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  EVEN GODS MUST FALL

  Book VI of the Northern Crusade

  By: Christian Warren Freed

  Edited, Produced, and Published by Writer’s Edge Publishing 2014

  All rights reserved.

  © 2014 by Christian Warren Freed.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Other Books by Christian Warren Freed

  The Northern Crusade Series

  Hammers in the Wind

  Tides of Blood and Steel

  A Whisper After Midnight

  Empire of Bones

  The Madness of Gods and Kings

  Even Gods Must Fall

  A History of Malweir Series

  Armies of the Silver Mage

  The Dragon Hunters

  Beyond the Edge of Dawn

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my mom and dad. The first movie I ever went to see was Star Wars in an old drive-in, in western New York. Thanks for giving me the ability to dream.

  PROLOGUE

  Dawn. The sun broke the horizon, crisp and bright against the eastern sky for the first time in days. A late winter storm had blown through, covering the lands, yet again, in a perpetual blanket of austere white. While residents huddled in front of sputtering hearths, a sense of prevailing turmoil settled over the world. Rumors of struggles, whispers of titanic battles to the east, reached the villagers of the almost forgotten town. War was sweeping across the northern kingdoms. Yet it was a war that left them largely unaffected. A few favored sons had answered the muster and marched off to join the ranks. The old grieved while the young dreamed. War did funny things to all.

  Eldric and Bjorn, eldest of six sons, slipped into their heavy winter clothing and collected their bows on the way out the door long before their mother awoke. They’d ached to enlist when the Wolfsreik recruiter visited back at the beginning of winter. A great, unstoppable crusade was underway that held the implications of liberating the entire north of Malweir under Delrananian flags. Who wouldn’t want to become part of such grandeur? Glory was not for the boys, however. With their father long in the ground from an unfortunate plowing accident, their mother insisted on keeping all of her boys close. Wars were no place for youth. Not if they expected to mature into decent men.

  Abandoning the confines of their home, the boys hurried off down snow-covered trails in search of a stag or brace of rabbits. Winter had been a successive string of miserable storms confining them to the relative security of the house. Eldric grew inspired by the dawn and led the way. All thoughts of war and, given the circumstances, abject misery associated with too many feet of snow, dissipated the deeper into the woods they stalked.

  A lone rider had come through the village a few weeks past with devastating news. Eldric and Bjorn learned for the first time of the insurrection against the throne and the destructive civil war raging across Delranan. The sheer incredulousness of it left both boys in doubt. Any aspect of war would surely have trickled down into the minor villages peppering the Delrananian countryside. The rider, claiming to be a messenger from the rebellion, rode off in disgust. Not a single villager answered the call and Eldric and Bjorn watched as their ancestral home quietly returned to the way life had always been.

  Still, there was an urgency in the rider’s words that inspired a fire within Eldric’s heart. Questions of legitimacy sprang forth. He suddenly wanted to know more of what the rest of the kingdom was like. What it was undergoing. Bjorn chastised his older brother for being brash. The impudence of youth was often misunderstood. Why should Eldric’s desires be any different? Eventually he calmed down. The rider was long gone, presumably off to other villages in search of able-bodied fighters to join the cause. Eldric forgot his dreams, brief as they were. His life was here, with his family.

  “Look,” Eldric announced in a hushed voice.

  Bjorn knelt down to gingerly touch the cloven-hoof print. A light splattering of snow had settled in deeply. Bjorn grinned. “Fresh. These can’t be more than an hour old.”

  “Come on, looks like we’re in for fresh meat tonight, brother.”

  The boys loped off on the hunt. Eldric’s eyes scanned the woods as they followed the deer tracks deeper. Both boys stalked with arrows strung. Their stomachs growled hungrily. A long winter of too many old potatoes and slightly rotted vegetables left them salivating over the prospect of fresh meat. This past winter was among the worst in recent history, leaving many old and young naught but frozen corpses stored behind homes until the ground thawed enough to dig their graves. Worsening matters was the intense stir-crazy feeling gnawing away at every villager. It was time for the sun to shine again.

