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

by Quil Carter

  I was going to come home and find him… bring him back here. I was going to watch him discover Alcove like Teal got to watch me. See him as a hibrid, or an Alcovian elf, or whatever Kelakheva turned him into.

  But no… he would only be my prisoner.

  “Ben?” Teal said. Ben felt the bed shift as Teal sat down on it. “Are you okay?”

  Ben stared at the fireplace, trying to stuff down the emotions inside of him, but it was like trying to put wine back into the wineskin with your bare hands.

  “You win, Teal,” Ben said quietly, watching the flames envelope a piece of dried cedar. “I’m not bringing Tav here. I’m not even going to return to my world to visit. You have me… forever.”

  Teal fell quiet, even Malagant who was rattling around in the living room was quiet.

  Then, to Ben’s absolute shock, Teal burst into tears before leaning down beside Ben and hugging him hard.

  Castle Alcove

  Holding the small sealed letter to his gold damask silk robes, Grand Secretary Zel Salix ran up the stone steps on his way to the throne room. As he turned a sharp corner, he almost ran directly into King Erick’s squireling and servant, Sweeny Taunel.

  “You, boy,” the old Crithian secretary said.

  The young hibrid, dressed in a black vest and white undershirt, jumped back obviously startled. He held onto his freshly-filled wine pitcher to keep it from spilling though a slosh of it was now dripping down the shining surface.

  “Yes, Secretary,” Sweeny said quietly and submissively; his brown hair, streaked with red, was falling over his face as he lowered his head.

  “Urgent hawk from General Vasser in Valewind. Deliver this to King Erick, now and don’t dawdle, boy.” The secretary pushed the sealed letter into Sweeny’s free hand and walked away.

  Sweeny looked forlorn as the Crithian secretary walked back down the steps.

  He couldn’t blame Zel Salix for not wanting to deliver the letter himself. King Erick had been in a foul mood since the wraith Nyte had returned to the Pyre. Sweeny had, naively, hoped that the kessiik returning would brighten his king’s mood but it seemed the news that the mage had brought hadn’t been good.

  Everyone had been avoiding the king. The squireling felt bad for the poor civilians fool enough to come to court. Erick hadn’t granted more than a handful of requests for the last three weeks and he didn’t hold court at all yesterday.

  Sweeny gripped hard onto his silver pitcher and took a deep breath to try and steady himself. He had already been hit with a hairbrush, two goblets of wine, and had to endure countless more kicks and backhands. But he still did his royal duties, and he never cried when his king could see him; the good of the realm was more important than enduring his king’s wrath. Perhaps if he took the brunt of it, Erick might grant more requests.

  And the elves needed the aid of their king. The creatures brought in from Xal’Crith and Dashavia had been relentless in their attacks on the farmlands below the Pyre. There had even been farmers coming in from the western parts of the Frey saying they had the animals there too. The prey animals of Alcove held no candle to the horrible abominations that infested Xal’Crith and Dashavia, and the predators were being eaten as well.

  However what the farmers were complaining about now was even worse. With winter coming the new animals were freezing and starving, so they had started eating more elf flesh than normal. Sweeny had even bore witness to an elf who was holding the carcass of his half-devoured daughter, it was a horrific sight.

  Sweeny slowly opened the side door to the throne room and looked inside. King Erick was in the middle of listening to a civilian, and Sweeny knew better than to approach him until court had been dismissed; if Erick wanted wine he would call him.

  Sweeny looked around, and when no one was looking, he took a drink from the wine pitcher and licked off the droplets that had fallen when Zel Salix had startled him. It was special select white wine from Azoria, made special for the king. It was the best in Elron, much better than the gutter juice he was able to swipe from the kitchens; rat bath water they called it.

  The squireling quietly tiptoed to where the king’s Grand Auchtr, his Master of Arms, and his Master of Coin were standing. He took his place on the steps below them, where he belonged. Out of sight of the important happenings of court, but visible enough to be called on when he was needed.

