The Godling Chronicles 02 - Of Gods And Elves

by Brian D. Anderson

  “You think she is that old?” asked Maybell. “She is human, after all.”

  “Are you so certain of that? Our stories always describe the same person, always looking the same way. That in itself means nothing, but I’ve also heard human tales of her. Recent ones. They are too similar in her description to think it a coincidence. At least it seems that way to me.”

  “Maybe you can ask her if she is still there.” Millet pulled his blanket over his chest and yawned. “We still have a long journey ahead. We can continue this discussion tomorrow.”

  Chapter Three

  The next day they rode in silence. At mid-day, they stopped to eat and rest the horses. Several groups of soldiers and a few local farmers passed, but all ignored their presence. The temperature had dropped substantially, and a strong north wind cut straight through the party’s clothing. It wasn’t long after they were underway again when it became clear that they would need to risk a town and an inn.

  “No need for us to hide at this point.” Millet’s voice trembled from the cold. “Whatever their plan, it’s obvious they do not intend to hinder our departure.”

  “I agree,” said Malstisos. He glanced over at Maybell who rode in silence, her eyes down. He couldn’t help but worry. Despite remarkable resilience for a woman of her advanced years, he knew the elements must be taking their toll. “In fact I intend to remain in plain sight for as long as possible.”

  Jacob chuckled and slowly shook his head. “It would do no good to run. They have trackers from Angrääl following us even now. Of that, I have no doubt. Where we go, they will follow.”

  Millet grunted with displeasure. “When we split up they may have a harder time of it. I have a feeling that it is you and I they will be following, and my skills in evasion should not be underestimated.”

  Jacob sniggered.

  “You should not let your eyes always be your judge, child,” scolded Malstisos. “Your father has great confidence in Millet. And thus far he has shown his worth more than once since I've traveled with him. I daresay his skills and usefulness outweigh yours.”

  Jacob suddenly halted his horse, his face twisted in anger. “Mind your tongue, elf.” His hand slid to his sword.

  “Don’t be foolish.” Malstisos’ voice became low and dangerous. “I will not be threatened, no matter who your father is.”

  The two stared as each other intensely for what seemed like an eternity.

  “Enough of this!” Maybell’s voice echoed over the trees. The ferocity of the woman’s tone startled the others.

  Malstisos bowed his head. “I am deeply sorry, sister. I know you must be cold and tired.” He turned to Jacob. “I’m certain we can conduct ourselves with better manners.”

  Jacob continued to fume but nodded sharply. “For now,” he grumbled.

  Maybell snorted in disgust at the scene. “How much farther to the next village?” she asked Millet.

  “Two days,” he replied. “But there’s a hostel we could reach before sundown if we keep our next rest short.”

  “Good,” said Maybell, trying to hide her relief.

  Malstisos stiffened his back, and he drew his long knife.

  “What is it?” whispered Millet.

  “Something follows.” The elf dismounted.

  “I told you” scoffed Jacob. “They have sent trackers. Weren’t you paying attention?”

  Malstisos shook his head. “This is no tracker. Whatever it is… it smells wrong.” He closed his eyes for a moment and sniffed the air. “Stay here.” He placed his hand on Millet's shoulder. “If I do not return in one hour, flee as fast as you can.”

  “Where should we go?” asked Millet, alarmed.

  “Stick with your plan,” the elf replied, then turned to Maybell and smiled. “Don't worry. I may only be chasing shadows.” He disappeared into the nearby trees, leaving the group behind.

  Many minutes passed before anyone dared to move. Finally, Millet reached into his pack and retrieved a loaf of bread and passed it out to the rest. Maybell reluctantly took a piece and found a spot a few yards from Millet and Jacob to sit by herself and nibble.

  “What do we do if he doesn't return?” asked Jacob through a mouthful of bread.

  Millet met Jacobs’s eyes. “We'll do as Malstisos said and continue to Baltria. There I will contact your father. Now if you don't mind, I would rather not speak until Malstisos returns.”

