The Piledriver of Fate (Titan Wars Book 2)

by Samuel Gately

  Eagle ignored his boss. “Still alive, though?” he asked, a tone of pleading in his voice.

  “Yeah. Still alive.”

  Eagle nodded and slowly turned away. Van heard Venerate berate his bodyguard as they walked down the street. From the slump in Eagle’s shoulders, Van thought he seemed worried.

  They’d left the door ajar. The rectangle of darkness contrasted with the shiny white pillars and brightness of the street. Van took a breath and stepped inside. Immediately a uniformed servant approached him and bowed low. “King Thad will see you in the bathing chambers,” he said. He produced a white towel from behind his back and handed it to Van.

  Van slung the towel over his shoulder. Looked like he’d been expected. The servant led him down the broad, ornate hallway with quiet, efficient steps. Van’s heavy boots thumped far too loudly and echoed off the marble walls.

  The appearance of Venerate Holland was something Van should have prepared for. He realized, as the servant led him down a flight of stairs and into a sort of locker room, that he had just allowed one of the richest men in Empire City to walk away without securing any sort of support for the city’s defenses. Something told Van he was doing a terrible job organizing a resistance to the OverLord and his Nether army. At least he was headed into an audience with the world’s richest titan, though he’d probably be killed for his trouble.

  The servant gestured for Van to disrobe and modestly turned away. Van tugged his uniform down to his waist. “Uh, naked?” he asked the servant’s back.

  “It is a bath, sir.”

  Van kicked off his boots and pulled off his dirty, blood-stained, and torn uniform, haphazardly folding it and throwing it over a bench. He wrapped the towel, which was far too small in his opinion, around his waist. The servant opened an inner door. Hot, humid air rushed into the locker room as the servant led Van into the baths.

  Van’s skin prickled as the hot air enveloped him. Flower and mint scents attacked his nose. The baths took up almost the entire subterranean floor. Brick columns rose over marble tubs of all shapes and sizes. Sunlight streamed in from high windows, bouncing off strategically placed mirrors to illuminate the marble flooring. Several waterfalls tumbled gently into the larger of the pools in which a handful of women lounged up to their necks in steaming water. The other pools were empty. The only sounds were running water and the women gently tittering. They stared at Van as he passed, making him wish his towel were slightly larger.

  The servant led him across the tiled floor to a small door of wooden slats. Clouds of steam billowed out aggressively as he turned a wooden handle and tossed the door open. The air from inside was as hot as an oven. A sheen of sweat broke across Van’s brow. The servant bowed low again, and Van stepped inside the long, wooden chamber.

  Van felt a surge of panic as the door closed behind him with a decisive clunk. He could see next to nothing through the steam, just a few wavering candles along the walls, which made the steam cloud seem even denser. He shuffled forward carefully. A muscular titan appeared before Van in the gloom, naked aside from a similar white towel. He looked over Van with a smirk, then reached down to pick up a ladle, scooped up water from a bucket, and poured it on a stove topped with rocks. The water hissed in anger and a fresh cloud of steam rose up. The titan turned and vanished deeper into the room.

  Van followed, passing near the stove and breathing in short, hot breaths. His lungs and throat burned. Sweat dripped off his brow. “Beer Man,” Thad’s voice drifted through the mist. He chuckled quietly. “Have a seat.”

  Van took a few more cautious steps and saw Thad sitting in the center of a long wooden bench at the back of the chamber. An enormous shape that could only be the Landshaker was beside him. More titans squatted on an elevated second row of seating. An empty bench lined the side wall. Van sat on it, wincing as the heat from the wood coiled around the backs of his legs. He took a deep, shuddering breath, letting his sweat fall onto the towel over his lap, then looked up.

  Van counted six staring titans in the back row, packed together so tightly that their giant, hairy shoulders touched. Three of them he hadn’t seen before, but he recognized Hugo Marky, the Butcher, and Dim Hurgen. He’d last seen that trio when they attempted to pour a barrel filled with urine over his head. They smirked at him now as though contemplating a fresh new cruelty.

  King Thad’s beard glistened with sweat and his golden hair hung limply down past his ears. He was lean and tan, his hairless chest carved with muscles. He leaned back and poured a cup of water over his brow. Then he closed his eyes, seeming in no hurry to start the conversation.

