When The Gods War: Book 2 - Chronicles of Meldinar

by Samuel Stokes

*****

  Rauger strode confidently into the Throne Room. The chamber itself was full to capacity. Dwarves standing in groups throughout the chamber waiting for their petitions to be heard. Taking advantage of his lack of knowledge of dwarven protocol, Rauger negotiated his way down the narrow aisle running down the center of the hall. He carefully wove his way between clusters of Dwarves, many of whom looked up in dismay at the human cutting in front of them.

  Rauger took in the majesty of the chamber as he moved through it. Each wall was adorned with the same intricate mosaics as the earlier passageways—the detail and adornment had only grown more intricate as they had neared the Iron Court. Every pillar and wall of the chamber was covered with fine dwarven craftsmanship.

  As Rauger neared the Throne he could see the King reclining heavily in it. The large chair had been fashioned to resemble the Everpeak itself, rising out of a cluster of lesser mountains. The highest point towered towards the ceiling. As Rauger followed the crest he spotted the mosaic behind the Throne’s point—an enormous sun was emblazoned on the wall. Made of solid gold, it radiated the flickering lights of the chamber’s torches. The sun itself had the features of a human face with eyes and lips drawn into a broad grin.

  Rauger halted at the sight of it. As Mythos was represented by the symbolism of the Moon, so his brother Alphaeus had born the symbol of the Smiling Sun. Jonas had warned them that those the Disciples would preach to might live in ignorance, serving Alphaeus in the guise of the being known as the Allfather.

  Hodik caught up to the advancing Disciple, and reached out to grab the back of the Disciple’s robe to ensure he didn’t advance any further. Yarrig took position on the Disciple’s right flank. When they were sure Rauger understood, the Dwarves released him and approached the Throne before going down on bended knee.

  “Mighty Tharadin, ruler of the mountain and all that lies in its shadow, we apologize for this interruption, but our need is most pressing. This emissary arrived at the gates to the Narrow Way with an urgent message from Empress Yaneera of the Andara. Thus we have conveyed him here with all haste, that you might hear the message for yourself.”

  Tharadin motioned for Hodik and Yarrig to stand. “Rise, young Stonehands, and introduce your charge.”

  The Dwarves stood, and Yarrig gestured to Rauger and began: “Rauger, a servant of the Empress Yaneera of Andara. Rauger, this is Tharadin, the Iron King. Speak now and your petition will be heard.”

  Rauger took two steps towards the throne and addressed the King: “Noble Tharadin, King of the Everpeak, I am Rauger, emissary of the Empress of Yaneera and Disciple of Mythos, the one true God—“

  Tharadin cut Rauger off mid-sentence as he leaped out of his throne. “You are only moments in my presence and you would mock our God beneath his watchful gaze.” The King gestured emphatically at the golden sun as he spoke.

  “Indeed I do. I saw your golden image of the great pretender. I had hoped that you worshipped in ignorance a being that you did not understand. For I thought to myself, how could such an august ruler follow a pretender? A pretender who sought to steal the Throne of Heaven from his brother Mythos, whose right it was to rule.”

  “Your hope is in vain, Rauger. As are your lies. You come to us on behalf of Andara—I suppose Yaneera was easily swayed by your rhetoric. She is young, and humans have notoriously short memories. They might have forgotten their Allfather but we will not.

  “It has been only five generations since the Allfather carved us from the mountain and gave us life. I was a child when my great grandfather passed from this world to the realm beyond. Before he returned to the mountain, he told me with his own voice of the day he stood in the Allfather’s presence and swore an oath of loyalty. For five generations we have honored that oath and we will not break it now.

  “You speak of the Allfather as a thief and a usurper,” the King continued. “But it is you who have been deceived. As the sun is greater than the moon in the heavens, so too was the Allfather the firstborn and heir to the throne of heaven. Your master failed in his bid for the throne and in his petulant rage destroyed the Astral Palace, ridding the heavens of the harmony that had been enjoyed since the day Apollos ascended.

