Read Even Gods Must Fall Online
Authors: Christian Warren Freed
Even Gods Must Fall
Book VI of the Northern Crusade
By: Christian Warren Freed
Edited, Produced, and Published by Writer’s Edge Publishing 2014
All rights reserved.
© 2014 by Christian Warren Freed.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.
All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
The Northern Crusade Series
A History of Malweir Series
Beyond the Edge of Dawn
This book is dedicated to my mom and dad. The first movie I ever went to see was Star Wars in an old drive-in, in western New York. Thanks for giving me the ability to dream.
Dawn. The sun broke the horizon, crisp and bright against the eastern sky for the first time in days. A late winter storm had blown through, covering the lands, yet again, in a perpetual blanket of austere white. While residents huddled in front of sputtering hearths, a sense of prevailing turmoil settled over the world. Rumors of struggles, whispers of titanic battles to the east, reached the villagers of the almost forgotten town. War was sweeping across the northern kingdoms. Yet it was a war that left them largely unaffected. A few favored sons had answered the muster and marched off to join the ranks. The old grieved while the young dreamed. War did funny things to all.
Eldric and Bjorn, eldest of six sons, slipped into their heavy winter clothing and collected their bows on the way out the door long before their mother awoke. They’d ached to enlist when the Wolfsreik recruiter visited back at the beginning of winter. A great, unstoppable crusade was underway that held the implications of liberating the entire north of Malweir under Delrananian flags. Who wouldn’t want to become part of such grandeur? Glory was not for the boys, however. With their father long in the ground from an unfortunate plowing accident, their mother insisted on keeping all of her boys close. Wars were no place for youth. Not if they expected to mature into decent men.
Abandoning the confines of their home, the boys hurried off down snow-covered trails in search of a stag or brace of rabbits. Winter had been a successive string of miserable storms confining them to the relative security of the house. Eldric grew inspired by the dawn and led the way. All thoughts of war and, given the circumstances, abject misery associated with too many feet of snow, dissipated the deeper into the woods they stalked.
A lone rider had come through the village a few weeks past with devastating news. Eldric and Bjorn learned for the first time of the insurrection against the throne and the destructive civil war raging across Delranan. The sheer incredulousness of it left both boys in doubt. Any aspect of war would surely have trickled down into the minor villages peppering the Delrananian countryside. The rider, claiming to be a messenger from the rebellion, rode off in disgust. Not a single villager answered the call and Eldric and Bjorn watched as their ancestral home quietly returned to the way life had always been.
Still, there was an urgency in the rider’s words that inspired a fire within Eldric’s heart. Questions of legitimacy sprang forth. He suddenly wanted to know more of what the rest of the kingdom was like. What it was undergoing. Bjorn chastised his older brother for being brash. The impudence of youth was often misunderstood. Why should Eldric’s desires be any different? Eventually he calmed down. The rider was long gone, presumably off to other villages in search of able-bodied fighters to join the cause. Eldric forgot his dreams, brief as they were. His life was here, with his family.
“Look,” Eldric announced in a hushed voice.
Bjorn knelt down to gingerly touch the cloven-hoof print. A light splattering of snow had settled in deeply. Bjorn grinned. “Fresh. These can’t be more than an hour old.”
“Come on, looks like we’re in for fresh meat tonight, brother.”
The boys loped off on the hunt. Eldric’s eyes scanned the woods as they followed the deer tracks deeper. Both boys stalked with arrows strung. Their stomachs growled hungrily. A long winter of too many old potatoes and slightly rotted vegetables left them salivating over the prospect of fresh meat. This past winter was among the worst in recent history, leaving many old and young naught but frozen corpses stored behind homes until the ground thawed enough to dig their graves. Worsening matters was the intense stir-crazy feeling gnawing away at every villager. It was time for the sun to shine again.
Trees began to thin. They were drawing to the edge of the forest. If either boy was thinking clearly they might have given pause. Deer preferred the security of camouflage, seldom venturing far into the open air. Eldric reached the tree line first and jerked to a stop. Bjorn, more worried over losing the trail, slammed into his brother’s back.
“Hey, what did you stop fo….”
“Shhh,” Eldric hissed. “Look!”
