David Dalglish - Blood Of Gods

The three weeks since the gods disappeared from the face of Dezrel had passed by in a blur. Patrick himself had aided in clearing out the mass of corpses that filled the square where Veldaren’s castle once stood. In total, nearly four thousand of Karak’s and Ashhur’s children had perished, along with five hundred horses. Over a hundred Wardens had also left the world for good. The number of deceased was so great that they were burned en masse, in great pyres whose flames illuminated the sky for five days straight.

After that, the process of rebuilding began. Three years of strife had ended, and yet it seemed humanity’s struggles were just beginning. With no more gods to guide the way, the people were lost. They wandered the city streets with empty stares. Few talked about anything but the gods. Prayer circles began to form daily as the survivors from both sides sought comfort in those who had been raised like them. Minor scuffles broke out. Survivors leapt from the tops of the city’s tallest buildings, and some wandered into the wilderness. The young human race was astray, a people without purpose, without guidance. Looking back was easier than looking forward.

Many of those from Neldar packed what they could and headed off to the various villages and townships they called home. Moira was among those who left. Ashhur’s brave warriors had no such option. Food was scare, supplies scarcer. That, coupled with the long journey that was sure to face them and the uncertainty of what they would find if they ever did make it back to the former paradise across the river, forced their hand. Karak had razed much of the land, after all, and the eastern deity’s beast-men now roamed free. So most settled into the strange, faraway city, pining for the life they’d once had while struggling to adapt to their new one.

Yet in the midst of hardship and blight, a slight thread of hope emerged. The king of Neldar began holding court nightly, the willowy man named Eldrich giving impassioned speeches from the steps of an ugly, imposing tower in the north of the city. Although he didn’t promise that life would be easy, or that each man, woman, and child would be free from suffering, he bonded the citizens together with pledges of unity. “We will endure this together!” he would proclaim. Moods began to brighten. People went back to work, smithies, carpenters, pottery makers, cobblers, and apothecaries reopening their doors. Others began filing into the city as well, exhausted soldiers of Karak who had abandoned their god on the battlefield and braved the harrowing journey back home. The fields just outside Veldaren were tilled and prepared for the spring planting, the farmers who worked them not wanting for helping hands now that there were so many unskilled laborers living within the city limits. A semblance of order was brought back to what had once been chaos. The City Watch was re-formed, an institution that Patrick was asked to enlist in, an offer he declined. Instead, he toiled the fields along with his people, his hope being that once the crops were cultivated, he could strike off west and reunite with his family. In the aftermath of war, he missed them more than anything, even his mother and father. Their sins against him seemed to grow less and less serious with distance, time, and hardship.

Love and forgive one another, and you will find fulfillment. He peered at the giant’s corpse. Perhaps Bardiya had been right about everything all along.

“Here,” said Allay Loros, his black skin glistening with sweat as he stood with hands on hips. The progression stopped.

“Here?” asked Preston. “Why?”

“Because it reminds me of home,” the Kerrian said wistfully.

They had walked nearly three miles, and the cliff was far behind them. The place where they now stood was a vast meadow of swaying, knee-high grasses. To the left was a wide chasm of rushing water where the two rivers, the Gihon flowing from the northwest and the Rigon from the northeast, poured into each other. On the opposite side of the fork were the thick forests of Paradise; to the north of it, the rocky expanse of the Tinderlands. Three separate worlds, merged. Yes, thought Patrick. It was the perfect place for Bardiya’s remains to be buried.

Shovels were retrieved from the cart, and the eight weary travelers began digging. It took nearly two hours for them to manage a hole large enough to fit Bardiya’s gargantuan frame. When it was finished, the giant was gently put to rest, the hollow filled back in. Afterward, they stood around the huge mound of dirt, heads down.

“You’ll be missed, Bardy,” Patrick said. “I hope Ashhur is keeping you safe on the other side.”

“I wish to speak,” said Ahaesarus. The Warden had remained mostly silent during the length of their journey, and hearing his stern voice made Patrick twitch. “There is something I must ask you all.”

“Go on,” Patrick said.

Ahaesarus stepped to the edge of the burial mound. “Where will you be going from here? What plans do you have?”

Everyone stared at him as if deep in thought. None responded.

“We don’t know,” Patrick said finally, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “I suppose we just see what happens.”

“Do you love Ashhur?” the Warden asked.

“Of course,” Allay said, as if offended. “He created us.”

“Yet he is gone now. How will you honor him?”

To that, none had a reply.

Ahaesarus began pacing inside the circle, looking each man in the eye as he passed him. “Ashhur spoke of love and forgiveness, of living in harmony with your fellow man, of caring for family and appreciating all life. With him now gone, who will spread his message?

“When Karak first left his children more than forty years ago, a priesthood was formed. Although the leader of that priesthood, a man named Tustlewhite, now languishes, insane, in the custody of Neldar’s king, I have learned there were many more that bore the mantle. Villages throughout this kingdom have a temple; and that temple, a priest. The priest preaches, and the acolytes carry forth the message. Though they have not been heard from since Karak was banished, they will not remain that way for long. Civilization needs beliefs. They will rise up again; they will preach Karak’s word. If this world is indeed free for any and all to live wherever and however they may choose, that doctrine must be balanced. Ashhur’s teachings must not fade away into nothingness, lest Celestia’s final condemnation come to pass.”

Patrick drew his lips into a tight line. “What are you saying? That we should become priests?”

“Not in the slightest,” said the Warden. “My fellow Wardens and I have talked of forming the priesthood. However, I have spoken at length with King Vaelor and his advisors over the last few weeks about many of the aspects of life I experienced on Algrahar. In particular, he was curious about the concept of a knighthood. You all may remember the stories my people told you, of an order that adhered to a strict code, pledged their lives to various kings, their duties to defend the realm and uphold the law of the land.”

“The Wardens left Neldar when I was young,” said Preston, “but I remember those stories well.”

“Yes. They are tales of gallantry and honor, of brave men defending against invading armies and battling hell beasts. However, these men did not serve the will of Rana, but the will of man.”

“The will of man?” said Big Flick, confused. “You had humans where you were?”

“No, son. On Algrahar, we were humankind.”

“Oh.”

Ahaesarus chuckled. “That is beside the point. Although these knights were indeed great warriors, they were mere peasants when compared to those who trained them. It was those who dedicated their lives to Rana’s teachings-operating outside the laws of men, preaching the word of our god, upholding the holy and protecting the innocent-that were the true glory of our world. We called them paladins, their order the most trying and elite to ever be created. In fact, I was told by Ashhur long ago that he and Karak had paladins of their own at some point in the past, on some other world.”