Even Gods Must Fall - Christian Warren Freed Page 0,56
rightful king of Delranan but you are my citizens. This is your kingdom. Stand and fight for your homes. Our enemies will most certainly kill you for theirs.”
Badron fell silent. He wasn’t an inspirational speaker, nor did he feel lenient. He needed bodies with weapons to slow the Wolfsreik advance. Most of the rabble staring blankly at him would be dead before the end of the week. Of that he had no doubt. They were the scraps of what had once been a strong society. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t allowed Harnin the option of assuming control in my absence. Killing him proved highly dissatisfying. Perhaps Rolnir’s head will ease my troubles.
“All officers will report for weapons-training instructions immediately. This camp will be ready for battle no later than nightfall. Our enemies are nearly upon us. The Wolfsreik will not spare a single soul. Fight to your last and defend Delranan’s honor. Together we shall prevail!” Badron shoved a defiant fist into the air. Reluctant cheers rose from the crowd, gathering strength as they circled through the all but doomed civilians.
Mildly pleased, the king of Delranan marched down from the platform and back to his command hut. He didn’t expect a single one to survive the onslaught of Rolnir’s assault. The wiser would break and run or throw down their weapons in surrender. Not that he blamed them. War was no place for farmers. Badron unclipped his cloak and draped it over a high-back chair beside his desk. Two oil lamps burned low on the desk. Black trails of smoke rising to a small cloud clung to the ceiling.
“Do you truly think your words are inspiring enough to snatch victory away from defeat?”
Badron winced. “My words are meant not for your foul ears but for what remains of my people. You may have broken Delranan, and perhaps me as well, but you will not hold your glory long. Even should I fall, Rolnir will reclaim Delranan and cast you out.”
Amar Kit’han laughed. The wicked hiss seethed through the hut. “Ever so brave, eh king? There is no strength in the world of Men capable of halting my aggressions. The hour has grown too dark for any hope. And you, King Badron, have provided me with all of the power I required. Your actions have brought about the end of the world. Soon the dark gods will return and Malweir will fall into a new age of darkness. For your loyal service I will ensure that you are slowly murdered over a thousand years.”
Badron’s hand reached for his sword.
“No mortal weapon can harm me, fool,” Amar spat. “I am the instrument of the gods. What hope do you have of standing against me?”
“This will not go unpunished, monster,” Badron ground out.
“It already has. Your kingdom is in ruins, that fool One Eye is dead by your own hands. Had you thought to work together you might have at least slowed my progress. Betraying Grugnak was a mistake. Little do you know an army of fifty thousand Goblins already rampages across Delranan and your very own Wolfsreik is but a few hours from this camp. You will not live to see the dawn. There is no power left in the north capable of contending with me.”
Deflated, Badron resisted the urge to drop to his knees in defeat. How did I let it come to this? The glory promised by my father squandered by my own greed. Regret formed in the shadows of his heart. Attacking Rogscroft had proved to be a near fatal mistake. Jealousy destroyed the one kingdom that might have been able to come to his aid. None of that mattered now, not with Rolnir marching towards him. There would be no words. No offer of terms. The Wolfsreik would crush his meager force in hours, and rightfully so.
He suddenly felt unworthy of the crown. I’ve failed. Failed at everything. Am I strong enough to earn my place beside my forefathers or will I be condemned to fate worse than death? I am truly cursed by the gods.
“Cursed? An interesting notion. You know nothing of curses. For centuries I languished under the indifference of the gods of light. They allowed you foolish mortals to plod through life unmolested even as their dark brothers suffered torments unimaginable. My curse was born through servitude. Never again will I suffer.”
“You didn’t suffer enough,” Badron retorted. His effort fell short, denoting how weak he was compared to the rising Dae’shan.