Even Gods Must Fall

by Christian Warren Freed

  Orlek crept alongside Boen, amazed at the way in which the bigger, heavier man moved. Never before had he witnessed such a simple yet remarkable sight. Vengeance Knights were masters of their trade. Boen was in his element. An element where he excelled. Orlek was hard-pressed just to keep up.

  To his right marched the Dwarf. Ironfoot might be shorter and stockier, but his footsteps had yet to make a sound. Orlek dreaded ever having to go to war against such foes. Blackened steel waivered in the dwindling daylight. Their faces were painted, lending each a menacing appearance. Snow-covered branches brushed off their armor, white flakes peppering beards and hands briefly before they melted. Orlek’s heart beat faster. He’d never admit it, but he was tired of running, tired of fighting, and tired of forcing a life not meant to live. It was past time to put an end to this senseless war and try to find a way to rebuild.

  That wasn’t going to happen as long as fresh enemies continued to present themselves. Orlek flushed out those distracting thoughts and focused. Much of the snow had melted or had been trampled to the point it had become mud. There was no doubt the rebel force was on the trail of the Goblin army. What bothered him were the heavy sounds of an army preparing for battle. Goblins were bloodthirsty beasts as far as he was concerned, but they were hardly foolish. They had numbers and the advantage of being emplaced, forcing attackers to break on their defenses. From what he could tell, this new foe was moving their way.

  Ironfoot’s axe flattened against Orlek’s chest, forcing him to stop abruptly. The Dwarf brought a finger up to his lips before Orlek could question the sudden move. Understanding, Orlek started to crouch behind the nearest tree. He brought his sword up and waited.

  Ironfoot passed Boen a knowing glance and strode forward with his axe diagonal across his chest. The Gaimosian watched him go, confident in the Dwarf’s ability in this type of situation. He and Orlek waited in silence as the Dwarf disappeared into the foliage. A shout of alarm quickly followed. Figures could be heard rushing through the brush. Murmured words of excitement flowed back and forth in a harsh, guttural language Orlek didn’t understand.

  They waited for so long Orlek felt his calf begin to cramp. The fervor died down, leaving him to believe Ironfoot had either been killed or taken prisoner. He was about to ask Boen why they were just standing doing nothing when Ironfoot returned, unharmed and unscathed. The grin on his face echoed immense relief.

  “You can put your weapons up,” Ironfoot said with unusual smugness. “Boen, you’re not going to believe this.”

  “Believe what?” Orlek finally asked in frustration.

  A squad of Dwarves emerged from the building gloom. Each was armed for war. A more frightening sight Orlek had never seen. “By the gods,” he muttered.

  “The gods have nothing to do with this,” Ironfoot replied. “Boen, Orlek, the army of Drimmen Delf has arrived.”

  Reunions were conducted amidst the open-mouthed stares of several hundred rebels. Never before had the citizens of Delranan stood in the presence of so many different races. Elves, Dwarves, Minotaurs, a wizard, and a Giant. All allied with Delranan against the Goblin army. Many dropped to their knees in tears. Others warned that these were the end times at last. Dire warnings and predictions rippled throughout the small rebel army, now accompanied by over six thousand Dwarves and Minotaurs.

  Nothol handed Dorl a mug of partially flat ale and gestured towards the meeting of leaders with his chin. “What do you make of this?”

  “I don’t know. It all makes me think Anienam’s not the head case we’ve been playing him off to be. Why else would the Dwarves be here?”

  Nothol agreed. Too much had gone wrong since arriving in Delranan for the sudden arrival of a massive combined army to be downplayed. He didn’t think their quest had been fruitless or mired in failure. They’d gained the Blud Hamr and defeated countless foes along the way while only suffering one casualty and one missing. Maleela’s loss stung Nothol most of all, but aside from that one incident in the Jungles of Brodein, their quest had been successful…thus far.

  “Looks like we might stand a chance after all. Ironfoot’s buddies should make quick work of those Goblins,” Nothol told him. He’d hoped never to have to witness the awesome power of the army of Drimmen Delf unleashed again. There was nothing so terrible as watching cannons reap lives by the dozen from so far away.

