Fallen Gods

by James A. Moore

  The song that the rest of her people sang grew that much louder as she joined them. Not in perfect formation, but nearly as one, the Grakhul who were uninjured turned away from the wagons and supplies and ran toward the right side of the small supply train.

  B’Rath could see no difference in the terrain. It was too wet. But the Grakhul were not as limited. They dove and splashed into the river that moved to that side of the wagon, were caught in the hard current, and disappeared without surfacing.

  He knew he should have been horrified. He had seen women become something else, something that looked dangerous and very nearly predatory. Instead B’Rath was awestruck.

  It is not every day that one sees a miracle from the gods.

  “Your people…”

  “Yes, B’Rath?”

  “Your people are truly blessed by the gods?”

  Eliam looked at him for a long moment, her eyes studying the lines of his face, the features that made up the sum of his parts.

  “We are chosen. I do not know that the words mean the same thing.”

  His heart beat harder in his chest than it should have, as if he’d run a great distance. “I have never seen such a thing.”

  “That is just a part of our world. We can live in the waters. We can dwell on the land.”

  “I grew up near the sea. I was born in Adimone. A sea town. I have always loved the waters.”

  “And yet you lived far away from it?”

  “My chances for a good living were not near the sea. My family moved, and I went with them.”

  She nodded her head. “That is much like life for the gods. It is not what I want, but it what is best for my family.”

  “What do you want for a life?”

  “What I am doing right now. I want to see everything. I want to see the mountains, and the lakes, and the places that my eyes have never even noticed, that my ears have never heard about.”

  B’Rath smiled and nodded. He understood wanderlust. When he was younger he always wanted what was beyond the sight of his eyes.

  “Then we shall see all that we can while we get you and yours to the Mirrored Lake you have spoken of.”

  “You are a good man, B’Rath.”

  There were things he had done in his past, places he had been, and occurrences where he survived by wits and a dagger. Those things stopped him from being a good man. “No,” he spoke in a whisper. “Faithful. I am faithful.”

  They rode on in silence for almost three hours, and the currents of the water proved him right. Harlea’s Pass became clear to them. The vast arch of crystal-coated stone was impossible to miss as the waters pushed and rushed through the opening. There was nowhere else for the waters to go, save through the cavernous hole in the mountains.

  B’Rath stared at the waters warily and slowed the wagon.

  “Why do we stop, B’Rath?” There was a note of despair in Eliam’s voice.

  “The horses cannot make this passage, Eliam. They will drown. I cannot take the wagon through here without it capsizing. The supplies will be lost. More importantly, the others in the wagon would be thrown into the waters and if they are too sick to travel as the others have, they will suffer along with the horses and with me.”

  Eliam looked at him, her dark eyes wide and her mouth barely holding back a quiver that was both fetching and heartbreaking.

  “You look like you are ready to cry, Eliam. What troubles you?”

  The blade in her right hand drove deep into his turned chest and found his heart. B’Rath might have screamed if he’d been capable, but the pain was too large. Heat spilled across his ribs, and then his belly, in the cold weather, and he stared into Eliam’s eyes without comprehension.

  “I am sad, B’Rath, because the gods say you have served your purpose and should be freed of your pain. Your world is ending, and they would not want you to suffer.”

  The words made sense, he supposed, but he would have argued them if he could.

  Instead he simply stared into her eyes until he saw nothing.

  The will of the gods is often beyond mortal comprehension.

  The weakened and elderly among the Grakhul changed, though it seemed the transformation was painful. They slipped free of the wagon and followed the powerful currents.

  Within minutes of the pale women departing, the wagon and the horses and the corpse of B’Rath were swept sideways and then hauled along by the deceptively powerful current.

  Niall Leraby

  He awoke to laughter. Which, considering how much every part of his body ached, Niall found rather annoying.

  It took a few seconds to work up the nerve to open his eyes, but he was rewarded with a glare of sunlight that was enough to blind him for a moment.

