Empire of Bones Read online

  “Our patrols executed their tasks to standard, I assure you. The city was in disarray thanks to the effects of the plague. I wasn’t willing to risk the lives of my Men just to…”

  “To carry out the will of your ruler?” Harnin snapped bitterly. “If my own captains lack the willingness to fulfill their tasks what need have I for them?”

  Rebuked, he struggled to cover his inaction. “We will redouble our efforts. The rebels must have been considerably weakened. Rooting them out shouldn’t pose a problem.”

  “See that it doesn’t. I have no need of incompetent minions,” Harnin said, his voice deceptively calm. “Bring me the captain of the watch.”

  A pair of guards dragged the captain-of-the-watch’s body away by the ankles, careful not to get blood smears on Harnin’s carpets. His death was deemed necessary, even if there was no evidence linking him to the theft. Harnin needed an example. The guard captain was dead the moment Harnin summoned him. It was just a matter of how. Harnin was no stranger to violence. He’d been a warrior in one fashion or another for most of his fifty-odd years. Various battles and campaigns led him to the Man he was today. Or, rather, would have been if not for the dark, Cimmerian influences of the Dae’shan.

  Wiping the needle-like dagger clean, Harnin sat behind the grand desk that had belonged to the kings of Delranan for centuries. Wolf heads were carved on each of the four corners. Ever had the kings been protected by the might of the Wolfsreik. It was only fitting that their desk bore the likeness of those fierce, proud warriors. Twin braziers on either side of the desk provided light and warmth.

  Harnin steepled his hands in front of his face and slowly closed his eyes. So much had happened in just a few quick months he often found it difficult to accept. He knew in his heart that this was not the vision he once harbored for his beloved kingdom. Delranan was supposed to grow under his control. To develop into one of the major kingdoms in Malweir, a northern rival for central Averon. He imagined being proclaimed high king and having lesser lords and nobles make pilgrimages to honor him. None of that seemed likely now.

  Delranan was plunged into despair. The people, what remained, were petrified to leave their homes in the day, much less the night. Under the guidance of the Dae’shan, Harnin took his beloved kingdom deeper and deeper into abject misery. The sad part was he found perverse pleasure in so much misery. Harnin One Eye was not the ruler he should have been, and he had little qualms with it.

  He’d served as Badron’s right hand for decades, always carrying out the dirty work behind the scenes. His intimate knowledge of the king’s dealings gave him leverage and undeniable power. Taking control once Badron had gone off on his ill-advised campaign was all too easy. He’d rounded up those still loyal to the king and had them executed before anyone knew what was happening. The council of lords added weight to his actions, giving him blanket control without the worry of stealing power for themselves. Still, Harnin trusted no one.

  Consolidating power proved slightly more problematic. The main army was gone, leaving a five-thousand-man reserve he called up and deployed across the kingdom. One fifth remained in Chadra for security and in the event an outside threat presented itself. Normally the threat of the Wolfsreik being turned loose kept neighboring kingdoms from having ideations of conquest but with Badron and the army trapped on the eastern side of the Murdes Mountains, the kingdom was wide open for invasion.

  Winter had been brutal thus far, leaving him with the false impression that he had time to enact his plans. Only they weren’t his plans. They were the Dae’shan’s. Pelthit Re clearly had designs for Delranan and wasn’t inclined to include Harnin. The One Eye recognized the fact he was a puppet ruler, but couldn’t find a way out. Not without giving away everything he’d struggled to earn. Trapped, he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  The room chilled suddenly.

  “You seem troubled, One Eye.”

  Harnin’s eye snapped open, no longer surprised with how easily the ethereal Dae’shan came and went as they pleased. He still hadn’t discovered how they simply folded darkness around them and vanished. Until he did, there wasn’t any way to combat them.

  “Perhaps I disturb you,” Pelthit Re hissed from under his cowl.

  The Dae’shan hovered a half a foot off the ground. Six feet tall, he was slender and swathed in dark robes of heavy gray. His hands were folded within his robes, leaving no sign of physical form. Darkness surrounded the Dae’shan. Arrogance pulsed off him, disturbing Harnin more than the Dae’shan could know.