  “Now you enter the Everpeak under the premise of being an emissary of the Empress, but you do so only to spread your deceit and enslave us to this Mythos you so ignorantly serve. As long as I rule the Everpeak it will never happen. You will leave the Everpeak immediately, and if you ever return you will be cut down where you stand.”

  Rauger stood defiant. “Mythos has set his eye on this world. All who live on it will bend the knee before him or perish in their unbelief.”

  Tharadin reached for the Throne and from its side drew his axe. The ornate weapon was forged from the same black iron as the Throne. Dwarven runescript covered the head of the weapon. Tharadin turned towards Rauger and shouted loudly, “Out of pity for your ignorance, I gave you the choice to leave this place with your life! Instead of accepting our grace and departing, you would threaten me and my people. I cannot allow such insult to go unpunished. You will die here, today. Do you have any last words you wish to share before you meet your end?”

  Rauger glanced around the Throne Room. The atmosphere of the gathering had changed. Yarrig and Hodik had distanced themselves from his side, and each of the Stonehands was reaching for his weapon, as were many of the nearby Dwarves. Sensing the odds were greatly against him, Rauger settled on his course. Lowering his staff so that the crescent moon was facing Tharadin, Rauger began chanting.

  There was a flurry of motion as nearby Dwarves sought to protect the King. But before they could do so flames swept out from the staff and rolled over the King. Tharadin struck at the flames with his axe as they embroiled him.

  The Iron King disappeared beneath the wave of fire. Fear struck at the heart of the assembled dwarves as they watched their leader bathed in the furnace of flames.

  When the flames dissipated, Tharadin stood before the Disciple. Smoke wafted from the singed extremities of his beard. The runescript on his axe and armor glowed angrily red, adding to the menace of his visage. In measured tones the Iron King spoke as he advanced on the Disciple. “Before I ascended to the Throne I studied as an armorer in the Forges of my clan. The Iron Ire Dwarves learned their craft from the Allfather himself. As a youth I forged this weapon and my armor out of our Black Iron with my own hands. Do you really think your magic can harm me?”

  For the first time since he had risen to the rank of Disciple, Rauger knew fear. As the Iron King charged toward him that fear was evident in the Disciple’s countenance. Angrily the Iron King hefted his axe and struck at him.

  Rauger wanted to move but he was rooted to the spot—all he could think to do was block the savage blow. Raising his staff with both hands, he placed it between the enraged King and himself.

  Tharadin brought the axe down.

  As the axe struck the staff there was a shower of sparks as the black iron weapon cleft the staff in half and buried its bladed head in the Disciples chest.

  Rauger dropped to his knees.

  Finally able to look the Disciple in the eye, Tharadin looked down on him and spat: “The mountain will never yield.”

  Drawing his axe out of the Disciple, he drew back and struck again. The second blow separated Rauger’s head from his body.

  Tharadin was furious—dropping his axe he raised his voice for all to hear. “Bring me two stones. The Empress has overstepped her bounds and wronged us here in our home. She has threatened our way of life and sought to keep us from fulfilling our oath. We will not forgive this trespass. Let it be written—let it be remembered.”

  The assembled Dwarves responded in unison to the grudge-bearing. “It will be written—it will be remembered.”

  Chapter 13

  Outside the walls of Tres Cidea

  It was midday when Karesa arrived at Tres Cidea. The distant city had taken two weeks travel to reach. It was not a difficult journey, th
ough, the rolling fields of Sevalorn a far cry from her native Arathat, its blasted and lifeless plains now little more than a memory as she went about the Master’s work.

  The Disciple had followed the main highway along the Elkhan. The land that had been suffering enduring drought was revitalized. The now-frequent rain rejuvenated the lands of Andara as Jonas used his arts to manipulate the weather and break Andara’s famine. The eastern branch of the Elkhan had swollen and now threatened to break its banks—the Kairon would not be crossing its raging waters. Dust clouds to the north showed where the Kairon were forced to roam further abroad in search of more verdant hunting grounds.

