Even Gods Must Fall - Christian Warren Freed Page 0,15
blind, Anienam looked down upon Bahr with newfound approval. The Sea Wolf was finally shedding his outer skin and revealing his true nature. Granted, it had taken longer than he anticipated, but Anienam was sure Bahr now had the practical understanding necessary to complete the difficult task appointed to him. A good sign, but is it already too late?
“What you propose is tricky. Each race is imbued with the ability to self-govern. We all enjoy certain freedoms that a lifetime of slavish devotion to the old gods disempowers. The gods can be seen as lethargic. The gods of light left this plane long ago, vowing to allow us the right to self-rule.”
“They don’t seem overly interested in returning to deal with their problems, though, do they?” Bahr added. “They could have come back to stop the dark gods at any point.”
“Perhaps they wanted to test us,” Anienam said.
“So this is all some grand experiment? For what purpose?”
“That is an answer I fear we will discover all too soon.”
Bahr let the conversation drop. Something he failed to identify in the wizard’s tone bothered him for reasons he wasn’t sure. All he wanted at the moment was to sit down, enjoy his share of roasted venison, and fall asleep. The rest of the world could wait.
He practically collapsed onto a folding stool procured from the fine vaults of Trennaron and listened to the conversation between Dorl and Nothol. Bahr could always count on the travel banter of his favorite sell swords to brighten the mood.
“I’m not saying that, you thick-brained fool,” Dorl fumed. His face reddened from frustration. “Alls I’m saying is that the meat is starting to taste old.”
“Of course it’s old, dummy. Boen killed it near on a week ago!” Nothol replied, feigning his own frustration. The vast majority of his comments were always meant to incite the infantile feeling of aggression Dorl kept pent up.
Dorl blinked twice as the realization struck. “No. You’re not going to get away with this again. This is my point of view. I’m not giving it over to you just because.”
Nothol sat back and held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, be that way. I wasn’t looking for a fight anyway. It’s still too cold for that.”
Satisfied with the victory, Dorl said, “Good. That’s settled.”
“The meat is getting a little rank.”
“Damn it, Nothol! I’m going on guard duty.”
The camp broke out in laughter as the shorter sell sword hastily snatched his weapons and trudged off to rove the perimeter.
“Why do you do that?” Rekka Jel asked once the merriment died down. Since joining the quest in Chadra, she and Dorl had grown to become lovers. Her newfound emotions failed to translate into understanding for the northerners or their rigid ways. Rekka never bothered thinking of her relationship lasting beyond the approaching battle. There was a good chance many, if not all, of their ragged group would be dead before the end. A life in the north with Dorl hadn’t become a possibility until she’d been banished from her village of Teng through a series of unfortunate events.
Nothol smiled warmly. “It keeps him on his toes. Don’t tell him I ever said this, and I’ll deny it if you do, but I need Dorl around. He’s watched my back for years and that’s an irreplaceable feeling.”
“He cares deeply for you,” she said.
“Let’s not get mushy. Emotional types don’t last long in this profession.” Of course, we’re not likely to last much longer anyway. What have we gotten ourselves into, I wonder? “Just know that I will do everything I can to keep his scruffy hide alive. No matter the cost.”
The usually glib sell sword went back to his dinner without another word, leaving Rekka quietly analyzing the evolving dynamic of the group. They were an odd collection, each unique in their skill set. Normally none would be seen together but necessity and increased engagements forged them into a deadly weapon. Briefly, she wondered what her life would be like if she’d elected not to leave Trennaron.
The sudden commotion on the far side of camp broke her thoughts. Her head snapped up. Hands reached for her sword. She squinted in the dying light, relaxing only slightly upon spying Boen’s massive frame rumbling back into camp. He was out of breath and exuded danger. The Gaimosian brought dire news. She sensed his adrenaline and knew he ached for the sweet release only battle offered.
“We’re in trouble,” he said between ragged breaths.