The Madness of Gods and Kings

by Christian Warren Freed

  “Our host returns!” Boen called raucously between bites of fowl and a rather loud, uncouth burp that echoed throughout the domed hall. Juice dribbled down into his beard. Older than most of them, the Gaimosian, named Vengeance Knights by the majority of the world due to their curse of never having a homeland, was far too set in his ways to bother or worry about changing now.

  Artiss forgave him his trespass and offered a curt bow. “Master Boen, I see you are enjoying what my cooks have prepared.”

  “Indeed. No finer a feast have I had since joining this damned fool crusade!” he said as he laughed and drained his mug. “Almost makes me forget what’s to come. Almost.”

  “I’m afraid there is only so much I can do to alleviate your apprehensions of the future,” Artiss replied smoothly, choosing to ignore the lack of manners. “How did everyone sleep?”

  Bahr, once known across the northern part of the world as the Sea Wolf, ran a hand through his now silvered hair. Heavy bags darkened his face beneath his eyes, accompanying the fresh set of wrinkles he’d accumulated since the quest began. “Sleep has not been our ally in a long time, Artiss.”

  “Understandably so. It’s not everyone’s place in life to be asked to rescue the world from certain doom.”

  Bahr rubbed his chin and gave the Dae’shan a rueful glance. “You have a way with words.”

  “An unfortunate side effect of living in near seclusion for so long. I find that I’ve lost the subtle art of conversation. Perhaps, once this ordeal is finished, I’ll be able to return to a normal life and open the doors of Trennaron to those wise enough to care for the knowledge.” Sadness echoed in his words. The awful truth he wanted to conceal casually bled through his demeanor.

  Bahr paused, making a mental note of Artiss’s unspoken regrets before replying, “No worries, Artiss. We are in your debt for your hospitality.” He left a natural pause at the end of the statement.

  Artiss picked up on it immediately. “But you are more than ready to be about your business?”

  “I’m afraid so,” the wizard, Anienam Keiss added. Responsible for the majority of those assembled being included in the quest and the sole descendant of the order of Mages, his father had bestowed the knowledge of the dark gods’ return on him at a young age. He was forced to live more than a hundred years with the burden of leading a handful of people into the worst possible situation conceivable. Their lives rested in his hands and he wasn’t wholly convinced he was going to be able to keep them all alive. As it stood, one had been captured and another murdered on the journey to Trennaron. How many more would fall before they reached the end? “You of all people recognize the need for haste. We must get the Blud Hamr to Arlevon Gale before time expires on us.”

  “Long have I awaited this moment, Anienam Keiss. It has been so long I was beginning to think it would never come. I cannot say the way ahead will be easy, but whatever trials you undergo will be dwarfed by the rewards of a mission successfully accomplished.” The Dae’shan glided across the bronze, marble floor to where the group sat. “You have all already proven your worth. Very few in all of my years could have done what you have, and in the face of such adversity. I congratulate you all and wish you the best of luck on the final stage of your quest. The fate of all Malweir rests in your hands.”

  The Dae’shan struggled to think of what else he could say to alleviate the harshness of their final stage. Many of them would not make it out alive. It was a sad truth he’d known since the breaking of the Dae’shan. Victory demanded prices higher than many of those assembled knew they were going to have to pay. Righteousness was demanding and cruel. He snorted mildly. No wonder so many found it easier to turn to darkness and let their emotions control their deeds. How many good souls have been corrupted simply because they lacked the conviction to preserve in difficult situations?

  Bahr held out his hands. “Little else needs to be said, Artiss. None of us, save the wizard here, have any inkling of what comes next but that hasn’t stopped us from pushing forward. I think it’s safe to assume that we are all dedicated to seeing this matter through to the end, whatever that may be. All I can personally ask is for you not to coat what we’re about to face. We’re all proven warriors, for the most part, and have been through too many exploits for our own good. I’d personally like to retire from this life.”

