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Evisar could hear the footfalls of men moving down the corridor in unison. He prayed to the only god he had ever worshiped, Invictus, and asked for his strength. His prayer went unanswered as he turned around and saw Valihorn inserting the first of fifteen keys into the lock and realized there wasn’t enough time. He waited until the soldiers were just about to round the corner before he rushed forward in a crazed rage, yelling with all his might. He saw Arun’s lips move and didn’t hear anything as the first rank of soldiers raised their crossbows and fired. Evisar sliced through one guard’s chain mail and nearly cut him in half as he felt multiple bolts slam into him. He collapsed flat onto his back. As the black tunnel vision of unconsciousness closed in around him, he saw Valihorn breach the line of soldiers next to him, swinging his dagger wildly. As he passed out, Evisar regarded with a clarity of thought that was remarkably out of place, that for a mere priestess, Arun had managed to keep her soldiers in good order. If they had come around the corner one or two at a time, he might have been able to fight them off. What a shame.
Chapter 63: Nero Plays for Power
Nero waited outside the dungeon door until it was all over before he walked down the steps and stood next to the cells. He watched the guards drag each of the unconscious prisoners back to the original cell. As the first companion passed by, the beginnings of a plan began to form in Nero’s mind. By the time the second elf was thrown in the cell, Nero had finished creating his scheme and was contemplating the final details. He had stopped the elves from escaping as a reflex action. If he’d had time to think about what he was doing, he might have made different choices. By helping Gram recover the gem, the best he could hope for was a “well done” from the Guildmaster. If he brought the gem back personally, it would elevate him to a new position of power in the Guild.
Nero stared at the dungeon cell deep in thought and watched Arun heal the wounded elves. Afterward, she came up to him and said matter-of-factly. “How did you know the elves were escaping? They would have gotten away if it hadn’t been for your tip.”
Nero fought his urge to kill Arun for being a Krone and said, “Did they give you any trouble?”
“There would have been trouble if I hadn’t been there to lead them. The big elf warrior tried to commit suicide by charging headlong into my troops. If I hadn’t been there to heal him right away, he would be dead now.”
“I think he will be dead as soon as Gram gets back anyway.”
Arun nodded her head in agreement and said, “Of that I have little doubt.”
Arun seemed unsatisfied and clearly wanted to talk more, but in the end she walked past Nero without a second look. Nero was more than happy to let the Krone go, but that went against his plan. Instead, he turned to her and said, “You did a great job, Arun. Well done.”
Arun did not turn around, but she did stop for a moment in acknowledgement of his statement before continuing up the steps. In the Krone culture, orders were given, but never compliments. Arun probably did not know how to react to Nero’s gesture. As he watched Arun climb the stone stairs, he couldn’t help but notice her impeccable beauty once again. As she walked farther away, Nero managed to look away. Krone were disgustingly ugly. They all deserved to die. He needed to stick to the business at hand. Arun was Gram’s lover, and he was going to use that to his advantage.
He turned back to the cell with the two elves in it and walked quietly up to the bars. He looked in on the unconscious prisoners. Sorry fellas, you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. No offense, but you’re my ticket to the next rung on the ladder.
Arun had left a dozen guards in the dungeon to make certain the elves didn’t escape again, and that was too many for what he had in mind. Nero’s part had to go unnoticed. He turned on his heel and marched deeper into the dungeon toward the rear guard alcove where a single soldier was stationed.
He went up to the soldier and asked under his breath, “Guardsman, what is your name?”
The guardsman took his meaning quickly and replied quietly, “Frank, sir.”
Nero looked him dead in the eyes and asked, “Frank, how would you like to make an obscene amount of money for one day’s work?”
Later that night, Nero was almost asleep in his room when he felt someone coming up the stairs. He could feel the lust and anger that were on her mind as she came through his door and stood next to his bed. She pulled a dagger from her belt, not knowing he was awake, and moved to the side of his bed with hesitation in her heart.
