The Punishment Of The Gods (Omnibus 1-5)

by Jake Yaniak

  'At that rate, we may as well wait for the goblins here,' Daryas added.

  'I'm sure it won't come to that,' Hassan said. 'Our dear fathers are so eager to see their favorite in battle that they will see to it that we leave on schedule. I wouldn't be surprised to see them come here personally to smack Cheft Faros' horse on its rear-end. How much gold have the Noras spent upon this one commander's education?'

  'Probably more than most Noras will see in their lifetimes,' Daryas replied.

  'And would it not be a shame if the man's whole life was passed without ever coming to the rescue of our blessed woods?' Hassan laughed. 'I wouldn't put it past our dear parents to conjure up the goblins themselves just so as to comfort themselves for their empty purses.'

  'You can say what you will of your own father,' Daryas said angrily, 'But Cheft Biron, whether he did well in sponsoring Cheft Faros' training or not, has only the peace and security of Noras in his mind.'

  'I'm sure he does,' Hassan said, seeming almost sad, 'I believe he does. But my own dear father has said in no uncertain terms that if a war does not come to Noras within the decade he might be forced to march down to Dadron and demand a return from the schoolmen.'

  'I can never tell whether you are telling the truth, my friend,' Daryas laughed. 'To hear you talk, one would think the noble Cheft Ponteris were naught but a goblin himself.'

  'One would think that, wouldn't they,' Hassan said, trying to sound more sarcastic than he truly felt.

  With great pomp and circumstance, Tilthan, the High Priest, commanded an altar to be built on the western shore of the Gavl. He spoke over the solders, sprinkling oil and perfume upon them as he walked from one end of the line to the next. 'In Pelas name,' he said, 'be brave, be strong, be true, whether in life or in death. The Noras send with you their prayers and their blessings. Return to us,' he seemed to plead, 'and we will reward you as well as we may. But if you fall for our blessed woods, then will Lord Pelas furnish for you a place of honor in the world beyond the Frozen Sea where nothing sorrowful dwells.'

  The people seemed encouraged by the cleric's words. After he finished, a little fawn was led to the altar and sacrificed according to their customs. The body was burned and the priestesses fanned the smoke toward the hill of Dadron; toward the throne of Pelas. The blood of the victim was sprinkled on the armor of Cheft Faros and he ate, with Tilthan, the meat of the sacrifice.

  When he had finished, the captains shouted and the horns blared. The Galvahirne were marching to war.

  For six days the Galva army marched south along the western shore of the Galva Lake. Their going was slower than Cheft Faros had anticipated, mainly due to the amount of attention such a force drew from the towns and villages that were clustered along the banks of the lake. Nearly every child in the region it seemed was gathered along the edges of the road to watch the marvel pass through their lands.

  Cheft Faros led the army beyond the populous lands where the sons of Galvahir are beloved to the wilder places where the road narrows and the people are distrustful. The folk here shut their doors and hid away in their log houses as the army passed, fearing they came for tribute to the Noras Council. They had to travel more carefully and therefore more slowly to navigate the more difficult road along the southwest lakeshore.

  Along the northern shore of the lake the people came out to sing and praise the warriors, for they have much to lose from the goblins and much to gain from the preservation of the Noras Council. But around the southwestern shores of the lake the people are poor and hungry. As far as they are concerned, the only reason the Galva Army ever marches is for the collecting of taxes. These sorry folk have little to lose from the goblins, and nothing to gain from the aloof Council of Noras. They were wise enough, however, to show respect and to offer a word or two of gratitude to the passing soldiers.

  In the north, where the people are wealthy and filled it is easier to love those who guard the storehouse. But when that storehouse is filled to excess with bread pulled from the your own dirt-stained hands, it becomes more difficult for you to love those who guard it under lock and key for lazier mouths to consume. In the eyes of the peasants, the Galva Army serves the Galva Council, who in its turn renders its allegiance to the Noras Council, not the Noras people. They certainly did not serve the poor.

