Crown of Vengeance Read online

  Goras finally drew to a halt about two paces from Dragol.

  “Goras,” Dragol finally stated, in a low and restrained voice. The anger continued to seethe within him, and it took an effort not to rage further at the fates that had allowed such a dismal day to pass. “It is by the fortune of Elysium I even returned … My heart burns for vengeance … Trogen blood was spilled in a terrible way.”

  The other’s face grew taut, and his eyes narrowed, as a perplexed look rose upon his face. Even with their elongated faces, forming something closely akin to a canine’s muzzle, the Trogens were able to display expressions that held some similarities with those of humans.

  “What has happened?” Goras inquired. His initial enthusiasm was swiftly replaced by pensiveness.

  Dragol continued to temper the fires threatening to erupt inside of him, as he related the events of the recent past with his longtime comrade and fellow member of the Thunder Wolf Clan. He started the telling with the successful destruction of the Saxan border patrol, continuing on up to the forest ambush from the unusual, dog-like beasts. He spoke at length regarding the presence of the exceptionally skilled archer, who had carried a bow whose range far exceeded those normally seen among the Saxans. Most importantly, Dragol iterated his firm desire to return to the area in force, to seek revenge.

  Goras’ own anger was stoked as Dragol described everything, the visible signs revealing it to have swelled steadily during the tale. His eyes narrowed further as Dragol continued, and his snout began to wrinkle. Before long, he was baring his sharp teeth, as his lips turned back into a snarl. His long canines glinted in the light of the night moons.

  Goras nodded slowly as Dragol spoke of his desire for vengeance. When Dragol fell silent, he uttered through clenched teeth, “We will take to the ground, and avenge this treachery. We will find this archer who cowers among the trees. We will hunt these other beasts down, until their skulls decorate our tents!”

  Dragol held up a massive hand. “I would like that … more than anyone. I lost Haza, who has flown with me for many years. His blade was mighty, and his heart very loyal. His spirit finds Elysium now. He did not deserve the kind of death he received … torn apart by beasts, and given no chance to fight them!”

  He had to pause for a moment, a low growl emitting from the back of his throat as his fury almost tore through again. Had Haza been on a great hunt, and found himself locked in mortal combat with a formidable quarry, the manner of his death would have been more acceptable. Standing on his two feet, blade in hand, and willfully engaging a mighty predator was one matter. To die from an ambush was another, as it had robbed Haza of a moment to consciously muster courage, to willingly face an end worthy of a Trogen warrior. The beast had been upon Haza before he could even begin to react.

  Slowly and with effort, Dragol regained his composure.

  “But we cannot go in where we do not know the enemy’s strength, or we shall repeat the folly of today,” Dragol conceded, as reason came to the fore. “We will need to speak to those from Ehrengard, and find someone who lives near their eastern border with Saxany.

  “We must know about those strange beasts, and see if any know of this archer. He was no common man. I am sure of that. Then, we may go and see that our blades are bathed in the blood of these beasts … and that this archer can no longer hide from us.”

  “Then let us send some patrols to seek these answers,” Goras suggested. “Since we have arrived in these lands, I have seen no creatures such as you describe.”

  “A question that demands an answer,” Dragol agreed.

  “I know you are greatly tired, Dragol, and in need of food and rest. We can send patrols out, after you have eaten,” Goras stated.

  “Still the accursed dried fish, and hard bread?” Dragol rumbled, loathing the answer that he knew would be forthcoming.

  “Yes, and not even in good amounts. It could not feed the scrawniest of humans well, even these puny Andamoorans. … It barely gives them the strength to clasp the ground each day in their futile prayers. But I will make sure you receive more rations, and some cheese as well,” Goras said with a reluctant tone to his voice.

  “And the cheese will be like eating rocks too … as this foul, rotten bread is. I think we should soon send hunting parties out, as well as patrols and scouts. Maybe even make these weak Andamoorans earn the right to be in a camp with Trogen warriors,” Dragol muttered, flustered at the notion of the meager palette. His eyes flashed in a feral manner as he looked back up to Goras, his sharp teeth unveiled within his sneer. “Perhaps we should really make use of these Andamoorans.”

  “What I would not give for some juicy meat, and a thick draught of ale” Goras said, a half-smile forming in response to the dark implication of the other’s statement. He glared as a couple of the robed, turbaned Andamoorans walked by a short distance away from them. “I fear both those Andamoorans would not have enough meat on their bones to satisfy one of us.”

  Their banter was the substance of a dark jest. Both Goras and Dragol knew fully well that they would never have eaten the meat of human or humanoid, unless in an act of absolute survival. They also knew that the Andamoorans were not so sure of that.

  “You are right,” Dragol replied, chuckling darkly. The two Andamoorans took notice that the two huge Trogens were staring intently at them. They picked up their pace and hurried onward, their heads lowered.

  “You should eat now. Then we will send patrols forth,” Goras insisted.

  “And what would Tragan think of that?” Dragol said, posing the most pertinent question.

  Goras and Dragol had considerable authority as patrol leaders, but Tragan of the Blood Boars was the commander of the entire Trogen force within the scouting camp.

