The Gods' Games Volume 1 & 2: Graphic Edition (The Gods' Games Series)

by Quil Carter

  Below the railing of Erick’s balcony was a statue of a dragon, grasping onto the bricks like it was climbing down it. Its neck stretched out and recoiled like a striking snake.

  Below them, another balcony, guest chambers for royal guests if Sweeny remembered correctly.

  They both jumped as they heard someone rattle the outside doors, before there was more shouting. Sweeny bit his lip, but he knew it was their only chance. With the sounds of the elves dying outside of Erick’s chambers, they were not about to take any prisoners. They would kill Erick eventually; well, they’d probably torture him first.

  Especially when they saw what he had done to Philrick.

  Sweeny took off his belt, and buckled it to one of the armour’s buckles. The leather was stiff and pounded down to fit the Sentinel’s body, it did not move easily under stress.

  Sweeny flung it over the balcony and started belting his leather belt to the neck of the dragon statue that stared, mouth open, at the mountains in front of them. It was made of granite and looked strong, able to hold the weight of an elf. It might work.

  Sweeny looked at the steep several hundred foot drop to the Avarice Forest below them, the Pyre’s woods. Snow-covered and tall, but from the top of the castle, it looked like the snowy grass in a court yard.

  It was a long ways down. Sweeny felt a lump of doubt, but he swallowed it. This was their only chance.

  He looked behind him. Erick was staring at him, eyes wide. He was still only dressed in his linen trousers and silk shoes. He had never looked more human to Sweeny, less of a king and more an out of place elf from another world. The Great Draken, the King of Alcove, chosen by the gods, looked terrified. Shirtless, without armour, or Sentinels, he looked like a displaced human about to face death.

  Sweeny had never loved him more than in that moment.

  “I’ll climb down first, to make sure it can support us. Hang off of the breastplate, climb down it and swing… I’ll be able to grab you, okay?” Sweeny said.

  Erick just stared at him; his face was drained of colour. He looked like he would rather face the angry mob outside of his chamber doors rather than dangle off the side of his royal balcony.

  Then there was another rattle of the doors. “Check the balcony! I want the Taunel traitor’s head!”

  They think I’m out here? Sweeny took one last look at the door before he put one leg over the railing and started to climb down. Erick was beside him, he seemed to have snapped out of his shock. He steadied the hardened leather as Sweeny grabbed onto the sides.

  As Sweeny slid off and put his weight completely on the makeshift ladder, his heart clenched. His feet dangled in the wind, his claws dug into the side of the breastplate. He took a breath and started to climb down.

  Sweeny reached the second part of the armour. As he held onto the last grip he could find, he looked down.

  He felt dizzy as he saw his shoes swaying above the snowy green forest. Nothing but a belted piece of leather separating himself from meeting it, that and a lot of cold air. It was a long ways down, frighteningly long. He could see grey rocks that were probably small hills and rises, and grey-blue cuts in the landscape that were rivers.

  Sweeny just stared down for a few moments, feeling transfixed. Everything looked like a painting, so detailed, so small, tiny brush strokes of trees, sweeping lines of the rivers, blots for small crystal lakes fed by the melting mountain snow. How long would he be in the air until he met the Avarice Forest?

  The squire shook his mind free and started to swing.

  “Be careful, god dammit!” Erick hissed, his voice scared. Sweeny gathered as much momentum as he could before, with a final swing, he let go.

  His back grazed the railing below, but he managed to land on his feet. He looked forward quickly and gave out a breath as he saw the balcony door closed and quiet.

  “It’s safe, hurry,” Sweeny said, running to the railing.

  Erick stretched an arm down and passed him the daggers they had gotten from the dead assassins, and his Jare’s Paw. Sweeny put them onto the brick floor and watched as Erick swung a leg over.

  Sweeny braced himself to catch him; he would jump over the railing after him if he fell. Either way, they will live together or die together; Sweeny knew that this much was true now.

  He didn’t fall though; he was strong like Sweeny knew he was, of body and of mind. Being only dressed in black linen pants helped as well.

