The Madness of Gods and Kings (2 page)

A Last Meal

A flock of red ibis floated overhead, adding flavor to the endless sky of blue. Not a cloud could be seen, leaving the golden rays of sunlight to warm the ground. Nestled in the middle of a gigantic clearing rested the only temple of the gods of light in Malweir. Trennaron was a symbol of hope to some, myth to most. Only a select few were ever allowed admittance. Artiss Gran, the only Dae’shan remaining true to their original purpose, focused his thoughts on those few resting within the comforts of Trennaron.

The long war was finally coming to a close. Centuries of careful planning and unseen manipulation to ensure the proper bloodlines were present at the right time were about to pay off. At least he hoped. Even one as powerful as himself couldn’t possibly foresee ever potential future. Artiss struggled through centuries of solitude while his errant brethren scavenged the world in search of souls tainted enough to enact the return of the dark gods. The crusade ranging across northern Malweir was their final gambit.

Amar Kit’han and the other Dae’shan had armies at their disposal. Artiss had only a handful of collected heroes to counter the rising tide of darkness. His faith that all races would respond to the challenges facing them, while well intentioned, wasn’t strong enough to rely on. The withered, old man closed his eyes and gently punched the top of the wall keeping him from falling off of the roof. So many uncertainties kept him from doing what he knew, or thought he knew, what needed to be done. How could he be sure he was indeed acting in accordance with the gods of light when he was trapped within the alabaster walls of Trennaron?

As much as he’d like to abandon the temple and see his band of heroes safely back to the holy site of Arlevon Gale, his oaths bound him to Trennaron. Should he leave, the magic of the temple would fail and his life would be forfeit. Artiss sighed again. Perhaps there were matters in life that meant more than one soul. He contemplated leaving his post, if for no other reason than to combat the other three Dae’shan. Nothing the races of Malweir had was sufficient enough to battle the servants of darkness.

Leaving Trennaron was a temporary solution to a permanent problem. The knowledge of the gods of light rested safely within the underground vaults. Who was he to risk losing the wealth of knowledge for all time just for the sake of exorcising the demons that had plagued him since the dawn of Man? He found it suddenly odd that after several mortal lifetimes the end game had begun. Years wasted thinking of the potential outcomes were stripped away, leaving him only with what was and what wasn’t. Artiss Gran prided himself on being practical. Practicality stated all of his efforts and hard work were coming to a close, a grand finale from which there were only two possible conclusions. Those basest of all mortal designs: success or failure. He wished he could do more, but the gods of light had been specific with their charge. Reluctantly, Artiss turned from the dawn to confront his guests.

He found them shifting blandly through their meal of roast fowl, freshly baked cornbread, and a wheel of yellow cheese. Of them all, only Boen the Gaimosian and Ironfoot the Dwarf held an appetite. They ravenously set about devouring whatever food was laid out in front of them, washing it all down with fresh brook water and a pint of Trennaron’s finest mead, an indulgence Artiss never managed to shake from his youthful, mortal days. He smiled at the memories, watching the pair consume his favorite drink produced. Artiss took a minor measure of pride in having some of the finest honey bees in the southern kingdoms.

“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 after 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.