Even Gods Must Fall - Christian Warren Freed Page 0,29

were lashed or kicked into action. A few desperate mothers attempted to hide their adolescent boys but it was already too late. Badron’s soldiers, while clumsy, were wholly effective. Soon the entire village stood assembled.

A rough-looking sergeant with a long scar, pink and puckered, running down the left side of his face thumped up to the town square and the small flight of steps to the block where merchants hawked their wares on market day. He glared down at the villagers with open disdain. His uniform was soiled, torn in places, unbefitting of a professional soldier. For many, this was their first encounter with the new Delrananian army. The feeling of disgust left in their mouths drove many to spit.

“By order of the king, the true king, not that one-eyed prick attempting to steal the throne, all military-aged males are ordered to march with us immediately. Any violators will be judged traitors and executed,” the sergeant growled.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Angry fists waved from the middle. More than one voice rose above the others in protest. The sergeant, to his credit, curled his fists and planted them on his hips while the fury ran through the villagers. He hadn’t come here intending on delivering justice to a handful of malcontents but he wasn’t opposed to hacking off an arm or two in the efforts of maintaining order.

“This ain’t our war!”

“What right do you have to come here and roust us out of our beds?”

“Don’t care about one king or the next! Go back and leave us about our business!”

Having had enough, the sergeant nodded gruffly to a squad of soldiers standing at the rear of the assembly. They immediately brandished clubs and waded into the villagers, knocking heads and limbs ruthlessly. Villagers reeled back, eager to avoid the terrible swath being cut through their ranks. Bodies tumbled. Cries rang out. The soldiers didn’t stop until they had beaten their way to the main aggressor and pummeled him to his knees. A loud crack brought their savage attack to an end. Hands snatched his prone form, dragging him up onto the market platform. He rolled once and stopped at the sergeant’s boots.

“This is what happens when you openly rebel against the crown,” he snarled through clenched teeth. “You now have five minutes before I lose my temper. Fifteen to fifty to kiss your loved ones good-bye, grab what gear you think you need, and assemble back here. Move!”

Reluctantly the crowd parted. Mothers wept. Old ladies hugged their husbands, knowing the odds of seeing them again were slim. Young boys feigned bravery. The same scene was played out across eastern Delranan throughout the night. Badron didn’t stand a chance of raising enough conscripts to beat back the combined army. They were all going to die.

EIGHT

Invasion

“How much further?”

Maleela ground her teeth at the Goblin’s impatience. She’d agreed to lead the fifty-thousand-strong force into her home kingdom in the hopes of punishing all those who had done her wrong in her short life. Goblins had already razed three villages to the ground without mercy. Bodies were hacked and cut to pieces. Feeding an army this size demanded sacrifices. Maleela wasn’t prepared to reduce herself to cannibalism, finding the act revolting. Her Goblin minions lacked any hesitation. Meat was meat.

She glared over her shoulder at the battle-scarred Goblin general at her side. Thrask was as impatient as any Human soldier she’d ever met. If he wasn’t instrumental in controlling the ravaging horde behind them she would have had the impudent Goblin executed already. The notion of leading such an army never occurred to her before her internment--or rather, enlightenment--with the Dae’shan. They’d opened her eyes to a brand new world of despair and hatred. All of those lonely nights spent dreaming of vengeance were finally being realized.

“Until there is no more to go,” she replied through clenched teeth. “How many more times do you plan on asking that question, General?”

Thrask swallowed heavily, wanting nothing more than to rip the throat from the Human girl. “We came here to fight, not walk. This is war.”

“Yes, war. War that we must walk to if we are to fight. My father and what remains of his army will be in the east. Our task, in case you have forgotten, is to march to the ruins of Arlevon Gale and await orders from our master.” She cut off her statement abruptly. Memories of her eager submission to Amar Kit’han sickened her stomach. No amount of self-rationalization could ever