The Godling Chronicles : Bundle - Books 4-6

by Brian D. Anderson

  Lousis opened his mouth to object, but the elf smiled and shook his head.

  “If this is to be my end, so be it,” he said. “Neither you nor King Victis can afford to be as careless with your lives as I can.”

  Bending down, Eftichis slowly dragged his blade across the weapon. The cloth snapped apart, causing the assembly to flinch. He pulled these folds back, but found only another layer of the same material. Again and again he repeated this cutting process, until finally the center of the ball opened up. A cloud of black dust immediately spewed out. An unfamiliar scent filled the air.

  “What is it?” asked Victis.

  Eftichis dipped his dagger and scooped out a tiny bit of the black powder. Carefully, he stood up and showed it to the kings.

  “Bring me a torch,” ordered Lousis. A guard sped off, returning a minute later. Lousis took the torch and laid it on the ground. He nodded to Eftichis.

  The elf tossed the powder onto the small flame. Instantly, a ball of fire flared up and then disappeared.

  “By the gods,” whispered Victis. “Have you ever seen such a thing?”

  His words were met with stunned silence.

  “If only a pinch can do that…” Eftichis shook his head. “With enough, the enemy could level mountains.”

  “They already have enough to raze a city,” spat Victis. “They leave nothing untouched. Not a wall stands from here to the peninsula.”

  “We should give this to the elders,” suggested Eftichis. “Perhaps they can unravel its mysteries.”

  Lousis rubbed his chin in thought. “Find Lady Bellisia. She is healing the wounded just north of here.”

  Eftichis nodded sharply before hurrying off with quick determined steps.

  “Have you any prisoners?” asked Victis. “Perhaps they would know something.”

  “We have a few,” Lousis replied. “But even when tortured, they tell us nothing of value. Either they have superior will, or more likely, sensitive information is closely guarded. We have yet to capture anyone of sufficient rank or position who might know something useful.”

  “Then we can only trust that the wise among us can provide hope,” said Victis solemnly, unable to take his eyes off the weapon. “One thing is certain – we cannot continue to sustain such massive losses.”

  Trumpets blared and orders were shouted as the army began to regroup half a mile to the south. The stench of sweat, steel and scorched earth mingled to foul effect with the decay of ruined flesh. Nearly an hour passed before Eftichis returned with Bellisia. Her clothes were stained with blood and her eyes showed immeasurable fatigue. As she slowly drew closer, it was plain to see that the staff Gewey had given to her had now become a crutch.

  She nodded to Lousis and Victis, and, without a word, knelt down to examine the weapon. Stirring the powder with her fingertip, she put it to her tongue and then quickly spat it out in disgust. Letting out a soft groan, she stood up.

  “Do you know what it is?” asked Lousis, desperation creeping into his voice.

  “No,” she replied weakly. “But there are scholars among my people who might. I shall send for them at once.” Her legs wobbled. Eftichis was at her side in an instant.

  “You must rest,” said Lousis. “Give Eftichis the names and we will seek them out.”

  Bellisia nodded. “Yes. I should rest…but I cannot. Too many lay dying, and even if my power is spent, I still have skill with herbs and salves.” She glanced at the staff and shook her head. “Such a foul way to use this marvelous gift.”

  Once she had provided Eftichis with the names of the elf scholars, Lousis led Victis back to his tent. “You can share my accommodations,” he said. “The other tents are being used by the healers.”

  Victis smiled and bowed his head. “I thank you, my old friend. I do need to rest. Perhaps my dreams will reveal what my waking mind cannot grasp.”

  The two kings sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping on a bottle of wine while contemplating events. Lousis then helped his friend into the bed. He watched over him until Victis’ eyes closed and his breathing was deep and steady.

  Satisfied, Lousis heaved himself up and left the tent. Mounting a waiting horse, he and his guard made their way a half mile south to where the army was regrouping. No longer was elf separate from human. The two peoples were now as one in their formed ranks. Had their plight not been so desperate, Lousis would have been gratified to see such camaraderie exist.