  As they passed through this land Hassan seemed to take pity on the people, though his words were dark and Daryas could not fully understand his meaning. He said, 'What a sorry lot! Though they can hardly be blamed for it. One doesn't have control over their birth do they?'

  'Certainly not,' Daryas agreed. 'That is one thing at least for which no man ought to be blamed.'

  'True enough. That is assuming, of course, that they are not all soul fools,' Hassan said with a tiny grin. Daryas paused and said nothing. Perceiving his friend's confusion, Hassan laughed and said, 'Then you have not yet learned about 'soul fools'?'

  Daryas looked at his companion in amazement. 'Soul fools?' he repeated in disbelief. Hassan only laughed all the more.

  'You are going to explain yourself, aren't you?' Daryas demanded, looking slightly insulted.

  'In time, my friend, in time,' Hassan said.

  Just then the orders were given that the army was to stop for the night. They had come to a level area and Cheft Faros ordered a camp to be made. He said that it would be 'better to camp now where it is flat, than to press on like fools and be forced to have these three-thousand men sleep on roots and stones.'

  Fifteen days after their departure, Cheft Faros combined his army with the warriors of the towns and villages of South Lake so that they now numbered more than five thousand. The men of South Lake were more hospitable to the Galvahirne than the men of the western lakeshore.

  The bonds between Galva city and the villages of South Lake are strong. For they are the keepers of the Gavl dam and they are the last major settlement in the Noras Highlands before the slope grows too steep for human dwellings. Not forgetting that they also profit nicely from the furs and lumber that are sent down the lake from the northern forest.

  The army settled in their tents in a clearing just southwest of the dam. From where they camped they could hear the roar of the Gavl waterfall, where the excess water from the lake drains into the lowlands and pushes its way through the land on its way to meet the Falsi River in the south.

  The following morning Daryas finished the last of his mother's dried meat and then sat down next to a small fire.

  'You are never grateful, I've noticed,' Hassan said after some time had passed. Daryas just looked at him with a puzzled expression on his face. 'You slept late, as usual. And now you are sitting in front of a warm fire that you did not build, eating the last morsels of meat and bread from your mother.'

  'Would you like me to put the fire out and make another one?' Daryas said somewhat agitated.

  'Nothing of the sort, a "thank you Sion" will suffice.'

  'But I thought that you made the fire to be kind.'

  'Of course I did! Daryas! That is precisely what I am saying.'

  'That you made the fire out of kindness?'

  'Indeed.'

  'Kindness, and nothing else?'

  'Right.'

  'And you are certain that there is nothing else?'

  'Why are you so irritating today? Do you miss your mother?'

  'It's only been two weeks, Sion. But I would not be surprised if even you feel starved for your mother's company ere we make our return from the mountain.'

  'I'm sure you're right, Daryas, but for now, and for the foreseeable future I am not planning to shed any tears.'

  The two companions sat in silence for a few minutes. The sun was at its highest and all around them tiny drops of water fell from the thawing branches.

  'Perhaps the Winter is giving way to Spring early this year,' Hassan said after a while. 'It has to happen sometime, right? So why oughtn't it happen the year that we have to march into the mountains to fight ape-men?'

  'There
will be no early Spring, Sion. You know that as well as I. There never has been and there never will be. Not until we are long gone and our bad fortune with us.'

  'You really are far more gloomy than you should be.'

  'Why do you say that?'

  'Well, for one thing, you come from the most respectable family in all of Noras. There is not a soul that would not trade everything they own to have your blood. I've heard, and these are only rumors of course, that Cheft Grendas once offered your father his entire estate as a dowry, if your dear older brother would marry his daughter. He was willing to give his great wealth in gold and silver, as well as his best hunting lands and houses just to be able to say that he was kin to Cheft Biron!'

  Daryas looked doubtful.

