Even Gods Must Fall (22 page)

The ruins of Arlevon Gale were said to be haunted by more than ghosts. Mahn knew next to nothing about them, though the pair of Delrananian scouts accompanying them spoke with extreme caution. Better had died for less and the sons of Delranan were no fools. They deflected Mahn’s questions, mostly, and tried to focus on their mission. Mahn couldn’t argue with them. After all, soldiers were expected to follow orders. They went to the ruins because their general told them to.

“How much further? It’s so dark I can barely see in front of my horse,” Mahn whispered.

The lead Delrananian scout squinted to try and get a better look at their surroundings. “Not much. We should be coming up on them once we clear the trees.”

“Good. This place gives me a bad feeling.” Raste’s voice was low, anxious.

Mahn seconded the emotion. He felt a thousand pair of eyes watching. Each time he turned the feeling shifted. Always fluid, he couldn’t pin down the location the feeling stemmed from. Without proof, he couldn’t bring it before the others, not without sounding like a witless old timer. He bit his tongue, keeping those suspicions to himself while his hand crept closer to his sword.

The scouts felt a weight slip away as the darkness began to brighten. The trees spread out, growing thinner. Fresh sounds came to the four. Shovels and hammers. Torchlight broke the wall of night. The scouts halted in place. Foul speech could be heard over the sounds of forced labor. The foul speech of Goblins. Whips cracked.

“Mahn, no,” Raste cautioned as the older scout slid from his saddle.

Mahn waved off his concern and crept closer to get a better view. He danced between trees, edging ever closer to the tree line. His heart was wedged in his throat. No stranger to Goblins, Mahn thought those troubles were over after the ambush at the base of the Murdes Mountains where the Wolfsreik turned and helped destroy the Goblin occupation army. He never imagined encountering more in Delranan.

He used the trees and large bushes for cover until reaching the very edge of the forest. Close to one hundred meters had been cleared back, giving the Goblins a long killing field and removing the element of surprise from any attacking army. Thousands of soldiers busied with establishing defenses around the moss and ivy-covered ruins. Mahn tried counting, at least estimating, but the effort proved futile. No matter how many he saw even more lurked within the perimeter. They seemed endless. He knew the combined army would never be able to defeat such a large force, not without sustaining massive casualties.

“We need to get back, now. The army is marching into a trap,” he said as he climbed back onto his horse.

“What is it? Mahn, what did you see?” Raste asked.

“Death.”

The Old Alliances

Endless leagues passed by. Day and night blended together into one unending, indistinguishable chain of events. The army grew tired. Muscles were sore. Feet hurt. Boots were cracked and replaced. Still the army trudged forward. The promise of war commanded them. Each soldier in the ranks was eager to join the cause and lend their axe to the cause of righteousness, though the senior leadership suspected many had come simply for the promise of violence. Not that it mattered. They’d all been assured unprecedented violence was about to be unleashed on Malweir should they choose to remain sidelined.

“We’ve passed into Delranan.”

Thord looked up at Faeldrin. The Dwarf Lord took no comfort in the news. There were still many leagues to march before his army would come to their great battle. Excitement overpowered his sense of reason. The civil war with the dark Dwarf clans had been violent and bloody, but Thord viewed it as good experience for his army. They’d been assured that the enemy they prepared to encounter was unlike any they had ever faced. Thord took the challenge head-on, eager to prove the prowess of his people.

“That’s great, but there’s still a ways to go if what you and the Dae’shan said is true,” he countered.

Faeldrin grinned at his Dwarf companion. Elves and Dwarves had a long history of not getting along except in moments of extreme duress but the lord of the Aeldruin couldn’t help but feel companionship with his shorter partner. War often forged strange bonds for which he was glad. He turned to the third member of their command group. Krek, the Minotaur king, marched with utter surety. They’d met once, long ago, and helped the kingdom of Thrae repel a Goblin invasion and kill the dragon Ramulus. That campaign formed lasting feelings of fellowship between them, making it easy for Krek to come to Delranan’s aid when matters grew dire.

“What say you, my tall friend?” Faeldrin asked.

Krek snorted, clearing out his wide nostrils. “Goblins need to die. Krek will kill many!”

The Elf admired the Minotaur for his audacity, though often wondered why he hadn’t been able to learn how to speak the common tongue fluently. Minotaur shamans had a long history of teaching their kings to fit in with the other races. Either Krek refused or he’d been too long in the ranks to seek change.

“Indeed, but we must arrive first. My scouts are already ranging into the kingdom,” the Elf told them. “Artiss Gran spoke of dire occurrences happening across Delranan.” Though he suspiciously avoided detailing those events.
Yet another round in the long game the Dae’shan seemed intent on playing with our lives.

