by Garon Whited
“Anything else I should know?”
“Yes. Quite a lot.”
“And I’m not going to like it,” I predicted. Or prophesied.
“Not all of it, no.”
“All right. Hit me.”
“Well, the good news is the Lord of Light has been censured before a grand conclave of the gods. We’ve gone over that. But while he had us all there, he brought up your status as an avatar.”
“And?”
“You’re not one.”
“If you would have asked me, I’d have told you.”
“Yeah, but he brought it up in the conclave and had it formally recognized. You’re a physical entity with a severe chaos-void infection, not the embodiment of a deity. Or deity-like entity, I should say.”
“Since I don’t understand what that means, I’m going to pretend to nod significantly and wait for you to finish.”
“So, if you’re not an avatar, you’re not really me, and the rule about attacking other gods doesn’t apply to you.”
“You mean he got my diplomatic immunity revoked?” I demanded.
“Yes. If someone down there aims a god at you, it can hurt you, even kill you.”
“But the Lord of Light is still limited in the amount of aid he can grant his followers?”
“Yes. I suggest you exercise caution around them anyway. I’m not sure how much they can actually do to you, of course, but it’s bound to hurt.”
“No kidding. He’d love to fry me with holy light, even if it means burning out a priest.”
“Which may have been his goal in bringing his avatar into the world.”
“How do you mean?”
“If it killed you, he was ahead. If it died, he could still cost you something.”
“This hardly seems fair. Don’t we get any slack for him starting it?”
“No. I gather things were different, way back when, but the whole thing about whose fault it was and why they did it and all the rest simply formed a vicious cycle of favors and vendettas. Eventually, they had to crack down on it and make the rules more concrete. No wiggle room for cheaters.”
“Somehow, I feel cheated.”
“Me, too.”
“All right. I’m recovering, Bronze and Firebrand are recovering, and I presume Mary is all right?”
“She barely even felt it. She was a long way off. You were the one with your face in the firestorm.”
“Again,” I muttered. “Anything else you can tell me?”
“No, but I have a question.”
“What?” I asked, surprised. “You’re asking me?”
“I’m not omniscient, remember?”
“Apparently, I had some brain damage and temporarily forgot. Okay, what do you want to know?”
“Do you want to start a holy war? Or, since it’s already kind of started, do you want to ramp it up into a full-scale crusade?”
I had to think about it. He waited while I did, so I knew he was serious about my answer.
“If you’d asked me while I was regenerating a shattered shoulderblade,” I said, “I would have told you to get everybody together for a church-burning. Now, though… now I’m not in the middle of a life-and-death battle, I’m not in pain, and I don’t really have the energy for a war.”
“I think we should,” he replied. “The Lord of Light isn’t a reasonable deity. He’s already got a mandate that says he’s supposed to kill you, but now he’s going to blame you for his humiliation, both mortal and immortal alike.”
“Maybe he is,” I agreed, “but this is where we differ. I don’t want to play this game. People are not pieces on a board, no matter what the so-called gods may think. They don’t need to be manipulated and maneuvered. They need to be left alone.”
“Says the man who only wants to be left alone,” he pointed out.
“True. But I gave up mortal authority in this world by surrendering it to Lissette. I’ll give up religious authority in this world by surrendering it to Beltar and the priesthood. You want a holy war? Consult with Beltar. Ask him to ask his priest-knights. Get them to tell you what they want. Rather than being a god who orders them to destroy the followers of another god, be a god who asks them what they want. Help them in their endeavors rather than order them to obey.”
There was a long silence from the energy-being version of me.
“The others aren’t going to like this.”
“They’re already trying it on for size,” I pointed out. “They’re working within the authority of the Queen, right? Besides, it’s an internal matter for one religion, not an Olympus-wide mandate.”
“Huh. Yes, but I don’t think they see it the same way you do. This new idea of allowing the priesthood more leeway in deciding church policy…”
“Then it’ll sneak up on them and they can appreciate it on its merits.”
“If it works.”
“Yeah. Here’s hoping.”
“Are you sure you want me to leave declaring a holy war in the hands of the priests?”
“Yes, for two reasons. First, they’re extremely impressive priests. They’re knights and they know how to be noble, upright, and good. Second, if they decide to have themselves a crusade, it’ll be because they chose it, rather than you ordered it.”
“Taking this free will thing a trifle seriously, aren’t we?”
“Let me put it another way. Right now, the so-called gods are working mostly behind the scenes, operating through proxies, and generally staying out of it. Correct?”
“Well, yes. That’s the way the game is set up. You can’t play chess if the players can simply snatch a piece off the board anytime they feel the urge.”
“Okay. Next time someone cheats, robbing people of their free will, their right to choose what they want from the gods—or even if they want something from the gods—I will flip the board, break the table, and burn down the house they’re playing in.”
I felt the shock as he realized I meant it. Being pummeled by quasi-deific avatars makes me cranky.
“Sparky mentioned something about this to me, wanting to know if you could do it. I told her you could, but you never would. Are you telling me you’ll destroy the world and everyone on it?”
