One (The Godslayer Cycle Book 1)

by Ron Glick

  Mari jerked awake with a start. She had fallen asleep in the chair without realizing it. She considered going to bed when she became aware of a distant rumbling sound. That the sound was what had woken her was of little doubt, and she got up curiously. By the time she reached the front window, she could recognize the sound of horse's hooves. And from the sound, there was more than one rider.

  Mari reached the window in time to see the riders crest the hill at the edge of the woods, riding with complete abandon. She counted ten men, all fully armored, weapons drawn. At least three carried torches, though that struck Mari as odd since there were still several hours of daylight left.

  It was not until the lead rider called out that she recognized their intent. “For Imery!” called the rider, and the call was picked up by several others.

  There was an ominous moment where the charge seemed to hang in timelessness as Mari stared in disbelief. Raiders! And calling the Goddess Imery's name! Karmel had warned her she was in danger. She had not listened and now it was too late. Amidst it all, the disembodied irony that she had been set upon seeking Imery's help just a short while ago pressed to the forefront of her mind.

  Or perhaps it was not too late to seek help from Karmel. Mari opened her mouth to utter the words she had refused earlier to say, only to have her throat lock up, the words escaping as a gurgle. She strained to push out the invocation, to enunciate even the simplest word. But whether fear or anxiety was the culprit – perhaps even all the crying she had done the previous day – her throat had seized up and she could not speak at all!

  Then the raiders were at the door. She desperately threw the latch in a vain effort to bar their way, but the latch had been designed to keep out nothing more than a curious bear. It was not made to withstand the boots and axes thrown against it now. After an especially hard blow, the door split and the next charge reduced the door to splinters. The raiders were inside.

  At last, her voice returned and she screamed, but it only made the men who grabbed her smile wickedly. There were words passed between them as they took their task to hand, but Mari could not make out what was being said. The emotional stability she had fought so hard for collapsed, and she retreated into her own mind as rough hands tore the clothing from her body and hard hands beat her flesh mercilessly. The men seemed to take more pleasure in the beating that in defiling her, though several men took their time at that, as well.

  She was not even fully conscious when the blade impaled her, making her gurgle in protest as a warm fluid filled her mouth. The blade withdrew and she fell to the floor, spitting out the bright red fluid from her mouth, the liquid she could not seem to be rid of. She tried to breathe, but there was no air for her lungs. Somehow her face ended up on the floor, too, lying in what she now recognized as her own blood.

  In the last moments, a stark clarity came over her mind as the world around her dimmed. She could see the flames all around her now, but could no longer feel her body. At the last, all she could think of was to curse the Gods for taking Nate away from her. She so wanted to see him one more time...

  And so it was that Mariabelle Goodsmith, wife to Nathaniel and mother to Geoffrey, died, alone amidst the burning debris of her home.

  It was there several hours later that Nate had found her. Her broken body had been sheltered somewhat by falling debris and she had escaped most of the burning. But there was still little in her that was not shattered and torn, the beauty of the woman in life harshly paralleled by her grisly demise.

  Airek did indeed bring Nate home, just as Karmel had said he would. Yet it was a horrid sight that met their eyes. Gone was the gentle solitude of home, replaced instead by charred ruins. He had only so recently left behind his own personal paradise, though what now remained left nothing of that perfection behind. The stench of death covered everything. Apparently the raiders had had enough time to slaughter even the livestock.

  When Nate first saw the ruins of his home, he had thought Airek had brought him to a more recent pillaging, so far beyond recognition was his home. It had taken several seconds for him to recognize what had been his mother's homestead. And then the panic had set in as he rushed forward to search for his wife, his hoarse croak barely audible over the sounds of shifting timber.

  At last, he had lifted the beam and exposed Mari's body to the dimming twilight. She had been brutally beaten, her body violated and then impaled, her abdomen torn out, her internal cavity wide open. Her arms and legs were twisted at impossible angles, yet still there was a look of calm upon her face beneath the bruises and lacerations that suggested she was perhaps only asleep.

  Nathaniel knew better as he knelt, cradling her in his arms, rocking back and forth, trying with all his might to scream his grief to the wind, his body betraying the effort. It was fully dark before he stopped trying, and he fell weakly over his wife's body, his own wracked with sobs.

