“Rise,” the voice boomed. It was definitely a god. No man could boast such clear perfection in their tone while achieving such volume. It sounded as if a chorus of voices sang the words rather than one perfect being spoke them.
The giant obliged the command. The three men quickly followed suit. Both Kantiim and Spang gasped when they saw the man walking with Hagen. Of course, it was no man accompanying the old healer. Daritus recognized the god as Moshat, Kaldumahn’s contemporary. The last time he had seen the god in the guise of an old man clad in a glowing white robe and emitting light like a star was after his first meeting with the lad of the Lake. The two gods had admonished him and cast him into darkness surrounded by amatilazo as penance for his sins. Hopefully, this meeting would prove less painful.
“Are you a wizard?” Bom was the first to break the silence.
“Blasphemy,” Hagen complained.
Moshat smiled as his dark eyes posed various contradictions, devoid of color yet somehow swirling with all colors at once. There was a hint of forgiveness in his voice as he corrected his companion, “Do not fret over the mistakes of one who could not possibly know a mistake had been made.” Then he turned his attention to the giant and continued, “Maomnosett Bom, son of Bok, grandson of Ott, what consequences have brought you to plan with men against your own kin?”
“I am not a spy,” Bom blurted. He quickly added, “I did not agree with my father’s campaign to take this land from men or to take the dwarves’ land from them, and I do not agree with my grandfather’s desire to continue that campaign. We have vast swaths of land, beautiful and untamed. I want nothing more than to return, but I cannot do that in good conscience without helping these souls protect their land.”
“What about your god’s command?” Moshat asked. “Neither your father nor your grandfather embarked on this mission of conquest without a command from their god, your god, the great and terrible Brerto. He would rightfully consider your actions blasphemous.”
“He would. He already told me as much before he fled Cialia’s might. Do you fear that loose Dragon as much as he?” Bom did his best to remain defiant before the god despite the sudden pain in his chest.
“I respect the bravery it took for you to stand up to your grandfather. I pity you for believing it wise to stand up to your god. That was foolish. Do not make the same mistake with me. I have not come to punish. However, I will not stand for disrespect. Kneel. I will forgive your transgression and make the pain stop. Stand, and that pain will steadily grow as your new friends watch you suffer and die before them,” the god remained disturbingly aloof as he cast his gaze to each set of wide eyes staring back at him in disbelief.
Bom was back on his knees within a second of Moshat’s command reaching his ears. Battling a god for the sake of nothing more than ego would be foolish at best. As soon as his knees touched brick, the pain ceased and Moshat had moved on to other things.
The god nodded to Hagen, and the old healer spoke, “Mighty Moshat, the great bear who stalks the north woods honors us with his grace. Havenstahl has been brought low, and our great protector has come to bless us, promising to aid in the rebuilding of our great city. And he brings good news of assistance from all the great cities of men. A massive force approaches from the southeast. We should see our ranks replenished, doubled, and doubled again within the month.”
After watching how Bom, a mighty giant was effortlessly brought low by the god, every bit of common sense Daritus had shouted from the back of his mind to hold his tongue. Unfortunately, his tongue had other ideas. “You have remained absent for some time, old friend. Now you return as herald of the great bear. How is it you come to serve in such an intimate capacity?” Before Hagen could consider answering, the fiery general turned his attention to Moshat, “And where have you been? I suppose there is no need for me to remind you how many thousands of your loyal servants have flittered off to the Lake. Havenstahl boasted the mightiest army in all Ouloos. What remains would struggle mightily to sack a village. You promise to help us rebuild? I would challenge you to punish those who brought violence and death upon us. Destroy the invaders from across the Great Sea and take back Alhouim for our friends from whom it was stolen.”
“Alhouim is no more,” the god remained emotionless. “Maomnosett has been born again from its ashes. I cannot interfere in the affairs of men.”
“It would seem your contemporaries share no such restrictions,” Daritus spat. “It was not giants who tore this great city down or trampled innocent lives beneath massive paws and broken towers. They were gods like you. They interfered in the affairs of men.”
