by Ron Glick
As the dawn crested the tree line, the group came upon a heavy stream and were forced to halt. Avery looked first one direction and then the next along the banks looking for a bridge or some place more passable. But there was none within sight. Obviously those who used this trail simply forded the river at this point, or else the trail would not have ended so abruptly at the shore.
Avery had never forded a river on a horse – in fact, until a few days ago, he had never ridden a horse for more than for an occasional task back in Kellenburg – and then only a workhorse who had to be coaxed to carry a heavy trailer. He knew the basics of how to guide or lead one, but had certainly not mastered it – his chafed inner thighs and aching muscles told that story well. He certainly had never ridden one for more than an hour, and never before for several days, followed by a night of brisk riding without more than a pause in travel. Avery felt bone-weary and uncertain, and all he wanted to do was throw himself into the water and drift away.
Hamil spared him that indignity.
“I would recommend resting the horses for a time, my lord,” said the scribe. “Though I do not know more than I have read of their care in books, I do recall that messengers could not ride theirs as much as we have without receiving fresh mounts. I would not wish to make one lame, for we need them all with the other two set free.”
Avery nodded weakly. “You're right, of course, Hamil. I believe we will rest here.” The would-be God wasted no time in heavily moving himself out of the saddle, falling to the ground in a far less dignified manner than he had intended. It seemed all sensation had fled from his legs during the night and he had not even noticed.
Viola was soon at Avery's side, offering her hand. Yet it was a hand from behind that reached him first. Avery almost accepted the aid without question until he saw the look of surprise on both Hamil's and Viola's faces.
“Here, my lord,” said a man's voice as a body thrust itself to his side for support. “I would be honored if you would lean upon me for the short time it takes you to recover.”
Avery attempted to pull free, but the man possessed a marked strength that held his arm fast around Avery's shoulder. “Who--”
“Men call me Martin, for it is not wise for any man to have his true name known. Or so I was raised to believe.” The man's speech had a slight accent to it, one that Avery could almost though not quite place.
Avery took a deep breath and made to pull himself away again, and this time Martin let him. Though his legs were still unsteady – and ached abysmally for the blood forcing its way back into them – at least he could stand and face the stranger. “What are you doing out here all alone?” Avery cast a look to the trees on either side of the road. “You are alone, are you not?”
Martin chuckled. “Yes, Lord Avery. I come alone.”
Avery's eyes grew wide. “How did you—”
Martin held up his hand. “I would love nothing more than to stay and answer any and all questions you might have. You have no idea what a pleasure it would be to study under you at this, your time of emergence. But you led me to believe that I would not have a great deal of time, so I must speak quickly and only of what you have instructed me to.”
“Me?” asked Avery incredulously. “I have never met you before in my life.”
Without warning, Hamil rushed forward and took up the man's right wrist, pulling back the fabric to expose the man's skin. “He does not wear your mark, my lord. He is no faithful of yours!”
Martin pulled his hand free and scowled at the scribe. “Do not touch me, unholy thing!”
Hamil backed up, a look of scrutiny suddenly appearing upon his face. Avery could not help but think that there was more to that look than simple affront. But his attention was drawn almost immediately back to the stranger.
“I apologize, my Lord Avery,” he rushed out, half bowing his head as he did so. “I forget myself. There are some... prejudices I must not speak of.” It did not escape Avery's attention that the man's glare had never left Hamil, even tilting his head ever so slightly as he had bowed. “There are things you must not yet know.”
Martin threw his head back and just like that lost all of his ominous nature. “Yet there is some that you must. Know that your... scribe... speaks true. I do not wear your sigil, because I am not of your devoted. Yet this does not make me any less faithful to you or your cause. For I have been sent here with a message, and while my cohort distracts the Godslayer, you must hear my words.”
Avery took a step back cautiously. “First explain how you know me.”
Martin grinned and moved his hand to his side – where Avery had failed to notice the great ebon sheath hanging therefrom. Avery's heart skipped a beat – not because he feared an attack, but because he recognized the scabbard.
“One,” he whispered reverently.
“Actually,” said the stranger, drawing the sword and laying it open across his palms, “Three.”
Avery looked up, startled. “Three?”
Martin grinned. “It is as you said it would be. You do not yet know your birthright. You do not know of the Nine.”
“Nine? Three? What is this with numbers?” Avery held up his hand in realization. “Wait, the Godslayer had another--”
Martin spat upon the ground. “That is not one of the Nine. It is an abomination, and the Nine seek its destruction. But I am forbidden to say more of that.”
A sudden touch upon Avery's arm startled him, but it took him only a moment to recognize that Viola had come to his side in support. A quick glance told him that Hamil was likewise still standing to his left, though skulking seemed a more apt term for the scribe's presence. What was it between he and the stranger?
Martin sighed. “In brief, as best we have been able to determine, your forebearers, the Old Gods, created nine swords – each a power in its own right – and hid them away. They each slept, until one sword after another sensed the presence of its brothers and awoke, as well. You were blessed with finding the first of these swords, One, which the Godslayer stripped you of, leaving you in this weakened state.
