The Madness of Gods and Kings by Christian Warren Freed Page B
Authors: Christian Warren Freed
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enough. I do hope the young king can pull off what he’s got in mind. Otherwise ….
Lost in thought, Rolnir wormed through the army offering absentminded words of encouragement as weary men collapsed in front of fires, wolfed down their meals, or cleaned their weapons and gear. A life of marching was hard on any race. The slackers were long weeded out. All that remained were the resolute. The veterans. Muscles were hardened from overuse. Body fat was burned away from countless days of marching and fighting. Wars were not for the faint of heart. It takes a special breed of man to watch his friends die around him and still go willingly into battle. Empty places around the campfires haunted the survivors. Fond memories of those lost. Yet they carried on, for kingdom and each other. Rolnir could give them no less.
He ducked entering the command tent, returning the salutes of the pair of Rogscroft guards. Rolnir grinned ruefully. There was a time when the men at the door were staunch enemies. How fickle war was, he mused. Enemies become friends while allies turn their backs. The warmth from the fire hit him immediately, nearly making him forget the frigidness of the early night. A mass of bodies shuffled around. Most had parchments and evening reports from each small unit commander detailing the status of their soldiers and supply needs. The senior commanders would be along shortly for their nightly debriefing. Rolnir was in no mood to listen to the repetitive statistics, not tonight.
He felt lethargic, stale. Going home harbored mixed emotions he was only now coming to realize he wasn’t prepared to deal with. They’d camped less than a day from the mountains yet close enough to remain enshrouded in the shadows for most of the day. Rolnir much preferred the open plains. There were too many places to hide in the mountains, making him uneasy.
Piper walked up and forced a mug of ale into his hands. “Last troops are tucked safely away in their bivouac I see?”
Feigning a smile, Rolnir accepted the mug gratefully and drank deeply. “Do you remember a time before all of this? I can’t.”
“This doesn’t sound like you,” Piper admonished. “I’m supposed to be the one down on his luck and all. What’s wrong?”
Feeling trapped in his memories, Rolnir stood with downcast eyes for a moment. “Nothing,” he finally answered. “Just tired is all. Is everyone here?”
A nod. “Our young king is busy in the back discussing matters with Vajna. The others are busy pouring over the maps.”
Rolnir asked, “Why aren’t you?”
Piper shrugged. “I can only look at a map for so long before my eyes begin to hurt. Besides, maps don’t do much of anything. Especially when I have scouts.”
Borderline arrogant, Piper was steadily, if too slowly, getting back to his old self. This war had taken an exhaustive toll on the second in command. He’d lost too much weight and bore an unnatural amount of guilt in his once-sharp eyes. Too much pain did that to a man, and Piper was just another soldier. He seldom utilized his position for anything other than to snag a mug of ale from time to time. A professional, he’d rather be out with the soldiers, living as they did. His men appreciated that, even if they never voiced it.
“You’d better not get us lost,” Rolnir scolded.
“Where we are going? Not bloody likely,” the thinner man said and almost laughed.
Enough said, the duo headed towards Aurec. Rolnir couldn’t put the meeting off any longer without looking like a fool. Most conversation stopped with their arrival. Heads turned and nodded or bowed in acknowledgment. Rolnir greeted them all in kind. They’d become familiar faces by now. Not exactly treasured, but welcome enough that he’d regret losing any of them. The unifying endearing factor stemmed from most of them having prior military experience. He appreciated that aspect, knowing they’d tend to have more compassion for the army than a politician
Lost in thought, Rolnir wormed through the army offering absentminded words of encouragement as weary men collapsed in front of fires, wolfed down their meals, or cleaned their weapons and gear. A life of marching was hard on any race. The slackers were long weeded out. All that remained were the resolute. The veterans. Muscles were hardened from overuse. Body fat was burned away from countless days of marching and fighting. Wars were not for the faint of heart. It takes a special breed of man to watch his friends die around him and still go willingly into battle. Empty places around the campfires haunted the survivors. Fond memories of those lost. Yet they carried on, for kingdom and each other. Rolnir could give them no less.
He ducked entering the command tent, returning the salutes of the pair of Rogscroft guards. Rolnir grinned ruefully. There was a time when the men at the door were staunch enemies. How fickle war was, he mused. Enemies become friends while allies turn their backs. The warmth from the fire hit him immediately, nearly making him forget the frigidness of the early night. A mass of bodies shuffled around. Most had parchments and evening reports from each small unit commander detailing the status of their soldiers and supply needs. The senior commanders would be along shortly for their nightly debriefing. Rolnir was in no mood to listen to the repetitive statistics, not tonight.
He felt lethargic, stale. Going home harbored mixed emotions he was only now coming to realize he wasn’t prepared to deal with. They’d camped less than a day from the mountains yet close enough to remain enshrouded in the shadows for most of the day. Rolnir much preferred the open plains. There were too many places to hide in the mountains, making him uneasy.
Piper walked up and forced a mug of ale into his hands. “Last troops are tucked safely away in their bivouac I see?”
Feigning a smile, Rolnir accepted the mug gratefully and drank deeply. “Do you remember a time before all of this? I can’t.”
“This doesn’t sound like you,” Piper admonished. “I’m supposed to be the one down on his luck and all. What’s wrong?”
Feeling trapped in his memories, Rolnir stood with downcast eyes for a moment. “Nothing,” he finally answered. “Just tired is all. Is everyone here?”
A nod. “Our young king is busy in the back discussing matters with Vajna. The others are busy pouring over the maps.”
Rolnir asked, “Why aren’t you?”
Piper shrugged. “I can only look at a map for so long before my eyes begin to hurt. Besides, maps don’t do much of anything. Especially when I have scouts.”
Borderline arrogant, Piper was steadily, if too slowly, getting back to his old self. This war had taken an exhaustive toll on the second in command. He’d lost too much weight and bore an unnatural amount of guilt in his once-sharp eyes. Too much pain did that to a man, and Piper was just another soldier. He seldom utilized his position for anything other than to snag a mug of ale from time to time. A professional, he’d rather be out with the soldiers, living as they did. His men appreciated that, even if they never voiced it.
“You’d better not get us lost,” Rolnir scolded.
“Where we are going? Not bloody likely,” the thinner man said and almost laughed.
Enough said, the duo headed towards Aurec. Rolnir couldn’t put the meeting off any longer without looking like a fool. Most conversation stopped with their arrival. Heads turned and nodded or bowed in acknowledgment. Rolnir greeted them all in kind. They’d become familiar faces by now. Not exactly treasured, but welcome enough that he’d regret losing any of them. The unifying endearing factor stemmed from most of them having prior military experience. He appreciated that aspect, knowing they’d tend to have more compassion for the army than a politician
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