  “Nathan,” said a woman's voice behind him. “We are here for you, Nathan.”

  Through blurred eyes, Nathan looked up to see Karmel standing behind him and to his right. Behind her were eight other silhouettes that he recognized immediately as the remaining members of the Pantheon. The Gods had come to show their respects, it seemed.

  “Too late,” Nathaniel croaked. “You're too late.” He turned again to look upon the broken body in his arms.

  “Nathan, I am so sorry,” Karmel said, kneeling at his side, embracing him from behind, her head resting on his shoulder. “I wanted to save you from this. I tried so hard... But she would not listen. She would not ask for our protection, even when death itself charged her door.”

  Nathaniel could barely grasp what he was being told. “You knew about this? You knew she was in danger and you did nothing? Took me away from her, knowing she would die?!”

  “Not as you say it, Nathaniel,” spoke Airek. “We always knew the potential of risk. And we warned you of it. Of the potential penalties for defying prophecy.”

  “And I did come to her, pleaded with her to request our protection so that we could intervene if a tragedy did befall her,” interjected Karmel. “She exercised her right to choose, Nathan. We were powerless to safeguard her without being invoked.”

  “Why couldn't you do something anyways? To the Abyss with what she wanted,” cursed Nathaniel. “You knew she needed your help!”

  “Nathaniel, it has been explained to you that as Gods we are bound by covenant,” spoke Airek. “We cannot force ourselves upon those who do not choose to worship us. And the barest minimum worship is to invoke our names for protection. If she had only been humble enough to ask, we may have been able to prevent a tragedy of this nature.”

  Airek walked up the Nathaniel. “Remember the village I showed you. They did invoke my name. They called out, pleaded for me to intercede, yet I did nothing. I could not, because it was another God I would have opposed. Yet we were willing to defy even that part of the covenant, to take that extraordinary a step in protecting Mari, if she had only met the barest prerequisite of the covenant. For no other reason than she was the wife of our most trusted servant. That is how much we did not want this to come to pass. Yet Fate had other ideas.”

  “Wait,” Nathaniel closed his eyes, trying to focus. “Why would you compare this to what happened there?”

  Airek did not answer, turning to Karmel to respond. “Oh, Nathan. This was the work of another God.”

  Nathaniel's head popped up. “Who?” He feared he already knew the answer.

  Karmel squeezed him firmer as she spoke. “As the men charged in their attack, they called, 'For Imery',” she said.

  “No,” Nathaniel whispered, then shouted, “No!” as rage seized him.

  Gently, reverently, he laid Mari's body down amidst the ruins of his home, shaking with the effort to control himself long enough for the task. He threw off Karmel's embrace and rounded on Airek. “Bring her back!” he demanded. “Bring Mari back to me, or I swear I will not lift a finger to help you!”

  Airek loo
ked imploringly at the grieving man. “Her soul is beyond our power, Nathaniel. Had she invoked us, perhaps we could challenge claim, but Mari was a conscript of Lendus. As such, he claimed her soul upon death. We have no power over the direct sphere of another God, much less over the souls of their faithful.

  “Believe me, Nathaniel. If it were within my power, I would do this and more to assure your aid. But I cannot do this thing you ask. None of us can. I am sorry.”

  Nate was about to make another appeal before another of the Gods stepped forward to interrupt him. “There may be a way, Goodsmith, if you will hear me out.”

  Nathaniel turned to glare at the imposing figure he immediately recognized as Malik, God and Goddess of War and Peace, standing before him in masculine form. “I am listening.”

  “You know I created the swords and had them empowered with enchantments over life and death. Life and death, Goodsmith. Do you hear what I say? The swords have the potential to create as well as destroy. If you can find a sword not yet empowered, you can select its power and choose the power of resurrection. The swords are unbound by the covenants, even though they were crafted by ones who were.

  “Do our bidding. Go after the swords with utmost haste. And you may yet have a chance to bring back your bride!”

  Nate looked to Airek. “Is what he says true?”

  “In principle, yes,” answered the other God. “Malik created them, as well. He would be the best judge on what they were capable of.”