  Trees began to thin. They were drawing to the edge of the forest. If either boy was thinking clearly they might have given pause. Deer preferred the security of camouflage, seldom venturing far into the open air. Eldric reached the tree line first and jerked to a stop. Bjorn, more worried over losing the trail, slammed into his brother’s back.

  “Hey, what did you stop fo….”

  “Shhh,” Eldric hissed. “Look!”

  Bjorn lowered his bow to peek around his brother’s solid frame. What he witnessed stole the warmth from his soul. The plain stretching out before them had turned black under the steady wave of Goblins pouring into Delranan. Thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of the vile creatures already choked the fields. Harsh, guttural orders were issued as Goblins slowly broke away into companies. Sword and axe, spear and tulwar gleamed in the morning sunlight.

  “Where did they come from?” Bjorn whispered.

  Eldric could only shake his head. A flicker of unnatural light caught his eye, drawing his attention to the magic-infused atmosphere on a small hilltop. The very air was warped with sickening shades of rot. Larger than a house, the rent continued to belch forth the Goblin army. Unending waves of infantry flooded Delranan.

  “How?” was all Eldric managed to ask.

  Frightened yet not understanding what he was seeing, Bjorn nervously clutched his brother’s arm. “We need to leave, before they see us.”

  Eldric continued to stare as the Goblin army grew. He briefly considered killing one, if for no other reason than to brag to his friends, but quickly discarded the notion. Any unwanted attention would draw the entire horde down around him and there’d be no hope of escape. Not against so many. Reluctantly, he withdrew his gaze from the Goblins, creatures he’d only heard of. To see so many in Delranan this close to his home was impossible.

  Bjorn, sensing his brother’s hesitation, tugged harder. “Eldric, come on. We have to go warn the village.”

  Shaken free from the horrible scene continuing to unfold around them, Eldric nodded and began to duck back into the trees. Unfortunately for the brothers it was not unnoticed. Three squat, barrel-bodied Goblins emerged from the right and attacked. Bjorn cried out, dropping his bow as his small hands scrambled to draw his hunting knife strapped to his belt. Eldric was not so careless. He quickly drew and fired into the nearest Goblin, more reflex than anything else. The Goblin grunted and fell dead. Eldric’s arrowhead punched out the back of the dead warrior, killing him instantly at point-blank range. The other two fell on the young villager with curses and sharp steel. Bjorn screamed as he watched a Goblin short sword plunge into Eldric’s stomach.

  Eldric fought with as much veracity as a sixteen-year-old boy could but the end was never in doubt. He briefly caught his brother’s eye through the punishment. A sad smile followed. Blood coat
ed his teeth. “Run,” he mouthed and fell dead.

  Bjorn ran for his life without looking back.

  The impossible army continued to swell.

  * * * * *

  Thunder echoed down from the mountaintops yet no lightning slashed the sky. No storm darkened the world. This was the thunder of two hundred booted feet. Locked in step, the heavy crunch-thump reverberated down through the jagged rock passes, knocking boulder and stone loose in massive cascades. Avalanches filled long-forgotten defiles and ravines. Dust clouds rose to choke the air. Red and heavily mineralized, the dust was the life blood of the very mountains.

  Song soon accompanied the baritone of the march. Deep and ominous, the words were lost upon the rocks. Their meaning, however, wasn’t. The song returned a forgotten people to old glories they’d abandoned for personal reasons. It whispered of past triumphs and the promise of new glory. There was unparalleled pride drifting on the winds. At last, after centuries of seclusion and the continuing downward spiral into obscurity, the Giants of Venheim were reborn.