Nero watched her for a moment and then said, “What do you want, Arun?”
Nero had seen for himself what a powerful priestess Arun was. Gram had also told him that Arun was the heir to a great house in the Underworld, second only to the Matron Mother. Without intending to, Nero had managed to capture and hold this beautiful female’s attention. Now if he could just get her to play the part he intended.
Arun asked, “How did you know I was here?”
He could certainly see what Gram saw in this female. She was strong, beautiful, and bred to command. He could not deny he was attracted to her body as well as the power she would one day control, but it was easy to be attracted to her in the dark, when he couldn’t make out her white hair and dark skin.
Nero lazily shifted in his bed as he replied, “I felt your presence just as I felt the elves escaping from the dungeon. Are you here to kill me, or do you have something else in mind?”
Arun stayed on her guard, but there was clear apprehension in her voice. “I haven’t decided yet. You are an inferior male and yet you saw fit to issue commands over me. You are also a pitiful surface elf, forbidden and undesirable in every way. And you saw me naked without my leave to enter my chambers. In the Underworld, any one of these would be enough to get you killed.”
Nero looked up at her without a care in the world. “Don’t let me talk you out of it, Arun. Here I lie, unarmed. Strike now and be done with it.”
“I don’t know who you are, Nero, or where you came from, but there is power in you. I can feel it from over here. I have the dagger and am a priestess that most people rightfully fear, but something tells me that if I attacked you, I might not prevail.”
Nero pressed the advantage of Arun’s uncertainty by lunging out of bed and backing her up against the wall. She brought her knife up to his throat, but Nero didn’t flinch, couldn’t flinch. He almost had her, if he could just push a little more. “Choose now and be done with it, for Gram will be back before dawn and then all hell is going to break loose.”
Anger flared on Arun’s face at the mention of Gram’s name. She threw Nero backward using her off hand with a force and speed that did not match her slender frame. She backed Nero up to the wall and returned her knife to his throat. “How dare you speak to me that way! Even Gram doesn’t have that kind of gall.” Now that she had control of the situation, Arun threw the knife to the side and kissed Nero hard on the lips. He met her eagerness with equal yearning as he opened his mouth to hers. In the back of his mind he knew what he was doing was wrong. As a worshiper of Venal, he was supposed to despise Krone above all else, but in the end he didn’t care. Arun had the power he wanted; she was his path to the gem, and his passion for her was undeniable.
In a few moments they were ripping each other’s clothes off. Nero ran his hands down her hair and onto the small of her back. Her curves were sensuous and desirable. Arun leaned into him and moaned as her breasts touched his bare chest. Nero’s gamble had worked, and now he could enjoy the spoils of his victory. Nero lost himself utterly in the heat of the moment, picking Arun up by the legs and carrying her back to his bed.
After the initial lust subsided, Arun tried to get up and leave twice, but each time Nero was able to entice her to stay. Eventually Arun seemed to lose track of time, or stopped caring, and fell asleep in his arms. Nero lay awake mentally putting the finishing touches on his plan. Sometimes it was necessary to forget about Guild unity and look
out for the one person he had to live with all of the time. Himself.
Chapter 64: Martel and Mestel
Jefon awoke standing in a void without color or form. He looked around and saw nothing, not even the ground. His night eyes allowed him to see his body along with his legs and arms in the usual shades of gray and white, but there was nothing else. There was no difference between the ground and the sky. No difference between near and far. Jefon couldn’t remember how he had come to be in the darkness, but he didn’t fear it.
Suddenly, unbidden, the image of lightning arcing out from Gram’s finger and striking him full in the chest came back. He remembered falling face first into the mud, and he remembered the feeling of death as his soul separated from his body. The details of his life came back to his mind: learning the ways of the bow and the sword from his father, going to temple with his mother, staying up late talking about his hopes and fears, and chasing his older brother and friends around the courtyard. All the memories of his life came back to him, but there was more. Flashes of horror from a place of pain flirted with his memory. The gaze of a man sitting on a throne of bones seared Jefon’s soul, but just as quickly as the memory came, it faded away as if a friend had walked out of a crowd, embraced him, and then blended back in with the faceless masses.
