by Ron Glick
Avery? Nathaniel's mind jumped for a moment. A distinct memory of his fight with the rat-faced man last night came to his mind, including the blow which had severed the man's hand. And then he had... what? What had Avery done last night that made his presence seem so out of place this morning?
But no. Avery had fallen and Bracken had leaped onto the man, holding him until Nathaniel could cut off a piece of his shirt to tie the wound and to secure the man's hands behind him. He clearly remembered leading the man back into camp and tying him to the tree before going to sleep with Brea.
Nathaniel blinked. That wasn't exactly right. Brea had summoned Imery and Nathaniel had used the sword taken from Avery to drive a mortal blow through the body of the Goddess. That image – the memory of the Goddess' phantom forms joining her main body, of the bright flashes of light every time one of them came into contact with her body – were indelibly imprinted on his mind's eye. The image of the Goddess' form dissolving in shimmering dust and the looks on the faces of Brea and Bracken were equally imprinted. The sellsword – or at least the one with any sense left – had been equally shocked, his face cast in horror at the far side of the camp. It was a moment locked into his memory – yet he could not recall where Avery had been during that confrontation.
Nathaniel shook his head. Surely, Avery must have still been tied to the tree. Out of sight, out of mind. It was not like he had not had other things pressing on his mind at the moment, not the least of which was the very real threat of a mad Goddess.
Nathaniel watched Brea rise from their fur, covering herself as she did. He had not remembered standing up himself.
“What is bothering you?” asked the priestess.
Nathaniel closed his eyes, trying yet again to capture the elusive thought plaguing his mind. “I'm not sure. Just... something doesn't feel quite right. Like something is out of place, but I don't know what.”
Brea tightened one hand on the furs in order to free her other to reach up to stroke Nathaniel's face. “It's only that you haven't completely woken up, I'm sure.” Brea smiled lovingly at the man before her. “You are like a dream, Nathaniel Goodsmith. One I cannot believe has come true.”
Again, the vague sense of something being not right tickled at Nathaniel's awareness, but this time he pushed it away. Brea was right. It was just his dreams playing with his mind upon first waking. Everything was already strange enough – why should he not feel something was not right? None of this was right, after all. Not that his wife was dead, nor his son was taken, nor that the Old Gods had managed to recruit him into being their Avatar, forcing him to travel across the countryside to chase after some would-be-God and his magical sword.
“That reminds me,” said Nathaniel. “Now that we have Avery, I need to find a way to summon Aerik or Malik or one of them to tell me what we're supposed to do next. Aerik said there were nine swords, and this is only the first. So if I need to finish the job, I will need directions.”
“I demand to be released!” came Avery's voice, interrupting the conversation before Brea could respond. “If you release me now, I assure you that my faithful will not rip you apart when they come for me. And they are coming, I assure you. They know their God is here, and they are coming.”
Nathaniel closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This man was petty and demanding, but he was no God. He only had a God's sword and convinced some people that he was divine, apparently. But without the sword, he proved to be a sniveling wretch, a coward who ran away rather than--
Ran away? Nathaniel stopped and thought for a moment. No, that's not what happened. They had captured Avery, held him down, brought him back to camp.
“Oh, Godslayer,” called Avery. “Are you listening to me? I said my faithful are coming and you had best release me.”
“No uns gonna r'lease ya, ya li'l twit,” came Bracken's voice from behind Nathaniel. The man turned to see his dwarven companion entering the camp, followed by the two sellswords that Brea had brought with her, each carrying a load of kindling for the morning fire. “Ya's caugt fair 'n square, an' ya's not gonna be runnin' 'round causin' us more grief. Ya ken stay tied up there jus' fine 'til we d'cide what ta do wit' ya.”
“Bracken.” Brea rushed over to give the dwarf a warm embrace. “I was worried when I didn't see you.”
The dwarf pulled back. “Now wha's this, all o' sudden? Ya dinna much like me las' night, an' now yer missin' me?”
