The Godling Chronicles : Bundle - Books 4-6

by Brian D. Anderson

  He spotted Bevaris, Tristan, Linis and Dina standing in a group. Linis waved him over.

  “You look well considering,” his friend told him. “And Kaylia?”

  “She’s fine,” Gewey replied.

  Dina sighed with relief. “Maybe next time you’ll be more careful,” she chided.

  Gewey met her eyes unblinkingly. “If I could convince Kaylia to stay out of danger, I would.”

  “Then perhaps you should both stay clear of the fray,” she shot back. “As you can see, the city will soon be ours.”

  “I’ve heard that the elves were unable to take Baltria during the Great War,” Bevaris interjected. “That hardly seems possible from what I am seeing here.”

  “Baltria was defended from within by fifty thousand soldiers,” explained Dina. “As well as another fifty thousand outside the walls.”

  “And the humans of that era were battle tested,” added Linis. “By the time Baltria was attacked, the war was well into its eighth year. They had learned how to fight us by then.”

  Gewey ignored everything but the ongoing battle. “They must be defending the gates with all they can muster.”

  “That’s my guess,” agreed Tristan. “They know that if the gates open, all is certainly lost.”

  “Then the gates will open,” said Gewey.

  “There’s no need,” objected Dina. “The battle will be won without you putting yourself in danger.”

  Gewey couldn’t help but be grateful for her concern. But he knew that lives would be lost needlessly if he did not act.

  “I promise that nothing will happen to me,” he said.

  Before another word could be spoken he unleashed the flow of the air. His body flew skyward and in seconds he was more than one hundred feet above the battle. Elves were pointing up at him in awe as he drifted closer to the wall.

  After crossing over the ramparts he could see that he and Tristan were correct. Angrääl had set up their defenses around the gates and all along the main avenue toward the docks. There, another large force waited. If the gates were breached, they were obviously hoping to hold off the elves long enough to escape by sea.

  Arrows began to streak toward Gewey, but he easily blew them back. The sight of a man flying above their heads was now spreading increasing terror through the Angrääl ranks. Before his time in Shagharath he might have chosen to engulf them in a blazing inferno. But his spirit no longer raged. His intention was not only to save the lives of the elves, but of his enemy as well.

  Using the flow of the earth, he caused the ground below to shake violently. Very quickly, not a single man was able to remain on his feet.

  “I am Darshan!” he called out in an ear-splitting voice. “Throw down your weapons and you will be spared.”

  Gewey spread his arms wide. A ball of fire shot down and exploded twenty feet above the cowering men. The flames swirled and rose, enveloping Gewey’s body.

  He descended through the inferno, allowing it to dissipate as his feet touched the ground. He did not need to repeat his command. The clank and clatter of hundreds of swords being dropped echoed off the granite walls. Though the ground no longer shook, the soldiers still did not dare rise to their feet.

  Gewey surveyed the scene. The gatehouse had been barricaded and the streets leading from the main avenue blocked with anything they could get their hands on.

  He heard the snap of a bowstring and the whiz of an arrow. From the corner of his eye he saw the deadly missile bearing down. An odd sensation of amusement rushed through him. Just before the arrow found its mark he sent out a short blast of air that sent it falling harmlessly to the flagstone street.

  The ground shook once again. “Do not test the limits of my goodwill.” Gewey’s voice was like a thunderclap, echoing as if inside a great cavern. “Who is your commander?”

  Several moments passed before a man clad in black steel plate, a red plume fixed atop his helmet, stepped forward. Gewey noticed that he still held his sword.

  “Do you intend to fight me?” he asked.

  “Rather than kneel before someone who will kill me anyway,” the man replied. He held his head high and proud. “I will choose to die fighting…not groveling.”

  “Surrender to me at once,” said Gewey. “And I will not kill you or your men. Nor will any who follow me.”

  The commander sneered. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

  In a blur of speed, Gewey spanned the distance between them. With a quick twist of his wrist, he disarmed the man as easily as swatting a fly. The commander could only stand with his eyes wide and his mouth agape.