  His eyes darkened as they remembered the flames from his burning estate and those from his beloved ship, the Dragon’s Bane. Harnin One Eye stole them both in the span of a single night. All he’d accumulated in nearly six decades of life wiped out at the whim of a man bitter with personal hatreds for a perceived wrong even he didn’t understand. Bahr slowly began to regret the decision of placing his brother on the throne. Perhaps he should have taken the crown instead of wandering off to make his name in the wider world.

  Then again, if he had, where would he be right now? Delranan was locked in a bitter civil war while his brother, the rightful king, busily destroyed neighboring Rogscroft. People in both kingdoms died by the scores with nothing to show for it. The entire north seemed to be collapsing in on itself while the rest of the world watched with baited breath, secretly hoping the conflagration wouldn’t spread to yet more kingdoms while they declined requests for aid. Bahr quickly began to lose faith in humanity.

  Artiss visibly relaxed. “Thank you for that, Bahr. I’ve imagined this conversation a thousand times if once. Each time it plays out differently in my mind, for I had no way of knowing the caliber of the individuals gathered to defend Malweir. You have far surpassed any expectations I once held. You are all truly champions of what the gods of light represent.”

  Only Rekka Jel remained untouched by Artiss’s speech. Outcast from her native village of Teng for the supposed reason behind her former suitor’s death, she struggled to find her new place in life. Always there had been the promise of returning home once her time served at Trennaron was completed. That way was now closed to her. Much had changed over winter’s course. She’d found love in the sell sword Dorl Theed, who now sat beside her, oblivious to her internal deliberations. Unwanted complications seemed to plague her, making it exceedingly difficult to concentrate on her true purpose: find Bahr, escort him to Trennaron to retrieve the Blud Hamr, the only weapon capable of stopping the dark gods, and get him back to Arlevon Gale in time. Nothing else mattered. Life and death were relative terms she forced aside for the greater good of all life on Malweir.

  Her eyes casually shifted over to Dorl and her heart warmed. Just being in his presence had a calming effect on the warrior woman. Years of servitude to Artiss Gran robbed her of the emotional stability normal people had. She became more of a machine, focused on protecting Malweir rather than developing as a person. The self neglect threatened to prove detrimental to the others, unless she managed to fully understand what it meant to be human again.

  Artiss slowly panned his gaze across the motley assortment of characters in the dining hall. A Dwarf from Drimmen Delf, Giant from long forgotten Venheim, a Gaimosian, a boy who had yet to realize his full potential, and a handful of false heroes from Delranan. Never in his dreams could he have imagined bringing them all together with common purpose. Despite his musings he knew there were no finer candidates for the appointed task.

  “I will leave you to your meal. My instincts tell me it will be your last peaceful one in a long time,” Artiss announced quietly. “Rekka, if you would escort them into the main courtyard when you are ready to proceed?”

  “Yes, Master,” Rekka replied curtly and watched with flint-hard eyes as the Dae’shan floated out of the hall.

  Boen burped again. “Sure does like to make a show of things, doesn’t he?”

  Ironfoot the Dwarf wiped his mouth on the back of a sleeve. “People like that are well beyond my reckoning. Life is simpler without mystic ranting. Give me an axe and point me at the enemy.”

  Boen nodded his agreement. He and the Dwarf were kindred spirits. Gaimosians had roamed Malweir for centuries afte
r the destruction of their kingdom. Deemed too powerful, a concentrated effort by a host of kingdoms tried to wipe their race from existence. It failed, despite Gaimos being destroyed, and the survivors spread across Malweir. They claimed the title of Vengeance Knights and slipped through the cracks as mercenaries. He’d lived a warrior’s life, never stopping to settle down and have a family. His life was one of perpetual frustration of his own choosing. Boen was far from complicated. He went where the work was and lived with no regrets. Joining the quest to save Malweir from the dark gods had been on a whim but, after careful retrospect, he couldn’t think of any place else he’d rather be.

