Free Even Gods Must Fall by Christian Warren Freed Page A

scars in memoriam. All the pain and suffering of being Gaimosian developed his life down roads most were too frightened to travel. This new war went far beyond the limitations of mere mortals. He was about to tangle with gods. The prospect was both frightening and exhilarating.
    Gods! How does a mortal compete with a being as old as time? A being without shape or figure who controls the very core of power itself? The creators of the world! Boen couldn’t wait to cross blades with one, whether it was light or dark. He didn’t care much for either sect of gods. Living a good life and trying to do right was all that mattered to Gaimosians. Boen was no different. He long held the belief that if there were gods in the world they despised Gaimosians enough to let them fall into ruin. He had no need for gods if they were willing to do that.
    He’d ridden nearly a league before the sun rose. Lack of camouflage or the need for concealment allowed him to move faster. He wanted to be found. Disappointment started to creep into his idle mind as dawn broke. He should have seen signs of the enemy by now. Could he be mistaken? Could Skaning and his force have ridden by the Gaimosian without ever crossing paths, even now readying to slaughter Bahr and the others? The prospect of abandoning his friends at their moment of need soured his great stomach. He briefly contemplated turning back before realizing even if he did the end would already have fallen.
    Boen stifled a quick yawn, flexing his right hand. It took longer for him to limber up these days. Six decades of harsh living left him filled with aches and pains. He found he now spent more time stretching and preparing for a fight than actually fighting. Thankfully his skills with a blade weren’t diminished, otherwise he’d be in the ground already. Clenching his fingers repeatedly, Boen looked down and was rewarded with the sight of numerous horse tracks. At last!
    Nervous excitement fluttered in his chest. Sliding from the saddle, snow pillowing around his boots, Boen knelt down to gingerly run his gloved fingertips over the tracks. Fresh. No more than a half-day old. Seems old Skaning is in a hurry to have a sword shoved up his ass. Well, I’ll be more than happy to oblige . All he had to do was turn to follow the tracks and catch them unaware. More likely than not the young lord of Delranan bedded down for the night. Their camp couldn’t be that far away, not and still allow them to remain within striking distance.
    “Seems I’ll get the chance to spill a little blood after all,” Boen mused to his horse. The animal bucked its head in silent understanding. Having been bred for war, the horse was a willing extension of Boen’s combat power. They’d ridden together for close to ten years. Finding him stable in Bahr’s barns right before Harnin burned them to the ground encouraged Boen. The horse was perhaps his truest friend.
    Climbing, slowly, back into the saddle, Boen snatched the reins and turned in the direction the tracks led. “Right back to where I came from. These boys are going to pay for wasting my time.”
    Boen took his time. A group as large as the mercenary band didn’t move very fast, nor were they able to cover great distances. He’d catch them long before they knew what struck.
     
     
     
    The trail ended outside of a large copse of firs. Boen remained mounted, trusting in a quick getaway and what he hoped would amount to a prolonged trek across half of Delranan. If his plan worked he’d be leading Skaning and his cronies to Arlevon Gale and the mounting conflict threatening to tear the world apart. Perhaps some of them would come to terms and abandon their wicked masters. Perhaps not. Boen doubted any of them were stern enough to survive the coming storm.
    A guard was stationed on the eastern flank. Boen searched for a long while before arriving at the conclusion Skaning was a damned fool. He’d only focused on securing the portion of the perimeter