  “There is one other possibility, as well,” said one of the Goddesses in attendance.

  As she stepped forward, Nathaniel recognized her as the one who had stood beside Malik in his vision. “Charith,” he said, nodding for her to speak.

  “Slay Lendus. If he is no more, it would be contest between the Gods of Death for Lendus' soul;. And I believe, considering the value of a God's soul, I could barter for Mariabelle's.”

  Nathaniel was taken aback at the offer. “You would do that for me?”

  Charith nodded. “If you take up your duties as Avatar, I would commit to such a bargain gladly.”

  “Oh, Nathan,” murmured Karmel, still kneeling beside Mari's body. “Have you not yet learned how much we treasure you? We, Gods and Goddesses, immortals, will bow to any wish we can grant if you will only do this for us in return.”

  Suddenly, Nathaniel recoiled. “Geoffrey....” he gasped. “If they came for Mari, what about my son?!”

  “Nathaniel,” began Airek, but stopped to look for someone else to speak.

  “He was taken, Nathan,” spoke Karmel, her voice heavy. “He lives, but the raiders left here and attacked Bracken Hillfire's tavern...”

  “No! Not my son, too!” Before any of the Gods could react, a great cacophony enveloped them all, a horrendous wind that lasted for only a moment, and then Nathaniel Goodsmith was no longer amongst them.

  “What was that?!” snapped Malik, recovering first.

  “It would seem,” spoke Elgoth from the rear, “that young Goodsmith has tapped into a reserve of power he was not supposed to have access to!”

  “How is that even possible?” demanded Malik.

  “As a guess,” suggested Naris, “I would say that Goodsmith's powerful desire to protect his progeny has tapped greater reserves than we had intended.”

  Airek mused. “We had always designed the Avatar power to grow over time, so as not to overwhelm its recipient. It seems we failed to account for the efforts of strong emotions when we created the matrix. Mortals have ever been unpredictable.

  “If the lad can teleport, albeit crudely, with no effort to replace the air he leaves vacant, in a paternal desire to protect his child, what will he be capable of when enraged?”

  None of the Gods had a ready answer for that.

  * * *

  Nathaniel was one moment standing with the Gods, and was the next standing in the middle of the street in front of Wyrm Fang's Tavern. Or, at least, what had once been the Wyrm Fang's Tavern. Now, the two story building had collapsed in on itself, flames rising high in the center where the roof had once been.

  Vaguely, Nathaniel was aware of a sharp pressure on his ears and distant rumblings, as though thunder had just peeled in the distance.

  The scene surrounding the ruined tavern was one of chaos. Some people were making an effort to form a water chain to the nearest well, but most were running and shouting as loud as they could to be heard. And the loudest of all was Bracken himself, somewhere out of sight, bellowing at bystanders to either stand aside or lend a hand.

  Nathaniel had no idea how he had come to be there other than one of the Gods must have sent him here. A rather abrupt method, for sure, but it was effective. He was exactly where he had wanted to be at that moment.

  Gritting his teeth in resolve, he set out to follow the sound of Bracken's voice. It was not difficult considering the dwarf never seemed to tire of talking at the best of times, especially when he had something to complain about. And what else in the world could he have more cause to grouse over than the destruction of his livelihood?

  When Bracken first saw Nathaniel emerge from the crowd, even the dwarf's embellishments took pause though. “Nate! By the Abyss, wha' 'as happened to ya? Ya look like death had come a callin'. An' is that blood I be seein'? Please, Nate, this nigh' canna get worse. Tell me ya're a'right?”

  Nathaniel swallowed before he answered. “Mari's dead, Bracken. They came for me and they... killed her in my stead.”

  Bracken's eyes grew wide, forgetting entirely the inferno around him. “Geoffrey. They came fer Geoffrey, Nate. They came an' took yer son, too!”

  “I know, Bracken. I know,” was all Nathaniel could think to say.

  “I shoulda done a bet'r job protectin' the lad, Nate. I be sorry. Truly I be. Ya sen' him ta me, and I let ya down...”

  “No, you could never do that. And we'll get him back. I swear, we'll get him back!”

