by King, DB
Caelum narrowed his steely eyes. He didn’t like to be talked to in such an impudent way by his own Archspirits. But the worst part was the wolf was right. Simply taking their power would be difficult—and that was assuming the Archspirit didn’t defend himself, which he most certainly would. Caelum and the Prime Gods were powerful indeed. But not invincible.
“It’s a price I would be more than willing to pay to remove a potential thorn in my side,” Caelum said.
“Enough of this bickering,” Abyssa said. “Regardless of what you Archspirits wish, the fact of the matter is that you gain power at our pleasure. And right now, what we wish is for you to lose power.”
“As of now,” Caelum said. “You are all in decline. Your power will wane, slowly transferring back to us.”
“You’re serious?” Maar asked. “The power we’ve fought for, you’re simply… taking back? This is preposterous! I see now the others were wise not to come. If they had heard what you have to say, they would surely rise up against you.”
“And if they did, we would simply end it all,” Caelum said. “It would all prove too much trouble. You know we can do that. End everything. Even ourselves.”
Fenrir growled but did not reply.
“And when will we be allowed to gather power once more?” Ifriti asked. “When will this end?”
Caelum turned his eyes to Provencus, urging him to answer.
“Indefinitely,” he said. “Until we decide otherwise.”
His words sent a furor through the Archspirits.
“It’s taken all the power we have,” Fenrir said, “all we’ve gained, to create the balance you see in the material world. If you were to take it away…”
“The kingdoms would grow too powerful, too quickly,” Ifriti said. “They would gain knowledge they weren’t meant to have, use it to wage wars of incredible destruction.”
“Or they would become decadent,” Maar said. “Choosing to simply luxuriate in their wealth and glory, ignoring the enemies gathering at their borders.”
“And my children,” Arachne said. “The smallest of the creatures in the mortal world. They wouldn’t be safe.”
“Are you questioning our decision?” Caelum asked. “The purpose of this meeting was not to have a debate—it was for your masters to tell you what they expect. And you will give your obedience. And you will ensure the other Archspirits fall in line.”
“And if we refuse, you end everything?” Fenrir probed, his dark eyes narrowing. “Destroy us and the mortal world and hope that something can be reformed from the wreckage?”
Abyssa smiled, as if she wished this could happen.
“Yes,” Caelum stated simply.
Fenrir’s eyes stayed locked onto Caelum’s. Tension built in the air, more and more with each passing second.
“Fine,” the wolf spirit snarled, turning away. “You want our power, then take it. And I would advise against informing the others of this. Let me speak to them. They have not our patience and would no doubt force your hand.”
“Nothing is being taken.” Abyssa placed her slender fingers on Fenrir’s shoulder. “It’s simply being… allowed to return from whence it came.”
He shrugged off her hand. “Spare me your honeyed words.”
“Are all in agreement?” Provencus asked. “You agree to allow the vast majority of your power to return to us?”
Fenrir snorted. “You want the formality of us agreeing?”
“I want to know that none of you are going to be trouble,” Caelum boomed.
“I agree,” Maar said. “You are the gods, and we are but your humble servants.”
“Yes,” Ifriti said. “I am with my lover on the matter.”
“Some power is better than no power,” Arachne said. “All I wish is enough to keep my children safe.”
“And you, wolf?” Caelum asked.
“You already have my agreement,” he said.
Caelum’s eyes narrowed once more. “I want more than that.”
“What?”
“I want not only your agreement—I want you to once more pledge your fealty to me.”
“You what?”
Caelum sneered. “I want you to get down on your knee and pledge to me your loyalty. And I want you to do it right now.”
“What is the purpose of this?” Fenrir asked. “I’m an Archspirit—I obey the Prime Gods.”
“Is that right?” Caelum asked. “Then it should be no problem to pledge, just as you’ve done before.”
Fenrir’s eyes stayed locked onto Caelum’s. Neither said a word. The rest of the Archspirits watched, wondering if they would soon be one less in number.