  Gewey’s expression did not change. “I expect you to believe that if I wanted your blood, I could have it now.” He reached down and picked up the commander’s sword. He examined it for a moment, then offered it back to him. “Have your men lay down their arms and leave the city. Tell them that they may return home, or go back to their master in the north…it doesn’t matter to me. But they are to be out of Baltria by nightfall.”

  After a brief hesitation, the commander took his blade and saluted. “I am General Leon Kirtzul. The city is yours, Darshan.”

  Gewey nodded. “Very well. Open the gates and spread word of this to the rest of your troops before more lives are needlessly lost.”

  General Kirtzul immediately issued the necessary order for the gates. This done, after a final glance at Gewey, he marched away to begin organizing a withdrawal.

  As the gates swung wide, Gewey stepped out. The elves came charging headlong toward him, but stopped the moment he held up his hand.

  “The city is ours,” he announced. “None who surrender are to be harmed.”

  Cheers rose like a flood. Those climbing the walls quickly began descending, many of them jumping from considerable heights in their eagerness to join celebrating comrades on the ground.

  Gewey could see Bevaris pushing his way through the ranks, smiling broadly. Tristan, Linis and Dina were close behind.

  “Well done, my lad,” shouted Bevaris with a boisterous laugh. “Well done indeed.”

  “See that once the city is secured, all Angrääl soldiers are escorted from the walls,” said Gewey.

  “So you really intend to let them go?” asked Linis.

  “This war is not going to be won with more blood,” said Gewey. “Killing these men will accomplish nothing. And I already have enough deaths on my conscience.”

  “They would not have been so generous if the situation was reversed,” countered Tristan. “Nor will they be, should they return.”

  “I don’t care,” said Gewey sternly. “If they will lay down their arms and leave, I will allow them to do so. And those who choose to go back to their homes will spread word of the Reborn King’s defeat.”

  “Not to mention the mercy of Darshan,” added Linis. “I think it a wise decision.”

  Gewey smiled. “I’m glad you think so.”

  He turned back to the gates. Elves were flooding in, nearly all singing songs of the mighty Darshan and their great victory. He could see that Angrääl soldiers were already lining the main avenue, defeated but relieved they would be spared.

  “Come,” he said to the others. “Let us go find Lee.”

  Chapter 19

  Basanti squinted up at the noonday sun. Most people found the warmth of the Fire Hills unbearable, but she thoroughly enjoyed it.

  It was shortly after the goddess had changed Yanti that they’d first come here. They discovered an ice-cold spring that was so well hidden, only the two of them knew how to find it. They had spent almost a full year together doing little more than talking and resting, though her brother had never much cared for the heat. Still, he endured it for her sake.

  Those were the days before his fall. The days before they became reviled and hunted.

  The thick turf covering a small hill she was resting on made it feel like a soft bed of goose feathers, while the sweet scent of wild flowers mingling with the earthy aroma of damp tree bar
k and moss created a fragrance that was uniquely pleasing and wholly unforgettable. A dense jungle surrounding this thirty-mile enclave of green hills, geysers, and hot springs effectively kept most people away, so Basanti had always found it the perfect place to clear her mind and cleanse her heart.

  Felsafell had offered to leave her alone here for a time and guard the perimeter, but she merely kissed him and smiled a refusal. They had spent far too long apart already.

  She often wished for the ability to bond their spirits in the same way that the elves did. The thought of being so close to Felsafell caused Basanti’s heart to ache with longing. But even without the benefits of such unity, she had never been more certain of her love…or his.

  With a howling hiss, a column of steam erupted from the top of a nearby hill. Basanti frowned. The air would soon be filled with the smell of sulfur – the one thing she didn’t like about the Fire Hills. She sat up and sighed. I guess nothing is totally perfect, she thought.

  She spotted Felsafell cresting the next hill and smiled, laughing at herself for not yet having grown accustomed to his transformation into original form. Though he was truly magnificent, she often still saw the odd little hermit who loved her. And the fact that only she could see his true self was a constant source of pride.

