When The Gods War_Book 2_Chronicles of Meldinar

by Samuel Stokes

  The warrior spat out a mouthful of blood as he sought to respond. “They do not care for us, Mavolo. We shield them from their enemies . . . and they let us starve . . . There is no shortage of food for them in the palace . . . but through the rest of this city, our people starve. My own son died this morning . . . my wife had so little to eat she could not nurse him, and he died. I should not have had to bury my own son. Sons bury their fathers, Mavolo. It is the way of things.”

  “This is not the way of things, Darius. I cannot abide it. I take comfort from the knowledge you will soon be with your son.” Mavolo grabbed the hilt of his blade and drew it out of his friend. “May you find him in the world to come.” With that Mavolo’s killing blow tore through the man’s chest and Darius keeled over, blood flowing steadily from the wound.

  With a crash the door gave way. A large section of it had been splintered by the continual assault of axes, and the slab of splintered timber collapsed inwards. As the piece was torn free the black-clad forms of assailants filled the breach. Mavolo took up his spear and moved towards the bed. “Yaneera—take this sword. You may need it before we are through.” The Empress jumped as the burly warrior dropped the blade on the bed. Without another word Mavolo turned towards the door as the first of the figures began to clamber over the hastily-erected barricade.

  Mavolo took three swift strides toward the shattered door and plunged his spear into the shadowy figure. A second found his feet on the dresser and leaped headlong at the large warrior. Mavolo and the unidentifiable assailant went down in a tangled heap. Mavolo’s spear rolled across the carpet as he grappled with his attacker. He grabbed the man’s wrist and slammed it into the floor repeatedly, seeking to force the short sword from the man’s grasp. On the second impact the blade tumbled free. As Mavolo reached for the blade the man drew a short dirk from within his robes and thrust it towards Mavolo’s exposed neck.

  Seeing the blade at the last instant Mavolo attempted to shield his throat with his left arm, and the blade bit deep into his bicep. With rage at the pain Mavolo grabbed the man’s sword and drove it into his attacker’s chest. As the man’s body went limp Mavolo clambered to his feet to find himself face-to-face with another half-dozen attackers who had surged over the chest of drawers and into the room.

  Taking the offensive Mavolo leaped at the nearest figure. With a savage slash he batted away the man’s blade, his own sword biting deeply into the man’s chest as it passed by. Mavolo turned and caught the next man’s thrust and deflected it, and with his wounded arm he grabbed the man’s throat and clenched his fist. The man crumpled as his windpipe collapsed under the pressure. Mavolo grabbed the man’s blade and leaped at the others, moving swiftly through the converging assassins. A whirlwind of sinew and steel, Mavolo cut down all before him.

  As more of the assailants clambered into the room Mavolo heard a familiar horn call echo through the night. The Andaran war horn signaled the arrival of the Empire’s armies. Clearly word of the attack on the palace had reached the barracks. If I can hold out a little longer, they will deliver us. A figure standing on the chest clearly recognized the noise also—raising his voice above the din he cried out, “The army is coming! Slay the heir quickly—none of them can survive.”

  Several of the warriors who had previously sought to slay Mavolo broke from the melee and made for the Empress, who stood against the wall by her bed, a pillow clutched before her. Mavolo took off after them, his large stride almost double that of a normal man. He swiftly hamstrung one of them before running a second through the chest. The third died suddenly as Mavolo threw his sword, catching the man in the back.

  Another cowled face appeared in the window as an attacker sought to enter. The room was littered with the bodies of the assailants. The figure who seemed to be leading the assault was advancing slowly across the room. Of the throng who had sought the Empress’s life, only three others remained that he could see. Two of them advanced alongside their leader, and the third was carefully swinging his leg over the windowsill. Yaneera was paralyzed with fear as she endeavored to disappear behind the large pillow she was holding like a shield before her, the sword dangling below.

