A tentacle wrapped around his leg.
With a sound not unlike a drum being struck by the world's most enthusiastic pit crew, a series of javelins pinned the tentacle to the muddy ground. The creature wrenched itself around and the javelins and tentacle both came free with a spray of mud. Liam kicked his foot free, scrambling backwards on his palms and knees. Behind the monster, he could see the library burning.
Liv on the roof, waving her arms in a V.
“Now, now, now!” she shouted.
Liam grabbed at his crucifix and felt it buzzing. His arm rang, as if it had been touching an electrical current. He yanked the chain off and threw it at the creature's maw. The golden cross tumbled forward, then vanished into blackness. A moment later, Liam turned around and flung himself behind the corner of the temple.
A white flash of light and heat washed around the corner. Smoke filled the air. The ground shook and the temple he was leaning against shuddered in its foundations. Liam slowly peeked his head around the corner and saw that the monster and a good chunk of the center of Troy's Folly's main road had been turned roughly inside out. Mud was spread outwards along a circular wave pattern, forming an immense crater that was painted with black blood and globular chunks of orange and white organs – each one streaked and smeared with viscera. The ribcage of the beast spread outwards in a nearly perfect circle, fanning out around the epicenter of the blast.
Then the first chunk splatted onto the ground beside his foot and the cheering that his ringing ears could barely hear turned into shrieks of shock and disgust and laughter.
For at least the children could be entertained by the bright colors of the orange and green and black gore that rained from the heavens.
* * *
Athena bowed her head fractionally to Liam, Liv, Tethis and Meg. The goddess was as short as Liam had ever seen one of the mysterious beings that ruled Purgatory, barely coming up to his shoulder. Despite this, the goddess of wisdom and weaving managed to exude an almost solid aura of physical danger. It wasn't the raw strength of personality that made Sobek such a likable son of a bitch, nor the tree-ripping might of that had made Thor's one appearance in Liam's life so memorable. Rather, it reminded him of the supreme confidence of a craftswoman with decades of practice and hands gnarled but not twisted by age.
It just so happened that one of Athena's crafts was murdering people with a sharp hunk of bronze.
“You have my thanks, Liam of Earth,” she said, foregoing the booming, echoing voice that some gods used when they wanted to be impressive. “You and your companions have once again rid Purgatory of a terrible threat.”
“It's the least we could do, ma'am,” Meg said. “Though, we did lose, uh, some possessions.” She glanced at Liam.
“Yes,” Athena said, nodding at Liam's chest. “The symbol of the Christian god.”
“It's all right,” Liam said. His voice felt heavy but he squared his shoulders and tried to ignore the twinge of guilt that sparked in him.
Meg made a quiet, inquisitive sound.
Athena, though, simply shrugged. “As you wish. The payment that your patron requested is being loaded on your ship.”
“Thank you,” Liam said, bowing to Athena.
Dismissed from the goddess' presence, the four of them started down the stairs that led up to her primary sanctum. New Athens looked like everything Liam had imagined from Meg's descriptions. Broad streets, bright white marble buildings, and an abundance of learned, wise looking people who hurried to and fro on important business. The largest area of the city that wasn't dedicated to the worship of New Athens' trifecta of gods was an immense marketplace and harbor, which was stuffed with as many ships as Olimurias.
No wonder these guys almost won the war with Sobek, Liam thought. Even with him having the defensive advantage and the terrain advantage.
“Liam, are you okay?” Meg asked.
“Huh?” Liam looked at her. The two of them reached the boardwalk that wound its way from the foot of Athena's temple to the central forum that was built into the middle of the three temples. There, the faint sound of elaborate music and the creak of a crane could be heard. Looking over, Liam saw that a crane was swinging a man in an ornate mask over the center of the forum's stage. His arms were spread and he held a sculpted metal lightning bolt in one hand.
“You're just going to go sans cross?” Meg asked.