  Called into action by the Dae’shan and the gods of light, the Giants couldn’t abandon the rest of the world to the depredations of the evil threatening. The arguments proved fierce, lasting long into the early morning hours. The outcome was never truly in doubt. At long last the time for Giants had returned. Coerced to march down from the mountaintop fortresses, the Giants headed into Delranan to claim their rightful place in the future history of the world.

  Joden, eldest and most revered of the Giant smiths, paused at the rear of the column to give a last, longing glance at the home he’d known for over one hundred years. He knew, deep within the warmth of his soul, that this would be his final look at fabled Venheim. Old and fragile--for a Giant--he’d lived a long, full life. The world was changing, irrevocably moving towards a finale very few even realized approached.

  The elder Giant had come to accept that his purpose in life had been to train, mold, and sculpt young Groge into the bearer of the Blud Hamr, the weapon capable of ending the dark gods’ quest to reclaim Malweir for good. The war would be fought by blood and steel, the destiny of a dozen races, but the battle for the soul of the world rested in the hands of a young, inexperienced Giant and his small band of companions. That task completed, or at least en route to completion, Joden took his rightful place in the one hundred marching to join the allied army.

  Artiss Gran, last of the true Dae’shan, mentioned the momentous occasion rapidly approaching. The world had not seen the likes of such an alliance since the days of the Mage Wars: Giant, Dwarf, Elf, Minotaur, and Man fighting an unimagined army of Goblins. Such prospects robbed the very strong of will and crumbled city walls in anticipation. The Dae’shan offered no promises, no delusions of victory or promise. This war threatened to exceed the reach of all mortals involved.

  Unhindered by emotions, Joden accepted his fate. Lord Death rode his chariot straight for the combining armies, ready to reap his terrible reward. The Giant forge master would be among the casualties, carelessly slain for reasons only he valued. Joden grinned as he took in the smooth, stone walls and well-worn paths of Venheim. Content with his inner peace, the Giant turned and joined his troop. The Giants were finally returning to war.

  ONE

  Grim Dawn

  “This is madness.” Orlek angrily crossed his arms over his chest as he paced through the ankle-deep snow. His eyes were stern, narrowed from the fierce glare of sunlight burning brightly.

  Ingrid finished pulling her long, blond locks into a braid. She repressed her sigh, knowing his protests stemmed from the awkward combination of affection for her and the strain of leading a rebellion he deemed bound to fail. Frustrations abounded throughout the beleaguered rebel camps. They’d fought, and died, in the name of antiquated ideals. Yet abandoning the principles with which he was raised was like poison in his blood. Orlek’s love of kingdom mired in hopelessness.

  Delranan would never return to its former glory. Harnin One Eye had seen to that. Most of the major cities were gutted ruins. Plague had decimated a disproportionate amount of the population. Worse, there was darkness at play in the kingdom. Disappearances continued to rise at a disturbing pace. Children stolen from cribs. Fathers not returning at dusk. Whispers of depraved acts in the east forced an exodus as far west as possible. Delranan had become a kingdom of bones.

  Despite the downward spiral they seemed trapped in, Ingrid took hope. The brother of the king’s return offered new light through the gloom. Bahr wanted no part in ruling the kingdom, but he’d vowed to do everything within his power to help purify the hatred occupying the northern kingdom. Ingrid’s hope was that the dispossessed son would reclaim the title from Harnin and restore at least a small measure of Delranan’s normalcy.

  Ingrid remained resolute. Feet planted shoulder-width apart, she calmly folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes. “Madness or not we have a civic obligation to uphold. The people of this kingdom have suffered enough.”

  “What obligation other than removing Harnin from power do you think we have, Ingrid?” he fumed. “We’ve been pushed across half of the kingdom and kept on the run since the plague struck. This rebellion isn’t as strong as you seem to believe. We’re…fragile…if nothing else.”

  “It’s your job to change that, Orlek. Each of us knows the cost and risk associated with our actions. This isn’t the time to blanch in the face of all we’ve accomplished.”

  Orlek’s eyes widened with shock. “Just what have we accomplished aside from filling too many holes with corpses?”

