The Dawn of a Desperate War (The Godlanders War)

by Aaron Pogue

  “They are gods,” she whispered.

  “And I am their destruction. I will set you free of them, Princess. One way or another.” A cruel smile touched his lips, though he could barely feel it. “Which will you choose?”

  “I won’t,” she said. “I can’t.”

  “Then let me speak with Auric.” Regret stabbed hard at Corin’s heart then, but again he barely felt it. The kindhearted farmboy would have to make one of the tough choices. It came with the territory.

  “Ephitel or the world. What will he decide?”

  After the massive grandeur of the room Corin had been given, he expected to find Auric in a proper throne room or something like an admiral’s war council. But Sera’s path took them down from the high hill at the heart of the ruined city, into what would once have been a warren of peasants’ hovels. Fire and rot had long since cleared away the wooden structures there, leaving an empty field inside the city walls. But here and there stood old stone buildings—inns or old watch houses that had served the district—and Sera led him straight to one of those. It had been three stories once, but the timber roof was long since gone, and the upper floor had collapsed to fill the middle.

  No grand palace, this, but it commanded a clear view of the city gate, and it offered room around it for the hordes of refugees so anxious to be near the farmboy.

  There were craftsmen here, and cooks, and tidy organizers like the woman who had fed him that first night. There were guards as well. That took Corin by surprise, though it shouldn’t have. Even without Corin, this encampment was a challenge to the gods’ authority, and there were at least some among the residents who understood that.

  A dozen burly soldiers dressed in arms and mail made a perimeter around the command structure. Their eyes tracked Corin closely as he followed Sera to the door, but no one moved to interfere with the princess. On the contrary: the pressing crowds and the hurrying messengers alike made way for her. She strode through the crowded yard as easily as strolling in her private garden, Corin ever at her heel.

  Within the building’s interior, Auric sat a court, his throne an upended wooden crate. He leaned his elbow on one knee and listened with apparent interest as a cobbler from Raentz demanded access to the camp’s leather stores for his apprentices. “What good is armor if your soldiers are running barefoot into battle? Eh? Eh?”

  The farmboy nodded thoughtfully, then told the clerk at his left hand to set aside a portion of the stores for leather. He also made a note to buy a lot more leather.

  Corin raised his voice at that. “Send someone down to the stone quay due west of Marzelle. You’ll find a flagpole there. Raise a banner in blue and white, and you’ll have visitors within a day.”

  Auric and his attendants all turned to stare at Corin. The farmboy, at least, understood what Corin was suggesting. “Why should we trade with pirates?”

  “Because southern Raentz is the worst place in Hurope to purchase leather in any quantity. The men who’ll answer to that flag will bring the finest goods from Ithale and Orineth, and all at prices you’ll find bearable.”

  The farmboy frowned at Corin for a moment, weighing the suggestion, and then his gaze drifted past Corin’s shoulder to Princess Sera. Auric brightened. “Oh! Jeff had told me you were under a disguise. Come forward. Show your face and speak with me. I have heard no word from Tesyn, and I began to fear I would never learn what came of your adventure.”

  Corin stumbled at the scholar’s name. Tesyn hadn’t found his way home yet? That could prove troublesome indeed.

  Corin swept a bow to mask his misstep. “I fear there’s no time now to share the tale. I bring grim news indeed. I’d beg of you a private audience.”

  Auric blinked at that. He looked around the room, considering all the petitioners waiting for a chance to be speak with him, and he seemed startled to find them all there.

  Sera stepped past Corin’s shoulder. “Perhaps it would be best. These other matters can wait.”

  Auric shrugged sheepishly and raised his voice. “I’m sorry, folks. It seems I am to have a private audience. Go find yourselves some refreshment, and come back here in an hour. We’ll get you sorted soon enough.”

  Corin watched, mystified, while the gathered crowd withdrew politely. No one wasted time in grumbling or complaining. They did just as the farmboy asked of them.