  Dorl shook his head. “It’s not natural. Those gunpowder weapons will change Malweir if other kingdoms learn the secrets.”

  Nothol had nothing else to say. The Dwarves were likeable enough but contained savagery beyond imagination once provoked. Their prowess on the battlefield was rivaled only through technological innovation. Gunpowder might easily be the single most important discovery in the modern world. It didn’t take much to let imagination get the best of him. Nothol saw vast armies sweeping across the face of the world, bringing death on unprecedented levels.

  “Let’s not worry about that. All we have to do is get the Hamr into the ruins in time to stop the Dae’shan,” Nothol finally said.

  “Right.” Dorl drained his mug and handed it back. “What do you think they’re talking about? How to get us killed no doubt.”

  “Probably but what’s it matter? We know our jobs. Live or die it will all be finished tomorrow,” Nothol told him.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Rekka came over, the look on her face dour but pleasant. Dorl was immediately drawn to the way her clothes hugged her in all the right places. Her long, black hair hung down past her shoulders. The light brown of her skin blended with the dark blacks and blues of her fighting clothes. Her swords were tied to her hips in a nonthreatening way that could easily change in the blink of an eye. She was as dangerous as she was beautiful. Dorl counted himself fortunate to have the love of such a lady.

  “We attack before dawn. Even now the Dwarves are rolling their cannon batteries into firing positions. King Thord is positive they can break the enemy lines enough to allow us passage into the ruins,” she told them as she hopped onto the knee-high rock wall they watched the meeting from.

  Nothol swirled his mug around, gently sloshing golden liquid over the lip. “I think I’ll go see to my kit and leave you two for the night.”

  There was a time when Nothol and Dorl had been inseparable. Rekka’s arrival convoluted their working relationship, leaving Nothol the odd one out. He didn’t mind as long as she took care of him. Dorl Theed was a good person and a better friend. Nothol had been lucky to have worked alongside him for so long. They had enough stories to last a lifetime. Unfortunately those lifetimes were about to be cut short come the dawn. He didn’t suffer from the illusion of survival. Nothol, ever pragmatic, recognized death staring back at him. The Goblin army was simply too strong to defeat, even with the unexpected addition of the Dwarves and Minotaurs. He briefly wondered if anyone would ever remember his name, his deeds.

  The sell sword drifted towards the command meeting in the hopes of catching useful bits of information that might help him live longer. Smart enough to stay out of sight, Nothol leaned against a thick, white birch tree and listened.

  “…enemy lines are too thick,” Orlek complained. This was the rebellion’s final hour. One he hoped they might escape. The longer the meeting dragged on the more he began to realize how futile that hope was.

  “They won’t be once my cannons get done,” Thord assured. The Dwarf exuded confidence. “We’ll rip them apart to the point the rest break and run.”

  Bahr added, “He may be right. We’ve seen these cannons in action. There is no other power on Malweir capable of causing such destruction.”

  “Enough to kill fifty thousand Goblins?” Orlek asked. Exasperation bled through his words. “How many of us have to die in the process? We never signed on to fight this kind of war.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Ingrid replied. “We’re here now and can’t escape if we wanted to. The Goblins are entrenched in the middle of our kingdom. Even if we left t
hey’d still be here. I don’t think I need to remind you that they pose a far greater threat than King Badron ever did.”

  “So this is our fight now?”

  “As much as I don’t like to admit it, yes.” Tears clung to the corners of her rich, blue eyes. She too saw the end of all they’d suffered for, only it wasn’t the end they imagined. Ingrid rightly feared that Delranan as they knew it was coming to an end. Whatever happened tomorrow, their kingdom was going to be fundamentally changed forever.

  Bahr said, “She’s right. I didn’t come here to fight Goblins either but they are in the way and too large of a force to ignore. King Thord and his cannons will do the trick, at least I hope so. We don’t have much time left.”