“The sword I bear is Three, the third to awaken and call for men to find. And it is the sword that above all others must not fall into the Godslayer's control. For without it, I would be unable to travel here to give you these tidings in the first place.”
“You continue to speak in riddles,” said Avery.
Martin gave a small laugh. “To you now it is an unanswered riddle, but to me it is the known past. For this sword has brought me from a time that has not yet come to this time and place to give you warnings of things to come. You are, after all, destined to unite the Nine.”
Avery started to speak, but the stranger dropped the blade from one hand to raise his palm in caution. “Please, my Lord Avery. You yourself set this task upon me and you cautioned me to speak only certain things, important things. And I fear I can already feel the slip of time upon me, so I must speak quickly.
“Where I come from, there are six swords awoken, and three yet to be found. I am to tell you to travel to the site of the next sword, to the coastal town of Levitz, so that the first step in your healing may begin. You must come to odds with the Godslayer again, but only to retrieve one of the swords, for without it, you will be unable to challenge him for Three.”
Viola gasped. It took Avery a moment to notice what had startled her as the trees behind the man were visible – as Martin himself began to fade. Martin sensed it, as well, as he glanced at the hand holding Three, gripping the hilt tighter. “Damn, but if I had more time, the things I could tell you...”
Just as Martin's form became more air than form, the man's eyes flew open. “The demi-Gods! I was going to warn you about--”
And then the man known as Martin was gone, and not even the air seemed to remember he had been there. At least, not at first.
As Avery stared at the place where the stranger had stood in disbelief, the air around him seemed to gain an electrical edge to it. The would-be-God look
ed around him to see leaves and dust swirling around his feet. He could hear the trees nearby beginning to rustle and sway. As he opened his mouth to comment on the sudden breeze, grit found its way inside, forcing him to cough.
“There's a storm coming, My Lord,” said Hamil. “It would appear that Mastron is displeased by whatever foul presence has just visited us. Would be a good reason to not heed his words.”
Avery blinked, trying to recall who Mastron was.
“The Stormlord?” Viola scoffed. “You truly believe Mastron – who is supposed to be minding all the world's weather – cares about a man removed from time? Doesn't exactly seem to be his realm of influence.”
Hamil shrugged. “Who are we to know the whims of the Gods?”
“It doesn't matter though,” inserted Viola. “Avery is not of the New Order. He is the last of the Old Gods, and he does not have to care what upsets any other God.”
“Yes,” agreed Avery. “I need not worry about Mastron or any other God.” He only wished he believed that himself. “Should my sires return from the land of the dead, then I shall have reason to be concerned. Otherwise, if any other God takes exception to what I do, then it is all the more reason to do just that.”
Avery paused a moment as he pressed his arm against his maimed wrist cupped under his arm, attempting to make it look like he simply had his arms crossed. Had he kept it hidden while Martin had been here? He could not recall.
“If this is indeed the Stormlord objecting, then it is good enough reason for me to go exactly where the stranger directed us.” Avery stood as tall as he could, hoping he looked commanding in doing so. “We shall travel to Levitz, and there seek to obtain the sword that we shall find there. I must have One returned to me, and if this is the means by which it can be done, none of the New Gods will dare to stand in my way.”
Chapter 2
By the time Malik appeared in the pavilion, all of his eight brethren were already in attendance. This had been the God's hope, for he had not wanted to have others arrive after he had already spoken. What he had to say was monumental and he had no intention of seeing it diminished by having to repeat it.
It was of little surprise that the others were already engaged in bickering, either. The Pantheon could not assemble in one place for very long without some discord ensuing, whether it be minor foibles one God or Goddess held against another, or a full-fledged debate. Of course, they were forbidden by covenant to ever be more than heated arguments, even at their worst, but it did not make the process any smoother for this limitation. Being the God and Goddess of War, Malik held the unique belief amongst the Pantheon that things would proceed much smoother if they could fight out their differences at least once a generation.
Charith was first to take note of his arrival. He had imagined that appearing in masculine form, draped in the most regal of clothing, would have drawn all eyes to him the moment he came into being. That only Charith took note was – to say the least – more than a little disappointing. After all, Charith was his cohort in the plot to create the nine swords, and it was certainly those very swords that were the center of debate. Therefore, it was really a prerequisite that Charith would watch for him, when to Malik's mind, it should have been all of them.
At the time the swords were cast, Charith and Malik had been lovers, as was the way of the Old Gods – moving amongst each other for periods of intimacy before moving onto another. In fact, the two had not shared intimacy now in more than two centuries – something of a record, really. Being only nine in number, the Pantheon would typically reacquaint themselves with former lovers at least once in a century. Yet Charith had rebuffed him now for two. If he was not mistaken, Charith was presently sharing the affections of Naris, Maiden and Champion of the Heart.
Malik shrugged. He had been the odd-God out now for several decades, though his recent covert meetings with Dariel seemed to be progressing towards something. Already once they had shared time together, shortly after Dariel had discovered Malik's and Charith's deception in concealing the existence of a tenth sword, one from which the other nine were molded. Apparently, the idea of keeping such an intimate secret inspired much more than intrigue in the Baron and Baroness of the Dark – it also inspired passion. Dariel had wasted barely a day before assuming female form and seducing her new conspirator.