  “If he returns,” muttered Jacob.

  Millet shot a furious glance and stormed away.

  Minutes seemed like hours as the group stared into the surrounding forest, hoping to see Malstisos return. Finally, just as Millet was about to tell the others it was time to leave, he caught sight of the elf, head bowed low, holding what appeared to be a severed head in one hand and his long knife in the other. Maybell gasped. Millet and Jacob stared in horror as the elf tossed the head to the ground beside the horses. The elf's knife and hands were covered with thick, black ooze, and the stench of rotting flesh filled the air. The head resembled a human man, but its features were distorted and grotesque, as if burned by fire, its hair tangled, stringy, and covered in filth.

  “What is that thing?” whispered Maybell with a shudder.

  Malstisos looked at Jacob. “I was hoping our young friend here might be able to enlighten us.”

  Jacob’s eyes went wide. “Me? How should I know? I've never seen such a creature.”

  Malstisos studied Jacob then looked down at the remains. “I found it about half a mile behind us. It was clearly following our trail. I tried to approach unseen, but it must have had a keen sense of smell because it knew I was there the moment I saw it. I am no seeker, but no human I have ever encountered, save perhaps Lord Starfinder, could have heard my approach. When I knew I was discovered, I decided to withdraw, but the thing was on me in an instant. It moved as quickly as any elf, though not as graceful. It struck at me with bare hands, but with power beyond human strength. As it was unarmed, I had the advantage and buried my knife in its heart.”

  “Then why cut off its head?” interrupted Jacob. “And why bring this disgusting thing here?”

  “Like I said,” Malstisos responded in a low tone. “I was hoping you could help identify it. You have been here throughout the entire occupation. Have you never heard of such a creature? But that's not the only reason.” He reached into his saddlebag, retrieved a flask and a small cloth and began cleaning his hands and knife. “I have the creature’s head because it was the only way I could kill it. My blow through its heart served only to enrage the beast. As I pulled my blade loose, it charged in with a ferocity I have never encountered. Again and again it charged. I was only barely able to avoid its blows. I slashed away at every part of it and watched in horror as it had no effect. It wasn't long before I knew I had to either kill it or flee, so I waited for it to charge one last time and brought my blade across its neck. To my great relief my stroke fell true and the creature died.”

  “What should we do now?” asked Millet. “If there are more of these things we don't stand a chance.”

  Malstisos dried his hands and wiped his knife with oil. “If there are more, then we are in mortal danger.” He checked his pack and sheathed his knife. “I cannot protect everyone at once. Still, I don't see that we have any other choice but to continue with our plan. If we are lucky, there are no more of those things about. If not, then I'll do my best to kill them before they are upon us. Now that I know how to kill it, one will pose me little danger and with only Maybell at my side, I should be able to keep her safe.”

  “It's settled.” Millet mounted his horse. “The crossroads, then we will part ways. By then we should know if there are more of these... creatures.”

  The party rode on through the rest of the day in silence. It was nearly sunset when they arrived at the hospice. It was little more than a small cabin with a small adjoining stable, but the smoke from the chimney and the aroma of roast pork filled their hearts with joy. Millet dismounted and motioned f
or the others to wait. “I'll see to our accommodations,” he said. “I won't be but a moment.”

  The interior was as he expected. The single room was large enough to hold a dozen beds and a roughly made dining table. A fire crackled in the hearth and was the sole source of light, giving it a comfortable, albeit dim, atmosphere. A thin young man sat at the table carving a piece of roast pork. His blond hair and fine features indicated that he had not seen many winters. He looked up as Millet opened the door and frowned.

  “If you're here to rob me, I have nothing to take but some roast pork and a half bottle of wine.”

  Millet stopped and bowed low. “I am not here to rob you, young man. My companions and I seek a bed for the night.” He scanned the room for signs of other people but saw none. “Are you master here?”

