The Grey God (War of Gods 4)

by Lizzy Ford

  The Grey God

  Book IV, War of Gods

  By Lizzy Ford

  http://www.GuerrillaWordfare.com/

  Edited by Christine LePorte

  http://www.ChristineLePorte.com/

  Cover art and design by Dafeenah

  http://www.indiedesignz.com/

  Kettlecorn Press/Guerrilla Wordfare

  ISBN: 978-1-62378-029-6

  Amazon Edition

  The Grey God copyright 2012 by Lizzy Ford

  Cover art and design copyright 2012 by Dafeenah

  Excerpt from Anna copyright 2012 by Julia Crane

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  “Katie’s Hellion” (Book I, Rhyn Trilogy)

  “The Grey God” (Book IV, War of Gods)

  Prologue: The Schism

  Day of the Schism

  Immortal World

  White God’s Hall

  The White God, Darian, strode through his marble halls, the soft footfalls of his leather boots the only sound in the imperial corridor. He trotted down the stairs from his palace to the apple orchard that stretched from his home to the imperial city beyond. The sun peered over the ocean to the north while blooming apple trees sprinkled their flowers into piles in a cool sea breeze. His closest friend and advisor, the Original Immortal Jule, waited for him atop a horse.

  “Late,” Jule said, a smile on his dark features. The colorful tattoos on his body told stories of great battles in artful, geometric writing.

  “A god is never late,” Darian replied. He pulled himself up onto the horse beside his friend’s. His personal Guardians trailed at a respectful distance, out of earshot but close enough if something happened. “One day, you’ll understand.”

  “The lure of a woman?”

  “The lure of the perfect woman. Sensual, sweet, beautiful.”

  “A king needs a warrior, not a doll,” Jule teased.

  “Not this king. And she can fight, the perfect minx.”

  “If you say so. I’ve yet to meet one who could have me mewling at her feet the way you mewl at Claire’s.”

  Darian smiled. The entire imperial city knew how taken he was with his mate. The eldest of any of the White Gods to mate, he’d been lauded with celebrations for days upon the announcement that he’d chosen a bride. He was glad he’d waited for the right partner rather than ceding to his advisors’ desire for him to mate just to produce an heir.

  “Her father, though, I wouldn’t trust as far as the beach is from here,” Jule added. “Still shady.”

  “I keep him occupied with assignments I tell him are important,” Darian said with a snort.

  They reached the beach, and Darian saw his young brother wielding a sword in complex weapons forms.

  “He wants to be like his older brother,” Jule said, amused. “How old is he now? Sixteen?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “And you haven’t mated him off to some powerful House?”

  “He hasn’t the temper for a woman yet. He’ll be a warrior, methinks,” Darian said. “Probably a solitary warrior.”

  Jule chuckled, as aware of the youth’s temper as Darian was.

  “Looks good, little brother,” Darian called as they approached.

  The tall, stringy youth with white-blond hair turned to face them. His face split into a large smile, and he waved the sword in the air.

  “You’re out early,” Darian said. “Another duel?”

  “Indeed. I have matters to settle with a certain merchant’s son,” his brother said.

  “How would you like to join my Guardians?” Darian asked.

  “I’m not some lower born peasant.”

  “You’re not. But you need something to keep you from challenging every merchant’s son who insults your boots.”

  “He insulted my cloak!” the youth shot back. “You would put me in the Guardians, your own flesh and blood?”

  “If it kept your hands off the women in court and the merchants’ sons out of the Healer’s ward, yes,” Darian replied.

  His young brother’s face fell. “Father would not have done such a thing.”

  “Wrong, ikir. Your father would’ve put you in the Guardians long ago,” Jule corrected him.

  “You’d get to see the mortal world at last,” Darian baited. “You’ve wanted to go since you were as tall as your sword.”

  “I guess. What would I do, Darian? I have the power that runs in our blood, but I don’t have any of the natural skills the peasants have. Would they even want me among them?”

  “Claire was one of them,” Darian reminded him. “She speaks highly of the Guardians and just as highly of you. You would fit in very well.”

  “You’re a great warrior, Damian,” Jule added.

  “According to the servants, Claire likes warriors,” Damian said.

  “Hold it, boy,” Darian warned. “You know the rules. The most sacred vow a White God takes is to his family.”

  “I know. She’s my family now, too,” Damian said and rolled his eyes. “I liked it better when it was just us, Darian. Yesterday was the first day we’ve spent together since you mated with her months ago.”

  The White God heard the note of sadness. Darian dismounted and pulled out his sword.

