The Madness of Gods and Kings (31 page)

A Mighty Thunder Breaks

The snow-capped peaks of the Murdes Mountains struck high into the sky, piercing the fabric between night and day like angry teeth from an imagined nightmare. Wild winds howled between the peaks, echoing ages-old frustration. The mountains seemed to grow larger over time, rather than wither away like the rest of the world. Here Malweir remained wild, untamed. Life was rare among the ancient stone. Yet what little managed to find purchase thrived.

Long ago, when memory turned to legend, the tribes of the Pell Darga and Giants fled their ancestral homes and made their way deep into the mountains. The Pell, ever diminutive and cunning, discovered the forgotten crevices and caves, making them a home ever hidden from the rest of Malweir. The Giants did likewise. With no place to fit in, their leaders turned their backs on the rise of Humanity and fled to the mountains in search of peace of mind.

Venheim became their greatest secret. Lost amidst the jagged peaks of the southern half of the Murdes Mountains, the greatest smiths in Giant lore crafted intricate tools, weapons, and statues coveted the world over. None but their own knew the hidden paths to Venheim and soon the forges became myth. Hidden against the depredations of the world, the Giants enjoyed the freedoms few experienced. No visitors sullied their smiths for centuries.

Dakeb the Mage had been the last to visit, on behalf of the Mage Council. He formed strong bonds with Joden, the mightiest of the forge masters. A whisper of budding evil threatened the lands, but without concrete proof, Dakeb and the others of his order had been unable to act. Joden convinced several key members of the Giant leadership to get involved despite their misgivings. When the war finally came it saw the Giants of Venheim contribute in numerous ways. Bonds of trust and loyalty formed between Mage and Giant and, even after the horrors of the Mage Wars ended, Dakeb remained friendly while living under the constant threat of the dark gods.

Once, so long ago there was no recording of it, the Dae’shan and Giants formed a simplistic union. Allies, they roamed the world in search of balance. That balance shifted unsubtly when Amar Kit’han betrayed the gods of light and all sentient life on Malweir in order to obtain his own twisted enlightenment. The enmity between Giants and Dae’shan grew stronger in the intervening years, until only apathy remained. Joden studied the old texts thoroughly during his tenure in Venheim, growing increasingly more interested after Anienam Keiss visited.

The Giant forge master felt change riding the winds. Darkness was brewing in the west. He felt that familiar ache in his bones. A warning. All Malweir stood in jeopardy and only a handful of hapless heroes formed a wall between good and evil. That worried Joden. Groge was a talented apprentice, nearly ready to accept the responsibility of his own forge, but he lacked the experience to deal with such a threat as the treacherous Dae’shan.

Joden hardly looked up as the air shimmered within his stone house. Colors bloomed and faded, revealing the fragile form of a man in gossamer robes. The Giant blinked, slowly understanding who stood in his home. He whistled quietly. “There are many wonders in this world, but to have one of your kind within these walls goes beyond them all.”

Artiss Gran unfolded his arms, smoke lifting off the fabric. “Circumstances have kept me secluded in Trennaron of late. I come bearing ill tidings that cannot wait any longer.”

Joden’s thick brow rose. “Ill tidings concerning my apprentice?”

“Concerning all involved,” Artiss replied.

Joden nodded understanding. “When last I checked, the Dae’shan had become enemies of the light. How is it you resist that pull so claiming your brothers? Is this some poorly devised scheme to ensnare my people at last?”

“I come only with good intentions, forge master,” Artiss said. “The world stands on the edge. The coming conflict will engulf all life on Malweir, whether you choose to ignore it and remained huddled in this mountain refuge. I come not as the perversion Amar Kit’han turned my brothers into but as the Dae’shan the way the gods intended. I am the last caretaker of the light in all Malweir.”

The Giant idly stroked his iron-like chin. “A weighty title to claim. One many better would choose, wisely so, to ignore. These are not proper times to announce allegiances to the old ways. You would be Artiss Gran. I’ve been expecting you.”

