Blood Of Gods

CHAPTER 35

The morning was warm and filled with lingering smoke as Velixar watched the soldiers dismantle their tents and don their armor. These brave souls, who had fought so valiantly not seven days before, were beaten and weary, nearly to a man. Their movements were laborious, their expressions dour, and their lips sagged with disgust as they tore into their meager tack-all that was left of their provisions after the supply wagons had been set to the torch. Wolves had taken the rest. The tall trees surrounding them made them appear small, like squirrels desperately foraging for nuts before winter’s wrath fell upon them. All the while, the animals of the forest chattered and scurried all around. Flocks of birds soared overhead, heading back north.

Winter is all but over. We should be taking stock of our bounty, not licking our wounds.

Velixar felt for each of them. This was supposed to have been their moment of glory. The two years of preparation, the long march into Paradise, and the siege of Mordeina should have ended with Ashhur beaten and his children liberated. Instead, Karak’s Army had fled back to their kingdom across the river, their once mighty force decimated by death and desertion. Velixar’s heart thrummed in his chest, seemingly loud enough to act as the drum cadence for the march ahead. He had never dealt well with failure-not when he was Jacob Eveningstar, and certainly not now, as the swallower of demons. The reality of their situation irritated him, and his anger boiled over. The smoldering landscape a few hundred yards behind them, charred and blackened by Karak as the god set fire to Paradise while they tramped through this once pristine land, did nothing to lift his spirits.

Ashhur’s raising of the dead had caught them off guard. Even days after, the images still fresh in his mind, it didn’t seem real. The scale of what Ashhur had accomplished was astonishing. So many thousands of undead, so many tons of rotting flesh, all turned against them. It was no wonder the soldiers who remained were so dismayed.

I should have known. He fingered the pendant dangling beneath his new cloak. I should have seen Ashhur’s plot the moment we stepped within Mordeina’s walls. The Beast of a Thousand Faces would have understood.

That, more than anything, formed the crux of his anger. He could point blame at Ashhur, at the Master Warden, even at the mutant Patrick DuTaureau, but this didn’t stave off the fact that he, Velixar, had been caught unaware. The best of humanity had been tricked by a naïve, peace-loving deity. “Your ego will be your downfall,” Karak had once told him. And so it had come to pass. He knew he had failed his chosen god, even if Karak did not castigate him.

A dark shadow appeared beside him, and Velixar glanced over to see the Lord Commander standing there, his fingers clenching and unclenching. His black breastplate was dented and scratched; the chainmail covering his right arm, bent and split. His good eye stared straight ahead, intent on his charges, while the milky left one seemed to glow within the nest of scars that marred his face. Malcolm’s mouth hung open, and he breathed deeply. Velixar knew the man well enough to understand that he wished to say something, but he remained silent. Malcolm Gregorian knew his place in the world. He would only speak with the High Prophet of Karak after Velixar acknowledged his presence.

“What is it, Lord Commander?” he asked.

Malcolm cleared his throat. “High Prophet, the men are hungry. We have been on the Gods’ Road for six days now. Should we not have come across our resupply wagons by now? They were due to arrive a month ago, yet still there is no sign.”

“I don’t know,” Velixar answered. This was a problem he had been pondering since long before the assault on Mordeina. No birds had arrived from Omnmount, and though supplies were supposed to have arrived every ten days, they had received no aid for nearly two full months. A part of him wondered if some blight had taken place in the staging grounds, or some of the treachery Karak had said he saw in his visions, but he quickly quashed that contemplation. There was no room in his mind for any more thoughts of failure.

“Wagons or no, we progress as we have,” he said. “We will be home soon enough either way. The snows have passed, and the days are warming. Have the men forage for nuts if it comes to that, and those strong enough should go hunting when we make camp. They will have to make do.”

“Yes, High Prophet.”

“Is that all?”

Malcolm shifted his feet. “No, High Prophet. The Quellan are restless. Chief Shen is adamant that his Ekreissar take no part in our struggles any longer.”

“He told you this?”

“Yes,” Malcolm said with a nod.

“When?”

“This morning, as I was making my rounds in the minutes before the sun rose.”

