Even Gods Must Fall - Christian Warren Freed Page 0,64

him.

Vengeance Knights were rare. Their blood was slowly fading from the world’s gene pool. Perhaps it was for the best. Theirs was a horrifically violent path only a few could manage without breaking. Boen was over sixty. His body a mass of scar tissues and memories best left forgotten. His beard had filled out since joining Bahr on his foolhardy quest. His wrinkles had deepened. He began to feel the weight of his long years.

A dog barked in the distance. His scent had been picked up. Boen grunted and wiped his sword clean on the body and headed quickly for his horse. He’d already reduced enemy strength by more than a score but it wasn’t enough. Skaning had more resources at his disposal and Boen was running out of time. The mercenaries could feasibly keep him occupied for weeks, if not longer. He needed to find a way to force a decisive engagement in order to link back up with Bahr and the others.

“Damned dogs will track me down,” he grumbled as he climbed into the saddle a little slower than usual.

Fresh aches and pains jolted the length of his body, prompting him to wonder if he gained too much weight in his old age. Frowning, the Vengeance Knight forced the thought from his head as it only made him hungry. He didn’t recall the last time he’d had the opportunity to eat enough to fuel his massive frame. His horse buckled slightly as he settled into the saddle.

Boen leaned forward and pat him gently on the neck. “I know. I know. It will all be over soon. I figure two more days and nothing else matters. Let’s give these bastards a good show.”

As if bolstered, the horse snickered and stepped forward. Boen decided to follow the near empty streambed tracking east. The direction wouldn’t fool his trackers but it should give him enough time to confuse the dogs and get farther away. A thin layer of ice cracked and broke with each footstep. The sound was like thunder to his sensitive ears. Night was upon him and sound always carried louder on the cool winds of darkness.

Boen followed the stream for close to a half league before exiting the freezing waters on the south bank. Had he been forced to walk it he would have already been suffering with hypothermia or worse. Thankfully the water barely came up past his mount’s hooves. He wished there was another way, a way to spare his trusted companion of many adventures from nature’s torments, but speed was his best, only hope for survival. There was only so much his sword could accomplish before strength left him vulnerable to enemy blows.

Darkness deepened the longer he rode. Delranan was largely open plains of gently rolling hills and light forests, making his trek easy despite the winter conditions. Heavy cloud cover helped keep what little heat from the sun close to the ground. Boen often reached out to wipe some of the lather from his horse, an act of miniscule kindness not returned. While his horse may be worked up and overheating, Boen didn’t suffer in kind.

He was freezing. Sitting in the saddle, while muscularly tiring, did little to prevent the freezing temperatures from seeping through his cloak and into his bones. Having to wear his armor didn’t help matters but it was a fact he was forced to live with. The boiled leather concealed by wrought iron from the Dwarven smiths in the Bairn Hills was a luxury in personal combat that did little to keep him warm.

Boen suffered in silence, knowing it wouldn’t help his cause to complain. Such people often died from their ignorance as the solution to their problems passed them by. He was Gaimosian and in being so was meant to suffer. Whining didn’t solve problems. Action and quick thinking did. His mind continually war gamed as he pushed east. Theoretically he held the advantages. Alone and unencumbered by logistics or orders, Boen moved at will and in which direction he needed to take. His only concern was diverting enough of Skaning’s mercenaries to give Bahr time to reach Arlevon Gale in time to stop the dark gods.

Skaning didn’t have that luxury. His forces were all mercenary from southern or eastern kingdoms. Not a one was a native of Delranan. Their lack of knowledge concerning the terrain matched Boen’s, but whereas he was solo, they had to worry over staying together or coordinating with splinter units ranging across the area