He must be dead. Both his memory and his senses told him it must be true. Jefon accepted the finality of his mortal existence and thought he was ready for the next step. After all, he had died defending his brother while trying to rescue a comrade who had been wrongfully imprisoned. That was a noble death almost anyone would aspire to, and yet a thought nagged at his consciousness. He had failed to rescue Valihorn, much less restore Devin to the throne. Could he really go on to the next life in peace? It was disappointing to know those quests were now beyond his reach.
Thoughts of his death consumed him for a time, but eventually even those images became mundane as his time in the darkness of the void continued. Eventually he lost all track of how long he had been in the void since sensations had no meaning. After what seemed like days, he began searching for the purpose of the void, and slowly the explanation came to him. There was nothing to see and nothing to do except look within one’s self. He was supposed to examine his mortal life and come to terms with what he had accomplished and what he had left undone.
Jefon didn’t know if every dead soul went into this black void, but it angered him more than he would have thought possible. He spoke into the nothingness. “What is this? Am I supposed to examine my own worthiness? Do you enjoy seeing little mortals sniffle and feel sorry for themselves?” Then he lost his good sense and yelled into the void, “I won’t do it! Do you hear me? I don’t care how long I have to stand here. I lived a good and useful life. I don’t have to perform for anyone.”
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Martel watched with curiosity and pride as Jefon cursed into the void. It was not the first time someone had figured out the purpose of the void, but it was very rare. Martel had watched this elf’s spirit grow over the years from a shy dependent child into an unsure tentative adult, and finally into a confident elf who inspired those around him to be better than they were. If Martel could just get him to reach his full potential then Evona might yet be defeated. More and more, Martel felt he had made the right choice so many years ago, but all his work hinged on the next few turns of the moon.
As a god, Martel’s consciousness was vast and far-reaching. Even with Jefon’s importance to his future plans, only a small fraction of his divine presence was spent watching him in the void. Everyone eventually turned inward and examined his mortal life; it was only a question of time. The soul had to be at peace with its mortal life in order to progress to the next stage. Souls that fought the compulsion of the void were either exceptionally strong willed, or they knew their mortal existence had been a worthy testament to their god. In Jefon’s case both were true.
Two more days passed and Martel could not afford to wait any longer. It was difficult placing so much faith in one mortal, but Martel had no other choice; he could only hope this servant was up to the challenge. He was a lesser god who was trying to fight the head of an entire pantheon. His resources were limited.
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Jefon didn’t know how much longer he could last. Every moment that passed was torture. The utter lack of sensation was driving him mad, and in that moment of despair, the golden light came.
The light shone like a golden star against the blackness of the void, blinding Jefon and forcing him to cover his eyes. The light moved steadily closer. As his eyes adjusted to the brightness he could see that the light was a bird flapping its wings. As the bird continued to move forward, Jefon saw the sharp beak and wings of a falcon in flight. He immediately fell to his knees and bowed his head in recognition of the divine symbol of Martel.
Martel’s confident voice pierced the void. “You have done well, Jefon, son of Lacrue.” Jefon accepted the praise from his god with elation but was too afraid to raise his head or speak. Martel continued, “With your exile you were made the scapegoat, but you kept the faith. Long have I watched you, knowing what you were capable of.”
Jefon was finally able to utter meekly under his breath, “Thank you, my lord.”
“Whom do you serve?”
Jefon recognized the question from the text of the High Book of Martel, written by Mestun. Every year, during the services on Remembrance Day, the priests of the church of Martel recited their lord’s creed. The words were supposed to have come down from Martel himself when he spoke with Mestun during the Year of Angels.
