Chapter 16: Wrath

The tavern keeper in Orenleaf seemed a bit more shrewd than most.

Where others tended to frown on Relaila’s little show, this one was smart enough to understand that if the entertainment she provided attracted twenty paying customers to his establishment, the loss he incurred when she magically transmuted the air inside a single tankard into mead was insignificant in comparison. Most of them never thought that far, but this one seemed to. And he was quite handsome, too…

But that was to come later, and this was now. This was the time to laugh and smile, the time to enjoy herself and bask in the adoration of her audience.

The Golden Goose was not a large establishment, but its owner had worked hard to maintain it, and she had to admit the tavern had a certain flair. As country inns went, it was almost classy. On the walls hung trophies, heads of deer, wolf and pike the village hunters had gathered from the forests and the river. The floor, made from planed trunks of young pines, was almost clean. Or at least it had been before the evening’s rapturous celebrations. Now, there were mead spills all over it, bits of food trampled into the gaps between the boards, and lost clothes lying on it, kicked around by drunken patrons like cleaning rags.

Had circumstances been different, Relaila would have felt sorry for the mess she had helped create here. But in a few hours, it wouldn’t matter anymore.

Someone at the table shushed the others, trying to calm the onlookers so they could get the most out of her show. The excited anticipation in the air was almost tangible when she roped in the unsuspecting miller to help with her burning-finger trick. A whisper of awe spread among her audience when the little flame jumped from her own hand to the man’s outstretched index finger.

It’s always more fun when they’re not too drunk to understand what they’re seeing, she thought with a smile. This had been one of the better places to perform during her tour of the northeastern Empire.

Glancing around her, she decided she wanted to do something special this time. Relaila thought about it for a little while, mentally browsing through her repertoire before going over to the counter.

“Keeper,” she said, addressing the owner by his title, “would you kindly serve our table your finest spirits?”

For a moment, he just looked at her in silence, as if trying to figure out whether she was going to pay for the alcohol or expected him to provide it on the house. But then he disappeared into the back room and returned with six small drinking bowls made of intricately decorated copper. He placed them on a wooden slab and proceeded to fill them from a large green clay bottle he retrieved from a cupboard below the desk.

Shrewd man, indeed.

He stopped when the clear liquid, made from fermented and distilled sugar beets, reached two-thirds of the way to the top of the bowls, then pushed the slab across the desk toward Relaila.

She grabbed it with both hands and carefully maneuvered through the inebriated patrons clumsily bumping into everything and everyone on the floor. It took a miracle to get the bowls to her table without spilling, but she was used to this kind of environment and managed it without losing a single drop.

The peasants at her table positively beamed.

“Thanks, Mauran,” one of them shouted to the tavern keeper, trying to be heard over the ruckus in the room.

Waving her hand above the drinking bowls and moving her lips in silent incantations, she set them on fire—first one, then two, then three, until finally all six burned with small blue and yellow flames, which leisurely, almost hypnotically danced in front of them.

Truth be told, it was all a trick. It wasn’t actually the alcohol burning. That would have been too explosive. Instead, using Remura’s dark magic, she had conjured flames just a finger’s breadth above the flammable liquid without actually setting it on fire.

But what is magic without a few tricks?

It didn’t all have to be real. This was a show, after all, and it had to look good.

The dancing flames were just the appetizer, though. Indicating to the peasants at the table that they should each take a bowl and drink from it, she moved on to the second stage of the act.

At first, the farmers she was entertaining seemed uncertain whether they wanted to participate. Drinking alcohol that was on fire didn’t seem prudent to them, but knowing it was just for show, she urged them on. As the bowls reached their lips, she put out the fires, and they could safely drink from them. But to any onlookers, it seemed as if they drank not only the burning liquid but the flames themselves, extinguishing them in the process.

This was the heart of the act. When her audience, now serving double duty as her assistants, lowered the bowls to breath, fire roared from their lungs.

Of course, these flames were once again conjured with magic, but the peasants didn’t know that. To them, it looked as if they were truly breathing fire.

Reaching for Remura’s dark powers, she weaved the flames escaping their mouths into streams of fire shooting through the air. The incendiary jets twisted and turned as they intersected each other, forming loops and knots above the heads of the onlookers, like living dragons dancing in the sky.

The peasants at the table still seemed to think it was all their doing, that they had somehow mastered the secrets of fire breathing and were now controlling the spectacular display.