  “Our hunting trip was the first time in months, wasn’t it?” He’d grudgingly gone on the hunting trip, not wanting to leave Claire behind by herself. She’d never been alone in the palace. “We used to spar every day, until a few months ago, when I took a mate.”

  “We haven’t sparred since.”

  “Maybe we should start the tradition again.”

  “I’d like that, Darian,” Damian said quietly. “You ignore everyone at court now. They say the Oracle put a spell on you.”

  “Since when do you care what they say?” Darian asked. He raised his sword and batted his brother’s around as they spoke.

  “Since I’ve had no one else to talk to. And, since you said you weren’t sure you could trust her, Darian. You’re my only real family.”

  Darian said nothing, unaware of how much his brother missed him until this moment. The youth was not too far off: Claire had been all Darian wanted to focus on since he’d met her. Their betrothal was short by White God standards, a matter of six days. His own father hadn’t mated with his mother for ten years, until after Darian’s birth. He’d mated with Claire five months ago. It
dawned on him he really hadn’t seen much of Damian at all since the ceremony.

  As for trusting Claire, there were still days Darian wasn’t certain her father wasn’t still trying to be the puppet master. He’d heard the same rumors his little brother had, that Claire was sleeping with at least a couple other men. He dismissed them as the idle talk of jealous nobles at court, who’d wanted him to marry one of their daughters instead.

  But she’d lied to him about small things. In his family, it would never happen. He excused her behavior, knowing she grew up in a different environment. Even though they made his instincts uneasy, they were harmless lies. At least, he kept telling himself this.

  “I’ll make up for it, Damian,” he said. A full ten years older than his little brother, he’d raised Damian from the age of seven, after the death of their father.

  “The court says she has no real Oracle powers,” Damian said. “Did you know that before you mated with her?”

  “I did,” Darian said.

  “She’s not of much use to the White God.”

  “She pleases me.”

  “That won’t defeat vamps.”

  “Wise, content leaders with bloodlines as good as ours will,” Darian said with a smile.

  “And warriors,” Damian added.

  “Exactly.”

  “You really want to send me to the Guardians?”

  “It’s your choice. If you wish to go, go. If not, then stay.”

  “There are a lot of adventures to be had outside of here,” Jule said.

  Damian appeared pensive as he responded to Darian’s playful strikes. Darian wasn’t sure what his little brother would decide. The boy had a wild streak that overcame his sense of decorum too often and landed him in duels every other day. He was also a favorite with Darian’s advisors and court, with a knack for connecting with everyone, even the servants. Damian’s wine goblet was never empty during the day, and he always had well-cared-for boots and more fresh flowers in his room than Darian. Despite his attempt to look down on the peasants, Damian had befriended many of them. He had a streak of honor that marked him the son of a White God as much as his golden eyes.

  “I’ll go,” Damian said finally. “When I return from my first adventure, you’ll have six sons running around the hall.”

  “I should hope so,” Darian agreed. “And you will have a sword notched to the hilt by the number of vamps you killed.”

  “Oh, yes, I’ll kill as many as I can.” The young man moved away and began fighting invisible vamps while Darian watched with a grin. “I’ll stab and slash and chop off their heads!”

  “Keep practicing, little brother,” Darian said. “I’ve got business with Jule.”

  He couldn’t tell if his brother heard or not; the young man was deep in battle with a particularly skillful invisible vamp. Darian mounted his horse again, joining Jule as the Original Immortal led his horse down the beach. They passed the obelisk marked with the White God’s lineage. It rose from the beach to the sky and harbored the source of the immortals’ power in the immortal world.

  “I assume if you had good news for me, we wouldn’t be here,” Darian said, glancing at his friend.

  “There are some strange rumors going around. My Original brethren tell me there will be a split soon between the Watchers and the Others. They’ll go back to war.”

  “I imagine they’ll blame you Originals for this one as well.”

  “Probably. We’re warning our respective people to prepare, in case it happens.”

  “I am warned,” Darian said. “This rumor has been around for some time, hasn’t it?”

  “There’s more reason to believe it this time.”

  “Why is that?” Darian glanced towards his closest friend. Jule’s troubled gaze was on the apple trees they passed beneath.

  “I can’t get into specifics, but two Originals have gone missing. It’s a bad omen of things to come.”

  “You’ve been a good friend. I’m grateful for your counsel, and I’ll protect you as I would my brother,” Darian replied.

  “Then listen when I say something bad comes.”

  “I’ll deal with it when it does.”

  “Darian.” Jule pulled his horse to a stop. “This won’t be something you can battle.”

  “There’s no such thing as something I can’t battle, Jule. I’m the White God.”

  “You haven’t lost that arrogance. But you will, if what we think will happen does.”