  Erick reached the bottom of the breastplate and swung. Sweeny jumped back as he cleared the railing completely; however he didn’t land as flawlessly, he fell on his bottom with a grunt.

  Sweeny quickly jumped onto the railing and unbelted the belt and leather from the dragon’s neck. He jumped down and put the belt on. He was the only one who could properly sheath their daggers; Erick’s pants just had drawstrings and small pockets.

  “I can’t hear anyone,” Erick said, pressing his ear up against the door. The moment he said that though there was a crash above them. The unaltered were trying to break into the balcony of Erick’s chambers.

  “Follow me, Your Grace,” Sweeny said. He opened up the chamber doors and looked around. It was empty. Just a four poster oak bed in one corner with a green throw on top, empty bookshelves, side tables, and other wooden furniture up against the brick walls. The room was dark with only a single stained glass window depicting a blue snowflower.

  Sweeny waved Erick in and as quietly as they could, they closed the doors behind them.

  “Where the hell is that useless kessiik?” Erick growled. He put his hands on his hair and gripped it. “How many have even regained their will? They obviously overpowered the Sentinels if they got to the balcony.”

  “We have to get you out of the Pyre, or hide you well.” Sweeny pressed his ear up against the door leading outside into the hallway. “Until Nyte finds us.”

  “Nyte, Nyte. All this depends on that stupid feroe,” Erick snapped, keeping his voice as low as possible. “Why the hell did they even regain their minds?”

  Sweeny didn’t hear anything on the other end of the door. He tried to figure out in his head exactly where they were, but as he did, the answer to Erick’s question came to him. “The priests were the ones using their powers to brainwash them. I bet with Xalis and Darsheive gone, it’s weakening.”

  Erick scoffed angrily; he raised his foot to kick the side of the poster bed in the chambers but stopped. Whether it was because he was wearing only silk shoes, or because he didn’t want to make noise, Sweeny didn’t know. “They are pretty shitty gods!” he snarled, viciously tearing a cougar tapestry down instead.

  “We need to know what’s going on, but that’s impossible right now,” Sweeny said. “I… I think we should hide, until they regain the castle again.”

  “What if they don’t?”

  How many are brainwashed and how many serve you? How many were unaltered but waiting for the opportunity to overthrow you? Sweeny opened the chamber doors and peeked out. The hallway wasn’t lit, meaning it wasn’t in use.

  Hide the king… hide my Erick… I’ll tell him what he wants to hear but I’ll bound and gag him if I have to, if it will keep him safe. Erick’s bouts of bravery are dangerous right now. He would be easier to deal with if he was in his scared, frightened human state. Sweeny had to keep him safe at all costs, not only as the King of Alcove and the former human that he knew he loved, but as the only one who would be able to convince Ben that Xalis and Darsheive were here, and Schrael was alive in the demigod.

  Only Erick will be able to make Ben believe their prophecy is false and they’re marching to their deaths – or worse.

  Sweeny took a step but to his surprise his legs wobbled. He almost fell to his knees but a moment later the cold hands of Erick steadied him.

  “They bashed your head good, watch yourself,” Erick said, closing the chamber door behind them. “The kerchief used to be green, it’s purple now.”

  I didn’t even notice…

  Sweeny a
nd Erick tiptoed down the dark hall; it was quiet, but they dared not speak. He walked like he knew where he was leading Erick, but in reality he had no idea. The only thing he could think of was hiding Erick in a small set of tunnels he knew of. It was in a wing on a floor below them, but they should be safe. It was adjoining two chambers, used for forbidden love and probably assassination at one point in the Pyre’s history.

  Yes, I’ll hide him there. He’ll be safe, Nyte will find him.

  Sweeny brushed his hand over the pommel of the Lelander’s dagger; he’ll bash him over the head if he needed to… knock him out… something. Erick couldn’t make clear decisions right now, he might get the urge to be a hero… but he couldn’t be right now.

  Sweeny and Erick stayed in the shadows as they got to the end of the hall. There was another door, though this one was ajar. A sliver of luma light shone through, breaking up the darkness.