  “I am,” the boy replied. “At least until my uncle returns.” The boy stood, wiping his hands on his trousers. “I'm Gerald. And you are welcome here, though I have little to offer.” He walked to the hearth and stirred the fire. “How many are you?”

  “Four,” Millet replied. “And we only ask for a bed and perhaps a bite to eat.” He fished three coppers from his pocket and placed them on the table. “This should cover our expense.”

  Gerald’s eyes widened and he retrieved the coins, clutching them tightly. “In that case, you are very welcome.”

  Millet smiled warmly. “If you would allow me to stable my horses.”

  “Of course,” stammered Gerald. “I'll do it for you, if you'd like.” He headed toward the door still holding the coins.

  Millet grabbed the boy gently by the arm. “That won't be necessary. But if you could prepare a meal I would be grateful.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Gerald. “It's already prepared. It will be waiting.”

  Millet thanked the boy and returned to the party. After they unpacked and stabled the horses, they entered. Four plates and cups had been placed around the table. Malstisos was careful to hide his features beneath his hood.

  Gerald whistled merrily as he placed blankets on the beds. The roast pork, though a bit plain, was well received, and soon they were laughing and talking as if they hadn't a care in the world.

  “Hostels in this area are usually filled to bursting this time of year,” said Millet once his belly was full. “Why are you so empty?”

  Gerald's face twisted in anger. “Angrääl,” he spat. “It's because of those damn soldiers. Most are too afraid to travel, and the few that do are agents and officials of the invaders. They take what they want and leave us to starve.” His hands trembled as he drank from his cup. “This hostel has been in my family for three generations. We’ve never had much, but donations from the temples and travelers kept us fed and clothed. We were able to help hundreds of people who might have otherwise perished on the road. I always took great pride in the work my family has done here. Now I can barely survive.”

  “You mentioned your uncle,” said Millet, his voice filled with compassion. “Where is he?”

  “Hunting,” replied Gerald, regaining his composure. “We can't afford to buy food most times, so my uncle hunts for what we need.” He nodded to the leftover pork. “Without it we'd starve.”

  Maybell reached over, took Gerald’s hand and said softly. “You're very brave to stay here alone.”

  Gerald managed a weak smile. “It's my uncle that's brave. The forests are riddled with bandits and thieves. So far he's avoided them, but it's only a matter of time before I fear his luck runs out.”

  “I'll pray for you,” said Maybell, tears welling in her eyes.

  Gerald jerked his hand away. “Save your prayers,” he snarled. “The Gods care nothing for me.” He stood up and faced the wall. “I'm sorry.” His voice cracked as he forced back his tears. “I know you mean well. It's just that it has been so long since hope has been in this land. I've prayed and prayed, but I think the Gods have abandoned us.”

  “Perhaps not,” said Millet. “Perhaps help is on the way.”

  Gerald turned and sighed. “I hope you're right.”

  They soon retired for the night. The earlier cheer was overcome by sadness, and none slept peacefully.

  Chapter Four

  Lee sat by the fireplace in the main library of Valshara reading quietly. Over the past eight days, it had become his favorite way to pass the time, and the only thing that took his mind off his wife and son, not to mention Gewey and Kaylia. He had always been proud of his own collection of rare books, but Valshara held treasures beyond his imagination.

  When he wasn't in the library, he spent time with his mother. She told him of her life in the temple and recalled memories of his father. It soon became clear to him the love she held for the man and the pain she felt after his death. He found it difficult at times to fight off feelings of guilt for the anger he had felt toward her for so long.

  Gewey and Kaylia had shown no signs of reviving. Lee visited them at least twice a day but was only allowed to be in the room for a few minutes at a time. The healers clearly thought any intrusion an imposition, and Lee was not inclined to argue. Besides, there was nothing he could do, and he did not enjoy feeling helpless.

  Dina spent her time recounting her experiences in her journal. Selena had held a small ceremony signifying her elevation to full cleric and set her to task. Lee had scarcely seen her except for when they happened to run into each other on their way to check on Gewey and Kaylia.