  Even among the most abrasive of the Trogens, his strident attitude was legendary. Yet it was not without purpose. Tragan was not one to frivolously make unnecessary sacrifices, or risk losing resources. He ran an efficient camp, marked by an extreme of discipline, challenging even to the toughest of the Trogens in the force.

  In truth, it had been Tragan’s absolute directives, derived from Avanor’s wishes, that had prevented many Andamoorans from receiving severe beatings from highly vexed Trogen warriors.

  Goras grimaced, knowing at once the danger that Dragol was indicating. “Then curse him, if he would be such a lackey of the Unifier. Sometimes I believe he would run this camp like a prison, to please his new human masters. But if he would not avenge Trogen deaths? He protects the human weaklings infesting this camp. What does that say to you, Dragol?”

  Dragol abruptly shot up an arm, palm spread open, to cut Goras off before he said anything further. “Do not speak such words aloud in this camp. Tragan will allow no challenge. You know that. And you know that we are here, fighting and eating our rock-bread, so that we can free our entire race from the vile Elves. Many times I have to remind myself of that, it is true … but we must hold to that.”

  A hot look flared up in Goras’ eyes, as Dragol mentioned the core concerns of the Trogens fighting for the Unifier. They did not fight out of any great feeling of loyalty to the Unifier, or even because they really believed in the strange vision of the Unifier’s emerging world.

  The allegiance had happened because the Unifier had resolved to help the Trogens end their longtime oppression at the hands of the Elves, in return for their ardent service as warriors. The Unifier had promised to eventually bring about an end to the long plight of the Trogens, which would liberate the great numbers of Trogens living in abominable slavery within Elven territory.

  Dragol, Goras, and all Trogens knew readily that no other race or powerful individual in the world had ever openly offered to aid the Trogens against their ages-old nemesis. The decision by the Trogens’ Clan councils to send substantial forces forth, and ally with the Unifier in the ongoing wars, had been swift and acceptable by all.

  In their own view, the Trogens were fighting as much for themselves in these ongoing wars as t
hey were fighting for the Unifier. The best chance of realizing their own aims lay with the success of the Unifier, and the Trogens were willing to do everything that they could to bring an end to the unrelenting nightmare suffered by so many of their kind.

  Goras’ great jaws tightened, and Dragol knew that his comrade had realized his momentary foolishness. His eyes darted about, and he looked relieved to find that no one was close enough to have heard his reckless venting. “I cannot argue with you, Dragol.”

  “We must still seek to take action, but we must be careful,” Dragol said more gently. “Remember, a great army will be sweeping through those woods soon enough. If there is a woodsman, we will find his homestead. We will also have time to hunt in these woods for the beasts. My blade and arrows will have a great thirst when we find them … I will make sure that thirst is slaked.”

  “As I will with mine,” Goras concurred grimly.

  Dragol looked off in the direction of some tents to the right, where there was a collection of packs and barrels stacked.

  He gestured off towards the tents. “Goras, join me now, if you do not have to soon leave on patrol. For now, I think you are right. It is best to fill my belly, and get a few moments’ rest.”

  “And to fill mine as well, for I have not eaten yet. Know that we will eat better tonight, or I will spill some blood. I shall get us some cheese, and see about some true meat,” Goras said with conviction.

  The two large Trogens headed off for the tents. It was no use courting disappointment, and Dragol resolved himself to the simple fare that they would be getting.

  The ensuing meal passed with little conversation, the food devoured quickly, though its substance hardly caused the Trogens to salivate. While there was no good meat to be had, Goras did succeed in obtaining a small quantity of cheese, and some bitter ale to help wash the food down, both of which Dragol was eminently grateful for.

  They had barely finished eating when a Trogen messenger came up to them, and delivered some new orders directly from Tragan. The messenger, a young Trogen warrior of the Sea Wolf clan, gave a slight bow and took his leave.

  Dragol and Goras would have to put aside their individual interests for a time. Tragan was ordering a heavier presence to accompany the initial surge of the ground force as it drove eastward. The two patrol leaders were to be summoned to Tragan’s tent soon, to learn the rest of the details.

  As the two pondered the messenger’s tidings, a commotion rang out suddenly within the camp. Trogen and Andamooran alike were hustling about, and word was quickly spread around that the expected force of warriors for the northeastern thrust had arrived near the camp.

  It was a force from Avanor itself, very well-equipped, and highly disciplined.

  Dragol was highly curious about the renowned human fighters, especially with his great disappointments in the other humans that he had interacted with. He had learned many things about the Avanorans in recent weeks. He hoped that the tales were true and that he would find them to be worthy allies. Of all the human factions, the Avanorans appealed to him the most.

  Their ilk, as part of sovereign realms, as mercenaries, and as ambitious adventurers, had gained a legendary reputation in both the development and overthrow of many realms within Ave. It was almost fitting that the origin of all Avanorans was the same place where the Unifier had risen to power, given the great renown of the warriors of Avanor.

  In terms of landmass, Avanor was not an exceptionally large territory, yet it had sent forth a torrent of power that had shaken Ave. Their storied history could not be denied. As a whole, Avanorans possessed an undeniable genius for war.