“It is the symbol of your god,” Liv said, sniffing. “If I wasn't a walking representation of everything Aries represents - shut up Meg.” Meg closed her mouth, looking cross at being thwarted. “I'd need one.”
“You don't have a symbol of Apollo,” Liam said, frowning at Meg.
Meg snorted, quietly. “I haven't worshiped Apollo since I met you.”
Liam arched an eyebrow.
“Don't let it go to your head,” Meg said, frowning. “But I've never really been a god worshiping type. I'm more interested in natural philosophy and- and you are changing the subject.” She prodded his chest.
“Okay, fine!” Liam threw up his hands. “The answer? I'm sick of people assuming I'm some psychopath because I'm wearing a still in use method of execution and torture around my neck.”
Meg narrowed her eyes. Before she could continue, Liam turned and started to walk along the boardwalk, one hand grabbing onto the leather strap that slung around his shoulder and hip, which held a small sack of his belongings against his back. Meg moved to follow him, but didn't press him. Liam's slight scowl turned into a slight smile and he took Meg's hand with his free one. Together, they walked through the city and Liam took great pride in ignoring the scandalized looks that several of the inhabitants shot his way. He could almost read their thoughts.
Showing affection? To a woman? In public?
Yeah, eat me, Liam thought.
Meg never walked small, but he did notice that she fanned out her wings extra here, thrust out her chest more, and explicitly strutted. The tut tutting intensified and Liam's smile got wider.
Coming to the docks, they found their ship readily enough. Vulkis Shieldbreaker, who had quietly become their de facto ferryman the instant that he had seen how much treasure they regularly transported across the Platonic Sea, waved at them.
“Welcome back, oh conquering heroes!” he said, his hands on his hips. “Thu here thought you would never come back.”
“Vulkis!” Thu snapped. Thu'Chan was Vulkis' second in command and personal scribe. He was also, like several people Liam had met, part human and part animal. In this case, his head was that of a long-billed ibis bird, while his shoulders were covered with a fine dusting of feathers, leaving the rest of him nearly human looking. The beak didn't stop him from speaking clearly as he lectured his captain. “I didn't expect them to die – I expected you to leave after they were a day overdue or the instant a pretty girl distracted you.”
“And once again, my luck pays out.” Vulkis preened. He knelt down to caress the large chest that one of Athena's servants set down on his deck. That, plus the trade goods he had purchased in New Athens, left the surface of Vulkis' ship filthy with treasure. But he didn't seem to be concerned, despite the increasing boldness of lizardman raiders and pirate attacks.
Instead, he simply started to dance a jig. “Gold, gold, oh gold!”
“You can at least try to pretend you're happy we are okay, you Aesir lunatic,” Liam said.
Vulkis, in liue of responding, threw his arms around Liam and hug him so tightly that Liam felt like his spine might shatter. For all that Vulkis had become a merchant, he had still started his life as a huscral, a shield-bearing, ax-throwing warrior for the Norse gods and Norse kings. And he kept himself honed. That was a big reason why he wasn't concerned about pirates or raiders, really.
Once he let Liam go, Vulkis went about his duties of shouting his crew into motion. With the ease of veterans, they cast off and the ship began to head out of New Athens harbor and towards the tiny island that sat in the harbor's mouth. The lighthouse there wa
s nothing to the ancient lighthouse of Alexandria, and served an entirely different purpose. On Purgatory, the curvature of the world prevented the danger of running aground at night, as the ground rose upwards before you.
Rather, the lighthouse was built with great mirrors to focus the light upwards, angled towards the other side of Purgatory. At night, the fire pit could be covered and uncovered and the city on the opposite side of Purgatory could read the flashes out into a message.
“That's still something that blows me away,” Liam said, pointing at the tower. He looked at Meg and grinned. “I'd have never thought of that.”
“I thought all us Purgatorians were fools waiting for an Earthican to bring us out of the light,” Meg teased, her eyes glinting. Liam grinned at her, turning around and leaning against the railing of the ship.