  When Karesa reached Vitaem she passed across the causeway unannounced. Jonas’s instructions had been quite clear—Vitaem had chosen to raise its hand against Andara, and they would reap the consequences of their actions.

  Passing into the Fields of Cidea Karesa could more easily see the effects of the drought on the land that had not known the recent rains. The fields struggled for water. What should have been a field of rich golden wheat was blasted and brown as the crops perished for want of water. Those nearest the Elkhan were surviving, but the more distant fields had been abandoned to the harsh elements as the Elkhan’s precious waters were painstakingly distributed.

  Tres Cidea was enormous. The city was visible on the horizon for hours, the walls of the large metropolis stretching in both directions as far as Karesa could see. From the time Karesa first spied its outskirts it took three hours to arrive at the city gates. Apart from the Crescent Keep that served as Mythos’s Court, it was one of the largest structures she had ever laid eyes on.

  Karesa arrived at the gates to find a long procession of citizens waiting to pass through. Farmers with their wares waited impatiently as the guards studiously examined each load. After an hour of frustration Karesa arrived at the gate.

  The stout captain took one look at the Disciple, clad from head to foot in the black and red robes of office, and cut her off before she could speak. “There is no room for your kind here—go back to where you came from.”

  The abrupt reception surprised the Disciple, who had not even had a chance to introduce herself. Karesa felt her anger building at the thought she might have traveled so far in vain. “You must have me mistaken for another,” Karesa began. “I am an emissary of the Empress Yaneera of Andara, with an urgent message for the Maginot Concern.”

  The guard dismissed her with a hand and pointed to the road she had traveled. “We know exactly who you are, lassie. Word of your kind has already reached the Concern. In case you haven’t heard, Andara has declared war on Vitaem and the Concern will not tolerate your young upstart Empress and her aggression toward our allies. The Concern has spoken: the Empress and her agents are not to be granted access to the city in times of war. So you can take your message and crawl back to your Empress.”

  Karesa drew herself to her full height and drove the butt of her staff into the dirt before her. “I have traveled a considerable distance to deliver this message to your masters and I will do so. Kindly escort me to them or you will rue the day you ever set eyes on me.”

  The guard took great delight in exercising his authority and smiled broadly as he responded. “I don’t care how far you’ve come—this is the end of your road. If you don’t depart now you will find it is also the end of your life.” As the guard spoke Karesa spotted movement on the wall above. A dozen crossbowmen had taken position along the wall. As they did so a number of guards filed out of the gatehouse and took up positions behind the sergeant addressing Karesa.

  “I see you have made your decision,” Karesa began. “Truly the proud must be made humble before they can embrace the blessings offered by Mythos.” Turning to face those standing behind her still waiting to gain entrance to the city, she spoke: “Behold the fall of those who fight against the Master—I pray you will see their fate and repent of your foolishness.”

  Karesa hefted her staff in her right hand and began chanting loudly. Her alien words rang clearly through the air, the language of her people unintelligible to the assembled Cideans.

  The words might have been foreign but the intent was clear. The guard at the gate gestured towards the Disciple and shouted at the top of his lungs: “Fire!”

  The archers on the ramparts took aim and loosed a hail of arrows at the Disciple.

  Karesa raised her hand and her chanting continued unabated. The hail of death descended swiftly, but just before it could strike her down the arrows struck an invisible surface and ricocheted harmlessly into the dirt. Karesa closed her eyes and continued chanting.

  At first the guards were confused. Then as one they felt it: the ground beneath their feet began to shake. The tremors grew in intensity as the ripples of arcane energy vibrated through the earth beneath the Disciple. Soon the ground before Karesa was shaking with such intensity that the guards could not keep their footing.

  The once-impudent sergeant stumbled as he ran for the city gates, anxious to place distance between himself and the enraged Disciple. One of the archers screamed as he lost his footing and fell from the rampart to the street below, hitting the ground with a sickening crunch. Unsatisfied, Karesa continued to channel her wrath through the soil until the ground began to split.