But Fenrir dropped. He fell to one knee and lowered his head before Caelum.
“I pledge my loyalty to you, oh God of Gods. Your will is but mine to carry out until the day you see it fit to return me to the spirit realm.”
Caelum said nothing at first, a pleased smile forming on his lips.
“Good. It does me great pleasure to know that my soldiers remain loyal.”
“Until the end of my days, oh god of gods.”
“You may rise.”
Fenrir stood, his shoulders squared, his back straight.
“Return to the mortal realm,” Caelum said. “Inform the other Archspirits, and ensure they will obey and give up their power. Then, tend to your duties and await my further orders.”
“Very well, Caelum.” Without another word, Fenrir strode from the great hall. The other Archspirits followed him, gathering in a small circle outside of the great hall.
“What the hells were you thinking in there, wolf?” Maar asked. “You wish to ruin things for all of us? The other Archspirits will not be pleased with this. You’re going to have a damned mutiny on your hands!”
“I’ve never seen Caelum like that before,” Arachne said. “He seemed… quite upset.”
“In the future, Fenrir,” Ifriti said, “I would refrain from such outbursts. You’re playing with powers greater than any of ours.”
But Fenrir said nothing, instead staring off into the distance of the Gods’ realm, his gaze on the clean lines and endless ivory white trimmed with gold.
“I want you all to meet me at the peak of Mount Blackfinger.”
“What?” Maar asked. “Why?”
“Not another word. Meet me there.”
With that, Fenrir closed his eyes and faded from the Gods’ realm. The other Archspirits shared a look that suggested none of them knew what was on his mind, but wanted to know. One by one, they phased out of the realm.
And one by one, they appeared on the peak of Mt. Blackfinger. The great mountain was so named for its height, the way its jagged point seemed to pint into the inky darkness of the night sky and the swirling, murky clouds that often gathered around its peak.
There was strange magics atop that peak, and the Archspirits had learned it was a place they could discuss matters away from the prying ears of the Prime Gods. Caelum and the rest wielded great power, but that power had its limits in the material realm. The Archspirits were meant to be their avatars, living conduits of their will.
Fenrir appeared. Once atop the dark peak, he turned toward the west, facing the continent of Varsyth. The Dragoneye Mountains, of which Blackfinger was its highest summit, separated the mortal world, the continent of men to the west, the land of the elves to the east. To the west, the land stretched into the far horizon, the rolling green hills dotted by hamlets here and there, the occasional stone spire of a castle or fortress rising into the sky.
The kingdoms of man had prospered under the guidance of the Archspirits, their armies great and their people watched over by wise kings. The land to the east was emerald green, and seemed to shimmer, as if glistening with magic. The elven kingdoms were powerful and had existed for thousands of years before the first man had even learned how to wield fire. The Goddesses of the Moon, mysterious and ancient, looked over the affairs of the elves and commanded lesser Archspirits to do their bi
dding.
“What is this all about, Fenrir?” Maar’s voice drifted toward him.
The wolf spirit turned to see that the others had arrived. Maar leaned back against one of the jutting rocks, Ifriti nearby. Arachne was in a squatting position, allowing the strange insects that dwelled this high to crawl up and down her arms.
“I’m not going to stand for that,” Fenrir said, his words edged with anger.
“That’s most certainly true,” Maar said. “From where I was watching, you were kneeling.”
“You’d be wise to watch your tongue, golden skin,” Fenrir snarled. “Our little gathering with the Prime Gods left a bad taste in my mouth. If you’re not careful, I’ll take out my frustrations on you.”
Maar chuckled, as if more amused than anything.
“All the same, Fenrir,” Ifriti said. “You brought us up here to discuss something. And considering you wanted to have this little parlay away from the prying ears of the Gods, I assume you wished to chat about something they would not be happy to hear about.”
“Likely something that goes against the pledge Caelum made you take,” Arachne said.