  The Dwarf captain’s predicament came about through vastly different means. He was responsible for capturing Bahr and the others in the foothills outside of Drimmen Delf. Once Anienam Keiss made himself known to King Thord, Ironfoot was placed as an escort. Together they assaulted the enemy dark Dwarf lines and ended the siege of Drimmen Delf. Thord promised Ironfoot in tribute to Bahr’s contributions in the battle of Bode Hill. He’d proven an invaluable asset to the overall mission thus far. Next to Bahr, he had the most combat experience in the group.

  Anienam ignored their conversation and turned to Bahr. Their relationship was fragile at best and he needed to smooth over the creases before they returned to Delranan. Otherwise…. “Bahr, might I have a word with you in private?”

  Suddenly wary, the Sea Wolf debated staying with the others. He had no secrets, at least not since it was discovered that Maleela was his niece and he was the true heir to Delranan’s throne. That great weight slipped from around his neck, leaving him more content than he’d been in a very long time. He exhaled a sharp breath before nodding once.

  They walked into the near cavernous hallway out of earshot and Bahr folded his arms across his chest. His dark green shirt crinkled under the pressure. His eyes were tired but strong. They searched the wizard’s face for any clues as to what this impromptu meeting was about.

  Anienam didn’t wait. “You and I don’t care for one another. I recognize this and accept it for what it is. We are both so set in our ways nothing will change. That being said I want to ensure the air between us is clear before we head back to Delranan. Too much is at stake for petty differences to get in the way.”

  “I agree, but don’t see why you bring this up now,” Bahr countered. They already expressed their grievances en route to Trennaron. Bahr, grieving the loss of his niece, was ready to cut his losses and run. His animosity shifted onto Anienam for reasons even he wasn’t sure of. Yet the wizard’s words were wise. The time for disagreements was past. The war was coming, barreling at them at full speed while the world burned around them. Anienam was the last in the distinguished line of Mages. Bahr needed his magic in order to get home and survive the long darkness.

  Anienam rubbed his palms together. “In order to fully understand you must realize what is about to happen.”

  “I already know. We fail and the world is destroyed.”

  Anienam shook his head. “It goes far beyond that, Bahr. The dark gods are the very definition of evil. They will stop at nothing to get revenge on the ones responsible for imprisoning them so long ago. Bahr, every race played a part in that banishment. Should the Dae’shan succeed in opening the nexus between dimensions, all life on Malweir will wither and die under the torments of the dark gods. No one will be safe. Each and every life will suffer endlessly until their hearts expire and death mercifully claims them. If we fail, our suffering will be the greatest. Even Artiss Gran does not know the full extent of the horrors that will be visited.”

  “You once said all of the nexuses were destroyed,” Bahr countered.

  “So I had thought, but my time here and during our journey south has led me to believe otherwise. Arlevon Gale is the final nexus. The one most scholars thought was destroyed centuries ago during a minor border war.”

  He paused as old memories rushed back, redirecting his train of thought. “My…father once glimpsed the dark gods. He led a group of heroes similar to ours to destroy the Silver Mage one thousand years ago. He was never the same again. Nightmares plagued him unto his death bed. It was sad affair. I don’t want to go through this. I don’t want any of us going through this. The only way to prevent it is by the two of us presenting a unified front and leading the others.”

  Bahr remained silent, casually contemplating his options. He doubted he’d ever care for the enigmatic wizard but knew he was going to need his magic before the end. A small part of him wanted to punch Anienam in the jaw and call it even but violence wasn’t going to solve much, not at this stage. Reluctantly he agreed with what the wizard had said. They’d nearly come apart after the battle with the Gnaals, leaving them weak and ready to fall. The lament over finding Ionascu’s murdered corpse and traces of Maleela being captured left a gaping hole inside. A hole he needed filled. Ionascu was one of Harnin’s men, a twisted, bitter wreck of a man who deserved his fate. The only question was why his niece killed him.

  Bahr responded quickly before his thoughts got sidetracked. “Very well. For the sake of the others I’ll set aside any animosity towards you. You have my full support and cooperation until we end this.”

  “Thank you. You have mine as well,” the wizard replied.

