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

by Quil Carter

  But not anymore. Not only would his reputation be restored now, he would have his son back too. Tseer Amaus would rise like a dragon from a volcano and take back the pride, and the son, that was stolen from him.

  The eyes of the poor and destitute were on him and the two high priests who walked confidently in front of him. The merchants and their colours continued on their busy errands, breaking his vision of the cobblestone road momentarily like paintbrush strokes on a brown and grey canvas. But even they had a second glance for Tseer this time. He was an odd sight this time around.

  “He has one of the biggest houses in Newvark,” Tseer said to them. The priests were dressed in midnight blue robes that matched, and coin-sized silver disks were sewn into the fabric to give the appearance of stars. The fabric they wore was so expensive one of them could have bought Tsoren’s bounty outright. Not just Jevarian silk, but silk from a blackbane dryder, only found in a dreaded forest that even the bravest of adventurer steered clear of.

  Xalis, once again taking the form of a Crithian priest named Krafter, nodded. The disguised god looked bored and rather disinterested in what was going on. “Let’s get this over with then. I wanted to check out the ports and see if there’s anything interesting for us to buy. The last time we were here they had these wonderful little pastries fried in oil, with karissi yellow spice and that red stuff. What was that red stuff called, Stolas?”

  “It’s smoked paprika,” Stolas said, his red eyes were scanning the area and unlike his brother he looked content with his surroundings. “I do love coming here under disguise. These elves are skittering around and going about their day, they have no idea they’re in the presence of–” Krafter looked at the blue sky, feeling Tseer’s eyes on the back of his neck. “– the king’s high priests.”

  “I am thankful you decided to come along,” Tseer said with a nod. With every step he took he could feel shudders of adrenaline go up his skin. It would be soon – within the hour he would have his boy by his side and Marillion’s head on a spike.

  And it would be his head gracing the fountain in the middle of the square, not mine.

  “You think we would miss such a bloodbath?” Stolas said amused. He nodded towards a bowing Dashavian ladyelf. She was wearing red priest robes and a circlet of rubies on top of long black hair. Stolas looked behind her and was pleased to see she was standing in front of an auchtrhall dedicated to worshipping Darsheive. He made a mental note to perhaps visit it the next time he was in town. He did like making sure his subjects were worshipping him in the right way.

  “I never thought of you two the type,” Tseer replied; the excitement over what was about to happen was wearing away his usual stoicism and making him a bit bolder. This state was confirmed when the bounty hunter found a smile come to his lips. “All I ask is that you save Marillion for me. I have been waiting years for this moment. Darsheive bless you for helping it come to pass.”

  “Darsheive frowns on broken deals, especially those made with a blood oath,” Stolas replied. The three of them walked down a small but busy side street, carts with merchandise ranging from produce, to exotic linens, to live animals, were on either side of them shouting their wares to all that passed. The canvases on these carts were all bright colours and it gave this place a deceptively friendly and welcoming look. Newvark was no jovial place to welcome travellers with open arms, the bright colours were perhaps more of a venomous snake or insect, warning everyone that it was coated in poison.

  It was not these colourful canvases, or the dozens of shops that was taking Tseer’s interest though. It was the large house at the top of a winding road. The road was made of white stone scrubbed to shining every morning by slaves, and it was bordered by a beautiful lattice that was covered in emerald leaves and purple and red flowers.

  The house itself was something to stare at. It was such a breathtaking thing to behold it was a surprise Marillion didn’t charge elves to gaze upon it. It was three-storeys with marble pillars on each storey and windows that touched the floor and ceiling. The house was painted red and the pillars and pointed roof white, and in front of it was a courtyard three times the size of the house that had gardens of flowers, rare fruits, shrubs, little ponds full of fish, and a small army of slaves to tend to them. Behind the house was another courtyard that stopped abruptly in a sheer rocky drop off. There was only a single ramp that led to his port, a ramp that was attached to pulleys with its own watchtower in case danger came in from the seas.