“So, question,” he said. “Who does New Athens talk too?”
Meg laughed. “Who else? The City of the Dead Gods.” She blinked. “Shit, right; not a native. The City of the Dead Gods is one of the biggest cities in Purgatory - and the only neutral one.”
“As if!” Liam scoffed. “There can't just be one.”
Meg waved one hand. “Oh, there are independent towns and villages, but this is a city. No god rules it, just craftsmen and merchants in a free council that sells to everyone equally.” She smiled.
Liam looked up. “That...” He paused. “That sounds like a fantastic place for a vacation.”
Part One
One
The City of the Dead Gods boasted that it had fifty thousand craftsmen and tonight, the flames of their forges sent ashes trailing into the sky on dozens of black columns of smoke. The clangor of hammers on anvils rang through the streets, almost as loud as the cries of misery from the forest of woe that had sprouted along the road leading to the front gate.
The City of the Dead Gods had built bronze tools and charming clockwork machines that had aped the life of wild creatures. Birds that could flap their wings, turn their heads, stand. They had blown glass in many colors, using the exotic sands dredged from the vast Basilisk Desert that spread between the Barrier Mountains in this part of Purgatory.
The City of God – the city that had come into being with the arrival of Brax and his army – built nothing but weapons and death.
Brax felt his heart breaking as he looked at those forge-fires. He clenched his clawed fingers on the railing of the balcony that sat at the southern edge of the palatial estate that the Free Lord of the City had inhabited before Brax's men had dragged him and his family to the forest. There, Brax had quietly ordered his scaleguard – his most trusted soldiers – to slit their throats after planting their crucifixes. The Free Lord hadn't deserved the slow death, and his family were even more innocent than he.
“Brax,” a scratchy, echoing voice came from the manor behind him. Brax, if he had a thousand years, could not have described the sound of God. The only being on Purgatory who could have put a name to the warbling, repeating, jumping voice that God spoke with was thousand of miles away and Brax had already tried to have him killed three times. Liam Vanderbilt of Earth would have immediately known what God sounded like.
“Brax – Brax - Br-aaaaa-x -ax -ax,” the voice sang out. “Come to – me. Me!”
Brax had long since learned to translate the twisting words of God into something more straightforward. He got ready to do that again as he turned from the view and strode in through the small office that the Free Lord had once used to administrate his city. The lobby beyond the office had been turned into the resting place of God: cushions and pillows and mattresses and heaped blankets had been piled around God's crackling body, while dozens of nude slave girls tottered around him nervously – laying down the strange sustenance that God consumed. He eschewed fine wine and fine meat in favor of refined copper, sand that had been melted down and ground into powder, and lumps of crystal carved from the rhino-like crystalbacks that made the deep jungles so dangerous.
Several of those crystals vanished down God's throat as he chewed.
“Brax,” he said – Brax mentally abridging his actual rambling, repeating sentence. “The weapon production. How goes it?”
Brax shrugged his golden shoulders, his tail lashing from side to side. “My Lord, there are fifteen thousand swords, thirty thousand spears, shields enough for each man.”
“You had them counted properly?” God asked.
“Yes,” Brax said. “Under pain of death, as you ordered.”
God picked up a crystal and worried it between a finger, as a man might fiddle with a grape. “Hurm.” He popped it into his mouth and chewed. A slave stepped forward and grabbed the empty bowl, practically sprinting from the room in her haste to get away from the monster that had come to her city. Brax wondered what her position had been before the army had clapped a slave collar around her throat. The City of the Dead Gods hadn't been immune to the cancerous touch of slavery, but it had mainly weighted that burden onto criminals.
But God had made his most lenient punishment enslavement. And while the city had worshiped no god above others, that hadn't created a town of atheists. Quite the opposite. Before God and Brax, the primary cause of civil violence and riot in the city had been religious violence.
Now?