  Stanna leaned in to squint at him and was kind enough to block the sun in the process. “He’s awake.”

  Niall tried to think of useful words to say and failed miserably. He tried to make a noise and managed only a low groan. A moment later Temmi was looking at him and shaking her head. He couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or merely disagreeing about his state of being.

  She cleared up the confusion by speaking. “You look a mess, Niall. I’m glad you’re alive.”

  He peeled his lips away from too dry teeth and gums. “Water?” It was more a squeak than a spoken word, but Temmi nodded her head just the same and handed him a full skin. “Don’t drink too fast.” He heeded her warning. Still, the water was sweet as it passed his lips, and felt good enough to make him groan in pleasure.

  “What happened?” His voice now sounded too coarse, too deep, but still he could speak and that was a nice thing after the first attempt.

  “In general, we were attacked.” Stanna stated the obvious without hesitation. “In specific, you got run down by scavengers.”

  “Scavengers?”

  She nodded. “Aye. They don’t show up too often, but now and then they come around. They’re mercenaries who couldn’t find work. Lot of open territory out here and they’ll do their best to catch people off guard. They caught us easy enough. I thought there were too many of us for them to try anything.”

  Temmi sniggered. “There you go, thinking again. Like you’ve any skill for it.”

  Stanna affectionately cuffed the younger woman on the side of her head and sent her staggering. Temmi was thinner than when they first met, her face all hard angles now, but at least she could smile. That was a lovely thing. The death of her family had left her sullen and, if Niall was being honest, a little scary to be around. Now she was more herself again, though very obviously changed by the experiences she’d endured.

  Stanna looked his way. “The scavengers are looking for weak prey. They are not very wise. Slavers are not weak.”

  “Stanna, even if slavers were weak, only a fool would try to fight you,” Niall pointed out.

  She actually smiled. “You are wiser than you look.” He had only to study her arms to know she’d crush him in a fight. Having watched her sever the head of a He-Kisshi, he had little reason to doubt her combat skills.

  “Don’t tell him that. He’ll get ideas.” Tully spoke, her expression sour. “The scavengers tried to take you. Instead Stanna handled the matter.” She shrugged. “Well, her and about ten of her men.”

  Stanna shrugged. “From now on we travel with warnings.”

  “What sort of warnings?”

  Tully spoke before the other woman could. “The scavengers’ heads have been mounted to posts. They’ll be traveling along with us as a reminder to anyone who forgets what capable warriors look like.”

  Niall took the time to sit up and look around. Several heads had already been impaled and stood at attention, tied to the wagons around them.

  “All the gods.”

  Temmi shook her head and spit. “Don’t call on them. You don’t want to get their attention.”

  “Or that of the He-Kisshi.” Lexx’s voice was a harsh bark, but he smiled as he spoke. “Best not to offend the Undying.”


  Tully shrugged, but her eyes went to the other slaver and she forced her face to stay neutral. Niall knew her well enough to know that she did not like or trust the man.

  Stanna shrugged. “If they come, we’ll kill them. I am tired of running.”

  “We’re not running. We’re headed for Giddenland.” Niall ran his fingers over his face and felt sore spots. Touching his nose made him wince and his eyes water.

  “You broke that right and proper,” Stanna smiled. “Fixed it while you were out. Try not to touch it too much or you’ll ruin that pretty face.”

  Tully snorted. “I think it adds something. He was too pretty before.”

  Stanna nodded. “Makes him look older.”

  Temmi looked around and squinted at the feel of air brushing along her face. “We should move on soon. The rains are coming and I’ve had enough rain to last me a lifetime.”

  Stanna smiled at the other woman. “Aye. Now that this one is done napping and we’ve taken care of the warnings.”

  She leaned back and stretched her body and Niall watched, unsettled by how tall she was and delighted by the play of her form under her clothes. He made certain to look away quickly, lest he offend.