  I will pick out a most beautiful Dashavian ladyelf to be my wife and she will give me a daughter to dote on. And if Tsoren wishes it, a brother for him. I will raise them to be powerful mages and they will never stare down at the ground in shame.

  And when my boy wishes to marry I will hold a tournament for his hand. Blood will be shed for the honour of being his chaylen and if his chaylen partner dares treat him as anything but a prince, more blood will be shed.

  “I always admired that house,” Stolas murmured as they walked past the merchants calling to them their sales and what new things they were selling that day. Whenever they passed a Dashavian merchant he shouted steep discounts and items apparently reserved only for them, but the three passed without stopping.

  When they got to the front of the iron gate they were stopped by two elves in chainmail, both of them with shortswords on their belts. Above them as well were two more elves, Lelanders, with longbows. They were in uniform, the Valahir crest was a golden cobra snake coiled around a pot of red gold. The guards all had this emblem on their capes and their fronts as well.

  “Appointment only and Master Valahir is seeing no one today,” one of the guards, an Alcovian with a pretty face, said. Marillion was chayle and liked to only be surrounded by beautiful elves. If Tsoren was unfortunate in appearance he may have been spared but he had been a stunning child and Tseer knew he must now he a handsome grown elf.

  Tseer reached into his red doublet and pulled out the deed that the priests had given him, sighed by King Erick himself. He knew it would not be this easy but there was no other way to start this.

  “You work for me now,” Tseer said his tone firm and his head held high. “This is a deed to Shorefire and in my pocket is also the deed to his ship the Dahaka. It has been signed by King Erick himself and witnessed by this two high priests, both of whom are accompanying me to see that this possession goes smoothly. Your first order is to let us in and bring us to Marillion immediately.”

  The guard stared at Tseer and slowly took the deed. He looked down at it and his eyes widened when he saw that it was sealed by the king’s mark.

  He shifted his weight and continued to stare at the rolled up parchment. The other guard peered over his shoulder and he looked up at Tseer over a frock of curly golden hair.

  “Who are you?” the blond guard asked.

  “I am Tseer Amaus,” Tseer said coolly. “You can either let me through these gates right now or we will force our way in and you will find yourself out of a job, and if you physically try and stop us, you will find yourself without a head. Open the gate.”

  When they still didn’t move, Krafter and Stolas both walked in front of Tseer and stood shoulder to shoulder. At the same time they raised their right hand, and with matching smiles, they made a fist.

  At the same time that they made the fist there was a horrible screeching sound and the gate crushed in on itself like it was crumpled parchment. The two guards gasped and jumped back, their hands over their ears to muffle the high-pitched squealing and their mouths open in pain. As they ran to get away, the two Lelanders jumped down off of their guard towers and joined them.

  Still making uniform movements the two priests raised their right hands and waved them to the side. With this gesture the gate became airborne and flew to the right; it sailed through the air and out of sight, but moments later there was a low but loud splash.

  Krafter and Stolas lowered their hands and walked onto the polished stone street. When they passed the four guard
s, all of them looking stunned, Krafter took the rolled up parchment containing the deed to the holdfast called Shorefire, and continued on their way, Tseer behind them.

  However, noise from the gate had attracted attention. Tseer could see surprised and wary faces peering at them from around the garden and courtyard. Faces of young and old, all of them wearing purple uniforms trimmed with red, holding the Valahir crest on the front. Tseer scanned the faces of each one to see if any belonged to Tsoren. Tseer hadn’t seen him since he was a boy but he had his eyes, so he looked for a younger version of himself.

  It eased his heart to see that they were well-kept and clean. He held hope that Tsoren had been treated just as well.

  But when he looked closer the ease on his heart was replaced by a tightness. The slaves not only looked malnourished but they had scars on their bodies. They may be dressed in crisp and clean uniforms made purple by expensive dye – but their hollow faces showed the reality of their conditions.

