The Punishment Of The Gods (Omnibus 1-5)

by Jake Yaniak

  Cheftan Vilav advised Faros to flee the mountain altogether. 'We can muster all of Noras to the vanguard,' he explained. 'If we gather the whole army of the Nine Clans we can make such a wall that will turn back every goblin. Let them have the accursed mountain, for whether we fight or not, it will fall into their hands.'

  But Cheft Lonos accused him of cowardice, 'Suppose Cheftan Rahm were still here, do you suppose he would flee for his life, when honor and the praise of the gods was within his grasp? The gods forbid such a thing! Had he been of the same mind as Cheft Vilav he would have abandoned us in the valley of Corhen. But he chose honor over life and there lies upon sacred ground; his blood the ransom for the lives of many young Noras warriors.

  'We owe our kinsmen in the forest the same. For if we turn from the fight, and give them the mountain today, what will stop us from giving them the lands of Coran-la and Megd-la tomorrow? Then where will we hold their hordes back? We will be driven beyond the Libron to become thralls and refugees among the golden-heads of Daevaron. And what will become of our blessed forest, the last haven of the Noras? It will become a goblin kingdom, like the foul jungle of Zyprion, which lies beyond the wasted plains of Amlaman. It will fester and reek with the foul stench of hob-goblins and orcs.'

  With many like words he persuaded Cheft Faros to maintain their position and continue the hopeless battle. 'It may be that the gods will smile on us yet,' Lonos encouraged him. 'And then we shall be like gods among the men of Noras. We must petition Pelas, for the ancients say that he has saved Noras before.'

  I can say no more of the thoughts of Cheft Faros at this point, for they became increasingly darkened and incomprehensible. Whether it was by devilish wickedness or by mad foolishness, the outcome of his plan was the same.

  Ten days after the battle at Corhen, on the morning of the last day of Leonius, Cheft Faros ordered his men to march. He had three hundred and sixty chosen warriors march in front of the rest of the army. These were the ill-fated men who were chosen to 'bear the Tithem' of ten other men. They were told to strip off their heavy armor and to carry only light weapons and to march about half a league in front of the rest of the army. That he intended to offer then as a sacrifice never would have occurred to them in their darkest imaginations.

  For this battle Faros left very few warriors in the camp, save for those who were too badly wounded to march. Every spare sword, every shield and every spear was brought along. 'This is our last march,' he assured his men. 'And with the help of mighty Pelas we will drive these creatures to the pits of hell.'

  Cheft Vilav was sent with the vanguard to lead the unlucky warriors. 'It is to my death that I march,' he thought as he walked. 'Faros has gone raving; but I will not forsake my fellows. From this day forth let him be known as the Cheftan of Folly, and not a man of Noras.'

  The Galva vanguard marched forth, the goblins were roused and a great battle began. It fell out like this:

  By the tenth hour of the day Faros' Tithem had drawn the goblins from their camp onto a flatter field several leagues to the south. Here the great battle began.

  This helpless troop was swiftly overcome. The sorry warriors looked back toward their companions in vain, for it was not Cheft Faros' intention to come to their aid. Their hearts dropped and they were slain every one of them; they had been abandoned. Cheft Vilav was the last man remaining, and he fought valiantly. He slew both orc and goblin with ease and ran about swinging his sword with a passion born of hopeless courage. But in the end, as is the way with all mortals, he grew weary. Seeing his end he thrust his sword into the ground and stood tall and proud before the oncoming goblins. Thus he met an end worthy of songs.

  'Now that we have petitioned Pelas, we have no more to fear,' Faros said madly. The hearts of his soldiers melted. But he blew a ram's horn and signaled them to charge. 'On my comrades!' he shouted. 'We shall rest on the corpses of our foes by the day's end. This I swear by the sword of Pelas!'

  Cheft Lonos silently slipped back as the army marched forward. He slowed nearly to a stop and let the waves of warriors pass him by.

  'Noras does not belong to Galvahir alone,' he said quietly as he made his way out of the battle. 'And never again will it be lorded over by the master of Peiraso. Here on this mountain your arm is broken at last.'

