Even Gods Must Fall - Christian Warren Freed Page 0,103

tomorrow. His only regret or fear, though he’d never use such a word, was that he had never even conceived such impossible odds. The war for the soul of Malweir was the largest in recorded history, or so he’d been led to believe. He considered it a great honor to be the only one of his people to be an active combatant. Once again a Gaimosian would be at the center of the universe. His actions might very well be the spark that motivated the rest of the allies and tip the balance in the war.

Boen began to whistle softly as he repeatedly ran his sword over the stone. Tomorrow he would test his resolve. He would either be found wanting or deliver all of those unspoken promises to his friends.

Dwarven work crews continued digging their cannons in throughout the night. Weapons were sighted in on lines of fire that would, theoretically, provide the most damage to the Goblin army. Aiming stakes were emplaced as far out as Dwarves were able to crawl without drawing attention. Cannon crews dug in their powder bags. They knew the Goblins had only one counter to the gunpowder: fire. Should any arrows drop into the ammunition pits, the entire battery could go up in flames. Piles of ammunition were rolled together beside each cannon. Gunners sighted in prefixed targets as work continued around them.

Individual firing lines were established for the musket-laden infantry. Over one thousand Dwarves went about cleaning their weapons, double checking their powder reserves, and ensuring they had enough ammunition to sustain a heavy attack. Barrels were brushed clean of dust and debris. Triggers were tested for reliability as the musketeers chatted quietly amongst themselves. They were already experienced, having stood toe to toe in the trenches at Bode Hill with their dark Dwarf cousins. Then it had been practically even. The Goblins had nothing comparable to their muskets. Tomorrow promised to be a glorious battle.

Back in the center of camp, the beleaguered rebels struggled with personal demons. Far from being real soldiers, the citizen army of Delranan individually had to come to terms with their mortality. The decision to stand and fight or flee wore heavily on them. Conducting the civil war campaign against Harnin’s forces was a series of hit-or-miss ambushes and raids. Never before had they stood the line against a proper field force. Imaginations threatened to run wild. The old timers recalled obscure battles where thousands were slain. These bits of history were kept silent from fear of routing their own army.

Several looked to the Dwarves and Minotaurs for motivation. They were true warriors. Many of the people of Delranan were inspired by the professionalism of their new allies. They set about readying their weapons and kit for the coming battle. Others floundered in self-doubt. They weren’t heroes or even soldiers. Personal motivations ranged as greatly as the colors in nature. It was for each to decide how to handle their role. Some would break and run as the nightmare erupted around them. Others would drop to their knees and cry uncontrollably. Yet others would rise to the challenge and show the world the mettle of Delrananians.

Oblivious to the rest of the camp, the civilians went about their tasks with heavy hearts.

The Minotaur army watched them with amusement. Born and bred for battle, the bulls were ready to attack under the cover of darkness. Until recently the Minotaurs had remained in their forest home of Malg, far to the east. They seldom cared for the goings-on of other races and were intent on learning new secrets of warfare and savagery. Krek had come to power long after his experiences with Anienam’s father in the Deadlands. He’d forged bonds with several from the kingdom of Thrae but his most important alliance was with the Pell Darga tribes in the Darkwall Mountains, the very ancestors of Cuul Ol and his tribes.

Both races were largely considered outcasts. Without the grand courts of the Mage orders to convene quarterly and bring order to Malweir, there was a growing discourse among those like the Minotaurs. Krek was determined to lead them back to an age of greatness where they were both feared and respected. It began in Delranan. The army was strictly punitive. Old rivalries remained between Minotaur and Goblin. Once subject to petty raids at the behest of the Silver Mage, the bulls of Malg finally found their opportunity to exact revenge.

They snorted and laughed. Sleep was long in coming. Seasoned warriors,