  It wasn’t that he’d found the world’s politest refugees. Corin knew that much. It was a special kind of magic that belonged to the kind young hero. It had already worked on Corin, when he’d shared precious pirate secrets just to help outfit this camp that wouldn’t last long enough to benefit from his advice. It didn’t matter. He’d been caught up in the dream that wove itself around the farmboy.

  He shook his head, staring. “You’re remarkable.”

  Auric raised his eyebrows, clearly baffled by the comment. “I don’t know about that, but you are really most unsettling in that disguise. Could I prevail on you to drop it?”

  Corin nodded and dissolved the glamour.

  The farmboy grinned in answer. “There’s the man I know! Can’t you tell me anything about your adventure with Tesyn?”

  Corin had no desire to dwell on that. “The last I saw him,” Corin lied, “he was safe and sound. We found the ancient elves and spoke with them. The Isle of Mists is everything you’ve ever heard, and more.”

  Auric whistled in appreciation. “What a tale that must be. I can’t wait to hear Tesyn tell it.”

  “We parted ways,” Corin said, “but I’m sure he’ll find you in due time.” Corin would have been happier by far if he didn’t believe that last. But alas, the scholar had a way of turning up in the most surprising places.

  “He always does,” Auric agreed. The farmboy leaned back on his crate, bracing his shoulders against the wall. “Now. What is this urgent news you mean to discuss with me?”

  Corin blinked. He’d done it again! Caught up in the farmboy’s charisma, he’d lost the immediacy, the compelling drive that had brought him here. Now he straightened his shoulders and clutched at the looming intensity he’d used so effectively against the princess.

  “The time has come to end the tyrants’ reign. We have discussed these things before, but the time for conversation is done! I mean to see the death of Ephitel, and I would have you fighting at my side.”

  Auric nodded. “Done.” He did not even consider it.

  Corin blinked again. “This will be no easy task—”

  “To kill a god? I doubt it! But I’ve seen enough of you to know you’ll have some plan. Tell me where you need me, and I’ll be there.”

  “Auric,” Sera interrupted, cautioning, “I am not sure you have considered all the ramifications of the man’s request.”

  Auric shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. He’s convinced me there’s no justice in the gods’ demands. Ever since we spoke on the matter, I have seen it with my own eyes. This world is twisted and broken beneath their power, and it demands a fix.”

  Corin stepped closer to him. “You see it, then?”

  “Across the whole of Raentz, I see it. Across all Hurope! Do you know what the druids were telling me? There was once a different god, king of all the gods we know, and he had a different plan for Hurope. He meant Spinola to be a friendly place, a refuge for any man or woman who wanted to live free of the gods’ strange rules.”

  Corin raised an eyebrow. “He told you that, did he?”

  “Oh, yes. When he brought Sera and me to this place, he was telling me about the nations that stood here before. And then when that justicar came to Taurb and started scaring the people there, we invited them to stay with us and told them the same story. Soon enough, it spread.”

  The princess pressed forward, pinning Corin with her glare, but she tempered her tone for her farmboy’s sake. “It spread because it is a compelling dream. We do not need a war to escape the gods’ tyranny. All we require is a refuge, and I begin to think we’ve found it here.”

  Corin c
losed his eyes, considering. It was an alluring tale: a secret land of promised freedom, a nation built outside the gods’ domain.

  “How many have you gathered to this dream?” Corin asked.

  “The next party to arrive will make one thousand.” The farmboy sprang to his feet and clapped Corin on the shoulder. “But don’t give me all the credit. Everything I said to them came from our conversation by the woodpile. And it was your friends within the Nimble Fingers who carried the message out into the world. They needed a refuge more than anyone, but they weren’t greedy. They spread the word, and they’ve been working to smuggle men and women over borders and across the whole of Raentz unseen, just so they can join us here.”

  “You’ve done all this in three months?” Corin asked, awed.

  “We have. All of us together. Sera’s training for the throne made it so much easier. You’d be amazed how she can fashion order out of chaos. And the advice of the druids covered most of the rest. I just help out where I can.”

