David Dalglish - Blood Of Gods

When they finally reached the other side of the bridge, Karak ordered Lord Commander Gregorian to march the troops east. Malcolm did as he was told, like the faithful man he was, barking out commands. Nine thousand booted feet stomped the granite-infused soil, the army forming into three columns as they marched into the trees, heading for the Northern Plains. The Ekreissar were in the lead, with the horsemen taking up the rear.

Soon they were gone, leaving Velixar alone with his god. Karak looked down at him, his eyes narrowing. The god’s shoulders were still hunched, his flesh still cracked. He seemed sorrowful somehow as well, and when he spoke, his tone swelled with compassion.

“High Prophet, I apologize that I require your strength so much as I do,” the deity said.

“There is no need for an apology, my Lord.”

“There is,” the god said with a sad nod. “I have not been feeling myself.”

“It is fine, my Lord. You will soon heal; you will recharge, and you will be as you were once more.”

To that, Karak nodded. “Until that time comes, however, you must be my sword. You must-”

The god’s eyes widened, his jaw clamped shut, and he whirled his head around, staring down the bridge. His fingers clenched and unclenched rapidly.

“What is it, my Lord?”

“It cannot be,” said Karak.

Velixar followed the deity’s glowing eyes, gazing at the bridge and the thick wood on the other side. He could see nothing out of the ordinary. “What is it?”

“He is here,” said the god gravely. “My brother could not arrive so quickly. It is not possible.”

“Ashhur is here?” Velixar looked around desperately but still could see nothing. His heart began to race. “What do we do?”

“The bridge must be destroyed.”

Karak took a stride toward the bridge and raised his hands. The bridge began to shimmy, its surface developing deep cracks. Velixar joined his god’s side, mimicking his every motion, and soon chunks of the bridge broke off, plummeting to the river below.

Velixar held his breath, awaiting the moment Ashhur would come bursting out of the wood. Not now! Karak is too weak. I am too weak!

Finally a form exploded from the trees, advancing at blinding speed toward the bridge, and Velixar stared at the approaching monstrosity, baffled beyond belief.

Karak had been wrong. It wasn’t Ashhur at all.

Though fishing, farming, and praying were a part of daily life for those in Ker, to reside in the desert and southern plains of Paradise was to live the life of a hunter. Tracking was a skill nearly all children learned early on, trailing game through the prairies and thick forests, that night’s meal dependent on finding and dispatching their quarry. It was a skill Bardiya excelled at, even though he hadn’t put it to much use over the last fifty years.

Not that he needed to be a talented tracker to find the trail Karak and his soldiers had left for him. Just north of the Gods’ Road he saw flattened grassland littered with the dung of thousands upon thousands of animals. From there, the hollow prints of booted feet led directly into the forest. All he had to do was follow the trampled earth and scored trees, which were in abundance.

Days came and went, and much to Bardiya’s surprise, he was never hungry. His stomach never grumbled, his muscles never twitched, his throat never ran dry. He was being guided by a force larger than himself, a duty he had blinded himself to for a long time. It was his faith that now sustained him, as filling as the heartiest meal, as intoxicating as the strongest wine.

The soldiers and elves marched into the distance, leaving Karak and Jacob alone on the opposite cliff face. It wasn’t a perfect situation, but Bardiya knew it was the best he would get. He bowed his head and brought his fist to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. “Ashhur, protect me,” he whispered, and felt lightness infuse his being. It was the first time since he’d ordered his brethren home that he’d prayed. Before that moment, he hadn’t dared.

Bardiya clutched his giant sword tightly and began to run. His heart rate remained even as his legs churned, carrying him with ease through the dense foliage. Branches slapped at his face, chest, and legs as he ran, but their impact brought no pain. His shoulder collided with a thick tree trunk, and he heard a crack as its roots were ripped from the ground. His feet created deep divots in the packed soil. Still his breath came as easily as if he were taking a stroll along the edge of the ocean.

A series of snapping sounds reached his ears, and when he exited the dense forest, felling two small trees as he did so, he saw that Karak and Jacob were standing on the other side of the river, hands up, eyes shimmering. The bridge was slowly collapsing, large chunks of it dislodging and tumbling to the furious waters below. Bardiya felt his first moment of panic, experienced the first twinge in his muscles. His heart rate quickened, as did his breathing. The sword grew heavy in his hand. A primal scream left his mouth, renewing his courage, and he bounded onto the bridge without care for his safety, racing across the seven hundred foot span with inhumanly long strides. All around him, it continued to break apart.

He saw the First Man’s eyes widen in surprise. Amazingly, Karak’s did as well. God and man continued their chanting, the glow of their eyes brightening as their visages grew larger in Bardiya’s vision. He focused on Karak, who seemed as large as the continent itself, and felt a twinge of fear. The bridge shuddered beneath Bardiya’s feet. He was only two hundred feet away from the end, at most.

I will make it! Ashhur help me, I will make it!

A large, earthen section of the bridge dislodged from the structure, making the bridge dip to the side. Another long stride carried Bardiya to within fifty feet of the end, and when his foot planted he leapt into the air, aiming for the chanting pair. He soared, arms outstretched and legs splayed, easily traversing those last fifty feet. Karak took hurried steps backward, but Jacob stood his ground. The First Man raised his hands, whispering words of magic. Bardiya felt a tightening in his chest and a trickle of blood drip from his nose, but the discomfort was slight. Jacob then swore and turned, trying to get away, but he wasn’t fast enough. Bardiya hit the granite ledge hard, one knee striking the ground while the other rammed Jacob’s back, sending the man reeling, his cloak like a cloud of smoke as it billowed. The ground shook beneath Bardiya, the violence of his impact creating a small crater.

Jacob Eveningstar stopped rolling and fell still. Karak looked over at the unmoving man before bringing his glowing eyes back to Bardiya. He tilted his head and smiled. The look caused a chill to run up the giant’s spine.

“The child of Gorgoros,” Karak said.

Bardiya nodded before shoving off the ground with his fist, standing upright. Being this close to the deity, separated by barely twenty feet, Karak seemed not so huge. The giant took a step up and out of the crater he had made. His sword swung lightly in his grip, ever pointed toward the god. Karak himself held no weapon, and he didn’t appear in a rush to defend himself. He simply stood there in his glinting black armor, arms dangling loosely by his side, and grinned.

“Your sins have brought this down upon you,” Bardiya said as he approached. “Even a child of the heavens must be held accountable when so many innocents perish in his name.”

“Is that so, Gorgoros?” asked Karak, laughing. For a moment, Bardiya felt threads of fear at his tone. “Are you here to kill a god?”

“Yes.”

Bardiya reared back, grabbing the sword with both hands, and then swung with all the force he could muster. Time seemed to slow down. While the tip of the giant blade cut through the air, the space around Karak’s right hand shimmered with mist. A sword grew from that mist, a radiant, ethereal blade sprouting purple flames and ringed with swirling shadow. Time sped back up, Karak becoming a blur as he turned his sword upward. The blades of giant and god met with a deafening clang . Sparks flashed like lightning. Spikes of torment assaulted Bardiya’s hands and arms. He screamed. The deity shoved forward, forcing Bardiya’s feet to skid across the rocky ground, pushing the blades ever closer to his face. The flames from the deity’s sword leapt outward, singeing Bardiya’s eyebrows.