Even Gods Must Fall - Christian Warren Freed Page 0,30
reduce the fact that she’d willingly bent her knee.
Thrask bristled suddenly. “Your master, not mine. Demons want to destroy the world, not rule it.”
“Why then are you here?” she demanded.
“To fight,” Thrask said with unabated pride. “We kill because we were made to. I think we should have stayed to fight Dwarves. They die much better than Man.”
“I shouldn’t think either death displeases you,” Maleela said. “Your lot seems destined to die by the sword. Fighting the Dwarves wouldn’t have accomplished anything but delay us from reaching our goals. Amar Kit’han wants us to be at the ruins within the next two days.”
Thrask shook his head. Ropes of saliva flew away. His tusks, greenish-brown on the tips, were chiseled, sharpened for tearing flesh. “We should have stayed in the Deadlands. March and march all day. Goblins need to fight.”
“There is a war coming, General Thrask. One that promises to launch our world into an unprecedented, new age of warfare. There will be blood enough, even for the likes of you,” she told him. “What is the status of the stragglers?”
Thrask shrugged. “They either keep up or fall away. No other choice. I don’t care about a few. The army will arrive in strength. You must give us bodies to kill.”
“We have been assured my father and his soldiers are ahead of us,” Maleela said. She considered telling the Goblin how the Wolfsreik was returning, along with a combined force of nearly twenty thousand. The Dae’shan’s intelligence was often spotty but Amar Kit’han was convinced he was right. Urgency was the matter of the day. She needed to push her new army harder in order to get them entrenched around Arlevon Gale before her enemies beat them to it.
“Betrayer,” Thrask spit out. “He will die. I promise.”
Maleela didn’t need his reassurances. She had a special torment in mind for her beloved father. Anyone who willingly abandoned his daughter to a lifetime of silence, cowering in the shadows while greater men strode the world around her, deserved a fate worse than death. Mental images of Badron’s suffering sent shivers down her lithe form.
“Badron is not to be harmed. Am I clear?”
Thrask snarled. “Why?”
“I will deal with my father. Once all of his soldiers are dead, once his great cities are reduced to ruins and his legacy ripped from the history books, only then will he be allowed to die. I intend to rip him to pieces, bleeding him just enough over time. Goblins aren’t the only creatures with a penchant for violence.”
“It appears not.”
Alone in her tent of tanned deer hide, Maleela struggled to find sleep. Each time she closed her eyes a host of memories assailed her. She’d given up trying to figure out how her life had devolved to this point. Perhaps she’d never been intended for anything greater than the puppet of pure evil. Knowing wouldn’t change her course. She was committed to seeing this war through to fruition.
A small mirror was one of the few possessions she allowed herself on the campaign. Reluctantly, she withdrew the small piece of glass each night and stared at her reflection. She’d changed since being abducted in the Jungles of Brodein. Her cheeks were sunken. Dark circles clung to her eyes. She felt tired, borderline fatigued. Red streaks riddled her once blue eyes. Her hair was a tangled mess. Worse, she felt dark. As if a great weight had settled on her soul and slowly gnawed away any resistance she once possessed.
“Am I evil?” she asked her reflection between sobs.
“Only as evil as you wish to be.”
Maleela slowly put the mirror down and bowed her head as Amar Kit’han materialized before her. “Master.”
“Doubt is a terrible thing, Maleela,” he admonished. “It leads down many dark, twisted paths beyond our control. Madness might claim you should you pursue this train of thought.”
“What else is there for me to consider?” she asked.
Amar cocked his head. Truthfully he’d anticipated her question. Long nights had been spent watching her. Studying her thoughts and the absence of dreams. She proved the perfect specimen for his experiments. Maleela was broken, a tortured soul beyond salvation. Or so he hoped. She harbored great reserves of strength her father and uncle couldn’t compete with. Turning her was no easy feat, but one he’d accomplished with relative quickness. The princess of Delranan had given herself to his cause freely.
“Tomorrow,” he said.
Maleela raised her head, staring intently into the swirling shadows of his cloak. “What does tomorrow have to do with anything?”