Even Gods Must Fall (23 page)

Snarling, Thord spun away and bellowed, “Form ranks! Musketeers to the front. Prepare for battle!”

Horns sang out over the army.

Destiny Awaits

Too familiar sounds echoed across the lightly forested plain. Men and women struggled to keep panic from taking over. Weapons were drawn. Battle lines drawn. Squad leaders snapped orders to their subordinates. Clearly at a disadvantage, the rebel army was stricken with the realization they were heading into a trap. Horses snorted excitement, their breath coming in crisp plumes of vapor that mingled with the rising mist.

The world turned dim. Light mist clung to the ground, growing thicker by the moment in unnatural ways. Trees appeared as demons, slender and wicked. Their branches turned to ripping claws threatening eternal pain. Sunlight filtered into the mist, turning their surroundings surreal. Every sound was amplified. The rebels could pick out the jangle of armor and…something else in the mist-shrouded distance. They looked to each other for comfort, finding none in the near terrified faces of friends and neighbors.

Orlek rode to the head of the column, sword drawn. His forest green cape billowed behind him as he flashed past the stunned rebels. Raising his sword high for all to see, Orlek shouted, “Calm yourselves! We are beset. The enemy is upon us. Ready weapons. Archers to the front!”

“I’m going to take a look,” Boen said after watching Orlek’s impulsive bravado.

Bahr frowned, unwilling to commit to jumping into the front lines of yet another battle. “I think we should get back and stay out of it. We’re too close to the ruins for mistakes.”

“He’s right, Boen. This isn’t our fight,” Anienam added. Blinded, the wizard seemed more attune with their surroundings than any of the others.

The Gaimosian cast an empty hand towards Orlek. “What makes you think we’ll be in the clear if they get into it? Like it or not we’re stuck here. You say the ruins are close. That means we can’t just go around and avoid whatever’s coming to us. Wizard, I am Gaimosian. War is what I do. Leave it to me.”

“Do you not recall the prophecy?” Anienam barked, his voice high pitched, broken. “We are all needed at the final hour if the dark gods are to be stopped.”

“Prophecy be damned! We’ll never make it to the ruins if there’s an army blocking the way! You can sit here and whine about it or run and hide in the night. I’m riding ahead.”

“I’m going with him,” Ironfoot seconded.

No one else moved. The long-awaited confrontation of wills had befallen them, leaving many wondering how to proceed. Bahr immediately noticed their group had divided, subconsciously, into two distinct groups. One wanted to be done with the quest and return to their lives while the other was ready to fight and become more than what they were meant to be. Both Dwarf and Gaimosian had been clamoring to fight since arriving in Delranan. Weeks of frustrations molded into aggression that could only be expressed through violence. Axe and sword, the duo headed off into the unknown confrontation.

Orlek crept alongside Boen, amazed at the way in which the bigger, heavier man moved. Never before had he witnessed such a simple yet remarkable sight. Vengeance Knights were masters of their trade. Boen was in his element. An element where he excelled. Orlek was hard-pressed just to keep up.

To his right marched the Dwarf. Ironfoot might be shorter and stockier, but his footsteps had yet to make a sound. Orlek dreaded ever having to go to war against such foes. Blackened steel waivered in the dwindling daylight. Their faces were painted, lending each a menacing appearance. Snow-covered branches brushed off their armor, white flakes peppering beards and hands briefly before they melted. Orlek’s heart beat faster. He’d never admit it, but he was tired of running, tired of fighting, and tired of forcing a life not meant to live. It was past time to put an end to this senseless war and try to find a way to rebuild.

That wasn’t going to happen as long as fresh enemies continued to present themselves. Orlek flushed out those distracting thoughts and focused. Much of the snow had melted or had been trampled to the point it had become mud. There was no doubt the rebel force was on the trail of the Goblin army. What bothered him were the heavy sounds of an army preparing for battle. Goblins were bloodthirsty beasts as far as he was concerned, but they were hardly foolish. They had numbers and the advantage of being emplaced, forcing attackers to break on their defenses. From what he could tell, this new foe was moving their way.