  For hours he watched, with commanders and runners bearing reports on the progress his only interruption. As the shadow of dusk crept over the land, Lousis felt a small sense of relief. Even Angrääl would not be so foolish as to attack elves in the dark. And being that the field was clear and the soldiers as ready as they could be, he almost wished that they would try. At least the battle would have hope of falling in their favor. However, elf seekers had reported that the enemy was not moving, seeming content to wait until daybreak to continue the slaughter.

  By the time he returned to his tent it was fully dark and Victis was still fast asleep. The enemy weapon had been taken away, presumably by the elf scholars.

  He called for another bedroll to be brought, and was just about to climb into it when a young, dirty-faced youth peeked his head through the tent flap. His eyes denoted urgency, so Lousis motioned for him to enter. The king sighed at the prospect of receiving yet more ill news.

  “What is it?” he asked, trying not to sound irritated.

  “Elves march from the north, Your Highness,” said the boy. “They’ll be here before dawn.”

  Lousis’ jaw tightened. He knew this could be either a blessing or a curse. If Theopolou had succeeded in his mission, then this could be the reinforcements he so desperately needed. If not, it was surely the end. Before he could ask how the news came, the boy held out a small piece of parchment. Only with effort was he able to steady his hand before taking it. But as he read the words, a smile crept over his lips. At once, he leapt up and shook Victis awake.

  Victis instinctively reached for the dagger in his belt, but stopped as he realized who had woken him. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up, joints cracking in protest.

  “The elves come!” Lousis told him excitedly. “Thirty thousand of them.”

  Victis looked confused. “The elves? From where?”

  “From the north,” he replied. “And they fly the banner of Darshan. It would seem Lord Theopolou has succeeded.”

  Victis sighed. “Thank the gods.”

  Lousis could see that Victis was still in no condition to do anything other than rest. “I will leave you and spread the word,” he said.

  Victis nodded and smiled before lying back down. “Wake me before they arrive.”

  Lousis leaned over to give his friend’s arm a fond squeeze. “Of course.”

  With renewed vigor, he left the tent and ordered that the news be spread throughout the camp, and to the front lines.

  Hope had returned to his heart, and for the first time in weeks, despair did not rule him.

  Chapter 2

  Nehrutu stumbled through the hard packed sands of the beach, his vision blurred by exhaustion. The stench spreading out from the burned timbers of his once proud fleet attacked his nostrils, threatening to drive him mad with rage and sorrow.

  He felt a firm tap on his shoulder.

  “Lord Nehrutu,” said a young human soldier. “The seekers have returned.”

  “I have not the strength to speak to them now,” he replied. The small fire a few yards away was inviting, and the bedroll Aaliyah had set up for him looked soft and comforting.

  “What should I tell them?” the soldier asked.

  Nehrutu paused, then sighed. “Tell them to join me by the fire.” He knew he must speak with them, regardless of his mood or condition.

  He sat motionless by the fire, gazing blankly into the dancing flames. They were an awful reminder of his beloved ship’s fate. He had watched in utter disbelief as, flaming from end to end, it sank into the deep wate
rs. He now felt totally defeated. Even with Aaliyah by his side, he still couldn’t help but fall into despair.

  Never could he have imagined the devastation the enemy was able to unleash. Angrääl had waited until they were ashore before attacking. Then their ships sailed in and launched balls of infernal hell, one after another, onto their decks. The explosions were unbelievable to behold. He could feel his fellow elves trying desperately to use the flow to repel the attack, but Vrykol had gathered on the deck of every enemy ship, rendering their powers useless. Only a very few of their vessels had escaped the carnage.

  Elf sailors who had spent a lifetime at sea now wandered along the shore, confused and despondent. Most of them had not set foot on dry land in hundreds of years. The navigators did their best to comfort their comrades, but it did little good.

  There had barely been time to haul in the few survivors onto the beach before they were attacked from the north. Only the speed of the elves and the determination of their human allies prevented a total slaughter. It had taken two days to drive the enemy back, and the loss of life was beyond imagining.