  Van glanced at the Landshaker, who glowered at Van with a sweaty scowl. Hair matted his chest and thick arms. The Landshaker was so large it seemed impossible to take him in in a single look. In Van’s short time in Empire City, he still hadn’t become used to comparing his own size to other titans. He was used to being surrounded by men, and simply being far bigger than them. Sitting next to the Landshaker reminded Van that titans varied in size just as people did. The Landshaker was simply massive. Van recalled when the Landshaker had roared in Creature’s face, his mouth open so wide it had looked like he was going to swallow the other titan’s head. The Landshaker was the stuff of nightmares. And if a mere titan raised such fear in Van, what would it be like to stand before a true giant, the size of a mountain, like those from the OverLord’s story?

  “We’ve been expecting you, Beer Man,” Thad said, his eyes still closed. “Owen came by last night with a very interesting story.”

  “It’s all true.” Van would have to be cautious here. King Thad had initiated shady dealings with the OverLord before, including striking the deal that put Donovan in the clutches of the Nether, and nearly Van as well. King Thad looked out for only one titan, even if he spoke for many.

  The King slowly shook his head. Sweat dripped off the end of his beard. “Is it really? It sounds to me like a bigger pile of bullshit than your Headlock victory.”

  “Donovan’s dead. The OverLord had Bearhugger cut his throat.”

  Thad cracked one eye open. “Owen left that part out. The story gets wilder each time I hear it.”

  “I can tell it again if you like. There’s a lot of important stuff.” Though Van was hoping they could get out of this cramped, steamy hellhole before he did anything like that. The hot air tortured his lungs as he drew it in.

  “Nah, once was plenty.” Thad laced his hands behind his head, rested his neck against the back of the wooden bench. He was playing casual. A performance for the benefit of the audience of titans ranged around the room.

  It was too hot in here for Van to do anything but get to the point. “The OverLord is coming. And he’s got an army. We think they’ll surface in the cemetery, and we need the ONWC titans to help defend Empire City.”

  King Thad grinned. “OverLord told me about as much when I met him.”

  There was a long pause. “And?” Van finally asked.

  “And I don’t have any love for that creep, but I don’t see why I’m supposed to leap to the defense of Empire City. This isn’t my country. This isn’t my homeland. It’s just a shithole that happens to have a couple nice arenas. Arenas, I might add, that were paid for from funds raised from ticket sales. Tickets to matches like my unbeaten streak that extended nearly three Headlocks.”

  Van raised an eyebrow. “Who cares about your record right now?”

  “Oh, trust me, they cared about it plenty when they were counting the ticket sales.”

  Van shook his head, loosing a cascade of sweat from his forehead. It crept into his eyes, stinging. “This isn’t about money. Or at least it shouldn’t be.”

  King Thad’s booming laugh was muted by the clouds of steam. “I forget how green you are, ten-man.” He leaned forward, planted his elbows on his knees, and stared right into Van’s face. “It’s all about money.”

  There was another long pause as Van held King Thad’s intense gaze. The heat seemed to slow their conv
ersation. Dim Hurgen stepped down from the back row and slid past them. Van had a faint hope he would open the door and let in some cool air, but the titan merely threw another ladleful of water onto the hissing stove. A fresh cloud of hot steam followed him as he sauntered back.

  Thad broke off his stare to watch Dim shuffle past. Then he leaned back again. “So,” he said, “they know it’s about money. And if they want us to defend them, they can pay us. That’s why you’re here. Make us an offer.”

  Van shook his head, spilling more sweat. “I didn’t think it’d come to that so quickly. You heard what I said, right? He’s coming for all of us.”

  Thad laughed. “An equal opportunity killer. Rare these days. And if your offer is nothing—” he flicked out his tongue and lapped the moisture from his mustache “—my answer is no. I’m taking my titans back to the Vantages tomorrow morning. It’s easier to defend. If you were smart, you’d get out of here too. Empire City likes to pretend it’s the place to be all year-round, but it is not. The action moves to other regions after the Headlock. And it’s only once you’ve left Empire City that you realize how deep they’ve buried their hands into your pockets. They take and take. Well, I’m done giving.”

  “Done giving what?” Van asked weakly. He could feel the opportunity drifting away from him.

