Even Gods Must Fall (5 page)

The camp broke out in laughter as the shorter sell sword hastily snatched his weapons and trudged off to rove the perimeter.

“Why do you do that?” Rekka Jel asked once the merriment died down. Since joining the quest in Chadra, she and Dorl had grown to become lovers. Her newfound emotions failed to translate into understanding for the northerners or their rigid ways. Rekka never bothered thinking of her relationship lasting beyond the approaching battle. There was a good chance many, if not all, of their ragged group would be dead before the end. A life in the north with Dorl hadn’t become a possibility until she’d been banished from her village of Teng through a series of unfortunate events.

Nothol smiled warmly. “It keeps him on his toes. Don’t tell him I ever said this, and I’ll deny it if you do, but I need Dorl around. He’s watched my back for years and that’s an irreplaceable feeling.”

“He cares deeply for you,” she said.

“Let’s not get mushy. Emotional types don’t last long in this profession.”
Of course, we’re not likely to last much longer anyway. What have we gotten ourselves into, I wonder?
“Just know that I will do everything I can to keep his scruffy hide alive. No matter the cost.”

The usually glib sell sword went back to his dinner without another word, leaving Rekka quietly analyzing the evolving dynamic of the group. They were an odd collection, each unique in their skill set. Normally none would be seen together but necessity and increased engagements forged them into a deadly weapon. Briefly, she wondered what her life would be like if she’d elected not to leave Trennaron.

The sudden commotion on the far side of camp broke her thoughts. Her head snapped up. Hands reached for her sword. She squinted in the dying light, relaxing only slightly upon spying Boen’s massive frame rumbling back into camp. He was out of breath and exuded danger. The Gaimosian brought dire news. She sensed his adrenaline and knew he ached for the sweet release only battle offered.

“We’re in trouble,” he said between ragged breaths.

Bahr looked to his friend. “How close?”

“Not far.” Boen shook his head. “I don’t know how they’re tracking us, either. Every time we stop they seem to make a straight line towards our position.”

Heads turned towards the wizard. Sensing their consternation, Anienam lacked the answers they desperately wanted. The truth was he was just as confused. Each night he cast a web of spells intended on confusing their stalkers. It was old magic, from the high days of Ipn Shal and the Mages. The powers able to counter it were few. Anienam reluctantly came to accept that their enemy was imbued with the taint of the Dae’shan. It was the only possibility that made sense. But how to explain that to the others when it was merely a stray thought without evidence?

“I don’t understand either,” he said reluctantly. “My magic is stronger than any other in this part of the world. We should be safe, practically invisible to any prying eyes.”

“But we’re not, wizard,” Bahr said. “And if they can unerringly follow us across the wilderness how secure are we at night? What stops Skaning from bursting into the perimeter and slaying us in our sleep?”

“Bahr, the situation is more convoluted than you make it appear,” Anienam replied. “There are many forms of magic in play. I recognize its taint on the air. Our enemies aren’t capable of producing such talent on their own. We must assume they are being aided by the very worst the dark gods have to offer.”

“You didn’t answer the question,” Boen growled.

“How would you have me answer when all I have is speculation?”

The Gaimosian pointed an accusatory finger. “With a straight answer for once. No more damned riddles. We’re too far along on this quest for child’s play. I don’t mind dying but I need to know all of the facts before I willingly sacrifice my life. You owe us that much.”

Anienam hesitated. The last in a long line of magic wielders, he alone was the heir to the wealth of knowledge from Ipn Shal. Many secrets were nestled deep within his mind. Secrets that no other living being should know lest the world was plunged into war again. He’d tried to follow his father’s advice. Tried to live up to the majesty of what the Mages had once represented. Anienam wasn’t convinced whether he’d succeed.

Malweir grew increasingly dangerous with each new generation. Petty wars sprung up between kingdoms. He often suspected the Dae’shan were pulling strings behind the curtain but never had the numbers to investigate in force. He paused to consider how he’d come to learn of this latest plot threatening them all. Idle in the crumbling libraries at the old Mage citadel, he was visited by a terrible premonition. Darkness approached. Darkness so deep all life on Malweir would be consumed, devoured by eternal rage.