  The Trogens knew that if the force from Avanor succeeded in its aims to curl around to the back of the main army of Saxany, which was deploying out on the eastern plains, the war could quickly be brought to an end. The invasion was also the means by which the location of the archer, and the savage beasts, could be explored. There would be plenty of opportunities during the chaos and upheaval within an invasion campaign.

  Goras and Dragol looked to each other, and though Goras’ expression remained austere, Dragol knew that they were both gladdened that the war was finally going to escalate sharply.

  Their goals, from those of their clans to personal ones, were being brought steadily closer to achievement.

  JANUS

  Night portended to be a much more peaceful event when experienced within the considerably safer confines of an occupied tribal longhouse. Even so, the environs still demanded a number of adjustments by Janus in order for him to attain a semblance of comfort. It was not an entirely easy task, lying atop cornhusk mats and animal skins spread upon the hard, rough surface of the wooden sleeping platform underneath him.

  The air itself was thick to breathe, hindered as it was by very low circulation and ventilation within the domestic chamber. The smoke hole, set directly above the hearth used by both sides of the chamber, was far from effective in filtering out the dense airs of the compartment.

  Janus could only imagine how much more ponderous breathing was in the depths of a cold winter, when larger fires had to be lit within the chamber for warmth. He had no doubts that the chamber confines that he was now quartered within could become very congested, if not stifling, rather quickly.

  At the moment, no fires were lit within the longhouse compartment. A full stack of firewood lay idle in the storage space set to one side of the sleeping platform. Another such pile rose from the ground in the corresponding space across the chamber, by the other sleeping platform. It was much too warm inside the compartment to even consider putting the wood to use.

  Adding to the general discomfort, Janus was beginning to feel the effects from the sheer accumulation of bug bites, though he had not yet given in to applying the grease to his skin that the tribal people used so generously upon their own bodies. At the moment, he was still willing to tough out the irritations brought about by the numerous insects that shared the interior of the longhouse.

  Weariness having overridden discomfort, Janus had already slept for several hours, and he did not currently feel like going back to sleep. He lay still within the shadowy darkness, staring upwards at the narrow elm-bark boards comprising the underside of the upper platform. Spanning the full length of the compartment, the higher level was used as a type of garret for storing a number of various items; including the additional pelts which Janus now considered procuring to pad his sleeping space even further.

  After a few more moments of consideration and calculation, he thought better of the idea, surmising that the additional effort would not result in very much of an alteration to his current state. Fumbling about in the darkness, he would also risk injury, as well as likely aggravating his slumbering and deeply exhausted companions.

  He let out a quiet sigh, while taking in the strong scents of smoke and other odors prominent within the longhouse interior. His thoughts slowly drifted towards the two tribal families that were living in one of the chambers immediately adjacent to the compartment that he and his companions were in.

  He had learned that one of the families was a newly wed couple, the woman from the Place of Far Seeing and the man from another Onan village. They had just recently arrived to live in the longhouse of the bride’s mother.

  Though the new groom was amiable enough, Janus could sense from his brief interactions with him that the man was feeling more than a little awkward. It was very understandable, as the young man was living away from his own family and village for the first time in his entire life.

  The other family sharing the compartment was also a fairly young couple. They had one small female child, and appeared to be much more settled, having already lived in the longhouse for a considerable amount of time.

  The two families, as were all the families living within the longhouse, were of Ayenwatha’s own clan. His was the clan symbolized by the strange, predatory forest cat, whose fascinating likeness was proudly displayed over the longhouse’s entrances.


  Janus had been as intrigued as he was daunted by the image that he had seen rendered upon the elm-bark panel. He had since learned that the six-legged, cat-like beast was called a Firaken. It was one of the most feared and respected creatures dwelling within the sprawling forests that blanketed the lands of the Five Realms.

  As intrigued as he was by the utterly strange beast, the issue was similar to that of the Licanthers witnessed by his companions, the sabretoothed beasts seen with the army beyond the forest’s edge. Janus was not altogether sure that he ever wanted to see a living and breathing Firaken, and certainly not as of just yet.

  As far as he was concerned, he had been more than satisfied to experience an entirely mundane evening, wholly uneventful and spent in shelter and relative protection. The calm, uninterrupted night had finally bequeathed to him some solitary time for reflection.

  Unfortunately, the tranquility had also proved quickly to be a double-edged sword. In a brief span of time, Janus had found himself nearly overwhelmed with resurgent feelings of loneliness. They had been there all the time. It was just that ever since his arrival within the new world, Janus had been kept far too busy and wary to dwell upon his own inner thoughts for very long. In light of the wrenching sorrows that had continually been tearing at him from within, the pressures and stresses of the unexpected foray into the new world had actually turned out to be a bit of a blessing.

  Wounds were opened anew in the silence as Janus slowly succumbed to the onerous weight of his deeply abiding sorrows and fears. His mind drifted to darker places as he thought of the cold and murky road that he had taken ever since his father had so suddenly passed away, into the depths of the unknown. Janus had walked along that icy road shrouded with a stark sense of futility and helplessness, both of which had swiftly taken root and ripened within him.