sniffing the cold wind. “He is…occupied in Chadra with the One Eye. All is moving according to schedule, but we cannot delay. I need you to travel to Gren. There are rumors of Gnaals roving the countryside. Find them and send them to Trennaron.”

  “You think he is going to pose a threat?”

  “Artiss Gran has been a threat from the moment he abandoned us. The Gnaals must find him and kill him.”

  “A difficult task. He may not be a part of us but his powers remain,” Kodan countered.

  “Break him. Expend every resource. He must not live if we are to stop the Mage spawn,” Amar snapped.

  Kodan nodded agreement. “Where will you be?”

  “I must return to Badron. His mind is yet hale and it will take more to break him enough to be usable for my purposes. The northern kingdoms are about to be torn asunder, Kodan Bak. Hatred and enmity will spread through the population like a plague. An unstoppable machine with one true intent.”

  Amar didn’t bother watching as Kodan folded darkness around him and disappeared with no more than a wisp of black cloud. Yes, my insubordinate friend. All of my problems will soon be dealt with appropriately.

  TWO

  Thoughts of Revenge

  Life seldom follows the path of dreams. Men spend years of their already limited time on Malweir thinking about tomorrow, waiting for the turn of the sun when they might find opportunity to make their move. Fate or destiny never asks for personal opinions, never cares what man wants next. The universe moves to the tune of pre-written plans without consideration of those involved. Each time the sun chases the moon away, a new opportunity arises filled with promise or despair. For as surely as the need for promise, to hope for better days, is vital to the continuation of existence, the utter dread of despair lurks just behind.

  Delranan had become a dangerous place in the span of a few short weeks. With the main army gone to war in neighboring Rogscroft, Harnin One Eye assumed control and immediately began executing his will through ruthless aggression. The weak fell quickly, accepting the sudden change and direction in which the kingdom was ruled. Fear kept many others in line, yet it was fear that drove Harnin’s actions. He was a man used to standing behind the power, not being the power itself.

  Most surprising to the entire kingdom was the rise of the rebellion. Under Badron there’d been no need to turn against the crown. While he was no saint, Badron ruled with enough wisdom to be perceived as fair. Harnin erased it all. Jails filled overnight. Still more disappeared and wound up in the Keep’s dungeons. He feared that the only way to hold power was through eliminating his opponents.

  Bahr was the first. The forgotten brother of the king had been an ignored thorn in the kingdom’s side for far too long. Some residual of childhood feelings kept Badron from doing what needed to be done. Harnin lacked no such restrictions. His campaign against Bahr began the moment he convinced Badron to hire him to retrieve Maleela. The rest was too easy. Soon Bahr found himself locked in a dungeon cell awaiting torture and execution. The only complications arose when Argis showed his true colors and freed the prisoners.

  The orange glow on the near horizon made Bahr sick to his stomach. Occasional tongues of flame licked hungrily over the trees and rooftops. Harnin’s first move had been to set Bahr’s ship on fire, reducing his capabilities as well as his preferred mode for escape. Bahr had spent so much time on the Dragon’s Bane that his life was inexorably tied to the aged timbers. It represented all that was good in him and offered him a sense of purpose. And now it was gone. His life would never be the same again. Heavy sorrow settled over his soul. Instincts screamed for him to hunt down Harnin and end this game. Justice could only b
e served by killing Harnin One Eye.

  Rekka Jel, ever the wise counselor, saw his discomfort. “I know what your heart desires, Captain Bahr. I have felt your sorrow in my life as well. There will come a time when you get to play out your revenge. Now is simply not the time.”

  “If not now, when? I am tired of being told this is not the right time. Harnin must be punished for all of it. For my boat. For what he did to my friends. And for what he is doing to my kingdom.” He wasn’t sure what made him add the last statement. Ignored by his father and brother, Bahr never held aspirations for the throne and seldom felt akin to his native land. Delranan was his kingdom by birthright, but it offered little comfort to the self-exile.

  “He will be punished,” she quietly affirmed. “But we have risked much to save your niece and cannot allow ourselves to become distracted until the main task is accomplished. This war is just beginning.”

  He tensed. “I don’t give a damn about the war. All I want is that man’s head.”

  “I promise you shall have it. The way ahead is still dark, but make no mistake. It is filled with danger and will be long and arduous. If the Dae’shan are not stopped, all we know will come to an end. The dark gods will have dominance over Malweir. Stopping them must be our primary focus,” Anienam added.

  Argis leaned close to Boen and whispered, “What are the Dae’shan?”

  Anienam answered before the Gaimosian opened his mouth. “That is a difficult answer to give. Once they were the neutral guardians of the will of the gods. They became corrupt, much as the crystal of Tol Shere corrupted the Mages. The Dae’shan allowed an unnatural need for power to consume them until only a shell of what they had been remains. They are altogether evil now. Twisted and wicked. A shame, really, considering what they had once been.”

  “I thought the gods abandoned Malweir long ago?” Argis suddenly had a bad feeling gnawing at his insides.

  Anienam nodded politely. “To an extent. The gods of light abandoned their claim on Malweir, leaving it to us how best to rule and exist. The dark gods, exiled by the forces of good, have never stopped trying to return from their abyssal prison. They subverted the Dae’shan and use them to execute their will. Many great evils have existed over time, but none so powerful and dangerous as the Dae’shan.”