“An insult,” Fenrir snarled. “Making me take a pledge I’d already taken. He wanted nothing more than to humiliate me, to let me know where I stood in the order of things.”
“And was he wrong?” Maar asked. “We are Archspirits, after all. And they’re the Prime Gods.”
“I don’t like that they can simply allow our powers to wane like that,” Ifriti said. “But what other option do we have?”
Fenrir turned his back to the rest of them, his attention the sprawling lands of man before him. “Man—that’s the true source of the power of the Gods.” He turned back. “In believing in us, the kingdoms of man give us power. And that power is passed onto the Prime Gods. What if… we simply kept that power for ourselves?”
“Fenrir,” Maar said. “You’ve said some insane things since we’ve known one another. But this… this is pure sedition. If the Gods were here to listen to these words, they—”
“But the gods aren’t here. The Gods are safely in their realm, siphoning our power. And now they want to take even more from us? Are we going to let this stand?”
“What other option do we have?” Maar asked.
“The kingdoms of man are powerful—more powerful than they’ve ever been. And their power goes to us, which goes to the Prime Gods. But if there’s one thing we know about man, it’s that such power won’t last. There will come a time when their ascendancy will wane. And when it does, our power and the power of the gods will, too.”
“And then what?” Ifriti asked.
Fenrir grinned, showing off his twin rows of razor-sharp teeth. “Then we overthrow the Gods and become them ourselves.”
Maar’s eyes flashed with surprise. Arachne looked up from her business with the insects. Ifriti glared at Fenrir with anger.
“You… you fool!” Arachne said. “You wish to embroil us all in a plot against the Gods themselves?”
Fenrir waved a clawed hand through the air. “The Gods themselves,” he scoffed, speaking the words with scorn. “The gods we follow are merely other beings from the spirit realm who managed to position themselves above the mortal world and establish themselves as the ones in charge. There were other Prime Gods before them, and others will follow. But if we work together, we can be those next gods.”
“How?” Maar asked. “Tell me how you wish to accomplish this.”
“The Gods wish to take our power,” Fenrir said. “And I can’t think of a reason why they would tap into our power unless there was… something on the verge of happening that threatened theirs, something they don’t want us to know about.”
“So what?” Maar said.
“So we let it happen.” Fenrir replied. “We allow them to take our power, and we lie in wait. The kingdoms of man and elf will decline, and when they do, we wait for the one marked by my sign.”
“One marked by your sign,” Arachne said. “Who will this be? And how do you know this will come to pass?”
“Because I’ve been speaking with the Goddesses of the Moon. They have shown me things and allowed me to peer into the future.”
Ifriti’s eyes flashed. “You what? You entreated the Goddesses of the elves? Fenrir, you fool—you know that they’re not to be trusted. Punishment will come for throwing in your lot with them.”
“The risk was worth it. With the power of their far-seeing, I was able to understand the unfoldings of the next two millennia. The kingdoms of man and elf alike will fall, and when they do, one will rise with the power to take our marks, and to bring soldiers bearing them under his command by the thousand. And that’s not all—I’ve enlisted the help of another benefactor, one with keen interest in seeing us succeed.”
“A benefactor?” Ifriti asked.
“A benefactor. And one of the terms of their help is that their identity remains known to only me. But I can assure you of their goodwill.”
“And then what?” Maar asked, his tone suggesting that while he was still apprehensive about the plan, he was intrigued.
“We will take the power of our followers. But instead of giving it to the gods to use how they wish, we will keep it for ourselves. We will break the chains and become gods ourselves!”
He clenched his fist, the mere suggestion enough to fill him with righteous determination.
“Fenrir,” Arachne said. “This plan… there’s a very, very good chance it will fail. And if it were to fail, the gods would not simply punish us—they would unmake us. There are others who could take our place, lesser spirits who would give anything to be where we are.”