Ironfoot’s axe flattened against Orlek’s chest, forcing him to stop abruptly. The Dwarf brought a finger up to his lips before Orlek could question the sudden move. Understanding, Orlek started to crouch behind the nearest tree. He brought his sword up and waited.

Ironfoot passed Boen a knowing glance and strode forward with his axe diagonal across his chest. The Gaimosian watched him go, confident in the Dwarf’s ability in this type of situation. He and Orlek waited in silence as the Dwarf disappeared into the foliage. A shout of alarm quickly followed. Figures could be heard rushing through the brush. Murmured words of excitement flowed back and forth in a harsh, guttural language Orlek didn’t understand.

They waited for so long Orlek felt his calf begin to cramp. The fervor died down, leaving him to believe Ironfoot had either been killed or taken prisoner. He was about to ask Boen why they were just standing doing nothing when Ironfoot returned, unharmed and unscathed. The grin on his face echoed immense relief.

“You can put your weapons up,” Ironfoot said with unusual smugness. “Boen, you’re not going to believe this.”

“Believe what?” Orlek finally asked in frustration.

A squad of Dwarves emerged from the building gloom. Each was armed for war. A more frightening sight Orlek had never seen. “By the gods,” he muttered.

“The gods have nothing to do with this,” Ironfoot replied. “Boen, Orlek, the army of Drimmen Delf has arrived.”

Reunions were conducted amidst the open-mouthed stares of several hundred rebels. Never before had the citizens of Delranan stood in the presence of so many different races. Elves, Dwarves, Minotaurs, a wizard, and a Giant. All allied with Delranan against the Goblin army. Many dropped to their knees in tears. Others warned that these were the end times at last. Dire warnings and predictions rippled throughout the small rebel army, now accompanied by over six thousand Dwarves and Minotaurs.

Nothol handed Dorl a mug of partially flat ale and gestured towards the meeting of leaders with his chin. “What do you make of this?”

“I don’t know. It all makes me think Anienam’s not the head case we’ve been playing him off to be. Why else would the Dwarves be here?”

Nothol agreed. Too much had gone wrong since arriving in Delranan for the sudden arrival of a massive combined army to be downplayed. He didn’t think their quest had been fruitless or mired in failure. They’d gained the Blud Hamr and defeated countless foes along the way while only suffering one casualty and one missing. Maleela’s loss stung Nothol most of all, but aside from that one incident in the Jungles of Brodein, their quest had been successful…thus far.

“Looks like we might stand a chance after all. Ironfoot’s buddies should make quick work of those Goblins,” Nothol told him. He’d hoped never to have to witness the awesome power of the army of Drimmen Delf unleashed again. There was nothing so terrible as watching cannons reap lives by the dozen from so far away.

Dorl shook his head. “It’s not natural. Those gunpowder weapons will change Malweir if other kingdoms learn the secrets.”

Nothol had nothing else to say. The Dwarves were likeable enough but contained savagery beyond imagination once provoked. Their prowess on the battlefield was rivaled only through technological innovation. Gunpowder might easily be the single most important discovery in the modern world. It didn’t take much to let imagination get the best of him. Nothol saw vast armies sweeping across the face of the world, bringing death on unprecedented levels.

“Let’s not worry about that. All we have to do is get the Hamr into the ruins in time to stop the Dae’shan,” Nothol finally said.

“Right.” Dorl drained his mug and handed it back. “What do you think they’re talking about? How to get us killed no doubt.”

“Probably but what’s it matter? We know our jobs. Live or die it will all be finished tomorrow,” Nothol told him.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Rekka came over, the look on her face dour but pleasant. Dorl was immediately drawn to the way her clothes hugged her in all the right places. Her long, black hair hung down past her shoulders. The light brown of her skin blended with the dark blacks and blues of her fighting clothes. Her swords were tied to her hips in a nonthreatening way that could easily change in the blink of an eye. She was as dangerous as she was beautiful. Dorl counted himself fortunate to have the love of such a lady.