“What defines a person is the ability to choose. Even slaves have choices—their bodies may be confined, but their wills are still their own. If you take away even the ability to defy one’s masters, there’s nothing left but an automaton.”
“I’m not going to argue, mainly because I can’t think of a good argument at the moment.”
“Good. I’m too tired to argue.”
“You’ve changed,” he said, quietly.
“Oh?”
“I’m not sure I like it. I respect it, and to a degree I even admire it, but I’m not sure it’s a change for the better. It concerns me.”
“I really am too tired to care.”
“Understandable. And if it’s all the same to you, I think I’m going to keep this conversation just between us.”
“Oh?”
“Did it occur to you that if you threaten the entire game, they might get enough agreement to make an exception to the rules? I can’t do much about it if they collectively decide to turn you into a rapidly-expanding cloud of high-temperature plasma. So try not to mention this conversation to anyone, all right? I can tell Sparky I was wrong about you being able to do it, if I have to, so that’s not a big deal, but try not to call attention to yourself. I don’t want the rest of them to start asking awkward questions!”
“No promises, but I’ll try.”
“Okay. Go back to sleep.”
Monday, June 13th
I opened my eyes under the surface. My vision cleared rapidly as the blood continued to drain into me. I stood up and looked around.
I was in a large, open-topped barrel. Mary sat next to me, Firebrand across her lap. I didn’t see Bronze, but I knew she was just outside the building. The room was underground and full of bottles, jugs, jars, and barrels. On
e of the barrels was on a table beside me, still draining into the one I was in. I picked it up, tilted it over, and poured the dregs over me. A few moments later, when all traces of blood were nothing more than memories, I hopped out. Naked, of course. Probably Mary’s idea. I doubted it was required.
“Good to see you again,” I said.
“Same here. Did we win?”
“I’m going to call it a win. What happened after the fight?”
“When the lights went up and then went out, I followed Bronze. She was carrying you toward me through the wreckage.”
I was still buried! Firebrand complained.
“I’m telling this,” Mary snapped.
I just wanted to get that out there.
“For a dragon, you whine a lot. Now hush.” Mary spoke to me, saying, “I pulled a biggish piece of debris out of your face—it would have gone completely through your head and out the back if your helmet hadn’t stopped it. You need a new faceplate.”
“I’ll work on it. Go on.”
“You weren’t getting better. The hole in your head wasn’t closing. I thought something had ruined you completely, but I kept taking bits out of you anyway. One of the bits was a bat-sized piece through your chest—a wooden stake through the heart, I guess. I removed it and you immediately started to heal.”
“Really? That’s interesting.”
“I agree. Does a wooden stake through the heart drop you in your tracks? I mean, I know it doesn’t kill you, not like it does my sort of vampire—”
“Wait, what?” I interrupted. “Does it?”
“Of course. If you put a wooden stake through a Thessaloniki or other tribe… well, if you hit the heart, we die. It takes a minute or two, though. We freeze in place, paralyzed, then start decaying rapidly. What’s left is a pile of dry ashes or dust, usually.”
“If someone pulls it out before you finish, do you get better?”
“I don’t know. I’d rather not experiment, either.”
“Noted.”
“In your case,” she went on, “you don’t die. You don’t heal, either. I was wondering if a stake through the heart makes you stop moving.”
“I don’t know. And I do want to experiment, now that I know it doesn’t kill me.”
“Uh, okay. How do you not know about this already?”
“Body armor and very few wooden weapons.”
“And being extremely good with a sword?”
“Could have something to do with it,” I admitted.
“So we’ll experiment. Maybe we don’t have to do it immediately? I’ve been traumatized by a divine visitation and an awful fear of being alone.”
“You say that lightly, but I suspect you mean it.”
“It’s a defense mechanism,” she agreed.
“All right. Some other time. Go on. What happened after you un-staked me?”
“You started healing up, but it was awfully slowly. I had Bronze drag you back along the way you came, through the army wreckage. She limped off with you and you hoovered up any blood they left behind. While you two did that, I tracked down Firebrand.”
And took forever.
“You were pummeled into the dirt by a tree bigger around than I am tall. You were also whining about cracks and fractures. You weren’t exactly being helpful about finding you!”
I was injured! I’ve never been injured before!
“Man up,” Mary advised, “or, rather, dragon up. Once I found the whiny weapon and dug it out—”
—eventually, Firebrand added.
“—I went after Bronze—with Firebrand—and we met her on the road. Most people decided to leave when the funny lights started, so we didn’t have any troubles there. The few who stuck around to watch the fight between light and dark died from something I can’t explain. Their eyes were burned out of their heads. Maybe people farther away survived it. We did find one guy with his eyesockets still smoking, moaning about the light, the light, the light. But he was fresh blood, and you were still unconscious, so we didn’t question him much.
“Afterward, there was some discussion on where to go, but we didn’t have too long to think it over. Sunrise was only a couple of hours away by then. We made time toward Peleseyn—did I say it right?”
Yes, Firebrand agreed. That’s how the locals say it, anyway.
