by Aaron Pogue
On those last two words, the inner door slipped open. It made no noise, and Ephitel never glanced back toward the figure now revealed. Jacob stood two paces behind the wretched god, and he carried Godslayer naked in his hand. Both man and sword shimmered with the misty haze of Corin’s glamour, but still Corin’s heart hammered in fear that the elf might glance around, might somehow sense this doom.
If the old tavern keeper felt that fear, he didn’t show it. He walked with an easy step, firm but unhurried, a man about a necessary task. From time to time, he’d said, even a good animal went bad. Any farmer worth his salt knew how to put down a rabid beast. He took no joy in his task, but he understood his role.
He was no hero, but he’d said all the things Corin needed to hear, at just the moments when he needed to hear them. So Corin would stand here and face the tyrant’s sneer, and Jacob Gossler would become a legend. They’d call him Jacob Godslayer through all the ages. He’d be the man who killed a wicked god. He’d end up next to Auric and Kellen and Aemilia and all the rest in the undying fame of true heroes, simply because he’d been willing to do the job that needed doing.
Still oblivious, Ephitel spoke into the silence. “However small your reasons, however wrong your motives, I do believe you’ve started something grim. I’ve met in council with the gods, and it was they who bid me meet you here. They offer truce. Despite all your people’s sins, the offenders will be given pardon.”
Corin frowned. “They don’t want pardon; they want freedom.”
“Very well. That answer was anticipated. None of mine will sacrifice his lands to rebels and traitors, but we’ve agreed to leave your people unmolested in the Wildlands. Resurrect old Spinola and call it your own. We will trouble you no more.”
Corin staggered back a step, astonished. This he had not expected. The gods of Hurope were petitioning for peace?
Behind Ephitel, Jacob seemed to sense Corin’s surprise. He stayed his hand, though nervous sweat now shone on his forehead. He waited, licking his lips, and cast a questioning look to Corin.
But Corin didn’t have an answer. His mind was reeling as he considered possibilities. One thought kept intruding over everything else.
He’d won.
It would take time for these events to run their course—perhaps more than one lifetime—but the destiny was set. Mankind would finally shake off the bonds of Ephitel’s cruel gods. Any foothold—even a ruined city in the godsforsaken Wildlands—would be enough to start a slow cascade. Humanity would thrive beneath that kind of liberty. Between its long-forgotten resources and its position on the trading routes, Spinola would rival Raentz or Ithale or even Rikkeborh once it was reclaimed.
And then the gods would fall. With or without a war, they’d fall. Mankind would abandon their cruel tyranny for the allure of their own nation. They’d forsake the gods, and Ephitel and all his cronies would be no more than memories and scary stories told to children.
He’d done what Aemilia had asked of him. For her sake, and in her memory, Corin had restored the world she’d loved so much. He’d won for her.
But it was not enough. Even as the thrill of that victory rang in his head, a fiery, overwhelming thread of hate still burned within him. It twisted tight around his heart, and for all his cautious reason, he couldn’t shake it off. The monster that had murdered Aemilia stood here before him, unpunished.
Corin opened his mouth to answer, but Ephitel hurried to speak over him.
“There is one requirement,” Ephitel said. “Your manling throng can have Spinola and a bond of peace for all time. But we require a token of your good faith as well. It’s only reasonable.”
Corin felt the answer in his bones, but he asked the question anyway. “What do you require?”
“Godslayer. Naturally. Your kingdom will live forever. And so will I.”
He showed Corin a victorious smile at that.
“Is this the requirement of your brother gods?” Corin asked. “Or is it only yours?”
Ephitel frowned. “Why does that matter? Will it change your answer any?”
“Curiosity,” Corin said. “How close do they stand behind you?”
“It was a unanimous request,” Ephitel said coldly. “None of them would like to see a god cut down by a man. It sets an alarming precedent, you know.”
Corin raised an eyebrow. “You’re quite forthcoming.”
Ephitel showed his teeth again. “You need to know the truth to make a wise decision. I know a little of your heart, Corin Hugh. You killed one of mine, so I killed one of yours. Tit for tat. But then you made it personal. Would you now throw countless lives—the fates of nations—on the cruel pyre of war just to cut me down in vengeance?”
“I’d consider it,” Corin said.
Ephitel shrugged. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. But know this, and know it for truth: You claimed you’d set a thing in motion when your commoner embarrassed me in that pathetic battle. You’re wrong. That setback can be restored with time enough. But if you were to strike at me, if you were to bleed a god where all the world could see . . . every god on Attos would come hunting for you. Not just for you, but for anyone who knows your name. If you cut down one of us, you’ll bring such a doom upon your manling crowd as you could not imagine.”
Corin cocked his head. “Perhaps, but there’d be a bright side too. You’d be dead. You can see how I’m conflicted.”
He was conflicted. Even with his nostrils full of the stink of this rotten creature, even standing here five paces from the place where the fiend had killed Aemilia, Corin wavered. Was he strong enough to choose the greater good? Could he sacrifice his own pride, his own consuming vengeance for the sake of a peaceful victory? Could he leave an immortal Ephitel unchallenged for all time?
Ephitel was not caught in such deep consideration. All he’d heard was Corin’s casual slur, and now his lip pulled back in an animal snarl. He slammed his fist against the wall so hard the plaster cracked. “I should have killed you long ago, manling! I should have made you watch when I killed your pretty girl. I should have made her scream.”
Corin closed his eyes and fought to draw a calming breath. “You should have kept that to yourself,” he said softly.
“You wretched worm!” Ephitel bellowed. “I’ve offered you everything you want and better than you could have hoped for. Accept my terms.”
“Can you give me back Aemilia?”
“Don’t be a fool.”
“Then give me Ithale. Renounce your authority, and you can live your life however you please.”
“I am not here to negotiate.”
“Nor am I,” Corin said coldly. He’d hesitated for a moment. He’d wavered. It was an attractive offer, after all. And the consequences grave.
But he’d already told Sera his own terms. Ephitel died, or the world did.
The tyrant god stomped forward and caught Corin’s shirtfront in a massive fist. He lifted him up and smashed his back against the cabin’s ceiling. “Age of Reason, manling, you’ve had all you’ll get from me. Give me the cursed sword!”
Corin tore his gaze from Ephitel’s, and looked down to Jacob. He nodded once, and the tavern keeper did as he had promised. He killed a rabid god with one clean stroke.
And so began the Godlanders War.
About the Author
Photo © 2010 Julie Velez
Aaron Pogue is a husband and a father of two who lives in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. He started writing at the age of ten, and has written novels, short stories, scripts, and videogame storylines. His first novels were high fantasy set in the rich world of the FirstKing, including the bestselling fantasy novel Taming Fire, but he has explored mainstream thrillers, urban fantasy, and several kinds of science fiction, including a long-running sci-fi cop drama series focused on the Ghost Targets task force.
Aaron has been a Technical Writer with the Federal Aviation Administration and a writing professor at the university level. He holds a Master of Professional Writi
ng degree from the University of Oklahoma. He also serves as the user experience consultant for Draft2Digital.com, a digital publishing service.
Aaron maintains a personal website for his friends and fans at AaronPogue.com, and he runs a writing advice blog at UnstressedSyllables.com.