Three (The Godslayer Cycle Book 3)

by Ron Glick

  Hamil made a visible sign of considering his thoughts before he spoke. “As you know, I cannot sense the Godslayer, as you call him. Whatever magic he uses is invisible to me. And so I still cannot tell you if he is indeed ahead of us or not.”

  “He is there,” said Avery simply. “Or, at the very least, Two is. So unless he has lost the sword somehow, this is where we will find him.”

  The scribe bobbed his head before continuing. “As you say. Likewise, I cannot sense these swords, either. But what I can tell you is that there is some kind of power ahead. It reeks of Old God magic, so there may be some truth to the stories we have heard of this divine woman preserved as some kind of idol using their lost magic.”

  “But the Old Gods are dead,” Avery insisted, not for the first time.

  “That may be true,” said Hamil cautiously, “but magic is like any other thing in existence. It may change form or appearance - as a tree stump becomes ash in a fire - but it still exists. Which means all it takes is for someone to find some reservoir of old power and use it for their own selfish ends. Just because Old God magic is being used, it does not mean that the Old Gods were actually involved.”

  Hamil let go of his grip upon his horse's reigns to scratch nervously at the side of his head. “But that is not what all of which I was speaking. There is someone else who has power ahead. Nothing rising to the level of Old God magic, certainly, but a source of power all the same. Normally, I would have ridden ahead to see more plainly before even mentioning it, but with the Old God magic about already, it... well, it makes me less inclined to risk being found out.”

  Avery studied the face of his scribe intently. “Are you actually afraid, Hamil? Is there something more you are not saying?”

  “Not afraid,” snapped Hamil, a brief look of malice passing over his features. The look was gone almost faster than it had appeared, but it had been the first sign of any kind of wickedness Avery could ever remember seeing in his scribe. And it gave the would-be God pause. “But there are things you simply do not do in this world. And one of those things is go in blind when you may find yourself out of your depth.”

  Avery gave a sharp nod, drawing One from its scabbard across his back as he did so. In the same motion, he turned and leapt from the saddle of his beast. “Then I will look ahead for you.”

  The newly-made God knew that the moment he drew his sword, that he passed from the sight of his companions. Viola demonstrated no surprise, as she had seen it often enough to no longer be startled by the effect. Hamil should also have been equally unmoved, but there was no mistaking the look of umbrage that passed over the scribe's face as his lord vanished. Just as with the look of malice, this countenance disappeared almost instantly, but it had been there. And its existence troubled Avery all the more.

  But the God of Vengeance did not stay to dwell upon the meaning of his scribe's hidden emotions. If there was something ahead that worried Hamil, then it must be unrooted if at all possible before Avery sent his love and followers into its midst. Day or night, a risk to their welfare was a risk all the same. And he owed them at least some effort to expose it lest it be sprung upon them all unseen.

  It had not occurred to Avery to stay upon his horse as he drew One. He had tested the power of his blade in recent months and had learned that he could extend the range of its effects simply by wishing it. He could have kept his horse as invisible as himself, but he had impulsively jumped off its back instead. As he began to jog ahead, he began to regret this decision, but he could not very well go back and collect his horse after-the-fact. As a God, he needed to demonstrate decisiveness, and how would it look if he were seen reconsidering his actions?

  Still, by their best calculations, this town called Oaken Wood was at best half a league further on. The pilgrims they had passed had confirmed that much. Many had told their group that they would soon be coming upon the outlying camps, and since this had not yet happened, these could not be much further along. So even without his horse, Avery suspected he would not be traveling for long.

  This faith proved warranted, since within a few hundred yards, the would-be God began to hear snippets of conversation, and shortly thereafter even began to smell the smoke from campfires. No one was certainly trying to hide the camps, that was for certain.

  Avery crested the next ridge and realized how true his words had been. Though the forest still loomed on all sides, every conceivable space that lay ahead - amongst the trees and even the road itself - was congested beyond belief with masses of people. At least a dozen firepits were visible from where he stood, and all types could be seen moving between the groups gathered around them. It was a miracle in and of itself that his own band had not been overwhelmed by the fires' smoke even as far away as they were, so thick were the clouds of ash below, which spoke even more of the odors that had overpowered all other smells as they had approached.

  Men in fine livery mingled with women and children whose clothes hung to them by the barest of threads. Whatever this miracle might be, it clearly acted to bridge all walks of life in a way Avery had never seen. Perhaps even moreso than his own mismatched faithful...