  The sky grew darker even as the Galva army charged. The ice turned to freezing rain and fell down upon the mountainside in sheets.

  Faros rode his horse forward to the front of his men and charged like a madman toward the enemy. An orc felled his horse with an arrow and the Cheftan fell to the ground, his armor clanging against the rocks. He rose to his feet swiftly, but the orc was already upon him. He did not have time to draw his sword and with a single stroke the orc shattered his skull with a mace. Thus ended his madness, but not its sad train of effects.

  Swagar Prostirne fell with his seven sons after all their poison arrows were spent. His beautiful ivory bow was shattered among the rocks or perhaps carried off by some petty goblin, its like never to be seen again among the Noras. Pater Borirne and his men were slain also. Pater charged about from one end of the field to another, slaying may hundreds of goblins in his wake. But one by one his young men fell and then last of all he stood surrounded by a horde of vengeful petty goblins and thus met his end.

  Tiltos, the son of the High Priest was slain also, along with his men. Their axes hewed many orcs ere fatigue betrayed them. In the end their wooden shields lay splintered and broken on the frozen earth. Gergius Gergirne and his son fell there too, slain together by a mighty orc.

  Many others fell in that day, too many to be named. Many of the sons of Clinlor and Mallor, along with some of the companions of Daryas and Sion perished. The sorrow of the Noras became a river of grief and their cries and groans echoed down the mountainside.

  The army continued to fight throughout the afternoon and into twilight. The wind began to howl so loudly and wildly that it nearly drowned out the noise of the goblins and the muffled screams of fallen warriors altogether. Night rushed on and the Noras lost all hope.

  Sion proved his reputation true that day. He led Daryas and a group of fifty other men of Noras to a high ridge on the southern edge of the battlefield. To their backs lay a huge gap and the sides of the ridge were too steep to climb. The only way to reach their position was a small and narrow path that led up from the south-eastern edge of the battlefield. From upon the ridge, Sion, Daryas and their comrades unleashed volley after volley of arrows until every shot was spent.

  But the goblin ranks were unbreakable. They still marched on, undaunted by the valor of Noras' finest warriors. Many Noras turned and fled away down the hill toward their camp. But the goblins had already surrounded them and they were slain quicker than those that remained behind to fight.

  Sion called the men with a loud voice to gather around the ridge from which he fought. From here they had an advantage in combat, though still there was no hope of victory. 'Come Noras!' Sion cried aloud. 'Whether we live or die, let us make sure we do not pass on unremembered. For even if our names and our deeds be forgotten among our own kin, we will put up such a fight here that our names will be remembered among our foes for as long as the world endures.' With many like words he gave courage to the men and they held their ground fast. For a while the goblins could go no further and their bodies piled up in mounds around the ridge. Thus the battle halted for the dark hours of the night, the orcs and goblins not daring to pass the mound of corpses, and the Noras having no means of retreat.

  The two brothers of Old Man Sleep stood on the outskirts of the battlefield. There was Folly, who wore a white robe, stitched together with golden thread, and beside him was Death, with his black hood covering his eyes and his fatal blade drawn.

  'I have done my part,' Folly said in a chuckle. 'The mad Cheftan is dead. And now it is time for you to do your grim work.'

  Death answered nothing. He lifted his blade in front of his face and walked toward the battlefield with a half s
mile on his pale lips and cold wisps of air passing from his nostrils.

  Chapter VII:

  The Conjurers' Duel

  The Island

  The goblins were not slack during the night. They spent the dark hours prowling about the mounds, looking for spoils and weapons. But as long as the moon was hidden they would not so much as set foot over the top of the piles.

  The Noras set watchfires and worked to pile stones and fallen goblins into battlements. At Daryas' insistence, Sion rested for a few hours. But when there was about four hours of darkness remaining Sion awoke and bid his friend take the rest of the night. This Daryas agreed to reluctantly. 'My nights are little comfort to me lately.'

