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

by Quil Carter

  “Good, then we won’t have to feed them. Those bloody abominations seem to take care of themselves,” he laughed, spraying chunks of meat and spittle as he did.

  The knight glanced up as he saw Tseer stand. The malkah looked over his group of knights and smiled proudly.

  “Are you enjoying your feast, Serpents?” he asked over the dinner time chatter.

  A cheer amongst the Serpents sounded, several of them even happily waving chunks of meat in the air. Army rations had gotten lower as the winter had set in, mostly everyone was living off of corn mash and turnips. Meat was a rare delicacy, and an abundance of it to the point where every elf got their fill, was even rarer.

  Tseer grinned.

  “We have killed the Lord of Alathéa, his heir, and his court, and captured his daughter, Kirick’s future wife,” Tseer said, this was followed by another eruption of cheers.

  “Now we move on to the Lord of Azrayne to make a widow out of her,” Tseer said, his vicious grin all the more prominent under his twisted words.

  Suddenly Taelie laughed, even though she was in a bad state, bound and tied to a tree off in the darkness.

  Tseer and the others heard it, a murmured chuckle rose from the group as they looked on to the rather brave little hibrid, then back at Tseer to see just what he was planning on doing about it.

  Tseer shot Taelie a poisonous glare. “Problem, stupid girl?”

  When she didn’t answer Tseer stalked over and kicked dirt onto her. “Well? Speak, bitch!”

  Taelie glared at him, resisting the urge to spit in his face. “If you think the likes of you can not only set foot in Azrayne, but actually kill Lord Philrick and his son, you’re the stupid one.”

  A stifled laugh came from the group of Serpents behind him; Tseer felt the heat rise to his face.

  “Even a hibrid girl doesn’t respect him,” Tseer heard a knight mumble under his breath, his demi-elf hearing making it clearly audible to him.

  Tseer growled; he had been trying to gain the respect of the group of knights and soldiers for weeks now. He wanted nothing more than to kill the Alathéan girl right there, but he knew he couldn’t.

  Instead he raised his hand and backhanded Taelie across the face.

  Taelie’s face snapped back, the chain that wrapped around the tree the only thing keeping her from falling to her side. She took in a sharp inhale, just in time for the malkah to hit her again.

  It was silent behind Tseer.

  “No, girl. The Serpent Knights of Alcove, nor the Serpent soldiers, are welcome in Azrayne,” Tseer whispered dangerously; a small trickle of blood started to fall from Taelie’s mouth.

  The Dashavian bounty hunter knelt down and wrapped his hand around Taelie’s neck. Taelie looked up at him, and Tseer was happy to see that she had fear in her eyes.

  “I will not be using soldiers or knights to get into Azrayne,” Tseer said quietly, “or myself.”

  Taelie stared up at him, unmoving, Tseer started to tighten his grip, his cold red eyes alight.

  Then he smiled at her.

  “I will be using you.”

  26

  Dusk came slower to the thin woods they were walking through. The trees now had nimble, short branches and trunks of thin grey bark. They had left the thick muscular limbs of the Forest of Jare long behind them, and now the twinkling stars in the dusk sky greeted them every night. There was no longer a canopy above them to block out the rest of the world, and though Malagant quite enjoyed the fresh air and openness of this forest, Teal was nervous without trees to climb or thick brush to hide in.

  It was the nature of the hibrid. Malagant’s father had told him many tales of Cruz becoming stressed when they were walking along the bare fields of Evercove or the rolling rocky mountains. Hibrids were most comfortable in forests like the Forest of Jare, with lots of trees to climb or places to hide if threats came.

  Traits like this were seen in all demi-elves. The daraphin were uneasy if they weren’t living near, or on, a body of water, the malkah hated being in cold climates and hated even more not having dark places, caves mostly, to hide in; even the croaghs, the demi-elf species of Evercove, had to be in clustered magically-strong groups to feel secure.

  Elves weren’t nearly as complex, the only non-cultural difference between the elves of Al’Anea were slight changes in appearance, a more toned-down version of the stark evolutionary changes seen in the various demi-elf species.