“Good. We got past the worst of the forest wreckage and into some clear road, then had to camp out. Our sun-proof body bags work, by the way.”
“I originally intended to use them before we attacked,” I admitted. “Get close to our target positions, camp through the sunset, immediately get up and get cracking.”
“Well, they work fine against sunrise, too. By the way, did you know you smell unbelievably awful in the mornings?”
“It’s a side effect of all the exertion and regeneration.”
“For the record, I’m against it. I thought my slaughterhouse dinner was the worst thing I would ever experience. I might be wrong.”
“Are you forgetting your undead nausea after visiting a coastal prince?”
“No, but I’d like to.”
“Come to think of it, so would I. Then what happened?”
“I did what I could with a cleaning spell and a healing spell, but you were still unresponsive. Firebrand fixed itself, of course, and helped heat up Bronze’s bent leg while we traveled. She’s not up to full speed yet, but she was plenty fast enough to get us here. After that, it was a simple matter to find a hotel with a wine cellar, order a barrel of blood, and so on.”
“Good to know. I feel much better.”
Psst. Boss? Firebrand communicated specifically to me.
Yes?
She left out the part about bleeding all over you last night. She wanted to be sure you were intact enough to survive the day.
How intact wasn’t I?
Well, she was worried you wouldn’t survive as a mortal.
Thanks, Firebrand.
Just thought I’d mention it, since she didn’t.
“Want to tell me what happened?” Mary asked. “I already got Firebrand’s version of it.”
I explained what happened to the best of my ability, but I left out the conversation with my energy-state psychic clone.
“So the avatar tried to take me with it,” I concluded, “and very nearly succeeded.”
“No kidding. It’s a good thing you have diplomatic immunity. From what I felt at a distance, I daresay it could otherwise fry you in your armor before you got within ten yards of it.”
“Speaking of which, where’s my armor?”
“I’ve got all the pieces I could find in a sack. I added some charcoal, but I’m not sure it’s ever going to be back to its old self.”
“Give it time. Time, and a lot of carbon.” I rubbed my stomach and frowned. “I’m hungry.”
“Since it’s night, that’s concerning. Do we go hunting? Or do we talk to the local slaughterhouse? I’ve been paying people for quick service and silence, but you can’t buy silence.”
“You can’t?”
“Anyone willing to keep your secrets for money will sell them for more money. You can’t buy silence, only rent it.”
“That’s cynical, jaded, and probably true,” I admitted, sadly. “Let’s start with the local slaughterhouse. I think most of my issues are from physical regeneration, not mystical exertion.”
“I’ll say,” she agreed, standing up and handing me a pair of pants. “You were a mess.”
“Was I? And where’s my armored underwear?”
“It’s recovering with your armor. Peeling it off you was difficult; your flesh and your underwear both sort of melted. I paid some kids to collect cobwebs and rolled it all together before I came down here. As for you… Remember when you torched your face off by accident?”
I put on the pants and tried not to show I was having a horrible flashback. I remembered the feeling of my teeth being actively on fire. If you ever have it happen to you, you’ll understand why even the flas
hback is horrible. If you never have it happen to you, good!
“Yes,” I admitted.
“Imagine that, but add in trying to melt your armor onto the exposed bone.”
“I’m glad I missed it.”
“I’m sorry I saw it.”
“Shirt?”
“No, but I have your cloak.” She handed it to me and I put it on. It flowed around me and pretended to be a belted kilt. No tartan, I’m afraid, only an inky black.
“I haven’t got used to that,” Mary said, quietly.
“Neither have I, but I’m determined to do so. Meanwhile, I’m starting to feel extremely hungry.”
“And now you’re starting to scare me. Follow me and try to remember I’m on your side.”
It bothered me greatly to realize she wasn’t kidding. She was scared. Mary was scared of me.
In some way I couldn’t define, the knowledge hurt.
We bought a whole pen of pigs and donated the carcasses back to the pig farmer. Mary claimed she wasn’t hungry and watched while I sank my teeth into a pig, speared the hole with my tongue, and sucked out both the blood and the vital energy. I went through fourteen pigs in about five minutes, most of which was slurping the last few drops. I’ll say this for pigs, they don’t leave a furball in the back of your throat like dazhu. If you don’t have to breathe, the smell of a pigsty is something you can ignore. Hairballs are worse. Believe me, hacking up a furball is something you never want to do.
“Better?” Mary asked, once I finished.
“I think so. Yes. I could go for another dozen, but I think my post-combat munchies are under control.”
“I’m delighted.”
“Now that the immediate threat is dealt with, let’s look at Bronze.”
Bronze was in pretty good shape. The bent leg was straight again, at least, but it was still forming the details. The other legs were horse-like, flexing and bending like a flesh-and-blood horse. Her left front leg was a statue’s leg. It looked like the others, but its movement was subtly different.
“Can you run?” I asked. Bronze nodded and stomped her bad leg. She might not break any speed records today, but she could run. I turned to Mary. “I’ll send you back via gate, if you like. I’m riding with Bronze.”
“Yes, please, and thank you. Do you mind if I try to gate to Diogenes? I’d like a new power pack.”