When The Gods War: Book 2 - Chronicles of Meldinar

by Samuel Stokes

  “I will,” Mavolo replied, smiling. With a bow Mavolo departed and returned to the Palace.

  *****

  When Mavolo arrived at the Palace he found it a hive of activity. He found the Empress in court in the Throne Room filled with nobles and a particularly irate man loudly raising his voice as he pestered the Empress: “Your brazen act has put us all in jeopardy. First you have us empty our stores and then you declare war on Vitaem, placing my lands and people at risk, and you do so without even informing us of your actions!”

  Mavolo moved through the masses until he stood behind the importunate noble. Placing his hand firmly on the noble’s shoulder, he said firmly, “Step back.”

  The loud noble batted the warrior’s arm away and continued railing. “You dare to touch me! I am of the blood.”

  “If you continue to shout at your Empress with such wanton disregard for her station, I will cleave you in twain, blood or not,” Mavolo replied. “Now lower your voice.”

  When the Empress made no move to temper Mavolo’s actions the noble withdrew. The room drew still and the Empress stood and spoke. “You are right. I sent those men to Vitaem with the intention of destroying the causeway. Vitaem denies us the Elkhan’s water, which we rely on to survive. Without it we will perish.”

  The Empress pointed to a basket before the throne as she continued: “Those men knew the risk of what they undertook. They also understood that without the waters of the Elkhan we will all starve.”

  As the Empress spoke Mavolo moved to her side, inspecting the basket the Empress was gesturing towards. Inside it lay several gory heads—presumably Malack’s patrol that had been sent to destroy the causeway. Mavolo signaled to a guard to remove the basket.

  The Empress continued: “I remain undeterred—we will find a way to return the Elkhan to its proper course. We cannot sit about idly and wait for rain. If we do, we will perish. We must act!”

  “Indeed you must, and you must act in faith,” came a booming voice unfamiliar to those in the Throne Room. The assembly turned to see its source.

  There standing in the doorway was the imposing figure of Jonas the Disciple. Regal in his red and black robes of office, the Disciple waited until all eyes were resting upon him before he strode confidently into the room. With every step his staff lightly struck the stone floor.

  As he reached the throne in front of the assembly he stopped. “I am Jonas, Disciple and servant to the most exalted Mythos, God of all he surveys.”

  The Empress examined the newcomer in his regal attire. The ornate staff he carried was topped by a steel crescent moon but resembling a harvester’s scythe. The Empress noted Mavolo shifting uncomfortably at her side and motioned for him to be still.

  Addressing the newcomer, Yaneera filled the uncomfortable silence. “I am Yaneera, Empress of the Andara. I have not heard of this Mythos of whom you speak . . .” She paused for a moment to weigh her guest’s response, then continued: “But I have heard tales of a zealot who attacked and slaughtered a priest of the Allfather. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

  Jonas considered the woman who sat before him. It was difficult to fathom how one so young had come to rule such a vast nation. He sensed a strength in her, a resolve born of experience that seemed inconsistent with her youthful appearance. “Indeed I do,” he replied. “I killed a priest of the pretender you call the Allfather. I am sent forth from the presence of Mythos to preach the truth and bring all into his fold. I could not abide the presence of a heretic and I slew him in the very act of spreading his lies.”

  “Every person in this land worships the Allfather, Jonas,” she said. “It has always been so. Do you intend to kill us all?” Yaneera smiled as she spoke.

  “As I have stated, I have come to gather all who will believe into the fold of Mythos. If you should repent of your heresy and serve him with all your heart then there would be no need for violence.”

  “You speak boldly for a man standing alone in a room full of heretics.” The Empress challenged.

  “This is not the first world I have visited, nor are you the first Empress I have encountered. I am not afraid to die.” Jonas paused and glanced around the room, then turned back towards Yaneera. “Nor do I think you possess sufficient power to kill me.”

  “First world?” Yaneera asked. “You mean to say you have visited other worlds?”

