David Dalglish - Blood Of Gods

“If Jacob or Velixar-or whoever-has been inside your head for some time, he has seen everything you have,” said Azariah. “He knows our weaknesses and our strengths. And if he knows, so does Karak.”

“They don’t know everything,” said Patrick. “He kept asking about a hidden gate of some sort, but I never knew if one existed. Does it?”

The short Warden leaned over and looked into his eyes once more, as if making sure Patrick was alone in his head. “There is a hidden postern gate,” he said. “The entrance is just outside the birch forest, veiled beneath a false floor covered with discarded branches. It was Ashhur’s last resort, a tunnel wide and tall enough to accommodate a whole fleet of carriages, if worst came to worst.”

“Where does this tunnel end?” asked Preston.

“It empties out into a rocky precipice three miles from here, by the river.”

Patrick leaned forward, grinning. If felt good to do so again. “Perfect.”

Azariah looked at him quizzically. “Perfect?”

“Yes, perfect. Azariah, listen to me. I need you to go tell Ahaesarus what just transpired. Tell him that Karak likely knows everything about our defenses. And do it quickly. I have a feeling Karak won’t wait long to kill us once and for all.”

“And what will you do?” asked the Warden.

Patrick’s grin grew wider. “For the first time in months I feel like myself again-and not just that, Azariah; I feel pissed . I’m taking whoever will come with me through that secret tunnel. We’re going to loop around and attack the bastards from behind.”

Preston grinned, and it was obvious to Patrick whom his first volunteer would be.

“This is reckless,” Azariah insisted. “Such desperation is suicide.”

“Might very well be,” Patrick replied, rage churning within him. “But I’m tired of waiting here to die, and I want my shot at revenge. Your old friend has been tormenting me for weeks now, using my own sister against me. It’s about time I give him a taste of his own medicine. He wants to know everything I know, see everything I see? So fucking be it. I’ll cut off his damn head and carry it around wherever I go, no dragonglass required.”

When the dragonglass shattered, severing the link, Velixar leapt back into himself, panting. He shook his head to clear the mist, then threw his chin toward the sky and screamed. The canvas walls of his pavilion billowed with the force of his rage. The red glow of his eyes dwindled.

So close! He’d broken the misshapen man, had finally been able to step inside his mind and take control, just as the Beast of a Thousand Faces had done to so many elves a thousand years before. Patrick’s erratic behavior would have been at an end, granting Velixar an assassin on the inside. Patrick was far stronger, resisting far longer than the mutated wretch had any right to, and in the end it failed. Dragged before Azariah, it was only a matter of time before the Warden discovered the dragonglass crystal and destroyed it. Velixar felt the waste of too much precious time, spending all these weeks torturing Patrick, manipulating him, gaining only a few modest scraps of information for his efforts.

If there was one thing Velixar loathed, it was wasting his time.

He stood with a huff and stormed out of his pavilion into the cold night air. Pulling his robe about himself, he shivered once before forcing his body to be still. There were soldiers standing nearby, guarding against deserters, and he was High Prophet of Karak, the swallower of demons. The cold should hold no sway over one with such power. He could not show weakness before them.

Velixar gazed at Karak’s pavilion looming over the camping army three hundred feet away. A rare fire burned within, making its walls glow softly. He heard Karak let out a groan. Velixar started toward his chosen god’s dwelling, hastening his steps. Something felt wrong. Something felt very wrong. By the time he’d crossed half the distance, he’d broken out into a run.

He burst through the pavilion flap to find Karak sitting in front of the raging fire, his knees drawn up. The deity held his head in his hands. The groaning Velixar had heard was actually a growl that sounded eerily similar to that of the Final Judges when offering a sinner their special form of justice.

“My Lord?” he asked as he knelt on the other side of the fire.

Karak’s eyes rose to meet his, bearing sorrow, frustration, and the exhaustion of eternity. As they stared, Karak’s troubles infused his every fiber. Such a reaction. Few things could spark it, and in his gut, Velixar had a suspicion. .

“The demon,” Velixar said. “What has he done?”

Karak’s jaw tightened.

“Darakken has regained its old form, in the flesh.”

Just as he’d thought, then. Troublesome, especially if Karak placed the blame on his head. Had he not promised to control the beast? Was it not his journal that contained the required spell to bring back the demon’s mortal form?

Speaking of which. .

“Is my journal with him still?” he asked. There were many other secrets within, secrets he disliked the idea of the ancient demon reading.

Karak shook his head. “The Darakken will carry your book always, High Prophet. That book now lies within the heart of the creature it helped bring about. Just like the Black Spire, it cannot be seen again.”

“What happened to the Spire?” asked Velixar.

“In the aftermath of Darakken’s creation, the Black Spire was exhausted of its magic and shattered.”

Velixar looked down. His journal was gone, and the Spire as well.

“That is. . unfortunate.”

“All is not lost,” Karak said. “You have the knowledge of ages within you, High Prophet. You can pen your journal anew, if that is what you wish to do. As for the Black Spire, its loss is fortuitous. It was the Spire that created the desert at the heart of Ker, its power draining all life from the earth surrounding it. With it gone, the rains will soon come, as will grass and trees. Vibrancy will emerge where once there was desolation. Those lands will be truly hospitable once more.”

“Lands that will soon be yours,” Velixar said, realizing why Karak considered it a boon. Still, the loss stung. Velixar had hoped to prod the secrets from the crystal one day.

“Now that Darakken is whole once more,” Velixar asked, each word tentative, “will it be joining us?”

“No,” said Karak. He slid his legs beneath him and sat up straight, the reds and yellows from the fire casting flickering shadows across his face. “As if from a dream, I remember when we were whole and gave life to that. . thing. It is nothing but hunger and desire, my prophet. It will not come to us. Without Clovis to help guide it, the thought will never even enter its head. It was formed for one purpose, and that purpose will take it to the Stonewood Forest.”

“To slaughter the elves.”

Karak nodded.

“Forgive me, my Lord,” said Velixar, crossing his arms over his chest and bowing his head in supplication. “In my pride I thought to control it, to use it as a tool. Whatever consequences such failure deserves, I accept them humbly.”

“You were a fool to think your power sufficient,” Karak said, and his words burned into Velixar’s chest. “But at least you now understand your foolishness. As for the ancient demon. . for now it will spread chaos, and for once, I feel that chaos is exactly what we need.”

That sounded like blasphemy to Velixar, but how could words of blasphemy come from the lips of a god?

“I don’t understand,” he said, figuring that a safe enough response.

“Despite all the horrors Celestia has allowed to fall upon her children, she still loves them. They are her creations, her greatest achievement.” Karak’s gaze turned distant, and he smiled. “Her focus will be drawn to the elves and their struggles. If she is prompted to intervene again, it will be to defend them, not Ashhur.”