When The Gods War: Book 2 - Chronicles of Meldinar

by Samuel Stokes

  With the Chancellor occupied on the floor of the chamber, Renard arose and moved to the podium. “Counselors, may I have your attention?” When his words failed to get any attention he picked up the gavel and beat it twice against the lectern. As eyes began to turn towards him he delivered a third strike, this time aimed at the glass pitcher resting on the edge of the speaking platform. He hit his mark and the vessel shattered, spilling its contents across the stand. It had the desired effect. The chamber went still.

  Renard raised his voice to keep the attention of the uncharacteristically rowdy Counselors. “Counselmen and–women, I am as troubled as you are over the events of the past few days. The flooding of the northern districts killed thousands of our people—never in our history has the Elkhan risen so swiftly. In addition, reports that the Kairon are pillaging their way across Cidea are troubling indeed. We live in uncertain times. I was most perplexed when I received the following missive. I was confused when I received it as I would have expected it to be delivered to our most august Chancellor, well at least until I read its contents. I shall read it in full for your benefit:

  Renard, Counselor of Vitaem.

  From her most Imperial Majesty Yaneera of the Andara.

  It grieves me that I must write under such circumstances, but I do so out of consideration for the allies we once were, and out of compassion for the lives of your people, many of whom now mourn for the suffering that has been thrust upon them by the foolish machinations of your Council.

  In my previous correspondence I sought for a strengthening of the bonds between our people. Our need was dire as our people perished for want of food, yet you forsook us, channeling water we sorely needed away from our lands and leaving us exposed to the Kairon. I am hoping these short-sighted actions were the foolish meanderings of your Chancellor Beltain and not the will of your people as a whole.

  I write now in mercy, that you might have a chance to redeem yourselves. Servants of the One True God Mythos have visited our lands. With their aid our lands have prospered. At their hand the Kairon were set upon the Cideans and the waters of the Elkhan were sent flooding into your city. The powers these servants command is beyond your comprehension—consider the flood a warning. Next time your people will pay for your foolishness with their lives.

  In exchange for clemency from your past sins Mythos requires:

  First, from this day forth you will worship him and no other.

  Second, you are to muster any forces that survived the flood and send them south with our armies to crush those who will not swear fealty to Mythos. Your soldiers have ten days to be mustered and camped outside Andara, ready to march south.

  Last, I will require the head of Chancellor Beltain in atonement for the unnecessary suffering of my people.

  My terms are absolute—I will brook no further interference nor indignity at your hands. If you accept my terms, you will be outside my wall in ten days with Beltain’s head. I will thus grant clemency to your people. If you reject this final gesture of mercy, I would suggest you spend these precious days with your loved ones, as they will be your last.

  Yours in earnestness,

  Yaneera, Empress of Andara

  Renard tore his eyes from the parchment and looked around the chamber. Shock and disbelief were etched on the faces of the Counselors before him. Renard scanned eagerly for Beltain among the Councilmen on the floor, but to no avail. Beltain was nowhere to be seen.

  “My fellow Counselors, as you will see the Chancellor has fled without even answering the accusations leveled against him. That speaks volumes to the truth of the matter. I move that we remove him from his office until we can ascertain the truth of these matters. We have little time to spare—our fate hangs in the balance.”

  “I second!” came a shout from the chamber.

  Renard responded: “All in favor shout ‘Aye.’”

  A deafening chorus rang through the room. The self-serving politicians that made up the Council were clearly terrified of Andara’s newfound power. The Council was eager to satisfy Yaneera’s thirst for revenge if it meant sparing their own lives.

  “Excellent—we will have the guard scour the city to find Beltain so that he may answer to the Council. In the meantime, are there any who would refuse this olive branch from Andara and risk their wrath once more?” The chamber was silent—it was a loaded question and everyone knew it. With the city in mourning it would be political suicide to risk bringing about another devastating disaster like the floodwaters the city had suffered so recently. Renard continued: “Then I move that we ready our armies and join Andara as requested. In doing so perhaps we can take back our fate, and rebuild our future.”

  The chamber erupted in a second and acclamation as hundreds of Counselors sought to take stock of what had just happened. Renard returned to his seat, fighting to suppress a smile. In minutes he had dislodged one of the most powerful men in Vitaem’s political arena. With the Chancellery vacant it would only be a matter of time before the people urged him to assume the office. Yaneera’s dispatch had changed everything. Renard’s future looked brighter than ever.

  *****

  Alistair Maginot stood on the battlements of Tres Cidea. He was in utter disbelief at the sight before him. From horizon to horizon as far as the eye could see, smoke filled the air. The golden wheat of the Fields of Cidea that normally swayed gently in the breeze were now withered husks and ash as they smoldered in ruin.

  The Kairon had struck without warning. Dozens of villages and townships had been slaughtered and burned to the ground as the marauding beasts swept across the land. The ferocity of the attack caught the Maginot unaware. Runners tried to take warning to villages that lay ahead of the rampaging Herd but often these, too, were cut down before they could get free. Humans were helplessly outpaced by the swift quadrupedal beasts.

