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  Shadow of the Gods

  ( The Godling Chronicles - 3 )

  Brian D. Anderson

  Brian D. Anderson

  Shadow of the Gods

  Prologue

  Theopolou and Eftichis sat quietly by the small fire. Over the past three days the makeshift camp had become a divided scene. Theopolou had convinced more than half of the remaining elders to join together against the armies of Angraal, but Bellisia had held fast to her convictions. Her influence was the only thing that prevented Theopolou from turning the tide altogether.

  “She is a stubborn one,” mused Eftichis.

  “She believes in what she says,” said Theopolou. He looked out over the camp. Noble elves were wandering about in tattered and ripped clothing. The stench of burned out tents and the decay of the wounded, made him want to wretch. “And I must admit, her arguments are compelling. There have been times I have doubted my own resolve, because of her words.”

  Eftichis nodded in agreement. “She has passion, to be sure. But we have pledged our houses to Gewey, and I, for one, will honor that pledge.”

  “As will I,” said Theopolou. “But I cannot deny that my heart has been swayed to the brink. I only hope that my words have had a similar impact on her.”

  Eftichis nodded. “As do I. The others will join our cause if she relents.”

  Theopolou stood up and rubbed the back of his neck. “True. And we need them if we hope to succeed.”

  “Perhaps you should simply try and focus their attention on the elves of the Steppes,” Eftichis offered. “It would end the debate. At least for now. We all know that they must be dealt with.”

  Theopolou shook his head.

  “No. We must deal with all of the forces arrayed against us, at once. I believe that one cannot be conquered without the other. They are intertwined.” He felt old and weary. “This may break our people. But we have no other choice.”

  “But Gewey…” said Eftichis, desperation in his voice. “He can help us remain whole, can he not?”

  Theopolou sighed. “Gewey may be a God, but he is not the Creator. As powerful as he is-and will become still-he struggles as well. Gewey does not, and never will, have the power to restore our people. Save us from annihilation, perhaps; but we cannot look to him for salvation.”

  “But he opened the Book of Souls,” Eftichis contended. “Certainly-”

  “And what of it?” asked Theopolou, cutting him off. “Did you hear what he said when he read the title?” His eyes gazed into the fire. “It is a true history. A true history.”

  “Yes, and-” Eftichis started, but the sight of Theopolou's sadness halted him.

  “I am the eldest of the elders,” said Theopolou, in a half-whisper. “I lived through the Great War. But unlike the others, I am old enough to have seen what we were before. We were a broken people, even then. Arrogant and selfish. We were so convinced that humans were inferior.”

  “But they are,” said Eftichis. “They are fragile and weak. They grovel in the mud and live in squalor. How could we not see them as a lesser people?”

  “Yes,” Theopolou laughed, sardonically. “But are we so much better? We have lost, while the humans continue to gain. They build while we gaze at our former glories.” His hand shot out, pointing to the Chamber of the Maker silhouetted against the fading light. “Can we claim to be the same people that built this? Look at us. Are we so different from the humans?”

  “Do you see hope for us?” Eftichis asked, sorrow in his eyes.

  “I don't know,” Theopolou replied. “I hope so. But whatever hope we have will arise from us, and not Gewey. He is the instrument of our survival, but, in the end, we must determine our own fate. If we live through the coming storm, it will be up to us.” He forced a smile. “But, I do have faith in our people. I believe there is still a spark of grace within us.”

  Just then, Bellisia approached, dressed in a soft, cream linen robe. Her eyes showed fatigue, yet she managed to walk straight and tall, with graceful strides. Eftichis and the others rose to their feet and bowed.

  “You have been tending the wounded,” said Theopolou. “You should rest. Our debate can continue tomorrow.”

  “I am in no mood for debate,” said Bellisia. “I am weary, as you have noticed. I only wish to join you by the fire.”

  Theopolou offered her a place beside him, which she gratefully accepted.