“I don’t much care for the Dae’shan. What I want is another crack at these Goblins. They’ve killed too many of my kind over the years, including a week ago. Their time must come to an end and I’d have it come at the sharp edge of my axe.”

Thord fell grimly silent. His hatred of the Goblins and their creators went deeper than anyone knew. Pure, unadulterated rage smoldered in his dark eyes each time he thought of the foul Goblins.

The Elf wasn’t one to question old grudges. He too had had his share of enemies worthy of the term nemesis. The quest to slay the dragon, in what felt like a dozen lifetimes ago, helped him understand the Minotaurs and their crude ways. Scores of the mighty warriors fell when the Goblin army sent a punitive force to attack their underground home of Malg. Krek had been on a quest with the Elves and Dakeb the Mage, and unable to help defend his kingdom. Faeldrin understood the anger. He nearly let his thoughts take him back over a thousand years ago to a time when the world was raw. Many Elves were murdered by the dark powers. Powers he and his Aeldruin were assured to be marching towards.

“I think I like him,” Thord said, gesturing up at Krek.

The Minotaur grinned; it was a menacing, spiteful glare.

“He does have his charms,” Faeldrin agreed. “Thord, I believe we need to pick up the pace.”

“Eh? Why?”

The Elf shook his head. Long, golden locks floated across his shoulders. “I cannot say why but my mind tells me much will go wrong if we do not arrive with all possible haste.”

Thord grumbled. His face darkened. “I don’t like it when you start sounding like a wizard. It was bad enough having to decipher what Anienam Keiss was saying.”

“Anienam is our last link to the order of Mages. Without his guidance we might already be lost,” the Elf Lord replied.

“And did he mention what fate awaits us?” Thord asked.

Faeldrin frowned, a minor gesture so small it went unnoticed. His crystalline eyes swept across the open fields before them. Faint rays of sunlight glittered over the pure, undisturbed white of fresh snow. Tufts of green struck through in places, bringing contrast to an otherwise serene world. Rock and stone jutted up at random intervals. Wisps of clouds danced across the blue sky. The Elf Lord closed his eyes and used an old method to calm his rising nerves.

“Not per se, but trying to decipher a wizard’s riddle is a feat best left to scholars, not warriors. I have my scouts out now but without having been in Delranan in a very long time I admit to being blind at the moment.”

“We were told march west,” Krek added.

“Right. We march west,” Thord said. “My lads can pick up the pace, though we won’t be able to maintain it for long, not with the long train for the cannons and ammunition wagons. I figure it will take at least two more days of hard marching to reach these ruins the wizard spoke of. That’s a long time where anything can go wrong.”

“Have we a choice?” Faeldrin asked. “I’m going to take my Aeldruin and ride out. Best not to be caught off guard.”

Dwarf and Minotaur watched the Elves speed away. Powdery snow kicked up from their horses’ hooves as thunder rumbled with each footstep. Thord glanced up at Krek, knowing it wouldn’t be much longer before the seven-foot-tall bulls outpaced his much shorter Dwarves. For the first time in his life he cursed being short.

The Elves moved like ghosts. Far behind were the open fields of southeastern Delranan. Forested hills sprang up the further north the army ranged. Much of the deep snows of the untouched south were melting. Faeldrin found it discoursing, for the land was mired in countless tracks. There was no doubt in his mind that the Goblin army had come the same way.

“These tracks are but a few days old,” Euorn said, his long fingers tracing one of the boot prints. “We’ve caught them.”

“Not yet.” Faeldrin wasn’t certain catching the massive army was a good thing or not. They were clearly outnumbered even with the addition of the Minotaurs. The Elf Lord guessed the odds were better than seven to one. Even with Thord’s cannons and black-powder weapons, their meager army would be hard-pressed to withstand any assault.

The scout rose to his full six-foot height. The crossed swords on his breast plate glimmered in the sun. “My lord, we’ve found them. The Goblins will be taken off guard.”

“Euorn, there is no way we could have caught up to their army in less than a week. Look at the tracks around us. This was not created by fifty thousand soldiers.”

“Meaning it’s a raiding party,” Aleor said grimly. Faeldrin’s brother remained opposed to facing the Goblin army so outnumbered. “What are we doing?”

Faeldrin tensed. “What do you mean?”

Aleor gestured to the prints. “This. We are hopelessly outnumbered, Faeldrin. There is no chance of victory here. Our Dwarven allies are eager to do battle against a hated foe, but this is not our fight. We will not come away from this war.”

“Have you so little faith in our abilities, brother?”

Aleor said, “I have little faith in our meager numbers. Fifty thousand, Faeldrin! When has Malweir ever seen such a force? These are the end days.”