  The dwarf screwed up his face. “By the Gods, we will indeed! Those brig'nds may 'ave caugh' me ill prepared this time, but next... They'll no' be so fortunate!” The dwarf spit into the fire, some twenty feet away – an impressive feat by any measure. “A murder an' a kidnappin'. Foul villains these. But we'll find 'em an' set a' leas' one wrong aright!”

  “I need to know something first,” Nathaniel scowled. “Where is Brea, the priestess of Imery?”

  Bracken raised an eyebrow. “Ya think tha' li'l witch be involved?”

  “I do. The raiders at my home were Imery's men. They were the same ones who destroyed your tavern and took Geoffrey. Mighty big coincidence that she was at my place yesterday morning, don't you think?”

  “I would na take tha' wager if my beard were at stake!” Bracken scowled anew. “An' would'n you know it, the witch lef' town jus' this mornin'!”

  “Then I know what I first have to do. I need to follow wherever she went if I am to ever have hope of learning where her men took Geoffrey.”

  “Not alone, Nate. I've a stake in this 's well! They burned my home an' bus'ness ta the groun', tarnished my honor an' all 'round made intoll'rable pests of themselves! An' besides, ya know the boy is like a nephew ta me!”

  Nathaniel smirked, but quickly turned serious. “I won't risk anyone else, Bracken. I've already lost Mari and Geoffrey...”

  “Stop the shower, weepin' wonder,” growled the dwarf. “If ya don' take me 'long, I'll trek out on my own. I think we two together would be a stronger force ta recon with than either of us alone, b'sides.”

  Nathaniel could tell Bracken was being kind in his own way. The dwarf had no doubt of his own strength in a fight; he was more concerned over the simple part-time farm boy.

  Nathaniel sighed, acknowledging it as a losing argument. “Very well. We start at dawn. We can spend the night asking around to find out which direction she left in.”

  “Oh, tha's an easy one,” grinned the dwarf. “She left behin' a route by which messages coul' be sent wit' me. She tol' me 'erself where she was a'headed: Scol
lhaven.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Malik walked through the halls of his home. The God and Goddess of War and Peace had chosen the edification of a castle to fit his particular niche in the Pantheon's domain. As with any God, his home was little more than what the perceptions of its master dictated. Yet unlike his fellow Gods, Malik did not choose to dwell in luxury nor elegance. Stone and mortar imagery much more suited his taste; it paralleled the harsh, unyielding patterns of his spheres of influence, he believed.

  In contrast however, the halls of the castle were as twisted as the duality that Peace and War represented. More than one mortal philosopher had declared Malik the patron of insanity, as his duality had always been the most diverse amongst the Pantheon. Life and Death were part of the same pattern, but War and Peace could not coexist. And yet, they not only had to coexist within Malik, but had to achieve balance there, as well. Not an easy task, even for a God.

  At least, this was how Malik saw it. His was the hardest, most challenging role to be played by any one God. Worse still, no other God ever acknowledged the difficulties that he uniquely faced. All considered their spheres challenging and rewarding, while Malik considered his own near unmanageable and beyond frustrating. Not that he was anything but master of his dominion, but he constantly found a need to act outside the Pantheon's dictates to assure the equality that was his birthright.

  That was what had compelled him to create the swords in the first place. The other Gods had found the nine – cast in their number – yet Dariel had upset his plans by twisting the swords to his own purpose. Would that he could have wielded one of the Godslayers when he had struck down his brother to halt the prophecy! Still, after all of that, none of the others were willing to acknowledge the imperative for which the swords had been initially created.

  Only Malik had possessed the foresight to predict the Pantheon's decline. Only he had devised a way to work around the covenants to strike back at the upstart Godlings that threatened their very existence. And only the God of War and Peace could have constructed symbols embodying both aspects of his being that could be empowered by the mortals themselves rather than by the Gods. Only a mortal could take direct opposition against the New Order, and so he had devised a means by which to make them powerful enough to do so. Yet the other Pantheon members had completely subverted his plans! First with Dariel stealing the swords, and then with the Pantheon as a whole creating an Avatar in order to turn the prophecy to their ends. Preposterous!