The Godling Chronicles (Shadow of the Gods, Book #3)

The Godling Chronicles

Book Three

“
The Shadow of
Gods”

Written by Brian D. Anderson

Original concept by Jonathan Anderson

The Godling Chronicles (Book Three) The
Shadow of Gods

By

Brian D. Anderson

Original concept by Jonathan Anderson

Copyright © Brian D. Anderson 2012

Cover Design Novel Idea Design

Published by Mythos Press at SMASHWORDS

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Names, characters and incidents depicted in
this book are products of the author's imagination, or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may
be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means
whatsoever, including photocopying, recording or by any information
storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the
publisher and/or author. Contact GMTA Publishing, 2206 Wingate
Road, Fayetteville, NC 28304

Printed in the U.S.A.

ISBN-13: 978-0615770727

ISBN-10: 061577072X

Dedication

For Helen and “K”. Their devotion to each
other is a constant source of inspiration.

Prologue

Theopolou and Eftichis sat quietly by the
small fire. Over the past three days the makeshift camp had become
a divided scene. Theopolou had convinced more than half of the
remaining elders to join together against the armies of Angrääl,
but Bellisia had held fast to her convictions. Her influence was
the only thing that prevented Theopolou from turning the tide
altogether.

“
She is a stubborn one,” mused
Eftichis.

“
She believes in what she says,” said
Theopolou. He looked out over the camp. Noble elves were wandering
about in tattered and ripped clothing. The stench of burned out
tents and the decay of the wounded, made him want to wretch. “And I
must admit, her arguments are compelling. There have been times I
have doubted my own resolve, because of her words.”

Eftichis nodded in agreement. “She has
passion, to be sure. But we have pledged our houses to Gewey, and
I, for one, will honor that pledge.”

“
As will I,” said Theopolou. “But I
cannot deny that my heart has been swayed to the brink. I only hope
that my words have had a similar impact on her.”

Eftichis nodded. “As do I. The others will
join our cause if she relents.”

Theopolou stood up and rubbed the back of his
neck. “True. And we need them if we hope to succeed.”

“
Perhaps you should simply try and
focus their attention on the elves of the Steppes,” Eftichis
offered. “It would end the debate. At least for now. We all know
that they must be dealt with.”

Theopolou shook his head.

“
No. We must deal with all of the
forces arrayed against us, at once. I believe that one cannot be
conquered without the other. They are intertwined.” He felt old and
weary. “This may break our people. But we have no other
choice.”

“
But Gewey...” said Eftichis,
desperation in his voice. “He can help us remain whole, can he
not?”

Theopolou sighed. “Gewey may be a God, but he
is not the Creator. As powerful as he is-and will become still-he
struggles as well. Gewey does not, and never will, have the power
to restore our people. Save us from annihilation, perhaps; but we
cannot look to him for salvation.”

“
But he opened the Book of Souls,”
Eftichis contended. “Certainly—”

“
And what of it?” asked Theopolou,
cutting him off. “Did you hear what he said when he read the
title?” His eyes gazed into the fire. “It is a true history. A true
history.”

“
Yes, and—” Eftichis started, but the
sight of Theopolou's sadness halted him.

“
I am the eldest of the elders,” said
Theopolou, in a half-whisper. “I lived through the Great War. But
unlike the others, I am old enough to have seen what we were
before. We were a broken people, even then. Arrogant and selfish.
We were so convinced that humans were inferior.”

“
But they are,” said Eftichis. “They
are fragile and weak. They grovel in the mud and live in squalor.
How could we not see them as a lesser people?”

“
Yes,” Theopolou laughed, sardonically.
“But are we so much better? We have lost, while the humans continue
to gain. They build while we gaze at our former glories.” His hand
shot out, pointing to the Chamber of the Maker silhouetted against
the fading light. “Can we claim to be the same people that built
this? Look at us. Are we so different from the humans?”

“
Do you see hope for us?” Eftichis
asked, sorrow in his eyes.

“
I don't know,” Theopolou replied. “I
hope so. But whatever hope we have will arise from us, and not
Gewey. He is the instrument of our survival, but, in the end, we
must determine our own fate. If we live through the coming storm,
it will be up to us.” He forced a smile. “But, I do have faith in
our people. I believe there is still a spark of grace within
us.”

Just then, Bellisia approached, dressed in a
soft, cream linen robe. Her eyes showed fatigue, yet she managed to
walk straight and tall, with graceful strides. Eftichis and the
others rose to their feet and bowed.

“
You have been tending the wounded,”
said Theopolou. “You should rest. Our debate can continue
tomorrow.”

“
I am in no mood for debate,” said
Bellisia. “I am weary, as you have noticed. I only wish to join you
by the fire.”

Theopolou offered her a place beside him,
which she gratefully accepted.

“
Have you eaten?” asked
Eftichis.

“
I am not hungry,” she replied. “Just
tired. My heart breaks when I look at what our own kind has
done.”

“
I understand,” said Theopolou. “I
hoped I would never see such a thing happen again. I have seen far
too much elf blood spill in my life.”

“
Do you really believe Angrääl is
responsible?” she asked, closing her eyes, internally contemplating
the truth. “Do you think his power is that great?”

“
I cannot say for sure,” Theopolou
admitted. “But I see no other way for this to have happened. Long
have our brothers and sisters on the Steppes lived alongside
Angrääl. If the Reborn King has the key to heaven, and I believe he
does, then it is very possible he could have bent our kin to his
will.”