He’d lost years trying to decipher what the vision meant. Anienam didn’t believe in premonition. Fate pulled or pushed each individual according to a whim. The directness in the message he’d received left him immobile. How could any one person walk the face of the world knowing that the hour of the dark gods’ return was finally at hand? His resulting crisis of faith took him down roads best left unmentioned. He nearly fell along the way, lost to all who truly needed him. The Mages were gone and with them the only capable force with the knowledge to combat the dark gods and the Dae’shan. He was alone. The solitary survivor of a way of life the rest of the world deemed too dangerous. A relic.

Anienam finally rediscovered his passion on a lone mountaintop high above the world. Dragons had once claimed the peak for their roost, but those days had fallen into dust as well. He hurried back to Ipn Shal to discover all he could of his impending doom. At last, after centuries of aimless wanderings trying to decipher his purpose in life, the last wizard knew what he must do. He attached himself to a merchant caravan and headed north to Delranan to find the forgotten son of kings.

“Very well. The Dae’shan lend speed to our enemies. It is not that they can unerringly find us, but more they’re being shown which direction we travel. Pointed, if you will, towards us through unflinching desire. Part of me takes heart in this. The Dae’shan have been trying to kill us, especially you, Bahr, from the beginning. I suspect they were already at work on your brother long before we were hired to rescue Maleela from Rogscroft. Deliberate, cunning, those foul creatures manipulated the kingdom and brought war to the north.”

“For what purpose? What value do I hold in their plans?” Bahr asked. Cold fingers of dread danced over his flesh, as if Lord Death stalked right behind.

Anienam turned his head. The rag covering his eyes was frayed and ragged. “You are the key to all of this. Your blood holds the power to stop the dark gods, or release them.”

“I don’t understand. I’m just a man, Anienam. There’s nothing special about me. What could I possibly do to affect these immortal beings?” Bahr protested but deep inside he recognized the truth in those words. He’d felt haunted his entire life. Always running from what might have been, never taking the time to fully embrace what he should have been.

“But you’re not. You are so much more. I’ve studied the ancient histories. Each of the three nexuses is centered around powerful bloodlines. Yours is the last. The Dae’shan know this. Through your blood they intend to release the power of the Olagath Stone. Thousands of captured souls will tear the fabric between time and space. Their screams will open the gates to our realm of existence and release the dark gods.”

Skuld, sitting open-mouthed in shock, found the courage to speak. “Why is he headed towards the danger? He should be halfway across the world by now.”

Anienam smiled softly, quietly approving the youth’s growing sense of understanding. He’d grown much since sneaking aboard the
Bane
all those months ago. Anienam envisioned a grand future for Skuld. All he needed to do was reach out and claim it.

“He travels with us because he must. Bahr’s blood is important, yet it also flows within his brother’s veins, and within his niece. Any of the three can be used to doom or save Malweir. Bahr needs to go to Arlevon Gale.”
There he will confront his deepest fears. I only pray his strength of conviction is enough. Otherwise
….

“So I am to confront my brother after all,” Bahr concluded. He’d avoided Badron for decades, always staying beyond the scope of vision, yet ever a step ahead of his brother’s plotting and schemes. It seemed all of his careful planning was crashing to the ground.

“If he still lives,” Anienam said. “Who can say what has happened since we’ve been gone? All we know is that Harnin One Eye has usurped the throne and seeks to transform Delranan into a kingdom of pure chaos. I believe this to be a diversion intended on keeping us distracted enough so that we fail to keep sight of the true goal.”

“The ruins,” Boen added. “Anienam, that’s all well and fine but we’re not going to make it to the ruins with Skaning’s soldiers hounding us like this.”

“He’s right,” Nothol added. “We need to change the plan.”

“There’s a village not far from here,” Bahr suggested. “We might be able to blend in if we can reach it far enough ahead of Skaning.”

“With a Dwarf and Giant in tow?” Ironfoot scoffed. “I think you overestimate the simplicity of your people, Bahr.”

“The Dwarf has a point, but it’s a chance we should take,” Boen said.