“Those gods are vile and no more honorable than the foul things who worship them,” Hagen added.
Daritus raised his arms out to his sides as he cast an angry glance at the walls surrounding him, “Small consolation.”
“Enough,” Moshat’s booming voice echoed through the chamber. “You have seen more challenges than any man should. I will forgive your tantrum but know this, no man sits in judgement of any god. If you have finished your time in the physical, please continue. If you have more to do, repent in your heart and know you are forgiven.”
It took Daritus a few moments to calm himself. He did have more to do. Luckily, Moshat was willing to give him another chance to do it. Once he had regained as much of his composure as he likely would, he looked at Hagen and continued, “Old friend, you have been gone for quite some time with only vague reports of where you were or what you were up to. It was quite a shock to see you return with a god at your side. In fact, the idea is only now sinking into my thick skull, and I am suddenly quite afraid. Have any of our lost returned with you?”
“Most should have reported back periodically over the past few weeks. My best estimate of the total number is around five-thousand men and dwarves. I pray none of the latter continued on to Alhouim,” Hagen mustered as warm a smile as he could considering the grim report he delivered. “We found far too many who had already departed for the Lake, and even more who had yet to make the journey but were still well beyond my help. I pray there are more still living we have yet to find.”
“The search continues?” Daritus asked.
“It does,” the old healer nodded. “One hundred men continue the search. I left them to it as I felt you deserved a report of our progress and sensed I may be needed here.”
“You are wise,” the general decided. Then he looked to Moshat and said, “Forgive my hubris, my lord. I lost control of my tongue. I am a mere man with limited understanding. However, I do struggle with your restraint. How can we defeat our enemies when their gods show no such restraint?”
“Have faith in your god, Daritus. Though our friendship is young, please heed my counsel. I have lived with those who worship the great tiger, even worshipped him as a faithful servant myself. Be thankful you follow one more honorable. My kind are mad with desire for conquest and control. They emulate their god. This exacerbates their wicked ways. I much prefer the company I have found in this place,” Bom piped up.
“You would be wise to listen to your new friend,” Moshat added. “His heart is earnest and his words true. I am here to fill you with strength of heart, but flesh is flesh.”
Daritus turned his frown toward the floor. The god’s words were logical enough. If he could unleash the power of a god on his enemies, it would be an act even more wretched than those his enemies wrought against his own. As difficult as it seemed standing in a crumbling hall getting updates about how many had died, he needed to rise above it all if he were going to lead what was left.
“I do have more heartening news,” Moshat continued. “The riders of Druindahl boast many new recruits. Their ranks burst with hearty young men eager to serve and protect Dragons and all Ouloos. Your fair wife has once again taken the throne of that city. That seat is where she belongs.”
A sparkle made its way to Daritus’ eye, “That is more heartening news. The people of Druindahl love her. She has always been jus
t and fair. I pray to see her again someday.”
“My brother, Kaldumahn, the great silver lion who stalks the sky, is with her. She is safe in her city,” the god replied. “Now, let us get to work on rebuilding this fair city. Havenstahl and Druindahl will serve as beacons for all men, just examples in a crumbling world. Then, you will take that city back from the giants who stole it.”
A genuine smile finally made it to Daritus’ lips. Rebuild and then destroy. Perhaps the god would not or could not engage his enemies directly. However, having a god back a campaign certainly would not hurt.
Chapter 44
The Conquering King
Thick smoke blocked out the glaring desert sun until it was nothing more than a weak, pink pinhole of light struggling through a dark, gray haze. Flames roared like hungry beasts devouring huts of dry twine and casting ash to the wind. Random voices full of fear, pain, and terror screamed out from amid the smoke and ash. Some came from men. They were hoarse and throaty, but far too many came from women or children. Those were high-pitched. They stabbed Maelich the deepest as he looked upon the carnage his Shaiwah had wrought upon their enemies.