Bjorn lowered his bow to peek around his brother’s solid frame. What he witnessed stole the warmth from his soul. The plain stretching out before them had turned black under the steady wave of Goblins pouring into Delranan. Thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of the vile creatures already choked the fields. Harsh, guttural orders were issued as Goblins slowly broke away into companies. Sword and axe, spear and tulwar gleamed in the morning sunlight.
“Where did they come from?” Bjorn whispered.
Eldric could only shake his head. A flicker of unnatural light caught his eye, drawing his attention to the magic-infused atmosphere on a small hilltop. The very air was warped with sickening shades of rot. Larger than a house, the rent continued to belch forth the Goblin army. Unending waves of infantry flooded Delranan.
“How?” was all Eldric managed to ask.
Frightened yet not understanding what he was seeing, Bjorn nervously clutched his brother’s arm. “We need to leave, before they see us.”
Eldric continued to stare as the Goblin army grew. He briefly considered killing one, if for no other reason than to brag to his friends, but quickly discarded the notion. Any unwanted attention would draw the entire horde down around him and there’d be no hope of escape. Not against so many. Reluctantly, he withdrew his gaze from the Goblins, creatures he’d only heard of. To see so many in Delranan this close to his home was impossible.
Bjorn, sensing his brother’s hesitation, tugged harder. “Eldric, come on. We have to go warn the village.”
Shaken free from the horrible scene continuing to unfold around them, Eldric nodded and began to duck back into the trees. Unfortunately for the brothers it was not unnoticed. Three squat, barrel-bodied Goblins emerged from the right and attacked. Bjorn cried out, dropping his bow as his small hands scrambled to draw his hunting knife strapped to his belt. Eldric was not so careless. He quickly drew and fired into the nearest Goblin, more reflex than anything else. The Goblin grunted and fell dead. Eldric’s arrowhead punched out the back of the dead warrior, killing him instantly at point-blank range. The other two fell on the young villager with curses and sharp steel. Bjorn screamed as he watched a Goblin short sword plunge into Eldric’s stomach.
Eldric fought with as much veracity as a sixteen-year-old boy could but the end was never in doubt. He briefly caught his brother’s eye through the punishment. A sad smile followed. Blood coated his teeth. “Run,” he mouthed and fell dead.
Bjorn ran for his life without looking back.
The impossible army continued to swell.
* * * * *
Thunder echoed down from the mountaintops yet no lightning slashed the sky. No storm darkened the world. This was the thunder of two hundred booted feet. Locked in step, the heavy crunch-thump reverberated down through the jagged rock passes, knocking boulder and stone loose in massive cascades. Avalanches filled long-forgotten defiles and ravines. Dust clouds rose to choke the air. Red and heavily mineralized, the dust was the life blood of the very mountains.
Song soon accompanied the baritone of the march. Deep and ominous, the words were lost upon the rocks. Their meaning, however, wasn’t. The song returned a forgotten people to old glories they’d abandoned for personal reasons. It whispered of past triumphs and the promise of new glory. There was unparalleled pride drifting on the winds. At last, after centuries of seclusion and the continuing downward spiral into obscurity, the Giants of Venheim were reborn.
Called into action by the Dae’shan and the gods of light, the Giants couldn’t abandon the rest of the world to the depredations of the evil threatening. The arguments proved fierce, lasting long into the early morning hours. The outcome was never truly in doubt. At long last the time for Giants had returned. Coerced to march down from the mountaintop fortresses, the Giants headed into Delranan to claim their rightful place in the future history of the world.
Joden, eldest and most revered of the Giant smiths, paused at the rear of the column to give a last, longing glance at the home he’d known for over one hundred years. He knew, deep within the warmth of his soul, that this would be his final look at fabled Venheim. Old and fragile--for a Giant--he’d lived a long, full life. The world was changing, irrevocably moving towards a finale very few even realized approached.
The elder Giant had come to accept that his purpose in life had been to train, mold, and sculpt young Groge into the bearer of the Blud Hamr, the weapon capable of ending the dark gods’ quest to reclaim Malweir for good. The war would be fought by blood and steel, the destiny of a dozen races, but the battle for the soul of the world rested in the hands of a young, inexperienced Giant and his small band of companions. That task completed, or at least en route to completion, Joden took his rightful place in the one hundred marching to join the allied army.