  The Angrääl ships had sailed away, but it mattered little. Their backs were to the sea, and an army that outnumbered them three-to-one was massed to their front.

  Nehrutu could hear the nimble footfalls of the elf seekers approaching. He looked up to see three of them, all clad in soft leathers and wearing long knives. Following close behind was an elderly elf woman, her deep olive complexion unable to disguise her many years.

  “Greetings, Lord Nehrutu,” said the lead seeker.

  It took a moment for Nehrutu to recall his name. “Greetings, Jahra. What news?”

  “The enemy waits,” he replied. “They seem content to allow us to remain here.”

  “They prevent us from aiding King Lousis,” said Nehrutu. “They will defeat him in the north, then turn and crush us like worms.”

  “Where is Lady Aaliyah?” Jahra asked.

  “Still tending the wounded.” He rubbed his temple. “Her strength is far greater than mine.”

  Jahra motioned to the elf woman. “This is Kionia. She has come from the eastern elf lands.”

  The woman stepped forward and bowed. “I have brought healers with me to give further aid to the cause. I wish I could bring swords as well, but there are too few of us to defend our own homes as it is. All who could, have already joined you here or with the humans in Althetas.”

  “I am sad to say that we are in dire need of healers,” Nehrutu told her. “Your help is most welcome.”

  “My brothers and sister are already at work,” said Kionia. She cast a sorrowful gaze to the north where the healing pavilions had been erected. “I should join them.”

  Nehrutu waited until she was out of earshot before turning his attention to the seekers. “Is there any way for us to get around the enemy?”

  Jahra shook his head. “Not with so many. And they have Vrykol scattered throughout their ranks. Even if we could find a way around the humans, the foul beasts would detect us.”

  “I need to send word to King Lousis of our situation,” said Nehrutu. “Can this be done?”

  The seeker thought for a long moment. “Perhaps. I may well be able to pass unnoticed if I go alone. But if I am caught, you will of course have no way of knowing that your message was not delivered.”

  In spite of his warning, Jahra appeared to be optimistic about his chances. Nonetheless, Nehrutu frowned. “I will not send you unless there is strong hope for success. I cannot afford to lose your talents.”

  “I will go,” called a voice from a few yards away.

  Nehrutu recognized Jraleel, a sailor from Aaliyah’s destroyed vessel. His face was stone and carried the hint of fury. He strides were long and deliberate.

  “I admire your bravery,” said Jahra. “But you do not know these lands, and regardless of your powers, you are not trained as a seeker.”

  Jraleel squatted down beside Nehrutu, his eyes fixed on the seeker. “I have no intention of traveling by land. My kin and I can construct a small raft and follow the coast north.”

  Nehrutu placed his hand on Jraleel’s shoulder. “Are you certain you can-”

  “My heart is broken,” he snapped, silencing Nehrutu. “My home is destroyed. My feet feel the solid earth for the first time in hundreds of years.” His eyes welled with tears. “But I still live. And my duty to my people remains.”

  “Then I shall accompany you,” the seeker said, with obvious admiration. “You will need my help once you land.”

  “I am grateful for your company,” said Jraleel. “As for the rest of my brothers and sisters, they are in need of vengeance.” His expression grew dark. “They wish to fight.”

  “That wish will certainly be granted,” said Nehrutu. “I have no intention of allowing Angrääl to cage us. One way or another, we will break through.”

  At that moment he spotted Aaliyah approaching. A young human soldier was walking by her side in order to steady her as she trod wearily on the sand. Her shoulders drooped and her delicate fingers clutched at the soldier’s arm. When only a few feet away from the fire, she dismissed her escort. Without a word, she took a seat beside Nehrutu, allowing herself to lean against his sinewy shoulder.

  The seekers and the sailor quickly excused themselves. Aaliyah didn’t appear to notice.

  “Bond with me,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

  Nehrutu wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.

  “I know we decided to wait until we returned home so we could share our joy with our families,” she continued. “But I fear we will never see our shores again. I would not die without your spirit within me.”