  As he stood looking down upon the crowds below, Avery felt a dull thrum echo through the handle of his sword. It drew the man's attention, feeling One stir to life in his grasp. The sword was alive - Avery knew that much. It had in the past fostered its emotions upon him and even communicated with him in subtle ways. In fact, it's very name had been placed in the man's mind when first he had wielded the blade. But this was as far as their communion progressed typically. One did not have a language, per se, and so understanding the import of this new effect was impossible to interpret immediately.

  “What is it?” Avery asked, clearly not expecting a genuine answer.

  Yet in spite of what he might have expected, the man did receive a response, as the blade seemed to pull at his hand, thrumming stronger in a specific direction. Looking in the direction this stronger impulse prodded him towards, Avery could see nothing that gave him any real indication of what the sword wanted.

  “You want us to go that way?”

  Again, the sword gave a stronger pulse, the tip of the blade actually growing heavier so that it leaned in the direction the thrumming sensation indicated.

  “Very well,” Avery shrugged. “That direction is as good as any other.”

  The direction One indicated took Avery off the path, but this fact did not create the normal concern it might have. This area had plainly been occupied for quite awhile, and what might previously have been tangled brush and obstructed paths had been cleared to make room for this newly erected community. All around, Avery could see signs where trees and brush had been cleared, and the ground itself was packed from the frequent walking upon it. Though it was not as well-maintained perhaps as a royal garden, it was not the chaotically treacherous terrain one would normally encounter in the wilds, either.

  The path One had chosen for Avery weaved in and out of encampments, forcing Avery to divert his route to avoid walking over or into other people. But otherwise, the way was largely clear. Little obstructed Avery's path save for an occasional fallen tree which he was forced to step over or move around. All in all, it was not a hard course to follow.

  The only thing which Avery came to regret was the amount of time that this trip through the woods was taking him. Wherever One wanted to go, it was not so close that he would be able to quickly return to his companions, and darkness was rapidly setting in on all sides. The darkness itself did not phase him since one of the attributes of using One's power was the power of sight, even in shadow. But he had others who relied upon him, and his being away past twilight meant his power could not be used in their defense.

  Finally, as the last traces of daylight passed away, the man found himself breaking clear of the woods and entering a clearing. Just as the woods fell away, so did the camp sites, as well. Somehow, it appeared that this break in the woods was an unseen barrier for the pilgrims, as no
t a single person had erected even a firepit past the treeline. With his magical site, Avery could see into the distance where the treeline had been cut back in several places to make room for camps at the far side of the clearing, but on this northern boundary, no such effort had been made.

  Avery cast his vision across the clearing as he felt One's urgency grow beneath his fingers. Whatever the sword wanted was here - of that, there was no doubt. But all Avery could see were the burnt timbers of an old cabin and some kind of raised platform positioned near where the entrance might have been. As this latter was the only thing which seemed to have been spared of dereliction, this is where he headed.

  As he approached though, Avery quickly saw that this was more than just a raised platform - it was a pyre, of sorts. Or at least, that was as close a term as the man could attribute to what he saw.

  Glowing in the half-moon's light, a stone table had been set here, with a delicately dressed woman laid out upon it. The image was pristine, without a single piece of debris having settled upon the woman's form. The only thing missing to Avery's mind was the wood needed to set what was plainly a dead body afire.

  As the man stepped closer, more became clear. Some kind of clear crystalline shell rested over the woman's body, preserving it from the elements. Gold and silver was inlaid upon the glass, and gemstones reflected bits of moonlight as he approached.

  This would explain why there's no leaves or anything on her, thought Avery.

  Even the stone looked to be a pure marble upon closer inspection, drawing a whistle of appreciation from the former apprentice. He might have worked in metal when he was a craftsman-in-training, but any fine art could be appreciated by someone trained to see it. And this entire presentation was beyond immaculate.

  It suddenly occurred to the would-be God what he was looking upon: this was the divine woman, the one preserved by will of the Old Gods, as the story went. And looking upon the site himself, Avery could not find a reason to doubt that this was exactly what it professed to be - actual evidence of divinity upon the mortal plain.

  Of course, knowing what he did, Avery held his belief of whether the Old Gods themselves had actually been involved in this in reservation. Like Hamil had said, anyone could have used Old God magic to do this. After all, was not his own power derived from Old God magic left behind, as well?