  Frustrated, Orlek threw his hands up. “Time! Time for what? All of you speak in riddles and half-truths. I don’t believe your quest to save the world. Nor the reasons for these damned Goblins in my kingdom. Do any of you have an idea just how much blood we’ve shed fighting Harnin’s army? How close we’ve come to breaking? Now you expect us to go into battle with a massive army who happen to be well rested and in defendable positions? You’re going to get all of our people killed.”

  “Individual life or death does not matter, Orlek,” Anienam told him. His voice was even, measured so as not to provoke intense feelings. All eyes turned to the blind wizard. “What we face is a moment when the world might end. These times are not cast upon with consideration. Each generation has faced challenges and turmoil. That yours should be forced to endure such is no surprise.”

  “What are you saying? That we’re just puppets in a never-ending game?” Thord asked. He cast his gaze on the wizard, unable to accept Anienam was permanently blinded. The sudden change forced him to wonder if Anienam’s ability to use magic was impacted enough to make a noticeable difference.

  Anienam cocked his head as if in thought. “Perhaps, but we are still given free will to make our own decisions.”

  “I don’t understand,” Bahr said.

  Clearly frustrated, the wizard continued. “The gods created all life on Malweir but they didn’t intervene in how that life developed. Our individual races evolved on their own accord. We became good or evil based on our own decisions. Never once did the gods step in to alter the course of that development.”

  “What’s the point of having gods if they’re not going to do anything useful?” Boen asked. His eyes were narrowed with dislike.

  Anienam flustered. “We don’t have a choice in the matter. They created us, not the other way around, Gaimosian. You would do well to remember that in the coming hours.”

  Grumbling under his breath, Boen leaned back in the tiny field chair and let the conversation go on.

  “Now, where was I? Ah, yes. The gods gave us all life, but they are not without the power to take it away. The gods of light understood that by allowing their dark brethren to continue to exist they were exposing Malweir to unyielding evil. They manipulated time and space to bring us various gifts. The Blud Hamr, for instance. These tools were designed with specific purpose. To use them would counter a specific dark power item.”

  “This grows tedious,” Thord growled.

  Even the slender Elf Lord agreed.

  “It wouldn’t if you would stopped interrupting me. In short, we are given free will to govern our lives but every so often there is divine influence that propels certain ones of us to act on behalf of the gods of light, or the dark.”

  “Anienam speaks wisely,” Faeldrin said, coming to his rescue. “My people have witnessed many great and terrible events. Certain individuals spring forth in the hour of most duress and accept the mantle of leadership. I have seen it several times. The last was in the Deadlands when Anienam’s father attempted to stop the Silver Mage. Now it appears that you are the chosen ones, though this task is greater than any in the history of the world, save perhaps the Mage Wars. The short answer to your question Orlek is yes. This is your war.”

  Rebuked, Orlek glanced angrily at Ingrid. His eyes pleaded with her to take the rebels and flee back to Chadra. They’d have more of a chance in the Keep or the city proper where they had defenses to hide behind. Charging into the massed ranks of Goblins was sheer suicide. Much to his dismay, Ingrid remained passive. He could tell by the way her brows furrowed that she was lost deep in thought. So much had changed since those first few days when Argis helped inspire the people to rise up against the tyrannical Harnin One Eye. The war continued to devolve into madness. Orlek reluctantly came to the conclusion that the only reason he remained with the rebellion was for his love of Ingrid. He’d lay down his life for her and it increasingly looked as if that was what was going to happen.

  “Bringing us back to the initial point. What is our best course of action to break through enemy lines and get my people into the ruins?” Bahr asked.

  Thord stroked his thick beard. “Cannons. Nothing else we have is strong enough to convince the Goblins to break away.”

  “We have made contact with the combined army coming in from the northeast. King Aurec is most willing to form an alliance,” Faeldrin supplied.

  Bahr and Boen exchanged a curious look. Neither could believe the same upstart prince responsible for all of their woes was now a major player in the battle for Malweir. If Aurec hadn’t kidnapped Maleela in the late summer, none of this might be happening, or at least not on the level it was now. Now Maleela was gone, lost, or perhaps dead.

