Wrend began to ease his horse to one side. Once he made his move obvious, he would have to make the switch quickly, get out of the Master’s striking range.
“What are you doing?” Leenda whispered in his left ear, on the side away from the Master.
He turned to her. “Just trust me.”
The eagle-faced man chuckled and shook his head again. “Then you’ll have to convince all forty thousand of us, because not one of us wishes to have you as our god. We're free men, under no god’s yoke. And we’ll stay that way or perish.”
The Master nodded and pointed at Naresh. “I see, then, that the Godslayer has corrupted you. He'll be the first to die.”
The man laughed and looked at Naresh.
“He’s our liberator. He saved us from our ‘god’s’ tyranny.”
Naresh remained silent and glanced at Wrend.
“Then this parley is over,” the Master said, and turned.
Wrend nearly spurred his horse—for he saw that this might be his last moment to make his choice—but stopped as the eagle-faced man stoop up in his stirrups and shouted at the Master.
“Be warned! This day your life is in danger!”
The Master stopped with his back toward the Hasuken. He looked over his shoulder, his face un-amused and unafraid.
Eagle-face continued, still standing.
“If you don’t retreat from this field of battle, we’ll bring death and destruction upon you and your people. If you bring this war to us, we’ll overcome and bring the war to you.”
The Master rounded on him, his teeth bared and his eyes burning. He gripped the staff with both hands. For a moment, Wrend thought the parley would break out into a scuffle as the Master took three steps toward the Hasuken.
“You’ve already brought it to me,” he said. “When you allied with my rebellious children.”
“They acted independent of us,” eagle-face said, “even if we had allied with them. But unless you retreat from this field, we will continue what they started. We’ll bring destruction upon you and your country.”
The Master trembled as he towered over the men and horses. The Hasuken in the rear shifted in their saddles, and glanced at one another. A gust of wind stirred up dust around them. Wrend licked his lips, looking back and forth from the Master to Naresh.
And he spoke.
“Master, perhaps we should consider this offer.”
Teirn gave him a sharp look, and Calla's eyes widened. Leenda tensed behind him, and the Master turned slowly to look at him. Wrend eased his horse forward and to the side, so that he was almost even with the Master, but thirty feet off to one side. The Master watched him with a slow boiling rage.
“You . . . disappoint me,” he said.
Wrend swallowed hard and shook his head. How did he dare defy the Master? It wasn’t easy, but made easier as he thought of Rashel lying in the dirt, brutalized, or as he remembered the screams of the cultists as they died, and as he thought of that head lying in the dirt back by the paladins.
“You’ve told me that I have to learn to make the hard decisions. I’m making one, right now.”
Not taking his eyes from the Master, he drew his sacrificial blade and held it in his right hand. He extended his left arm and turned his fist up, exposing the strings that secured the bracer to his wrist. He clenched his jaw and held the tip of the azure blade against the cord.
“Wrend,” Teirn said, “what demon has possessed you?”
With a swipe, Wrend cut the cord. The blue blade glinted in the sunlight. The bracer loosened, and he shook it off. It fell to the ground.
He looked at it. What was he feeling? Relief or fear? Freedom or doom?
He switched the knife to his left hand, and with another flick the right bracer came loose. It fell into the dust with the other. Lifting his eyes to the Master, Wrend held out the knife, point down, and dropped it. The sound of the knife hitting the ground was like prison doors opening—yet also like a bell sounding the death toll.
Wrath churned in the Master's eyes.
“He's right.”
All eyes—except for the Master's—swiveled to Naresh, who prodded his horse forward.
“You couldn’t have chosen a better son as an heir,” Naresh said. “You couldn't have a better option. His draegon soul cries out for mercy and justice, and he sees the proper way to rule.”
“You did this to him,” the Master said.
He finally looked away from Wrend, took a step toward Naresh, and pointed down at the old man. Except, he didn't seem old. He looked younger than Wrend had ever seen him, and he sat in his saddle with a straight back and confident air. He’d even shaved.