  Sweeny looked towards the grand hall of the throne room. He saw what looked like a farmer, he had his head bowed and he was speaking. Sweeny’s king was sitting tall on his black ivory throne. A grand piece of craftsmanship. Each arm was the head of the mythical two-headed serpent called the draken. With one head of a copperhead snake, and one head of a blue-eyed dragon. The back of the throne was its spiked shoulder blades and the feet of the throne its arms. It had been crafted right after King Erick had killed the royal family, and he had sat in it when their blood was still wet on the steps of the throne room.

  Sweeny had been there; he remembered that day clearly.

  “They destroyed everything, Your Grace,” the farmer was saying; the acoustics in the throne room made his voice audible to everyone. His hemp tunic was stained with rust-coloured blood, and he was missing an ear. “They ate my borsow; they killed my wife, and my only son, for sport, Your Grace. They didn’t consume them. I… I’m asking for perhaps half a dozen knights to guard my holdfast, perhaps some coin for a good fence, just to get me and my daughters through winter.”

  King Erick stroked his prickly chin. “And this was… raptorlizards?”

  The farmer nodded.

  “Sir Morenn, what are our grain supplies at the moment?” King Erick asked.

  Sir Morenn stepped forward. He was a middle-aged elf, dressed in a knight’s uniform, a scroll tucked under one arm.

  “Low, Your Grace,” he replied, still staring straight forward.

  “Indeed,” Erick murmured, looking bored and uninterested. “You’ll get three bushels of corn seeds, Farmer Idredil. You can grow them in place of your lost borsow; the raptorlizards have no need for grain. You will get three knights to watch over your holdfast as you plant the seed, then it will be up to you to guard your claim. Sixty percent of your yield will be delivered to my castle, and if your crop shall fail, you will make up for it with blood or sweat. Whatever suits me at the time.”

  The farmer’s face fell. He stood there in shock staring at the king.

  “Your Grace. My… my hold, the soil cannot sustain corn.”

  “I’m sure your wife and son’s rotting corpses will suffice as enrichment. Court is dismissed.”

  King Erick took off his crown and held it out. Sweeny ran over and gently took it from him. With the farmer sputtering incoherent pleas, the King of Alcove got up and walked towards the side door of the throne room.

  “Your – Your Grace,” Sweeny said quietly as Erick quickly walked down the hall towards his chambers. “A hawk arrived, a letter from General Vasser in Valewind.”

  “Oh, did it now?” Erick took the letter from Sweeny. He stopped and sat down on a granite-trimmed windowsill; a stained glass window depicting the god Darsheive wielding a sword of black flames behind him.

  Erick cracked the seal and pulled out two letters. He silently read the first one and then the second.

  “Interesting,” he said in a harsh whisper. He held the letter in his hand, looking at it intently, a few moments later it burst into flames. Sweeny had seen him do this magic before but it still made him jump at the suddenness of it. He watched as the letter was reduced to grey ashes in Erick’s clawed hands.

  “Get me Krafter and Stolas, and tell them to meet me in my chambers. Quietly.”

  Sweeny bowed and started to quickly walk away.

  “Leave the wine; it’s not a dog, it doesn’t need to be walked,” Erick called after him.

  Sweeny nodded and handed the silver pitcher to Erick. Without another word, he turned and hastily walked towards the auchtrs’ wing, where he would find the two high priests
.

  A quarter hour later the priests Krafter and Stolas appeared in King Erick’s study.

  “You called, Your Grace,” Stolas said, folding his hands over black and red embroidered silk robes. His black hair was pulled back with a black thorn circlet that draped small silver leaves across his forehead.

  “I got a hawk from Vasser. He intercepted a hawk from Philrick to Arganti of House Ahren,” Erick began, nodding at Sweeny to close the door to his study. “He’s expressing his deepest sadness for not attending King Korivander’s gathering, especially considering his son Kirick is betrothed to Arganti’s daughter.”

  Out of Erick’s vision, Krafter and Stolas exchanged glances, but they remained silent.

  “He wonders if I can make use of this information and I believe I can,” Erick said, nodding towards Sweeny to get him a cup of wine. “Azrayne is the only large town in all of Alcove that isn’t under my power, and Hold Lord Philrick still rules inside of it with an iron fist.”