“But think of all we could gain,” Fenrir said. “Not only would we have power over the mortal world, we would have the powers of the Prime Gods! We would become the most powerful beings in all of creation! Tell me, is a reward such as that not more enticing than an eternity of existing at the whims of gods who see us as nothing more than deliverers of power?”
None of the Archspirits said another word. Fenrir could sense that he was on the verge of winning them over.
“I know you all wish for more than to be mere servants to the gods. If you follow me, we will become so much more. We will have the power of the gods and the Archspirits. And there will be no one to stand in our way. We will tell none of the Archspirits of this plan. I will convince them to lay down their powers for the time being. It will be difficult, but I have ways of convincing them.”
“And I thought I was meant to be the snake spirit,” Maar said. He was grinning now, his expression becoming very much his namesake.
“And if we wish to follow along with this plan of yours?” Ifriti asked the wolf spirit. “What would we do next?”
“We would bide our time, clutch onto what little power we have in the coming centuries,” Fenrir said. “We wait, and be patient. Because when the time comes, we’ll return to power, and be greater than anything we ever were.” He narrowed his eyes and stepped toward the Archspirits. “We will become Prime Gods. I’m sure of it.”
Chapter 1: Logan
Logan Grimm, son of Jesper the War Wizard, moved through Elderwood Forest outskirts like a wraith. He kept his body low as he trod over the blades of Jade Grass, the tall, spindly stalks lolling in the hushed early morning wind. He stepped in the way he had been trained, with long strides that landed on the soil for a half-instant. Each precise movement maintained his silence and kept his presence hidden.
He was not alone. He was among over two dozen other members of his clan, all Elderwood Rangers, and all among the finest warriors of the realm. Their bodies were clad in the same leaf-colored leathers that covered their torsos and legs. The magics of the War Wizards imbued their gear, giving them enhanced durability while still retaining the lightness of Glade Leather.
Logan wore one other thing—a smile. It was a slight smile, a subtle curl of the right side of his lips, one he wished to hide from the grim-faced veterans of
his group. But it was his first campaign beyond their borders, and he couldn’t wait to prove himself. He’d barely slept a wink last night, knowing the hunt was only hours away. Sleep had been the last thing on his mind as he lay on the spare bed of his tent. All he wanted was the chance to slay an orc, to let the other members of his clan see that he was as much of a warrior as his father. Aspirations to become a War Wizard like his father were never far from Logan’s mind, and they were at the forefront as he lay his head to rest.
Sleep had come, and his friend Aiden roused him as the first rays of sun cast through their tent. Logan had grinned as he rose, and the grin hadn’t left his face since.
“Where are they?” Aiden asked, his voice barely above a whisper, barely louder than the bend of grass underneath their boots. “I would’ve thought we’d have found some orcs by now.”
Logan hesitated for a long moment before speaking. His eyes danced from one veteran to another to see if any of them had noticed that Aiden had broken one of the cardinal rules of a hunt—no talking.
But as Rank One rangers, Aiden and Logan had been tasked with holding up the rear. The Bloodhand orcs that stalked the woods were fierce warriors, but weren’t much in the way of tactics. If the rangers were to be attacked, it would come at the front.
Logan didn’t respond to his friend. Instead, he found his gaze lingering on the runic marks that decorated the bare skin of all the rangers. Dark colors and hard, straight lines made up intricate patterns, all of them magical, all of them the sacred marks of an Archspirit, inscribed by a War Wizard.
Carian, the veteran ranger closest to Logan, wore the long lines of the badger. Seamus, ahead to the left, wore wing-like inscriptions on his upper back that extended from underneath his Glade leather and down his bare, powerful arms.
Logan wore the snarling wolf’s visage of the Archspirit, Fenrir. This rune on his left forearm was imbued with powerful magic that allowed him to tap into a snarling rage. He didn’t know how the magic worked—such sacred and esoteric knowledge was exclusively the domain of War Wizards. And, hopefully one day, he would mine the depths of hidden wisdom that all War Wizards shared.
