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

by Quil Carter

  Malagant felt a pang of guilt, realizing he probably remembered Teal’s own father’s voice better than he did. Malagant had grown up with it; he had grown up seeing his father’s unyielding face soften whenever he would talk about Cruz Fennic.

  Malagant knew why he’d never met Teal or his family, out of all the mysteries in the world this one had always been clear to him and Josiah. However he knew his father would never tell him the secret he’d tried to keep hidden from his sons.

  A secret that Malagant and Josiah knew, and had known since they were old enough to understand the complexities of their sunmage father. The reason why Cruz and Anagin, best friends and war heroes, had stopped speaking after the war, even though they had been joined at the hip during it.

  “Birch is a long ways away from Fenhold,” Malagant said, forcing a smile. “Long way to bring a young family.”

  Teal was quiet for several minutes, before finally he nodded, as if convincing himself that Malagant was being sincere. “I suppose so,” he said with a sigh. “I hope Anagin doesn’t mind, but when I see him… I’d love to read that book. It seems like everyone knew my father but me.”

  “He was a very brave elf, Teal,” Malagant said, his dark blue eyes grave and serious. “He would have been proud of you.”

  Teal’s lips pressed, he looked at his friend, his eyes full to the point of almost brimming. “T-thanks, Mel,” he said, his voice cracking under the emotion. Like Malagant had suspected, which was the reason why he said it, that reassurance seemed to mean a lot to him.

  Then, all of a sudden, there was a groan from the litter. “No, no,” a weak voice said. “Whenever he cries, I get hurt. Crack a joke, Mel.”

  “Ben!” Teal exclaimed. He slid off of his horse so fast he almost lost his balance, with the previously brimming eyes now holding tears, he ran over to Ben. Malagant quickly followed.

  Teal looked down to see his best friend looking back up at him. His face was still hollow, but his eyes were alight and fully awake. He even managed a smile when he saw Teal and, behind him, Malagant.

  “Hey, Tee,” Ben said weakly. “You look horrible.”

  Teal held up his hand to his face and whimpered. “I’m sorry, Ben. I’m so sorry.”

  Malagant watched as Teal’s claws slowly made their way back to his already shredded forearms.

  “Tsst!” Malagant hissed. Teal dropped his hands to their sides. Malagant had been trying to train him ever since the incident by the river.

  “I’m not going to talk about all of this half-naked in a stretcher,” Ben said, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes. “It’s amazing that staying here, fighting accalites, rabid scorpion cats, and Dashavians, has completely destroyed my natural curiosity. Because, in all honesty, I really don’t want to know just what you’re keeping from me right now, Teal. I’m happy recovering and not making this more complicated.” Then Ben narrowed his eyes at Teal. “But we will be talking about this the moment I ask, and you will be telling me everything. Won’t you?”

  Teal gave him a solemn nod. “I promise. I’ll tell you everything.”

  Malagant tried to hide the shudder. He dearly hoped this conversation could wait until after the prophecies were completed.

  There was a Dashavian serum though… that caused permanent memory alteration.

  Malagant found himself quite seriously exploring those possibilities.

  Malagant snapped out of his daydreaming and looked down at the two. Teal was walking beside the litter, keeping pace with Ben’s horse. They were talking out their problems, like adults. Now if they would’ve both done that from the beginning half of Ben’s blood wouldn’t be soaked into the woods many leagues past.

  My father would be proud of me, Malagant told himself with a smirk, then he looked to his two friends.

  “Now what did you two learn?” he said, crossing his arms and cocking an eyebrow.

  “Do not go anywhere without my sword?” Ben replied.

  Malagant nodded in approval and turned to Teal.

  “And you?”

  “Never let Ben out of my sight.”

  Malagant pretended to mull this over. “I would have preferred ‘don’t keep secrets’ but I agree, we can’t let the human out of our sight.”

  Ben scoffed. “I’m a hibrid, dammit,” he declared. He weakly waved a pasty bandaged arm in the air, before wincing in pain.

  “Bitch got me good, huh?” Ben said, holding his arm over his head to examine it.