“You tainted his mind from the time of his childhood, and I have you to blame for what I must do.”
Naresh didn’t back down, though he stood within reach of the Master’s staff.
“I only planted seeds of truth. Soon, he’ll see another truth—that just because you call yourself god does not mean your word is law. There’s another power that governs.”
The Master shook his head.
“I'll deal with you in a moment. But now that my son has proven himself an unfruitful bough, he must suffer the consequence.”
He moved so fast that Wrend only had time to be surprised that his patience had run out.
Chapter 74: Cut in half
If not for the love of my wives, I would have ceased living many years ago. They have saved me from despair and death on numerous occasions.
-Athanaric
Leenda was ready for it—even if Wrend wasn’t. In preparation, she'd bound Thew and Flux to her body, and was ready when Athanaric leapt for Wrend, drawing his sword with one hand and swinging it down in an arc in a single motion. He moved so fast he nearly blurred, but she had practiced and was small, and had anticipated something like this.
The poor horse, on the other hand, never had a chance.
Her feet had no purchase, nothing to push off with, so she jumped with her body: she bent her back a little and straightened it. It was enough. It created enough motion that the Flux could do the rest.
She lifted off of the horse, pulling her mate with her.
The sword came down across the saddle at an angle; it would have cloven Wrend from head to crotch, and sliced the horse in half. By the time she landed in the dirt—and stumbled backward, falling to the ground with Wrend on top of her—the horse's cries had faded and Athanaric straightened.
“You can't have him,” she said. She pushed Wrend off of her and jumped to her feet. “He's mine.”
Athanaric considered her. The remains of the horse twitched where they lay, and guts spilled out over Athanaric’s boots. Wrend scrambled afoot and took a place next to her.
Nobody moved. The draegon stood in the same place where Athanaric had left it, watching with an obvious eagerness to join: its body shook and its mouth gaped; its tail swished back-and-forth through the dirt, stuck between two crumbling walls. What an abomination. A dog in a draegon's body.
“You're a fool, Wrend,” the Master said. “I'm god. You've defied me for the last time. You've traded immortality and glory for nothing. You believe I rule by evil compulsion, but I'm no more evil than these men here. Than Naresh. They allied with demigods who killed your mothers and siblings without remorse. They’re no better than me. They make a haughty case, but they killed innocents to provoke me, hoping I would come to them so they would have an excuse to do what they already planned.”
He had a point. Leenda looked over at Wrend, to see how he took it. A bevy of emotions crossed his face. He stood at an angle, with his legs tensed, as if ready to start running. Good thing. Hopefully he had his Ichor bound as well.
Otherwise he would stand no chance of escaping.
Chapter 75: Protected
When you don’t know about all the types of Ichor, you’re at a distinct disadvantage.
-Wrend
The Master's rebuke shocked Wrend, and he knew he needed to re-evaluate
his course of action: he couldn't defect to Hasuke any more than he could stay with the Master. They were just as barbarous, wielded their power with equal brutality.
So what to do?
His gaze found Teirn, who still sat back on his horse, eyes wide. Calla looked just as surprised, but also satisfied.
“Wrend,” the Master said, “you've disappointed me and squandered your potential.”
The words cut Wrend deeper than he’d imagined they could. He'd lived his entire life dedicated to the Master, to pleasing him and doing everything he wanted. Now, in this moment of defiance, he questioned his choice. He loved the Master. He did. Simply because he'd come to disagree with the Master did not mean he didn't love him and feel attachment to him. He did.
But he also knew he was right.
Yet so was the Master. Wrend couldn’t ally himself with the Hasuken. Or Naresh, who stood with them. He spoke of lofty things, but was no better than the rest of them.
“Wrend,” the Master said, “I can’t allow you to live. Come and face your judgment like a noble son.”
He spoke with such authority that Wrend began to obey out of sheer habit. He stepped in front of Leenda, as if the voice had tied strings around him and begun to pull him in.
“Don't give up life,” Naresh said. “Stand your ground.”