Brea pulled back, startled. “I... I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking,” fumbled the priestess. “Like you were an old friend...”
The dwarf har-rumphed. “No much likely, tha'.”
The one called Alsen guided his brother, Derik, over to the fire pit, giving the larger man clear and deliberate directions on where to place the wood. But the elder of the two was clearly bored by the instructions and just threw the sticks down and marched away in a pout. Alsen groaned and went after his brother.
Nathaniel cast a glance at their prisoner and for a moment saw a look of careful thought. But the look quickly passed when Avery saw the other man looking at him, replaced by one of outrage. “A dwarf has no say over me.” He spit on the ground. “Legend has it your kind threw out your Gods anyway, so this is none of your concern. You don't even believe in us.”
Bracken's lip split in a wicked grin. “No' followin' ain't the same as no' believin', ya moron. Dwarves ain't fools 'nough ta ferget where we came from, or who put us there ta b'gin with.”
“It's good you're here, Bracken,” said Nathaniel. “I need to go try to find one of the Old Gods to find out what to do next, and that so far has meant going where no one else is--”
“Stop ignoring me!” shouted Avery. “Forget about your false Gods and kneel before me. I promise, I'll forgive you for this.” Avery nodded his head backwards, indicating his bonds and the tree he was tied to. “I can be a very generous God, if you give me half a chance.”
Nathaniel reached down to pick the scabbard of the blade known as One, but hesitated a mere fraction of an inch from touching it. He had wielded it, and so knew that was what the sword called itself – One. It had some kind of intelligence, that much was unmistakable. And it could communicate its feelings, like when he had stabbed Imery – the sword had reveled in the power of taking the life of a God. Whatever the sword had gotten out of the act seemed to sate the lust Nathaniel had felt upon first drawing it, as if the sword fed on something from the Goddess and now was resting until it again needed nourishment. But Nathaniel was reluctant to pick up the sword again in case that lust had returned.
“Leave my sword alone!” screamed Avery. “You have no right to it. Release me so that I may take it up as is my right.”
Nathaniel turned a wry grin at their captive before again reaching for the scabbard. The rough rope cord which Avery had been using to strap the sword to his back was a strange contrast to the beauty of the polished black leather case.
“Stop! I command you!”
Nathaniel's hand came into contact with One's sheath.
And the world spun around him. Flashes of memory danced before his eyes, two dueling sets of memories, each trying to assert themselves over the other. Nathaniel could not make sense in the jumble over which was which – which ones were his true memories, those he had woken up with, and which ones One was now trying to force into his mind.
Yet the sword's power was weakened while it was sheathed, and Nathaniel was soon able to reassert his own will. The second set of memories vanished and he once again felt himself.
Nathaniel looked to Avery. The captive's face had again changed to reflect very real fear, but flashed back to the self-confidence that seemed to be the man's normal arrogance.
“Did you know that was going to happen?” demanded Nathaniel.
“What?” Avery put on a forced air of confusion. Clearly, he wanted Nathaniel to think he didn't know anything when he actually did.
“He doesn't know,” said Brea. “He wants you to think he knows what just hap
pened, but he has no idea.” Nathaniel glanced at the priestess. Brea smiled in response. “The true sight that Imery gave me still works, Nathan. I can see truth in everything, including that Avery had no idea that anything just happened until you said something.”
Brea cast a brief glare at Avery, clearly intending to let the captive know he could not fool her. But she had glanced away only a moment before her eyes darted back again. “Something else, too...”
“You don't see anything else,” said Avery, focusing on the priestess. “Only that I am tied to the tree, quite helpless. You only have eyes for your Nathan, after all, so why are you even looking at me?”
Brea blinked and looked up at Nathaniel. “Well, he's right about that,” she said. “I do only have eyes for you.”
Bracken sniffed noisily. “I smells magic,” he said simply.
“With all the swords about, is there any wonder?” laughed Nathaniel. “We have two... No, three God made weapons, if we include your axe. If you didn't smell magic, I would be doubting that you were really a dwarf.”