  Malagant had been around hibrids all of his life but had never befriended one. He had worked beside hibrid knights, most notably twin brothers named Duck and Goose, but they weren’t as close to him as Teal was. It was fascinating and, at times, kind of adorable getting used to having a hibrid as a best friend, mostly at night.

  Teal was clingy as all hell once they turned into their canvas tent for the evening.

  Before Ben got hurt Malagant had woken up many times in the morning to see Teal clinging to him, his head nestled into the crook of Ben’s neck and his arm around his chest. At first Malagant thought it was just an odd hibrid thing or a deep friendship, but it seemed Teal just needed someone to hold onto in the night. Malagant had now become that elf, he woke up every morning with the little leech all over him twitching and murmuring and sometimes whimpering. It was odd at first, but in all honesty he didn’t mind it. It was funny when Teal woke up with red ears and a murmured apology, almost like one would look waking up to an unfortunate-looking elf after a night of drinking.

  “How’s he looking?” Teal asked one morning. Malagant was unwrapping Ben’s bandages, rubbing salve onto the stitched wounds and tweezing away any loose fibers that had fused to the injuries. His gloveless fingers were numb and at times he tucked them between Ben and the blankets just to warm them.

  “Definitely better,” Malagant smiled, taking a wrap of fresh soft cloth that Teal was holding for him. “He should be staying awake soon.” Ben had been slipping in and out of lucidness for the last several days. He had been able to eat, pee, and answer easy questions, but for the most part he was completely out of it.

  “It’s been five days, Malagant,” Teal said nervously, rubbing his hands together.

  “And only three more days until Rhastt,” Grady spoke up, through a mouthful of wine chews; he had raided the candy sack again. “You can stay there for as long as you like, until he gets his strength back.”

  “Oh, tell us of the warm beds you have again, Grady,” Malagant said as Teal helped him finish up his bandaging.

  Grady smiled, a rare thing for the stoic elf. “The beds are nice, yes, but the best part will be my father and sisters being leagues and leagues away in Lelan still.”

  Gorat laughed. Malagant and Teal stepped back as the giant Lord of Valewind picked up Ben gently and placed him into the litter. “The halls will be so quiet without the girls. We’ll have to bring in some bloody howling peacocks just to make it feel like home.”

  Malagant chuckled, bundling blankets around Ben. Grady, the only son of Lord Gorat and Lord Lhogen, had four loud sisters and a rather boisterous second father. Anagin had always told Malagant that the reason Grady was so quiet was that he had never learned to speak as a babe, because he had heard his sisters and decided that there was no point in even trying to be heard.

  After they covered Ben up with cloaks and blankets they got onto their horses and carried on. As usual Teal stayed right beside Ben, and Gorat rode his horse up ahead to scout for trouble.

  “HO!” Malagant heard Gorat call from up ahead. Malagant watched as Gorat turned his horse around and started galloping towards them.

  “Heads up,” Gorat said when he reached them. “We’ve got company; a couple of travelling elves, no big deal.”

  Malagant nodded. He didn’t expect any trouble but he still made sure his crossbow was in arm’s reach. Teal had the same idea; he grabbed his sword, which had been bundled up beside his bedroll, and belted the scabbard’s strap across his chest.

  Within a few minutes Malagant could
see an elf riding on a covered wagon that was being pulled by a donkey. From the way the elf was dressed, and the condition of his cart, he was a highborn. Another giveaway was the guards he had surrounding his family, sellswords most likely.

  Malagant relaxed a bit, but he was still on guard.

  “Ho!” the elf waved. “How you be, my lord?”

  “I be fine, noble elf. How be you?” Gorat replied, tipping his hat in a welcome.

  “I be well, my lord, but there is chaos in the lands. We’ll be staying with relatives in Azrayne,” the elf replied. He motioned to the stone-faced sellswords around him. “Guards are not cheap, but what good is coin to a dead elf?”

  Gorat’s faced darkened; he rode his horse closer. “Can I trouble you to tell me what kind of chaos you speak of, good elf?”