  Sweeny pulled it open; he could hear fighting nearby. He quickly glanced out to look but pulled his head back with a gasp. He watched as a guard drove a sword between the shoulder blades of a councilelf, an elf that worked under the secretary. The councilelf was unarmed and only dressed in robes.

  The guards all took turns spitting on him, as he fell to the ground dead, blood soaking through his brown robes. The guards laughed, one of them was holding a rapier with an object on top of it, but Sweeny couldn’t see what it was.

  “Get back!” Sweeny hissed. They pressed themselves up against the wall, the sliver of light only inches away from their toes.

  They were too close to dare chance closing the door. Sweeny didn’t even want to move. He pressed his back up against the wall, and tried not to breathe.

  Sweeny peered into the hallway, out of the crack between the door and the wall. The light would blind anyone looking in; this was as safe as they could manage with the unaltered being so close by.

  The talking came closer, Sweeny held his breath. Soon the first elf passed him, he recognized him as a knight, then the second, one he had seen around but couldn’t recall his name.

  Then he saw the decapitated head of Zoltan, the object he had seen on the rapier, being paraded past the door. Sweeny felt sick, as his blue drooping eyes stared at him, dead and sightless, before they disappeared. The last elf then passed. He had the steward’s helper’s head in his hand; he was trying to put it on his own sword.

  “–chambers were empty,” one of the unaltered said. “The king’s whore is missing as well.”

  “So is Keleon, probably fucking in the bath house.” One gave out a gruff laugh.

  Keleon? He was in his fifties… how gross, Sweeny thought in spite of himself.

  “Bring the captured to the throne room. I want their sheking blood on the floors for the traitors to step on, like the king bitch made us.”

  “I want to find the king first. I won’t be happy until we find him. I’m going to make him bleed in the worst way.”

  “I’m chedni and I want to make him bleed,” the first one growled. “The squire will squeal like a skewered rabbit when I’m in him.”

  “Chaka with that. What happens to the Taunel bitch is irrelevant. We need to tell the lords and Korivander that the maegic is weakening. That’s first.”

  “We’re already sending ravens to Lelan Island, and the holds. They’ll kill me before they brainwash me again. I won’t escape like Tonnis. If I die, I want Alathéa to know I died with my free will intact and a sword in my hand.”

  “Here, here!” The voices faded.

  When the door slammed, leading to another wing of the castle and far away from them, Sweeny finally took in a breath.

  “They want to rape us? How honourable,” Sweeny said, his voice a sharp edge. “They prance around like they’re better than you, but give them an excuse and–”

  “I’m trying to save their shekin’ precious kingdom!” Erick snapped, obviously not even listening to what Sweeny was saying. “Let’s see where their loyalties lie when Schrael is drawing their intestines through their mouths!”

  “We need to get out of here,” Sweeny whispered. He stepped out to make sure the coast was clear. “Follow me.”

  “I’ll make them suck my cock before I cut their heads off!” Erick raged. “I should have killed them. I let them live! I let them keep their fucking lives!”

  “Shh, quiet, love.” Sweeny lead him to the other end of the hallway and to a door leading down a flight of stairs. Protocol demanded the king goes first, but he assumed Erick wouldn’t mind.

  Sweeny took out the Jare’s Paw that he had tucked into his belt, hitched by the claws, and handed it to Erick. Erick took it and slipped it onto his knuckles; he looked down the stairs. “They won’t take us alive.”

  No, they won’t take me alive. I’ll die protecting you; I’ll hold them off as long as I can…

  They walked down the carpeted steps, still dark, cold, and windowless. The darkness told Sweeny the bottom doors would be closed as well, the entire floor they were about to step onto was always well-lit. This floor of the castle would be more occupied, though the wing the stairs led to wouldn’t. The throne room was at the other end of this floor, and the main hall as well. This was the main area of the castle, if the unaltered were anywhere it would be there, but hopefully not where they were headed.

  Sweeny’s heart raced, but any shred of fear that he felt was pushed away by cold determination. He had to hide Erick, no matter what. Death was inevitable to anyone, and if he had to die for Erick he would. He had already gotten to experience the best week of his entire life… the week he spent in Erick’s bed, and in his arms.

