The Diadri were forest spirits possessing myriad abilities beyond the humans. Some believe the two species shared a common lineage and were different branches of the same genealogical tree. Perhaps this was once true, but the two species had little in common now. Where humans stripped the land of its wealth for their own gain, the Diadri tended to the land and cared for it, ensuring its natural beauty was preserved. Where humans fought each other in a bid for dominance, the Diadri were a collective, each striving for the benefit of all.
This setting aside of selfishness in favor of others had strengthened the empathy that the Diadri felt with all living things. Sensing what other beings could not, a Diadri could feel the emotions of other nearby sentient creatures. This gift allowed them to care for the creatures who shared their forest home. It also allowed the fey to sense the mood and temperament of those who might trespass the borders of the realm.
Persalis descended closer to the intruder in an effort to read his heart and intent. As she did so, she felt the strangest of feelings. Of the emotions felt by man, she knew well love, anger, fear and despair, but this was something else. A sense of purpose and drive she had never before felt, the emotion was urgent and intense. She followed and continued to study the human’s heart.
At length the flittering fey determined this power must be zeal. The emotion was alien to the Diadri, but it was evident in this human’s unflinching loyalty to and determination for his current cause. Persalis resolved to discover what that purpose might be.
*****
Belamir clambered through the forest, energized by the euphoria he had felt since entering the woods. Unsure of his destination, he was unconcerned—he was confident that he would soon encounter the race he sought. After all he was making steady progress and was hardly being stealthy in his approach. With any luck, they would find him and spare him the need to wander endlessly in these strange woods.
Belamir rounded a tree to find the narrow path before him blocked—or he was blocked from continuing upon it. From tree to tree, thick vines blocked the way before him. The path clearly continued into the forest beyond, but lack of use had evidently allowed the forest to reclaim it.
Not to be deterred, Belamir raised his Disciple’s staff. The sharp crescent moon of Mythos will form a serviceable scythe, Belamir thought as he raised the weapon. With two hands, he brought the staff down in an overhead swing. There was a shearing noise as the staff severed clean through dozens of the vines. Belamir drew back for another swing.
*****
Pain shot through Persalis’ heart as the trespassing human defiled the forest. Gritting her teeth against the discomfort, Persalis focused her energy on the vines below. She channeled the power that coursed through the sacred glades and guided the regrowth of the vines. With the energy of the forest coursing through their length, the vines sprouted before her eyes and began to close over the path again. Perhaps he acted in ignorance, Persalis thought. Surely he will see and understand that the path before him is not for him to travel.
Persalis watched as the Disciple paused. The human had been about to strike at the wall of vines a second time but the speed at which the wall of vines reformed before his eyes gave him pause. The Disciple watched the magic at work. As the wall of vines grew over the pathway, the Disciple raised his hand and began to chant. The sound was unsettling as his voice rang through the now-still forest.
Persalis felt the sudden shift in the energy coursing through the forest, and before she could react a torrent of flames spewed forth from the human’s outstretched hand and obliterated not only the vines before it but several of the trees as well. The consuming flames left nothing but burnt husks as they tore through the forest.
This time Persalis’s pain was audible as the fey howled in rage. The destruction of her home agonized her soul.
As the shrill howl tore through the forest Belamir turned to see a creature hovering in the air before him. The shrill scream emanating from the winged creature surprised the Disciple, and the surprise cost him his life as the forest itself turned on the invader.
What remained of the vines that had lined the path distended sprouting wicked thorns. The vines set upon the Disciple as if they possessed a mind of their own. Thick vines seized the Disciple’s legs and began snaking their way up his body. Thorns pierced his flesh. Another strangler vine stripped Belamir’s staff from his grasp.
An anguished scream tore through the woods, but this time it belonged to Belamir, as the forest’s fury tore his body apart. Persalis descended to the forest floor, tears running down her cheeks, as she beheld the damage the stranger had wrought.
Approaching the newcomer now firmly impaled by the strangler vines she spoke timidly but firmly in the common tongue: “For the life you have taken here today, you shall give yours in atonement.”
Belamir spat out a mouthful of blood as he struggled to respond. “What . . . life? . . . It was just a few plants . . .”
“They are the life of the forest,” she responded. “Every branch, every blade of grass and every tree—your life for theirs—and by your blood they will be reborn.”
Belamir screamed as the vines burrowed further into his body. Persalis watched with satisfaction as a small green shoot emerged from one of the blackened tree stumps. Every blade of grass will be restored. Persalis set about her task of returning the forest path to its former beauty.
Chapter 14
Amendar, capital city of Andara
Yaneera smiled with satisfaction as she gazed through the window across her lands. Gone were the brown, drought-stricken pastures of recent years. Now as far as her young eyes could see, rolling green lands stretched out before her. The crop of grain that had been in danger of perishing on the stalk now grew vigorously, its growth fueled by the steady rain. Each full stalk glistened gold in the noonday sun.
Jonas had continued to summon the miraculous life-giving rain, proving beyond a doubt that he possessed power unlike any man Yaneera had ever met. True to his word, her people were flourishing. The food supplies she had seized from the minor nobles would feed the people until harvest, and Jonas’s favor ensured a bounteous harvest.
