“A bad idea to offer me so much power,” she said. “I’d make an awful god.”
I closed over my coat again. I was disappointed but it was as I’d expected. She would have been far better than some. “As would I, but it’s your last chance. It might work with an unGifted.”
She squeezed my arm. “Thank you, but no. I’ve made my peace.” She looked up at the gods’ towers, still dull and lifeless. “Do you know what happened to them?”
I shook my head. “Nathair and these Scarrabus things he was allied with did something to them, something terrible, but I have a feeling we would be in worse straits if they were dead.”
A horse and cart drew up and a group of walking wounded clustered around it. A shrivelled up old chirurgeon, two of his apprentices, and a group of helpers hopped off the back to hand out bandages and poultices and wash out wounds with soured wine. They took out needle and thread and began stitching up wounds. People began distributing bread and water, no coin changing hands.
“I’ve been away so long,” I said. “I’ve missed so much and I can’t do a damn thing to help you now.” My clenched fist pounded the ground. “Lynas is dead and it’s all been for nothing if you die too.” All those years away and all I’d had for comfort was the knowledge I was protecting them. What did I have to live for now?
She shook her head. “We can only do what we can do. You’re not a god, Walker, and they got the shitty end of the stick too from what you said. Look around. All of this you see before you, all these people still alive – that is not nothing. Lynas did that. You did that. That’s what’s important. Who gives a damn what those Arcanum pricks think? Layla is fine, and a little piece of Lynas and I will live on in her. He would have called his sacrifice a bargain.”
She was right. Charra was always right.
A young girl with a wine-stain birthmark caught my eye, busy splinting and strapping up a man’s broken arm. I recognized her and remembered tossing her a handful of silvers outside an inn. She looked half-starved still but did have a new dress, albeit now bloodstained. She busied herself helping the wounded with a determined air, her hands deftly wrapping bandages. One of the chirurgeon’s apprentices came over to speak to her. She gave him a shy smile and he flushed a little red. Their body language gave them away, both feeling that unspoken attraction. Good for you, girl, I thought, a worthy profession, and perhaps even a loved one. There would certainly be a need for healers in the days to come. I sat a little straighter.
Charra gave me a sad smile. “It feels petty to cry over my death amidst all of this. Let’s have a going away party instead. I’d get more enjoyment by having it before rather than after. I don’t see why everybody else should get all the fun.” She slapped me on the back, making me squeak with pain.
“So I’m dying,” she said. “Shit happens.” She put an arm around my shoulders and pulled me in close. “You saved Layla. I can never thank you enough for that. Now stop being a big, ugly, moody bastard and give me a hug.”
Gods help me, I did just that. My tears came thick and fast as I let go of all that bottled up emotion.
Something had changed inside me: all that stolen magic roaring through me, the god blood that soaked into my skin, the emanations of the crystal core and my own tampering… I felt a strange numbness when I thought about the masses of unknown dead. Hopefully it was just shock, but I wasn’t holding my breath. All I could do was to hold onto my love for Charra and Lynas, and what was left of my humanity. Just because Lynas was dead didn’t mean he was gone.
I pulled back from her and scowled down at myself, “Self-pity never helped anybody.”
“It’s good to have you back, you big idiot,” she said. “I’ll get a decent send-off now, hey?” She gave a morbid chuckle, then coughed blood again.
My heart gave a twinge. I couldn’t save Charra, but I’d done good. And I’d damn well be around to help Layla – not that an assassin needed much help from anybody. We sat in silence for a while, lost in contemplation.
I couldn’t help but absorb the mood of the people. More than ever their thoughts bled into my mind. It was not a hot anger, quick to flare up and swiftly burning out. This was a stone-cold fury that would not stop until cities burned and the shattered bones of our enemies were ground into dust.
This attack had been a very grave error. It was on every face, in every look of shock and loss that was slowly changing to rage. Apathy and in-fighting had been endemic before the horrors of yesterday. We had been a city divided and gnawing on its own rotting innards. If the enemy had bided their time and taken the Free Towns Alliance piece by piece before turning their eyes on us… but no, now that they had roused the serpent from its long slumber there was no lulling it back to sleep. We were a city united by rage and loss.
The Arcanum and the High Houses thought they ruled Setharis with an iron fist, but in reality they too bent to the will of the masses. Magic, wardens, steel and stone – all would be swept away if they dared oppose the unified will of the people of Setharis, and the people demanded war.
