The Gods' Games Volume 1 & 2: Graphic Edition (The Gods' Games Series)

by Quil Carter

  “You know about the jewel?” Teal said surprised.

  Malagant smirked. “Well, that one screamed it loud enough,” he said, motioning to Ben. Ben slunk down in his seat, still feeling rather humiliated.

  “That night I saw the blinding cneen and knew right away Tseer had made his move. I didn’t think he would be foolish enough to attack you in the village but I underestimated how stupid he was. So I went to the inn and saw the malkah gone and you two long gone as well. Knew where you were heading though; hibrids love this forest, they feel safe here.” Malagant seemed to notice the nauseous expression on both Ben and Teal’s face. “No one else heard you, I reckon, about the jewel. I eavesdropped on Aleeka after they came, and besides fully believing Teal is a slave-keeping rapist – he didn’t hear about the jewel.”

  Teal buried his face into his hands at that comment.

  “So you know we have the jewel…” Ben began, “and you say the demigod told you to find us… does that mean –”

  “– I’m coming with you?” Malagant’s face split into a grin. “It seems like the prophecy my father has been telling me about for years is finally happening – of course I’m coming with you.” Then he looked at Teal who was as bright red as Ben knew he himself was.

  “Teal – you don’t understand, I know this, but… when you died Anagin thought the prophecy he had sacrificed so much for was lost. I was raised thinking I had no place in this world and–” Malagant’s grin widened. “It looks like I do.” Then he clapped his hands together. It was rather cute to see how excited he was, even if Ben had no idea what he was talking about. “What does the book say? It’s writing, right? Come on, I want to see what it’s saying. Oh, the stories my father has been telling me since I was small – I can’t believe you’re alive and – and that this is happening. We’re in the shekin’ prophecy! We’ve been chosen by gods!”

  “Not now… please, Malagant,” Teal said, looking green. “I… I can’t handle prophecy right now; I can’t handle demigods.”

  Malagant’s excited smile faded, replaced by one that held both sadness and understanding. Ben could see that Malagant was already seeing what Ben saw in Teal: that Teal was rather reclusive and shy, and nervous by nature.

  “Of course, Teal,” Malagant said kindly; then he looked over to Ben. “I’ll bother you instead. So what’s your name?”

  Castle Alcove

  A frigid wind swept through the grounds of the Pyre. A wind that carried on it a bone-chilling cold that came straight from the frozen wasteland of Aryd.

  The castle sat in all of its glory on top of a small isolated mountain that made up half of the castle itself. In its shadow, hundreds of feet below, sat the Avarice Forest that was surrounded by snow-capped mountains.

  The steep and rocky mountain that the Pyre resided on, acted like the castles own natural defence system. It had sharp drop offs which encompassed almost the entire grounds, save for a long, narrow road only two wagon carts in width, which slithered up the mountain like a great serpent, leading to the castle’s iron gates.

  The iron gate, the clasped fingers of the Pyre, which stood twenty elves tall and would snap the neck of all those who dare scale it. It was the only way inside of the protected castle and only those who had business with the king were allowed entrance.

  To protect the castle further were two slabs of layered granite that the iron gates were attached to; slabs that were said to have been turned from regular stone to granite by the hand of Anea himself. The pieces of stone had been hollowed out and inside dwelled the watchers of the castle: Serpents and soldiers given the important task of guarding the Pyre and picking off any uninvited visitor who thought themselves important enough to disturb the king without an invitation. To help watch the snaking road, many windows had been carved out of the rock face, and on top lay battlements with enough space to fit ballistas and catapults alike.

  Even with protection, the castle showed the scars of the newest war. The tall towers that bore the draken-embroidered flags proudly held scorch marks from mage flames, and large areas of discoloured brick from damaged areas being replaced by fresh stone not yet darkened from the elements.

