David Dalglish - Blood Of Gods

“But how?”

“Soldiers require rest, High Prophet,” said Karak, his frown deepening. “Wardens require much less, and they can heal their wards and horses when exhaustion threatens to topple them. As for the dead. . they require no rest at all.”

“Oh.” Velixar pursed his mouth and peered at the span of the Gods’ Road running east. “How far behind are they?”

“A day. A single day.”

Velixar slapped at his leg. “Then it matters not, my Lord. We will arrive at Ashhur’s Bridge before this day leaves us. Once we have crossed into the delta, we will set up a defense within the swamp.”

“No,” said the deity, anger churning in his voice. “That we cannot do.”

“Why not?”

Karak raised a hand and pointed to the lands on the other side of the road, above which thick black storm clouds were just beginning to disperse. “Another force approaches from the south,” he said. “I have felt them as strongly as I feel my brother. Though I cannot discern their numbers, the presence I feel is monstrous. There seem to be thousands of them.”

“A force from the south?” Velixar chewed on the statement for a moment, and then his heart sank. “Your brother’s dark-skinned children have come into the fray.”

Gravely, Karak nodded. “Led by the giant Gorgoros. Do you see that trace of black on the horizon, beneath the storm clouds? That is the remains of their cookfires. They are only three miles away and advancing quickly. They will reach the Gods’ Road in less than two hours.”

Damn you, Darakken, Velixar thought. Then he puffed out his chest, trying to force his old confidence back to the forefront. “It matters not, my Lord. No matter their numbers, our soldiers have more training than the Kerrians. We must meet them head on. We must crush them.”

Karak shook his head. “As magnificent as that sounds, High Prophet, it is a course we cannot take. To meet the Kerrians in battle will allow Ashhur to gain ground on us. I do not wish for my children to face a two-front battle when they have already lost so much.”

“What of your power?” Velixar asked. “You struck low the walls of Mordeina with a single spell. Could you not do the same to those from Ker?”

“And leave myself weakened for when my brother arrives?” Karak asked. “No. I have something better planned, something that will buy us needed time.”

“Then what do you have planned, my Lord?” asked Velixar.

At that moment, a rustling sound came from behind them. Velixar swiveled around to see Aerland Shen, dressed in his black scaly armor, exit the forest and approach them. His two black swords were crisscrossed over his back. The thickly built elf was nearly upon them by the time Karak turned.

“What is the meaning of this?” Shen asked in his garbled version of the common tongue. “Why was my presence demanded?”

Velixar opened his mouth to reply, but it was Karak who spoke.

“I have heard of your decision to leave my ranks,” the god said, his voice booming. Velixar’s eyes widened in surprise that the deity had already known, but he shouldn’t have been caught off guard. Karak was a god, after all. The deity reached out and snatched the Ekreissar chief by the front of his armor “That will not do.”

Shen shrank away from the god, his pointed ears twitching. It was the first time Velixar had seen the elf afraid.

“We. . have lost. . ” Shen began. Then, “It is useless. . to go on with this charade. . ”

Karak shoved the elf backward. Shen fell to the ground and slid on his rump. The deity gestured to the swords strapped to his back.

“Tell me, Aerland Shen, son of Moerlind and Lorientas, what are the names of those weapons you wield?”

Shen twisted his head to the side as if thinking of the correct words. “Salvation and Condemnation.”

“Ah, powerful names for powerful blades. And tell me, Chief Shen, how many have you slain with those swords? How many were given the gift of the swords’ names?”

“I don’t know. One hundred? Two hundred? Too many to count.”

“Is that so? And how many of those countless numbers did you slay before this conflict between Ashhur and I began?”

In answer to that, Shen snapped his lips shut and looked away.

“I thought not,” said Karak. “You never killed a soul until our pact was sealed. The Quellan like to proclaim themselves a proud and powerful race, regaling the tales of their conquests, and yet none of your kind has seen war for over a thousand years. I offered what your goddess did not: the opportunity for your people to reclaim lands that had once belonged to you, and now you wish to abandon your promise to me?” Karak stood up tall and swung his arm out wide as if presenting the scorched terrain to the elf as a gift. “Look at the devastation. Do you truly think I would allow you to turn against our pact and suffer no consequences? Should you leave, you will have doomed Quellasar to the same fate as Paradise, and when I am through with you, none of your kind shall remain.”

Shen narrowed his eyes. “You speak of victory, yet it is we who flee east. Why should we believe your brother will not hold your head in time?”

Karak’s eyes narrowed, and his fury seemed to make him taller.

“My brother has raised the dead, and in doing so, he has changed the rules of the game. I will give him a gift just as deadly. Look upon it, and then decide if my doom is still so certain as you imply.”

Karak held his arms out to his sides and threw his head back. The brightness of his eyes increased tenfold. A gleaming layer of darkened light swirled around him. Aerland Shen struggled to his feet and spun in place as the forest behind them became a flurry of snapping branches and animalistic grunts. Velixar’s movements echoed the chief’s. The surprised and frightened shouts of the soldiers back at camp reached his ears. It was as if the forest were collapsing in on itself.

“What are you doing, my Lord?” he asked. He had to shout to be heard over the din.

“I told you that Ashhur offered me a half measure when he created the wolf-men. Now he has dispensed with pretense, and I shall retaliate in kind.”

All creatures great and small burst from the forest in a stampede of fur, teeth, and legs. Elk, deer, wild goats, wolves, even squirrels emerged from the trees. A pair of black bears, early risers braving the end of winter, made themselves known. Migrating birds swiveled in the air and changed course, descending to join the fray. The caws and growls and snarls and chattering of the wildlife was so loud that it was like standing beneath the crest of a crashing wave.

The sloped clearing they stood in was large-perhaps a mile squared-yet not ten minutes after Karak had bellowed his silent call, there was nary a patch of bare earth to be seen. Velixar drew closer to his god as a litany of eyes stared at him, both black and docile, glinting and predatory. And still creatures emerged from the wood, clambering over one another, jaws snapping, antlers jabbing, drawing ever nearer to the three beings that stood at their center, becoming a nearly solid wall of undulating fur and teeth.

“What is happening?” Aerland Shen shouted, his normally hard voice wavering.

“You wish to see true power, child of Celestia?” Karak said without looking at the elf. His words bellowed across the countryside with enough potency to cause pebbles to bounce at their feet. “When a god is in need of soldiers, he creates them.”

In a violent motion, Karak threw his arms out wide and his head pitched back. He screamed; it was a sound so horrible that it might as well have been the shriek of a dying star. But Velixar was not afraid. He felt the magic flow out of the deity, could see the threads exiting Karak’s body, bore witness to the well as it filled with strength, pulsating. This is creation, he thought, awed. In his mind’s eye he could see cells split and combine, looked on as the primordial sludge of unreality became the template for life itself.