  “She got the best of you, that’s for sure,” Malagant replied. He reached down and held Ben’s arm straight to check his circulation. “It was touch-and-go in the first few hours, but we patched you up. Like any proper chayle-elf you and females just don’t mix.”

  Ben laughed, then pushed a few of his cloaks and blankets off to examine his chest. “I’ve been in and out of it, mostly out of it. The jare venom really fogs up your brain, doesn’t it?”

  Malagant nodded. “And paralysis. Though Teal’s antivenom got rid of that, so you were able to breathe still. I ran out of mine and hadn’t made more. I was heading to Darancove when I found you two, where they don’t have jare cats.” Malagant glanced at Ben’s chest, making sure everything was still healing properly. “Teal saved you.”

  Teal’s mouth twitched but he remained silent. They all knew what he was thinking anyway.

  “Josiah can help you make more when we get to Birch, and everybody can have a stock. We can also sell some to the potion shop for a good markup,” Malagant said before Teal got a chance to blame himself some more.

  “Malagant?” they heard Grady call. The red-haired elf came riding up on his mason horse. He opened his mouth to speak but he noticed Ben was conscious.

  “Hey, you’re awake. Feeling better?” Grady asked with a friendly smile. He had a twilberry stick in between his lips like it was a cigar.

  Ben returned the smile and nodded. “A lot better. Thanks for all your help, Lordling Grady.”

  Grady inclined his head. “This is all the better then. Malagant, want to ride up ahead with me and fetch the escorts? Father wants us to make a good entrance considering the trouble. If word has reached the town, they’ll need to see a strong presence from the Firemanes to help calm them.”

  Malagant nodded. “It’s half a day’s ride, we’ll be able to make it in half that and be back with guards before nightfall. Will we be marching through the night with them then?”

  “That’s right,” Grady said.

  Malagant reached over as Teal unclasped his black fur cloak that he had been wearing and quickly fastened it around his neck.

  “There, I look a bit nobler now.” Malagant patted some dirt off of his jerkin and turned to Ben and Teal. “We won’t be long. If we have guards escorting us the rest of the way, we’ll be able to ride through the night. Teal, you know what to do with Ben’s wounds. I’ll see you before nightfall.”

  Ben and Teal nodded. “Be careful,” they both said in unison. Malagant gave them one last wink, before nudging his mount in the side. The horse whinnied and both he and Grady rode off ahead.

  Castle Alcove

  Erick watched as the watery mixture of wine and strawberries disappeared into the abyss below. The cold air stung his sweaty and flushed face, bringing out a deep red to his already chill-bitten cheeks.

  “Do you think it will ever hit the bottom?” he asked in a broken voice. He wiped his mouth, before turning around and violently throwing up over the edge again. The vomit disappearing into the misty clouds beneath the castle.

  The Avarice Forest below were coated in its usual thick, smoke-like fog. The dark green treetops and sharp snow-peaked hills barely visible miles and miles below the cloud-kissed castle that was the Pyre. It had always made Erick dizzy when he looked at the forest beneath his feet, dizzy but safe. This castle was once his stronghold, his safe haven from the insanity he had created in Alcove. No one could touch him in his castle, on his throne, with his priests–

  –his priests.
<
br />   “No, it will vanish on the wind,” Sweeny said gently. He put his hand caringly on Erick’s shoulder. “Sit, Master. I stoked the fire and I heated you up some chaestones.”

  “Master? MASTER!” Erick suddenly exclaimed loudly. He turned around, his pointed teeth clenching. Sweeny withdrew his hand and took a cautious step back.

  Erick let out a frustrated bellow, his fists clenched. “I am – I am no king,” he said in a strangled voice. “I’m a puppet, Sweeny, a puppet.”

  Sweeny shifted nervously, he looked down at his silk shoes. “You’ll always be a king to me, Your Grace,” the squire said quietly. He grabbed his silver pitcher and went to fill his master’s wine cup but Erick waved him off.