  Mavolo sprung at the nearest guard and drove his sword into his chest. Leaving the blade in his foe he turned, and as the other assailant slashed at his throat Mavolo caught his wrist in his left hand and delivered a savage punch to the man’s face, rendering him senseless. Still clutching the man’s hand, he hoisted the dazed assassin off his feet and took two steps toward the window. Before the stunned attacker knew what was happening Mavolo threw him at the assassin clambering over the windowsill. The nimble attacker realized his peril too late as his airborne ally struck him head-on and cast them both out into the courtyard. Mavolo smiled as the pair shouted, the noise cut abruptly short as the two of them struck the pavement below.

  But Mavolo’s smile twisted into a grimace as a sword was driven from his back through his stomach. With pain Mavolo looked down at the sword point sticking out of his stomach and remembered the leader who still stood behind him. Weak from exertion and loss of blood, he could do little.

  “Take that, you foolish lap dog,” the assailant declared. “You wasted your life in service to them, and for what?” The man gestured indignantly at the Empress with his free hand while he continued: “So they could glut themselves, while your fellow men starve in the streets. I think not. She dies and with her their dynasty. When the sun rises it will rise on a free Andara.”

  Mavolo looked at his charge mere paces from where he stood. As he gazed into her eyes he smiled. “I think not . . .” he said. Mavolo clutched at the flat of the blade with both of his palms and clamped down tightly, “Now!”

  The Empress cast aside the pillow and lunged forward, Mavolo’s gifted sword clutched tightly in both hands. As she approached the assailant attempted to yank his sword free of Mavolo’s body, only to realize it was stuck fast.

  With eyes afire with rage, Yaneera ran the assailant through. Her blade took him high in the chest and the man collapsed almost instantly. As the assailant released his grasp on the blade Mavolo sank to his knees. Blood seeped from his numerous wounds.

  The Empress sought to remove the sword still lodged in her protector’s back but Mavolo stopped her “If you remove that I will surely bleed to death. Wait for the army to secure the palace and then send for the priests. Any other course of action will kill me, for these wounds are grievous indeed.”

  Yaneera nodded, unable to speak. With little to do but wait, she fussed over her protector, attempting to bandage his wounds as best she could to halt the blood flow. At length a man wearing the uniform of the Andaran Imperial Army appeared in the doorway. “My lady, you are alive—what a relief—”

  Cutting him off the Empress snapped, “Send for the priests—now! Mavolo is injured and needs their care at once.”

  The soldier nodded and disappeared down the corridor.

  Yaneera tended lovingly to her protector, now slumped on his side. “Hang on, Mavolo, the priests will be here soon.” Yaneera prayed they would make it in time.

  Chapter 4

  Amendar, capital of the Andaran Empire, present day

  “All rise for Yaneera, Grand Empress of Andara, ruler of the realm.” As the herald concluded, whispers broke out throughout the chamber. Courtiers spoke in hushed tones as the heavy oak doors swung inward. Yaneera had not been seen in public since the bloodshed a month earlier.

  In the place of the expected robes of state the young Empress wore a simple brown woolen robe. Her dark hair was pulled back; her sharp features lacked the powdered appearance the court had become accustomed to.

  Behind the Empress, Mavolo strode into the chamber. Beneath his armor, bandages wrapped around his burly frame. The wounded warrior didn’t lose a step—as the Empress took her seat on the throne Mavolo took his place beside it.

  Raising a hand Yaneera called for silence. “Many of you have wondered where I have been this past month. I h
ave heard the rumors. You suppose I lay crying in my chamber mourning the loss of my parents. Others believe I hide in fear of another attack.

  “Both are true, at least to an extent.”

  As the chamber erupted with chatter the Empress stood and shouted at the top of her voice: “Silence!” As the room quietened Yaneera continued: “The next one of you who interrupts me will die where you stand.

  “I said the rumors were true in part, but they are not true in essence. For three days I wept—I sat in that blood-soaked chamber and wept. I wept as I mourned my parents who were taken from me. I wept as the healers labored to save Mavolo, who had given his all to protect me. I cried myself to sleep thinking that I would be left alone in this world which wants me dead.