Bahr scratched the stubble growing on his upper lip. He didn’t like the idea of heading back into another town, especially considering how poorly they’d fared in every village and town on their trek. One calamity after another befell them, from Chadra to Teng. He dreaded learning what new twist the Dae’shan had in store for them in the upcoming village but it was a risk he felt they needed to take. Only a few days remained before the day when the Dae’shan would attempt their ritual. Only a few days to decide the fate of the world.

“We make for the village. I want camp packed up and ready to move an hour before dawn,” he ordered. “The faster we get there the less chance of Skaning being able to counter our plans. Not even he is foolish enough to risk a battle in the middle of a village deep in rebel territory. We might just find a few allies along the way.”

Difficult Decisions

True to his plans, Bahr had the group up and moving well before the first wave of sunlight cracked the curtain of darkness. They pushed their already weary animals harder, hoping each beast had the strength to carry them to the final destination. Bahr’s route since departing Ingrid and the rebellion was a parallel course due south of Chadra Keep. He wanted nothing to do with Delranan or the rebellion and especially had no desire to run in to the One Eye again. Their last confrontation ended with each of them being tortured mercilessly in Harnin’s dungeons. Bahr figured there’d be time enough to deal with Harnin once the quest was complete.

Groge trotted alongside the wagon. The Giant lad barely started sweating and his almost childish grin entertained the others to no end. None of them but Skuld fathomed how anyone could manage to find amusement under such dire circumstances. Groge, still foreign to the ways of lowlanders, struggled to accept his place within the group. That the Blud Hamr could only be wielded by a Giant forced him to become integral in the quest but his lack of social interaction before joining Bahr left him at odds. The Giants of Venheim were vastly unlike any of the other races. More stoic and taciturn, Giants seldom engaged in frivolous small talk. They dedicated every waking hour of their day to the perfection of steel and iron. His interaction with others was limited to the workings of a forge.

There were several Giant enclaves stretched across the mountaintops of Malweir. Only the best and brightest were ever selected to learn from the forge masters of Venheim. Groge willingly abandoned a life of a normal Giant youth for his pursuit of mastery. Until now it was a sacrifice he had no qualms with making. The isolation of Venheim left him sorely lacking in what he suddenly decided were important social skills.

The others managed to interact well enough considering the variety of backgrounds and races. Groge half expected to find kinship with Ironfoot, but the Dwarf often kept to himself Their conversations were limited. Ironfoot often chastised Groge for his inability to accept his natural strength and power and to use them in battle. At first Groge felt disappointed, knowing their kinship through old blood, but then he came to understand the Dwarf’s need for battle. He didn’t necessarily agree with it, but strong people seldom changed their ways without proper cause.

He’d been walking for most of the day lost deep in thought when he finally decided to confront Bahr with his problems. The Sea Wolf, to his credit, accepted the Giant’s sudden crisis of conviction.

“Captain, might I have a word?” Groge asked.

“Of course, my friend. What’s on your mind?”

Groge paused, taken off guard by Bahr’s pleasant demeanor. “I have much on my mind. This quest is changing me, and not in ways I appreciate. I’m a simple blacksmith. Not a king or great warrior. I come from a humble people who want nothing more than to learn the secrets of steel. Fighting does not come naturally for me, nor would I wish it to. Yet everywhere we have been has led to another battle with more lives lost.”

“We don’t always get to choose how we live our lives,” Bahr told him. “This is not the life I would choose either but it is the one I was given.”

“I understand that. I do, but I can’t help but question what is the point. Should we prevail and the dark gods are defeated, what comfort is there? We’ll have sacrificed so much of ourselves that we won’t be the same ever again. I liked who I was. Who I am. The elders tell us change is a necessary evil if we are to continue to evolve as a race, but this is not the change that I need.” Groge shook his massive head. “What point is there in continuing when I will never be who I am again?”

Bahr glanced to Anienam, hoping the wizard had some random bit of sage advice, but the wizard remained uncharacteristically silent. Bahr briefly considered pushing him from the wagon on principle. “Groge, you ask questions I don’t have the answers for. Each one of us has personal demons to overcome. We’ve gone through so much with no promise of survival. Would you believe I was not always this way?”