  “What were you thinking, my love?” Felsafell asked.

  “I was thinking of how adorable you were as a little old man,” she admitted.

  He flashed a smile. “Actually, I miss it myself.” He reached down and pulled her to her feet. The strength of his arms was unrelenting, yet tempered with great care. “I could return to that form if it pleases you.”

  The memory of the pain he’d endured while changing was still fresh in her mind. She shuddered. “No. When this is over we’ll find a place where no one will give you a second look.”

  He chuckled and kissed her forehead. “I don’t know if such a place exists. But it matters not who stares and gawks, just as long as your eyes are among them.”

  “I always missed the way you speak to me,” she said.

  “I will still sound like a wild madman when I speak to others,” he replied, grinning. “I never could speak their language properly.”

  “I’ll teach you,” she offered, taking his hand.

  Abruptly, they stiffened, both feeling it in the same instant. The presence they had hoped to escape was now entering the jungle.

  “Come,” said Felsafell. “If we leave immediately we can avoid him.”

  Instant sorrow washed over her. “No. We cannot. He is set to task by his master and will never relent. Even if Darshan is victorious, it will change nothing.” She lowered her head and wiped a tear. “This is inevitable.”

  “I have given you two oaths,” said Felsafell. “I cannot...will not...break them.”

  “I know,” she replied. “You will not have to.”

  Basanti kissed his cheek and led him down the hill.

  They walked in silence until they came to a small clearing full of thick moss and colorful wildflowers. At the center of this, Felsafell had long ago placed a small wooden bench for the two of them to sit and talk. Wonderful memories had been created in this setting. And now they would all be overshadowed by tragedy.

  Basanti sat down. “Leave me. I will speak to him alone.”

  Felsafell’s eyes narrowed. “I will not allow him to harm you.”

  “He won’t. His orders are to take me with him to Angrääl. I have no intention of that happening.”

  He leaned in and kissed her with devoted passion. “I will not be far away.”

  Basanti watched as he disappeared behind the hills, secure in the knowledge that he would protect her, but at the same time fearful of what that protection might mean.

  Beads of perspiration formed on her cheeks. She closed her eyes while sending her thoughts out to Yanti. I know you are coming. Turn back, brother. Please. But there was no response.

  In less than an hour she heard his muffled footsteps crushing the turf just behind her.

  “It is good to see you, sister,” Yanti said. “It truly is.” He took a seat beside her.

  Basanti opened her eyes and looked at him with a woeful gaze. “I had hoped you wouldn’t come.”

  “And I had hoped you would remain hidden,” he countered. “You must have known that my master would seek you out.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I knew. But I also knew he believed Felsafell to be under his power, and hoped he would not think it necessary to send you.”

  “I never believed that,” Yanti said with a jeering grin. “Felsafell is far too old and stubborn. But the Reborn King does not listen to me.” He scanned the area. “I assume he is not far away?”

  She ignored the question. “When I first heard that your master was claiming to be the reincarnation of King Rätsterfel, I hoped that the limit of his ambition was to build on your legend. I prayed he had not found you.”

  “That is how it began,” said Yanti. “He used the stories of King Rätsterfel to inspire and create fear. But then he uncovered an ancient tome revealing where the gods had imprisoned me beneath the Weeping Mountains. It wasn’t long before he came to my prison and…changed me.”

  “I never wanted you to be imprisoned,” said Basanti. “I begged them to…”

  “To kill me?" He raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you asked of your gods?”

  He held up his hand before she could answer. “Don’t feel guilty, sister. I know you did so out of love. You asked them to give me a gift and they refused you. Instead, they buried me in the bowels of the earth to rot. Being trapped there all but drove me insane. You can’t imagine the never-ending darkness. I watched from within my own mind as hope faded away and I lost all notion of who I was. When my master opened my prison I thought I was dreaming. But instead, I was thrown into a nightmare.”

  He paused to take a deep breath. “You cannot defeat him. Not even Darshan has the power to cast him down. He has strength you cannot fathom.”