  “Can you ride, Niall? Or do you prefer a wagon?”

  “I’ll ride.” He thought his body would prefer the wagon. He also suspected the slavers would take it as a sign of weakness that he could ill afford to show them after being knocked senseless by his own stick.

  Stanna leaned down and grabbed his walking staff. “Yours, I think.”

  “Yes. Thanks.” Stanna nodded as she moved toward her horse. Tully watched him as he looked after the slaver. Temmi watched the slaver too.

  Lexx moved past them both, his eyes looking to no one.

  He was an odd one. Niall didn’t much like him.

  He suspected the feeling was mutual.

  Brogan McTyre

  “Here they come.” Harper spoke softly, his eyes watching the dark side of the mountains. “Hold. Hold… Loose your arrows.”

  He’d deny it, but Harper was good at taking command. There was no one Brogan trusted more along those lines except, possibly, himself.

  The men rose and aimed and shot, dropping down a moment later. Behind them ten more men stood, and aimed, and let loose.

  There were not enough of them to make a proper assault. There were barely enough for a proper defense, but they could manage this, at least, while the fools below tried to reach them.

  Arrows sailed down the mountainside. Some hit stone and skittered in different directions, but others hit flesh. Slavers, and they were slavers, wailed and fell back, or made no noise at all as their lives ended.

  Brogan watched on, his axe beside him, his bow at the ready. The snow had started ten minutes earlier, a thick, wet barrage of icy flakes, and he guessed it would be coming for a while. That worked to the benefit of him and his kinsmen but the slavers had vast numbers and he wanted them to give up before it got worse.

  He also wanted his family back. The odds were roughly the same, so he stood, took aim, and let loose an arrow that sailed true and buried itself deep in the heart of an enemy.

  It was his turn to squat again, and to find another arrow. He only had seven of the damned things. He almost never needed them. Mostly when he fought it was up close and personal.

  In the time it took him to notch an arrow, draw and let loose, Harper had struck four men dead. There were none of them he could see that kept up with his friend. Had there been time he would have simply watched and tried to understand how the man could move that quickly. Instead he shot, missed and crouched.

  Below them the slavers came on, most of them wearing hard leather instead of metal armor, and all of them looking as scared as he felt. Slavers did not normally look afraid. They traded in fear as easily as they traded in bodies, but anyone in their position would have been just as worried. They could not take the time to use arrows of their own as they scrambled to find a way up the mountainside with weapons and shields that only worked in close quarters.

  Brogan let loose and saw the arrow hammer into the side of a man’s head. The thing punched through his ear and stuck in the wound. The poor bastard was alive. He reached, slipped on the icy surface under his feet and screamed as he bounced back down the mountain.

  Still they came closer. Still they came. The Mentath had been the same way; the bastards used numbers to make up for their weaknesses, if they had any. He couldn’t seem to recall any of them lacking the skills needed to kill.

  In those days Brogan had been ordered to serve his king. Now the same man wanted him captured and executed.

  Aim, breathe, release. The arrow caught one of the men in his armpit. He screamed a great deal. Brogan was still reaching for another arrow when Harper’s next round took the man in his throat and stopped the infernal noise.

  “Fuck! They’ve got dogs!” Bump’s voice cracked as he yelled. He shook his head, spat and threw down his bow in a fit.

  Sure enough, the sound of dogs scrabbling through the darkness became clear as the animals came closer. The damned things growled and panted and whined and made their way higher.

  Harper took two of them out in short order. One was a clean kill and the other was wounded and screamed its agonies into the cold air.

  The third of the animals made it to the top and charged Sallos Redcliff without hesitation. Sallos dropped his bow and put up his left arm as the hound tried for his throat. The arm shook and Sallos screamed as the beast’s teeth sank deep into his flesh and started chewing. The whole of the dog shook and shuddered as it tried to pull Sallos to the ground. “Get offa me you bastard! Get off!” Brogan moved, grabbing the animal by the scruff of its neck and hauling for all he was worth.