Artiss Gran, last of the true Dae’shan, mentioned the momentous occasion rapidly approaching. The world had not seen the likes of such an alliance since the days of the Mage Wars: Giant, Dwarf, Elf, Minotaur, and Man fighting an unimagined army of Goblins. Such prospects robbed the very strong of will and crumbled city walls in anticipation. The Dae’shan offered no promises, no delusions of victory or promise. This war threatened to exceed the reach of all mortals involved.
Unhindered by emotions, Joden accepted his fate. Lord Death rode his chariot straight for the combining armies, ready to reap his terrible reward. The Giant forge master would be among the casualties, carelessly slain for reasons only he valued. Joden grinned as he took in the smooth, stone walls and well-worn paths of Venheim. Content with his inner peace, the Giant turned and joined his troop. The Giants were finally returning to war.
Grim Dawn
“This is madness.” Orlek angrily crossed his arms over his chest as he paced through the ankle-deep snow. His eyes were stern, narrowed from the fierce glare of sunlight burning brightly.
Ingrid finished pulling her long, blond locks into a braid. She repressed her sigh, knowing his protests stemmed from the awkward combination of affection for her and the strain of leading a rebellion he deemed bound to fail. Frustrations abounded throughout the beleaguered rebel camps. They’d fought, and died, in the name of antiquated ideals. Yet abandoning the principles with which he was raised was like poison in his blood. Orlek’s love of kingdom mired in hopelessness.
Delranan would never return to its former glory. Harnin One Eye had seen to that. Most of the major cities were gutted ruins. Plague had decimated a disproportionate amount of the population. Worse, there was darkness at play in the kingdom. Disappearances continued to rise at a disturbing pace. Children stolen from cribs. Fathers not returning at dusk. Whispers of depraved acts in the east forced an exodus as far west as possible. Delranan had become a kingdom of bones.
Despite the downward spiral they seemed trapped in, Ingrid took hope. The brother of the king’s return offered new light through the gloom. Bahr wanted no part in ruling the kingdom, but he’d vowed to do everything within his power to help purify the hatred occupying the northern kingdom. Ingrid’s hope was that the dispossessed son would reclaim the title from Harnin and restore at least a small measure of Delranan’s normalcy.
Ingrid remained resolute. Feet planted shoulder-width apart, she calmly folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes. “Madness or not we have a civic obligation to uphold. The people of this kingdom have suffered enough.”
“What obligation other than removing Harnin from power do you think we have, Ingrid?” he fumed. “We’ve been pushed across half of the kingdom and kept on the run since the plague struck. This rebellion isn’t as strong as you seem to believe. We’re…fragile…if nothing else.”
“It’s your job to change that, Orlek. Each of us knows the cost and risk associated with our actions. This isn’t the time to blanch in the face of all we’ve accomplished.”
Orlek’s eyes widened with shock. “Just what have we accomplished aside from filling too many holes with corpses?”
Ingrid’s mouth opened and closed quickly. Her viperous retort died on the tip of her tongue as she began to recall faces and names, all brave fighters who’d given their lives in the pursuit of a cause they weren’t wholly sure of. Did Ingrid truly wield such vast power as to command the life and death of her followers on mere whim? She shuddered to think so. A widow of a former Wolfsreik officer, Ingrid was led to believe that all life was precious and no one person deserved to command that of another. Not when it came to Lord Death claiming your soul.
Ingrid paused, oddly recalling a previous conversation where they’d been on opposite sides of the argument. She’d felt used up. A well long bereft of water. The war had dragged on much longer than their earliest expectations. She’d lost friends and enemies, all the while losing part of herself along the way. Fundamental changes continued to have residual effects. Ingrid held greater understanding of what had happened but lacked foresight to change the future. Where self-induced misery once occupied her mind she was now occupied with orchestrating that singular pivotal moment that would shift the balance of power and drive what remained of Harnin’s forces out of power for good.
Tiny laughter escaped her lips.