But the nobles chafed at her exercise of authority. Seizing their stores had undermined their position and threatened their wealth. It was an unprecedented use of Imperial authority, but there was little they could do to retaliate, as feeding the starving populace had made Yaneera a heroine. It was a cunning move born of desperation, but one that had won her much favor with her people.
A knock at her door brought Yaneera back to the present. At her word the door swung open and Jonas entered the chambers. “Ah, Jonas, please come in,” she said, motioning to a nearby chair. “Sit down—we have much to speak of.” The Empress waited for the Disciple to sit before seating herself opposite.
“What burdens your thoughts, Empress?” he asked. “Why have you summoned me?”
“I have questions I would ask of you,” she replied. “When you arrived you spoke of many things, and some of what you said was perhaps overshadowed by the manner of your arrival. I would speak to you of these things, that I might understand your intent more plainly.”
“I see. Pray tell what troubles you so.”
The Empress began: “You stated that all would bow before Mythos or be destroyed. What part is Andara to play in the furthering of your religious zealotry?”
Jonas smiled. “It is not my zealotry, Empress, it is our zealotry. For our fortunes are intertwined—the bounty that has lifted your people from starvation and poverty is not without price. It is a boon granted by Mythos and a debt he will soon expect repaid.”
“How are these debts normally paid, Jonas? Speak plainly. What is wanted? What price is to be paid for our lives?”
The Disciple smiled. “Your soul, Empress. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“My soul, Jonas!” Yaneera exclaimed, leaning back in her chair aghast. “What do you mean? I don’t understand.”
“It seems
your religious education was somewhat lacking, Empress. What do you know of the gods?”
“Little,” the Empress conceded. “Our priests labored to teach me of the Allfather, but as a child I cared little for a being I could neither see nor hear. I do remember some of their tales. They spoke of him as an all-powerful being that rules over Creation from his Throne in the Celestial City.”
“What is this Creation you speak of?” Jonas asked. It was a term he had never before heard.
“Creation is this,” Yaneera said, waving her arms about. “It is this land, this world, the stars you see in the night sky. Everything that lies before the Allfather is Creation. It is his domain.”
“I see, and what has this all-powerful being done for you lately?” the Disciple asked casually.
“Done for us?” the Empress asked, confused.
“I mean exactly that, Empress. You say he possesses all power. Well, what has he done with it? What has he done for you of late? When I arrived here your people were starving—dissent and anger stirred as your people struggled to eke a meager living from the drought stricken land. All the while your all-powerful god looks on with indifference as you suffer. You worship him—all across your land I’ve seen it—priests and churches. Your people prostrate themselves before this fraud and yet he leaves you to die. Mythos offers you so much more.”
“I don’t see what this has to do with my soul, Jonas,” she said.
“Patience, Empress. I am getting there. I must explain—for it is a price that cannot be paid in ignorance. It will require earnest action on your part, for the relationship between your God and your people is more symbiotic than those crotchety old priests of the Allfather would have you believe.”
“Symbiotic in what sense?” Yaneera asked.
“In the sense that just as you rely on him for his bounties and blessings, he draws his power from those who bow in obeisance before him. It is how the gods first came to be. Your Allfather learned it from his father Apollos, who ruled the stars before him. As the ranks of the faithful swell, so too does the power of the being they worship. Their faith is his power. Apollos fell when his followers were divided—his sons Mythos and Alphaeus, your Allfather, continue to struggle to this day. Each strives to reign supreme—each seeks to win willing followers to his cause.
“When I say Mythos will require your soul, I mean it,” he continued. “This land has long languished under your Allfather’s neglect. Mythos has spared you. In exchange for his bounty he will require your unrelenting devotion. Every trace of the Allfather must be expunged from your Empire. Every priest, every prayer, every trace of that pretender must be erased.
“In its place you will lead your people in worshipping Mythos as the one true God. That is the price that will be required at your hand.”
Yaneera marveled at the thought. The very god she had prayed to as a child depended upon her for his power. The notion defied belief and yet something deep within seemed to ring true at the thought. “Our people have worshipped the Allfather for generations. What becomes of those who will not set aside their belief so readily?”
“All who will not be swayed strengthen our enemy. They must perish. One person, one family or one nation, the answer is the same, Empress. Your resolve must be unflinching.” Jonas struck the table before him for emphasis and Yaneera startled.
As she composed herself she replied, “My people will not take kindly to being massacred, Jonas.”
“Your people love you, Yaneera, so there will be no need. The priests are most likely to cause you grief, but they are closest to the grave—all they will need is a little push. I wouldn’t worry for their passing—we Disciples will fill the void they leave.”
Yaneera recoiled at the thought—how could she harm the Allfather’s priests?
Jonas pressed on, unconcerned at the religious genocide he was championing. “Your neighbors will be another story, Empress. Some of them will doubtless resist the efforts of our Disciples. When they do, they must be destroyed lest they continue to strengthen our enemy. There is no neutral ground. Now that your people are well fed and beginning to prosper, we must prepare them for the crusade that is to come.”