  “You’re not going to like what you see,” Krafter said. He looked to his side and made eye contact with Tseer. “There isn’t a virgin amongst them. The males are both working slaves and slaves in Marillion’s bed chamber, and the females are given to chedni guards who please him. I do hope you weren’t expecting your boy to have kept his virtue.”

  Anger flared like a fuel-soaked match being struck. His body shook as the words of the priest sunk into him. The thought of that disgusting merchant doing something to his son flooded his mouth with brine.

  Stolas chuckled at this and leaned over to lick Tseer’s neck. Tseer jumped away from him, an aghast look on his face. He put a hand to his neck and stared at him with wide eyes.

  Stolas stopped and looked at him as if daring for him to say something. The two of them remained locked in their gaze until Krafter pulled on Stolas’s arm. “Enough. Save your guile for our main course. Nibble not on our little appetizer.”

  Tseer continued to stare, his hand still on his neck. The surprised act and the audacity of what Stolas did temporarily stunning him. If it was any other elf but the high priests, if it was any other time than minutes before freeing his son, he would’ve cut the offending elf’s tongue off and shoved it up their own ass.

  But the reality was what it was. Tseer lowered his hand and continued to walk the stone road, the red house in front of them even more impressive the closer they got.

  “Halt!” a booming voice rang. The three looked to see five guards running along the side of the house, swords and shields in hand and the sounds of shuffling chainmail echoing off of the high ceiling of the covered area.

  “We will be doing no halting,” Krafter said nonchalantly. “Where is Marillion Valahir?”

  “You expect to come barging in here and be brought to Marillion like you’re invited guests?” the guard sneered. He walked up to Krafter and got right into his face. “I’d think otherwise, ice snake.”

  Krafter smirked. He raised a hand and tickled underneath the guard’s chin. When the guard jumped back he laughed.

  The guard raised a hand and smacked Krafter across the face. The high priest’s head snapped back. He kept it there for a moment, before slowly he turned it back to the guard, a drip of blood falling down from his nose.

  Stolas gave off an impressed whistle but said nothing. Tseer just stared.

  The guard didn’t break eye contact. “We’ll see if you’ll be tickling my chin when I fuck you in the dungeons tonight, Crithian scum.” He took a step back, his chest puffed out like he was feeling proud of himself, and waved his hand. “Take them to the dungeons. Put some flowers in the Crithian’s hair. I want him pretty.”

  None of the guards moved. Krafter chuckled lowly and wiped the weak trickle of blood falling down his nose. He looked at it and rubbed it between his fingers, then his eyes flickered up to the guard who had hit him.

  “Are you deaf?” the guard whirled around. “I said–” He paused when he saw what the other guards behind him were doing, and whatever words he was about to say lingering into the air before they were sacrificed to the dead silence descending on them.

  The guards were all stripping off their clothing. Chain mail shirts, belted tunics, and winter cloaks were falling to the ground. And as the leader of the guard took a step back, shooting a confused look to the three, the last of them tossed aside his skivs.

  All four guards stood naked as the day they were born, their eyes staring forward and their hands at their sides.

  “Rape him to death,” Krafter said casually, but when all four guards stepped towards the guard now taking cautious steps backwards, he held up a hand. “Put flowers in his hair first… make him pretty.”

  There was no more hesitation on the leader of the guard, he turned and ran. Conveniently though, he ran towards the white lattices covered in the purple and red flowers, and the four naked elves pursued him.

  Krafter and Stolas chuckled, but that wasn’t it for their company. When they turned a corner and reached the grand entrance to the red house they found themselves nose to nose with three Lelan elves wielding bows.

  “Unless you want them to rape your tight little squirrel asses I suggest you bring us to Marillion,” Krafter said coolly. “I’m in a creative mood today and so is my brother. We have grand ways of making you murder yourselves. Ways that would make death by rape seem like death by kitten kisses.”

  The lead Lelander had no negotiating words. He let loose the bow and an arrow sung through the air before embedding itself into Krafter’s chest with a sickening sound. The priest’s entire body jolted backwards from the force of it and was soon followed by two more.