  As the sun rose those who yet lay ahead of the Herd could see what had befallen their hapless neighbors. The Kairon feasted on the fallen, and thousands of the Maginot abandoned their homes and fled to Tres Cidea seeking refuge from the beasts.

  The Maginot threw open the gates, eager to save as many of its citizens as possible. For days trains of refugees snaked their way towards the city, eager to be within the shelter of its protective walls.

  Then, as a rolling tide of death the Kairon Warhost had appeared on the horizon. As unrelenting as the ocean they flooded across the plains and set upon the helpless refugees.

  Fearful Cideans thronged the city gates as they were set upon by the Kairon. The unarmed peasants didn’t stand a chance as the Herd tore through the crowds. The soldiers seeking to marshal the refugees into the city fell as swiftly as did the refugees they sought to aid.

  As the Kairon neared the city the Maginot took the only path available to them to stop the horde. In spite of the pressing throng of refugees the Maginot ordered the city gates closed. Those still outside the walls screamed in anguish as the heavy steel portcullis came crashing down, trapping them beyond the safety of the city walls.

  The Kairon were without mercy as they slaughtered every last refugee abandoned outside the city walls. The beasts milled about outside the gates, and archers took to the walls and rained arrows down into the circling attackers, the onslaught catching dozens of the Kairon as they sought to feast on the flesh of their victims. Unable to breach the gates, the Kairon withdrew beyond bowshot and began to make sport of their victims.

  The large beasts made a show of devouring the hapless refugees in full view of those watching from the safety of the city walls. Many of the victims had perished in the fighting—others less fortunate were still alive when the feeding began. Alistair had watched for hours, unable to tear his eyes from the horrific scene that lay before him. In one savage stroke all the subtle political machinations of the past years were shown to be mere vanity. The Maginot had been crushed, their lands laid waste and defiled by the Kairon.

  For days the Kairon continued their sport beyond the city walls, screams spli
t the air as the suffering Cideans met unthinkable ends. The grisly scene had the occupants of the city on edge. Siege craft was not a strength of the Kairon but neither was crossing rivers, and they had succeeded in that. Guards kept a vigilant watch on the Kairon, looking for any attempt they might make on the city walls.

  Then one morning, as suddenly as the nightmare had begun, they were gone. As the sun rose on the fifth day the plains before the city were deserted. The Kairon had slipped away under the cover of darkness.

  Alistair dispatched scouts immediately to ascertain their whereabouts. Small packs of the creatures still roved the countryside looting and pillaging, but the vast body of the Herd was heading south-east towards the Elkhan and Andara.

  As knowledge of the Kairon withdrawal spread throughout the city, debate gripped the Concern. Certain elements were eager to drive out the residual Kairon before they could infest the land. Others were sure the withdrawal was a ploy to lure out and destroy the Maginot’s military forces.

  Alistair loathed the indecisive nature of the Concern—the Maginot family tree had become a convoluted mess. With hundreds of his relatives possessing equal votes on matters of state, debates could run for hours, if not days. The indecision was a source of great frustration as Alistair sought to further his agenda. The alliance with Vitaem would have brought with it great political currency to bargain with, but its collapse and the subsequent invasion by the Kairon had left Tres Cidea destitute of influence.

  Sighing loudly at the carnage still arrayed before the city wall, Alistair resigned himself to what would be a long and vigorous climb back to the top of the Maginot’s political pecking order. Perhaps Penelope or Treval has come up with something, Alistair mused to himself as he made his way back to his chambers.

  Chapter 26

  Empyrea

  Elaina stared across the landscape. It was stark yet beautiful as the setting sun cast a dazzling array of orange and pink hues across the sky. It had been a lifetime since Elaina had set foot on another world—her assignment as guardian of Meldinar had prevented her from traveling the stars as she had in her youth. Once an Astarii is granted stewardship of a world within Creation it becomes their solemn duty to watch over its people and guide them as they seek to serve the Allfather.

  Each Astarii chose how they would do so. Elaina had done so as Eleen, Goddess of Nature. Her affinity with the wind and her ability to manipulate, control or even become one with the wind had served her well.

  Everything had changed the day she had saved Marcus from the bandits. For years she had argued within herself that she had done so out of compassion or duty. In her heart she knew the truth: she had done it out of love. From the moment she had first seen him to the day he lay beaten and on the verge of death she loved him. She had saved Marcus, but her love for him had led her to neglect her duty.

  Her eyes had turned to him and his small Kingdom, and away from the rest of Meldinar. As a result . . . When the Astarii discovered her neglect she had been exiled—without trial or recourse she had been cast out from among her people. Of course Elaina had not wandered far. Free from her tether to Meldinar she might have wandered among the worlds, but her love of Marcus drew her back to Listar and changed the course of her life forever.

  That same love now threatens to change the balance of power in the cosmos. Elaina knew this but thrust the thought aside. She had always been ruled by her heart.

  As Elaina looked across the landscape she could make out a hill in the distance, and based on Apollos description she knew the flower she sought would likely be found there, but she paused. On the plains below a settlement lay between her and the hill in the distance. The warning of Apollos rang in her ears. She had no desire to be caught by the jaded and vengeful victims of his fall. Elaina resolved that the sooner she could achieve her task and be gone the better it would be.