  Corin shook his head. “You are remarkable. And you will help me win this war.”

  Sera shook her head. “We do not need a war to make a place of freedom.”

  Auric glanced her way and nodded. “Can you imagine such a thing? And you would be the author of it, really. For all the darkness you’ve endured, you’ve helped us make a bright and shining light in this place. We’ll change the world, Corin. Even if we never kill a god.”

  Corin didn’t answer right away. His head was spinning with the things Auric had said. He could feel the allure of Auric’s eager vision. He could already imagine a new Spinola, a manling kingdom carved out of the Wildlands, where justice reigned and elves might fear to tread.

  It was impossible, but when bright-eyed Auric spoke, it seemed inevitable. That was all Corin truly needed. As long as the farmboy gathered refugees, as long as he could keep them here united, this camp would be a thorn in Ephitel’s side. It was a constant challenge to the ancient gods, and one most personal to Ephitel himself, who had declared this land anathema.

  For this, Ephitel would leave his throne on Attos. For this, he’d come to wreak his vengeance. He might send the justicar out first, but she would find no easy victories here, no compliant authorities. She’d find half a thousand Nimble Fingers displaced by her persecution, and at their head a hero who had defeated far worse monsters than a turncoat druid.

  A smile touched Corin’s lips as he considered it. Jessamine would break her teeth against the camp, and Ephitel would come in person to destroy it. He’d be focused on the farmboy, on the swelling army of Godlander rebels, and he’d never see the strike coming on his flank.

  It was all a grand illusion, a puff of mist beneath the summer sun, but Corin had worked wonders with illusion more than once. If he could but build this one to the shape he needed, if he could hold it long enough, he’d have his victory.

  He bowed his head toward Auric and answered him. “I am yours. Let us make it so. By my estimation, there are three things we need: resources, men, and time.”

  Auric nodded. “More men are coming every day, but every one we gain demands yet more resources.”

  “And I have given you the answer to that. Use the pirates. With the secrets I can give you, you can win their aid. They’ll bring food and raw materials.”

  “I have craftsmen enough to build a city.”

  “And you will use them. We must make this place secure.”

  Auric nodded. “We’re already hard at work on that. The manticores—”

  “Are not the worst you have to fear,” Corin interrupted. “You’ve taken great pains to bring these refugees here in safety, but the gods will not give them up so easily. They’ll send justicars against you. They’ll send spies to infiltrate your ranks. You must make this place a bastion they cannot compromise.”

  Auric considered that a moment, then he ducked his head. “Between us, we can manage that. What else?”

  “Time,” Corin said. “That’s the key. If the enemy falls upon us while we’re small and weak, he’ll crush us. Even here. But if we can hold out for a month or two; if we can double our numbers; if Fortune lets us stay the summer here, I think we’ll stand.”

  He didn’t truly need so long as that, he hoped, but he certainly needed time. He had yet to find the sword. But surely this stronghold could stand long enough for that.

  The princess seemed to read his thoughts. She arched an eyebrow. “And if the strike comes sooner? If they send an army to destroy us?”

  Auric clapped her on the shoulder. “If we cannot fight for victory, we’ll fight for glory.” She glared up at him in answer, and he only laughed. “Everyone dies, my love. But for the things we’re doing here, we’ll live in legends at the very least.”

  Sera left off her argument with Auric and turned her attention to Corin. “Is that what you are hoping for?” she asked, her voice as cool as winter. “To die in glory?”

  He opened his mouth to answer her, but she took a slow step closer and fixed him with her gaze. “Is that the destiny Aemilia would wish for you? For all these people here? How many have to die before you will be satisfied?”

  Corin had to work moisture into his mouth before he could answer her. “Just one,” he rasped. “It’s only ever been the one.”

  Before the princess could find some new argument, a messenger appeared at the outer door. He spoke a moment with the farmboy, and then the two approached to speak with Sera. Corin caught the edges of their conversation. It was nothing of any great fascination for him—something about the weather—so Corin nodded in polite acceptance when the farmboy made his apologies. They left him in the war room, alone with his thoughts.

