The Godling Chronicles:Book 05 - Madness of the Fallen

by Brian D. Anderson

  He reached out and placed a hand on Yanti’s shoulder. “I will protect her. I will weave a legend and spread it throughout the land so that she will be kept safe.”

  “What legend?” asked Yanti.

  “Better that you do not know,” he replied. “But rest assured that the protection of Felsafell, last of the first born, is not a thing to be taken lightly. While I live, no harm will come to her.”

  The elves began to moan and stir.

  “But you must decide quickly,” continued Felsafell. “I have only incapacitated those you did not kill. Soon they will wake, and we must be gone.”

  “And what of my brother?” asked Basanti, gripping Yanti’s hand, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  There was a long moment of silence. Finally, Yanti lowered his head and gave a long sigh. “He’s right. You must go with him. My crimes have changed me. I can feel the wound inside.” He backed away several paces. “I will always love you, my dear sister.”

  Basanti immediately rushed back and threw her arms around him, clinging tightly. “No! You cannot. I will not let you.”

  Taking hold of her shoulders, be gently eased her away from him. “I must. But don’t worry. We will see each other again one day. Until then, I must try to heal my wounds.” His eyes shifted to Felsafell. “Watch over her and keep her safe.”

  After a final tearful embrace, without any real knowledge of where he was heading, he quickly turned and ran off through the forest.

  Felsafell took Basanti’s hand. “Come. We must hurry.”

  She wiped the tears from her eyes as the figure of her brother disappeared. “Will he be alright?”

  “Yanti’s path is unclear,” he replied. “But I suspect he was right. You shall see each other again.”

  “Where will we go?” she asked.

  Felsafell pointed north. “We go to the mountains. There, we will create your legend.”

  Chapter 1

  King Lousis stared despondently over the ruined battlefield. Countless columns of thick, black smoke rose skyward, serving as a reminder of the carnage that the Reborn King’s armies had wrought. The smell of burned timbers and charred flesh filled his nostrils, making him want to empty his stomach.

  His thoughts turned to High Lady Selena. Each day he was filled with more and more doubt that he would be able to keep his promise to her and return alive.

  The cries of the wounded and dying raked at his ears and seemed to surround him. The hilly and broken terrain had forced them to set dozens of small healing areas rather than create just one in a single location. The healers were doing their best to tend the overwhelming numbers put in their care, but they had not the tents nor pavilions to accommodate everyone.

  Lousis’ guard stood a few feet away, their faces showing increasing signs of despair and fatigue. Since they had joined the southern armies, these men had saved his life on three separate occasions. But the cost was high. Six of them had so far paid with their own lives in order to ensure his survival. Angrääl’s new weapon had made every inch of the battlefield a deadly place to be.

  A rider approached from the north, his face smeared with grime and blood. One of the king’s guards leapt in front of the horse, while the rest surrounded their lord. Lousis waved them off and allowed the man to come near.

  The rider dismounted and bowed on unsteady legs. “I bear ill news, Your Highness.”

  Lousis sighed heavily. It seemed as if he had received nothing but ill news ever since leaving Althetas.

  “The royal caravan was attacked on the road north,” said the messenger, his voice wavering. “All but King Victis were either captured or killed.”

  The words hit Lousis like a blacksmith’s hammer. “Are you certain?”

  “I am,” he replied. “King Victis is an hour behind me. He sent me ahead to bring you the news. He would have rode harder, but he has captured one of the enemy weapons and fears what may happen if it’s treated roughly.”

  “What of his army?” asked Lousis.

  “They flee north, led by Lord Chiron,” he replied. “Angrääl is giving chase, but Lord Chiron has been able to stay ahead of them…for now.”

  Lousis’ jaw tightened. “Is there anything else?”

  The man shook his head.

  Lousis dismissed the messenger, then made his way to his horse. The ride to his tent was short, yet hard to bear. Anguish showed clearly on his face as he passed the ever-increasing number of makeshift hospitals.

  Eftichis awaited him just outside the tent, his armor stained with dried blood and much damaged from enemy blades. “Angrääl has retreated south for the time being,” the elf said. “But driving them back has cost us dearly.”

  The king grunted. “I do not need you to point out the obvious.” He pushed his way past and entered the tent with Eftichis close behind.

  “Forgive me, Your Highness,” Eftichis said, lowering his eyes.

  Lousis sat down heavily in a chair that had been placed beside his cot. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “No. Forgive me, my friend. I should not be harsh with you. But the past several weeks have not gone as I had hoped.” He told the elf about the fate of the southern rulers.

  Eftichis listened grimly. “At least it is good that King Victis escaped, and that he has obtained one of the enemy’s weapons. Perhaps we can learn its secrets.”