  “No wine, I can’t be inebriated now. I’m half-expecting them to cut my throat and be done with it,” Erick said, trying to keep his strained voice steady. He walked over to an overstuffed red velvet chair and sat down in front of the marble fireplace. Sweeny quickly closed the stained glass window behind him and picked up the warmed chaestones, almost too hot to the touch. He played hot potato with them as he quickly handed them off to his master.

  Erick took them and tucked them between himself and the couch. “When is court?” he asked, before wiping the snot and vomit away from his nose and mouth.

  “I instructed Zel Salix to reschedule all your meetings today, and Steward Zoltan is taking court,” Sweeny replied. He was running around Erick’s chambers trying to make everything as comfortable for the king as he could, though it was starting to make Erick feel nauseous again.

  “Good.” Erick looked into the flames and shut his eyes. He badly wanted a drink, or something stronger. Perhaps he would summon his Dashavian Reimest to make him something to calm his already fried nerves. The things Greir could brew were as good as the stuff he used to have back in his old life. He was afraid to send Sweeny out though, he didn’t want to be alone. He also didn’t want those bastard twin gods to do something to his squire.

  Erick caught his own thoughts and felt his throat go dry. He knew they could probably read his thoughts if they wanted, or parasite him like Nyte could. Couldn’t they? Were they? Were they listening to his thoughts at this moment?

  No… no, they had better things to do. They had that damn prophecy book they were probably pouring over; the one he wasn’t allowed to read, even though it was supposed to be his. His prophecy, his destiny, his chance to not only rule Alcove, but all of Al’Anea… perhaps all of Elron.

  Snatched away with a single smite of the holy book.

  A puppet… that is all he had been, this whole time. How could he have been so stupid to believe he was special? He had never been special. Even in the old world it had been Ben who had been the center of attention. He had been the one with all the friends, the one who was stable even if he was a druggy like Erick had been. He’d even went to community college and managed to lie to their foster parents about having a degree and a great job.

  Erick had been a screw up since the day he was born. Perhaps that’s why they were put into foster care.

  The priests… no, the twins had been lying to him since the beginning. They’d been filling his brain with dreams of wealth, of power, of everything his heart desired. A world of his own to rule. They told him gods had written about him, that he was the chosen one.

  Erick scoffed out loud. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, watching the flames’ reflection dance across the painted arches. It seemed so stupid in hindsight… why would he have been special? He was no one. He was no Keeper of the Jewel, he was no Overlord of Al’Anea, and he was no Draken King of Alcove.

  He was Erick Shane Zahn and he had never stopped being Erick Shane Zahn. The pathetic human, the drug abuser, the lowlife scum.

  “S-strawberry, Your Grace?” Sweeny’s small voice asked beside him. Erick turned his head over and looked at his squireling servant.

  So meek and timid though not as young as he looked. Sweeny looked fourteen and yet he was seventeen.

  Soon eighteen though. Erick thought he’d overheard him mentioning it to Keleon once when he asked. Sweeny Taunel had been his loyal squire and servant when he’d only just reached sirhood at fourteen, his voice had still been tenor. Now look at him, now he was an elf grown.

  Erick took a fat ripe strawberry from the bowl of mixed fruit and berries. He took a bite out of it. It was even sweetened with cane sugar, just like Sweeny knew he liked.

  Stupid loyal hibrid.

  Sweeny would die for Erick, and Erick knew it. Loyal to a fault and the closest thing to a friend and confidant that he had now which is why he had told him everything. Except the part about him being human; he didn’t want to dissolve the poor demi-elf’s brain.

  Sweeny had taken it… well. Erick had been too busy ranting and freaking out to really gauge his response. But he was still there when Erick had collapsed into a heap on his bed and he’d told him exactly what any good god-fearing Alcovian would say:

  No one can understand the gods’ games, Your Grace.

  Then Sweeny had said something that had stuck with Erick: Even if you weren’t chosen by the gods to be the keeper of the Jewel of Elron. You were chosen by the gods to be an instrument in the Anean Prophecies and that was a great honour. A great task befitted to few, and honoured for the rest of time.

