Even Gods Must Fall - Christian Warren Freed Page 0,63
ground to a halt despite Thrask and his commanders’ vapid urgings. Unused to having his army frightened to inactivity, Thrask snatched a whip and tore through the ranks.
Maleela watched him, hesitant to get involved. She wanted to turn and flee without knowing why. Evil permeated from the ground, seeping into her body. The fear almost subsumed her. Temptation nearly became too great and she almost broke and fled back into the night. Her tiny figure trembled under her riding cloak. Tears welled in her eyes.
“Despair often fuels our emotions, princess.”
Maleela froze, instantly recognizing the rasping voice in her ear.
“You mind threatens to shatter under the reality of your situation. Death beckons but you are too afraid to accept his embrace. What tenuous hold remains on your army slips further from your grasp as you linger with indecision.”
Clearing her throat, Maleela finally found her voice. “Demon, why do you torment me? Have I not brought your army to war? Give me my father and leave me in peace.”
Amar Kit’han hissed laughter. “Peace? There will never be peace in this pathetic kingdom again. Already your people reduce their lives in squalor. They debase themselves on the shrines of forgotten gods who do not answer. Humanity is lost. What delicious atrocities you mortals exact against each other when you think no one is watching.”
“What do you want?” she asked. Dark images of families locked in murderous embrace entered her mind. She couldn’t fathom a parent willingly trying to kill their own children or vice versa. Head in a fog, Maleela shook violently to clear the images Amar Kit’han had placed in her mind.
The Dae’shan materialized in a shroud of shadows by her side. Only his violent red eyes were visible to the naked eye. “I come to congratulate you, princess. You have delivered the Goblins to Arlevon Gale in time.”
Her eyes widened. “We have arrived?”
“Indeed. I expect you to begin deployment immediately. Time is perilously short. Our enemies gather and converge as we speak. You have done well.”
Any concept of success failed to translate in her limited scope of reality. Months of constant mental fatigue drove her down. She was a hollow representation of what she’d once aspired to become. Maleela wasn’t quite broken, but knew that seminal moment wasn’t far off. She lacked the core of what she’d once been and needed to find a path of return.
Sensing her quandary, Amar Kit’han pressed his advantage. “You wish to find your father. To confront him for all of the wrongs cast upon you over the course of your abused life.”
“Yes,” she all but whispered.
Amar nodded. “That moment in time approaches. I sense Badron is nearing. If the gods decide to grant your vengeance will you swear fealty?”
She hesitated, suddenly unsure of her true motivations. Her father was bitter, venomous at his core but still responsible for her life. His consuming hatreds were often taken for granted in her mind. But was there basis? Maleela had been largely ignored over the years, shunned at best but never mistreated. Badron kept her away but never went over the top. Had this all been a fabrication in her mind? Months of carefully rehearsed plans and speeches dissolved in her mind.
“He is coming here?” she asked.
“Indeed, though not by means of his choosing,” Amar answered. “I will speak no more of this. Deploy your soldiers around the ruins and bring Thrask to me within the temple.”
She opened her mouth to speak as he dissolved back into the night, leaving naught but the taint of his vile presence in the air. Maleela felt anger swell within her blackening heart. Her trepidations evaporated as she regained convictions. Her father could wait. Amar Kit’han and his band of demons were her immediate targets. Once vengeance was slaked, she could focus on her dispossessed father.
“General Thrask! Move your forces into position around Arlevon Gale.”
SEVENTEEN
A Life Best Lived
Boen grunted as he ripped his massive sword out of his latest victim’s chest. Blood and gore fountained, falling in puddles around his boots. The Gaimosian was covered in sweat. His muscles burned from excessive use without proper rest. He’d been on the run for so many hours time meant nothing. An endless stream of corpses traced his path across the wilds of Delranan. Bodies that never would have been this far north if not for the war. Not even a lifetime of combat and violence was enough to keep his great frame moving for much longer. Age and time had not been kind to