Fallen Gods by James A. Moore

Author:James A. Moore [Moore, James A]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Epic Fantasy, grimdark, tides of war, Dark Fantasy
ISBN: 9780857667120
Publisher: Watkins Media
Published: 2018-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

Beron

Most of the people in Beron’s camp trembled as he walked.

Five of the twenty that the very gods demanded had been in his grasp and they’d escaped. One of his new servants, a gift from Ariah, had not returned, and the other two were sent out into the snow to find what had been taken from him.

And Beron took out the losses on the fools who had failed in their duties. Three men had been set to watch over the prisoners and they got lazy. Silence had convinced them that they could wander off together and drink wine to warm up.

Now all three were staked in the snow, naked as newborns and freezing to death.

Beron stared at them for a long while, not speaking, just enjoying their moans, and finally walked away. There was something bothering him, something at the edge of his senses, and he hated when that happened. It meant distraction if nothing else, and he did not want to be distracted.

Time was too short to allow him to fall off track.

“Argus!”

“There’s no reason to scream. I’m right here.”

“Right fucking now I feel like screaming!”

Argus smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “It’s your coin either way. How can I help?”

“Ten best trackers. You brought dogs?”

“A half dozen.”

“Use them. Send the dogs and the trackers out and find those bastards. I want them brought back to me. I want them in chains this time.”

“Still alive?”

“What did I fucking say before? They’re useless dead, so yes, alive.” The man was still smiling. Sometimes he wanted desperately to punch him in the face.

“I already sent them, with orders to keep the fellows alive. Wouldn’t want you to have to return your fortune to the Mentath. Kind of surprised they didn’t take the damned gems back.”

“I imagine they were distracted.”

“One of the lads came back and said they almost lost the trail. It was a lot of Mentath that came by and a lot of horses. But they found the trail again.”

“It was forty. Forty horses. If the dogs and trackers can’t handle that–”

“It was forty came to camp. The rest rode right on past. Hundreds.”

Beron spat. “Then maybe we’ll get lucky and the bastards will start another war. We could use more slaves.”

Argus chuckled, but nothing more.

Perhaps ten minutes passed before one of the dark shapes that had been gifted to Beron by Ariah showed itself. It moved so quietly that he didn’t see or hear it so much as he sensed it. Glossy and black, the thing opened its arms and dropped a dark cloak across the snow.

“They killed Porha-Sede.”

Beron looked at the shape and scowled. The cloak was all that was left of one of his Undying? “How?”

“Fire, it seems.”

“Which are you?”

“I remain Ahbra-Sede.”

The burnt, discarded thing in the snow before him twitched, and Beron wisely stepped back.

Ahbra-Sede tilted its head and then looked down at the remains. “It wishes to live again.”

“And how does it do that?”

“The Undying can never be killed. They are Undying.”

“So why does it reach for me?”

“There must always be a host, or the Undying cannot be reborn.

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