A groaning man limped out of the smoke. Covered from hair to sandal in heavy ash, he looked like a gray ghost except for his eyes. Those were wide, white, and streaked with red. He did not resemble the wild and violent beasts Maulom had described. He looked old, weak, tired, and most of all, terrified.
Maelich’s first instinct was to rush to the man, cradle him in his arms, and pour water into his dry lips to ease his burning throat. Before the urge became so great he had cause to consider whether to act on the instinct or stay his feet, a spear punched through the man’s chest. Somehow, those wide and terrified eyes grew even bigger. It could have been Maelich’s imagination, but those eyes seemed to both accuse and beg at the same time, at once pleading and damning. A heaviness grew in Maelich’s chest as he watched the life leave those eyes. It felt like sadness but worse.
When the man finally slid off the spear which had impaled him to flop lifeless onto the ash-covered ground and Ding’s smiling face appeared where those eyes had been pleading and accusing, Maelich finally understood what that weight had been. It was heartbreak. The peaceful innocence Maelich had seen glimmering in Ding’s eyes when first they met was gone. It had been replaced with a vengeful bloodlust. Maelich had turned that peaceful soul into a warrior. That warrior planted his foot victoriously on his vanquished foe’s back, held his spear high above his head, ripped through the smoky air with a hellish war cry, and then he was gone, disappearing back into the smoke to slay some more.
“The Shaiwah won their first battle,” Ymitoth’s voice kept the tear from forming on Maelich’s eyelid. “That marks your first victory as their king.”
“This does not feel like a victory,” Maelich’s voice was quiet.
“I ain’t the best with numbers, but I only count three injured among us and one dead. I call that a victory,” the old soldier shrugged.
“But what have they lost?” Maelich asked as he walked toward a smoldering hut.
Ymitoth followed beside him and replied, “Their fear. These men and women weren’t no warriors when we came to them. They’d been afraid their whole lives of these beasts. They ain’t scared no more. We gave them that gift.”
Maelich’s reply died at the back of his throat as he noticed the bloody corpse of a woman clinging to the charred corpse of a small child. The sight was jarring, but not only for the horror of it. Innocence, helpless and slaughtered, was what brought the tear he had been fighting over his eyelid to slip down his cheek, but what was truly jarring was the familiarity of it. He had no idea why the scene seemed so familiar, but it sparked something in him. It was something about mother, an inkling more than an idea or even a feeling. He chased the…thing deep into his mind. It was elusive, shifty, slipping around corners and hiding. What about his own mother?
Ymitoth’s voice pulled him away from the search, “It is a shame, but they’d be doing the same to us given the chance. Ain’t no sense in shedding tears for our enemies.”
“That is a mother clinging to her dead child’s body. She selflessly gave of herself in a vain attempt at protecting her defenseless child even in death,” Maelich nearly shouted. “What do we have to fear from her? How is she our enemy?”
A roar like a furious beast belching out a territorial warning erupted from the smoky air behind the dead woman. Maelich could not see the monster making the sound, but it was immediate enough that he instinctively drew his sword. The mystery was short lived as a beast of a man leapt over the corpses which had troubled Maelich so.
The man was big—a full head taller than Maelich and half a man heavier—but he moved with the grace of a man half his size. His hair was black waves streaked with ash. His swollen arms and chest were also covered in ash, but it was smeared with blood. Some was obviously his own. One of his eyes was missing. Blood poured from the empty socket. The other was wide and wild with revenge. Veins bulged all over him.
It was not fear motivating Maelich. Nor was it anger or hate. Instinct guided the soldier’s hand as he slashed smoothly through the charging man’s neck. It was no battle. One moment, the man was charging with ill intent, and the next, his head was arcing toward the flames of a burning hut while his body dropped in a heap next to the dead woman clinging to her dead baby. Was it his wife and child lying there in the dirt? Did it matter? What had any of them done to deserve the terror Maelich and his Shaiwah brought to the small village?