“That's slow,” God said. “We should have easily half again as many weapons. What is going on?” His crackling, buzzing eyes turned to affix Brax. There had been a time where looking into those whirlpools of power had frozen Brax with fright. Those days had long since passed. Brax looked back with the normal bland expression he kept around his God. “Sabotage?”
Yes, of course it is sabotage, you great village idiot, you walked into this town and have been killing people and forcing them to worship you instead of their actual gods, Brax thought in a deep, carefully locked part of his mind. It was the same part of his mind that dwelled with the Princess Asurya. A part of his mind that had room for laying in the palace gardens while she laid beside him and asked him of the deep jungles and the tribes that dwelled within.
Tell me the stories of your people, Braxy, she had panted as she splayed naked across his chest, her hair fanning across his shoulders. He had been able to feel the hardness of her nipples through his condition – that memory filled him for a moment. He felt his member start to rise, despite the situation.
That was the hold Asurya had on him. Even here.
Brax forced his mouth to move: “Yes, my lord.”
God stood from his cushions. He did not stand as a man – instead, he simply was standing, as if the movement from reclining to standing simply did not exist. He shook his head, then slammed a fist into the wall. Cracks surrounded the impact site as lightning crackled along the monster's shoulders and forearm. He clenched his jaws and howled – a hideous screeching sound that made Brax's feathered ruff stand on edge and his tail straighten out to a point.
Then the howl stopped. God was looking pleased.
Brax hated that look.
“I see a way to kill two birds with one stone, to fix a bug without a new build,” God said. At least, that was what Brax thought he said. “We have an enemy, Brax. An enemy that we need slain. Slain. Liam Vanderbilt, born 1997 Common Era, on Earth, North America, United States of America, Republic of California, San Francisco.” God jerked his head to the side, whirred, then continued speaking as if the stream of unfamiliar names and dates hadn't been spewing from his mouth moments before. “He must die. Die!”
“He's killed five of our men personally, and his allies have killed a dozen others,” Brax said. “And he slew a basilisk. And the minotaur-”
“The minotaur had a heart attack!” God snarled. “But no. We shall bring him here. Here!” He twitched, then held still.
Brax clenched his jaw, waiting for the sentence to continue.
God nodded. “Find the families of the saboteurs. Crucify them. But let at least one escape. A valkyrie. Yes. Let them fly and bring Liam Vanderbilt of Earth to us.”
B
rax bowed his head.
In so far as plans went, it was not horribly-
“And then once you have begun the orders, pick two or three of your best men,” God continued, “And set out for the barrier mountains.”
Brax snapped his head up. He barely managed to keep the sound of incredulity from his voice. “Sir, but you want me here. I-”
“In this city, alone, friendless, surrounded by your troops, this one man will be easily taken. Taken!” God laughed. “You, Brax, my finest general.” God reached down and placed a large, rocky hand on Brax's shoulder, squeezing. “I need you to retrieve something for me from the mountains. Something guarded. Something only you can bring back.”
“What is it?” Brax asked.
“It is the Codec,” God said. “With it and Liam's head – head – on a platter, Purgatory will be ours.”
Brax grunted. Then, turning on his heel, he stalked away from his god, his hands firmly planted on the sword belt that hung around his hips and his tail lashing all the way.
* * *
Two of Brax's best men were currently balls deep in the mouth and pussy of a rather happy looking elf – while the third was leaning back in the corner, drinking heavily and watching. Brax tried to not look irritated as he leaned on the doorframe of the small house that he had finally found Vazt, Anix and Raotsh in. Vazt was a scrawny lizardman, with a belly hammered flat by a lifetime of deprivation and hard work. His arms were corded with muscle that smoothly rippled underneath his pale, sky blue scales, while his belly was the most bright golden hue that Brax had ever seen. His cock, emerging from a slit between his narrow thighs, was the same dark black as the elf's skin, emerging from a slit between his narrow thighs, while his balls – swinging free in the excitement of sex – were the same hue as his belly, glinting as they slapped against the elf's chin.
The Cross Guard (Purgatory Wars Book 3) Page 2