Three were now entangled in the secret plot to use the tenth sword. Of course, neither Charith nor Dariel knew exactly what Malik's plot was. Charith was unaware that the tenth sword was in play in the mortal realm altogether, and Dariel only knew it had been given to Nathaniel Goodsmith as a means to aid him in overcoming the other nine. None but Malik himself realized that the tenth sword would become greater than all the others, and that it was with that sword in hand that he would eventually rule over the rest of the Pantheon entirely.
Charith did not do more than glance in his direction before returning to her own portion of the ongoing conversation. Worse, none of the other Gods or Goddesses had even deigned to notice that she had looked in his direction in the first place.
How was one supposed to assert control over this group if they would not even follow their cues? How did Airek do it so flawlessly?
Malik could not help glance at the masculine form of the Master and Mistress of Benevolence as he spoke to both Lendus and Elgoth. Though the God and Goddess of Charity and Greed faced Malik, he chose not to acknowledge his presence. It was almost enough to make one indignant.
“Do not let them see you sweat,” said a feminine voice at his side as delicate fingers came to rest upon Malik's arm. “The mortals say that, and I believe it is a worthy sentiment.”
Malik turned to look at his new companion. Much shorter in her feminine form, Dariel's deep set eyes still gave the impression that she was a master of secrets and subterfuge. “Why are they acting like I am not here? What have I missed?”
Dariel's giggle was akin to the sound of small bells chiming. “They do not want you to know they notice you, but each has, make no mistake. None want to give you the recognition you deserve right now, because it would give you control and influence you have never held in our number before.”
Malik smirked. “So this is Airek's doing?”
“Hardly. This is all of their doing. You have always been the one to breed dissension, and now you may be the one that brings us all together. But none wish to be the first to acknowledge that fact. The first who gives you recognition will lose ground with all the rest, be seen as weaker. And no God wishes to appear weak. Ever.”
Malik raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “Weaker to me, perhaps, but to the others?”
“Oh, you really do not know how to play at politics, do you?” Dariel caressed Malik's bicep, then released her hold. “After millennia, all you mastered was the ability to barrel through. Now you play at subtlety, and you have no idea what you are doing. Good thing you have me at your side.” At this, Dariel winked, then turned to walk away.
Stand by me, but walk away like the rest? Some ally.
Pulling himself up to full height, Malik walked forcefully into the center of the pavilion. “Brethren, hear me! Stop your gossiping and hear what I have to say!”
As one, the gathered Gods and Goddesses turned their attention to the master of conflict in their midst. Yes, he could see it in their eyes – Dariel had been right. They each showed a little bit of fear in their eyes that had never been there before. Malik had at last mastered respect, even if it had taken millennia to accomplish. If only this first move had bred such a reaction, he had to wonder what abject terror would look like on their faces once they realized the full scope of his plans.
“You have sensed it, I know. You know what has happened.”
None spoke. All continued to stare wordlessly in Malik's direction. Even Airek – so accustomed to having the ear of the assembly – was at a loss for words in this instance. Malik could see the extra emotion lurking behind his brother's eyes, as well – hate. Oh yes, Airek was beginning to hate t
he idea that Malik's idea was working, or at the very least, that he had gained any kind of rise in influence. Airek may not have been the first God, but he had always been the one who could guide the others. And for once, the master manipulator did not know how to shift this to his own advantage.
Malik tilted his head forward with a wicked gleam in his eye. “What? Can none of you say it? Can none of you confirm what I know to be true?”
None could. Or at least, none would. The assemblage remained absolutely silent.
“Very well. I will say it.” Malik paused for a moment. “A God has died.”
Though the words were expected, still the utterance of the words seemed a slap in the face of the group. It was as though refusing to say it had somehow lessened its import. But now that Malik had said the words, the shock was inescapable. Naris even went so far as to cover her mouth in dismay.
“What? Why do you cower so? It was not one of our own. We are all here, are we not?”
“Have some sensitivity, Malik,” interjected Airek. “Regardless of who has passed, it is nevertheless a grave day. If one God can die, any can die. And that means we are all very much at risk.”
“You fear what you cannot control, Airek,” responded Malik. “And the irony here is that you had the chance three centuries' past, when we stood here once before, Charith and I, accused of breaching covenant. The plan had been to set the swords to use, each to our own faithful. But you sought to undo what we had sought to accomplish, and now the consequence has been your loss of control. And now you would fear this because it was not your doing. Grow a spine, already!”
Airek cast a glance in Dariel's direction. “You keep strange bedfellows these days, Lord of Strife – bedding the very Goddess who was the one who truly threw your plans to the wind.”
Malik twinged slightly at the reference. He had not been aware that his and Dariel's relationship had been brought to light yet. He covered for it with a shrug, however. “There are but nine of us, Airek. Would you have me hold a grudge against all who have wronged me? I would become the Lord of celibacy if I were to do that.”