  “I’m done giving them anything.” Thad’s eyes were bloodshot, angry. “You think they’ll make you a hero? They’ve already forgotten you. You could have sold your name, made some money. But instead you vanished. Wasted your window. Now you’re just another piece of meat to put on a show for them when they ask.” He shook his head. “You wanted to be on top. Now you know—all that means is there’s farther to fall. Try to dance with fate, and she’ll put you in a piledriver quicker than you could imagine.”

  The steam was suffocating. Van felt like he’d been here for hours. He wanted to walk, maybe run for the exit. But what if they wouldn’t let him out? What if all these titans just marched past, then turned around and locked the door? Left him behind in this oven-like hell?

  “Take it from someone who’s been around a little longer, Beer Man. Know when to fight and when to walk. I’m not afraid of the OverLord. I’m not afraid of anyone. But I fight if and when I choose. Not at the whim of Empire City’s powers-that-be.” He smirked. “And not under the command of a titan who hasn’t earned my respect and can’t pay my price.”

  So Thad was preparing to abandon Empire City. And he’d figured out a way to justify his cowardice. He’d had a part in opening the OverLord’s path, and now he was getting out of the way. He didn’t care if thousands died as a consequence. Van’s head swam. His lungs burned. He stood. “I can’t take it…” he gasped out. He laid a hand on the hot bench, steadying himself, then turned towards the exit, ignoring the laughter of the other titans.

  “No,” the Landshaker boomed through the steam. “Sit.”

  King Thad shot the Landshaker an annoyed look. “I think we’ve heard enough.”

  “No.” The Landshaker shook his head slowly, his long, stringy locks of wet hair waving back and forth. “We have not.” He pointed a giant finger at the bench. “Sit.”

  His curiosity stoked, Van sat back down. Standing up had cleared his head momentarily. He might be able to last another minute in here. He wondered if they’d even bother carrying him out when he fainted.

  The Landshaker ignored King Thad’s angry stare and pushed his hair behind his ears. He stretched his massive shoulders. At last, he turned to Thad and said, “You ask the wrong questions.”

  “I asked about the only thing that matters.”

  “No, you asked about the only thing you care about. You missed the part that matters.” The Landshaker turned back to Van. “Donovan is dead?”

  Van nodded.

  “Tell me what happened.” He closed his eyes and raised a finger, cutting off King Thad just as he opened his mouth. “Maybe you should be listening now, instead of talking,” the Landshaker said. He gestured to Van to speak.

  Van quickly recounted what he’d seen in the Nether. The heat stalled at a manageable level and the other titans listened quietly. When Van had finished, Thad turned to the Landshaker. “You agree with this moron?”

  The Landshaker scowled. “Donovan had a wife, children. He was my friend.”

  Thad barked out a laugh. “Donovan was a half-orc servant, and not a particularly good one.”

  The Landshaker’s glare deepened. “You think I give a shit how good he was at wiping your ass?”

  “Careful, Anthony, I—”

  “No, fuck your ‘careful’! What do you think is going on in the Nether? You think it’s all over? You sell your people out to the OverLord, dig us all in deeper, then run for the hills to hide behind your piles of gold.”

  Thad’s face was tight. “I never said—”

  “No, you don’t talk about it.” The Landshaker leaned towards King Thad. The wooden bench creaked alarmingly under his bulk. “You talk about everything else. Your money. New sponsorships. The ONWC repairing its image. But you don’t talk about the only thing we should be talking about.” The Landshaker abruptly stood, head brushing the ceiling of the steam chamber. “A fight’s coming. A real fight. And I intend to be in the ring for it, not sneering from the sidelines.” He flexed his muscles. “I am a warrior. I am a titan to rival all titans.” He looked around at the others. “Yet I fight this low-stakes bullshit. Face a carefully chosen titan, listen to the referee, knock your opponent down, put on a pretty belt. Wait for the next scheduled match. Bullshit. I am the Landshaker. The earth trembles beneath me.”

  Thad rose to his feet and jabbed a finger into the Landshaker’s chest. “You serve me.” The titans in the back row stared, eyes shifting back and forth between the pair.