  Sallos screamed again and used his good arm to cuff the brute on the side of its face, hammering one of the animal’s eyes.

  It yowlped, and let go its grip, and wriggled, and tried its very best to bite Brogan as he spun with his whole body and threw the damned thing through the air and over the ledge.

  “Move, you damn fools! Out of the way!”

  Brogan barely managed to dodge as Bump and his horse charged at the edge of the mountain. His heart hammered hard and his eyes flew wide. The man had lost his mind.

  Yet instead of going over the crest himself, Bump dropped from the horse and rolled across the rocks, scrabbling desperately with his gloved hands.

  The horse, surely panicked, leapt into the air and fell down the other slope of the mountain, with a loud whinny.

  There were several screams from below and Brogan dared a glimpse. The horse rolled and flopped and smashed into half a dozen of the slavers who, to their credit, did their best to get over the sudden appearance of a large horse plummeting into their midst.

  Harper stepped closer to the edge and took full advantage of the chaos, pulling his bow taut and releasing in a flurry.

  From somewhere down below came a bellow to retreat. No one needed to call out twice. Easily half the slavers were already running, tumbling down the steep side of the mountain.

  Bump stood up, slapping at the dirt on his thighs, laughing out loud and grinning like a fool.

  “You damn near killed me!” Mosely, Brogan’s cousin, was not at all amused.

  Bump shook his head. “Missed you by half a foot at least.”

  “And you’ve as good as killed your horse, you damn fool!”

  “Not my horse.” Bump looked at him very seriously. “That particular animal belonged to Davers. Half blind and slow of foot. I was doing it a mercy, really.”

  Davers looked his way, shocked, and Bump started laughing all over again.

  Brogan cleared his throat. “It’s all well, lads. Not the part about the horse, but we’ll make do. Bump will take Davers on his saddle. No one has to walk.” They were about to part company, and if he were honest the horse he rode might have made a good replacement, but he felt he’d need the animal even if he wasn’t likely to ride it to his
final destination.

  Harper sighed and looked down the side of the mountain, where the slavers were still descending, despite barked orders from at least one person down below.

  “That was a lot of arrows.”

  “You could always climb down there to get them.”

  “No, my friend, I think I’ll have to survive without. I don’t feel like being captured and tortured today.” He smiled and looked at Brogan with a quick sideways glance. “Or any day, actually.”

  Mosely was still glowering at Bump. The shorter man, surely half the weight of Brogan’s cousin, seemed little impressed by the stormy expression.

  “Watch over them, Harper.”

  “Best I can.” His face was unreadable as he looked at Brogan. “Try not to be gone too long, eh? They’re in this for you, not for me.”

  “Not any more. They’re in this to stay alive now, because of me.”

  “Don’t be an ass. They could hide a lot easier without chasing across half the kingdoms to find you. They could lie about being there and most would have no reason to doubt them. It’s me and you, we’re the ones everyone saw and everyone knows. And maybe Mosely and Laram, but only because they came home with us, didn’t they?”

  Brogan looked at his bow and picked it up. The axe and the sword found their ways back to where they belonged on his person.

  “Look out for them just the same, Harper. And for yourself.” He shook his head. “I’ll do all I can to be swift about this nonsense.”

  “Not nonsense. Be swift, yes, but don’t doubt. This is the only chance we have, brother.”

  Brogan nodded and looked north toward the home he had left behind. The others had to go south, had to move away from the armies of Mentath and Stennis Brae alike. He had to go in the opposite direction.

  “We meet again in Torema?”

  Brogan nodded. “As soon as I can get there.”

  “And if Torema is unsafe?”

  Brogan shrugged. “Head for Kaer-ru. We’ll need a ship before it’s all over with in any event.”

  “I hate ships. I hate the ocean.”

  “Too big. I understand.” Brogan nodded. “Go anyway. We’ll still need a ship.”