Velixar frowned. Of course they wish to depart us. The Quellan are proud. They deal with failure as horribly as I do. That they had chosen each night to make their camp far away from the human soldiers was proof enough of how they felt about the situation. That knowledge doubled his irritation over the fact that the elves had been among the first to flee Mordeina when the dead stood up and began fighting. Karak will punish them for this. If they turn against the pact they agreed to, when we storm back into Paradise and bring Ashhur to his knees, they will receive nothing in return. Their people should count themselves lucky if Karak simply lets them live.

“High Prophet,” said Malcolm, “what will we do about this?”

Velixar’s brow furrowed, and he tapped a finger against his pendant. “Where is our god now?”

Malcolm held his chin high. “I spotted mighty Karak lingering on the edge of the forest, gazing toward the Gods’ Road.”

“Very well. Go back to Shen. Tell the thickheaded oaf that the Divinity of the East demands to speak with him. If he and the Ekreissar wish to turn their backs on us, let them tell the deity himself.”

“Yes, High Prophet.”

Malcolm bowed, the massive sword Darkfall clanking in its sheath on his back, and then the man marched away. Velixar watched him until he disappeared behind a thick copse of evergreens, and a sense of longing filled him. Malcolm was a good man, a faithful man. He was one of the few who had showed no fear when the dead rose. If they’d only had a thousand Malcolms at their disposal, Mordeina would have fallen.

He grunted, adjusted his cloak, and began to walk through the bustling cluster of soldiers. Eyes rose to meet his, but they quickly turned away, wary of his presence. It was a reaction that had grown all the more prevalent since his massive displays of power. A sense of disconnection began to wash over him. I am no longer of their ilk. I am closer to the gods than to humankind. They realize this.

Karak was standing alone at the head of a long stretch of grassland when Velixar found him. The Gods’ Road lingered five hundred feet below them. The deity’s eyes were fixed on the west, gazing down the expanse of packed dirt that snaked into the horizon. Both sides of the road were blackened wasteland, where small fires still burned in the hearts of the husks of trees, the end result of Karak’s godly influence. Each sunset, while the soldiers set up camp, Karak raised his hands and instantly set the landscape ablaze. That hellish ruin stretched for as far as the eye could see behind them, culminating at the Wooden Bridge over the Corinth River, which the god had destroyed after his army crossed.

Velixar sidled up to his chosen god. Karak glanced down slightly, a frown on his lips. The deity then looked south for a moment before bringing his attention back to the smoldering western expanse.

“My Lord, we must speak,” said Velixar.

“They are coming,” Karak said, as if he hadn’t heard.

The High Prophet gazed up at his god. “Who is coming, my Lord?”

“My brother and his children. I sense him as strongly as if he were standing beside me. The dead are with him.”

Velixar was taken aback. He had expected Ashhur to remain in Mordeina and pick up the pieces after the invasion, to coddle his children as always. He’d never thought the weak-minded god would pursue them.

“Why did you not sense him before, my Lord?” he asked.

Karak’s lips twisted into a grimace. “He was not this close before. We are going too slowly. A journey that has taken us seven days he has completed in three.”

“But how?”

“Soldiers require rest, High Prophet,” said Karak, his frown deepening. “Wardens require much less, and they can heal their wards and horses when exhaustion threatens to topple them. As for the dead. . they require no rest at all.”

“Oh.” Velixar pursed his mouth and peered at the span of the Gods’ Road running east. “How far behind are they?”

“A day. A single day.”

Velixar slapped at his leg. “Then it matters not, my Lord. We will arrive at Ashhur’s Bridge before this day leaves us. Once we have crossed into the delta, we will set up a defense within the swamp.”

“No,” said the deity, anger churning in his voice. “That we cannot do.”

“Why not?”

Karak raised a hand and pointed to the lands on the other side of the road, above which thick black storm clouds were just beginning to disperse. “Another force approaches from the south,” he said. “I have felt them as strongly as I feel my brother. Though I cannot discern their numbers, the presence I feel is monstrous. There seem to be thousands of them.”

“A force from the south?” Velixar chewed on the statement for a moment, and then his heart sank. “Your brother’s dark-skinned children have come into the fray.”