  “Yes, although the other holds are in your grasp, we have always had trouble with Azoria; Azrayne’s magical barrier is remarkable,” Krafter said. “But if Arganti is out in the open with a daughter betrothed to Lord Philrick’s son…”

  Krafter’s voice trailed and fell silent, all eyes were on the king as he took the wine from Sweeny. The sinister look on the king’s face gave an obvious window into his emotions and the hint of a smile becoming known on his face only sealed it.

  “I want Azrayne,” Erick said after many moments of silence had passed. “I feel like a useless idiot right now, especially with Nyte’s failure to get me the jewel. If the hibrid who has the jewel lets it slip that they hold the artifact supposedly sent to destroy me… another rebellion could start.”

  “We have discussed it and we are sure the hibrid will remain silent,” Stolas said reassuringly, exchanging glances with Krafter. “But we have always wanted to take Azryane, perhaps this is a golden opportunity to remind the highborn Houses that there will be no stopping our Draken King; and that no magical barrier can keep out the high priests of King Erick Zahn.”

  ‘He’s so easy to manipulate,’ Stolas’s voice whispered inside of Krafter’s head. ‘It is like throwing a stick for a mongrel dog.’

  ‘It is like that isn’t it?’ Stolas said back to Krafter, both of their faces remaining neutral as they spoke to each other. ‘Keep the dog busy while we wait for our demigod and our prophecies.’

  ‘Our entire life has been waiting hasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but we’re nearly there.’

  Unaware of the conversation going on, a wan smile crossed the king’s lips, Erick turned around, looking rather pleased with himself. “It would make me feel better.”

  “And we have the perfect elf to fulfil this task,” Stolas said with a nod. “The most powerful mage, besides us, that we have at our disposal, one that has the ability to practice the magic needed… is Tseer Amaus.”

  Erick’s face darkened at this suggestion. “Tseer Amaus? He’s still alive?” The king’s face soured, but only for a moment. After sorting through whatever negative feelings he had regarding the malkah the mischievous smile appeared once again. “Yes, I think if we send him to Vasser’s camp we might get some favourable results. Agreed… send for Tseer.”

  With Erick’s back turned the two priests exchanged grins and for just a moment their hands slipped into one another’s.

  “Consider it done, Your Grace,” they both said in unison.

  22

  The next day Ben found himself walking towards the royal sitting room with Malagant and Teal. They had been looking for Lord Gorat for the past hour and had finally been told he was visiting with King Korivander. With the prophecies safely in Teal’s backpack and the snow at a tolerable level outside, they decided it was time to approach Gorat with the request of travelling with him and his family.

  Ben was feeling better today, a few card games with Malagant and Teal and a long night’s rest had sanded off the edges of the news about Tav. The wound was still raw, and the thought of it still twisted his gut, but he was able to push through it.

  Having Teal be so happy with his decision to not go back to his world and to not bring Tav back here had helped. Teal was doing all but dancing and singing with how happy he was. Admittedly, Ben was rather annoyed at first over Teal’s excitement but it was difficult to think badly of someone who was so cheerful and energetic.

  Teal and Malagant were both friends who would miss him; who would be sad if Ben disappeared from Alcove. So screw Tav, screw Emett and David, screw his false life back on earth. He had made friends for life in the couple of months he had been in Alcove, and it was clear now that the roots he was making here trumped any of the sick saplings he’d planted in his old world.

  “And since you’ll be a prophecy walker, you’ll have royal families and highborn Houses throwing their sons at you,” Malagant said while they walked through a bright, heavily decorated corridor, one with emerald green rugs with golden designs, and huge portraits that told Ben they were in the royal areas of the castle. “Many of them. You know it’s rare for an elf to take more than one husband but it does happen in kingdoms in Kar’Endia. You can have five of them if you want.” Then Malagant spotted the death look Teal was giving him. “But it looks like Teal has done all but brand you as his own, too bad he’ll have to share you with me.”

  “I have not!” Teal protested, his cheeks going bright red. “Stop saying things like that. I would just rather… we all wait until this is over with before we deal with Houses wanting us to marry.”

  Malagant pushed a door open and held it open for the two. “I want a smoking hot Evercovian, with raven-black hair, eyes like coal and skin as pale as the moon. He must know magic, so perhaps a croagh mage. That would make my father happy. He’s always wanted me to marry an Evercovian mage.”