  The Landshaker ignored Thad’s finger buried deep in his meaty pectoral muscle and looked towards the door. “No. I have served you. And I was an excellent warrior for you in this low-stakes world. No longer.” He looked at Van. “This titan… he fought the OverLord. He went after him. He faced him. And he brings back dire news. You talk of gold while he talks of war. A war that clings to him and calls all true warriors to declare their side.

  “They still speak of the Great General Grand Reffe and the titans who stood by him to fight their way into legend. This titan may be worthy of that. I know I am worthy of that. I will not cower behind walls of ivory and gold. I am a titan. I will remind the world why they tremble in fear as the land shakes below them. They will tell tales to their children of the fury of the Landshaker unleashed on a battlefield.”

  The Landshaker pushed King Thad aside and stepped in front of Van, the mighty titan’s small white towel unfortunately choosing that moment to slide off of his enormous waist. He stood proudly naked, his crotch level with Van’s face. “You tell me where and when, Beer Man.”

  “Uh,” Van tried to look everywhere except directly in front of him. “Great.”

  The Landshaker nodded crisply, causing several parts of his body to jiggle. “First I’ll get some pants.”

  “Seems like a good start,” Van replied.

  Chapter 16.

  The setting sun painted hues of orange and purple across the pale grass. Tombstones jutted up from the ground like the crooked teeth of a giant, their long shadows spreading over the legs of Van’s woefully inadequate guard. He twisted his hands together nervously and watched the pit.

  Van was exhausted. He’d slept a fitful few hours through the hottest part of the day in an enormous tent Captain Jahrom had procured and pitched in the farthest corner of the cemetery, where there were relatively few tombstones. When he woke, sweaty and confused, he’d stumbled out to find most of his soldiers clustered around the tent smoking cigarettes and rolling dice.

  The afternoon had been a waste. Someone had brought local sorcerers in for a look. They strutted around the pit, stroked their long beards, played with the sleeves of their robes, and chatted with colleagues. They’d assured Van tha
t numerous academic papers on the topic of the Nether gateway would be written in the coming months, several of which will have completed the necessary peer review process before next year’s Headlock of Destiny. Even the most helpful of the sorcerers had quickly fled after quiet discussions with Captain Jahrom about what compensation for their time might look like. It was simply far more lucrative to direct their energies to putting on light shows and building fountains and animated statues for the Empire City elite.

  While Van’s time had been sapped first by sleep and then by sorcerers’ greed, others had gotten to work. A few of the political higher-ups had ordered an elevated viewing platform to be built. Not an archer tower or wall or anything that would stop or slow an invading army. Literally a place for them to sit above the crowd, to see and be seen. Van had no idea what they were expecting. Did they think the OverLord would surface and give them a show? He’d tear them to pieces. And the noise of clinking glasses from the platform was annoying as hell.

  Meanwhile, broken beams piled around the pit. A team of engineers had spent the day attempting to cap the dark hole, but every structure they moved into place collapsed almost immediately and fell into the blackness. They’d tried every manner of contraption, plumbing the depths of their creativity. Nevertheless, everything they assembled broke as if made of thin glass. The engineers would whip their pencils from behind their ears, write down observations on their little notepads, and start over. After a while it was clear they were just throwing stuff into the pit for entertainment and soliciting cheers from the gathered crowd.

  Van had tried to move the crowd along. When he told them of the threat, they grew somber at the right times, cheered, and encouraged the defending soldiers in their dice games and cigarette-smoking efforts. It was only when he asked them to leave that he suddenly seemed to be speaking a different language. Why would they leave? The show hadn’t even started.

  He felt sick to his stomach. With the sun low in the west, the OverLord’s army might surface at any time. He remembered the fear beating in his chest as he’d run from them with Kyle in his arms and the Patriot by his side. Scores of white-eyed titans, angry and masked. Hordes of shambling jobbers. Legions of goblins. Dragons. And worse. They’d crawl out of the hole, have a good laugh at the city’s pathetic defenses, and tear through the few titans in their path. Van would die on his knees, as Donovan had, as Billy Blades had. And that was just the beginning. The OverLord would destroy all life in the Open Nations for no greater reason than to avenge the death of his family and perhaps draw the attention of Malachisin and plea for release. He would slaughter the crowd, conveniently gathered like fenced-in lambs. And the larger city would be his to murder at his leisure.