Gravely, Karak nodded. “Led by the giant Gorgoros. Do you see that trace of black on the horizon, beneath the storm clouds? That is the remains of their cookfires. They are only three miles away and advancing quickly. They will reach the Gods’ Road in less than two hours.”

Damn you, Darakken, Velixar thought. Then he puffed out his chest, trying to force his old confidence back to the forefront. “It matters not, my Lord. No matter their numbers, our soldiers have more training than the Kerrians. We must meet them head on. We must crush them.”

Karak shook his head. “As magnificent as that sounds, High Prophet, it is a course we cannot take. To meet the Kerrians in battle will allow Ashhur to gain ground on us. I do not wish for my children to face a two-front battle when they have already lost so much.”

“What of your power?” Velixar asked. “You struck low the walls of Mordeina with a single spell. Could you not do the same to those from Ker?”

“And leave myself weakened for when my brother arrives?” Karak asked. “No. I have something better planned, something that will buy us needed time.”

“Then what do you have planned, my Lord?” asked Velixar.

At that moment, a rustling sound came from behind them. Velixar swiveled around to see Aerland Shen, dressed in his black scaly armor, exit the forest and approach them. His two black swords were crisscrossed over his back. The thickly built elf was nearly upon them by the time Karak turned.

“What is the meaning of this?” Shen asked in his garbled version of the common tongue. “Why was my presence demanded?”

Velixar opened his mouth to reply, but it was Karak who spoke.

“I have heard of your decision to leave my ranks,” the god said, his voice booming. Velixar’s eyes widened in surprise that the deity had already known, but he shouldn’t have been caught off guard. Karak was a god, after all. The deity reached out and snatched the Ekreissar chief by the front of his armor “That will not do.”

Shen shrank away from the god, his pointed ears twitching. It was the first time Velixar had seen the elf afraid.

“We. . have lost. . ” Shen began. Then, “It is useless. . to go on with this charade. . ”

Karak shoved the elf backward. Shen fell to the ground and slid on his rump. The deity gestured to the swords strapped to his back.

“Tell me, Aerland Shen, son of Moerlind and Lorientas, what are the names of those weapons you wield?”

Shen twisted his head to the side as if thinking of the correct words. “Salvation and Condemnation.”

“Ah, powerful names for powerful blades. And tell me, Chief Shen, how many have you slain with those swords? How many were given the gift of the swords’ names?”

“I don’t know. One hundred? Two hundred? Too many to count.”

“Is that so? And how many of those countless numbers did you slay before this conflict between Ashhur and I began?”

In answer to that, Shen snapped his lips shut and looked away.

“I thought not,” said Karak. “You never killed a soul until our pact was sealed. The Quellan like to proclaim themselves a proud and powerful race, regaling the tales of their conquests, and yet none of your kind has seen war for over a thousand years. I offered what your goddess did not: the opportunity for your people to reclaim lands that had once belonged to you, and now you wish to abandon your promise to me?” Karak stood up tall and swung his arm out wide as if presenting the scorched terrain to the elf as a gift. “Look at the devastation. Do you truly think I would allow you to turn against our pact and suffer no consequences? Should you leave, you will have doomed Quellasar to the same fate as Paradise, and when I am through with you, none of your kind shall remain.”

Shen narrowed his eyes. “You speak of victory, yet it is we who flee east. Why should we believe your brother will not hold your head in time?”

Karak’s eyes narrowed, and his fury seemed to make him taller.

“My brother has raised the dead, and in doing so, he has changed the rules of the game. I will give him a gift just as deadly. Look upon it, and then decide if my doom is still so certain as you imply.”

Karak held his arms out to his sides and threw his head back. The brightness of his eyes increased tenfold. A gleaming layer of darkened light swirled around him. Aerland Shen struggled to his feet and spun in place as the forest behind them became a flurry of snapping branches and animalistic grunts. Velixar’s movements echoed the chief’s. The surprised and frightened shouts of the soldiers back at camp reached his ears. It was as if the forest were collapsing in on itself.

“What are you doing, my Lord?” he asked. He had to shout to be heard over the din.

“I told you that Ashhur offered me a half measure when he created the wolf-men. Now he has dispensed with pretense, and I shall retaliate in kind.”