Bracken screwed up his face, sniffing loudly again. “No' the same, Nate. No' the same.”
After a moment of sniffing the air, Bracken shrugged. “Well, wha'ever it was, i's gone now. Mighta been one o' yer Gods lurkin' 'bout, Nate. Maybe ya shoul' go a-lookin'.”
“You need not go looking for other Gods when I am right in front of you,” Avery crowed. “I am the only God you need.”
“Why do you keep saying things like that?” asked Nathaniel. “We know you're not a God. We know about the sword. About the swords. All of them. You just have a magic weapon that gave you some power, and now you don't have it anymore. So why do you keep trying to convince us to see you as a God?”
Avery smirked. “You will believe in time, Godslayer. You will in time.”
Nathaniel was seized by a sudden surge of rage. “Stop playing games! This isn't a game! Because of you, my wife is dead and my son is gone. Because of you, I lost my home and family. Don't tell me about believing you are some God, because I have dealt with real Gods, and you are nothing but a filthy urchin who got lucky and came across a little too much power than you could control. Well, congratulations! You attracted the attention of the real Gods by playing house in your little town back there, and so I had to get rooted out here to deal with you!”
Brea placed her hand on her lover's arm. “Nathan, calm down.”
Nathaniel pulled his arm free. “Would you stop that? I've told you I am married...”
Brea stepped back, shocked. Nathaniel stopped in mid-speech. He had said that before to Brea, when she had made advances on him before. When...
Again, the double set of memories tried to reassert themselves over Nathaniel's mind. He gripped the sword's scabbard tightly, trying to master the power coming from the blade. In desperation, he seized the handle of the sword and drew it forth, meaning to force his will directly onto the blade. He had mastered it before, and he would do so again...
The memories intensified, the phantom set now gaining strength over the memories he still knew to be true. No longer was he kneeling, tying Avery's wound – he was tying off Bracken's. Brea had rushed over and was canting a healing spell, pulling the severed tendons together roughly as she did so. He remembered Bracken's curses and the swings he leveled at the priestess, and how she simply ducked out of the way and continued with her work. He remembered looking to the woods where Avery had fled, searching those woods for any sign of where the miscreant had fled to and only finding the cast-off scabbard with its rope-fashioned baldric...
Nathaniel looked over at their captive. Avery was gone, and someone new now sat beside the tree. Though the man's arms were behind him, there were no ropes binding him. It was only a pose the man was holding. This man was of similar build to Avery, if a bit taller, and his black hair was slicked back like Nathaniel had seen a few nobles do in his day. Even the clothing had changed from the almost-fine clothes Avery had been wearing to simple leathers.
Nathaniel rushed across the space between them and took hold of the front of the man's tunic. “Who are you?”
“I am Avery, God of Vengeance.” The man's eyes narrowed, testing what Nathaniel was seeing. “Who else would I be?”
“Nathan, what are you doing?” Brea had come up behind him and was trying to pull him back from their “helpless” prisoner.
In response, Nathaniel grabbed Brea's hand and thrust it onto the hilt of One. Brea tried to pull back instinctively, but after a moment, her eyes cleared and she looked in shock at the man in front of them. “Who's that? Where did Avery go?”
The man twisted out of Nathaniel's grip and darted back and away. “Knew I shoulda taken those swords while I had the chance. Martin said we couldn't do that though, 'cause they were still needed in their rightful timeline. But I knew. I knew they would be able to see through my illusions. And I was right.”
Nathaniel started to advance on the man again, but came up short when he produced a sword of his own – an identical match for the sword Nathaniel held in his own hand. This stranger held one of the nine God-made swords...
Nathaniel's mouth went dry. “Which one...”
The man smirked. “Got your attention, have I? Martin's the smart one, or so he's always saying. But I'm the one he sent to outsmart the Godslayer. Guess that's not saying much for me, of course, 'cause you still figured it out.”
“Figured what out?” asked Brea. “And who's Martin?”