  “Have you eaten?” asked Eftichis.

  “I am not hungry,” she replied. “Just tired. My heart breaks when I look at what our own kind has done.”

  “I understand,” said Theopolou. “I hoped I would never see such a thing happen again. I have seen far too much elf blood spill in my life.”

  “Do you really believe Angraalis responsible?” she asked, closing her eyes, internally contemplating the truth. “Do you think his power is that great?”

  “I cannot say for sure,” Theopolou admitted. “But I see no other way for this to have happened. Long have our brothers and sisters on the Steppes lived alongside Angraal. If the Reborn King has the key to heaven, and I believe he does, then it is very possible he could have bent our kin to his will.”

  “The elves of the Steppes are a strong people,” said Eftichis. “If they have indeed been corrupted, then what resistance can we hope to offer? Already we have been betrayed from within our own ranks.”

  “I do not know what hope there is,” said Theopolou. “Only that there is hope. And the elves of the Steppes have been close to the influence of Angraalfrom the moment the Reborn King seized power. We have been far removed by comparison. If things were different, who knows what would have become of us.”

  “I agree,” said Bellisia. “And they are still our kin, regardless of what they have done. I, for one, will not abandon the idea that they can be redeemed. And, if we are to follow the example Theopolou set before us, forgiveness must be in our hearts.” Her eyes drifted over the camp. “But I must admit, it will be difficult. I have not seen so many elves slain since the Great War. I was only twenty-five during the first split, but the memories are still fresh in my mind.”

  “It is so for all of us who lived through it,” said Theopolou. “And we have passed that memory to our children…along with our hatred and fear. It is a cycle that must end.”

  There was a sudden disturbance near the healing pavilion, drawing immediate notice from the assembled group. Theopolou and the others reached for their weapons. From the direction of the commotion, Marinos appeared, half running toward them.

  “What is it?” asked Theopolou, once Marinos was in earshot.

  “Red sails,” he replied. His voice cracked. “Red sails on the horizon.”

  Theopolou stiffened. “Are you certain?”

  “There is no question,” he replied.

  The others looked confused.

  “Red sails? What does that mean?” asked Eftichis.

  Theopolou lowered his head and took a deep breath. “It means the elves are coming.”

  Chapter 1

  Kaylia drifted in and out of consciousness. She knew she was bound and slung, face down, across the back of a horse, but each time her thoughts came into focus, an unseen force would press against her, and the world would go black again. Finally, she was able to resist long enough to hear voices. Elven voices.

  “This does not sit well with me,” said a deep male voice. “It is one thing to bring traitors to justice. But I was not told these creatures would be among us.”

  “Nor was I,” replied another. “But it is far too late to turn back. Once we are home, we can consult the elders. Until then, we must endure their company.”

  Kaylia felt a hand grab her hair and lifted her head. Though she was not
blindfolded she dared not open her eyes.

  “Is she awake?” asked the first voice.

  “I cannot tell,” replied the second. “The beast has blocked all connection to the flow. I cannot sense anything.”

  The first voice grumbled and cursed, but made no other response.

  Hours passed before they came to a halt. Kaylia was still feigning unconsciousness when she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Suddenly, the air carried the foul stench of death, and she sensed the approach of…something.

  “She is not asleep,” came a rasping voice. “Are you elf?”

  Kaylia felt her bonds being cut, and she slid down from the horse. Her legs nearly gave out, but strong arms in rough leathers steadied her. She jerked herself free as her eyes focused. It was well after nightfall, and a small campfire was being built in a clearing a few yards away. She could make out about twenty elves, but that was not what caught her attention. It was the being standing in front of her. A Vrykol, tall and slender; adorned in a sleek, hooded black robe, and carrying a lengthy, vicious, curved blade. It reeked of decay, and its foul breath wheezed and gurgled.