“You?” Groge asked. It had never occurred to him that Bahr, famed sea captain and dispossessed brother of the king of Delranan, might have lived a vastly different life before this quest.

Bahr nodded. “I am the eldest son, meaning I should have been king, but it was a hassle I never wished. I turned my back on the crown and my father to pursue a selfish lifestyle. My decisions are at least partly to blame for all of the problems inflicting Delranan now. I lie awake each night wondering if matters would be different if I had accepted my rightful place. Would there still be a war? Would the future be in doubt? I can’t answer those questions and I don’t feel as if I should. This,” he said and gestured to the rest of the group, “is my world now. I am responsible for their lives, and yours, if only for a moment. Nothing else matters to me, Groge. Nothing. Once we destroy this Olagath Stone and send the dark gods back to whatever hells they come from, I will finally be able to look back on my life and decide whether or not I was a good person.”

Finding the answers to his potentially life-changing course of action mildly acceptable, Groge shifted the weight of the Blud Hamr on his back. It was no easy thing discovering he must reach his own conclusions while trying to struggle through day-to-day battles. He decided to change his method of approach. “What can I expect in this new village? I don’t relish the thought of having to hide in the forests again.”

Bahr grinned. “There will be no hiding for you this time, I’m afraid. We can’t afford to let the Blud Hamr out of our sight, meaning you will be coming with us the entire way. Don’t mistake my simplistic attitudes for lack of apathy. You’ve become an important part of our little dysfunctional group and I personally enjoy your company.”

“I understand. The Hamr is what’s important,” Groge said, displaying impressive clarity for one so inexperienced. “How then do you plan on concealing my…size?”

“Ha!” Anienam cackled.

Bahr cast a sidelong glance. “Now you comment? Groge, we’re going to find a nice warm barn for all of us. My precious sell swords might object to having to rough a night in the straw and stench rather than a soft bed but they’ll get over it.”

Satisfied with the answer, Groge plodded on. He’d learned much and was given more to consider before that fateful moment when he would be forced to use the Blud Hamr and alter the course of future days. Bahr continued glaring at the blind wizard, wondering why he chose that particular moment to open his mouth.

The village was as far out of the way as possible, an extraordinary feat considering the size and scope of Delranan. Less than twenty houses mixed with a tavern, millhouse, chandlery, and trading post composed the village. Bahr didn’t know the name, nor did he have any reason to learn it. His plan called for limited interaction with the locals, despite the possibility that many, if not all, of the villagers might be sympathetic to the rebellion. They could just as likely be loyalists for all Bahr knew.

Holding the group up less than a league outside of the village, Bahr sent Dorl and Nothol in to scout the area. The latent fear that Skaning might have forces stationed close by or garrisoning the village kept him from immediately striking towards the town. Time was steadily slipping through his fingers but he knew they were less than three days from the ruins of Arlevon Gale. A few small delays wouldn’t hamper the quest. Or so Bahr hoped.

“How is it we’re always the fools getting sent into harm’s way first?” Dorl complained. Chimney smoke, thin tendrils of blue-grey, rose into the fading day sky.

Nothol shared his best friend’s ire but knew better than to waste time griping about it. They each had a task to perform. This just happened to suit their particular skillset.

“You’re looking at it all wrong, Dorl.”

“How should I see it? That we’ll get killed before the others and not have to see how badly this all goes at the end?” Dorl snorted in reply.

“Or that Bahr had full confidence in our ability to complete the task. Besides, we get first dibs on where we sleep.”

“You don’t take things serious enough. What if the village is loyal to Harnin?”

Nothol shrugged. “We fight our way out and keep heading east. One meager village isn’t going to do more harm than the hundreds of mercenaries on our tail. I don’t think Rekka is doing a good job taking care of you.”

“Watch it,” Dorl threatened.

“I mean it. If she were you’d be a lot happier.”

Dorl opened and closed his mouth before finally letting a sympathetic laugh escape. Nothol followed suit as they rode closer to the thatch-covered houses.

“We need a drink, Nothol,” Dorl said after wiping his eyes from what turned out to be almost uncontrollable laughter.