  It troubled him how easily the young man had swayed him. Even now, he found himself imagining the glorious kingdom they could build upon these ruins. He shook his head, trying to dispel the image. His destiny lay elsewhere. The farmboy was useful in his way, but he could be dangerous. He didn’t even really try. It was astonishing.

  Sera’s questions troubled him more. That cruel dream had given him the strength to defy the princess for a moment, but she had found his hidden fear. What would Aemilia think of this? How much sacrifice could she condone, even in pursuit of Oberon’s design? He ground his teeth until his jaw ached, but he could find no answers.

  They were the sort of thoughts that needed drowning deep in distilled spirits. No matter how desperate they were, a gathering this size would have to boast some form of tavern. Corin wrapped himself within his cloak and his careful glamour, and then he headed for the door.

  As Corin passed outside, a spindly old Raentzman looked up with eyes full of hope. His expression soured when he saw that Corin was alone. He leaned aside, trying to catch a glimpse back into the empty building.

  “You’ll have to come back later,” Corin said in passing. “The boy’s been called away.”

  The old man furrowed his brow. “Again? Storm and sorrow, what will it take to catch him?”

  Caught up as Corin had been in thoughts of Auric’s special magic, the mild complaint stopped him in his tracks.

  Corin frowned. He’d thought the old man looked familiar at first glance—like any Raentzman from the country, really—but now that he looked closer, he recognized the man.

  “Jacob Gossler?” Corin asked. “From Taurb? Did you once run a country tavern?”

  “I did,” the old man said, his attention still mostly on the empty building. “Would you know if he means to return soon?”

  “I couldn’t say. But I can sympathize with your frustration. If you’ll show me where to find one, I’d be glad to offer you a drink.”

  Jacob turned at that, finally submitting Corin to a close inspection. “I might know a place or two. New here, are you?”

  “Aye,” Corin said, following as the other man set a brisk pace back up into the city. “And you’ve been here awhile?”

  “Near enough a month now, and not a day has passed I didn’t try to catch the blasted hero f
or a chat. Twice a day, most days, and lately I’ve gone by there three, four times. Fortune’s forgot me, friend. Storm and sorrow!”

  Corin shared a rueful grin, but his mind was racing. This old man was a puzzle. A hundred others had happily abandoned their petitions at a brisk dismissal, but Jacob didn’t hesitate to vent his frustration.

  In a strange way, that comforted Corin. As exciting as Corin’s life had become, it helped to see ordinary men behaving in ordinary ways. This Jacob was a country man, too old and gnarled to bend before the breeze of Auric’s charisma. Yet he was here.

  Corin frowned. “What brings you to the camp, Master Jacob?”

  “This and that,” the old man said. “And you?”

  “Vengeance,” Corin answered. He’d decided long ago that this man could be trusted, and it warmed Corin’s heart to speak the truth. “Hatred. I want to see Ephitel punished for what he’s done.”

  “Ah. The justicar. She’s responsible for most of those who’ve come here.”

  “Not just her,” Corin said. “Ephitel himself. How many senseless wars has he stirred up among our nations? How many deaths for his vainglory? This justicar is just the newest of his atrocities.”

  Jacob nodded, thoughtful. “I’ve heard some talk like that, though most of it has been more . . . circumspect.” He walked awhile in silence, considering Corin from the corner of his eye. “You make it all sound personal.”

  “I’ve seen his face,” Corin said. He closed his eyes and let the glamour melt away.

  The tavern keeper gave a startled grunt, but that was his only reaction. A moment later, he nodded in recognition. “Now there’s the face of a man who could bring a grudge against a god.”

  Corin looked away. “I never meant your village to get caught up in it.”

  “Anything worth doing has its consequences,” Jacob said beside him. He walked a moment in silence, considering, then frowned sideways at the pirate. “I’ve heard an awful lot of rumors swirling around your name, but no one ever said you were a wizard.”