  Tseer gasped and brought out his golden sceptre. While the Lelanders were reloading their bows, their movements a blur from their incredible speed, Tseer sliced the air with the focus stone-embedded rod and sent a crackling strike of black and silver lightning towards them.

  The Lelanders flew backwards with loud cries. One of them crashed into a white pillar and the other two met a far wall with a sickening crunch. He clenched his teeth as the anger cut him and pushed all of his maegic into the focus stone.

  He raised his hand and the Lelander who had hit the white pillar rose into the air. Tseer hit him with another jolt of lightning and the elf flew backwards to join the other two now laying in a bed of crushed flowers.

  Tseer gave out a cry of rage and ran towards them, the sceptre in hand humming and vibrating from the maegic he had stored inside. Then, with every ounce of energy, he continued to lay strike after strike of lightning against the screaming Lelanders, each hit of the deadly Dashavian magic laying a burning laceration so hot it left the elves’ skin bubbling and sizzling afterwards. The wounds cauterising under the heat and bleeding little, but they were so deep the elves’ bones could be seen peeking out from underneath the blackened flesh.

  He had been calm up until this point, it was a rare thing for a Dashavian to show their emotions, but as he unleashed continuous waves of lightning he found the screams and the pleading from the Lelanders too satisfying to ignore. Even when he knew all three were dead he couldn’t help but brutalize their decimated bodies just a few more times.

  When he was done he leaned up against a white pillar and tried to catch his breath. Then he turned around to face what he knew would be Stolas kneeling over the dead Crithian priest.

  Tseer froze.

  In front of him he saw two identical elves where he had last seen the Crithian and Dashavian priests. One of them was pulling the last green-feathered arrow from the second one’s chest. He was pulling it out with ease, an almost taunting smile on his face, and smacked the long black arrow against his hand.

  “You’ve really been taking the brunt of it,” the first one said with a chuckle. He brushed his hand over the black doublet the second one was wearing and Tseer saw the ripped cloth mend in front of his eyes. “Today is not your day, brother.”

  Then the first one looked up, and when Tseer saw his face an overwhelming rush of dizziness
flooded him.

  His face was the face of the most beautiful elf he had ever seen. He had lips as pink as the roses around them, a high cheekbone and a short goatee, a soft but defined jaw and pointed ears adorned with gems. His hair was brushed back and shining under the sunlight, and his eyes… oh his eyes. Tseer found himself drowning in them, a stunning midnight blue with flecks of bright silver like the universe had been poured into them. He couldn’t stop gazing at them and though he was chedni, he felt like he was falling in love.

  “Darsheive?” Tseer whispered. He took one step before falling to his knees and bowing; his nose touching the ground. The emotions inside of him were physically weakening him and he felt his body start to tremble under the awe of being in the presence of his god.

  He heard Darsheive’s low laughter. When it came from Stolas he ignored it and even felt annoyed, now his actions while his god had been disguised as a high priest, horrified him.

  “You may stand,” Darsheive said.

  Tseer stood on shaky feet and tried to appear as strong and put together as he could, but there was no hiding his shaking body.

  “Now he recognizes you,” the elf that Tseer now knew was Xalis said. He was still rubbing the area where the arrows had pierced him. “I suppose you would act differently to him licking your neck now. Wouldn’t you?”

  Tseer put his hand to his neck and felt a spark of lust inside of him. To his embarrassment both god twins sensed this and exchanged guileful laughter. In unison movements the two gods walked up to Tseer and when they leaned their heads to his neck the spark of lust became an inferno.

  Darsheive licked a pointed tongue down from behind Tseer’s ear to his collar bone, before pulling away. “Marillion is inside of that house and he is hiding behind the last three of his guards. Let’s go, Tseer Amaus, your assault on those Lelanders when you thought my brother had been killed has pleased me.” The god of the Dashavians turned from him and the two twins walked towards the heavily engraved double doors.