David Dalglish - Blood Of Gods

“Something troubles you?” asked the Lord Commander.

Velixar glanced to the right. Malcolm now rode beside him, looking proud in his scratched black armor. He wore his horned helm, its visor down, his milky left eye glimmering in the starlight. That eye was dead, Velixar knew, but it still seemed vibrant more times than not. It was as if all his love for Karak shone out of that single, pale orb.

“I am simply thinking,” Velixar said.

“Fear not, High Prophet,” said Malcolm. “Karak will not abandon us.”

“I know this,” he said with a sigh. “I fear for him.”

“Fear for him?” Malcolm said, frowning. “Why would you fear for a god?”

“Because he is greatly weakened, Lord Commander.”

The one-eyed man scoffed. “Weakened? Karak is never weakened. He is the purest image of vitality and wisdom.”

Velixar hesitated. He wanted to inform the man of Karak nearly losing his head to the giant Gorgoros’s glowing sword. He wanted to tell him how if he himself had not dragged the monster of a man off their god, giving Karak the opportunity he needed to end the fight, everything they had fought for would have been lost. But he said none of that. He remained silent.

Malcolm reached over and squeezed his shoulder while the horses beneath them continued to trot along the North Road. “You are doubtful of that,” he said. “Your expression reveals as much. I know, for I have felt the same. But no longer. I have seen the glory of Karak’s supremacy, as I have seen yours. With the strength of the righteous behind us, we cannot lose.”

“Your faith is admirable, Lord Commander.”

Malcolm released his shoulder. “As is yours.”

After that they fell silent as they led the soldiers farther into the city. They passed by the road leading into the slums of the Black Bend, entering a densely built district lined with gray stone abodes with slanted clay roofs. This was the region of the city that Karak had built, with his own hands, before the creation of man, a span that stretched a mile from the central fountain in every direction. Although drab, the structures on either side of the road were formed into an exacting, gridlike pattern-the purest illustration of architectural order that anyone in Dezrel had ever seen. Finally, confronted with an example of Karak’s true vision, Velixar sensed his spirits begin to rise.

They rose further when a glow appeared in the distance, rising like a dome from Veldaren’s central fountain. A lion’s roar split the night. A charge seemed to fill the air, and columns of soldiers marching behind gasped. Even Aerland Shen and the Ekreissar rangers seemed awed. The glow on the horizon became brighter, the dome growing ever larger.

“I told you, High Prophet,” said Malcolm with a hearty laugh. “Karak has not abandoned us!”

And so he hadn’t. Karak waited at the city hub, kneeling in front of the massive fountain guarded by his life-sized likeness. The dome of light that had been cast seemed to come from the fountain itself; the water inside glowed and sparkled. The Final Judges were with the deity, Kayne to Karak’s right and Lilah to his left. They purred as the god ran his fingers through their golden fur. Velixar felt taken aback by the sight of them. The Judges had always been large, bigger than any wild cat he had ever seen, but the closer he drew, the more he saw how truly massive they were. When Karak noticed their approach and stood, so did the lions. Even on four legs, they rose higher than the deity’s waist. It was awe inspiring.

Whimpers could be heard beneath the lions’ droning. That was when Velixar noticed there were gallows erected just behind the fountain. Nine people were strung from the wooden scaffolding, one old man and eight younger women, their wrists bound and hanging from the upper plank, their feet roped to the lower. They all writhed in their bonds, their flesh bruised and gashed, tears flowing down their cheeks.

Behind Velixar, the soldiers began praising their god’s name.

Karak gestured for the soldiers to fan out to either side as they approached. Velixar led them to the left, Malcolm to the right, and the four thousand men fell in line. The Judges watched them with intelligent, scrutinizing eyes the whole while. The soldiers gathered in six even rows beside the gallows, curving around the sides of the fountain. Though the hub was large, it was still cramped with so many gathered on only one side of the fountain. The air was filled with those praising Karak. Velixar and Malcolm led the way.

“Glory be to Karak! Glory be to Karak!”

The god turned to face them and lifted his hand, and the chanting ceased. Karak reached to the side, his palm open, and a large, thick staff at least twenty feet high formed from the mist. He slammed the staff into the ground once, twice, three times. Each time it struck, the earth shook. A giant horn, its likeness never seen before by human eyes, materialized in his other hand. Karak lifted it to his lips and blew. The sound it made was deep and ominous, echoing throughout the city and beyond, loud enough to form cracks in the fountain. The soldiers covered their ears and fell to their knees. The horses reared back, nearly tossing their riders.

When he was done, the horn disappeared into mist. Karak, staff held firmly in his right hand, lifted his chin to the sky.

“MY CHILDREN, COME TO ME!” he cried, almost as loudly as the horn. After that a deep silence fell over the throng. Anticipation made Velixar’s heart beat out of control.

They came from all around; Sisters of the Cloth first, then young women with frightened children, and then the bedraggled, old, and infirm. For almost an hour the soldiers and elves stood there at attention while the citizens of this once-great city gathered. The Final Judges grumbled and snarled, but Karak stilled them with a glance. The people fell to their knees before the fountain, thousands of them, squeezing in like the fish in a lucky fisherman’s bucket after an ample catch. All the while, those strung up on the gallows wriggled and begged.

As the last trickle of humanity fell to their knees, Karak gestured for Velixar to join his side. Velixar climbed down off his horse and walked, head down, around the fountain. He neared Kayne, and the lion’s nose sniffed the air. Velixar felt no fear. A throaty gurgle sounded, and amazingly, just like the beast-men Karak had created, the lion spoke.

“Prophet,” he said in his rumbling, inhuman baritone.

“Faithful,” Lilah answered.

The gathered mob gasped, a sound like a million fissures spouting steam around a volcano.

Velixar rubbed the flesh beneath Kayne’s bloodstained maw, and the gigantic cat purred. He nodded to the beast and took his place at Karak’s side. Only then did Karak speak.

“My children, my creations, the moment of judgment is upon us!” cried the deity. It seemed like the wind picked up in that moment, blowing back the hair of the kneeling women present. “I have been gone too long, and the war I have righteously waged against my sinful brother has not gone as planned. Whose fault is that, I ask you now? Is it the fault of your creator, he who put breath in your lungs and vibrancy in your limbs? Or is it the fault of you, his wayward children, who do not love their Divinity as they should?”

A collective, frightened murmur raced through the thousands of kneeling onlookers.

“It is you, the faithless, who have thwarted me!” the deity bellowed. Feminine voices shrieked. “You have turned your back on your creator. You have turned against order itself ! I come to this city now, and all I see is chaos. What kind of children would repay their father for his kindness by betraying his very ideals? I look upon you now, a mass of swarming cowardice that only show love for their next meal, and not for the god who provided it for them!”