When Goblins Rage (Book 3) by Lucas Thorn Page B

of a legend in the eyes of his enemies. A mythic creature of immense power.
    No wonder the cook seemed in awe of him.
    She wondered how many others watching from the walls of the old fort were feeling their bravery seep out through the soles of their boots at the thought of being close to such a man.
    How many who, if standing in front of him with their sword in hand, wouldn't think of raising it even if the General was unarmed. Paralysed by fear, they'd stand waiting for their deaths. Probably kneel before him as though he were Rule himself.
    She gave a low snort at the thought.
    She'd never kneel. Never again.
    Not to Storr.
    And not to his god.
    “He breathes,” she said, remembering another time she'd given this advice. “Therefore, he can die.”
    The cook brought her the steaming bowl. Dropped it in front of her and scooped up the coins she'd dropped onto the table. Eyed one critically before slipping it away inside his apron.
    “I ain't one who likes killing, Long-ear. It's why I don't like you being in here. It's your kind that make the Deadlands the evil place it is. You all gather like flies on dead meat. You breed. And you change. You get meaner. And when it looks like there ain't no more cruelty left in the world, you go and dig up more from the foulest pits of the Shadowed Halls. And all this blood you spill, it's a disease blighting the world. And why? What for? You call it survival, but that's only because you don't have any other reason for what you do. Because there ain't no reason. Grim's dead. Rule won. And whether he comes today, or tomorrow, Rule's gonna come north. He'll walk right the fuck over us. Stomp us into the Deadlands like so much dirt. Then he'll head to the Great Wall. And then he'll kill everyone. Starting with you elfs. Then the orks. Then those of us left who won't bow to his cursed face. And what's gonna stop him? Not you. You're just a weapon, Long-ear. Great against bandits, or small armies. But what can you, with all your hate and cruelty, do against a god?”
    He blinked as he finished speaking, shocked himself at the words which had tumbled from his mouth.
    “You could be right, feller,” she said. “Maybe there ain't nothing I can do but die. But I'll tell you one thing. If he comes near me, I'll die with my knife buried in his guts.”
    He watched as she picked up a warped spoon and began shovelling food into her mouth. Was surprised by the obvious hunger in her. He'd never seen an elf look so hungry.
    “Yeah,” he allowed carefully. “I reckon you will at that. And good luck to you, Long-ear. Maybe when you stick it in, you'll give it a twist, too. Hurt the fucker real bad, even if you won't have a chance to kill him.”
    The hairs on the back of her neck bristled as something crawled across her skin. A feeling she was slowly getting used to.
    Her violet eyes glittered nastily as she swallowed a mouthful of beans. “Why not?”
    “Huh?”
    “Why can't I kill him? Ain't no reason he can't die.”
    The cook looked at her like she was deranged. “Someone hit you too hard on the head out there, Long-ear? Your nose looks all busted up, so they must've got you bad. You can't kill a god. You've got boots too big for your fucking feet if you think you can.”
    “There were gods before they came. Before Rule and Grim. Veil was one of them.”
    “And Rule and Grim killed them all. They were weak.”
    “Sure. But then Rule killed Grim.”
    “So?”
    “Means they breathe, feller.” She looked back down at the bowl. Silently admitted they didn't taste too bad. “And, like I always say. That means they can die.”
    “Gods breathe? I've never heard anything more stupid. You're mad.” He said with certainty. He took a step back as though she might be contagious. “Completely fucked in the head. Of course a god can kill a god. They're gods! But you? You ain't no god. Or if you are, you're a pisspoor fucking excuse for one. Listen to you. Talking like you've got what it takes