  The marble staircase that led to beautiful stone columns also bore the brunt of the battle. As a curse on the new king the executed mages had made it so the spilled blood of all those loyal to King Calin could not be washed away. The deep red marks stained the grey marble, and in some places there was more crimson than there was slate. The new king didn’t mind this – if anything it was a pleasant reminder to all those who may betray him just what the consequences would be. King Erick and his priests even went as far as to paint the faces of the past kings, each one immortalized in carved stone in the courtyard, in blood. It had gone from a so-called curse to a rather beautiful addition to Erick’s new reign. The only carved king not defaced by Erick’s priests was the one he had commissioned to be carved of himself. That one stood in the middle of the green courtyard with pride, holding in his hand the Jewel of Elron that he would soon covet for himself.

  It was amazing how far he had to go to find a sculptor to do it; he had burned most of King Calin’s court alive and in the mess had accidently burned the architects and artists.

  A great percentage of the castle staff had met that fate. Most burned alive following King Erick’s rise to power. Those that were chosen to remain had been literally beaten into submission or brainwashed, and the small number who’d been lucky enough to escape into the small town below had never been seen again.

  The castle staff were now made up almost entirely of Dashavians, Crithians, or Faroe, with the odd Karend or Evercovian in the mix. The castle, which was once a figure of Alcove’s freedom and power, was now a place of terror and dominance. Not a free hibrid could be seen in fifty leagues in all directions, and to make sure that stayed true Erick sent patrols to sweep the forests below and the Pyre town. Any captured hibrid was brought in front of the king and interrogated over the whereabouts of the Jewel of Elron. If Erick was in a good mood the hibrid was brainwashed and forced to serve in the Serpent army, and if he was in a grand mood, the hibrid was burned alive.

  “My Liege, the malkah, Tseer, requests audience.” A tall elf, robed in white silk trimmed with gold, walked up the black marble steps leading up to King Erick’s throne. He bent down on one knee and bowed, his nose almost touching the permanently blood-stained floor.

  A tall Dashavian elf, with black hair and blood-red eyes nodded his head. He was wearing a fitted black leather chest piece trimmed with silver studs, resting on top of an embroidered black tunic. He was also wearing black trousers, with silver ringlets going up each side, leading all the way down to a pair of shining leather boots.

  “Show him in,” he commanded with a dismissive wave of his hand. The king adjusted his crown, a crown of black ivory carved to resemble twisted thorns with embedded rubies, and tapped his clawed fingers against the arm of his throne in annoyance. A throne also made from the same black ivory.

  Behind him, standing under a giant, finely-detailed mural depicting Erick’s win of the Pyre and all of Alcove, stood three robed elves. They were watching the king intently, their hands clasped in front of them.

  The first one, a Dashavian in a long red robe, had short cropped brown hair and a narrow face that looked like it had never seen a smile. The one beside him, a Crithian, had eyes of frost, like they had been carved from the blue icebergs of Aryd. He had ear length black hair tipped with white, and a blue-jewelled circlet over his forehead; his face as serious as the Dashavian priest beside him.

  The third, however, was different than the other two. He was a wraith. His body seemed neither in this world or out of it; he was a glowing spectre with dark hair down to his shoulders and eyes that looked purple from the haunting blue glow he gave off. Everything, down to the long robes he was wearing, was transparent.

  All three of the priests, and Erick in front of them, turned as Tseer walked into the throne room. His eyes f
lickering around and his body a tightened spring. The malkah was apprehensive, and as Erick’s eyes narrowed at Tseer’s entrance there was no mistaking why he was uneasy with being in the king’s presence.

  The Dashavian elf walked past the giant marble fire pit embedded in the middle of the throne room, and stood in front of the stairs that led to Erick’s throne. He dropped to his knees and bowed deeply to the king.

  “I see no heads in your hands, Tseer Amaus,” Erick said with a cruel edge to his voice. “You promised me with embellished words that you would bring me the head of the hibrid with the jewel inside of his mouth – and yet your hands seem empty.”

  The sounds of jingling filled the throne room as Tseer got to his feet, and though his face held faint hints of fear, the malkah raised his chin and squared his shoulders.