  “No, your council is always welcome,” Harnin replied tersely.

  Pelthit Re studied his puppet with cold, unfeeling eyes. He’d lived for centuries. Always in the shadows of the greater Amar Kit’han, the lesser Dae’shan had once been a virtuous Man. They were the neutral representatives of the old gods, but when the gods of light went away the Dae’shan fell into corruption. They swore allegiance to the dark gods and worked tirelessly to open the gateways between worlds so their new masters could return to lay claim to all.

  “I sense a great deal of turmoil within you,” Pelthit Re said.

  Harnin lowered his hands. “There is much concerning me lately. Rest assured, I can manage my own kingdom.”

  “A kingdom you have neither earned nor won. You wouldn’t be in that chair if not for my assistance. Remember your place, One Eye.”

  “My place is the lord of Delranan!” he snapped. “I am the power in this kingdom. My will is law. Not yours. You remain in the shadows while Men go forth to fight and die in my name. Delranan belongs to me.”

  Pelthit Re cocked his head. “Perhaps you need to be reminded of your station.”

  Waves of power, shimmering in the air like heat on a summer day, lashed out at Harnin. It struck with enough force to blow him back against the wall. Pain shot down his legs as the back of his head hit cold rock. Harnin groaned and rolled to his hands and knees. Coughing blood, he struggled to rise. The Dae’shan struck again, forcing him back to his belly. And again, slamming his body against the wall. Only when Harnin stopped trying to rise did Pelthit Re stop his assault.

  “I warned you,” the Dae’shan accused. “Do not trifle with my power. I am an agent of the dark gods. Mere mortals can’t harm me. I am disappointed in your lack of judgment, One Eye. I gave you this kingdom in the hopes that you would prepare it for a glorious age. Instead you let these pathetic rebels sink you into ruin. Perhaps I should take your head like poor Lord Argis.”

  Harnin coughed, spitting a wad of blood and phlegm. “I can handle my own affairs. Argis was their figurehead. His death was a great blow to their cause.”

  “Was it? You couldn’t prevent his body from being stolen, nor did you extinguish the rebellion when it lay at its weakest.”

  “I have already addressed Jarrik’s incompetence,” Harnin said in a useless gesture of self defense. The Dae’shan would know the truth of it. “He’ll either succeed or find himself under the axe. Delranan is mine.”

  “Your inability to control your own lords is hardly my concern. Will you be prepared when Bahr, brother of Badron, returns with his niece?”

  Harnin frowned. “Why should they return? I burned his ship, his estate. I took everything he had in Delranan. He has nothing.”

  Pelthit hissed laughter. “He doesn’t seek to reclaim any past glory, fool. No, his intentions are far more wicked than even you might imagine. Bahr seeks the Blud Hamr, an impossible weapon from a forgotten era. Should he find it, and return alive, he will remove everything you have done or hold dear, Harnin One Eye. It appears you cannot escape that family.”

  Hatred blossomed in Harnin’s heart. First Badron and now his brother. He cursed that family. “Can’t you stop him?”

  Pelthit Re remained silent, fearing any answer would only give away their ineffectiveness at stopping the king’s brother. Until Amar Kit’han found a way to neutralize the wizard and last descendant of the order of Mages, Anienam Keiss, there was no stopping Bahr from r
etrieving the Hamr.

  Harnin picked up on the hesitance and tried to laugh, stopping quickly when his ribs hurt too badly. “You can’t, can you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be putting so much pressure on me. Your precious Dae’shan are just as weak as we mortals.”

  “I wonder if I have made a mistake in choosing you,” Pelthit Re accused.

  Shock widened his eyes. All of his dreams and possibilities for advancement came crashing down. No matter how weak the Dae’shan might appear, he knew he was no match for even one of the demons. “I can fix this. I swear. Delranan will be strong once again.”

  “See that it is. The alternative will not be…pleasant.”