  Nevertheless he gave in to the wisdom of his friend and shut his eyes with his back to a large flat stone. He meant only to rest, and not sleep. But the Old Man's hand proved too heavy once more and he was soon deep in a dream.

  'If he has more dreams the like of which he has been having, he will surely fall into the hands of my brother Folly, who made such a dreadful mess of things today,' Old Man Sleep said to Mityai as she once more cradled the Galvahirne's head in her arms. 'I fear your songs avail you little against these devils. It would be good if you could drive them away altogether.'

  'But how?' Mityai said desperately as she saw them come creeping from every dark and shadowy place. They were ugly spirits, dark and small, with no eyes and no hearts. They quickly took hold of Daryas' mind and dragged him into an ugly dream. Mityai flew into a rage and grabbed and tore at them with her invisible hands. She sent many of them scurrying back into the darkness of the night, but there were yet some that would not relent until they had troubled the young man's thoughts.

  At first, Daryas found himself walking through a goblin camp, looking into the dead faces of those Noras warriors who had perished. Among their bodies were also many goblins and orcs. It struck him, seeing them dead, how similar goblins and men truly are. 'To look on their corpses', he thought, 'you couldn't tell which was the rational creature and which was the brute. And of course, the dead do not reason'. These dark thoughts troubled him and he walked on, seemingly for many hours.

  Beyond this macabre scene, Daryas came to the bottom of Mount Coronis. It loomed large above him, so much larger than it was to his waking eyes that he at once realized that he was dreaming. But he refused to wake; not now when he was finally free from his usual nightmares, not to mention free from the living nightmare of the battlefield in which he now lay with little hope of survival. If only for a few hours, his mind was free to consider other things.

  He climbed ever upward toward the top of the mountain; he felt as though he was climbing the sky itself. Precisely why he was climbing he could not say. As he approached the peak the sun sank below the western side of Mount Coronis and crowned it with golden beams of light. As beautiful as this sight was, Daryas couldn't quite enjoy it. His mind was troubled by something; something that he had forgotten. In all this light he felt as though darkness itself would be forever dissolved. But then he looked down behind himself and he saw his own shadow. It was black as coal and stretched out far and wide, seeming to smother all of Falsis in its darkness.

  Here at the top of the mountain every step became more difficult for him than the last. And the closer he came to the light, the darker and more terrifying his shadow became. Overwhelmed by the darkness of his own shadow he lost his grip on the rock and his foot slipped.

  Normally such a sensation would have roused him from even the deepest slumber, but for some reason his dream refused to yield its dominion.

  In the waking world, Mityai gave a great tug and rent the last of the dark spirits from Daryas' mind. The spirit turned toward her and hissed as it rolled on the ground. It stopped its writhing and rose into the form of a man, cloaked in darkness.

  'Foolish djinn,' the spirit said. 'You have set yourself against the Lord of Falsis, for he it was who sent us dark spirits to trouble this foolish lad's dreams.'

  Mityai's voice trembled, 'He'll die if he can't rest without you devils crawling about!'

  'His death is not a concern, only the prayer of the Siren is important. For she begged the aid of lord Pelas, and it was in the heart of Lord Pelas to answer her. The boy must dream these dreams. Whether he lives or dies I care not. Neither does Lord Pelas.'

  'That isn't true!' Mityai shouted, her voice growing angry. 'Lord Pelas is a god of mercy and kindness. He loves the Galvahirne, and he would be angry with you for tormenting this child so horribly!'

  The dark spirit laughed, 'You really don't remember, do you?'

  'Remember what?' Mityai asked.

  'Of course not,' the spirit said solemnly, 'you would have been a mere babe when it all happened.'

  'When what happened?'

  'If you do not remember, I am not going to be the one to bring sorrow upon your fair head. But Lord Pelas is god of all Falsis, and he needs no help from the Galvahirne to be so. You say that he loves the Galvahirne. But does he love them for naught? He loves them because they serve him. That is, he loves them because they are useful to him. And that is what this young man is doing right now, whether he is aware of it or not; he is serving Lord Pelas. But it is not always in life and honor that Lord Pelas shows his 'love' for his servants. Sometimes they will be tormented and slain. So long as they are useful, they will remain his beloved. I am not one of the wise, but I would guess it is the same with you.'

