The Madness of Gods and Kings (3 page)

Anienam didn’t wait. “You and I don’t care for one another. I recognize this and accept it for what it is. We are both so set in our ways nothing will change. That being said I want to ensure the air between us is clear before we head back to Delranan. Too much is at stake for petty differences to get in the way.”

“I agree, but don’t see why you bring this up now,” Bahr countered. They already expressed their grievances en route to Trennaron. Bahr, grieving the loss of his niece, was ready to cut his losses and run. His animosity shifted onto Anienam for reasons even he wasn’t sure of. Yet the wizard’s words were wise. The time for disagreements was past. The war was coming, barreling at them at full speed while the world burned around them. Anienam was the last in the distinguished line of Mages. Bahr needed his magic in order to get home and survive the long darkness.

Anienam rubbed his palms together. “In order to fully understand you must realize what is about to happen.”

“I already know. We fail and the world is destroyed.”

Anienam shook his head. “It goes far beyond that, Bahr. The dark gods are the very definition of evil. They will stop at nothing to get revenge on the ones responsible for imprisoning them so long ago. Bahr,
every
race played a part in that banishment. Should the Dae’shan succeed in opening the nexus between dimensions, all life on Malweir will wither and die under the torments of the dark gods. No one will be safe. Each and every life will suffer endlessly until their hearts expire and death mercifully claims them. If we fail, our suffering will be the greatest. Even Artiss Gran does not know the full extent of the horrors that will be visited.”

“You once said all of the nexuses were destroyed,” Bahr countered.

“So I had thought, but my time here and during our journey south has led me to believe otherwise. Arlevon Gale is the final nexus. The one most scholars thought was destroyed centuries ago during a minor border war.”

He paused as old memories rushed back, redirecting his train of thought. “My…father once glimpsed the dark gods. He led a group of heroes similar to ours to destroy the Silver Mage one thousand years ago. He was never the same again. Nightmares plagued him unto his death bed. It was sad affair. I don’t want to go through this. I don’t want any of us going through this. The only way to prevent it is by the two of us presenting a unified front and leading the others.”

Bahr remained silent, casually contemplating his options. He doubted he’d ever care for the enigmatic wizard but knew he was going to need his magic before the end. A small part of him wanted to punch Anienam in the jaw and call it even but violence wasn’t going to solve much, not at this stage. Reluctantly he agreed with what the wizard had said. They’d nearly come apart after the battle with the Gnaals, leaving them weak and ready to fall. The lament over finding Ionascu’s murdered corpse and traces of Maleela being captured left a gaping hole inside. A hole he needed filled. Ionascu was one of Harnin’s men, a twisted, bitter wreck of a man who deserved his fate. The only question was why his niece killed him.

Bahr responded quickly before his thoughts got sidetracked. “Very well. For the sake of the others I’ll set aside any animosity towards you. You have my full support and cooperation until we end this.”

“Thank you. You have mine as well,” the wizard replied.

Bahr unfolded his arms. “Anienam, know this. Once we’ve stopped the dark gods, I don’t ever want to see you again.”

The wizard grinned and returned to the remnants of his breakfast.

The Chamber

Bags packed and a new wagon presented to haul their supplies and weapons, the small band of heroes assembled in the courtyard. Sunlight beamed down, warming their flesh in a way they wouldn’t see again for months once they returned to the frozen north. Unexpected tension encompassed the group. Conversation faded to the bare minimum. Hands absently toyed with sword hilts or loose buttons on clothing. More than one of the group stared off into nothing as thoughts began centering on the fight of their lives.

They’d spent months on the road. First to rescue Princess Maleela from her captors in Rogscroft--a lie that was later discovered--and then on the journey to the far southern Jungles of Brodein to find the mythical Trennaron. Constant battles with impossible creatures, river men, and Harnin One Eye left them depleted on many levels. They were already at the ends of their physical limits, mentally worn down to the point where poor decisions might lead to accidents.

The few days spent in Trennaron did much to heal and replenish their strength but Bahr questioned if it was enough. A man could only endure so much before he broke. The Sea Wolf looked to each of his companions, people he’d known for only a few short months in most cases. He tried remembering a time before they’d met but his mind was consumed with the quest. Imagining life without any of them in it was difficult. He’d come to rely on their skills, judgments, and friendship, much like the crew of the
Dragon’s Bane
.