Good, Relaila thought. Let them think that. The purpose of the show was to entertain, and what could be more fun than believing you’ve mastered the secrets of fire?

The breathtaking performance was her last for the night, and when the magical flames eventually flickered out of existence, she went over to the tavern keeper to talk.

“That was something,” he said, smiling at her as he cleaned the counter. It was almost midnight, and the guests were beginning to leave his establishment.

“Thank you.” She flashed him a shy smile in return.

“How long will you be staying in Orenleaf?”

Since she hadn’t bothered to rent a room at his inn, he couldn’t know her plans, of course.

“Just for tonight,” she told him, once again noticing how handsome he was. “Is there anything I can do to repay you for the spirits?”

The implication was clear, and the man behind the tavern counter got it. He looked up from his trays.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I’m married. I have three little girls. The drinks are on the house.”

Too bad, Relaila thought, but that was his choice. She knew the god of betrayal would have been pleased if he had taken her up on the offer. Infidelity was the sixth sacrament of the gods, after all. Though she could see in his eyes he was still considering his options, despite the protest he had made.

“No,” he said after a moment’s silence, once more declining her offer. “But if you ever pass through Orenleaf again, you’re always welcome at the Golden Goose. I’m Anvil Mauran, by the way. It’s been a pleasure to have you here.”

And with that, the first part of Remura’s entertainment was done. As she stepped through the tavern door and into the dark street beyond, the real fun was about to begin.

* * *

The fires roared behind her, wild and uncontrolled, as she walked from building to building, shed to shed, and hut to hut, sacrificing their inhabitants to the glorious honor of her god.

She could feel Remura’s presence all around her, strong, confident, and relishing the fragrant smoke rising from the inferno. The god of leisure and betrayal was very satisfied with her work tonight.

Relaila was just about to enter a small, weathered wooden hut, nestled beneath a gnarly old apple tree in a narrow yard by the river, when an unpleasant odor, carried by the wind, caught her attention. She stopped in her tracks to look around, but saw nothing more than darkness interspersed with crackling flames.

Suddenly something, or someone, knocked her off her feet.

In the darkness, she could make out no details. The man—the beast, the apparition, whatever it was—had seemingly come out of nowhere, black as night and screaming like a banshee. Around him, the stench of death clung like a cloak from the abyss.

A sharp pain flared in her right side, just above her waist. She looked down and saw a deep cut, blood oozing from the wound. The long, thick sword he was wielding had done its work, and she felt her legs give out beneath her. For a moment, everything went black. When she opened her eyes again, he stood over her, his black-clad right foot planted squarely on her chest, pinning her to the ground with impossible force.

There was no time to tend to her injury. Instead, she called on her dark magic and felt the air in her palms buzz with sparks. Moments later, streams of fire spewed from her hands, engulfing her attacker. He staggered, and she used the opportunity to get back on her unsteady feet.

Who was he? She found the identity of her attacker confusing. All the signs, the black armor, the unnatural strength, and the foul smell of rot, pointed to him being a Knight Eternal. But what was a servant bound to Mardocar doing assaulting a Blood Sister? They had both sold their souls to the gods of the world. Supposedly, they were on the same side.

“I serve Remura!” she shouted, trying to interrupt his attack in case he truly didn’t know who or what she was. But realistically, Mardocar, being omniscient, would have already told him her identity.

Did that mean the gods were somehow displeased with her? Had her offerings to Remura not been enough? In the back of her mind, she could hear the god of betrayal giggle. But what was the reason? Was this one of her patron’s games, making her believe she was special only to be sold out? She doubted it. Remura was still there. Relaila could still feel the familiar pressure, as if a worm burrowed through her skull.

The pain was evidence her god hadn’t abandoned her.

Whatever this was, it wasn’t about her. It was about the Knight before her.

The only response from the black warrior to her declaration of allegiance was a second strike aimed at her chest, but this time she was prepared and jumped out of the way. While the momentum of his attack carried his weapon to the side, she launched another stream of roiling fire at him. A muffled scream from within his helmet told her she had hit her mark. But as a Knight Eternal, he was not only protected by his thick steel armor, the thermal mass of which absorbed most of the heat, but he was also used to pain.

This was not a fight she would win easily. In fact, with her injury, she wasn’t sure she could win it at all.

Her enemy raised his broad shield and leaped high into the air, pummeling her as he landed just in front of her. With otherworldly force, he slammed her to the ground. Once again, he raised his sword above her, ready to thrust it through her unprotected body.