  'But then again,' Hassan continued, 'that may have just been his way of trying to rid himself of his spoiled little girl.' Daryas laughed. 'Have you ever met her, Daryas?' Hassan's tone changed suddenly. Daryas shook his head. 'Now that is cause for gloom, comrade, for there is nothing fairer to look upon in this cursed forest than that lovely gem. And certainly, to be deprived of her sight is a terrible burden for any man to bear. I know that myself. The truth is, my lot is even worse than yours. You see, you've never seen her, so all you have is that emptiness that accompanies the ignorance of bliss. But me, I've climbed the mountain and greeted the sun. Everything else feels cold and dark now.'

  'You seem positively smitten, my callous friend, how did that happen?' Daryas said with renewed interest. It was not like Hassan to speak seriously about anything.

  'I must confess, though it brings me pain in the admission, that I am in fact a mortal man and despite all those nasty things you and your friends whisper about me in the dark, I am capable of love and affection.'

  'This changes everything, Sion,' Daryas laughed.

  'Ah, that is what I want to see from you. But you will not be laughing when I tell you the rest of my story.'

  'Story? What story?'

  'My love story… Oh, I hadn't yet begun telling it!' Hassan put his hand to his forehead and laughed. He looked at Daryas and began to speak. But nothing came from his lips. His face sunk and he looked away. The fire that had, for a moment, burned in his eyes died away and he looked around the camp now with a cold, blank expression. The two men sat like this for a few minutes, just watching the other warriors bustle about the camp; a man struggling with a tent here, a man cooking a fish in a pan there, and everywhere, young men were keeping themselves busy with errands, important and petty alike.

  'Thank you for the fire, Sion,' Daryas said after some time.

  'Take no thought of it,' Hassan responded. 'I just did it to be kind, that's all. You don't have to thank me.'

  Cheft Faros spent much of the day organizing the troops and planning for the next stage of the campaign. He set three captains over his army: Cheft Rahm Cossirne, a famous warrior from the northernmost region of Noras, and Cheft Lonos and Cheft Vilav, both of Galva-la.

  There was considerable excitement in the camp that evening when the news was spread abroad that Cheft Rahm, Noras' most experienced warrior, was marching with the Galva army.

  Cheft Rahm was well over sixty years old. His pure white hair was hung upon his shoulders in neat braids. His beard, which hung down almost to his waist, was also braided and neatly managed. His face was very wrinkled and he bore a terrible scar across his forehead, but his eyes were wild and young, with no hint of weariness.

  At his side at all times stood his nephews Ander and Silos bearing thick wooden shields and spears. 'To look upon these mighty Cossirne in battle is to look upon the face of Death,' Faros said as he announced them to his army amidst a thunderous applause.

  After three days of preparation and council, the army left South Lake. Their going went well and by the eighteenth day of Frohest they passed through the gates of Belnan, the Bridge City. Here they rested for two days and replenished their supplies.

  Cheft Faros received reports from many scouts in those days. Most of these reports were encouraging, so by the time their departure came the army was in high spirits. It was said that there were no more than two-thousand goblins, most of whom were old, hungry and weary. 'The Galvahirne will have very little trouble with them, I imagine,' one of the scouts assured the Cheftan. There was now talk throughout the camp that they may be home by the summer sacrifices. These scouts were then sent up the river toward Galva to repeat their report for the Council.

  But old Cheft Rahm shook his head and corrected them, 'It is better to hope for less in war. I'd rather despair of hope and by preparation win the victory, than trust too much in arms and numbers and come to an ill-end.'

  In Belnan they were able to quickly cross over to the southern bank of the Falsi River and follow an old road west along the shore. For the first five days their going was without much difficulty, for there are many towns and villages built along the shore of the mighty river. Cheft Faros was in high spirits as they passed through this region.

  These lands were known simply as the Riverlands. Some of those towns were quite prosperous during Dadron's Golden Age. Even now they still thrive on the abundance of lumber and skins that make their way south from the forest, though they now live with considerably less opulence. It is no surprise that the Cheftan would be encouraged here. For the Riverlands are good and quiet lands where the Galva Army are twice beloved. The people of this region have much to lose from goblins and their proximity to the Great Mountain makes them vulnerable. Every evening the sun passes over the peak of Mount Coronis and casts a dark shadow over their lands. A shadow under which they imagine is hiding goblin marauders of every sort.