Artiss recoiled slightly, the shock registering for a split second only. “I did not think to come announced to the vaunted halls of mighty Venheim.”

“Be that as it may, I had inklings that one of you would come to sway my clan,” Joden answered. A hint of anger tainted his words. The old vows were straining, struggling to remain in place. “What would a Dae’shan, a true servant of the light, have need with the Giants? You must know we long ago eschewed all ties with the lower world.”

“Precisely my reasons for invading your privacy,” Artiss said. He dared to drift closer, but still far enough out of range to flee should Joden become enraged. “This self-imposed exile is quickly crashing to an end. Nothing you have come to love will remain once the dust from this new peril settles.”

“Do not come into my home seeking to cower me with veiled threats,” the Giant interrupted. He balled a massive fist.

Artiss brushed the hostility off and continued, “My errant brothers seek to unleash the dark gods. As we speak their armies are converging on the final nexus.”

It was Joden’s turn to be surprised. “I was under the impression that all three of the nexuses were destroyed?”

“A lie Amar Kit’han went to great lengths to perpetuate through the ages but one now exposed. Two have been permanently destroyed yet the third remains active. The hour approaches when the way between dimensions thins. The dark gods will be at their strongest. Amar Kit’han knows this. He has taken every precaution to ensure success this final time. I won’t insult you by telling you what will happen should he succeed.”

“Why then have you come? And to me precisely?” Joden asked, suspicion now edging in.

The fabled judgment of the Giants. Perhaps we are not so doomed after all. How could I have told Bahr I don’t believe he will succeed? That he would perish anonymously as the armies of darkness swept over the lands? More needed to be done
. Artiss risked almost certain death by leaving Trennaron. There was no going back. Fortunately there was one in Malweir capable of maintaining stewardship of the ancient temple. He just didn’t know it yet.

When he spoke it was slow, measured. “You trained young Groge for the past few decades. His is a very likeable young man, but that youthful inexperience will turn against him when the darkness rises. Groge has the Blud Hamr in his possession though I don’t know if his heart is strong enough to withstand the eldritch energies pulsing through it.”

“Have I sent him to his doom?” Joden asked.

“That remains to be seen. My brothers continue to strengthen their position. An army of fifty thousand Goblins has been transported to Delranan in the attempts at preventing Groge and the armies of King Aurec from reaching the nexus in time.”

Joden balked. “Fifty thousand? Their filth has not enjoyed such numbers in my lifetime. Do any of these heroes understand what they march towards?”

Artiss shook his head, lamenting the inescapable losses fast approaching. “There is still hope. Once I leave Venheim I will make for the camp of the young king of Rogscroft. He leads the largest allied army in the north. The only field force capable of halting the Goblin aggression.”

“But?” Joden asked, noticing the slight hesitation at the end of the statement.

“But it is not enough. They are marching into a trap. Once they cross the Murdes Mountains they will be trapped between the mountains and the Goblins. I can’t imagine it taking too long before they are destroyed.”

Joden winced. “How many swords does this King Aurec command?”

“Perhaps twenty thousand, but it is a combined army of several kingdoms, not the least of which are the Pell Darga. A much smaller army of Dwarves, aided by the Aeldruin, march out from Drimmen Delf in support. Their cannons and gunpowder weapons will give Aurec the tactical advantage needed to break the enemy lines.”

“Only you fear they won’t arrive in time to be of any good,” Joden concluded.

“Precisely. My list of options, and allies, grows thin. Desperation moves me now. I am no longer my own being,” Artiss ended.

He’d never been one for persuasion. Amar and Kodan Bak excelled at getting others to do their bidding with a simple wave of the hand or the proper string of words. Artiss was more of a thinker. An inventor. His aspirations in his former life seldom included changing opinions or minds. Those days a bitter, distant memory, he pledged his life towards the preservation of all life, no matter how minor or devious. His was the only counter to the ill his brothers intended. If he failed to enlist the Giants…Artiss let the thought drop. There was little point in dwelling on the “could” and the “would” of the future.