Orlek narrowed his eyes. “What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking how we had this very same argument not long ago. Only I was the one consumed with grief over losses.” She paused, choosing her next words carefully. “Orlek, our raid on the western fortress can’t be construed as failure. We ruined Harnin’s plans for the west. Think of how much manpower and funding went in to building that hideous fort in the middle of nowhere?”
“Perhaps you’re forgetting how many fighters we lost in that engagement?”
She shook her head. “Absolutely not. Every face, every name haunts my sleep. I’ll never be alone again, Orlek. None of them died without purpose. Harnin sought to establish a firm base of operations in the west, thus depriving us of our hiding places. Yes, we lost, but Harnin lost a captain, a base, and numerous soldiers. We hold the advantage. All we need to do is reach out and seize it.”
“What advantage, Ingrid?” Orlek threw his hands wide in a futile gesture. “We’re borderline ineffective. It won’t take much to break what remains. You risk losing everything by taking to the field so soon.”
“We’ve all risked much since leaving Chadra. Harnin is weak. Bahr’s return gives us a new hope.”
“How? He clearly wants nothing to do with the throne or the kingdom.”
“So he says,” she conceded. “What if he’s not being entirely truthful?”
Orlek clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “I’m listening.”
Ingrid began to pace around the campfire. “Bahr and his collection of friends are in a hurry to move east. Clearly there is a confrontation brewing that will decide the future of Delranan. Bahr knows what his brother and the One Eye have done here. He’s seen the suffering firsthand. There’s no way he can willingly walk away from this. Not if he expects to be able to live with his decisions.”
“I don’t know, Ingrid. That sounds like a lot of speculation. What is your reasoning?”
She paused. A warm grin spread across her face. “The princess.”
“Maleela? What about her? No one has heard from her since the Wolfsreik left for the invasion of Rogscroft.”
“Precisely. My gut tells me she is an integral player in all of this. Could Bahr be heading west to find her?” Ingrid’s eyes shone with fresh ideas. The princess of Delranan might well be the answer to all of their problems.
“More likely off to confront his brother,” Orlek concluded. “Badron’s never cared for his daughter. I think you overstate her importance.”
“Possibly, but we have to keep that option open. Orlek, I think we need to start driving east. Catch up to Bahr if we can.”
His eyes widened in shock. “To what end? You’ve seen his group. A Giant, Dwarf, wizard, and Gaimosian? That’s no meeting I want any part of. If Lord Death is stalking Delranan that group is heading straight for him.”
“Harnin will assume the same and move to stop Bahr. There’s no love lost between those two. We can use that distraction to slip back into Chadra, seal off the Keep, and bring the One Eye to his knees.”
Orlek wasn’t convinced. “You’re forgetting those five thousand soldiers roaming the kingdom. What about them?”
“We’ve already bloodied their noses in the west. Harnin’s lost significant supplies, weapons, and manpower. Orlek, this is the only chance we’re going to have.”
“We abandoned Chadra to change the war,” he said.
Ingrid nodded. “Now it’s time to change it again. We need to move into the end phase of the rebellion. Delranan can’t sustain the kind of warfare it’s been subsumed with. How many more sons and daughters are there to throw into the flames? This is our chance, Orlek. We can break Harnin. Argis is gone. Jarrik killed himself. The others haven’t been seen or heard from since Badron left. Only Skaning remains and his focus is moving east. We have to presume he’s chasing Bahr and forgetting about us.”
The decision to return to what little remained of Delranan’s capital wasn’t easy to make. Ghosts haunted the streets, worsened by the plague. Still, Orlek reluctantly admitted Ingrid’s plans bore at least a little measure of merit. Bahr’s return was no secret and Harnin would be frothing at the mouth to get his claws on the king’s brother. Orlek’s only issue was the rebellion lacked up-to-date intelligence on what was happening in the east.
Speculation of Badron’s return continued to circle the campfires nightly but without confirmation Ingrid couldn’t react accordingly. Orlek knew the rebellion teetered on a constant edge. All it would take to push it too far beyond the recoverable line was one fell move. They
needed
to get back in the fight before idle minds bled them all dry. Reluctantly he began to follow Ingrid’s thinking.
“If we can do this, if, we could bring the war to an end before summer,” Orlek spoke slowly.
“We can,” she affirmed.