  “His army is large enough to give the Goblins concern and they have the advantage of cavalry,” the Elf continued. “If we could coordinate simultaneous attacks, you and your group should be able to sneak into the ruins without much issue.”

  “There are too many ‘shoulds’ and ‘coulds’ in that statement, Faeldrin. I need something more concrete before risking our lives for nothing. Not to mention that if Groge falls, so to do our chances of success. He is the only one capable of wielding the Hamr.”

  “I didn’t say it would be easy,” Faeldrin smiled.

  Bahr nodded understanding. “Anienam, just how long do we have left before the Dae’shan attempt to open the portal?”

  Anienam made a public show of going through a series of calculations before saying, “The midnight hour. Just over a day from now the Dae’shan will attempt to bring their masters into our world.”

  “Faeldrin, is that enough time to get some of us over to Aurec and formulate a strong plan?” Bahr asked.

  “I can have you there in a little over an hour provided our enemy hasn’t expanded their lines. What do you have in mind?”

  Bahr scratched a small cut on his cheek. “We need a diversion. The Wolfsreik and their allies are big enough to provide that for us. Once we get the Goblins to commit to shifting their main focus on the east, Thord can use his cannons and muskets to shred what remains of their lines on our front. Caught between two armies, the Goblins will have no idea which threat is the actual push. I take my group in under cover from the Dwarves….”

  “And Minotaurs!” Krek snorted.

  Bahr paused, trying not to grin. “Yes, and the Minotaurs, and cut through the ruins to find the Dae’shan. Wizard, will you be able to guide us to where we need to go?”

  The question, while valid, irritated Anienam. “Of course I can, fool. Eyes are a weakness. My senses have grown tenfold since we arrived. Get me into the ruins and I’ll guide you the rest of the way.”

  “Fair enough,” Bahr said.

  “What about us?” Ingrid asked. “Where do you want us?”

  “Ingrid…no,” Orlek pleaded.

  The sadness in her eyes was felt by all except Krek. “I’m sorry, Orlek, but this is our fight. These Goblins are in the middle of Delranan. Whether we fight or flee doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t believe it ever did. We’ve been given the opportunity to free our people once and for all. Bahr, where do you need my rebels?”

  “It would be an honor to have them fight alongside the Dwarves of Drimmen Delf,” Thord told her.

  Satisfied
, and startled, with the answer, Ingrid graciously accepted. “It would be an honor, King Thord.”

  “Nonsense, Woman. We Dwarves recognize strength when we see it. The honor is ours,” he replied.

  “It’s settled. How soon would you like to leave, Sea Wolf?” Faeldrin asked.

  Bahr answered, “Immediately. The sooner we get a solid plan in place the better. I don’t like the idea of giving our Goblin friends additional time to prepare. If we know the hour is at hand they surely must as well. The Dae’shan are crafty beyond measure and will have numerous surprises in store for us.”

  Nothol finished the last of his ale as the command meeting dissolved. Bahr and the Elf walked away, followed closely by Ingrid, Thord, and Krek. They were a powerful group, capable of altering the course of the future. Nothol felt fortunate to have been born in such a time. Legends were born from moments like this.

  Of course no one in his old drinking haunts would ever believe him. Nothol Coll was too much of an ordinary person to be involved in such matters. The world went on with or without him. He scoffed at their assumed ignorance. Nothol made a living off of being underestimated. He only hoped to take advantage of that fact in the coming fight. He thought about heading back to Dorl but his friend had already retired to his tent with Rekka in what promised to be their final night. Nothol reluctantly admitted he was jealous of Dorl but didn’t relish the prospect of being separated before being able to marry. The sell sword decided to go and find a refill. He didn’t plan on getting drunk but the need to dull his senses suddenly seemed like a very good idea.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The Plan

  The ride was mercifully quick. Bahr was tired of being in the saddle. Tired of roaming across the world and tired of not being able to lay his head on a pillow at night in his own home. Life didn’t care for his wants or needs, however, so he kept going. The Sea Wolf took a small measure of comfort in knowing that all of their troubles would soon be over. One way or the other his task ended tomorrow.