  “The word is that Lord Arganti and those who travelled with him have been slain,” the elf said solemnly. “It’s not even safe for the noble Houses now.”

  Gorat’s eyes widened, but being the Hold Lord of Valewind that was the only reaction he allowed himself.

  Though, out of sight of the highborn, Malagant, Teal, and Grady’s mouths’ fell open.

  “On his way back from Lelan? Bloody Shol, I just saw Viradin,” Grady said quietly.

  “That’s Taelie’s father,” Teal said in shock. He rode his horse closer to the highborn. “Was it King Erick?”

  The elf shrugged and shook his head sadly. “We don’t know, but the corpses looked like they were ravaged by accalites.”

  Gorat’s face was grim. “I need to get back to Rhastt.” He turned to the elf and tipped his hat at him. “Thank you for your information, friend. I hope you will return safely to Rhastt.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” The elf nodded. “Rhastt will always be my home and the Firemanes our lords. Safe travels.”

  After they departed, Gorat let out a long string of curse words.

  “Father… Taelie, Viradin… they’re dead?” Grady said in a hushed voice. His tone matched what Malagant and Teal were feeling: disbelief and apprehension.

  But, though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, the Anean Prophecies’ passage played over and over in Malagant’s head. The one telling him that the prophecy walkers wouldn’t be seen, that they were protected. It would be a cruel and insensitive thing to say out loud under these circumstances but Malagant would be lying if he said that fact didn’t comfort him.

  We’re in no state to run or fight – we have to get Ben to Rhastt so he can get well. Then… then I will take every bastard King Erick or those prophecies throw at us.

  I am Malagant Ahris, son of Anagin Ahris, I will let no harm come to my friends.

  Malagant’s attention was drawn to Gorat as the red-haired elf sighed and removed the hat he had resting on his head. “If this is the work of King Erick… it changes a lot,” Gorat said. “Without a doubt, he was trying to get information regarding the jewel. Your prophecy book may not be writing but perhaps the opposite side’s book is? We have had gods’ games where there are two prophecies at work.”

  “Or the demigod is directing them like he is directing you three?” Grady suggested, a grimness to his tone.

  Malagant frowned at the thought. He hated how little he knew and theorizing did nothing but add more weights to their already crumbling shoulders.

  But, in truth, it was almost confirmed in Malagant’s mind that Erick must have his own prophecies or the demigod was guiding him. Why else would he even be here?

  “What if they decide to go after Korivander? Or you Gorat?” Then a new unease found him. What if the prophecies had told Erick that Taelie had led Teal and Ben to the library? What if he was trying to get information from her?

  Curse these damn gods’ games. We never know just what the prophecy is telling the other party or if it is telling them anything at all.

  But as it stands, one thing we do know for sure, is that they won’t be able to say anything.

  “Korivander nor I will say a word,” Gorat said, his face was stern and serious. “No matter what those kessiiks do.”

  “The kessiiks don’t ask first,” Teal said, shaking his head. “Nyte certainly didn’t ask me.”

  “They will not be able to get to us right now, nor will anyone be able to get information about us or the jewel,” Malagant said. Gorat and Grady looked at him a bit confused and bewildered.

  “What do you mean, son?” Gorat said.

  “The demigod,” Malagant said, deciding to stick with their original plan of not mentioning that the prophecies had been writing in a new book. “He said to us: Be unmasked, for the blue shadows will not find thee, no matter how loud the tortured scream.”

  “My gods,” Teal whispered; he looked sick. “The prophecies were referring to this, wasn’t it? Torturing the highborns for information about the jewel.”

  “It could be just this or perhaps many incidences that will happen before it’s over,” Malagant said. Then he looked to Gorat and Grady. “Even if they take the elves who know about us prisoner, they will not give away our location. I guess that would make it too easy in the gods’ game.”

  “That’s… that’s very grim,” Grady said.

  “If that is what it says, it has happened before,” Gorat said. He flicked his horse’s reins and they began to travel again. “When King Calin was taken into hiding, Erick wasn’t able to torture the location out of us either.”