“Wouldn't you like to know, Lady Brea,” scoffed the man. “But you'll know. You'll all know soon enough. It's just not your time yet.”
Movement to Nathaniel's side drew his glance, yet it was only Bracken who had come up to stand at his other side. Where the sellswords had gone, he could not say, but at least there were now two weapons against the man's one.
“Why do you keep talking about time?” asked Nathaniel. “I don't understand what you're talking about. But all we want is the sword, so if you surrender it, we won't come after you. We'll forget all about this, about whatever memories you played with--”
“It wasn't real,” blurted out Brea, tears welling up in her eyes. “You made me think it had been real between Nathan and I, and it wasn't real.”
Without warning, Brea leaped at the man, her fingers ready to claw his face. Instinctively, the man raised his sword to defend himself.
And then suddenly the man was gone. Brea fell forcefully upon the ground, her momentum carrying her through the space the man had previously occupied.
Nathaniel lowered his sword and moved over to help the priestess up. “Are you okay?”
“Peachy,” spat Brea. “Played for a fool. Again. Just peachy.”
Nathaniel realized in an instant what Brea meant. When his real memories returned – not the ones he had been made to believe were true – he had forgotten that he had woken up with Brea. But she had not. She had always made it very plain that she had feelings for him, deep and inexplicable feelings. Yet it was as Nathaniel said – he had only just lost his wife days ago, and the thought of being with another woman was impossible for him. Yet he had accepted it as true when he had woken up beside her. Somehow, the stranger had changed their memories, convinced them they were lovers, that they had been for some time.
As Brea lifted herself back to her feet, she avoided Nathaniel's eyes. But he didn't need to see her eyes to know the shame she was feeling – for he felt it just as keenly himself.
* * *
Avery rode slouched in his saddle, his right arm tucked instinctively into his middle. There was no pain, not even a lingering ache as he might have expected. After all, when one has one's hand severed, one expects there to be pain and a great deal of it. It was as though the wound had healed completely, even if the flesh was freshly pink. Still, he expected it to hurt, and so he sheltered it as though it did.
Viola and Hamil kept their horses paced with his own to either side. The scribe seemed intent upon looking all around, searching for th
e elusive Godslayer who had felled his master. Yet Viola only had eyes for Avery himself.
Viola had ever been attentive and needful of Avery, especially between the sheets. When they bedded together in Scollhaven, she had shared him with the other women, yet was ever there when he called upon her. There was neither jealousy nor possessiveness to it – simply a complete and absolute acceptance that transcended loyalty in any form that Avery had ever known. It was that way with all of his faithful, yet there was more in Viola than the others – or perhaps he only saw more in her.
Yet ever since Avery had rushed into camp the night before with Hamil close behind, her attentiveness had trebled. Where before, she was content to attend to other affairs when Avery did not have specific need of her, now she wanted only to be at his side, never far from reach. Even now, she rode her horse a little closer than was prudent for the speed they were traveling, her eyes kept too much upon Avery than where her horse's feet traveled. The night was only beginning to fade, and how she had managed to ride through the night without crippling her horse, Avery had not a clue.
Viola had not yet seen Avery's hand – or the lack thereof – as far as he could discern, though she knew something was amiss. That much was certain. Well, their rush to abandon camp and flee into the night could have told her that much. And Viola was no fool. But like a mother hen, Viola had suddenly grown overly concerned with Avery's well-being, even if the actual source of harm he had kept concealed from her for now.
The trio had set out back eastward at first, though had taken the first southern trail off the main road they could find. They abandoned the tents, and only collected what they could quickly of the foodstuffs before setting out. Even the packhorses had been cleared of their tack and set free.
Avery had no illusion that should the Godslayer continue upon his path, that he would overtake the trio in no time. But he also knew where the main road led – back to Scollhaven, and the people foolish enough to pledge themselves to his faith. And he had no intention of leading this immortal demon back there. They did not deserve to be slaughtered as this... whatever he was sought vengeance against the self-proclaimed God of Vengeance.