  “Nor would I,” he replied softly. “And I only need to share my joy with you, my love.” He kissed the top of her head.

  Aaliyah sat up and gazed into his eyes. He could feel her spirit drawing near, and allowed his will to submit. In just moments, the rush of her heart filled his soul. All at once he understood true happiness. Renewed strength flowed into his limbs; he pulled her close and kissed her deeply. A tear fell as he fathomed the depths of sorrow that the war enveloping them had caused her. And yet he knew that her profound love for him was as unyielding as his was for her.

  The parting of their lips left a lingering sensation of warmth, and the melding of their spirits made his mind reel.

  Aaliyah rose, her own strength having returned as well. She gently pulled Nehrutu to his feet. “I have arranged for a wedding tent to be erected down the beach about a mile away.”

  “When did you do this?” he asked, but her only response was a loving smile.

  Nehrutu knew he should be making plans to march his army north, but at that moment his heart was ruling his actions. The world could burn for all he cared. He would risk the wrath of a thousand demons to have this one night with his beloved.

  Their walk to the tent seemed to take a lifetime. His desire had been set aflame by a torrent of emotions and the sensation of being as one with Aaliyah. With each step he could feel his power growing; not only that, he could now feel Aaliyah’s strength as well. He had always known she was by far the most talented among the elves, but only now did he truly understand the extent of her power.

  As they approached the small tent Nehrutu felt an odd sensation through their bond. It was a dark and immeasurably potent presence.

  “Is that…?” he began.

  “Yes,” replied Aaliyah, hearing the question before it was asked. “That is Darshan.”

  Nehrutu stared at her, stunned. “I never thought his spirit could feel so…menacing.”

  “It is not always that way,” she said, her voice suddenly distant. “There are times when his spirit is beautiful to behold. But I fear as more evil surrounds him, his heart will become ever more cloaked in shadow.”

  “And if that happens?” he asked, unsure if he wanted to know the answer.

  “I am not certain,” she replied in a whisper. Her eyes then brightened
and she smiled impishly. “But tonight is not a night for troubling thoughts - or Darshan.”

  She took Nehrutu’s hand and led him into the wedding tent. Though the sunrise may herald their deaths, the coming night was to be for life and love.

  Chapter 3

  Gewey crept along the banks of the Goodbranch, the moonlit mist hovering inches above the water. The snow covered ground glowed eerily as he peered to the western shore. Linis was several yards to his back, moving silently in the shadows.

  The clumsy footfalls of the Angrääl patrol caused Gewey to grin. The fools should have fled like the others, he thought. The journey back through the Eastland had been uneventful. Elf scouts reported that enemy troops were moving south to avoid confrontation, apparently willing to allow them to march west unmolested.

  Lee had laughed when hearing of this, suggesting that Angrääl knew they were led by the mighty Darshan and feared his wrath. He was probably right, at least to an extent. The Reborn King had no reason to lose men and supplies in a direct assault. Ultimately, this war would be decided not by armies, but by a final battle between the two gods that now walked the earth. Darshan would face his foe. Then, and only then, would the killing end.

  He reached out with his senses. Aside from the tramping of the soldiers and the cold gentle breeze sifting through the pine needles, nothing stirred. He glanced to the north. Sharpstone was a mere twenty miles away.

  Gewey stopped and waited for Linis to catch up. The elf looked at the river and scowled. “I do not enjoy swimming in freezing cold water,” he remarked.

  Gewey grinned. “Neither do I.”

  The words had hardly passed his lips when a massive gust of wind wrapped itself around the duo, lifting them skyward. Linis gasped and instinctively clutched hold of Gewey’s arm. In seconds, they were high above the river and drifting toward the far side. Gewey struggled not to laugh at Linis’ unease.

  When they finally returned to solid ground, Linis stiffened his back. His mouth twisted into a frown. “And I enjoyed that far less,” he said.

  Gewey chuckled. “My apologies, my friend. But it was the easiest way to cross.”