Even Gods Must Fall - Christian Warren Freed Page 0,60
were gagged and blindfolded before being carted back to the command group. Wisely, Badron kept his eyes focused on the ground and his mouth shut. Anything else would arouse suspicion. Suspicion he could ill afford.
“Get them moving. The general wants us moving before the day’s out,” a scar-riddled sergeant barked. His ill-tempered look announced his displeasure with being placed in charge of prisoner escort duty.
Badron was secured and shoved in line. The weary column of deserters slowly began the march back towards the bivouac site. What they found went beyond expectations. Shovels were produced and given to as many prisoners as possible. Soldiers issued orders for the digging of a mass grave. Traitors, they snapped, didn’t deserve individual graves while brave soldiers were lowered into the ground around them. Larger than many of his countrymen, Badron accepted his shovel and started to dig. Dark corners of his mind idly wondered if Rolnir was going to have them all killed and thrown in their hand-dug grave.
Briefly he considered turning himself in. Surely Rolnir would find mercy, or at least the political savvy to understand the importance of having the king alive. It was a decision he couldn’t force, worried for his life. Amar Kit’han and the Dae’shan were ever lurking just beyond the corner of vision, leading Badron to believe that should he divulge his true identity it would be a violently swift demise. In the end the deposed king of Delranan slammed his shovel back into the frost-covered ground and dug a little deeper. He had nothing but time before making his move.
SIXTEEN
Refugees and Holdouts
Maleela narrowed her eyes as she stared at the bleak sun. Partially hidden behind a thin cloud bank, the normal brightness was faded, producing little warmth. She’d spent her young life dreaming of days when she’d be able to wander the world under the unforgiving glare of the sun. Badron’s reign over her tightened up to the point when Aurec rescued her. Resentment forced her hands, pushing her into the arms of the Goblins and their Dae’shan keepers.
The day was half gone and Thrask’s forces hadn’t moved more than a league. At this rate they wouldn’t arrive at Arlevon Gale until well after their deadline. She needed to get her army moving again. Revenge and destiny awaited her. Pulling her cloak tightly around her slender shoulders, the princess of Delranan turned her face from the sun, already forgetting the tender kiss of golden light as her mood darkened to deal with the Goblins. The sword at her right hip bounced gently off her thigh with each measured step.
She found Thrask standing alone. His short stature dominated the area. Thick arms were folded over his chest. A double-headed battle axe rested heads down in the snow. Saliva and blood painted his lower tusks. The hatred in his eyes threatened to burn the world down. Maleela snorted. She couldn’t care less about the Goblin’s aspirations for grandeur. He was a tool, nothing more. Malweir was a much better place without the Goblin hordes and she aimed to rid the world of the race the moment Amar Kit’han followed through with his promises. She need only bide her time until then.
“What is the meaning of this delay?” she demanded.
Thrask barely moved. His bull-shaped head turned ever so slightly to regard her with scorn. She was the means to an end. An end he’d already been given leave to execute once the dark gods were released. “We will move when we are ready.”
Maleela stamped her food down and jabbed an accusatory finger. “I command this army and I say we move now. Your soldiers have done nothing but get fat off of the corpses from those enemy soldiers. You’ve had your fun, now order the march. We must reach Arlevon Gale in enough time to perform our mission.”
Thrask uncurled his clawed fingers. “You threaten me? Dae’shan or no, I will rip your heart out and eat it before you die. Mind your words, Woman. Goblins do not take orders from Human scum.”
“You will take orders from me,” she persisted. She almost invoked Amar Kit’han’s name but doing so would render her powerless in Thrask’s eyes. The Goblin Lord respected power and strength. She needed as much of each if she hoped to maintain her already tenuous hold on such a large army.
“I could kill you,” Thrask said, taking a menacing step closer.
She had her sword out and pointed at the Goblin’s chest before he planted his forward foot. “You’ll be