All creatures great and small burst from the forest in a stampede of fur, teeth, and legs. Elk, deer, wild goats, wolves, even squirrels emerged from the trees. A pair of black bears, early risers braving the end of winter, made themselves known. Migrating birds swiveled in the air and changed course, descending to join the fray. The caws and growls and snarls and chattering of the wildlife was so loud that it was like standing beneath the crest of a crashing wave.

The sloped clearing they stood in was large-perhaps a mile squared-yet not ten minutes after Karak had bellowed his silent call, there was nary a patch of bare earth to be seen. Velixar drew closer to his god as a litany of eyes stared at him, both black and docile, glinting and predatory. And still creatures emerged from the wood, clambering over one another, jaws snapping, antlers jabbing, drawing ever nearer to the three beings that stood at their center, becoming a nearly solid wall of undulating fur and teeth.

“What is happening?” Aerland Shen shouted, his normally hard voice wavering.

“You wish to see true power, child of Celestia?” Karak said without looking at the elf. His words bellowed across the countryside with enough potency to cause pebbles to bounce at their feet. “When a god is in need of soldiers, he creates them.”

In a violent motion, Karak threw his arms out wide and his head pitched back. He screamed; it was a sound so horrible that it might as well have been the shriek of a dying star. But Velixar was not afraid. He felt the magic flow out of the deity, could see the threads exiting Karak’s body, bore witness to the well as it filled with strength, pulsating. This is creation, he thought, awed. In his mind’s eye he could see cells split and combine, looked on as the primordial sludge of unreality became the template for life itself.

Light poured from Karak’s mouth, creating a second, earthbound sun. The countless animals that had gathered-possibly close to one hundred thousand, both in the ring and hidden behind the trees-cowered from the god’s radiance. The energy that exited Karak’s body hung in the air, a brilliant golden cloud, and then slammed back down to the earth, coating the landscape with living fire. Velixar flinched and Aerland Shen screamed, but neither was touched by the descending light.

It was the animals that were engulfed. They screeched as one, the clamor so great that Shen dropped to his knees and covered his ears. Velixar looked on in wonder as creatures great and small began to writhe, their bodies warping and contracting, the bones beneath their flesh snapping and elongating. Fingers tipped with claws formed at the ends of furry appendages, snouts shortened, knee joints cracked as creatures that once walked on four legs rose up on two.

All the while, the transforming creatures bawled in pain. Every last one of them.

The blinding light that had engulfed the entire vicinity then disappeared with an audible pop. Karak’s mouth snapped shut, his arms fell to his sides, and he collapsed to one knee, panting.

“It. . is. . done. . ” the god gasped.

No longer did the beasts cry out in anguish. In fact, the only sounds to be heard were the rasping breaths of untold thousands. Chief Shen had both his swords drawn and stood hunkered down as if he expected a battle. Velixar touched the large elf on the shoulder. When Shen turned to him, Velixar saw his eyes were wide and shimmering.

For the second time that day, the chief of the Ekreissar was afraid.

“Put your swords away,” Velixar told him. “You have nothing to fear.”

He stepped in front of the elf without another word, gazing out at what his god had created. Animals that had once been creatures of the forest now stood with the posture of hunched men. Each beast’s body had nearly doubled in size: the elks were eight feet tall and slender; the wolves as large and broad as any soldier; the squirrels like malevolent, two-foot-tall imps; the birds varying from three feet to six in height, with talons sprouting from the ends of their wings. All of their eyes glowed yellow, much like those of Karak’s lions, the Final Judges Kayne and Lilah. Those eyes stared back at him, brimming with recognition. Then, in an act that surprised Velixar to no end, the beasts dropped to their knees, one after the other.

As one, their snouts opened, revealing fanged and stumped teeth alike, and their tongues undulated in their mouths as they tried to speak.

“Ka-rak,” they said in the voices of primitive children.