  Kaylia glared at the creature. “So this is what our people have become? Murderers of their own kind, and slaves of the darkness of the world?” Her tone has proud and defiant.

  “Mind your tongue,” warned the elf that held her. “We are the bringers of justice. It is you who have betrayed our people.”

  Kaylia threw her head back in mocking laughter. “You travel with the Vrykol. You attack elves on sacred ground. How dare you name me traitor.”

  “Enough of this,” screeched the Vrykol. The sound pierced the air, causing Kaylia to wince. “You are to remain silent unless spoken to.” He turned to the elf at her back. “As for you…your comrades grow restless. Calm them.” His black hands reached out and grasped Kaylia's arm in an iron grip. “I can manage this one.”

  The elf grunted and strode off in the direction of the others.

  “I will make you pay for what you have done to my people,” seethed Kaylia. “And I will make your master pay as well.”

  Before she could measure the moment, the Vrykol's fist crashed into Kaylia’s jaw, sending her sprawling to the ground.

  “I told you to be silent.” The Vrykol lowered his blade, pressing the tip against Kaylia's throat. “My master has insisted you are to be kept alive. He said nothing about your…condition.”

  Kaylia’s jaw throbbed from the impact, but she glared unflinchingly.

  “That's better,” growled the Vrykol. “Remain still and silent.”

  A few minutes passed and the tall elf returned. He looked down at Kaylia, then back at the Vrykol.

  “She was to be left unharmed,” he grumbled, angrily. “That was the agreement. No elf is to be injured by your hands.” He looked back at the group of elves gathering around the crackling fire. “If you do not uphold your end of the bargain, you will find yourself quickly surrounded by enemies.”

  The Vrykol let out a vile laugh. “As you wish.” He removed the blade from Kaylia's throat. “But see to it that she is well-tended. Should she escape, it will be you that pays the price.” With that he spun around, and disappeared into the darkness.

  The tall elf held out his hand. “I am Freistal. Do not try to escape. The elves you see here are not the only ones I have with me. The forest is filled with my kin. I would hate to see you harmed before you can be brought to justice.”

  Kaylia sneered and struggled to her feet. “We will see who is brought to justice.”

  Freistal pulled her roughly to his side. “Perhaps you think your human mate will save you? Or perhaps Linis and his seekers? Let me assure you that they have been dealt with. And even if they have somehow survived, they will not be able to save you.”

  Kaylia forced a malicious laugh. “Let me assure you that Gewey and Linis would not fall to the likes of you or your rabble. And when they find you, you will wish you had never left your lands. If you think to look to the Vrykol for safety, you will find that they can be slain as easily as you.”

  Freistal shrugged. “Perhaps. But for now you will remain with us, and you will not escape. I will allow you to stay unbound. Do not make me regret it, or you certainly will.” He motioned for her to go to the fire. “We rest for only a short time. Unless you wish me to strap you back onto the horse, you should eat so that you will have the strength to travel.”

  Kaylia rubbed her jaw, then made her way to the fire. Freistal followed close behind and though he held no weapon, she was certain that if she made a wrong move, her body would be filled with arrows before she could take more than a few steps. As she approached the fire, she could feel the eyes upon her. She stiffened her back and took an empty space a moderate distance from the others. Freistal knelt beside her and handed her a flask of water and handful of jerky.

  “I suggest you hold your tongue,” whispered Freistal. “Things are a bit…tense. And your comments will not be welcome.”

  “I take it they are not pleased with your traveling companion,” she taunted. “I cannot say that I blame them.”

  “That is putting it mildly,” Freistal replied. “And your presence is no more welcome than theirs. So mind that you give them no excuse to take their frustrations out on you.”

  “So I am to be beaten if I speak?” Kaylia sneered, with contempt. “You will behave as the Vrykol?”

  “I would not have you harmed,” Freistal retorted. “We are not animals. Speak as you will, but be warned. There are those among us that have a deep hatred for your kin, and you in particular.”