  Malagant sighed and shook his head. “I do not understand this prophecy,” he said. “The prophecy is supposed to start when the Anean Prophecies start writing, this strange prophecy seems to go back years.”

  Especially if it started when the demigod brought Erick to Alcove…

  Gorat nodded looking equally confused. “It seems so, son. All we can do is be thankful the gods have finally answered our prayers.”

  Teal sighed, and started carrying on with the others. Malagant saw the look of guilt on his face and knew what he was thinking. The hibrid girl had been the one to help Teal and Ben get the prophecy book. They’d both have to tell Ben that she had been slain.

  “We won’t tell him, not until he’s awake enough to risk hearing it from other places,” Malagant said quietly beside him.

  Teal jumped a bit and glanced at him. “Am I that transparent?”

  Malagant smiled. “Emotions on your sleeve, as always.”

  Tink tink tink tink

  Teal tried to balance a stone mortar and pestle on the saddle in front of him. It had been difficult but he was starting to get the hang of it. They had been on the road for a long time now, and Teal was tired of only getting the chance to do his apothecary work when they stopped to rest the horses, or make camp.

  If they were going to carry on to Garas and make it there alive, they needed as many potions, salves, and powders as possible. Teal had been lucky enough to learn some new recipes from the kind Lelander Satcha back in the Lelan Hold, and he had been entertaining himself trying them out.

  Especially for where they were heading to next: the Lazarius Plaines. Teal had once hoped to have made it there before winter but, of course, he had vastly underestimated just how difficult this mission would be.

  The plains were a perfect stretch of land to cross during winter, because, well… winter didn’t come to the plains. The rolling green hills and jagged grey rocks hadn’t seen snow in a thousand years legend had it. It was the place of eternal spring. Perfect for a trio of travellers trying to make it to Azoria, the northeastern hold of Alcove, in the middle of winter.

  Not only that, but scattered across the plains were many abandoned towers, small holdfasts, shacks, and villages. Some lost to the plains so long ago they had almost completely been consumed by the green grass. There would be many places to seek shelter should any winter storms roll in, or if trouble showed up on the road.

  Teal ground a yellow root into the stone mortar, and took out a small glass jar to scrape the paste into. Apparently, according to Satcha, it would have to age for almost a month bef
ore mixing it with ambiar root. In the end it would make a sticky, orange, glue-like salve that would seal hard. Perfect for patching gashes and almost guaranteed to stop the wound from festering.

  “My brother is going to love you,” Malagant chuckled. He was hollowing out a small stick with his needle-pointed dagger. It looked like he was trying to make a flute. “He’s a great healer, but a horrible alchemist. He’ll be on you like Grady on butter tarts. I think you’ll be sleeping in my room with me.”

  Teal smiled, scraping the paste into the small corked jar. “Your father must be so proud to have two healers for sons, with his gifts and all of that.” The smile turned sad. “My father wanted us to be capable soldiers, I got my first wooden sword when I was two and my first steel when I was five. Oh, you should have seen Eagen, he would fly with the blade.”

  Then his brow furrowed. “Why didn’t we ever meet, Mel?” He put the mortar and pestle away, his face was of an elf that was in deep contemplation. “He… he never talked about Anagin; Mother would shush us if we asked about the war. She did everything but flat-out forbid us from asking him about Anagin, Evercove, or the Black War. I believe I remember getting smacked for asking Father even the most innocent of questions.”

  Malagant pursed his lips but was silent. He had grown up listening to the stories his father would read him and Josiah, sometimes before bed, other times if he just felt like telling them. Malagant’s best memories were sitting around the fireplace with a mug of cinnamon tea, hanging on his father’s every word. They’d hear about croagh mages, summoning demenos from the pits of Shol, and his and Cruz’s harrowing journey to stop the war between Evercove and Alcove.

  So many stories, so many nights listening to Anagin’s voice. His sunmage father was a great storyteller. He could make the sounds of a mage’s lightning bolt, the accent of a drunken Evercovian priest; his wolf howl was so chilling it would make Josiah cover his ears. Even Cruz’s voice. Malagant had never heard him but he knew what he sounded like, the words he used, the way his voice flowed.