  Word had come that Linis was seeking out Theopolou and hoped to have the sage there soon. He had arrived in Althetas two days after the battle between Gewey and Harlando and was contacted by Valsharan agents. Lee took comfort in this. He knew if anyone could hasten the arrival of Theopolou, it was Linis.

  The door to the library opened, and Lee saw Ertik. His face was grave, and he was dressed in white ceremonial robes, a thing Lee had only seen at Dina's elevation to cleric. Lee placed his book on the table beside his chair and rose to his feet as Ertik strode over.

  Ertik bowed. “Lee,” he said in a respectful tone.

  Lee smiled warmly. “Why so formal today?” He reached out and shook Ertik's hand.

  “Theopolou has arrived,” he replied. “The High Lady asked me to tell you that we will be meeting with him this evening in the main receiving hall. Appropriate clothing has already been brought to your room.”

  “I see,” said Lee, noting Ertik's demeanor. “How many are with him?”

  “He has brought an escort of a ten elves. Linis is also with them.”

  Lee nodded. “I'll be there.”

  “Mind what you say. These elves are not like others you have encountered. They do not enjoy the company of humans. That we possess the Book of Souls is the only reason they've agreed to come.” Ertik lowered his voice to a whisper. “This may not go well. Be prepared.” With that, he bowed and left.

  Lee stood for a long moment, his brow furled with worry. He knew the elves thought the Book of Souls was rightfully theirs, but his experience with more enlightened elves left out the possibility that they may try to take it by force. Since he had arrived, he had counted maybe a dozen men that belonged to the Knights of Amon Dähl. Though he knew their reputation, he alone had actually fought an elf. Lee doubted very much that he and twelve men would fare well against ten trained elf fighters. If Theopolou was as great among his people as he was told, he was likely to have brought elves of great skill.

  It was midday, and he had several hours until the meeting, so he decided to check on Gewey and Kaylia. He wound his way through the stone hallways, nodding and smiling at the passers- by. Word had spread quickly that he was the son of the High Lady. At first, he had become a bit of a celebrity. People practically tripped over themselves to shake his hand or help him find his way around. After a few days, however, the excitement died down and most of the temple simply became a bit more cheerful when they saw him.

  The door to the healing chamber was usually unattended, but to his surprise, he saw two tall elves standing on either side. Both h
ad light bronze skin and shoulder length black hair tied neatly in a small ponytail. They wore well-oiled, studded leather mail over emerald green shirts and trousers. Their feet were clad in soft buckskin boots, adorned with tiny beads that formed multiple interlacing patterns. Vicious looking curved swords hung on their belts. Lee found this curious. From what he had learned, elves preferred to use a long knife or dagger, though Kaylia had mentioned that they do use swords in pitched battles. The thought put his nerves on edge.

  Lee stopped a few feet away. The elf guards had not looked at him, though clearly they knew he was there.

  “Excuse me,” said Lee. “I would like to pass.”

  Both elves turned their gaze on him. The one nearest Lee took a single step forward, faced him and bowed his head slightly.

  “You cannot enter at this time,” said the elf. His voice was deep and masculine. “I would ask that you return later.”

  “I will not return later,” Lee insisted. “Two of my friends are inside, and I will see that they are alright.”

  “I cannot allow you to enter,” the elf replied.

  Lee could see the elf's muscles tense. He didn't want a confrontation, but neither could he leave until he knew that Gewey and Kaylia were unharmed.

  “Who is in there?” Lee demanded.

  “That is none of your affair,” the elf replied. The other guard stepped forward, and both of their hands crept to their swords.

  “It is my affair,” Lee countered. “And I will see to my friends.” He stepped forward and stood less than a foot away from the first elf. He knew that should things turn violent he needed to be close. He was unarmed, and swords were awkward in tight quarters.

  The door to the chamber flew open and Lee's mother stepped quickly into the hall. “It's alright. Lee.” She pushed Lee back and placed herself between her son and the elves. “Gewey and Kaylia are fine.”