Setharis had once had a mighty empire, had callously crushed countless armies and ruthlessly consigned entire peoples to a footnote in history. The Skallgrim tribes would soon learn to regret ever rousing this dark leviathan from its apathetic slumber. And behind them their Scarrabus slavers would learn to fear. We knew they existed now, and we would hunt them with vicious zeal. But all of that would need to wait.
Layla approached us, face drawn and worried, “You found him then?”
Charra opened her arms and Layla flew into them, kneeling in the dirt next to us.
My withered heart gave a lurch, a pang of pure joy.
“So tell me, ladies…”
Charra quirked an eyebrow. “Tell you what?”
“The last ten years,” I said. “Tell me everything. Layla, I wish I could have been here to see you grow up.”
We talked for hours, and it was just like old times. Lynas was gone, but his daughter was here, safe and telling me silly stories about her beloved father. The hours galloped past until daylight ebbed and night’s chill misted our breath.
Eventually Layla helped us old and broken things to rise, and as we limped off I vowed to focus all my efforts on making sure Charra’s last days were the best they could be. We were going to lose somebody we loved, somebody who should have had years left to her. With my accursed magic all I could offer was an end to pain and the company of an old friend.
We passed through throngs of the homeless, the wounded and bereaved. My lot was better than theirs. They’d had far more to lose in the first place.
Charra coughed again, tried to clear her throat with little success. “I could do with a strong drink.”
“I’ll buy,” I said.
She half-laughed, the very best that could be hoped for under the circumstances. “It seems there is a first time for everything. Never thought I’d live to see the day when Edrin Walker bought the rounds. Wait a moment, you cad – I bet you’re hoping that you can salvage ale from the ruins!”
As we talked my worry for the future deepened. I was not what anybody could ever call a good man, and soon there would be precious little left in this world that I truly cared about. I feared how deep into darkness I would sink. Other than Layla, what did I have to live for after Charra was gone?
With the gods still missing and the Arcanum wounded, the Skallgrim and their Scarrabus enslavers must have thought their plans successful, at least in part. They thought us defeated. They were so very, blindly wrong. Soon they would experience the pleasure of facing an enraged tyrant with little left to lose. I had run from everything for ten wretched years – no more! It was time to stand and fight. If Nathair had spoken truly then a grand conjunction of realms meant these disgusting parasites were only one of several awakening ancient powers, but none of them had ever seen anything like me. I had bathed in the blood of gods, and my power was growing.
In the back of my head the remnants of Dissever pulse
d with pleasure. Images of rivers running red flashed through my mind.
A great war comes.
Acknowledgments
Hi Mum and Dad! Look, I wrote a book, and it’s in bookshops and everything. How very fancy. I guess all those after-school trips to the library for armfuls of books really paid off. Thank you for everything! Billy, thanks for letting me read all your sci-fi and fantasy books as a kid. I would not be a writer at all without my family’s support – thanks for introducing me to fantastical worlds beyond number.
To Natasha, *waves* you always said I would make it. You were right, but then you usually are. Thanks to you, Paula and Michael for your constant encouragement and belief in me.
Thanks to the Glasgow Science Fiction Writers’ Circle for all the sage advice and honest critique over the years, and especially Hal Duncan and Neil Williamson, without whom this book would not be a patch on what it is now.
Too many friends have given me encouragement and support to name them all here, but you know who you are, and you are awesome.
Thanks to my wonderful agent Amanda Rutter and all at Red Sofa Literary, the amazing team at Angry Robot who have made the publishing process a real joy, and Jan Weßbecher for providing the superb cover art.
Extra-special thanks go to my cat, Misty. Any typos were definitely her doing.
About the Author
Cameron Johnston lives in Glasgow, Scotland, with his wife and an extremely fluffy cat. He is a swordsman, a gamer, an enthusiast of archaeology, history and mythology, a builder of LEGO, and owns far too many books to fit on his shelves. He loves exploring ancient sites and camping out under the stars by a roaring fire.
cameronjohnston.net
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twitter.com/camjohnston
ANGRY ROBOT
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A gift for trouble
An Angry Robot paperback original 2018
Copyright © Cameron Johnston 2018
Cameron Johnston asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
US ISBN 978 0 85766 779 3
US ISBN 978 0 85766 779 3
Ebook ISBN 978 0 85766 780 9
Cover by Jan Weßbecher
Set by Argh! Nottingham
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ISBN: 978-0-85766-780 9
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Legals
Join the Robot Legion
Guide
Cover
Copyright page
Dedication
Text
Acknowledgements
Title Page
The Traitor God Page 39