  “I pray we can,” agreed Lousis.

  The sight of his lines being blasted apart by the fiery bolts was still fresh in his mind. After the first explosion, he imagined that Angrääl had somehow gained the same ability as Darshan. But that quickly changed when he spotted the enemy catapults sending white balls streaking across the sky – one after another. Almost as soon as they struck the ground, a fireball burst forth, ripping apart flesh and bone and scattering his lines like leaves in the wind. Without Darshan, he knew there was little hope for victory. Nehrutu and Aaliyah had still not arrived from the south, so Lousis could only assume they were still engaged with Angrääl, or worse….

  He pushed the thought from his mind and reached under his cot to retrieve a bottle of wine.

  “Join me,” he said to Eftichis.

  The elf nodded and took a chair from the corner. For an hour they sat quietly, passing the bottle back and forth while Lousis tried hard to block out the sounds of the battle’s aftermath that continued to drift relentlessly into the tent.

  He was still sitting wearily when King Victis entered. The slumped shoulders and dark circles under the new arrival’s eyes caused Lousis to spring up and help his friend into the vacated chair.

  Victis was unable to protest and groaned as he leaned back. “Thank you. This old body is ill suited to such hardships.” He eyed the wine in Eftichis’ hand, who immediately handed the bottle to the king. After a long drink he closed his eyes and sighed with relief. “It’s strange how such simple pleasures become infinitely more important in dark times.” He handed Lousis the bottle. “I assume you received my message.”

  Lousis nodded slowly. “Do you know how many survived?”

  Victis grimaced and shook his head. “I had just departed to bring you the enemy weapon we had found when I heard the battle erupt behind me. If I had stayed behind just one minute longer, I too would have suffered the same fate. All I could do was watch from the tree line as Angrääl soldiers swarmed over the caravan.” He held his head in his hands. “It’s my fault. I told them we should flee north. My cowardice doomed them all.”

  “You did the only thing you could,” said Lousis. “There was no way for you to know what would happen.” He placed his hand on Victis’ shoulder. “And this is no time to despair. What is the state of your forces?”

  Victis took a deep breath. “Nearly destroyed; fewer than fifteen thousand swords. What remains is fighting its way east to join you here – but I doubt they will make it. Angrääl moves to cut us in half and surround us. They level every city and burn every village as they march, their infernal weapon causing the braves
t to flee. There is no refuge.” His eyes were pleading. “How do we fight such an enemy without Darshan to aid us?”

  “With heart and courage,” interjected Eftichis. “Nehrutu and Aaliyah will come, and Theopolou will not fail us in the north. Besides, Darshan will return.”

  Victis shook his head. “I wish I had your spirit. There has been no word from Nehrutu or Theopolou. For all we know, we are alone. And as for Darshan…he has his own battles to fight.”

  There was a long silence. Then Lousis held out his hand. “Come,” he said. “Show me the enemy weapon.”

  The old king gratefully took hold of Lousis’ hand and heaved himself up. He led them outside to where five soldiers stood facing outward in a tight circle. All around them, the camp was beginning to buzz with renewed activity as the commanders made plans for the next assault.

  “Where is the enemy now?” asked Victis.

  “The elves are driving them south about five miles from here while we recover,” Louis replied. “But they will return soon. I’ve ordered scouts posted to inform me of their movements.”

  Victis looked around disapprovingly. “It seems you are scattered. Can you even withstand another assault?”

  “Not if it came at this very moment,” admitted Lousis. “They blasted our lines and decimated our heavy horse. It will take until nightfall to regroup - if not longer.”

  A runner approached and bowed to King Lousis. “The elves are returning, Your Highness. They wish me to inform you that the enemy is in retreat for now, though it has been at a tremendous cost.”

  Lousis sighed heavily. “Let us hope they have bought us the time we need.”

  The circle of guards surrounding the captured weapon parted to make way for the two monarchs and Eftichis.

  “And let us also hope that we can learn something from this,” added Victis, pointing to a small wicker basket resting on the ground.

  Inside the basket was a white ball about the size of a man’s head. It looked to be made from cloth, though of a weave Lousis had never seen before. From the top protruded a thin black cord, with tar surrounding where it entered the ball.

  Lousis bent down to run a finger over the surface. It was hard and smooth, almost as if made from steel. “We need to see what is inside of this,” he said.

  After a long moment of thought, he stood. “But we must be cautious. From what we have learned, they appear to light the black cord before hurling it at us. Whatever is within, I believe fire is what causes it to erupt.”

  Eftichis drew his dagger. “Then let us reveal its secrets.” He motioned for the guards and the kings to move back.

  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 m
ore 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.”