“Have you had any word from your brethren?” Yaneera asked, changing the topic of conversation abruptly.
“Indeed I have. I had word from Talan this morning. Khashish and its Shah have received him favorably. He continues to treat with the Shah and expects a favorable agreement with your southern neighbor.
“On a more troubling note I have lost contact with both Rauger and Belamir. Rauger’s last communication indicated he was due to meet the Iron King, and Belamir has not sent word since he entered the Forests of the Diadri.”
“That is poor news indeed, Jonas, but not entirely surprising—Tharadin is as stubborn a monarch as I have ever met, a sturdy ally but an unflinching devotee of the Allfather. I don’t envy Rauger in his task. As for the Diadri, I know nothing of them and their home, but I did warn you against sending an emissary there. None who ventured into their glades has returned.”
“I recall your warning, Empress, but Mythos has given us a mandate. We are to reach out to all who inhabit the land and invite them into his fold. All who will follow him are welcome—even strange woodland creatures must be given the opportunity to hear our message. Belamir knew the risk when he set out. He may yet return.”
Yaneera continued: “What of your sister who traveled to Tres Cidea? Has she sent any word?”
Jonas’s expression turned dour. “Karesa sent word that she returns. The Maginot would not even grant her an audience. She attempted to convince them, but they were most stubborn. It would seem they will require some persuasion . . . and a new gate—fortunately an answer has already presented itself. A means to persuade them, that is—the gate they will have to take care of themselves.” Jonas stifled a laugh.
“In what sense persuade them?” Yaneera asked.
“Your scouts tell us the Kairon gather for their Grand Hunt. We will travel to meet them. I wish to know how they came to be here on your world. If they are kin to the creatures on Kairos, they serve Mythos and will aid us against your more recalcitrant neighbors . . .”
A pounding at the door interrupted the Disciple mid-sentence. “Enter!” commanded the Empress. The door swung open and two servants entered, straining under the weight of a box suspended between two poles. The servants carried an ornate stone container into the room and set it before the Empress. “It is from the Everpeak, Your Majesty. Two Dwarves set it before the city gates this morning and left before we could speak with them.”
“What is it, Empress?” Jonas asked, staring at the strange stone box. The lid seemed to be made of a single slab of stone, and series of runes had been carved into the surface. The script was foreign to Jonas. He had never encountered the language before.
“These are dwarven runes, Jonas. It is a message from the Everpeak.”
“What does it say?” he asked. “Can you read it?”
“I can—my father had me train in many languages. The Dwarves have been staunch allies for decades and there is a great deal of trade between our empires. We grow much produce that they cannot grow in their mountain home. Likewise, their craftsmen and weapon smiths supply our armies with superior weapons to protect our borders. My father had me learn their language that I might treat with them in their own tongue as he did.”
“What does the stone say?” Jonas pressed, eager for news of his comrade.
“It reads,
I, Tharadin Ironheart, King of the Everpeak, do carve this message with my own hand for Yaneera, daughter of Aelor and Helena, Empress of Andara. It is with heavy heart but firm hand that I must carve this as I know you must still be mourning their loss. Aelor was a trusted friend, his dealing with us always equitable and his character beyond reproach in my eyes.
For this reason, when your emissary entered our lands he was given free passage to the Iron Court and granted an audience before me. In spite
of the respect afforded him, he spat on our tradition and demanded we forsake the Allfather and grovel before some foreign God.
When I refused to forsake the oath sworn by my ancestors, your emissary made an attempt on my life. This deception and betrayal of our trust has destroyed the bedrock of friendship that secured our nations together.
I send you all that remains of your assassin, along with this oath, carved in stone here and on our hearts. We will avenge this offense. We will not repent of our oath until you share your servant’s fate. Behold the fruits of worshipping a false god—
Tharadin Ironheart, King of the Everpeak
Yaneera’s voice shook as she read the final words. As a child she had heard tales of Dwarves and their oaths. To hold one in her hands, swearing to her destruction, shook her to her core.
Jonas seethed visibly at the contents of the message. “Open the box, Yaneera!” Jonas demanded, his voice quaking with anger.
Yaneera placed both hands on the stone tablet and pulled it towards her. The stone lid slid slowly on the steel frame that held it in place. As the stone moved it revealed a chamber beneath. With a gasp Yaneera leaped back as Rauger’s dull, lifeless eyes stared up at her.
Tears filled Jonas’s eyes as he looked down at the desecrated remains of his brother. Reaching into the cavernous vessel he drew out the shattered fragments of Rauger’s staff. As he held them he turned to Yaneera and spoke, his usually firm voice choked with emotion. “We . . . will . . . slaughter . . . them . . . all. . . . Every one of them. Yaneera, you are to remove any trace of this Allfather from your lands. Then we will travel north to meet with the Kairon. Once we have gathered our strength we will avenge this wrong.”
“I will see it done, Jonas,” Yaneera answered fearfully, unsure of whom she was more afraid—Tharadin and his oath or the fuming Disciple before her. Turning to the servants who had borne the stone box, she gave an order: “Bring me Mavolo—I have a task for him.”
When The Gods War_Book 2_Chronicles of Meldinar Page 11