  “Many. In turn each of them embraced Mythos and received the blessings he promises his faithful followers.”

  “And what blessings would those be?” Yaneera asked skeptically.

  Jonas smiled—his wanderings in Andara had provided all the answers he would need. “Well for one thing, those who find themselves in the fold of Mythos do not starve to death in a drought-stricken land. For another they do not cower before their godless neighbors wondering when they will feel an enemy’s boot at their throat.”

  “We do not cower,” Yaneera challenged angrily. The frivolity was now gone from her voice and in its place a threatening note could be heard.

  “It would seem not, but the rest remains true. Your people are starving, your lands are drought-stricken, and by the tone of your gathering this morning your neighbors seem poised to deliver the killing blow.” He gestured vaguely toward the door: “That basket just hauled down the corridor suggests a threat.”

  “And what exactly can you do to help us, Jonas?” Yaneera asked. “Speak plainly, I pray—I grow weary of your rhetoric.”

  “As you wish, Empress. I will water your lands, feed your people and save you from the circumstances you now face. In exchange you will forsake the pretender you call the Allfather and worship Mythos.

  “As you prosper you will aid me in bringing the rest of this land into the fold. You will rule over this entire land, subject only to Mythos and his servants. As his chosen representative, you will rule all others who come into the fold on this world. Are these terms acceptable to you?”

  “If you can truly deliver all that you say, why would I refuse?” Yaneera asked. “Your offer sounds too good to be true. What are you hiding?”

  “I hide nothing, Empress,” Jonas replied. “As a Disciple I possess the power to do all I have promised. I would caution you, though. It is not a pact to enter into lightly—Mythos will not tolerate oath breakers.

  “If you abandon his cause,” Jonas continued, “he will lay waste to all you hold dear. When I was a child I found myself at death’s door. I bargained with the gods to spare my life in exchange for doing their will. They did so and I went my way rejoicing, expecting in my youthful folly that I might be spared the price of my salvation. When the Disciples arrived to take me away I considered refusing them—at least until I saw that they were willing to destroy me, my family and my entire village simply to prove a point. They would destroy all I held dear just to ensure our entire world would learn the price of breaking faith with Mythos. I reconsidered and have spent my life honoring the oath I made as a child.”

  “A heavy price indeed,” Yaneera mused. “What if we refuse to forsake the Allfather to join your fold?”

  “I will approach another Kingdom and offer them the same terms. I am sure your neighbors would be eager to receive me.”

  “You are a difficult man, Jonas. If you can do as you have said, I will consider taking the oath.”

  “Very well. A demonstration, then, to show you what Mythos can do for your people.”

  Jonas drew back his cowl and looked up towards the Throne Room’s vaulted ceiling. He closed his eyes and began to chant—softly at first, but every completed sentence raised his voice. After a moment he raised his staff and slammed it into the concrete floor, drawing a gasp from the assembled onlookers. As Jonas concluded he drew his cowl back up onto his head and looked at Yaneera.

  “What did you do?” The Empress demanded.

  “Just wait.” Jonas replied.

  A loud rumbling filled the room. The assembled nobles looked at one another with fear until a guard burst
into the hall. “Empress, it’s raining. The clouds came out of nowhere and now it’s raining, and not just here in Amendar—it’s raining as far as the eye can see!”

  Yaneera looked at the Disciple who was standing before her. The strange newcomer seemed to be smiling. “What now, Jonas?” Yaneera’s mood was improving with every passing minute.

  “Dismiss your court,” Jonas replied. “We have much to discuss and they will simply be in the way.”

  Turning to Mavolo, Yaneera spoke quickly. “Get them out of here. I would chat to our guest with a little more privacy.”

  Mavolo nodded and began ushering the assembled nobles out of the Throne Room.

  Chapter 9

  Within moments the Throne Room was empty. The superstitious nobles were anxious to get out of the presence of the powerful wizard. What manner of man can command the weather to obey his will? Yaneera wondered, cautious but optimistic about what Jonas’s presence meant for her people.

