David Dalglish - Blood Of Gods

In his hand, his own glowing sword faded until it became warped steel once more. His thoughts dulled, his vision became cloudy. Karak’s sword pulled out of him, leaving behind a dark, shadowy afterimage that slowly dispersed into nothingness. Bardiya teetered on his knees like a reed in the wind, and the pain that filled him washed away. He felt his heart stop beating-he actually felt it-and his eyes rolled until they stared at the bright afternoon sky. Then his eyes closed, his body pitched forward, and he struck the ground face first with a crunch.

“Ashhur,” he breathed, the word inaudible to his own ears, “remember me.”

Always and forever, my child.

Bardiya rolled onto his back, body flopping as if in resistance to his every order. Karak and Jacob towered over him, staring down. No words on their lips. Just cold anger. It seemed strange to him, that anger. As he felt the life fading from him, felt the world collapsing inward, their anger inspired only pity in his motionless heart.

Bardiya?

The sky was opening. He saw golden light, felt his body separating, his presence expanding. Even the sound of Ashhur’s mighty, crestfallen bellow from miles away could do nothing to stifle his wonder.

Do not grieve for me, my god. I understand now. It is so, so beau-

For a fleeting moment, the war almost ended.

From his hiding spot within the trees on the other side of the river, Ahaesarus watched the giant Gorgoros battle Karak. Patrick DuTaureau, Preston the Turncloak, Warden Judah, Allay Loros, and the twelve others who had formed their advance scouting party gawked at the clash with eyes wide. It seemed none of them, Ahaesarus included, dared to so much as breathe.

They saw the giant hit his knees, Karak stalk toward him, and Bardiya’s sword begin to glow. They looked on as the spiritual leader of Ker attacked with a vengeance, somehow beating the deity back with blow after vicious blow. They gaped as Karak fell to the ground and the giant lifted his radiant sword, preparing to strike it through the god’s skull, only to be yanked away by oily tendrils of shadow. Then they watched in horror as Karak sliced the giant through from shoulder to chest.

Bardiya’s sword dimmed and he fell, his life extinguished.

Not a moment later, Ashhur’s distant, mournful cry added to the miasma of despair.

“No!” shouted Patrick. The deformed man flexed his massive arms, his sloped forehead crunching downward and wrinkling as tears streamed from his eyes. He reached for the sword strapped to his back and took a menacing step forward, ready to burst from their secluded spot and charge across the crumbling bridge. Ahaesarus grabbed his forearm and squeezed. Patrick’s head whipped around, spraying tears like mist from a waterfall.

“Do not,” said Ahaesarus, trying to keep his tone even.

Patrick slapped his hand away. “Don’t tell me what to do!” he shouted, his shoulders rising and falling with each rasping breath.

“He’s. . he’s gone,” whispered Allay. He ground his teeth together.

“Listen to me,” Ahaesarus told them, stepping back so he could address them all. “There is nothing out there for you but death. You witnessed the giant’s fate. Don’t let that be yours as well.”

“His name was Bardiya ,” snapped Patrick. The malformed man then turned to the others. “We go now!” he shouted. “Let Karak try to defeat all of us at once!”

Before Ahaesarus could say anything more, the other men lifted their swords to the sky and bellowed. Patrick tore away from the Master Warden, slamming through the brush like a raging bull. The others followed him, all but Warden Judah, who remained at Ahaesarus’s side. Judah glanced at him, uncertainty showing in his smooth features.

“They cannot cross,” Ahaesarus told him before scowling and chasing after the men. It took mere moments to leave the cover of the forest, and the broad stretch of the cliff face stretched out before him. With his long strides, he easily caught up with the one at the back of the pack, the Turncloak Preston, snatching him by the armor and using his superior strength to toss the older man to the ground. Then another man went down, then another and another, rolling on the gravelly earth, their anger abated by surprise. Behind him, Judah further kicked the now prone men, keeping them down.

Patrick was the first to step foot on the bridge. It was a wide structure that looked to be made of solid granite and sandstone, but it was no longer stable. Half of its northern face had crumbled, raining dust and debris. At the middle section, large chunks of the earthen bridge had already fallen, leaving behind a dangerously sloped surface that threatened to drop the charging men directly into the rapids below. The pursuers ran with their swords, axes, and spears held high, wounded animal cries roaring from their throats, oblivious to the threat.

Ahaesarus came to a skidding stop at the edge of the bridge. Only five had rushed the crumbling structure; everyone else had been successfully thwarted. Of the five who had made it, only one now dashed without care-Midoro, one of the Kerrians. The others seemed to have lost confidence in their spur-of-the-moment attack. Patrick, in particular, was teetering back and forth, his sword resheathed, his uneven legs spread wide as the bridge shuddered beneath him.

From the other side of the river came the sound of laughter.

The Master Warden lifted his gaze. Karak and his prophet stood in front of the giant Gorgoros’s corpse, and it was the god who laughed. Karak’s eyes blazed gold, Velixar’s red. Though the deity stood twice as tall as the First Man of Dezrel, to Ahaesarus, in that moment, the human was much more frightening.

They outstretched their arms and began chanting. The uneven bridge began to tremble.

“All of you, to me!” Ahaesarus shouted, dread filling him. “Quickly now, come! There isn’t time!”

Patrick’s panic-filled eyes found his, and the hunchback pivoted on the balls of his feet, his uneven gait carrying him back across the failing structure. A great creak sounded, followed by a horrific splintering. Huge sections of the bridge broke off, plummeting seventy feet and crashing into the river, shattering as they struck the rapid’s jagged rocks. Allay Loros was the first to reach safety, followed by another of the Turncloaks, a boy named Tristan, and then a slender, brown-haired youth named Tosh. Patrick, with his uneven stride, was still twenty feet away; Midoro had passed him and was now halfway across, not slowing down, slip-sliding along the pitched section of bridge while still wailing his battle cry.

With a final, violent crack, the bridge fully collapsed. In the distance, Midoro tumbled along with heavy sections of granite, his ax spinning in the air while he toppled, head over heels, like a leaf in autumn.

Closer to Ahaesarus, not ten feet away, Patrick scuttled along the rapidly dropping slope, eyes wide with terror, his misshapen face scrunched. The only sound was the terrible shattering of the bridge. Patrick leapt forward, powerful arms outstretched, thick hands grasping at air. Without thinking, Ahaesarus reached for the falling man. Their palms met, Patrick’s fingers wrapping around Ahaesarus’s with such strength that it felt like the Master Warden’s bones would be crushed.

The bridge completely fragmented, coming fully detached from the side of the cliff. Patrick fell along with it. Ahaesarus held on for dear life, Patrick’s weight wrenching and unbearable. The Master Warden dropped to his knees, then flat on his chest, his shoulders stretched to their limit. Patrick’s momentum caused him to swing inward and slam against the rock face, sending a jolt down Ahaesarus’s spine. He cried out in anguish as DuTaureau dangled in his grasp. Patrick’s eyes were downcast, as were Ahaesarus’s, watching the remnants of the bridge crash into the violently flowing Rigon.