He watched Boen slide his leather armor down over his barrel chest, stretching and wiggling to adjust it just right. Despite his penchant for absolute mayhem on the battlefield, the Gaimosian nearly always laughed and joked. At least he did now that Ironfoot was along. Bahr shook his head ruefully. Like minds and all that, he supposed. The big man was Bahr’s best asset and longest friend. They’d shared journeys before, though none so dangerous as right now. He couldn’t help but think how empty he’d feel if Boen got killed. Friends were hard for a man like Bahr to come by. Losing them was a sad fact of his lifestyle and only got harder as the years went by.

“Look at the old man,” Dorl whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

Nothol Coll rolled his neck slowly and said, “He’s just nervous. I don’t blame him.”

The younger sell sword was taller and stronger than Dorl but was the perfect complement to Dorl’s worrisome nature. Lighthearted with dark hair and eyes, Nothol wandered through life trying to be a good man and make the best out of bad situations. He didn’t bother looking to Bahr. There were enough conflicting emotions rumbling in his own mind to worry about someone else.

Dorl frowned tightly. “You should start thinking about more than yourself.”

“Why? I have a hard enough time dealing with my own problems,” Nothol answered tartly. It was an old argument.

“You might just live longer,” Dorl accused with a pointed finger. “
I
might just live longer because of it.”

“Now who’s being selfish?” Nothol said and laughed. “Relax, Dorl. It’s either going to work out or it’s not. There’s no point worrying over what we can’t control.”

The thought of being magically transported hundreds of leagues back to the kingdom where this affair began in the span of a few heartbeats left turmoil gnawing away at his stomach. He didn’t trust Anienam as far as he could spit but was not confronted with having to rely on powers beyond his comprehension. Questions bothered him the longer he thought on it. He tried, failing miserably, to think of the power capable of moving a person across so much distance. Even Anienam couldn’t provide an answer; he merely mumbled confusing thoughts on space and time interchanging. Dorl had stopped listening early.

“You can’t expect me to believe you’re comfortable with what we’re about to do,” Dorl demanded as his anger level began to rise. After years of working together, Nothol knew exactly how to push his buttons.

Nothol shrugged lightly as he ensured his sword came out of the scabbard easily. “Dorl, you should relax. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Don’t you want to be able to tell your children about what you did to save the world?”

“Somehow I doubt I’m going to live long enough to have kids,” he replied flatly. “Nothol, we’re all going to die.”

Rekka finished strapping her pack down on her horse and glanced up sharply. The possibility of certain death wasn’t new. She’d been bred for specific purpose. Death was merely an unfortunate side effect she was prepared to deal with.

The sell sword paused. His mouth opened and closed as his mind cycled through the possible futures. Death certainly changed things but not enough to keep him from following Bahr through to the end. There was never any real choice, not for a man like Nothol. He worked for the highest bidder and, in this instance, men he knew he could rely on. Bahr wasn’t perfect, but he was good enough for Nothol.

“We’ve been hounded by Lord Death from the beginning,” he said carefully. “How many times should we already have been killed? You’ve seen the darkness growing in Delranan and other parts of Malweir. Dorl, we have a chance to stop it. To end it all so our children won’t have to endure the same trials.” He held his hand up to keep Dorl silent. “I’m not trying to sound like a hero. You know me. But I think after all we’ve been through we owe it ourselves to see this thing through.”

Dorl Theed had no comeback. No witty banter to lighten the situation. As much as he wanted to deny his friend, refute his claims, he couldn’t. Deep inside he took pride in knowing his actions were going to matter. To make a difference for generations to come. How could anyone in their right mind argue against that sort of logic?

From atop the wagon bed Skuld listened to their exchange with rapt interest. Almost at the end of his teens, he was the least experienced one of the group. Childish dreams of grandeur made him stow away aboard the
Dragon’s Bane
when Bahr sailed off to rescue Maleela. He’d come so far, seen so much that that youth was gone, replaced by a young, confused man burdened with more responsibility than he ever wanted.

He’d come to envy Dorl and Nothol’s friendship. Growing up on the harsh streets of Chadra left him with little friends. The cutthroat world he endured for years made him hard, calloused in ways the others weren’t. The one thing he ever wanted was a true friend. He hoped to find that before the end of this journey. Perhaps then he’d become a man. Skuld climbed off the wagon to inspect the wheels and undercarriage.

Ironfoot slapped Skuld on the shoulder and grumbled, “They bicker like an old married couple.”