“That is what makes them our enemy,” Ymitoth’s tone had an annoying I told you so quality. “That mountain of a man would be crushing your head if you gave him half a chance.”
“Of course, he would,” Maelich shouted. “Look around you. Would you not do the same if it were your family gutted on the ground with your home burning around them. We are the invaders here. They did not come to attack us.”
Ymitoth grabbed Maelich by the shoulder and spun him so they were face to face, “Ain’t a one of our men raised a spear until one of these monsters attacked, sneaking like a coward out of the brush.”
“With a sharpened stick,” Maelich complained.
“A weapon is a weapon no matter what that weapon might be,” Ymitoth contended.
Maelich stared speechless into Ymitoth’s black, dead eyes. What did he hope to find in those lifeless pits, remorse, a soul? Though he was not completely certain what he sought, he was sure he did not find it.
“All dead,” Ding called out as he emerged from a smoldering hut. Though the young warrior’s voice was a welcomed distraction from Ymitoth’s horrible and empty eyes, the words it carried were not. “Shaiwah win. Shaiwah strong,” he added, kneeling before Maelich and holding up a small wooden chest.
Maelich took the thing and opened it, a mixture of shiny coins and assorted gemstones. “What is this?” he asked.
“Treasure,” Ding smiled up at him.
“Spoils of war,” Ymitoth agreed.
Maelich had not noticed the looting. Ding’s proclamation that all were dead should have been a clue. Of course, Ymitoth was right. To the victor go the spoils. The chest Maelich held in his hands felt far heavier than its meager contents. He handed the thing to Ymitoth and quietly said, “Form them up.”
Maelich had walked far past the smoldering huts, past the random limbs drying in the desert air, even beyond the stiffening corpses of poor souls who had tried to flee. A few hundred yards were the most the fastest of them made. He looked south along a river. Thick vegetation grew on both banks, stretching a few hundred feet on either side as it cut into a barren and cracked wasteland. Heat rising off the ground looked like vast pools stretching as far as he could see. Above him, the sun had yet to hit its highest point. A few hours were all it took to erase an entire village that no one would miss. Who would sing songs for them? How far until the next village his mighty force of killers would erase?
“Maelich,” the sound of Maulom’s voice
made him cringe. The last thing he wanted to do right at that moment was look upon that wretch in his perfect white clothing with his perfect white hair, neither of which seemed capable of gathering even the smallest speck of dirt.
Despite wanting to dive into the river to wash the filth from himself, he turned toward Maulom and nodded. It would be a waste to jump in the cool water anyway. The dirt on his clothes, in his hair, and coating his flesh could be washed away, but the stink of barbarous death would remain on his soul.
“The Shaiwah are victorious,” Maulom continued as he patted Maelich’s back earning a puff of dust. “You are a conquering king.”
“The Shaiwah are certainly a force to be reckoned with,” Maelich agreed before adding, “but these villagers did not pose much of a test. Where are the fierce warriors you described? Where are these horrible, violent monsters trained to kill and bent on destroying the Shaiwah? Are these the Tahnka? Are these peaceful villagers the beasts you taught the Shaiwah to fear?”
“Did you fight in the same battle I witnessed?” Maulom frowned. “I saw blood spurting from Gid’s neck when that wicked beast stabbed her throat. Did you miss that?”
Maelich shook his head and sighed. “I saw the attack, and I lament the loss…”
“The first blood drawn in this battle was drawn by our enemy. I am only glad Gid’s son was the one to avenge her,” the clean, old man interrupted.
“I know they drew first blood. I was there. I fought alongside my men. Given a similar set of circumstances, I would probably have done the same. Still, what is done is done,” Maelich’s head continued to shake slowly as he paused to gaze across the horizon. After a long silence, he turned back toward Maulom and asked, “When does it end?”
“It ends when you lead your Shaiwah back to the city they were forced from and take your throne,” Maulom smiled. “It is true, this village was a small test. However, their opponents will grow increasingly formidable the closer we get to that place.”
Kill the Gods Page 28