  Bahr unfolded his arms. “Anienam, know this. Once we’ve stopped the dark gods, I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  The wizard grinned and returned to the remnants of his breakfast.

  THREE

  The Chamber

  Bags packed and a new wagon presented to haul their supplies and weapons, the small band of heroes assembled in the courtyard. Sunlight beamed down, warming their flesh in a way they wouldn’t see again for months once they returned to the frozen north. Unexpected tension encompassed the group. Conversation faded to the bare minimum. Hands absently toyed with sword hilts or loose buttons on clothing. More than one of the group stared off into nothing as thoughts began centering on the fight of their lives.

  They’d spent months on the road. First to rescue Princess Maleela from her captors in Rogscroft--a lie that was later discovered--and then on the journey to the far southern Jungles of Brodein to find the mythical Trennaron. Constant battles with impossible creatures, river men, and Harnin One Eye left them depleted on many levels. They were already at the ends of their physical limits, mentally worn down to the point where poor decisions might lead to accidents.

  The few days spent in Trennaron did much to heal and replenish their strength but Bahr questioned if it was enough. A man could only endure so much before he broke. The Sea Wolf looked to each of his companions, people he’d known for only a few short months in most cases. He tried remembering a time before they’d met but his mind was consumed with the quest. Imagining life without any of them in it was difficult. He’d come to rely on their skills, judgments, and friendship, much like the crew of the Dragon’s Bane.

  He watched Boen slide his leather armor down over his barrel chest, stretching and wiggling to adjust it just right. Despite his penchant for absolute mayhem on the battlefield, the Gaimosian nearly always laughed and joked. At least he did now that Ironfoot was along. Bahr shook his head ruefully. Like minds and all that, he supposed. The big man was Bahr’s best asset and longest friend. They’d shared journeys before, though none so dangerous as right now. He couldn’t help but think how empty he’d feel if Boen got killed. Friends were hard for a man like Bahr to come by. Losing them was a sad fact of his lifestyle and only got harder as the years went by.

  “Look at the old man,” Dorl whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

  Nothol Coll rolled his neck slowly and said, “He’s just nervous. I don’t blame him.”

  The younger sell sword was taller and stronger than Dorl but was the perfect complement to Dorl’s worrisome nature. Lighthearted with dark hair and eyes, Nothol wandered through life trying to be a good man and make the best out of bad situations. He didn’t bother looking to Bahr. There were enough con
flicting emotions rumbling in his own mind to worry about someone else.

  Dorl frowned tightly. “You should start thinking about more than yourself.”

  “Why? I have a hard enough time dealing with my own problems,” Nothol answered tartly. It was an old argument.

  “You might just live longer,” Dorl accused with a pointed finger. “I might just live longer because of it.”

  “Now who’s being selfish?” Nothol said and laughed. “Relax, Dorl. It’s either going to work out or it’s not. There’s no point worrying over what we can’t control.”

  The thought of being magically transported hundreds of leagues back to the kingdom where this affair began in the span of a few heartbeats left turmoil gnawing away at his stomach. He didn’t trust Anienam as far as he could spit but was not confronted with having to rely on powers beyond his comprehension. Questions bothered him the longer he thought on it. He tried, failing miserably, to think of the power capable of moving a person across so much distance. Even Anienam couldn’t provide an answer; he merely mumbled confusing thoughts on space and time interchanging. Dorl had stopped listening early.

  “You can’t expect me to believe you’re comfortable with what we’re about to do,” Dorl demanded as his anger level began to rise. After years of working together, Nothol knew exactly how to push his buttons.

  Nothol shrugged lightly as he ensured his sword came out of the scabbard easily. “Dorl, you should relax. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Don’t you want to be able to tell your children about what you did to save the world?”

  “Somehow I doubt I’m going to live long enough to have kids,” he replied flatly. “Nothol, we’re all going to die.”

  Rekka finished strapping her pack down on her horse and glanced up sharply. The possibility of certain death wasn’t new. She’d been bred for specific purpose. Death was merely an unfortunate side effect she was prepared to deal with.