The youth didn’t have any witty reply so he meekly nodded in reply. His lifestyle hadn’t allowed for family, brothers or sisters, leaving him with no frame of reference to reply to the Dwarf. Ironfoot noticed his awkwardness and walked off chuckling. Skuld watched the Dwarf, still unable to read him any better than he was Boen or Groge, the Giant.

Each step thundered across the courtyard as Groge, Blud Hamr strapped securely to his back, ambled over to stand beside Bahr. He wasn’t a warrior and had no aspirations to become one. Violence was anathema to his clan. They secluded themselves away from the rest of the world, claiming the mountaintops to establish Venheim, the forge of the gods. Each day they labored to create the perfect tools. Legend said Giants had forged the Blud Hamr in response to the coming war between the gods of light and their dark brethren. Perhaps forge master Joden knew the truth of this, but at his advanced age it was near impossible for him to recall.

Surrounded by others who had no qualms with taking lives, Groge struggled to find his way in almost the same manner as Skuld. While he stood nearly ten feet taller than the boy, and was roughly a hundred years older, he found himself liking Skuld greatly. They’d spent countless hours discussing the small matters that revolved around youth of every race.

“Ah Groge, feel any different?” Bahr asked with a bright smile.

The Giant cocked his head as he tried to decipher Bahr’s meaning. “I slept well last night, Captain.”

Boen broke out with laughter. “He’s talking about the hammer, lad. Does the hammer make you feel different?”

Cheeks reddening, Groge said, “No. It’s heavy but I haven’t felt any of the magic transferring into my body.”

“Nor should you,” Anienam added. “From what I’ve been able to discover, the hammer’s magic won’t become activated until it is near the Olagath Stone. You should be fine until then.”

“What happens then?” Bahr asked.

Anienam didn’t offer an answer.

Artiss Gran arrived in his fashion, silent and drifting a few inches off of the ground. He listened patiently as they dithered over minor, unchangeable details before making his presence known with a gentle cough. Not all of the subtle nuances of mortal interaction had been lost to him. “The time has at last arrived, my friends. Captain Bahr, is your team prepared?”

“They are,” Bahr answered without looking back.

Artiss nodded, the gesture almost faint beneath the gossamer hood. “Good. It is time to go into the chamber. I ask you all not to touch anything. The way is guarded by powers left behind when the gods of light departed Malweir. They will destroy you instantly. Follow me and all will be well.”

Nothol gave Dorl a playful shove. “See, how bad can it be?”

Ignoring the barb, Dorl shifted the weight of armor and watched as Artiss Gran spread his long arms. Raw power danced between his fingertips, violent shades of green in stark contrast to the gentle smoothness of the alabaster walls. The ground trembled as a crack opened. Thin at first, it widened to reveal a wide slope going down. Dust began to settle. Rocks stopped rolling. Artiss slowly lowered his arms and bowed his head. “Follow me, please.”

The Dae’shan effortlessly began to glide down. A rainbow of lights reflected sunlight back up to the surface, temporarily blinding the others. The passage down widened enough to allow both horses and wagon and deepened enough for Groge to walk comfortably. Bahr followed without hesitation. Better to get it over with. Delaying survived no purpose.

“Great, we’re going back down,” Dorl complained just loud enough to make Nothol laugh in reply.

Going down didn’t prove as difficult as any of them imagined. Soon enough they stood on level ground scarcely one hundred meters below ground. Artiss strode to the center of the circular chamber and produced a thick rod of oak and steel the height of a man. Gesturing for the group to gather in front of him, he slammed the staff one time. Ringing echoes danced throughout the chamber as it came to life in seas of colors. Bahr looked around and noticed the entire chamber was made of glass. The effect was dizzying.

“What is done cannot be undone,” Artiss said, his voice baritone, authoritative. “Once the light is summoned you will be taken across space and time to the kingdom of Delranan. Stay within the light until it fades completely or you will be lost, trapped in a dimension akin to the prison of the dark gods. Do you understand?”

Half nodded while the rest mumbled a quiet yes.

It was enough for Artiss Gran. He slammed the staff once again and brilliant white light bathed the chamber. Bahr and the others were forced to shield their eyes lest they were blinded. One by one they faded from reality. The journey back to Delranan had finally begun. Artiss stood alone in the cold chamber once the light faded. Exhausted, he leaned against the staff for support. Much of his strength bled away from the raw power the chamber demanded. He’d done all he could, for Bahr and for Malweir. The rest now lay in the hands of the eight individuals en route to the frozen north.