  “One of the surviving Alcovian knights ambushed me. The accalites and I would’ve made short work of him but he has seeve arrows,” Tseer replied. “Before I even realized he was there he’d killed one of the accalites and got my shoulder.” Tseer put a hand to his bandaged wound. “I had to escape or I would’ve been too weak to transport here.”

  With every word that the malkah spoke the expression on Erick’s face got harder and harder. When Tseer was finished Erick rose from his black ivory throne, one that was sculpted to look like the two-headed dragon called a draken, and walked to the edge of the stairs. “You came to me, Tseer, telling me you knew where the Jewel of Elron was,” Erick said, a razor’s edge to his tone; and as if the tone was physically slicing him, Tseer winced. “You bartered a price, and took two of my prized accalites – and you have the audacity to come back to my throne room empty-handed?”

  Tseer stared ahead, the only movement was when his Adam’s apple rose from a hard swallow.

  “Did you even get confirmation that the hibrid had the jewel?” Erick said sharply.

  Looking like it was the last thing he wanted to do, Tseer shook his head. “I didn’t, but the hibrid, and a second one travelling with him, acted like they had something to hide. They escaped from Malla swiftly. I know with certainly they are in possession of Anea’s stone.”

  Erick unsheathed from his belt a gold-handled dagger with a wicked curved edge. He tested the point with a finger that held a black claw and twisted the tip of his finger into it until a drop of blood ran down the shining blade. He stared at the blood with a brightness in his eyes before his focus switched back to Tseer.

  “Why are you wasting my time, malkah?” Erick whispered dangerously. As he started descending the stairs towards Tseer, his council behind him stood in silence, even his squire watched with his mouth open in both fear and anticipation over what was going to happen next.

  Tseer shook his head. “I’m – I’m not, my king. I know where they are; I know they have the jewel. I can track them down again or follow them until they lead us to King Calin. I just need–”

  Erick took one last step towards Tseer, and when he was close enough he raised his hand and slashed the dagger at Tseer.

  Tseer stifled a gasp and stumbled back. Unable to keep his balance he dropped to his knees and held his chest as a long, red laceration appeared. He looked down at the wound in silence as ribbons of red blood started leaking between his fingers.

  Then, with a swish of his gold and black robes, King Erick whirled around again. The blade flashed from the lights of the fire pit in front of him, and when it came to a stop another long cut appeared on Tseer’s chest. A visible, bleeding X was now apparent, its background Tseer’s olive-coloured skin.

  Tseer was breathing heavily, red dripping down his chest like water running down a windowsill. He stared ahead, his brow glistening with sweat, but not a single noise of pain fell from his lips. The malkah had been trained under the best bounty hunters in Dashavia, and he would shame them if he gave voice to his discomfort.

  “Do you have children, malkah?” Erick asked. He brought the knife up to his mouth and a long, pointed tongue slipped out of his lips to lick the blood off of the blade.

  “I have a son,” Tseer said as he struggled to his feet.

  “Are you chayle or chedni? What is your son?”

  “I am chedni, my wife is dead,” Tseer replied. “Tsoren is chayle; he’s being held as a slave in Newvark.”

  “Why?”

  Tseer’s lips pursed at the personal questions. Dashavians by nature were secretive about their personal lives. What happened when Tseer wasn’t retrieving heads was his business. But he had no choice; he was in front of the king. “I failed on a contract I had with a Karend merchant and with my failure his son was assassinated by my mark. As payment he took my son and requires of me a thousand gold pieces for his freedom.” Tseer continued to stare forward with his eyes hard. “My blood-cousin King Keballos and his husband King Xantis have offered me no help. So I have made it my mission to bring you the Jewel of Elron in return for either the payment of a thousand gold, our agreed price, or the freedom of my son.”

  Erick’s licked his lips and started walking a circle around Tseer. He looked the Dashavian up and down before Erick raised a leg and slammed it down on Tseer’s back, knocking him to the floor.

  Tseer shifted onto his knees. He grasped his chest for a moment before dropping his hand. His face, though there was a slick of sweat on his forehead, still remained solid.

