Read Online Even Gods Must Fall by Christian Warren Freed - Free Book Online Page A

to give someone a really bad day.”
    “Groge? He’s harmless. Now, Ironfoot. That one worries me. Dwarves like to fight almost as much Boen. Between the two of them we should, theoretically, be able to sit back and watch the show.’
    Dorl reined his horse in. “You don’t expect that, do you?”
    “Expect what?”
    “Those two brutes to do all the fighting,” he replied.
    Nothol really hadn’t bothered thinking on it either way. “Seems they’ve been doing most of it so far. Sure, we get a few licks in here and there but it’s nothing compared to what Boen and Ironfoot seem to enjoy.”
    “That’s just it. Leaving all the fighting to them weakens the rest of us.”
    “How so?” Nothol asked.
    “We expect them to take the brunt and wind up paying more attention to them than our own business,” Dorl said. “I don’t fancy taking a blade in my back.”
    Neither spoke for the rest of the ride into the village. Unwanted thoughts, those stray bits of gloom both of them purposefully shoved to the forgotten corners of their minds, burst to life, forming new demons in the seclusion of solitude. Lord Death was a powerful motivator. He forced their hands to greater extremes the longer the quest extended. Now that it was all grinding to a rapid halt there seemed little chance of escaping certain, violent demise.
    Banks of dark clouds rolled in as the sun sank beneath the horizon. Shades of night crawled across the land, an ominous warning to any foolish enough to be caught outside. Chickens clucked under the eaves of a series of farmhouses running the length of the only road leading into the village. The sell swords would much rather sneak in on a lesser-traveled path but neither were familiar with this part of the kingdom. Deciding there was some measure of merit in being bold, Nothol headed straight for the nearest farmhouse and hoped for the best. A quick barter later and they were granted a relatively comfortable night in the farmer’s barn, all for a nominal expense.
    Bahr and the wagon rolled in a short time later, after darkness fell. No one noticed the Dwarf or Giant sneaking into the barn before the doors groaned shut. Food was prepared, the horses brushed down. Normally they wouldn’t have been allowed a fire but the farmer suffered the effects of the long, severe winter with the same frame of mind. A pit had already been dug out in the center of the floor, low enough to prevent the flames from spreading to the dried timbers of the structure. He reluctantly granted the sell swords permission to do the same, on the condition they didn’t burn his barn down or kill his livestock in the process.
    Groge found the space cramped but comfortable. His twelve-foot frame snuggled into a stack of hay bales for the night. The young Giant let his mind wander as he stared longingly into the flickering fire. It was moments like this that reminded him of his time in the forges of Venheim. Satisfied and full, the Giant slowly fell asleep.
    “That didn’t take long,” Boen murmured and gestured towards the sleeping Groge.
    Bahr glanced up quickly and went back to the fire. “He’s fortunate. I haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep since we left Trennaron.”
    “The past has a way of haunting us,” Boen concurred. “Don’t waste your time worrying over it, Bahr. Whatever happens is meant to. Nothing you or I do will change that.”
    “You Gaimosians are walking contradictions. One moment you are determined to set the course of action for the world and the next willing to let it all ride. I wish I had that sense of confidence.”
    Boen chuckled softly, knowing it was all for show. He felt Bahr’s gradual change the closer they got to their final destination. Anyone would undergo the same, as far as he was concerned. Recognizing you were the agent of Fate was no easy task to swallow. Boen often wondered what his life might have been like if he’d been born anything but Gaimosian. The image never materialized. He