  I would die happy – and I would die knowing I was not only saving my king, who will in turn save all of Elron…

  I would die for the elf I loved.

  Sweeny listened, before opening the door. He held up a hand for Erick to stay put, and grabbed onto the iron handle of the door. He pulled it open and looked through.

  Suddenly he was snatched out of the doorway. The next thing he knew he was being thrown up against the wall. He hit it, face first, and fell to the floor. He felt himself get picked up again.

  “WE FOUND THE WHORE!” a roar sounded. Around him Sweeny heard cheers and the clanging of swords against armour. He saw blood droplets fall onto the green runner, before he was punched in the back of the head.

  You assholes… I’m… I’m not his whore… Sweeny’s coughed a spray of blood as they hit him again.

  “Put his head on a spike,” a dark voice sounded. He felt a set of hands grab onto his face, and his neck stretch back, then a cold blade started to saw.

  Sweeny tried to scream but all he could do was gasp.

  “No, bring him to the throne room. I want the others to see what happens to traitors,” another voice said. The blade was taken away from his throat but not before leaving its mark on Sweeny’s neck. He looked down dazed as the blood spilled onto the floor in sheets. His neck felt cold and numb.

  Don’t… don’t, Erick… stay hidden… even the voice in his mind was hazy. His heart rapidly thrummed inside his chest as he watched the carpet start to move; the blood splattering from his wound and leaving a trail as they carried him towards the throne room.

  Sweeny opened his eyes to see a painting of a silver dragon pass by, upside down, though still beautiful in its black frame. Then the bust of a past king, King Delos, also upside down… everything was upside down.

  The blood dripped down the slash in his neck, down his chin; he could feel it run into his ears. Dripping… fast drips.

  “Look at that, Alfir, I can see my reflection. Unaltered, free will, with his nose so far up Erick’s ass, he could smell his breath,” the taunting voice said. The elf carrying him shook him hard making Sweeny groan from the pain. “I’m going to shove your decapitated head up your precious king’s ass while he’s still alive.”

  “His father would be ashamed of him. He might’ve been against Calin but he would’ve never aligned with Erick,” the voice of the el
f who tried to cut his throat said.

  “He’ll die a traitor all the same,” the second voice said. He shook Sweeny harder. “Won’t you? Little whore?”

  “Fuck you,” Sweeny choked, watching the paintings go by. He could still feel his daggers on his belt, they hadn’t taken them. Erick had his Jare’s Paw, he would be okay… he would hide. Please be hidden. I’ll distract them.

  “Say that again, whore?” the one named Alfir snapped.

  “FUCK YOU!” Sweeny cried. He felt himself get thrown to the ground. He groaned and rolled to his side, but got kicked in the ribs; he tried to curl up but the blows kept coming.

  “Take his trousers off,” the other one said. “I’m going to tear him up before I bring him to Makinnin. I’ll feel like the king when I’m making him scream like a maiden.”

  “How many times has the king fucked you, whore?” Alfir snarled in his ear. Sweeny felt his pants get yanked off of him; the cold air hit his bare skin. He tried to reach for his dagger but all he could do was paw at the carpet. He felt himself get dragged into one of the chambers. The room got darker as they pulled him towards the bed.

  He felt another blow, this time right in the neck where his wound was, then his legs get pulled back. Sweeny’s clenched his teeth; he gathered all of his energy and managed one last scream as he felt one of them roughly push two fingers inside of him.

  Erick burst through the doors, Jare’s Paw in one hand and the broken off leg of a side table in another. He immediately saw the three elves, one dressed in mail but helmetless, and two dressed in council and court robes. The one in court robes had his trousers off; the other two were holding the half-naked Sweeny’s legs back, though he wasn’t struggling. The trouserless elf was leaning over Erick’s squire, two blood-covered fingers inside of him.

  The King of Alcove gave a bellow of rage before he swung the broken table leg at the councilelf. He hit him with such force his head crushed under the bludgeon. He immediately fell off to the side and started seizing, a stream of piss squirting out of him as he died.