Wrend ignored him, and instead looked to the one person he thought might understand—Teirn. They’d always speculated on how it would feel to have the Master come for them—the devastation it would cause to know they'd angered their father. They'd always thought it would seem random and meaningless, that they wouldn't know what they'd done to merit death.
Teirn remained back a few dozen feet, sitting on his horse near the draegon, staring back at him with an expression of regretful acceptance, as if he'd known all along that Wrend would do something stupid and get himself killed.
Wrend couldn’t help but shrug and lift one corner of his mouth in a sardonic smile. He wanted Teirn to join him, but knew that wouldn’t happen.
An unusual sensation—almost like a chill—ran along Wrend's spine, up his arms and down his legs. The back of his head began to tingle, at the top of his neck. He shivered and rubbed his arms with his hands, but it did no good. The sensation didn't touch his body—he didn't develop goose bumps and the hair on his arms didn't stand up—but felt almost like when he harvested Thew or Flux. Only, that wasn't quite it, either. This sensation seemed to rise from deep within him, and crawl around his insides and beat against his skin.
The faces of Naresh and the Master contorted in an undeniable exertion of effort. Their heads trembled and their eyes bulged. The veins and tendons in their necks stood out as if they pressed against an impossible burden.
Leenda stepped in front of Wrend, standing as tall as she could. Her body, too, shook with some invisible effort, as if under a great weight. A gust of wind blew her hair back from her neck and shoulders.
To the Master, she said, “I won’t let you have his soul again.”
“And neither will I,” Naresh said.
“What's going on?” Wrend said.
She didn't look back at him. “He's trying to tear your soul out with Spirit Ichor.”
Spirit Ichor? He'd never heard of it. It had never occurred to him that there was a third type, one that could affect a person's soul. He felt ill-informed. Ignorant. For all he knew, there were a dozen types and he didn't know about them because the Master hadn't taught him.
What a fool he was, to think he knew so much, when he had such a limited understanding of the world—and was so inept. He hadn't even tapped his discernment or kept Thew and Flux ready to bind.
But he readied it. He brought his discernment to the forefront of his mind, and bound Thew to his legs and torso. He needed to prepare to run.
“Wrend,” the Master said, “I'm your god. You must obey me. Though you object to my methods, you worship me. Don't betray me any more than you already have. Your soul is at risk.”
Wrend gritted his teeth against the effort of disobeying. “There must be a better way.”
“Mankind is evil and degenerate. He must be controlled with an iron fist, or his inner beast will overcome him.”
It took all of Wrend's strength to shake his head. He couldn't turn back now.
“Perhaps it was once so, back in the days of chaos. But the world has changed, and there must be a better way to rule over a nation. I worship you no longer.”
The Master roared, his eyes glinting, and feinted toward Wrend by taking one step—and Wrend started to dodge backward, his heart leaping up into his throat.
But the Master stopped.
Back among the ranks of the Hasuken delegation, one of the men dropped from his horse. He went limp and slid right out of the saddle, almost as if he'd fainted. Before he clattered to the ground in a pile of armor and weapons, a second man, in the front row of the Hasuken, also began to fall.
“Idiots!” eagle-face said, looking back at his men with indignation. “Protect yourselves!”
Wrend glanced at Leenda in confusion.
“They weren't protecting themselves,” she said. “So he ripped out their souls.”
“And you're protecting me and yourself?” Wrend said.
She nodded. “Naresh must be helping me with your soul.”
“Wrend,” the Master said, “let me give you your punishment, or I will force it upon you. You can’t escape my justice.”
Wrend shook his head and stepped backward. The entire conversation was useless.
“I'll find a better way.”
Something seemed to snap, as if a barrier had broken. The crowd leapt into motion.
Eagle-face and the eight remaining Hasuken lifted from their stirrups into the air toward the Master, fanning out in a semi-spherical formation. The three demigods that had accompanied the Master sprang forward, blades flashing as steel leapt from their scabbards.
“Run,” Leenda said, as she started to turn around.