  “What is it you could not say publicly, Jonas?” the Empress asked.

  “Do not fear, Empress—there is nothing sinister in what we will speak of. I simply wished for us to speak in private. Your nobles may be Andaran by blood, but your recent decision to empty their storehouses and granaries has robbed you of some of their support. I seek to speak privately so that no prying ears will hear our words. I would rather our enemies not be forewarned of our plans.”

  “Fair enough, Jonas. You said this was not the first world you have brought into the fold. How does this process normally unfold?”

  “I will send emissaries to the other peoples of this land,” Jonas began, simply. “We will give them the choice to come into the fold or be destroyed. All who embrace Mythos will be welcome. All who oppose us will be crushed without mercy.”

  “I hope your emissaries are persuasive, Jonas—our neighbors are many and we have fallen on difficult times. If you are unable to convince others to join our cause, we will be outnumbered considerably.”

  “Do not fear, Empress. The emissaries we will send are my brethren, the Disciples. They are powerful and persuasive servants of Mythos, and they will not fail us. I simply need to know how many to petition for. While I have traveled your land for almost a month I know little of your neighbors except for what I have heard here today. Please tell me more of those who inhabit this continent.”

  “I will share what I know,” Yaneera replied. “You have heard us speak of Vitaem—they are a small island state resting on a ford of the river Elkhan. They manipulate the flow of the river to gain power and prosperity over their neighbors. They have forsaken the alliance they had with my father and have sentenced us to death by stopping the river’s flow.

  “To the West lies Tres Cidea. They are a mercantile nation—they seem to be in league with Vitaem, supplying them with food and stores in exchange for complete monopoly over the Elkhan’s life-giving waters. Their lands are some of the most fertile in Sevalorn and their armies are considerable.”

  “Sevalorn, you say?” Jonas asked.

  “It is the name these lands are known by. Travel as far as you can in any direction until you reach the ocean—this continent and all that lies here is known as Sevalorn.”

  “I see. Please continue.”

  “To the north lie the Kairon. They are not human—they are a race of beasts with the body of a horse and a torso that resembles primitive man. They are incredibly strong but brutish creatures. Where they came from no one knows—they simply appeared out of the north and drove the people of Vitaem out of their lands, slaughtering all that lay in their path. Only the waters of the Elkhan protect us from their depredations.”

  “You need not concern yourself with the Kairon,” Jonas began. “Their origins are not a mystery to me, though how they got to this world is. They are servants of Mythos from the world Kairos. They are often sent as a scourge to worlds that have denied the Disciples and rejected the Master.

  “By all known records,” he continued, “I am the first of my kind to travel to this place, so I do not know how they came to be here. You need not be concerned, though. They will serve the cause. Mythos has prospered the Herd for longer than I have been alive, and in return they have served him without ceasing. I will speak to them myself to ensure their support.”

  Yaneera smiled jubilantly. “With the Kairon on our side our forces will be considerable.”

  “Indeed—unexpected as their presence is to me, it will not be unwelcome. What lies to the north of the Kairon?”

  “Nothing,” the Empress responded. “The Kairon control everything from the northern bank of the Elkhan to the Frosted Peaks.”

  “What lies beyond the peaks?” Jonas asked. “I felt the pull of the arcane when I entered this world, but the Kairon do not possess any magic. If the Kairon control everything north of the Elkhan, then there must be someone or something beyond the mountains.”

  “I am sorry, Jonas—I know little of the lands beyond. They are a frozen and desolate place. In years past those who have sought to travel the lands beyond have failed to return. In recent times the presence of the Kairon have prevented any further attempts.”

  “Hmmm . . . curious, indeed,” Jonas said. “We will send a Disciple to investigate. With safe passage from the Kairon, perhaps we will succeed where others have failed. Tell us of the others who inhabit this land.”