  As they traveled west the road became more difficult. Very few travelers use the path to the mountain and so it was overgrown in many places. Cheft Faros had to stop the march, sometimes for several hours, and send strong men ahead with axes and saws to clear a path for their beasts. There were not many of these - no more than two-dozen horses, and probably no more than thirty or forty mules and donkeys laden with food and equipment. There were also six small carriages filled with arms and tools each drawn by two strong horses.

  Beyond this they came to a place where the land seems to suddenly climb up into the sky. The place is called the 'Stairs of Coronis' because from the bottom of the rise it gives the traveler the illusion of a straight and steady path to the peak of Mount Coronis itself.

  Here their animals had the most difficulty. So much so that they sent several of the more feeble creatures back down the hill and divided their burdens among the warriors. Their progress was also impeded by a sudden turn in the weather.

  Frohest is called a deceiver among the Noras because the month so often begins with warm weather, teasing men with the idea of an early Spring and then turning suddenly and burying them beneath a deep snowfall and bitter cold.

  Daryas complained as he struggled along, 'It seems that it will be another one of those years of treachery.' Hassan walked beside him, but with considerable more ease.

  'Treachery?' the son of Ponteris laughed. 'Do you have a deal with the Winter, my friend, that he can betray you?'

  'You know my meaning,' Daryas snapped back. He seemed to be having a much harder time than his comrade. Thus far Hassan seemed unaffected by the rigors of the march and the steep and tangled path they ascended. But Daryas looked very exhausted and it took no small amount of cajoling to draw him from his bedroll each morning. He complained of soreness and twisted ankles, while Hassan complained of nothing. Though he knew it not, Daryas carried a much heavier burden than his friend. The Noras, and the Galvahirne even more so, take great pride in their endurance.

  Their path was enough to challenge even the greatest of these sturdy men, however; a fact that soon began to take its toll on their progress as well as their bodies. The wind picked up, and snow had begun to fall, making the path slippery and dangerous. 'Lord Coronis knows no spring,' Daryas grumbled.

  An Indistinct Warning

  On the last d
ay of Frohest, the army halted suddenly at midday. A strange man was seen approaching the army from the west. He walked right up to the vanguard without a hint of fear and demanded, 'Something hot to eat, for I am weary of dried venison.'

  His bravado, more than anything else, brought him past the guards, through the ranks of the Galva warriors, and right to the feet of Cheft Faros.

  'I have come from the mountains, my lord,' he said boldly when he had bowed low to the ground before the Cheftan. 'And I bring news and council.'

  'Council from whom?' Faros asked suspiciously.

  'From Cheft Biron,' he replied.

  'Cheft Biron? You must be mad. He is at his estate in Peiraso, but you have come from the west; from the mountains.'

  'My lord judges rightly,' the man said with a bow, 'But I come from Cheft Biron all the same. I am Revere, the Galva Cheftan hired me to scout out the goblins of Coronis and it is concerning these that I have come with news. If I am not mistaken, it is to these creatures that you are marching even as we speak.'

  Revere was a thin man, but he did not look frail; his face was clean-shaven and he had short-cropped brown hair. His gray eyes seemed to shine out from under his dark brown eyebrows. He wore a pair of leather trousers and a tunic made of animal skins over which he wore a thick fur cape. On his head he wore a thin fur cap with several small feathers sewn onto the side in a sort of pattern. His only weapons were a dagger with an ivory hilt and a very small hatchet, both of which were hidden beneath his cape.

  Cheft Faros was more than a little annoyed by this man. He refused to answer any questions about himself; he simply called himself 'Revere'. 'Hardly a proper name,' Faros later complained.

  'My Lord,' Revere spoke with a sense of urgency, 'The goblins are camped on a high plain, some forty leagues west of here. There were only about a thousand of them by my count. Truly nothing that your force could not handle.'

  'And their defenses?' Faros asked.

  'I saw none sir," the man continued. 'I saw not so much as a single blade nor heard so much as the clink of chain-armor the whole while that I was watching them.'