  “I just want someone nice,” Teal said, his claws scratching against his surcoat; the coat was already showing wear around the arms from Teal’s neurotic clawing. “Someone quiet with a kind heart.”

  “Ho! Knight Malagant!” a deep and gruff voice was heard. Lord Gorat was sitting beside a fireplace three times as wide as the normal ones. King Korivander was beside him and a servant was standing beside several pitchers of wine. “Come and have a drink with us. We were just discussing this new hope for a prophecy.”

  “We will,” Malagant called back. “We actually have something we need to discuss with you, Lord Gorat.”

  With a customary bow everyone found a seat around the fireplace and soon were given goblets of red wine. Everyone in Alcove seemed to drink, it wasn’t just an evening thing either, Ben had seen lords and highborns with glasses of wine for breakfast.

  “I just checked this morning,” Korivander said when everyone was settled. The king was dressed in a modest yellow robe with embroider vines and leaves, and he had a circlet of golden leaves across his forehead. “Still nothing written. I… I don’t understand.” The King of Lelan’s face was troubled, although when he looked to Lord Gorat, who obviously knew nothing of what was going on, he tried to hide the disappointment on his face.

  “Well, we have good news for you then,” Malagant began. Immediately Korivander’s eyes fell on him, wide and brimming with excitement. “The prophecy didn’t write.” Malagant looked to Lord Gorat. “But we were visited by the demigod. King Korivander, we think it’s safe to tell Lord Gorat what’s going on. Gorat… it looks like we’ve entered a new gods’ game. My travelling companions and I have been receiving instruction from Kelakheva himself. We think this is what we’re waiting for… to finally overthrow King Erick.”

  The red-haired elf’s face turned from neutral to surprised, his green eyes wide and staring. “T-the gods’ games…” His eyes fixed on Malagant’s ruby jewel, then on Ben’s and Teal’s. When Gorat looked back to Malagant, Malagant nodded at him as if knowing what he was thinking.

  “Yes, we have the Jewel of Elron, and he did split. Pendants this t
ime.” Malagant nodded. “Not too long ago either. The prophecy isn’t writing but we are getting instruction. Kelakheva told us to travel with you until you reach Rhastt. We’re on our way to the Garas Islands to reunite the pieces with the one on Calin’s ring. We’re hoping this is the answer to our prayers. That we can finally overthrow Erick.”

  A silence fell upon the group, Gorat’s eyes seemed wide and transfixed. The only movement was the burly elf stroking his red beard, seemingly deep in thought.

  “You know my family will do whatever we can to help bring an end to this,” Gorat said finally. “Lhogen wanted to stay behind with our daughters but Grady wanted to come home with me. Grady is my heir and a strong warrior. He’d protect you three on our way to Rhastt, and he would love to be around elves his own age.”

  “That would be perfect,” Malagant said. “Thank you for your service, Lord Gorat.”

  At this the lord scoffed and shook his head. “What thanks? My House would love nothing more than to play a part in this prophecy. The Firemanes are not the type of House to stand idly by as our kingdom gets overrun by those Dashavian and Crithian filths, rebels or not. If we can even play a small part in this prophecy, it might restore some of our honour for being forced to submit to that sheep fucker.” He put his goblet down and rose to his feet. “I’ll start preparations then. We leave at first light. Korivander, you would understand if we slip out quietly? We’ll be making this as discreet as possible; our banner-elves and soldiers can stay behind and accompany Lhogen and the girls when they make the journey back.”

  Korivander nodded as he rose too. “Of course I understand.” Then he smiled. “It does put fire back into one’s blood, doesn’t it Gorat? To finally see some hope, some end to this tyranny. Perhaps it is time for another rebellion?”

  A sly look appeared on Gorat’s bearded face. “Don’t tempt me, Korivander, don’t tempt me. You know my back has become weak by not carrying around my battle-axe and my armour is going to be rubbed through from the hours I’ve spent polishing it. A rebellion would be welcome to my family… and we do have all the lords here already.” Then he shook his head as if trying to shake off the idea Korivander had planted. “One thing at a time, one thing at a time.” His eyes once again travelled to the jewels resting on Ben, Teal, and Malagant’s chest. “Though I must admit – we are overdue to rise from the ashes.”