“
The elves of the Steppes are a strong
people,” said Eftichis. “If they have indeed been corrupted, then
what resistance can we hope to offer? Already we have been betrayed
from within our own ranks.”

“
I do not know what hope there is,”
said Theopolou. “Only that there is hope. And the elves of the
Steppes have been close to the influence of Angrääl from the moment
the Reborn King seized power. We have been far removed by
comparison. If things were different, who knows what would have
become of us.”

“
I agree,” said Bellisia. “And they are
still our kin, regardless of what they have done. I, for one, will
not abandon the idea that they can be redeemed. And, if we are to
follow the example Theopolou set before us, forgiveness must be in
our hearts.” Her eyes drifted over the camp. “But I must admit, it
will be difficult. I have not seen so many elves slain since the
Great War. I was only twenty-five during the first split, but the
memories are still fresh in my mind.”

“
It is so for all of us who lived
through it,” said Theopolou. “And we have passed that memory to our
children...along with our hatred and fear. It is a cycle that must
end.”

There was a sudden disturbance near the
healing pavilion, drawing immediate notice from the assembled
group. Theopolou and the others reached for their weapons. From the
direction of the commotion, Marinos appeared, half running toward
them.

“
What is it?” asked Theopolou, once
Marinos was in earshot.

“
Red sails,” he replied. His voice
cracked. “Red sails on the horizon.”

Theopolou stiffened. “Are you certain?”

“
There is no question,” he
replied.

The others looked confused.

“
Red sails? What does that mean?” asked
Eftichis.

Theopolou lowered his head and took a deep
breath. “It means the elves are coming.”

Chapter 1

Kaylia drifted in and out of consciousness.
She knew she was bound and slung, face down, across the back of a
horse, but each time her thoughts came into focus, an unseen force
would press against her, and the world would go black again.
Finally, she was able to resist long enough to hear voices. Elven
voices.

“
This does not sit well with me,” said
a deep male voice. “It is one thing to bring traitors to justice.
But I was not told these creatures would be among us.”

“
Nor was I,” replied another. “But it
is far too late to turn back. Once we are home, we can consult the
elders. Until then, we must endure their company.”

Kaylia felt a hand grab her hair and lifted
her head. Though she was not blindfolded she dared not open her
eyes.

“
Is she awake?” asked the first
voice.

“
I cannot tell,” replied the second.
“The beast has blocked all connection to the flow. I cannot sense
anything.”

The first voice grumbled and cursed, but made
no other response.

Hours passed before they came to a halt.
Kaylia was still feigning unconsciousness when she felt the hair on
the back of her neck stand up. Suddenly, the air carried the foul
stench of death, and she sensed the approach of...something.

“
She is not asleep,” came a rasping
voice. “Are you elf?”

Kaylia felt her bonds being cut, and she slid
down from the horse. Her legs nearly gave out, but strong arms in
rough leathers steadied her. She jerked herself free as her eyes
focused. It was well after nightfall, and a small campfire was
being built in a clearing a few yards away. She could make out
about twenty elves, but that was not what caught her attention. It
was the being standing in front of her. A Vrykol, tall and slender;
adorned in a sleek, hooded black robe, and carrying a lengthy,
vicious, curved blade. It reeked of decay, and its foul breath
wheezed and gurgled.

Kaylia glared at the creature. “So this is
what our people have become? Murderers of their own kind, and
slaves of the darkness of the world?” Her tone has proud and
defiant.

“
Mind your tongue,” warned the elf that
held her. “We are the bringers of justice. It is you who have
betrayed our people.”

Kaylia threw her head back in mocking
laughter. “You travel with the Vrykol. You attack elves on sacred
ground. How dare you name me traitor.”

“
Enough of this,” screeched the Vrykol.
The sound pierced the air, causing Kaylia to wince. “You are to
remain silent unless spoken to.” He turned to the elf at her back.
“As for you...your comrades grow restless. Calm them.” His black
hands reached out and grasped Kaylia's arm in an iron grip. “I can
manage this one.”

The elf grunted and strode off in the
direction of the others.

“
I will make you pay for what you have
done to my people,” seethed Kaylia. “And I will make your master
pay as well.”

Before she could measure the moment, the
Vrykol's fist crashed into Kaylia’s jaw, sending her sprawling to
the ground.

“
I told you to be silent.” The Vrykol
lowered his blade, pressing the tip against Kaylia's throat. “My
master has insisted you are to be kept alive. He said nothing about
your...condition.”

Kaylia’s jaw throbbed from the impact, but
she glared unflinchingly.

“
That's better,” growled the Vrykol.
“Remain still and silent.”

A few minutes passed and the tall elf
returned. He looked down at Kaylia, then back at the Vrykol.

“
She was to be left unharmed,” he
grumbled, angrily. “That was the agreement. No elf is to be injured
by your hands.” He looked back at the group of elves gathering
around the crackling fire. “If you do not uphold your end of the
bargain, you will find yourself quickly surrounded by
enemies.”

The Vrykol let out a vile laugh. “As you
wish.” He removed the blade from Kaylia's throat. “But see to it
that she is well-tended. Should she escape, it will be you that
pays the price.” With that he spun around, and disappeared into the
darkness.