  “And when I awoke on the fourth day I had no more tears to shed. I donned this robe and left the palace. Against Mavolo’s protestations I went among this people—day after day I walked among them. At first my blood boiled. I was furious, furious at what they had done, but as I walked among them I saw their suffering.

  “We have been without rain for years. The Elkhan dries with each passing day, leaving our people’s crops without water and their families without food. As they look to the north they see the Kairon mustering and they fear for their lives.

  “Yesterday as I walked the streets I heard a child scream. I followed the noise into an alleyway and I saw a mother crouching over a pile of garbage. I watched her as she held her emaciated child to her chest with one hand while she sifted through a pile of refuse with the other, searching for food. I saw the desperation in her eyes as she arose with nothing to show for her labors. As I turned to leave I heard that child cry . . .”

  Fighting back the emotion in her voice Yaneera continued. “I ran—with that child’s starving screams ringing in my ears, I ran. In shame I ran back to this palace. All my life it has shielded me from the suffering of my people. It has shielded you also—as nobles and courtiers you have feasted at the table of my father, while your people starved to death. And then when desperation drove them to revolt you stood by idle when my family needed you most.

  “That was your mistake. If you did nothing when we needed you most, who is to say we need you now?”

  The court was silent as the question hung heavily in the air. “I see you understand your position. The truth is I don’t need you. As I counseled with Mavolo in my chambers last night I considered having you all killed. After all, you forsook the oaths you swore to serve my father—you left him to die. I have no use for oath breakers.”

  As the Empress paused the tension in the room intensified. “But Mavolo counseled temperance. So I will give you one last chance. You are to return to your comfortable homes with your full silos and larders and you are to empty them. Every kernel of corn, every bushel of wheat. You are to feed this people. I will not bear another day of their suffering knowing that we could have done something about it. The Palace has already begun distributing its stores. You are to follow our example. Are there any questions?”

  An obese courtier in a gaudy purple robe stammered nervously, “B-but without our stores we will starve.”

  Yaneera bore down on the man and, with words dripping in venom, spoke quickly: “You may die of starvation, one day. Perhaps weeks or months from now. But if you do not do as I say you will die today and your stores will still go to the poor.”

  The noble gulped nervously.

  Yaneera turned to the throne and Mavolo who still stood beside it and asked loudly, “Mavolo, if I asked you to kill every oath breaker in this room, would you do it?”

  Mavolo’s hand moved to his sword hilt as he answered, “Without hesitation, Empress.”

  Turning to face the room Yaneera continued: “Ensure that I have no reason to give that order. If I hear one word of dissent, or suspect you have deviated from my instructions in any way, I will see it done. Now go! Get out of here and see that my order is carried out immediately.”

  The courtiers turned quickly for the door. The crowd struggled to clear the room, all anxious to be away from the piercing eyes of the Empress.

  Yaneera turned to a nearby guard and spoke softly: “Fetch Malack.” The guard affected a quick bow and disappeared from the hall. Minutes later the guard returned with a man in tow. Malack was a wiry fellow, with an unassuming appearance; his loose clothes hung off his thin frame. At first glance he seemed filthy, but on closer inspection a discerning eye might see he had made himself so.

  A little powder under his eyes gave the impression he had not slept for days, while his sloppy, disheveled appearance lent weight to the image that he was a vagrant verging on death from starvation or any number of other causes. All illusions aside, Malack had worked for the palace all his life—a valuable agent and source of endless information on the capital.

  “Empress!” Malack exclaimed, affecting a deep bow. “How might I be of service?”

  “How is the city responding to the distribution of food from the Palace?” Yaneera asked, eager to gauge the response to her undertaking.

  “Very well, Empress. The people were indeed suffering and many still are, but the stores from the Palace were a welcome boon. Alone they should feed the people for months—if the nobles follow suit we may avert disaster for as much as a year.”

  “Only a year?” Yaneera responded. “I had hoped for more.”