  “In the forests to the east of us are the Diadri. We know less of them than we do of the Kairon. They are a race of fey creatures. They do not travel beyond their borders and we do not interfere with their affairs. Invaders who have ventured in their woodland realm have gone mad. In years past Vitaem lost an entire army as they tried to add the woodland realm to their empire. It is one of the reasons they were unprepared for the coming of the Kairon.

  “To the south of us lie the Teeth of the Desert. They are the mountains that divide us from the Kingdom of Khashish, a nation of traders and slavers. While their lands and territory are vast, much of it is arid, with most of their people living in coastal cities. They thrive on their trade with the other Kingdoms of the Boundless Sea.”

  “Other Kingdoms?” Jonas asked.

  “Indeed, the traders of Khashish speak of many lands beyond the sea. But I know little of them or their people.”

  Jonas made a mental note to inquire of Khashish concerning these other Kingdoms. “So that is all the nations that inhabit Sevalorn?”

  “Not quite.” Yaneera continued: “In the heart of the mountains to the southeast lies the Everpeak. It is home to the Iron Ire Dwarves—they live almost entirely beneath the earth. Seldom do they venture out into the sunlight, but we often engage in trade with them. They have extensive mining interests and their craftsmanship is second to none.”

  “Dwarves, you say? I have never heard of such creatures.”

  “I would imagine not,” the Empress answered. “According to dwarven lore the Allfather fashioned them from the mountains of Sevalorn and gave them the gift of life. Whether that is truth or a fable told to children I do not know. But I do know they are staunch Disciples of the Allfather. They will not be swayed from his cause.”

  “We will send a Disciple, regardless. All must have the chance to embrace Mythos. If they reject the Master there will be no other choice but to destroy them.”

  “That will not be easily accomplished, Jonas. The Everpeak has never fallen—it is a fortress built into the mountain itself and fortified by dwarven ingenuity. It’s defenses are so vast that in a thousand years of our recorded history no one has been foolish enough to attempt it.”

  “Have faith, Empress. Mythos possesses greater power than you have witnessed here today. If we must,” he continued menacingly, “we will lay waste to the Everpeak and show these Dwarves that the being they worship as a Father is little more than a fraud.”

  “I hope you are right, Jonas, for the Dwarves never forget a grudge. If we fail we will reap the consequences of their ire, and it will be terrible to behold.”

  �
��Cease your worrying, Empress, and let us attend to the task at hand. We will require more of my brethren to bear word of Mythos to the nations we have spoken of. If we exclude Vitaem—who must suffer for vexing you—then I believe we will require the aid of five Disciples. One each for your Maginot, the Diadri, and the Dwarves, another for Khashish and finally one to venture into the north and see what transpires there. I will go personally to the Kairon and ensure we have no further issue with them.”

  Without further word Jonas closed his eyes and began to chant. As he did so a shimmering pool coalesced in the air before the Disciple. Its shifting silver tones were mesmerizing to behold. Yaneera found herself getting lost in the pool as it stretched and expanded before her eyes. As the pool grew it took the form of a doorway, and in less than a minute the portal had grown to the size of a man. As it reached this point Jonas’s chanting reached its zenith and he lashed out with his staff, striking the surface of the shimmering pool. In an instant the pool transformed, and the silver substance solidified and became an image.

  Yaneera leaped to her feet to get a better look at the image before her. Yaneera could make out a stone chamber in the image—it was adorned with symbols resembling those on Jonas’s robes. On the far wall of the chamber a large red banner displayed a silver crescent moon in a sea of silver stars. A figure appeared, and Yaneera realized that the image before her was no image at all—it was a window through which she was viewing events transpiring in another place.

  As the figure stood still Yaneera was able to get a better look at him. It was an elderly man, his weathered face largely concealed behind a heavy beard and long hair gray with age. The man was dressed in much the same fashion as Jonas except that his robes were more intricate. The black edging was richly adorned with silver thread and the imagery across his chest was gold instead of silver. In his right hand he bore a staff similar to that of Jonas, but the crescent moon at its head seemed to be smelted from solid gold.