  Elaina lifted her hands. As she called forth her power she could see the faint lines swirling to and fro across her skin. They were almost invisible, easy to miss entirely, but all Astarii bore marks that represented the element or even beasts with which they had affinity.

  Elaina’s ability to interact with the wind had lent credence to her identity as Mother Nature on Meldinar, but now it would be her means of traversing the plains unseen. The wind stirred in response to her call. The once-still air began to swirl about her as she channeled her will and made it manifest. Soon the breeze became a gust whipping at her robes, and as it did so Elaina allowed herself to let go of her physical form and become one with the wind.

  If anyone not versed in the arcane arts were watching as Elaina disappeared from sight, they would have been most surprised or confused. But for those who understood the world as it truly is, magic is a means by which matter may be transformed from one shape or form to another. If magic is recognized as the laws by which life and worlds are governed, then the training of a spell caster becomes the way they interact with and manipulate that matter.

  Their training builds upon their innate natural ability.

  Among practitioners of magic are those gifted in manipulating the elements: earth, wind, water, or fire. Others like the Diadri exercise power and influence over plant life—by their will forests can be made to flourish or wane, and nature moves according to their will. Rarer yet are those who possess power over life itself—the work of the Soul Forge is carried out in accordance with this most ancient of arts. Some practitioners tamper with the darkest form of magic—the sacred nature of life itself—perverting it as they disturb the resting places of the deceased. No other form of magic is as widely abhorred and condemned as the practice of necromancy.

  Astarii by their very nature are masters of elemental magic. As a birthright each is given a token—for some it is an animal, for instance a bird, a snake, or a fish, to show what element they have power over. For others it might be the element itself—wind, water, fire or earth. As the Astarii mature in power they gain the ability to take the forms of their tokens at will.

  Elaina had been born bearing the token of wind, ripples as of the movement of wind on water flowing across her skin. Power over the wind was that gift she now employed as she swirled over the township that stood between her and the hill she sought. It was a strange sense to not be confined to her body as she floated toward her destination. Most mortals would never feel this way before passing from this life into the next plane of existence.

  Elaina soared onwards until she arrived at the hill, and with a grace born of years of practice Elaina resumed her normal form as she deftly alighted. Elaina was delighted to see the entire hill was covered with the small red flowers she sought. Opening her pouch, Elaina hastily began to gather the flowers, ensuring she plucked out the stem from the ground as well. Plant by plant she patiently removed the poisonous flowers and ensured she gathered as much of the lifesaving stem as possible.

  Elaina worked her way along the hillside methodically, gathering enough stems to meet the Soul Smith’s demands. It won’t be long now, my love. Elaina was eager to embrace her dear Marcus once more, so distracted by her daydream that she did not hear a figure approach.

  “I thought I recognized the stench of your magic,” a woman said, and Elaina jerked her head up to see a beautiful woman with piercing green eyes that matched the simple dress she wore. The woman smiled, but not reassuringly. “This is not Creation and you are not welcome here, Astarii.”

  “I mean you no harm,” Elaina reassured her.

  “A difficult premise to accept when you are here stealing Mousillion” the woman answered. “I would have thought poison an unnecessary subtlety among your kind.” She eyed Elaina dubiously.

  Elaina held up the stems she had gathered. “If you will look closely,” she said, “you will see that I gather the stems, not the petals. It is not poison but the cure that I seek.”

  The Empyrean woman scowled, unsure what to make of the scene before her. “All my life I have heard of your kind and not encountered a single Astarii. Now I see
two of you in as many years.” The woman relaxed a little as she spoke. “You Astarii are in danger of becoming common.”

  “There has been another Astarii here?” Elaina asked, surprised. “When?” This world lay well outside of Creation—that much was certain. The stars that were starting to become visible in the evening sky were unlike any patterns she had seen before.

  “No, not here. Until recently I was a prisoner on another world. I met him there. When I sensed your magic here, I thought it was he. I thought he had tracked me here.”

  “You were imprisoned by an Astarii? That is most unusual,” Elaina said.

  “Not by him. I had been stuck on that world for years—bought and sold like a chattel. Eventually I was sold to a man with great ambitions. When his hopes lay beyond his grasp he bargained my freedom for the aid he sorely needed. If it weren’t for the interference of an Astarii youth, I might have become a queen.”

  The realization struck Elaina like a bolt of lightning. “The man you served—was his name Gerwold, by any chance?” Elaina asked.

  “How could you know that?” the woman snapped, raising her hands. Elaina could sense the arcane energy gathering as she spoke. “I knew you were here for me.”

  Elaina didn’t move. She could not risk a confrontation here. She had little idea how many people inhabited the township she had passed over. If others were gifted like the one before her she would inevitably be overwhelmed. Instead she took a gentler tack. Raising both hands, she spoke calmly: “I am not here for you—I am here for the cure, as I said. I know who you are only because the Astarii you speak of is my son. He spoke of his duel with you in the Throne Room, but he knows nothing of how you escaped, or where you went. Our meeting now is pure happenstance—you have nothing to fear from him.”