  Erick’s red eyes seemed to brighten as he watched the struggling malkah steady himself. He walked behind Tseer, and with his free hand, he grabbed underneath the malkah’s chin.

  “Tseer…” Erick said in a singing voice.

  “Yes, my king,” Tseer said with his eyes focused to the front of the throne room. He could see Erick’s three priests: Krafter, Stolas, and Nyte, stare back with indifferent, almost bored expressions on their faces. The only one who was showing emotion was the paled, fearful face of Erick’s squire.

  “Would your son recognize you if I stuck your head on a pike and planted it on top of that beautiful fountain in the center of Newvark?”

  Tseer’s mouth twitched. “He looks like me, my lord. Yes – he would.”

  “And do you think Tsoren would draw comfort that his father was watching when my Serpents disembowel him in front of your severed head?”

  For the first time since entering the throne room, Tseer’s face showed signs of discomfort. All those who were watching this interaction could see the cracks starting to appear in the malkah’s emotionless visage; Erick included.

  “No, my lord.” Tseer’s tone had dropped, the solidarity in his voice was now gone. “I think I am still of great value to–”

  In a flash of black and gold the curved dagger was at Tseer’s throat. Tseer let out a choke and immediately his hands grabbed the knife – just as Erick started to saw.

  “My lord?” a deep voice suddenly boomed. It echoed through the throne room with an unnatural clarity, like it was coming in all directions.

  Erick glanced up, Tseer’s eyes bulging with his hands desperately grasping the blade. A sheet of blood was now trickling down his neck.

  “Can this not wait, Nyte?” Erick snapped. He shot a caustic glare towards the front of the throne room but Nyte was not there.

  Erick whirled around as he saw a flicker of blue and turned to see Nyte was now beside him.

  The king pulled the knife away from Tseer’s neck. The malkah let out a gasp before falling forward; one hand steadying himself, the other grasping his neck as blood spilled through his fingers.

  “Permission to offer a suggestion, my liege?” the wraith asked. The only thing colder than his voice was his eyes, a shade of purple that seemed to glow with an even stronger brilliance than his ethereal body.

  “What is it?” Erick said coolly. Around him the other elves that had been watching the entire exchange started to murmur to one another, most likely surprised at the audacity of the wraith interrupting his king in the middle of an obvious execution.

  “Tseer may have failed, but I still have use for him. Through
his memories I can trace a mental path to the hibrids. I can find out just where they were.”

  “I can torture that information out of him all the same,” Erick shot back.

  “With all due respect, my lord. After threatening his son and attempting to behead him, I’m afraid malkah Tseer has no intentions of telling you anything.” Nyte continued to watch Tseer, now on his knees with his hand still attempting to stem the flow of blood. “A malkah is trained to endure torture and through his magic he can make his torturer believe his information is true. Only a kessiik like myself can get the truth through my own parasiting of his mind. If you kill him – we will not be able to find the hibrids.”

  Erick lowered the gold-handled knife and also looked down at Tseer, though unlike Nyte’s indifferent gaze, Erick’s held inside of it a fire. One that told anyone who was watching that he wanted nothing more than to kill Tseer right then and there.

  “The wraith just saved your life, sandflea,” Erick said lowly, before sheathing his gold dagger.

  Tseer bowed his head to Nyte but said nothing. He only turned and slowly made his way back to the front of the throne room, beside Krafter and Stolas.

  “Keleon,” Erick called before nodding to two armoured guards. In silence, the guards picked up Tseer and walked him out of the throne room, just as a tall middle-aged elf with dark hair tipped with yellow, stern eyes, and a sharp face, took a step forward. He had been standing beside several other uniformed Serpents, all of them dressed in standard black leather jerkins and mail shirts, with shortswords strapped to their sides.

  “Yes, my king?” he replied; his Crithian eyes, an ice-blue with diamond-shaped pupils, as hardened as his face.

  “Bring me some prisoners,” Erick said nonchalantly. “I was all excited for an execution and I don’t feel like disappointing myself.”

  Grand Master Keleon bowed down, and when he rose he was wearing his own terrible grin.