  “Why?” asked Kaylia. “Where does this hatred come from?”

  Freistal looked at her sideways. “We know who your kin have allied themselves with. They would make us allies of the very people that destroyed us in the first place. And you…” he paused. “You bond yourself to a human, seeking to doom us all. Your crimes are beyond forgiveness.” He rose to his feet and glared down at her. “I, for one, will not stand idly by while you and your people annihilate what is left of our kind.”

  “How can you accuse me or my kin of betrayal?” shot Kaylia angrily. “You have been deceived by the evil that dwells in Angraal.”

  “Then you deny that elves and humans are allowed to befriend each other?” he said, furiously. “You deny that your elders do nothing to stop it? You deny that you have bonded yourself to a human?”

  She glared at him defiantly. “Who I choose to love is my own affair, not yours. And if you are so foolish as to think it shall be the end of our people, then your stupidity knows no bounds.”

  He met her gaze. “Because of you and others like you, our people will disappear and become nothing more than a distant memory. A mere shadow of what we once were.”

  “So this is why you have done this?” said Kaylia, loud enough for all to hear. “Because of half-truths and fear?”

  “You deny it then?” Freistal asked. “You deny that your kin intend to join with the humans?”

  “I do not deny that I have bonded myself to a human,” she replied boldly. “And I do not deny that many of my kin have formed friendships with humans. But we are not destroying our people. We are saving them.” She stood to address the entire group, but Freistal caught her arm.

  “Do not do this,” he warned. “You will not sway us. You will only anger them, and put yourself in further danger.”

  “It seems to me that I can be in no more danger than I already am,” said Kaylia, jerking her arm free. “And if you intend to bring me back to your people on the Steppes, then you will not harm me until then.” She stood straight and proud. And though disheveled from being captured, her fierce gaze gave her a regal appearance.

  “Let her speak,” came a voice from the crowd. “Her lies will do nothing but strengthen our resolve.”

  “Very well,” sighed Freistal.

  Kaylia squared her shoulders and took a step forward. “I know you think me a traitor. I know you believe that your actions
are justified.” Her tone was imposing. “But ask yourself this…who is it that you serve? Is this the will of the elders? Or is this the will of the King in Angraal? You are pawns in his game of conquest. Surely, at least some of you sense this.” A few elves stirred.

  “If this is not so, then why are you traveling with a Vrykol? Do you really believe that creature will allow you to take me to your elders? It will never let that happen. I am to be used as leverage against the one being that can challenge the power of Angraal.” Tears began to well in her eyes, but her voice remained steady. “You have killed your own kin based on a lie. You have led your brothers and sisters to their death in the process. How many of you have died in your attack? Twenty? Thirty?”

  Angry murmurs and tearful stares told her that it was far more.

  “Fifty-seven,” whispered Freistal. “And your deceptions will not make us believe they died for nothing. You accuse us of being weak. We are the pawns of no one. Not the Reborn King…and not you. While you and your kin have made alliances with the humans and the Gods, we have remained true to our traditions and ways. We have not diluted our blood with that of lesser beings, and we will never do so. The armies you gather against us will fall.”

  “Armies?” Kaylia cried. “We have raised no armies. It is Angraalwho raises armies. It is this ‘Reborn King’ that threatens to march. Not us.”

  “You lie!” shouted Freistal. “I have seen them. Your ships have been spotted many times by my own eyes. And your war council we attacked will no doubt hasten your plans, now that they know that we are aware of their treachery.”

  “You speak nonsense,” said Kaylia. “Your mind has been twisted by the power of the Dark One. Can you not see this? I did not accuse you of weakness before, but I do so now. You have been touched by the power he wields. The Sword of Truth has bent you to his will. Certainly some of your own will remains.”

  “I told you to keep her silent,” hissed the voice of the Vrykol, as it came from behind the outlying brush. “Her words are poison. She seeks to deceive you.”