David Dalglish - Blood Of Gods

Some of the gathered elves began weeping. Others shouted angry decrees at the heavens. Ceredon pivoted on his feet and walked toward Aullienna, gathering the young princess in his arms, holding her head to his chest. Kindren was soon there as well, followed by Aully’s mother. The four of them stood there amid the lament and anger, holding each other silently.

Vile children of mine, I revoke my love. Take my curse instead.

The land filled with the screams of a thousand voices. Ceredon, Aully, Kindren, and Lady Audrianna separated, looking all around them. One out of every two elves had dropped to the ground, where all of them writhed in pain. Among them was the elf who looked so much like Cleotis Meln. Their bodies contorted, their teeth bared. It looked as if there was another entity beneath their flesh, fighting to get out. Ceredon backed away from them, toward the hillock that had once been a demon, dragging the three frightened Dezren with him.

“Celestia, what is this?” he whispered.

He looked to the sky and saw a dark cloud approaching. It moved faster than any cloud he had ever seen before, churning and bulging, growing bigger and bigger on the horizon. He dragged Aully and the others a few steps onto the hill, keeping his eyes up, and as it drew nearer, he realized that what he saw was hundreds of winged horses, flying in formation, descending as they approached.

You faithful few, accept my sanctuary.

“Aully!” he shouted. “Kindren, Lady Audrianna, all of you who haven’t fallen, come!”

Ceredon raced up the rocky side of the steep hillock, the others on his heels. The winged horses were so close now that he could see the mist from their noses when they exhaled. He continued to climb, stumbling over loose stones, holding tight to Aully’s hand just in case she fell. The first of the horses broke away from the rest, sailing over his head, soaring toward the other side of the knoll, and pivoting in midair. It was a she, and she landed on the broad, flat surface at the top of the hillock, whinnying and snorting and kicking her hooves. Another of the winged horses landed just behind her.

Ceredon raced for the mare, dragging Aully behind him. The horse bent her front legs, lowering herself so they could climb on her back.

“Two on each horse!” he shouted to the throng of elves as they crested the hillock’s short peak. More and more winged horses landed while the rest circled up above, waiting for space atop the narrow crest. Ceredon helped Aully onto the horse’s back and then climbed on in front of her. “Hold on to me tight,” he told her. He glanced over at Kindren, who was helping Lady Audrianna climb atop another of the majestic, winged beasts. The boy prince looked at him, and he dipped his head. “She will be safe,” Ceredon told him.

Their horse rose to her feet and galloped along the ridge. Then, she took to the air, her massive wings flapping. Wind blew through Ceredon’s hair; Aully’s arms squeezed his waist. The horse banked low and to the side, turning toward the east, and when she did so, Ceredon gaped in both horror and wonder at the scene down below. Elf by elf, winged horse by winged horse, the Dezren took to the sky behind him. The human soldiers had tried to scamper up the side of the hillock, but it was too steep, and they were slow, weighed down by their armor. The cursed elves had risen. Their skin was gray, their faces hideous, and they attacked the humans with a sort of bloodlust that made Ceredon’s skin crawl. Men screamed, swords clashed, blood spilled. Once more violence had come to Dezrel.

The winged horse pitched back to level out, and thankfully Ceredon could no longer see what was happening below. Soon, even the sound of the clash faded away as they soared higher and higher, rising above Stonewood Forest and the demolished city within the trees. He took in all he saw, and though the wind was freezing this high up, he barely felt it, for what filled his vision was beautiful.

“Where’s Kindren?” Aully shouted, still pressed against his back.

“Right behind us,” Ceredon called out over his shoulder. “With your mother.”

“And where are we going?”

“Home.” He couldn’t say where they’d find it, but he knew that’s where they were going.

Velixar lay on his side, his blood leaking away as Ashhur towered above. Scarlet drops caught fire on the god’s shimmering blade. He couldn’t begin to interpret Ashhur’s stare. Was it anger? Regret? Or detachment, the curiosity of one who’d stepped on a strange insect?

All around them, those who had been fighting for Dezrel’s soul gawked.

“You,” Velixar gasped, and despite his grievous wound he tried crawling toward his former god. If only his power had been stronger. If only he hadn’t pushed his limits, if only his human body weren’t so pathetically weak. “You won’t. . ”

The ruins of the castle shifted, followed by the boom of heavy footsteps that shook the ground. Ashhur looked away and lifted his sword. Velixar heard Ashhur sigh, and he knew Karak had finally emerged from the wreckage.

“You should not have come,” said Karak.

Ashhur’s mouth twitched, the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

“You knew I would,” Ashhur said. “This conflict must end.”

It was pandemonium as those who had been battling in the gods’ names fled.

Karak was just beyond Velixar’s sight, and he turned his head to look. His god wore his brilliant armor; his short, dark hair was blown back by a breeze, and he held his fiery blade in both hands. His armor was stained with soot and clay, and a grim smile played across his face, eagerness in his eyes that burned greater than his sword. This battle, Velixar realized, both had been yearning to revisit since their fight in Haven ended in a draw. Damn the followers and armies and supplies and movements. There would be no retreat this time. Their blades were drawn, their power naked. Here they would fight until one of them would forever die.

Velixar’s fingers pressed against the blood-soaked cobbles, and he begged for strength. Only the magic of the ancient beast within him kept him alive, kept his rent body together, kept the blood pumping through severed veins. The pendant that had singed his chest pulsed with energy. It was agony, and took great concentration, but he would not die. Not yet. Before he passed, he would see a victor. The damn world owed him that much.

“What happened to the paradise we were to create?” Karak asked as he braced his back leg for a lunge. “What happened to the perfection we swore would blossom? We watched worlds burn. Ours was to be different. Ours was to be better. How did our creations fail us so?”

Ashhur settled low, readying his blade, preparing for the charge.

“They never failed us,” he said. “Not as much as we failed them, as you failed them.”

Karak’s smile spread full, and it was a look Velixar hardly recognized. His god seemed. . crazed. Feverish. “You are right,” his deity said. “We gave them their free will. Knowing their imperfections. Knowing their sin. Every murder, every blasphemy, it is on our heads. It is our failure, our greatest failure, and once your body breaks before me, I will sweep across this land correcting it.”

Ashhur looked horrified.

“You would strip them of their will? Their choices? Their very souls ? This conflict was your doing, not theirs.”

The fire on Karak’s blade burned all the greater.

“You still don’t understand?” he asked. “Life is chaos. Creation is stubborn and wild. There is only one way to obtain true order. Only one way to obtain true justice, yet you are too blind to see it. Emptiness, my brother. Pure, quiet, blissful emptiness. We were doomed the moment we stepped foot on this land and sought to create anything other than monuments to ourselves. Proud gods are we, but we must be prouder still. We must cast off these inferior beings, cast off our need for their love, our yearning for them to live and grow and understand things they will never truly comprehend. They will only know suffering, misery, and confusion before they succumb to their graves. You cannot cast dirt to the stars and expect it to understand the vastness, and that is all these humans are, the dust beneath our feet. Let me help you before it is too late. Before these wretched things, by their very existence, result in the death of a god.”