“We attack before dawn. Even now the Dwarves are rolling their cannon batteries into firing positions. King Thord is positive they can break the enemy lines enough to allow us passage into the ruins,” she told them as she hopped onto the knee-high rock wall they watched the meeting from.

Nothol swirled his mug around, gently sloshing golden liquid over the lip. “I think I’ll go see to my kit and leave you two for the night.”

There was a time when Nothol and Dorl had been inseparable. Rekka’s arrival convoluted their working relationship, leaving Nothol the odd one out. He didn’t mind as long as she took care of him. Dorl Theed was a good person and a better friend. Nothol had been lucky to have worked alongside him for so long. They had enough stories to last a lifetime. Unfortunately those lifetimes were about to be cut short come the dawn. He didn’t suffer from the illusion of survival. Nothol, ever pragmatic, recognized death staring back at him. The Goblin army was simply too strong to defeat, even with the unexpected addition of the Dwarves and Minotaurs. He briefly wondered if anyone would ever remember his name, his deeds.

The sell sword drifted towards the command meeting in the hopes of catching useful bits of information that might help him live longer. Smart enough to stay out of sight, Nothol leaned against a thick, white birch tree and listened.

“…enemy lines are too thick,” Orlek complained. This was the rebellion’s final hour. One he hoped they might escape. The longer the meeting dragged on the more he began to realize how futile that hope was.

“They won’t be once my cannons get done,” Thord assured. The Dwarf exuded confidence. “We’ll rip them apart to the point the rest break and run.”

Bahr added, “He may be right. We’ve seen these cannons in action. There is no other power on Malweir capable of causing such destruction.”

“Enough to kill fifty thousand Goblins?” Orlek asked. Exasperation bled through his words. “How many of us have to die in the process? We never signed on to fight this kind of war.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Ingrid replied. “We’re here now and can’t escape if we wanted to. The Goblins are entrenched in the middle of our kingdom. Even if we left they’d still be here. I don’t think I need to remind you that they pose a far greater threat than King Badron ever did.”

“So this is our fight now?”

“As much as I don’t like to admit it, yes.” Tears clung to the corners of her rich, blue eyes. She too saw the end of all they’d suffered for, only it wasn’t the end they imagined. Ingrid rightly feared that Delranan as they knew it was coming to an end. Whatever happened tomorrow, their kingdom was going to be fundamentally changed forever.

Bahr said, “She’s right. I didn’t come here to fight Goblins either but they are in the way and too large of a force to ignore. King Thord and his cannons will do the trick, at least I hope so. We don’t have much time left.”

Frustrated, Orlek threw his hands up. “Time! Time for what? All of you speak in riddles and half-truths. I don’t believe your quest to save the world. Nor the reasons for these damned Goblins in my kingdom. Do any of you have an idea just how much blood we’ve shed fighting Harnin’s army? How close we’ve come to breaking? Now you expect us to go into battle with a massive army who happen to be well rested and in defendable positions? You’re going to get all of our people killed.”

“Individual life or death does not matter, Orlek,” Anienam told him. His voice was even, measured so as not to provoke intense feelings. All eyes turned to the blind wizard. “What we face is a moment when the world might end. These times are not cast upon with consideration. Each generation has faced challenges and turmoil. That yours should be forced to endure such is no surprise.”

“What are you saying? That we’re just puppets in a never-ending game?” Thord asked. He cast his gaze on the wizard, unable to accept Anienam was permanently blinded. The sudden change forced him to wonder if Anienam’s ability to use magic was impacted enough to make a noticeable difference.

Anienam cocked his head as if in thought. “Perhaps, but we are still given free will to make our own decisions.”

“I don’t understand,” Bahr said.

Clearly frustrated, the wizard continued. “The gods created all life on Malweir but they didn’t intervene in how that life developed. Our individual races evolved on their own accord. We became good or evil based on our own decisions. Never once did the gods step in to alter the course of that development.”

“What’s the point of having gods if they’re not going to do anything useful?” Boen asked. His eyes were narrowed with dislike.