“Cuchorack,” the Master said as he turned to meet the onslaught. He dropped his sword and readied the staff in both hands. “Eat them.”
The draegon roared and extended its wings and neck. It jumped into the air, toward the fray.
For a moment everything hovered on the inexorable path of violence. The Hasuken, including eagle-face and Naresh, floated in the blue sky or against the backdrop of the desert, faces bound in focus and determination, the tips of their pikes glinting in the sun, the banners on the pike tips hanging in mid-flutter. The horses they'd jumped from began to scatter, turning away from the fight. Cuchorack's fur flattened against its body, pushed by the force of its leap. All the tension drained out of the Master’s face and a dead serenity filled his eyes as he drank in the converging men. Calla and Teirn froze on their steeds, which kicked at the air with their forelegs.
Wrend's eyes met Teirn's. A farewell passed between them. Their years of goofing off and challenging each other to do better and more—all of their conversations about where life would take them—and much, much more, all came to a sudden end. Sorrow and hatred filled Teirn’s face.
Wrend would never again look upon his brother as a friend.
He’d made his choice. Teirn had made his.
The realization tore at his soul. The Master had rejected him, had tried to kill him, but it didn't hurt as much as this expression of utter disdain from his brother.
The moment passed. Everything became a blur. The men converged on the Master. He moved into them, staff whirring. Leenda pulled Wrend away. They fled at an angle that led them between the butte and Hasuken army. The sound of men grunting and metal striking wood followed them, punctuated with the thundering of Cuchorack's steps and the snapping of its jaws.
Above it all sounded another command from the Master.
“Teirn, kill your brother.”
Chapter 76: Engaged
One fight progresses much like the next. What’s really interesting is who is alive at the end.
>
-Athanaric
Athanaric assumed the defensive posture: legs bent, ready to spring, staff held in one hand at his side. To survive the next three minutes, he would have to focus on the task. He couldn’t let his disappointment and sorrow at Wrend distract him.
He emptied himself of emotion and became a piece of meat without feeling. He would have time to deal with Wrend soon enough—if Teirn didn’t.
The ten men used Flux to hover in front and around him in a bubble formation. In his two thousand years, he’d seen this before; they wanted to hem him in, cut off every avenue of escape while keeping their distance. So, the natural method of defense was to not dodge attacks, but move into them, meet them head-on, to get out of and repeatedly break the formation before all of the Hasuken could converge on him. If he didn't, they would skewer him like a boar with their pikes. They probably would, anyway. It was a question of how many times and where.
He applied Ichor and leapt into the oncoming attack, twisting in mid-air, so that for a moment he became a smaller target. The motion also exposed his back to a nearby Hasuken, so as he slashed with the staff at the head of the attacker—who ducked underneath the blow—he kept spinning. When he completed the motion, he landed on the outside of the sphere, facing the Hasuken.
And, behind them, Cuchorack.
He’d broken their formation. As Teirn and Calla galloped away, in the direction that Wrend and Leenda had gone, Cuchorack lunged, extending his neck. He snapped with his jaws at one Hasuken, and twisted his head so that his horns threatened another. Both missed their marks, but it drew the two Hasuken away from Athanaric. Next to Cuchorack, they looked like flies buzzing around a dog.
Simultaneously, the three Caretakers engaged the Hasuken, jumping high and descending upon the outer-most pike men, swords slashing. They moved with deliberate speed and agility—as they should have: they'd spent decades practicing, sparring with each other and their brothers and sisters. They each drew two of the Hasuken to them, but fought so closely and ranged so far and wide that Athanaric couldn’t tell who focused on attacking who at what time. In fact, it shifted every moment as they moved along the ground and up into the air in a churning blur of melee. One moment one of the three demigods would lift into the air, using Flux to move in an irregular path and attack an unexpected Hasuken alone; and the next all three of them would land on the ground, converging on the same Hasuken. Those six enemies, who engaged the demigods, dropped their pikes in favor of swords, and clashing steel filled the air. A cloud of dust rose around them.
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