Even Gods Must Fall by Christian Warren Freed Page B

disturbed the night. Boen’s blade flashed once as it sliced neatly across the mercenary’s throat. Blood bubbled and frothed as it ran down between fingers desperately trying to seal the wound. But Boen had cut deeply. Pock Face would be dead in a matter of moments, leaving the Gaimosian free to make his way back to his horse and figure out how to deal with the ten mercenaries heading his way.
    He snatched the body by the neck and waist and dragged it off into a small clump of holly bushes. Boen didn’t wait for Pock Face to die before wiping his hands clean on the snow and, after checking the camp a final time, sprinting off into the night. Sighing, he knew he was in for a long one. There was much to be done before he could appropriately welcome his coming guests.

SEVEN
    A King Returned
    Badron, deposed king of Delranan and tyrant of the north, sat staring at Harnin One Eye’s corpse as it swung gently in the late morning breeze. Crows had already pecked out the eye and both cheeks. No greater fate was deserved for a usurper. Once friends, Badron and Harnin carved Delranan into their own vision. Badron still wasn’t sure what went wrong. He’d gone off to war with the intent on bringing Rogscroft to heel and, potentially, forming the first northern empire. Harnin was supposed to keep Delranan running smoothly, pouring supplies and follow-on forces to the war effort. None of that happened.
    Each person Badron questioned told the same tale. Plague and rebellion. What little remained of Badron’s once mighty kingdom didn’t deserve the title. Whole villages were gutted. The population, what was left of it, was downtrodden to the point they were ready to give up. Coupled with ferocity of this past winter, the kingdom of Delranan slowly faded away.
    Badron was no fool. He knew that deep down at the core of the issue was the Dae’shan. Their eternal need to mess with mortals were already driving him mad. It didn’t take much to think they would have done the same or worse to Harnin. Badron hadn’t seen Amar Kit’han or the other Dae’shan since fleeing Rogscroft in shame. The betrayal of the Wolfsreik rocked his belief system. He lacked allies and, most of all, Kit’han’s guidance.
    Taking the first fort in the long string of defenses had been relatively easy. His return left him questioning his principles. This wasn’t the same kingdom he’d left. Leaving for a different land where none recognized him wasn’t possible. He was already committed to the course. One way or another he was going to stand at the end of the storm. Rumors of the Wolfsreik crossing the mountains already reached his ears. It didn’t take much imagination to see their massive force crushing Harnin’s meager defenses in short order.
    He needed to find a way out. A way to change the course of the coming war.
    “Isn’t it amazing how unimpressive the mortal body is once the spark leaves?”
    Badron screwed his eyes shut at the sound of the hissing voice whispering in his ear. His hopes that he’d lost the Dae’shan or fallen out of their favor were dashed like waves upon the rocks.
    “Will I ever be freed from your curse?” he asked weakly.
    Amar ignored him. “I’ve witnessed thousands of souls flee the mortal shell. Each is…unique despite the appalling similarities in life. More often than not the body clings to what little life remains, desperate to avoid becoming food for the worms. Would it pain you to learn how Harnin One Eye scraped and clung to his fading life, cursing your name with his last breath?”
    “That is not the look he held in his eyes,” Badron protested.
    “Was it not? What else could a man have who held such hatred for his former mentor?”
    Badron finally opened his eyes. “Relief. He was relieved his troubles were over. Does that surprise you, demon? That a lowly man was able to overcome your manipulations, even at the moment of his death, and find a measure of honor? You’re not as all powerful as