  Mityai was speechless for some time, the words of Lord Pelas came rushing back to her mind, "It is your swift feet and your keen eyes that made you desireable." Her heart sunk and she could neither move nor think.

  The dark spirit sighed. 'Let me pass once more and I will be gentler with the boy. But do not forget, Lord Pelas has vowed to fulfill the request of the Siren, and he will do what he must to this man until his word is fulfilled.'

  The spirit turned again toward Daryas and entered into his dream. Mityai threw herself to the ground and covered her eyes. Much to the spirit's surprise, however, he was suddenly powerless to affect the young man's visions.

  Daryas found himself on the shore of a great sea. How he had come to leave the mountain and arrive here he could not recall. But there he stood on a beach of white sand with his uncovered feet in the water. Not only were his boots missing, but his whole military attire was removed. He wore just a loose pair of Noras trousers and a white tunic with frayed edges, as though they had been torn by a beast. The water was calm and the waves gently rolled over the beach, resting for just a moment on the sand before sliding back into the ocean.

  He looked out over the water. The sun was sinking down over the horizon, from which he discerned that he was looking into the west. 'Is this what lies on the far side of Weldera, where only pirates and hermits make their homes?' he asked himself.

  For what seemed like an eternity he just watched the waves ebb and flow; every one of them different from the last and every one of them never to return as long as the world endures.

  Suddenly he became aware of an island. It lay off the coast of the mainland to the northwest. As he focused his eyes on this place it seemed to move closer to him. He suddenly realized that he was, in fact, on a boat now, approaching the island from the south.

  There was a small mountain on the center of the island and from where he sat he could see that it was covered with green trees. The closer he came to the island, the more wonderful it seemed. He could make out a stream of clear water flowing from the top of the mountain down into a pool or a lake. There were several kinds of fruit trees on the island, the like of which he had never seen in Falsis.

  A veritable paradise it seemed, but he could not find a place to land his boat. The waters around the island were rough and treacherous. Had he been in a larger boat he would have run aground long ago. But even in his smaller craft there was little hope of finding a place to land on the island. Whether it was a steep cliffside or a razor sharp reef, he found no way to approach this blessed place.

 
But long before he could think of any plan to land his boat safely, he hit a rock and he was plunged into the icy waters. He awoke abruptly and the shadowy spirit fled from his waking eyes. Mityai still lay in lonely sorrow and confusion upon the ground, but no one could see her nor comfort her.

  When he opened his eyes he saw Sion, leaning against a great stone.

  'Another nightmare?' he asked calmly.

  'No, not a nightmare; a dream - a dream in the proper sense of the word. I saw an island, a beautiful island off the western shore of Weldera. But ere I reached it my boat was dashed to pieces upon the rocks.'

  'There is such an island,' Sion said, trying to conceal his surprise. 'The Knarsemen of Titalo know of such a place; but no man has ever set foot thereon.'

  'I do not know whether to take comfort in this or not,' Daryas said as he rose from the ground and prepared himself once more for battle.

  'Nor do I,' Sion replied.

  The Conjurers Appear

  The morning light brought fresh perils. The sun appeared and the clouds fled away, but their spirits did not rise too high. For the goblin army had refreshed its troops with many strong and rested warriors. Orcs and goblins alike now marched toward the mounds with undaunted fury. They stepped over their fallen companions without a care, crushing their bones under their stomping feet. They fell upon the defenses of the Noras with a great shout.

  They scattered the Noras warriors at the eastern edge of the field and then began making their way up the ridge toward Daryas and Sion. The last group of Noras warriors was now crowded into this narrow strip of earth. They did not yield their ground willingly. Every single step of the goblins was paid for with the blood of a dozen.

  'This is the hour,' Daryas said with a sudden resolve, 'for the sons of the Cheftans to prove themselves.'