  Indeed… perhaps Sweeny was right. He was a part of a new game now, maybe the only difference was that he wasn’t the star of the prophecies anymore. The chosen one. He wouldn’t have his own history book, but at least he would have a page.

  What would my page say? Erick Zahn, Xalis and Darsheive’s bitch. Puppet of Al’Anea, Usurper, and false king. The slave to Xalis and Darsheive, twin gods who acted more like chaylen partners than brothers.

  Erick sighed and stared at the fire. When he’d had the Jewel of Elron in his grasp, he was supposed to become equal to the gods. An equal to Xalis and Darsheive and their brothers.

  That was nothing but a fable now, an idea so laughable it almost made his eyes well.

  Though what his real task was, was shrouded in mystery. They wouldn’t let him near the holy book of Anea. Who was to say what his role was?

  The king let out an exasperated breath, his mind swimming with confusion. He was at a loss, he didn’t know how to feel, other than terrified.

  “Sweeny, you know the gods…” Erick said quietly. His gaze consumed with the flames, like any true Dashavian fire was his comfort. The warmth offered solace, even if it was minimal. “Are they just going to kill me? Is this their game? What use am I to them now? What use do they have for a puppet now that they have the prophecies and Alcove at their command?”

  Sweeny folded his soft, clawed hands over the front of his black and red embroidered vest. He lowered his head, like he always did when he was answering a question. Erick wished he would stop that.

  “Well… excuse the question if it offends you… but, do you know how the prophecies work?”

  Erick chewed on his lip. “No.” It was hard for him to admit this. No one cared about the prophecies unless they were writing and before recently they hadn’t.

  “Well, Your Grace, the instruments of the prophecies, they must follow a specific guideline in order for the prophecy to be complete. They have rules they must follow, shrouded in riddles, rhymes, or beautiful poems. The passages are written throughout their journey and only visible to them or their party. However in the beginning auchtr elves, the caretakers of the auchtrhalls where the gods are worshipped, can notice subtle changes in the prophecies.”

  “And the ones that hold the jewel? I suppose they are following their own sets of rules from the same book? Xalis and Darsheive can’t read their passages?”

  The squire shook his head. “To the best of my studies, no, my king. Sometimes the gods’ games has prophecies competing against each other, sometimes not. Sometimes it is never known if there are two prophecies or not.”

  Erick got up; he grabbed his wine cup and allowed himself a small drink
. He walked up to his black ivory crown and ran his fingers over it. He had once been so proud to wear the crown, now he was almost scared to.

  “I am an instrument of the prophecies. The Draken King. Why won’t those two let me read my part in it? Perhaps it is because I am to die?”

  He heard Sweeny make a small noise. Was he really remorseful that his king may die? Was it because he could die too? But if the ones that had the gem of Anea did indeed bring it to the king, he could be free. He could go back to his family.

  I had family once…

  “Sweeny, do you have a brother?” Erick asked. He picked up one of the hot chaestones and warmed his cold hands against them. Even with his chambers constantly sweltering, he was always cold; his fingertips ice.

  “He… he died, Y-Your Grace.”

  “Family?”

  “Dead.”

  “Did I kill them?”

  “N-no, Your Grace. They died before you arrived. King Calin had my father’s head for treason, and he took me as a ward when I was only four.”

  This surprised Erick. He was always under the impression that Sweeny’s family had died during the takeover. Well, perhaps this explained his loyalty. It only strengthened Erick’s trust in him. Perhaps a life as Erick’s squireling and servant had been an improvement to Calin’s prisoner and ward.

  “And he let you keep the House name of a traitor?”

  “Y-yes, my lord. However I would never be allowed a chaylen partner or children. My House name was supposed to die with me.”

  Erick nodded and said it quietly to himself, “Sweeny Taunel, squire to the once chosen one, the once great King Erick Zahn.”

  The king wrung his hands and took another drink. “And what if they take my crown, Sweeny Taunel? Will you bend a knee to your new king as you did when I usurped Calin?”

  Sweeny was still looking submissively at his soft blue and gold embroidered silk shoes. How he had probably memorized every golden thread, every swirling pattern in those shoes.

  “No, Your Grace.”