He forced a grin. “If, we’re going to have to push scouts forward immediately. We can’t march on Chadra without knowing what we’re getting into.”
She resisted the urge to rush forward and hug him. Her personal feelings continued to strengthen towards the normally stoic warrior. Love was forming, but she couldn’t allow any more than a passing thought until the rebellion reached its destined conclusion. She’d already lost one husband, the pain of going through it all over again frightened her more than any other aspect of this war.
“Summon Harlan. We need to begin drawing up plans. Our forces need to find a convergence point a day’s walk from the city,” she ordered.
Orlek agreed. “I’ll push out scouts in the morning. Moving against Harnin blindly turns my stomach.”
* * * * *
Lord Skaning peered intently through his spy glass. He closed it just as fast, disgust twisting his features. What he had in enthusiasm failed to translate into results. The decision to abandon his persecution of the rebellion hadn’t reached Chadra yet. Otherwise Harnin One Eye would have already sent assassin squads. He didn’t relish the thought of undergoing the same ordeal his fellow lord, Jarrik, did. Of course Jarrik committed suicide during the rebel attack on the western fort a week ago.
The younger lord maintained reservations towards hunting down one of his friends. Skaning wanted power, making it easy to cast aside bonds of fellowship and follow orders. Harnin was adamant about Jarrik’s removal. Not only did Skaning fail to execute his former friend, he had lost the ex-rebellion leader, Inaella. Her continued existence was proving to be a bane to Harnin’s rule despite abandoning the rebellion in favor of the crown. Skaning had never placed trust in the pock-marked woman.
She should have died a dozen times over. The plague ravaged her body while the betrayal of lower-ranked rebels twisted her mind. Inaella was a broken woman. Her worth to Harnin’s efforts diminished daily despite delusions of self importance. Skaning saw through her. The woman was trouble. More than she was worth. Harnin’s alliance with her would hurt the crown.
Thoughts wandering down paths he didn’t care about, Skaning refocused his attentions on the barren fields of snow stretching lazily out before him. Seven hundred soldiers waited impatiently behind him. The hunt was more intensive than anticipated. Thoughts of desertion spread. Being reservists, none of the soldiers wanted to be away from home longer than necessary. Skaning was leading them on a fruitless chase as far as they were concerned.
“Explain to me how a group that large can simply disappear in the middle of all this openness?” he asked sharply. “No tracks. Not even a pile of horse dung. I’m losing faith in your abilities.”
“My lord, we’ve found nothing,” the scout said and shifted nervously, fully expecting the executioner’s blade against his neck.
Skaning snarled. “Double your efforts. A group that large can’t just disappear. I don’t care if we are in the middle of the wilderness. Bahr must be found and destroyed before he reaches his goal in the east.”
“We’ve got more than a hundred soldiers scouring the countryside, my lord. Bahr may be cunning but there is a lot of land to cover.”
Skaning swung to the mercenary captain. “Perhaps I no longer need your services, captain?”
The veteran shrugged nonchalantly. “Doesn’t matter to me. Give us our back pay and we’ll be off to warmer climes.”
“Careful, mercenary. I still have enough soldiers to handle your company,” Skaning threatened.
The captain stiffened. “Can you afford to lose them? I don’t need you, Skaning. You need us. We’re the best fighting element you have, and you know it. Like I said. Makes no difference if you keep us or cut us loose. It comes with the job.”
Trapped by his own anger, Skaning had no option but to swallow his pride and push forward. He knew there was no way his reservists were capable of hunting down Bahr and his motley assortment, not with a wizard and Gaimosian with him. The Vengeance Knight alone would be too much for the majority of his soldiers to handle. Worse, time was running out. Harnin’s rage would be unparalleled once he discovered Skaning’s disobedience. Skaning had to make his move, quickly, if he hoped to retain his place in Delranan’s current court.
“Double your search efforts, captain. The Sea Wolf needs to be found before he reaches his destination,” Skaning said, finally succumbing.
The mercenary grinned savagely.
More like before that one-eyed bastard learns of your traitorous actions. No one likes a man with secret agendas
. “Very well. We’ll find this forgotten son and bring your army down right on top of him.”
Skaning cursed his ill fortune. All bridges behind him were burned. His only option was to continue ahead, no matter the outcome.