Even Gods Must Fall - Christian Warren Freed Page 0,122
a pair of their weapons was capable of and the cost was appalling. The battle along the Thorn River crossing was swift and exceptionally brutal. Nothing he had seen prepared him for the full fury lashing into his army.
“We must find a way to stop them.”
Maleela clutched her sword, aching to plunge it into the Goblin’s heart. “Can the army hold? Amar Kit’han will not tolerate failure.”
“The demons are your concern, not mine. Kill Dwarves,” Thrask snarled. “I must kill all of the Dwarves.”
She knew there were another ten thousand warriors waiting a short ride north. The ruins were a massive, sprawling complex but not large enough to house the entire fifty-thousand-strong force. With the northern flank secure and relatively quiet, Maleela figured it would be wise to funnel fresh troops in from the perimeter to counter the massive assault by the Wolfsreik on the east. Enemy forces were strongest there. The complications of the battle frustrated her. The Dwarf attack on the southwest was reaping massive casualties but their army was substantially smaller than Aurec’s. There was no easy decision.
A flap of wings stole her attention. Rising from the center of Arlevon Gale were a dozen Gnaals. She’d only encountered the foul beasts, creations of dark magic, once in the moments before being captured by the Harpies. The very memory robbed her of strength. Gnaals were nothing short of the physical manifestation of hatred and evil. They appeared no more than bulbous, black masses flying through the sky but she knew the truth. Easily as tall as a Minotaur, the Gnaals had wide, leathery wings. Their bodies were the darkest shade of black, making individual characteristics almost indiscernible. Closing her eyes invoked vivid memories of puss-filled lesions, incredibly disproportioned muscles, whip-like tails, and eyes the color of pure malevolence.
She watched them soar into the sky, tucking their wings back and diving towards the Dwarf and Minotaur armies. Not even Boen or Groge had been strong enough to kill the Gnaals that had attacked her in the Jungles of Brodein. What could Dwarves do against a dozen of the killing machines? Maleela regretted the loss of life that was about to happen but felt relief at having one less problem. She could now direct her attention to the east, where she suspected her father cowered.
Thrask snapped his jaws together with appreciation. His warriors had strength in numbers but nothing comparable to the raw fury of the Gnaals. He quickly decided it was time to lead his troops into battle.
Maleela agreed. “Summon the reinforcements. Have them attack the Wolfsreik from the north. Between them and the Gnaals we can sweep our foe from the field and win this battle.”
Thrask tapped a fingertip on one of his tusks as the notion of killing her entertained him. He didn’t need her, despite what assurances the Dae’shan gave. She was weak, like the rest of her kind. The new world had no place for weakness. Thrask itched with the desire but knew it would only invoke the ire of Amar Kit’han. Instead he decided to wait until the battle was almost won before slicing her open and tearing out her heart.
“I go to fight the Dwarves. The army will attack your Wolf soldiers. This will be glorious day for the Goblin race. We will kill them all!” The Goblin Lord thumped a fleshy fist to his chest and stormed off. Killing Maleela could wait…for now.
With the foul Goblin gone, she resumed her mental quest for her father. Killing raged around her but her mind sequestered it away, lost behind the growing desire to see Badron broken and bleeding on the ground at her knees. The world dulled and faded until she saw but one figure. A solitary fighter lost amidst a sea of iron and armor. Badron. Oh how she wanted to slit his throat and bathe in his blood.
Gnaals dropped heavily into the massed Dwarf cannons. Weaponless, they attacked with tail and claw. No amount of Dwarf ferocity was enough to prevent bodies from being shredded. The battle raged as Gnaals cut their way through the Dwarves and reached the cannons. They bled from hundreds of cuts. Broken arrows and axe blades were embedded in their flesh yet not one had gone down. Close to a hundred Dwarves were already dead, torn apart without delay.
A few brave Dwarves managed to fire a final round into Arlevon Gale before their weapons were thoroughly destroyed. Gnaals crushed the barrels, snapping them like kindling. One blew