Nodding, the forge master added, “So we come to the crux of your story. You wish to enlist the Giants into this war.”

“I wish there were another option. One that didn’t involve fighting at all,” Artiss admitted. “Violence dominates too much of this world. It is past time peace returned.”

“Agreed. The very reason we left the lowlands. Convincing Blekling and the others to return to our warring past will be no easy feat. Should you manage, what can we expect? It has been over a thousand years since we last had dealing with Men or Elves.”

Artiss spread his arms in a futile gesture, suggesting for the first time he lacked the knowledge of what approached them.
Could I deal with bringing the Giants back into the holocaust of combat? Has their blood thinned enough to leave them vulnerable after all this time? Will they abandon this life of peace and set across the face of Malweir, intent on conquering all lands deemed unworthy in their eyes?
He shook his head. Too many unanswerable questions.

“I make no promises, forge master,” he said slowly. “All I can offer is my total assistance in stopping my brothers. Will this be enough for you to take to your council of elders?”

“Me?” Joden was genuinely surprised. “Why should I speak with your voice, Dae’shan? You come seeking our aid. I am content with living my life here, in my forge above the clouds. Malweir has many merits, though I wish no longer to partake in them. My time in the lowlands has come to an end. This is a new age. One for the recklessness of youth, not the overbearing indulgence of age.”

Artiss paused, half expecting such a reply. “Should Groge fall without completing his task there will be no other to take his place. It was pure folly to only send one of your kind on such an important task. Will you risk the fate of all life, including your own, on a whim of chance? You and I both know Blekling will not bother with me. I am Dae’shan and he knows us only as enemies. There will be no fair judgment should I step before them.”

“Indeed,” Joden nodded. “Blekling suffers from brashness. He has potential but remains locked in rigid, antiquated ways of thinking. Younger than most of us, he ignores progressivism and hides behind ancient edicts. His intolerance of outlanders is rivaled only by his supporters. Perhaps it is time to have my voice heard again.”

“Joden, will you help me?” Artiss pleaded.

The forge master leaned back in his stone chair and gazed out the westerly window where he watched every sunset for the past hundred and thirty-seven years. He’d grown complacent in his old age. There was a time when he’d have taken up the axe and charged into enemy ranks without second thought. Age made him brittle. He valued life much more than when he was young. A trapping to be sure. Those who lived the longest always seemed to squeeze out their last few years in the desperate hopes of staying alive. He frowned. Leaving Venheim would be his demise, but he could still do his best to convince the others to abandon their seclusion and once again become a part of the living world. The least he could do was try.

“Very well, Artiss Gran of the true Dae’shan. I will bear your message to the council though I will make no promise of their decision,” he said at last.

“I can ask for no more. I shall await their decision here if it pleases you.”

“I think that best.” Joden rose, collected his walking stick, easily twice as tall as Artiss, and headed towards the door while whistling an old lullaby. Times were changing. He felt invigorated to be part of the coming future.

“Joden, I don’t suppose it necessary to implore time is of the essence?” Artiss questioned.

The forge master rumbled a barking laugh and exited his house.

For one as ancient as Artiss Gran, he found a decided lack of patience waiting in Joden’s home. Meditative exercises failed. Floating back and forth across the smooth stone floor did little to ease the numbing fear growing in the corners of his mind. He wished he might know the workings of the Giant council but they were the most secretive of all races. Discerning what Blekling and the others thought was an exercise in futility.

The Dae’shan stared out at the massive stone cathedral filling the end of the plateau. Most Giants retained faith in the old gods but a new, disturbing, trend was gaining popularity among the newer generations. The concept of a singular god performing all of the functions all of the others did was mind-boggling. How any one such being, even a god, could manage was well beyond the limits of Artiss’s reasoning.