Jefon knew the words well and reflexively recited them from memory. “I serve the Faithful Falcon. I find those who are lost and strike down those who abuse their power. I protect those who cannot protect themselves. I free those who are wrongfully imprisoned.”
Martel continued the creed with his most famous words, “Loneliness and despair abound ...”
Jefon responded in kind, “Trust in the flight of the falcon and be saved.”
With the proclamation of his god’s mantra, Jefon lifted his head and looked upon the magnificence of his god. The golden Falcon in Flight of Martel seemed to be hovering hundreds of feet in the distance, but it took up a full quarter of his view. Martel’s voice sounded into the void. “Jefon, you have made me proud. Wrongly were you sent away from your home, yet still you sought to put right what the gods have put wrong. And now your reward is to choose your fate. Do you choose to join with me forever in my kingdom, or do you choose to continue my work on Tellus?”
Jefon froze, not knowing what to think. There was no doubt he was dead, yet Martel seemed to offer a choice between the life he had just finished and the perfect afterlife that awaited him. Jefon knew what he wanted but he dare not speak. “I would choose to do whatever you would wish me to do.”
Martel’s voice boomed again, “Choose!”
Fear gripped Jefon as Martel began to anger. His mind was nothing but fog and it was impossible to form any sort of thought. He was so afraid to make the wrong choice that he knew it would be better to say nothing at all. Time slipped by as Jefon tried to clear his mind. His god was judging him, watching him. Nothing was more important than this moment and it paralyzed him with indecision and fear. Jefon knew he had failed and this failure only compounded the indecision and fear. Time continued to slip away as Jefon stood there in silence.
“You will choose now or I will forsake you to the seven hells. Choose!!”
Jefon closed his eyes and yelled into the void. “I want to stay here with you, my lord. I am ready to take my place in your kingdom and fight at your side.”
Martel’s voice returned to normal. “You have earned a place among my honored dead, and if that is what you truly want then it shall be yours. Know this my servant. If you come with me now, Devin, the First Heir of Armena, will die.” Suddenly the blackness of the void vanished, and Jefon was in a circular temple surrounde
d by stone. He saw Devin screaming in pain on a sacrificial altar as the wizard Gram completed an incantation. A magical skull lunged forward from the wizard and exploded on impact with Devin’s chest, creating a low-level explosion that rippled forth – altering time and space as it went.
The scene disappeared and the dark void returned. Martel continued, “If you come with me now your brother will die at the hands of the Krone.”
Again the scene flashed back to the stone temple in the Underworld. Jefon watched as Devin’s body seemed to age hundreds of years in only a few heartbeats. His skin disappeared and eventually his bones decayed into dust. Gram opened his eyes and turned to a Krone high priestess saying, “It is done.” The high priestess grabbed Gram with a lust that was barely contained and kissed him full on the mouth. Then she walked over to a prisoner in chains on the wall. The high priestess held up the prisoner’s head. Jefon was shocked to see that it was Evisar. Tears were streaming down Evisar’s face. His spirit was broken.
The high priestess reveled in his despair for a moment before she said with pleasure in her voice, “Witness your ultimate failure, little elf.” Evisar screamed in pain as his body withered away to bones and dust, just as Devin’s had done.
The void returned once more and Martel continued, “If you come with me now, then all of Armena will die.” The scene flashed again, and Jefon was flying over the Armenien capital of Bethel. Elves moved about their daily routines, but he could feel the dread rising. A male elf cried out below him, and Jefon’s head snapped quickly to look in that direction. The male dropped his pack and fell to the ground in utter agony. Jefon watched as the same aging process that took Devin only moments ago, happened to this elf. Another elf shrieked out, then another. After a short time, every elf that Jefon could see was on the ground dying. After it was all over, nothing but dust remained where the elves of Armena once stood. The void snapped back and Martel continued, “If you come with me now, then all of this shall come to pass.”
Do the Gods Despise Us? Page 21