Velixar stepped up to what had been a goat a moment before. He placed his hand beneath its maw, lifting the creature’s head. Its eyes met his, and he could see fear, confusion, and anger in its stare. The thing growled. Velixar released it and stepped away, looking over the sea of fur and teeth. It was then he noticed the grass beneath his feet. Its color was a dull yellow, no different from before. He spun around and looked to the forest, where an audience of befuddled soldiers had gathered on its edge. Velixar saw that although the trees had no leaves, they still appeared hearty and healthy; their bark was still crisp, their sap still flowing from broken branches. He thought back to when they’d first arrived at Mordeina, to the dead valley they had entered, where the trees of the bordering forest were crumbling, brittle things.

“How?” he asked, gazing across at his god.

Karak raised his head. The deity’s flesh had lost its luster; his stately brown hair was matted; the glow of his eyes, dim; and his lips, like gray slugs in the middle of his face. Yet still he smiled.

“A piece of me lies within each of the creatures that stand before you now,” Karak said, his voice weak and rasping. “The same essence that created you, Velixar, the same essence that forged humankind on this land, now pulses in their veins. With the beasts Ashhur made, he gave not of himself, but took from the land. Mine, due to my essence, will be wiser. Stronger. Better.”

Velixar looked away, examining one of the wolf-men up close. Saliva dripped from its fangs, and it snorted when he drew near. So many of them. I cannot begin to imagine how much power this required. Velixar faced his god once more. Karak wavered on his knee and had to place one of his giant hands on the ground to keep from falling. There was also something odd about the expression on his face, a slight upturn to one side of his lips and his right eye twitching. It made Velixar recall Cotter Mildwood, the old man who had been driven mad when he read the scribblings in Velixar’s old journal. That was how Karak appeared now-a whisper away from madness.

“But at what cost, my Lord?” he asked.

“A necessary one,” Karak answered, a feverish grin crossing his features. “A willing sacrifice in the name of maintaining order. Now come to me, High Prophet, swallower of demons, and the greatest of all humanity. I lent you my power when you required it; it is time for you to return the favor.”

The pendant resting on Velixar’s chest leapt and pulsed. He felt his lips stretch into a grin. With determined strides, he stepped past a gawking Aerland Shen and marched up to the deity, holding out his hand. Karak’s fist engulfed his. Velixar closed his eyes, picturing the land in all its magical glory, siphoning the godly energy from the very air itself, filling the cosmic well. Power infused him, raced up his legs and into his heart, then down his arms and into Karak, filling the deity with renewed vigor.

The creak of steel sounded, as well as a low grunt. Velixar opened his eyes and craned his neck to see Karak standing at his full twelve feet, wavering slightly but radiating strength. The deity released his hand and stepped away from him. The thousands on thousands of beast-men dropped lower to the ground. Karak slowly turned in a circle.

“Beasts of Dezrel!” he shouted, and though he wasn’t nearly as thunderous as he’d been in the past, his voice was still imposing and incredibly loud. “You are my children now! I have given you strength beyond measure. I have given you knowledge. I have given you a second life! Who is it that you worship? Who is it that you adore?”

“Karak,” the beasts growled.

“Now heed my words, my children. A pair of enemies approach, enemies that wish harm to your creator. You will defend me with your claws and teeth. You will defend me with your very lives if need be!”

“KARAK,” came the vociferous howl of the beasts once more.

“Ia mapa ammen,” muttered Chief Shen.

“Now go, children of the forest! Bring pain to any that do not worship my name!”

Once more, it was a stampede. Thousands of newly altered creatures began to run, adeptly veering around the three in the center. Never once were they touched. The entire procession took nearly a half-hour to complete, until the last stragglers passed them by, barreling down the steep hill toward the Gods’ Road. On reaching the road, two-thirds of the beast-men veered to the west while the remaining third ran directly south. Velixar tore his eyes away from them, noticing the awed expressions on the audience of soldiers watching from the tree line. He then looked on as Shen stumbled up the hill, heading for the throng of elves that awaited him on the edge of the forest. They will not abandon us now. They would not dare. A chuckle escaped his throat, and he looked back at Karak.

“Will they be able to bring Ashhur to his knees?” he asked.

“If my brother is weak,” said Karak, eyes distant. “It is the delay that matters, and the indecision that their mere existence will cause my brother to feel. But they are strong, and my essence is with them. Even if they do not find victory, thousands of our enemy will die. Let us see just how committed to the chase Ashhur’s people are after the animals of the wild descend upon them.”