  Darkness swirled, coalescing around the Dae’shan. The room grew frigid right before the nightmare disappeared. Harnin One Eye lay in misery, alone. Pain lingered throughout his entire body. Smoke puffed up from his hair. He felt abused, both physically and mentally. He was not up to the unique challenge the Dae’shan presented. His only hope was to force the rebellion into making a mistake so drastic Pelthit Re didn’t need to return with threats. Compounding his problems was the nasty rumor that the Wolfsreik was trying to find a way back across the mountains. He frowned, knowing there wasn’t anything to be done about that. He needed to focus on ending the rebellion and fortifying his defenses for when the king returned.

  Harnin slowly picked himself up and, using the wall for support, ambled over to the double window overlooking the town of Chadra and the eastern plains that led to the steps of the Murdes Mountains. Somewhere out there, Bahr and Maleela headed towards a weapon of unimaginable power that could not only destroy Harnin’s fragile hold on Delranan, but the fate of the world as well. Scowling, he regretted not putting either to death when he had the chance.

  * * * * *

  Grumbling at being pulled away from the warmth of his fire, Sergeant Refle secured his sword and went to the small metal door built within the main gates of Chadra Keep. It was well beyond midnight and freezing. A fresh storm had blown down off of the Northern Ocean and was attacking Delranan with impossible strength. Snow drifts piled high in the courtyards. Refle could only imagine how bad conditions were in the nearly ruined city. Not that he cared. The rebels could freeze or starve to death in his eyes. They were a pox on Delranan and needed to be cleansed. The pounding increased.

  “Mind yourself! I’m coming,” he roared through the massive red beard covering his lower face. Ice crystals had formed in the hairs, giving him a wild appearance. Even with gloves on he was loath to touch the freezing sword hilt. “If you’ve got weapons put them on the ground and have your hands raised. I won’t hesitate to run you through, just for getting me out in this damnable cold!”

  He fumbled with the deadbolt and triple locks before setting his hands on the heavy iron locking bar. It took a bit of strength to pull it free but the door swung easily open after. He drew his sword and waited for the visitor to make himself known. Refle tensed as the figure emerged from the night. Not himself, but herself! He briefly considered lowering his sword but had learned that females were just as dangerous as everyone else in these times. He had no intentions of dying for anyone tonight.

  “State your business,” he ordered.

  “I am here to see Lord Harnin,” she replied.

  Refle drew back, taken off guard by the bold request. No one in their right mind wanted to see Harnin. “Who are you? Show your face.”

  She slid a few steps forward until she was cast in the glow of the fire and slowly removed her snow-colored hood. Refle gasped. Her face was pockmarked and shallow. Her eyes seemed much too large for her face and she bore scars from the plague. Her hair, once raven black and luxurious, was stringy and missing in places.

  “My name is Inaella. I was once a leader of the rebellion. I wish to join Lord Harnin.”

  Refle swore under his breath.

  THREE

  The Voyage South

  The Fern River begins on the northern coast of Malweir and flows all the way down through the jungles of Brodein and into the Bay of Cuerlon, covering some three thousand leagues. Moving at a swift pace, the river barge was making nearly one hundred leagues a day. Bahr and the others watched as they left the frozen northern kingdoms and headed towards the fringes of the Jebel Desert on their right. The river Men warned of desert pirates but Bahr was convinced the river Men were the greatest threat. The very looks in their eyes warned that they were going to make a play for everything the moment Bahr let his guard down.

  Pushing sixty, Bahr had made a living on the water, though in a far different capacity. His ship, the Dragon’s Bane, was the stuff of legend. Or had been until Harnin turned on him and burned it to the ground. His gaze hardened at the memory of seeing the flames rise high about the surrounding dock buildings and warehouses. Targeting the self-exiled son made no strategic sense. Bahr, the older son, abdicated all rights of the throne to Badron and took off to raid and explore the northern coast of Malweir. The thought of being trapped by cagey politicians and endless hours of meetings left him feeling uneasy. His one true love was the water. There was an inescapable freedom to be had with the wind on his face and sea spray on his hands.