Lying on the ground next to his feet, Relaila grabbed his iron-clad ankle with her right hand. Within moments, the heat from her magic turned the metal of his boot white-hot, glowing like a blacksmith’s furnace in the night.

She could hear his flesh sizzle as he cooked inside his own armor, and for a moment, the stench of burning meat overpowered the smell of death surrounding him. Screaming, he dropped his sword and stumbled backward, falling to the ground on his back.

Relaila rose to her feet again, ready to deliver a final strike to his head, when Remura’s voice suddenly cut in.

But this time, it did not come from the back of her mind.

To her left, the fires raging in one of the burning shacks began to weave and twist as if alive. The flames grew larger and hotter. Braiding together, they eventually took the shape of a woman. Larger than life, she stood in the center of the inferno, her long red-blonde hair glowing like gold, and her flowing white dress unaffected by the scorching heat. Her face, which was even more beautiful than Relaila remembered from previous visits, was laughing, as she giddily clapped her hands. Now, she was shining brighter than the sun itself.

“You’re so much fun!” the god of leisure and betrayal said, her voice booming across the village with a strength that made the raging flames wave and bend with each word she spoke.

“But we’ve had enough of your little spat now,” she continued, indicating someone to her right.

There, another figure stepped toward the Blood Sister and the Knight Eternal, beaming like all the stars of heaven combined. The newcomer, a man taller than the largest of giants, was dressed in the same manner as Remura. The brilliant light shining around him cast long shadows among the village buildings, dancing on the dark ground. His face, framed by the most exquisitely shaped black hair imaginable, radiated perfection.

When he finally spoke, the power in his words made the ground tremble.

“Sir Themur,” Mardocar said, addressing the Knight Eternal with a voice that roared like thunder, “rise and stand in the presence of your god.”

So, she thought, as her adversary regained his bearings, this had all been orchestrated by the gods of the world for their amusement. She couldn’t really blame them. Both she and the Knight were in their service, and the gods, in their infinite wisdom, could do with their servants as they saw fit.

It always struck Relaila how different the gods sounded in person compared to the way Remura spoke to her in her mind. Idly, she wondered which voice was the real one—the one booming with the force of a storm, or the wheezing, rasping thoughts that slithered through her mind. Perhaps, she thought, both were equally true.

“I’m at your service, lord,” she told Remura.

The Knight Eternal said something to Mardocar, but she couldn’t hear his muffled words through his helmet. The god of genocide apparently could, and she assumed they were of a similar nature to her own.

“Of course you are, Blood Sister,” her god purred, cheerful yet eerie all at once.

“This is our will: the two of you must travel to Terynia,” she continued. “There, you will go to the Lion Palace and seek out the Agerian Emperor.”

“He will be expecting you,” Mardocar added. “And he will give you my commands. Time is of the essence. You must be there within five days.”

The Knight Eternal bowed his head.

“I wish only to obey you, my lord,” he said.

Something, maybe the tone in his voice, or an undercurrent she couldn’t fully understand, seemed to anger the god. He turned toward Sir Themur, his voice now heavy with reproach.

“As you should, Knight. Do not forget your station. In this very place, you bound your soul to me for eternity. That is a covenant you cannot break.”

Relaila could see Sir Themur hesitate before he responded.

“The contract stipulated you would heal Aila. Yet she died, my lord.”

Clearly, he was conflicted. But in the end, he was still subservient to his master. Whatever power the past held over him, it was less than the strength of his god.

The anger remained in Mardocar’s voice as he replied.

“The promise you were given was that I would consider healing her. I did consider it, and in my wisdom I decided she should die. Thus, your soul became mine, and you are forever bound by your oath to me. This you know.”

Overwhelmed by the sheer pressure of Mardocar’s presence, Sir Themur was forced to his knees. Bowing before his lord, he once again professed his eternal allegiance to the god of strength and genocide.

To Relaila, it seemed the Knight Eternal’s deference still wasn’t quite enough for Mardocar.

“For your unbelief, you will be made to suffer!” he roared. “But I will also give you this sign to cleanse you of your doubts.”

The god paused for a moment, as if for dramatic effect.

“Thus speaks Mardocar, the omniscient, the eternal: In five days, you will meet our Dark Flame in Terynia, and the three of you will carry out my will on Taeron. You will spread the word of my might and glory throughout the world, and perform great signs and wonders in my name, so that every man will bow before me in worship.”

Author's Note

Thank you for reading Echoes of Fallen Gods!

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