David Dalglish - Blood Of Gods

Hands were on him then, many of them, tugging on Ahaesarus’s clothes, pulling him backward. Sharp stones and debris cut into his stomach as he was dragged across the ground, but his grip on Patrick’s hand remained true. Finally, the others succeeded in yanking Ahaesarus back far enough that the hunchback could clutch the many raised stones, pulling himself up and onto the ledge. When he finally reached safety, Patrick collapsed on his side and panted. Ahaesarus shook his head and closed his eyes, exhausted.

“Ahaesarus,” came Judah’s voice. “We need to leave.”

Ahaesarus glanced up at his fellow Warden and saw him gazing with a locked jaw over the chasm’s now empty span. The Master Warden rolled over to look, his every joint smarting. Karak had stepped back, and the First Man now stood at the edge of the opposite ledge, his cloak fluttering in the cold breeze. It was difficult to tell from seven hundred feet away, but he suspected Velixar was smiling.

“Ahaesarus, the great teacher of man,” Velixar hollered, his voice echoing across the chasm. “Did you truly believe you and Ashhur’s pet freak could dare Karak’s might?” There was laughter in his tone as he pointed at Bardiya’s massive corpse. “You witnessed the fate of the last challenger.”

“I’ll fucking kill him,” Patrick uttered, still on his stomach and panting. There was no strength behind his words.

“Not now,” Ahaesarus said as Karak’s prophet raised his hands. “Run,” he told the rest of his allies. “All of you, run !”

Ahaesarus scampered to his feet, heaving Patrick up and along with him as he trailed after those dashing back into the forest. He didn’t turn around-not when he heard the First Man chanting, not when he felt a scorching heat on his back. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other, hoping beyond hope that Patrick’s stumpy legs could keep pace with his much longer ones.

They dove into the surrounding trees just as the entirety of the cliff face went up in a blaze of purple and black flame. Those flames licked above Ahaesarus’s head as he dropped to the ground and tumbled down a slight decline. Whipping tendrils of living shadow snapped all around him even as he rolled, their texture solid and oily when they lapped against his bare flesh.

The ground dropped out from beneath him, and Ahaesarus fell. He collided with the root-covered ground hard, an oomph leaving his lips as the wind was knocked from his lungs. Patrick landed right beside him, his flailing right arm striking him directly on the chest. The force of the blow was made all the more painful by the coldness of the day. Ahaesarus lay there, clutching his chest and moaning, until the ache diminished.

When he lifted his head and glanced about, he saw they had landed in a ravine. The odd purple flames still licked at the air fifteen feet above their heads. All members of the scouting party save Midoro were present, tending their various injuries. The only one that seemed not to be hurt was Preston. The old Turncloak sat with his back against a tree, stroking his thick gray beard as if deep in thought. Ahaesarus thought of the charge toward the bridge, how Preston had been the last in line and had gone down rather easily when Ahaesarus grabbed him. It was as if he’d been stalling on purpose. That one knows better than to challenge a god. Seems he should dispense some of that knowledge to his friends.

DuTaureau shook his head while he gently dabbed at a deep gash in his elbow. “I’m sorry, Ahaesarus,” he said without looking up. He looked so miserable, with his tear-soaked cheeks and gnashing teeth, that Ahaesarus couldn’t stay upset.

“I understand,” Ahaesarus said.

Patrick’s eyes flitted upward, staring at the Master Warden from under his distended brow. “You do?”

“I do. However, do not be so foolish again. We cannot afford to lose you.”

At that, Patrick laughed grimly. “So say you.”

“Yes, so say I. You are the greatest of Ashhur’s defenders. Our god cannot afford to lose his ultimate warrior because of a need for vengeance.”

“You watched him die too, Ahaesarus,” said Patrick, looking away. “He was my friend.”

“He was. And his loss is painful to all, especially Ashhur. However, he played his part well. If not for the First Man, he might have killed a god. So go ahead, weep for Bardiya Gorgoros as you wish. Even Ashhur has shown his sorrow on this day. However, know that the giant now awaits us all in the Golden Forever. In some ways, he is lucky. His pain is over. Ours, I fear, is just beginning.”

“What a wonderful thought,” said Patrick, a hint of a wry smile playing on his lips.

Judah, who had been leaning against the earthen wall of the ravine, glanced up at the sputtering flames above them and then looked to Ahaesarus. “What do we do now?”

Ahaesarus leaned back on his hands and thought. At Patrick’s insistence, Ashhur had sent the party ahead of the bulk of his force, for their progress was indeed slowed, the undead and horses having a difficult time negotiating northeastern Paradise’s harsh forest terrain.

“Now, we return to Ashhur,” he said. “We will follow the river and look for a better spot to cross as we walk.

“What then?” asked Tosh. The other youngster, Tristan, rolled his eyes as if the answer were obvious.

“Then we go after them,” Patrick said, anger returning to his tenor. “Ashhur will face his brother and make him pay for what he’s done. There’s no stopping what has begun. There will be justice, or there will be death. Perhaps even the heavens will fall.”

Ahaesarus shivered, though he couldn’t have said it better himself.

That coldhearted cunt,” Turock grumbled. The older spellcaster bounced with each of his horse’s strides, his mane of wavy red-blond hair bobbing on his shoulders. He clutched his pointed green hat in his lap, twisting it as if trying to squeeze the last drop of juice from a lemon. “She has my children in there ! How dare she keep them away from me? Icy little bitch. It probably snows when she pisses. I’m glad my wife doesn’t take after her.”

Rachida Gemcroft rolled her eyes and shook her head, irritated. She had heard this same rant, over and over again, during the five days since they’d been denied entrance into Mordeina.

Turock continued his tirade while Quester Billings trotted up on the other side of her, grinning. “You want me to silence him?”

“Heard that,” said Turock, glaring over at the handsome young sellsword. “I’d like to see you try. You don’t want to know what happened to the last man who trifled with me.”

“Testy, aren’t we?” declared Pox Jon, who rode to Quester’s right.

Turock glowered.

“Enough, all of you,” Rachida said. “It’s like riding with children.”

She snapped the reins, forcing her steed up to a canter. Her frustration boiled over, and she let out a long groan. Even imagining shoving a shank into Peytr’s groin did nothing to lift her mood.

They had taken a circuitous route to Mordeina from Drake, sticking close to the mountain chain bordering the Gihon and heading inland only when the forest of Dezerea came within view. In all, the trip had taken thirteen days, and though the spellcasters’ gemstones had kept them well fed and the weather grew warmer, they still needed to sleep out in the elements, and the anticipation of what lay ahead of them had everyone on edge.

Yet that angst had not been justified, for when they arrived at the settlement itself, they found Mordeina surrounded by a gigantic double wall that put the one around Port Lancaster to shame. Even Turock was awestruck, staring up at the sixty-foot-tall wall of gray stone, and he was speechless for the first time since the journey started. Instead of Karak’s Army, they found an empty valley whose grass and trees, now bare due to the early thaw, were brown and dead. Instead of warfare, they found silence. Instead of being greeted as saviors, the people behind the wall turned them away.