  His adventurous lifestyle provided him great wealth and standing among the noble houses. Several approached him to perform odd jobs they didn’t want traced back. He became as famous as he was feared. Bahr often thought that was the underlying cause of dissent between Badron and him. One rose to notoriety while the other became mired in politics. Life was fine for the longest, until the day his niece Maleela was born. Badron’s wife died in childbirth, leaving the distraught king hating his daughter. It was an animosity that carried on to this day. Bahr stood up for the hapless girl, causing a rift between brothers. The rift gradually turned to hate and Bahr seldom returned to his birthright after.

  Badron tolerated his absent brother while turning a blind eye to his piratical actions. Harnin, ever in the shadow of greatness, hungered to see Bahr removed permanently, viewing the lesser son as another obstacle. Looking back, it all made sense now. Bahr realized Harnin was a troubled soul with the strong need to take what wasn’t his. The one-eyed Man was the source of a great many problems and a thorn in Bahr’s side. Removing him would go a long way in reestablishing relations with his brother.

  “I can’t recall the last time you didn’t wear a troubled look.”

  Bahr grinned wryly at Boen’s comment. The big Gaimosian was nearly the same age but twice as large. A son of the long vanquished kingdom of Gaimos, Boen was known as a Vengeance Knight. The name was ancient, stemming from the need to reclaim their fallen kingdom. They were the best warriors in Malweir and the most dangerous. He and Bahr had been friends for many decades.

  “I can’t recall the last time I didn’t need to,” Bahr replied.

  Boen grunted and nodded. His gaze swept out to the sand dunes pushing right up to the river banks. “I’ve never liked the desert. Too arid and boring for my tastes. Give me the forest and a host of enemies to prove myself against.”

  “Haven’t you had enough enemies for a while? I was sure those Dwarves were going to be the death of us,” Bahr said. Thoughts of their participation in the Dwarf civil war were still fresh in his mind, even days later.

  Boen turned to him. “The Dwarves are capable fighters, but they’re not Gaimosian. Give me a company of Knights and I’ll sweep our enemies from the face of the world. Still, those Dwarves provided a damned good fight.”

  “That they did,” Bahr replied. The horrors of the Dwarf civil war surpassed anything he had ever seen. He’d never imagined gunpowder weapons, much less cannons capable of such wanton destruction. Everything else paled in comparison. It was only a matter of time before that weapon knowledge spread across the various kingdoms of Malweir. Warfare would grow more violent, deadlier. He prayed he wasn’t alive to see that happen.

  “When do you think it will happen?” Boen asked, shifting the conversation.

  “Hard to say. I don’t think the
y’re going to wait too much longer. The desert isn’t a good place. It’s too open. There’s no natural cover other than these dunes,” Bahr replied. “My guess is they’ll strike once we get closer to rocky ground.”

  “The Graven Forest lies to the east not much further down the river. There are plenty of places for ambush.”

  Bahr nodded absently. They hadn’t had a moment of respite since fleeing from Chadra in the middle of the night. The Dae’shan sent Harpies after them. They’d fought bandits and Delrananian guards. He was feeling every bit of his six decades. Unfortunately there was no end in sight. Anienam Keiss, the wizard, insisted that they needed to rush in order to reach the mythical city of Trennaron in order to recover the Blud Hamr. A lifetime on the open seas left him without much of a sense of urgency. It went against his grain to rush into anything, even something so dire as the salvation of the world.

  Boen folded his massive arms across his chest and spit into the river. “We should take care of it before they can ambush us.”

  Bahr sighed. It was the same argument they’d been having since before leaving the Dwarves. The river Men were bandits and it was unspoken knowledge that they aimed to rob Bahr and the others the instant they felt their guard was down. Reluctant to kill without good reason, Bahr felt his options steadily shrinking.

  “We’d give ourselves away,” he said quietly. “Whoever they have waiting downriver will be expecting some kind of message.”

  “That’s only a problem if we let it become one. Let me take Ironfoot and finish this. I’m tired of looking over my shoulder for no reason.” Boen had that familiar glint in his eye that Bahr had come to dread. Years of friendship left him too close to a great many truths.