  Tears welled in Basanti’s eyes, and one by one they began to fall. “I am so sorry that I failed you. And I am sorry that your torment continues. But you’re wrong about Darshan. His power grows, and he will defeat your master. And when he does–”

  “Your savior has no idea what he will face,” Yanti snapped sharply. “My prison was not the only thing my master discovered hidden in the deep of the mountains. Thanks to the lack of wisdom amongst those you serve, he is now far more powerful than any god could be. Darshan has taken Baltria, and he imagines that this will draw the Reborn King out of Angrääl to a battleground of his choosing. He does not understand that the battle is already over.”

  He looked into Basanti’s eyes, his face tense and pale. His mouth twitched. “When at last they meet, Darshan will fall.”

  “What else did he find in the mountains?” asked Basanti.

  Yanti's hands trembled. “I cannot say. The power held over me forbids it.” He glanced in the direction where he knew Felsafell was waiting. “The old hermit knows. Or at least, he should. And if he slays me, he will tell you.”

  She reached over to take her brother’s hand but he pulled away. “There is so much I want to say,” Basanti told him. “So many things I need you to know.”

  Yanti managed a smile. “I know you love me, sister. And that is what makes me wish for death. Know that whatever I have become, I have always loved you…and I am sorry.”

  He got to his feet. “Come out, old hermit!” he shouted. “It is time for us to settle accounts.”

  It took only a few seconds for Felsafell to appear.

  Yanti smirked. “So, I finally get to see you in your true form. Quite a bit more impressive than before.”

  Felsafell ignored his words and looked to Basanti. She was openly sobbing.

  “I release you from your oath,” she whispered. “Do what you must.” She stood up on unsteady legs. “But I cannot watch.”

  Yanti and Felsafell both looked on as she walked away. Then, inevitab
ly, their eyes met.

  “Before we end this,” said Yanti, his tone sincere and steady. “I would like to thank you for keeping her safe all these long years.”

  Felsafell nodded. “I love her. And once you are gone, my commitment will remain.”

  Yanti huffed a laugh. “That is assuming you turn out the victor.”

  Felsafell’s legs parted and his muscles tensed. “For both of your sakes, let us hope that I do.”

  A hissed curse slipped from Yanti’s mouth. He then leapt forward with inhuman speed, a dagger appearing in his hand from seemingly nowhere. Felsafell only just managed to move aside in time as the blade passed less than one inch from his throat.

  Before Felsafell could strike back, Yanti ducked low and spun, his left leg extending sharply. It smashed into Felsafell’s right ankle, knocking his foot away from the ground. Felsafell stumbled for a moment before quickly regaining balance.

  Yanti rolled away, out of reach.

  “You have grown stronger,” said Felsafell. “It would appear your master has been generous.” He pointed to the dagger.

  Yanti sneered with contempt. “You didn’t think I would challenge you without hope of victory, did you?”

  Felsafell did not bother to reply. He spanned the distance between them in the blink of an eye, smashing his fist hard across Yanti’s jaw. Yanti grunted as the sheer force of the blow lifted him from his feet. But then, in an amazing display of skill, he tucked his legs in tight and allowed his body to continue spinning. He landed on one knee, the hand still gripping his dagger pressed to the ground. Felsafell was on him before he could rise, but Yanti drove at him low. To escape the lunging blade, Felsafell was forced to jump vertically, so allowing his opponent the space to roll away beneath him.

  Yanti rapidly regained his feet. His eyes were twin balls of fire, blazing from the thrill of the battle. In total contrast, Felsafell looked to be calm and in complete control of his emotions.

  His appearance unnerved Yanti for a moment. Perhaps he toys with me, he thought. The idea was rapidly dismissed. He charged in again, flipping the blade in his hand, then falling to the right. This time he felt the tip slice through flesh. But Felsafell did not cry out. Instead, Yanti felt a booted foot kick him hard in his ribs. His body flew at least ten feet into the air. He tried to land in an upright position like before, but this time he was too unbalanced. He hit the soft ground on the flat of his back.