“Which makes our purpose all more important. Anienam Keiss warned us of the Dae’shan and their drive to release the dark gods. This is indeed the final battle, brother. What other place would the Aeldruin be if not in the middle of it? Is this not the reason I created us? The world as we know it will fall or stand depending on our involvement.”

“Faeldrin, we are all going to die,” Aleor said, reaffirming his position.

“If such is to be our fate, who are we to avoid it?” his brother countered. Faeldrin reached out to place a reassuring hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I need you at my side. While I cannot promise survival, I give my pledge that I will do everything in my power to preserve as many lives as possible.”

Satisfied with the pledge, Aleor nodded. “Very well. Let us continue forward. If this is to be our fate I would see it done sooner rather than later.”

The Elves mounted up and pushed ahead. Somewhere in the wild lands lay the ruins of Arlevon Gale and the fate of them all.

“We’re in trouble,” Faeldrin told his fellow lords.

Thord grimaced, unsure how to proceed. The look in Krek’s eyes was plain enough. The Minotaur king wanted to attack.

“The Goblins are less than a half day ahead of us and already dug in around Arlevon Gale. They’ve cleared a fairly large field of fire in a full circle. We won’t be able to sneak up from any direction.”

Thord, staring down at the crudely drawn map, asked, “Where is the best place for my cannons? If we can get them in the right position I can break their lines.”

“No, Thord. The enemy is dug in too well even for your cannons,” Faeldrin said. “All is not dire. We’ve seen evidence of a large Human army camped to the northeast. They bear the colors of the Wolfsreik and Rogscroft. Krek, you’ll be interested to know that the Pell Darga are among them as well.”

The Minotaur grunted his approval. They’d fought together once before, long ago.

“How large?” Thord asked.

“Large enough to almost make a difference. I’ve sent my brother to form an alliance with them. Man and Elf haven’t fought together in a very long time. It will be interesting to see if they are willing to do so now.” Faeldrin pursed his lips. The tip of his tongue snaked out to gingerly lick across the top of his bottom lip.

“Has there been any sign of the wizard?” Thord asked. He folded his massive arms across his armor and glared north.

Elf and Dwarf both recalled their conversations with Bahr and Anienam during the battle of Bode Hill. It was no coincidence that all forces were converging on the ruins of Arlevon Gale. At the time, neither Thord nor Faeldrin paid much attention to the enigmatic wizard as he spun tales of gods and the end of the world. Their hands were full in dealing with the dark Dwarves. Little thought was given to Anienam once they were safely escorted to the Thorn River and sent south. Faeldrin guessed they had sorely misinterpreted the wizard’s words. He only hoped it wasn’t too late to correct his error.

“None, but that could mean anything. I believe the wizard was in good hands. Bahr led that group with unwavering fortitude. This was their destination and, unless my calculations are considerably off, this is the hour in which they need to be here.”

“Scouts need to be looking out for them.” Thord didn’t particularly care much for the wizard’s quest. His interests lay solely in his representative, Captain Ironfoot. The Dwarf commander was a valuable asset he dearly wanted back with the main army before they engaged the enemy.

“Agreed, but that would change our objective,” Faeldrin told them.

Krek yawned, lacking interest in the conversation. His dark eyes, almost lost beneath the thick forehead and massive nostrils, were focused on fighting, not talking.

“In what way? There is a Goblin army in need of killing,” Thord countered.

“If the wizard needs to get to the ruins to defeat the dark gods they’re going to need help breaking through that army,” the Elf replied.
Meaning we all stand a very high potential of dying in the process
.

Thord grumbled a deep sound that vibrated the ground. Krek snort a laugh just as deep.

“I’m beginning not to like you, Elfling,” the Dwarf Lord snapped.

“What do you want from me? It can be no coincidence we are here. Perhaps our true purpose is to blast a hole through their lines to see the wizard through. Who are we to challenge the will of the gods?”

Thord wasn’t convinced. “Dwarf gods are not involved in this war. It is the Human gods who continue to destroy the world. I have half a mind to take my army home and let them deal with their own problems. Anything is better than spilling Dwarf blood for a pointless cause.”

“My lords, pardon the interruption!” Mearlis all but shouted as he sprinted the last few dozen meters to their meeting.

Thord was silently thankful for the disruption. His fingers ached to grab his axe and settle his rising differences with the Elf.

“Mearlis, what is it?” Faeldrin asked.

“There’s a large body of soldiers approaching from the west. They number several thousand at least. We were unable to determine who though.”

Krek’s flat ears perked. Rising to his full height, the Minotaur snatched his war bar in anticipation of crushing heads. “Good. We fight.”

“Our Minotaur friend might be correct. Thord, I suggest deploying your army. It seems the Goblins must wait till the morrow.”