Free Even Gods Must Fall by Christian Warren Freed

these mercenaries my way.”
    Bahr hung his head in defeat. His latent fear of losing the Gaimosian was preventing him from making the logical decision. They’d been hounded since leaving Ingrid and the rebellion, causing exhaustion in a matter of days. Boen’s unexpected assault would give them time to recover and properly prepare for the coming battle. Still, Anienam’s warning hovered in the back of his mind. All were necessary to succeed. The Sea Wolf used both hands to wipe his face, cleansing the doubt and self-castigation in the process. He’d been a slave to inaction for too long. It was time to take the fight back to their enemies.
    “Very well,” he conceded. “Take what you need and depart before dawn. The rest of us will hurry to the ruins. I’d like to make it well ahead of the final moment.”
    “You’d do well to lose the wagon. It’s only a few days. Carry your supplies on horseback and you’ll move much quicker,” Boen suggested. His feral grin inspired dread in Bahr’s heart, making him almost feel sorry for the mercenaries.
    “Agreed. I’m sure the farmer won’t object to parting with a few horses.”
    “Can’t see why he would. Cheer up, Bahr. This should be fun.”
    Fun? How can any of this be construed as fun? We’re all going to die, but at least you get the opportunity to rush into Lord Death’s arms the way you wish . “I’ll take your word for it. This doesn’t sit well with me, not in the least. Hurry back. We’re going to need you, my friend.”
    Boen leaned over and slapped him roughly on the shoulder. “It wouldn’t be a war without a Gaimosian involved. Get some sleep. You need it more than the others. I haven’t seen you sleep in too long.”
    “I don’t take much comfort in you watching me sleep,” Bahr tried to joke.
    Boen smiled. “I guess we’ve been in the field too long. Maybe I should stroll down to that village and find a nice wench for the evening.”
    “Do people still say wench?”
    “Does it matter? Good night, Bahr.”

SIX
    Boen
    The Vengeance Knight was gone long before the first rays of sunlight slit the veil of night. He’d packed his bags and oiled his sword before bedding down, making leaving all the easier. Everyone but Ironfoot was asleep as he saddled his horse. The two warriors clasped hands and said a terse good-bye before Boen slipped out into the snow. There was no room for emotion, nor were either inclined to show any. True warriors committed to the task, ever seeking to improve their martial prowess through the test of combat. Wars were won or lost on less.
    Boen pulled his bearskin cloak tightly around his shoulders to prevent the wind from driving down between his armor and tunic. Winter had been excessively harsh in Delranan, leading to thoughts of finding a better job in the central plains. Averon was the greatest, richest kingdom in Malweir, surely there must be some odd quest Boen could accomplish down there. Not that it mattered at the moment. He was trapped in a power struggle with no viable escape route. He long held a sneaking suspicion that any attempt to flee, to leave the group for safer climates, would result in being shuffled right back into the middle of it all.
    Never a believer in fate or destiny, Boen carried his troubles on his back and faced each day like a true Gaimosian. Tomorrow was never promised, to anyone. He lived each day as if it might be the last and was content with it. Until now. The threat of an early demise clung to the quest like violent clouds raging in from the sea. Lord Death took particular interest in Bahr and the rest though for what purpose remained concealed. Boen couldn’t help but feel matters were stacked against him. As if he was meant to fall. The notion proved particularly disturbing.
    All his long life he’d done as his blood commanded. He defended the weak and innocent from the depredations of violent people. He’d fought in more wars than he remembered and bore hundreds of