Even Gods Must Fall - Christian Warren Freed Page 0,65

of operations. They also had a master to report to. Additional pressure from Skaning left the mercenaries open to minor mistakes that were beginning to cost them lives. Boen took full advantage of their handicaps as he conducted a campaign of lightning-fast raids and executions.

Mercenaries were strong in numbers, but cut off from reinforcements and fresh supplies, they became vulnerable to his particular style of warfare. All he needed to do was stay ahead and continue his guerilla-style assaults. Boen worried that his strength would give out long before he managed to kill all of his attackers or enough to force the others to retire. His enemies remained determined, forcing the Gaimosian to stay constantly on the move.

Thus far he’d been fortunate. None of his battles had resulted in any major wounds, though he suffered numerous small cuts and bruises. Boen struggled with the urge to stand his ground and fight. Doing so would only waste his life and delay the mercenaries for mere moments. If they were smart they’d have called for archers. Boen snorted, considering the concept almost cowardly. There was no honor in killing from distance. Gaimosians preferred the intimacy of close combat. There was satisfaction in watching stark realization enter the opponent’s eyes the moment he realizes he is doomed.

“Only I’m the one feeling doomed,” he grumbled under his breath.

Boen didn’t enjoy running. He much preferred a stand-up fight. Skaning’s mercenaries, keen to what they were facing, showed increased reluctance to engage him directly. As much as Boen enjoyed the reprieve, he couldn’t fall back on it. Sooner or later the enemy was going to grow bold and gain the upper hand. It was only a matter of time. The only way he was going to escape his current situation, one of his own making, was by making the enemy pay so bad they lost hope. He just didn’t know how.

Nothing he’d done thus far seemed to matter. He’d laid traps and ambushes for nearly twenty leagues. Bodies piled up in his wake yet still the mercenaries attacked. Boen couldn’t figure out their motivation. Even an accomplished Gaimosian Knight with his reputation wasn’t worth much of a bounty. What little he knew of Harnin failed to suggest much more than fanatic influence. Skaning and his goons must be operating alone in the hopes of crushing the rebellion. It was the only viable conclusion.

Boen frowned, unable to link a connection with Bahr’s group and the rebellion. More so, he couldn’t find a reason for Harnin knowing Bahr had returned. Logically it made no sense. There was no way Bahr could have made the return trip from Trennaron so quickly without the assistance of magic. Magic was rare in Malweir. Harnin had little or no reason to believe Bahr had access to magic, not even his failed torture of Anienam Keiss at the beginning of winter provided the One Eye with sufficient information.

The One Eye’s spy, Ionascu, was dead, rotting in the Jungles of Brodein. Boen secretly began to suspect the Dae’shan had their fingers in more than just Badron’s mind. It was the only thought that seemed to click into place. Their foul influence corrupted Badron. It was no great stretch of the imagination to think the same would have happened to Harnin. If that was the case, Bahr and the others were in for a world of hurt. Boen needed to return to the Sea Wolf as quickly as possible with his suspicions. He suddenly feared Bahr was marching into a trap.

“Come on, lad. We’ve got a long march ahead of us,” he whispered to his horse.

Boen awoke with a start. Cursing himself for falling asleep, he dragged his sword from the scabbard and hurried behind a group of iron-grey boulders. Torchlight flickered nearby through the pines. The sound of boots crunching through the snow drifted closer. Boen clutched the leather grips of his sword tighter. His carelessness placed him in direct harm. His body ached worse now than it had before he stopped moving, but sleep wasn’t going to be denied. Nearly falling from the saddle, the Gaimosian reluctantly took to ground for much-needed rest. Rest that left him in the middle of an attack.

Thankfully his enemy wasn’t sure of his exact location, else they would have killed him in his sleep and claimed his head for a trophy. Boen was awakened by the scrape of steel on stone. An accident to be sure, but enough of one to alert his keen senses from an