  Ingrid’s mouth opened and closed quickly. Her viperous retort died on the tip of her tongue as she began to recall faces and names, all brave fighters who’d given their lives in the pursuit of a cause they weren’t wholly sure of. Did Ingrid truly wield such vast power as to command the life and death of her followers on mere whim? She shuddered to think so. A widow of a former Wolfsreik officer, Ingrid was led to believe that all life was precious and no one person deserved to command that of another. Not when it came to Lord Death claiming your soul.

  Ingrid paused, oddly recalling a previous conversation where they’d been on opposite sides of the argument. She’d felt used up. A well long bereft of water. The war had dragged on much longer than their earliest expectations. She’d lost friends and enemies, all the while losing part of herself along the way. Fundamental changes continued to have residual effects. Ingrid held greater understanding of what had happened but lacked foresight to change the future. Where self-induced misery once occupied her mind she was now occupied with orchestrating that singular pivotal moment that would shift the balance of power and drive what remained of Harnin’s forces out of power for good.

  Tiny laughter escaped her lips.

  Orlek narrowed his eyes. “What’s so funny?”

  “I was just thinking how we had this very same argument not long ago. Only I was the one consumed with grief over losses.” She paused, choosing her next words carefully. “Orlek, our raid on the western fortress can’t be construed as failure. We ruined Harnin’s plans for the west. Think of how much manpower and funding went in to building that hideous fort in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Perhaps you’re forgetting how many fighters we lost in that engagement?”

  She shook her head. “Absolutely not. Every face, every name haunts my sleep. I’ll never be alone again, Orlek. None of them died without purpose. Harnin sought to establish a firm base of operations in the west, thus depriving us of our hiding places. Yes, we lost, but Harnin lost a captain, a base, and numerous soldiers. We hold the advantage. All we need to do is reach out and seize it.”

  “What advantage, Ingrid?” Orlek threw his hands wide in a futile gesture. “We’re borderline ineffective. It won’t take much to break what remains. You risk losing everything by taking to the field so soon.”

  “We’ve all risked much since leaving Chadra. Harnin is weak. Bahr’s return gives us a new hope.”

 
“How? He clearly wants nothing to do with the throne or the kingdom.”

  “So he says,” she conceded. “What if he’s not being entirely truthful?”

  Orlek clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “I’m listening.”

  Ingrid began to pace around the campfire. “Bahr and his collection of friends are in a hurry to move east. Clearly there is a confrontation brewing that will decide the future of Delranan. Bahr knows what his brother and the One Eye have done here. He’s seen the suffering firsthand. There’s no way he can willingly walk away from this. Not if he expects to be able to live with his decisions.”

  “I don’t know, Ingrid. That sounds like a lot of speculation. What is your reasoning?”

  She paused. A warm grin spread across her face. “The princess.”

  “Maleela? What about her? No one has heard from her since the Wolfsreik left for the invasion of Rogscroft.”

  “Precisely. My gut tells me she is an integral player in all of this. Could Bahr be heading west to find her?” Ingrid’s eyes shone with fresh ideas. The princess of Delranan might well be the answer to all of their problems.

  “More likely off to confront his brother,” Orlek concluded. “Badron’s never cared for his daughter. I think you overstate her importance.”

  “Possibly, but we have to keep that option open. Orlek, I think we need to start driving east. Catch up to Bahr if we can.”

  His eyes widened in shock. “To what end? You’ve seen his group. A Giant, Dwarf, wizard, and Gaimosian? That’s no meeting I want any part of. If Lord Death is stalking Delranan that group is heading straight for him.”

  “Harnin will assume the same and move to stop Bahr. There’s no love lost between those two. We can use that distraction to slip back into Chadra, seal off the Keep, and bring the One Eye to his knees.”

  Orlek wasn’t convinced. “You’re forgetting those five thousand soldiers roaming the kingdom. What about them?”