Even Gods Must Fall - Christian Warren Freed Page 0,26
to the real money. I’d like to be the one to take a swing at the king’s brother. Think of the bonus I’d get!”
Scarface yawned and rubbed his lower back. “Been a long while since we was forced to ride like that. I need some sleep.”
“Too bad you got next watch,” Pock Face reminded him. “I’ll be dreaming about your old lady though.”
“Go on ahead. Make sure you get whatever new diseases she done picked up too,” Scarface said and laughed.
“I’ll take the watch,” Boen offered. “I can’t get no sleep no how and my turn ain’t been called tonight.”
“Thanks, friend, but you ain’t getting a cut of my pay.”
Boen shrugged. “Don’t need it. Go and get before I change my mind.”
Without needing additional encouragement, Scarface trudged off to his sleeping roll, leaving Boen and Pock Face standing in awkward silence. The two studied each other, sizing each other up. Boen could tell the mercenary was trying hard to figure out whether they knew each other or not. He reached up to scratch his jaw, careful to avoid the awful scarring on his lower cheeks.
“Got a problem?” Boen asked defensively.
“Maybe. I don’t think I know you, friend.”
Boen tensed, ready to attack and flee. “Don’t see as to why you should. I joined up with that last batch of recruits when we was heading out of Chadra. Boss didn’t want to take me on at first cause of my age but I convinced him otherwise.”
“How?”
“By shoving this blade under his throat and telling him how much I needed the job,” Boen growled, casually showing his broadsword to the mercenary.
Pock Face blanched slightly at the size of the weapon, knowing he’d have difficulties wielding it in battle. “Well…ah, sounds good. I’m gonna take a piss. Watch my post?”
Boen nodded. Nervously, the mercenary headed out into the darkness to relieve himself. Boen waited a handful of seconds before drawing the dagger tucked in his waistband and stalked after. He came upon Pock Face just as he was tying his trousers up. A whirl of movement disturbed the night. Boen’s blade flashed once as it sliced neatly across the mercenary’s throat. Blood bubbled and frothed as it ran down between fingers desperately trying to seal the wound. But Boen had cut deeply. Pock Face would be dead in a matter of moments, leaving the Gaimosian free to make his way back to his horse and figure out how to deal with the ten mercenaries heading his way.
He snatched the body by the neck and waist and dragged it off into a small clump of holly bushes. Boen didn’t wait for Pock Face to die before wiping his hands clean on the snow and, after checking the camp a final time, sprinting off into the night. Sighing, he knew he was in for a long one. There was much to be done before he could appropriately welcome his coming guests.
SEVEN
A King Returned
Badron, deposed king of Delranan and tyrant of the north, sat staring at Harnin One Eye’s corpse as it swung gently in the late morning breeze. Crows had already pecked out the eye and both cheeks. No greater fate was deserved for a usurper. Once friends, Badron and Harnin carved Delranan into their own vision. Badron still wasn’t sure what went wrong. He’d gone off to war with the intent on bringing Rogscroft to heel and, potentially, forming the first northern empire. Harnin was supposed to keep Delranan running smoothly, pouring supplies and follow-on forces to the war effort. None of that happened.
Each person Badron questioned told the same tale. Plague and rebellion. What little remained of Badron’s once mighty kingdom didn’t deserve the title. Whole villages were gutted. The population, what was left of it, was downtrodden to the point they were ready to give up. Coupled with ferocity of this past winter, the kingdom of Delranan slowly faded away.
Badron was no fool. He knew that deep down at the core of the issue was the Dae’shan. Their eternal need to mess with mortals were already driving him mad. It didn’t take much to think they would have done the same or worse to Harnin. Badron hadn’t seen Amar Kit’han or the other Dae’shan since fleeing Rogscroft in shame. The betrayal of the Wolfsreik rocked his belief system. He lacked allies and, most of all, Kit’han’s guidance.
Taking the first fort in the long string of defenses had been relatively easy. His return left him questioning his principles. This wasn’t the same kingdom he’d