  A great chasm appeared as the mystic arts rent the very earth. The highway disappeared into the cavernous chasm expanding before the Disciple. When the energy struck the walls it weakened the bedrock upon which they were built—the chasm widened and the wall crumbled. Soldiers screamed in fear as the entire gatehouse collapsed into the widening breach.

  Opening her eyes, Karesa smiled. The guard who had so rudely refused her entrance was buried beneath tons of debris. The gatehouse was no more and an entire section of the once-impressive wall had collapsed into the gaping hole before the Disciple. Surveying her handiwork, Karesa gave a satisfied nod and turned to those still waiting behind her.

  The people of Tres Cidea cowered in fear—some of them had still not risen after losing their footing in the earthquake. “As your guards will not survive to relay my message, see that you do. Tell your masters that Mythos comes for this world. All who stand against him will be laid low, but all who fight for his cause will not only survive but prosper. See that your masters understand this, for a storm is coming against which no shelter will suffice.”

  With that Karesa drew her cowl back over her head to shield her fair skin from the sun’s rays and commenced the long journey back to Andara.

  *****

  The western outskirts of the forests of the Diadri

  Belamir was very confused. The Disciple was certain he had followed the instructions he’d received from the townspeople, but the path simply tapered off into nothingness at the woods’ edge. There was nothing but pristine woodlands as far as the eye could see. According to the Empress the forests were enchanted by some manner of fey creature.

  From the stories he was told it was difficult to discern between fact and fable. Many of the stories seemed to be the sort a struggling parent would use to scare a wayward child. Others spoke of bizarre woodland creatures that could read a person’s mind or manipulate their thoughts. Whatever truth lay behind these fanciful stories, they had been sufficient to keep empires at bay, as none dared to trespass into the woodland glades. The Empress had been most unsettled by the Disciple’s determination to investigate the forested realm.

  Belamir cautiously approached the forest’s edge and stared into the undergrowth. He could sense life teeming within the woodland realm, but from his place at the wood’s edge he could see nothing. With no other options available, the Disciple clambered over a fallen log and entered the woods.

  As soon as his feet struck the soil, Belamir felt a calm sweep through his soul. The soothing wave lifted the burden of the journey from his weary shoulders and invigorated his body. It was the best he had felt in years. The aching of his aging joints was soothed, and he felt young again. If he did not know better he would have
thought himself returned to the prime of his life, with his body in perfect working order.

  Relaxed and at ease, Belamir stepped into the forest.

  *****

  Persalis watched eagerly from above as the strange man plunged headlong into the forest. It was strange for one to enter the sacred glades so willingly. The Diadri had worked studiously to ensure that fear of the forest spread through the surrounding region. Prying eyes and pernicious people were not welcome here.

  As the man dove deeper into the woods Persalis followed him. Her wings fluttered silently as they carried her through her woodland home. Persalis was a servant of the forest, one of the fey. Small by the standards of a human, she was only three feet tall, slender with sharp features and a smooth complexion. Persalis’s long ears tapered skywards, but the most distinguishing mark of the fey were the large crystalline wings that protruded from their backs. The fine structure of the wings resembled that dew in the morning grass as they fanned out behind her.

  The fey do not possess the same hearty constitution that a human might enjoy. Their bones, hollow like those of the birds, grant them the ability to fly but bring fragility that ensures the fey avoid contact with their fickle neighbors. The fey were among the many creatures that made up the Diadri, each family of creatures taking a different form but each bearing the same mantle—a mandate to protect the sacred glade and the woodlands that surrounded it.

  The fey served as border guards and sentries, their purpose to deter visitors from entering the forest. Should someone enter the realm unbidden, the fey would ascertain their purpose and respond appropriately.

  As the strange human ploughed deeper into her woodland home, Persalis took to the sky. Her wings beat steadily and silently as they carried her through the treetops. The human scrabbled over logs and pressed through thickets. His progress into our realm cannot be ignored, Persalis thought, resolving to determine his motive.