“More than one.”

“A shame Bahr won’t let us get drunk. I’d like to forget what we’re about for just one day.”

Nothol agreed. “It will all be over soon enough. Three more days and we either live or die. There’s not much more to it than that.”

Dorl’s mood darkened again. “At least we’ve got the right allies with us. That Giant may not be much of a fighter but he don’t need to be. All it takes is one roar and misplaced boot to give someone a really bad day.”

“Groge? He’s harmless. Now, Ironfoot. That one worries me. Dwarves like to fight almost as much Boen. Between the two of them we should, theoretically, be able to sit back and watch the show.’

Dorl reined his horse in. “You don’t expect that, do you?”

“Expect what?”

“Those two brutes to do all the fighting,” he replied.

Nothol really hadn’t bothered thinking on it either way. “Seems they’ve been doing most of it so far. Sure, we get a few licks in here and there but it’s nothing compared to what Boen and Ironfoot seem to enjoy.”

“That’s just it. Leaving all the fighting to them weakens the rest of us.”

“How so?” Nothol asked.

“We expect them to take the brunt and wind up paying more attention to them than our own business,” Dorl said. “I don’t fancy taking a blade in my back.”

Neither spoke for the rest of the ride into the village. Unwanted thoughts, those stray bits of gloom both of them purposefully shoved to the forgotten corners of their minds, burst to life, forming new demons in the seclusion of solitude. Lord Death was a powerful motivator. He forced their hands to greater extremes the longer the quest extended. Now that it was all grinding to a rapid halt there seemed little chance of escaping certain, violent demise.

Banks of dark clouds rolled in as the sun sank beneath the horizon. Shades of night crawled across the land, an ominous warning to any foolish enough to be caught outside. Chickens clucked under the eaves of a series of farmhouses running the length of the only road leading into the village. The sell swords would much rather sneak in on a lesser-traveled path but neither were familiar with this part of the kingdom. Deciding there was some measure of merit in being bold, Nothol headed straight for the nearest farmhouse and hoped for the best. A quick barter later and they were granted a relatively comfortable night in the farmer’s barn, all for a nominal expense.

Bahr and the wagon rolled in a short time later, after darkness fell. No one noticed the Dwarf or Giant sneaking into the barn before the doors groaned shut. Food was prepared, the horses brushed down. Normally they wouldn’t have been allowed a fire but the farmer suffered the effects of the long, severe winter with the same frame of mind. A pit had already been dug out in the center of the floor, low enough to prevent the flames from spreading to the dried timbers of the structure. He reluctantly granted the sell swords permission to do the same, on the condition they didn’t burn his barn down or kill his livestock in the process.

Groge found the space cramped but comfortable. His twelve-foot frame snuggled into a stack of hay bales for the night. The young Giant let his mind wander as he stared longingly into the flickering fire. It was moments like this that reminded him of his time in the forges of Venheim. Satisfied and full, the Giant slowly fell asleep.

“That didn’t take long,” Boen murmured and gestured towards the sleeping Groge.

Bahr glanced up quickly and went back to the fire. “He’s fortunate. I haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep since we left Trennaron.”

“The past has a way of haunting us,” Boen concurred. “Don’t waste your time worrying over it, Bahr. Whatever happens is meant to. Nothing you or I do will change that.”

“You Gaimosians are walking contradictions. One moment you are determined to set the course of action for the world and the next willing to let it all ride. I wish I had that sense of confidence.”

Boen chuckled softly, knowing it was all for show. He felt Bahr’s gradual change the closer they got to their final destination. Anyone would undergo the same, as far as he was concerned. Recognizing you were the agent of Fate was no easy task to swallow. Boen often wondered what his life might have been like if he’d been born anything but Gaimosian. The image never materialized. He was a warrior, nothing more. His own demons struggled for dominance in the recesses of his mind. Idle thoughts of retiring to a quiet village to enjoy his final years were overpowered by the growing sense of foreboding that he was going to die soon. He shrugged his personal concern off. Death would happen in its own good time. All he needed to do was ensure Bahr and the others were given every opportunity to accomplish their tasks.