  “A year is a start, Your Excellency. It gives us time for another harvest. This drought cannot wear on indefinitely. Also, your treatment of the nobles this morning will set the city afire. Between your address here and your food on the streets below, you will sway the common people to your side. It will be hard for the nobles to resist without bearing the wrath of your forces and their own people.”

  “Have we had any word from Vitaem?” The Empress asked.

  “Yes, Empress.” Malack responded nervously.

  “And?”

  Reticent to deliver the news he had been avoiding, Malack proceeded slowly: “I delivered your message to Chancellor Beltain personally.”

  “How was it received?” the Empress responded impatiently.

  “Poorly, Your Excellency. The Chancellor laughed at your proposal.”

  “What did he say, exactly?”

  Malack fidgeted nervously before responding. “He said he had no need for such a childish bride and for you to offer you must be desperate indeed. He went on to express the thought that if that was your best offer you had little chance of beating Tres Cidea’s proposal. He then indicated that Vitaem’s flood gates would remain as they are. We can expect no reprieve in the Elkhan’s flow anytime soon.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Well, Your Excellency, it wasn’t particularly relevant . . .”

  “Out with it!” the Empress shouted forcefully.

  “Beltain disparaged your proposal of marriage and likened you to a harlot, selling your body to survive.” Malack’s voice softened almost to a whisper. “As I left, Your Excellency, they made a show of closing one of the few remaining floodgates. The Elkhan will drop rapidly now, leaving us to starve or be slaughtered by the Kairon.”

  Yaneera’s rage boiled over. Snatching her goblet from beside the throne, she hurled it violently across the room, a stream of spilled wine showing its trajectory. The goblet clattered noisily along the stonework. “Beltain, that treacherous viper! He would leave us to die after all we have done? We have fed his people for decades. For years he dined at my parents’ table as he brokered trade deals. Now when we need him most, I offer him an alliance in marriage and he calls me a whore. I will not bear such insult.”

  “Your Excellency, I would beg of you, be patient, for your people’s sake. We may yet prevail with Vitaem.”

  “They have made their feelings clear, Malack. We will prevail—we just need to send a different message.”

  “What do you have in mind, Empress?”

  “You are to return to Vitaem, Malack. This time you will be taking something with you.” Yaneera beckoned M
avolo from where he stood near her throne. “Have them bring the supplies.”

  “You mean for me to take a gift this time?”

  “Of sorts, Malack. Of sorts.” The Empress’s mask of rage twisted into a smirk as she spoke.

  “Empress, I fear if they will rebuff your proposal, they will also rebuff your gift.”

  “And yet I would have you deliver it all the same.”

  Mavolo returned to the chamber carrying a small barrel that bore an inscription Malack could not make out. As the barrel was set down before him Malack realized the inscription was in dwarvish runes. He pried the lid open. From base to brim the barrel was filled with a black powder.

  Seeing Malack’s confusion the Empress continued: “It’s Dwarven Blackpowder. When a small quantity is lit it gives off a bright flare. When a barrel such as this is lit it explodes with tremendous force. My father purchased it from the Dwarves of the Everpeak years ago. I suspect he was planning to put it to use in our armies but so far our alchemists have been unable to determine how it is made. The Dwarves guard the secret closely.”

  “I don’t understand, Empress. It must be tremendously valuable. You would give this to Beltain after all he has done?”

  “Oh no, Malack. We are not going to give it to Beltain. We are going to use it on him. You are to take some of our men and blow up the floodgate so that it can no longer be used against us.”

  “Y-you c-can’t be serious, Your Excellency—” Malack stammered. “That would be an act of war.”

  “Then a war we will have, Malack. I will not sit idly by and watch my people starve while Vitaem prospers from our misery. Select your men from among the guard and leave tonight. You will have six barrels of Dwarven Blackpowder. If you travel upriver under the cover of darkness no one will stop you. With the decreased current you should make it to Vitaem in three days. Blow the floodgates and we will again have the water we need to nourish our people.”