  “I trust you more than anyone, Jule, but these rumors of wars between immortals have been around for three generations of White Gods.”

  “There’s more than that.”

  Darian studied his friend, unable to discern exactly what Jule wanted him to know.

  “I’ll fight whatever it is. If anything happens to me, you take care of Damian and Claire,” he said. “But I don’t see it ever coming to that. No White God has fallen in the history of our worlds. It would disrupt the balance between good and evil, rupture the gates between worlds. It can’t happen. As long as I’m alive, I won’t be defeated.”

  “There are those who would see the gates ruptured in pursuit of the mortal world. Czerno is one of them. The Black God wants to be the only god the humans know.”

  “My Guardians are there to stop him. Our duty is to the little humans as much as to our own.”

  “Very well,” Jule said in a softer voice. “I’ve done my part to warn you.”

  The Original Immortal was visibly disturbed. Darian studied him a moment before his gaze went to the flowers floating from the apple trees. He loved his orchard. He’d watched Damian’s birth here, grown up here, met Claire here. It was the place where he’d always found happiness.

  “The trees bloom year round for you,” Jule said, following his gaze. “They’ll bloom forever, if it makes you happy.”

  “It does,” Darian said. “As long as I live, I want them to bloom.”

  The trees rustled as he dispelled a fraction of his power. His magic swept through the orchard. The trees would continue to bloom for the rest of his years, filling the orchard with delicate pink-white petals.

  “They’re beautiful, Darian.”

  Both turned at the woman’s quiet voice. Darian’s gaze swept over his mate’s form. Only a head smaller than his tall frame, Claire was shapely and beautiful. Hers was the kind of beauty that made a man notice her in a crowd full of beauties, or a god spot her from others gathered in his orchard for a celebration of his twenty-seventh birthday. She wore a snug dress that revealed more of her large breasts than she probably should. Long, auburn hair was loose around her shoulders, and her face glowed.

  He felt the familiar sense of desire rise just looking at her plump lips and bright blue eyes.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Darian said.

  “Of course,” Jule replied. “Think about what I said, Darian.”

  “I will,” Darian said, half-hearing. He dismounted. Jule left them in peace, and Darian offered his hand to Claire. “I thought you’d be sleeping still.”

  “I hate to be away from you,” she replied. “What was so important Jule dragged you out of our bed?”

  “Rumblings of a war between immortals. Nothing new,” Darian replied.

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes, love, that was all.”

  Claire seemed relieved. Darian started towards the palace, intending to take her to bed with him once more before he started his official duties.

  “I planned something for us,” she said and pulled away from him. Claire jogged to one of the trees and lifted a small satchel from its roots.

  “Breakfast under the trees I love?”

  “Better. Breakfast in the forest where we went the first night we made love.”

  “Beautiful.” Darian mounted his horse. Claire tucked the satchel into the saddlebags.

  “Must they come?” she asked, gaze going to his Guardians. “I can defend you against anything that attacks us.”

  Darian glan
ced at his warriors. He was so accustomed to them, he barely noticed them.

  “Do you want them to remain here?” he asked.

  “I want us to have a beautiful morning together.”

  “Then they stay,” he said, signaling for the Guardians not to follow. He pulled her up behind him and nudged his horse into a quick walk.

  They left the orchard for the quiet city, which had not yet begun to awaken. Darian guided the horse through marble streets marked by statues of his forefathers and beyond the city into the wood running along a stream that ran through the immortal countryside. He maneuvered his way through the forest until he found the place near the warm springs at the center of the stream, where they’d gone their first night together.

  The sound of the trickling stream joined with the voices of birds waking to face the new day. Darian dismounted and lifted Claire off the horse, settling her gently beneath a tree.

  “The best day of my life,” she murmured. “I’ll always remember it.”

  “The best day was when we met,” he said and sat beside her. “You wore that dress the same color as the blooming apple trees.”

  “And you all in black.”

  “I wore green that day,” he said with a chuckle. “Dark green.”

  “I’m not one for details,” she said and smiled. “I fell for you that day, Darian.”

  “We fell for each other. It took some strong-arming to get you out of the betrothal you were already in with … what was his name? Isac?”

  “Yes, Isac.”

  “Your father was not happy about it. I would’ve thought he would’ve supported you mating with someone more powerful.”

  “Father was not a man easily understood,” Claire said, darkness crossing her features. “He still isn’t.”

  “You are a queen. What more can he want?”

  “If I were the only ruler of the immortal world, he might be happy,” she said.

  Darian glanced at her. Part of the reason he’d mated with her so quickly was to get her away from the man she claimed beat her. He knew on sight he wanted her. No one would stand in the way of a White God, even an abusive, power-hungry father.