  One began to vibrate with such power that Avery had to hold the hilt with both hands to prevent losing his grip upon the blade. Nervously, the man looked around, hoping that there was no one close enough to see him should he actually lose control of his sword over whatever fit the blade was having.

  “Be calm!” hissed Avery. “We're not exactly supposed to be here, are we?”

  The sword however did not calm down. It increased its resonance, Avery himself beginning to feel his hand burn with the friction being created. Instinctively, the man tried to drop the sword - in spite of his own previous concerns about losing his concealment - yet found he could not. Unbidden, Avery instead found his arms rising, an anger seeping into his heart from the sword. All he wanted to do was strike the pyre, to undo the perfection he saw before him.

  This was not the first time One had done something like this, Avery knew. The sword was capable of overwhelming Avery with its own desires, as it had done when they had first encountered Goodsmith and his own magical sword, which One had called First. But that was back before Avery had gained an affinity for the swords, when he had no experience with them. Avery had become so much more than he had been when One had first found him, and he was not so easily manipulated now.

  “No,” Avery grunted through gritted teeth. “You will not use me as your puppet this time. You will explain to me your reasons for doing anything before we act, or there will be no actions.”

  One's thrumming missed a beat, demonstrating a momentary weakness in the sword. Was it surprised? Offended? Avery could not say. But what was clear was that the sword had heard the man's words and reacted to them. But the hesitation did not last, and the sword redoubled its effort to overwhelm Avery's body.

  “Don't like it?” Avery growled, his entire body shaking with the effort to resist One's power. “Find someone else to carry you around!”

  Without warning, the thrumming stopped and Avery collapsed onto the ground, breathing hard.

  “So we have an understanding?” he gasped.

  An image suddenly flooded into Avery's mind, the pyre appearing before his mind's eye bathed in glorious golden light, nine shadowed figures standing behind it, towering over all things - not in size, but in sheer power. The shadowed figures raised their hands and the body lifted from its place of rest, great golden eyes opening to stare deeply into Avery's soul.

  The would-be God could sense the emotion One sought to convey - despite the beauty of the image before him, it was an abomination. The Old Gods were indeed involved in this, and the only reason they could have to preserve this woman's body was to bring her back from the dead. Their intention was more than just to show off this body - it was to work towards an even greater act of divinity: they intended to resurrect the dead.

  Without warning, the vision passed, and Avery found himself blinking back tears from his burning eyes. He swallowed several times, doing his best not to retch where he knelt upon the ground.

  “I get it,” he said at last. “You don't want to let them succeed in their plan. But if they fail here, what is to keep them from succeeding somewhere else? There is nothing to be gained by destroying this woman's body. Better that we know, and in knowing, we can work against their designs. Because if we did not know where they were trying to break the laws of life and death, we could not.”

  The rage that Avery could still feel ebbing from the sword suddenly abated. Avery wondered if some new vision were forthcoming, but what did come was even more unexpected.

  Chosen well.

  The words were simple, but unmistakable. One had accepted Avery's counsel. And in so doing, the sword had for the first time ceded that Avery was more than just someone to wield it - the sword had said that Avery was a choice well made.

  Chapter 3

  “And you expect what from this exactly?” Brea sat at the edge of the firepit, her cloak wrapped tightly around her. The weather was not intolerably cold, but for some reason sitting in the presence of this man made her feel chilled.

  Avery inclined his head toward the lady, doing his level best to effect someone of royal bearing. Brea knew even without seeing his stiff, uncomfortable movements that he was faking. Eve without the brand upon his wrist which told her he was little more than a heretic who had fallen into good fortune, he simply lacked the simple grace someone born and raised in wealth attained. Perhaps she might have been convinced that he may have one day before his fall been someone of importance, if only he had practiced at the deception. But there was no fooling someone who had spent years moving from one lord's table to another in the service of the Goddess Imery.

  Of course, it was also a tremendous help that Brea possessed the true sight of her now deceased Goddess. No matter how good Avery might one day become at deceit, she would always be able to see directly through it.

  “I expect only to travel with you, as equals,” said the smallish man. “Goodsmith has Two, which makes him one of the Nine's chosen. That makes he and I brothers, of a sort. And I would set aside all animosity between us, if I may.”

  “The Nine?” laughed Brea. “That is what you are calling the swords?”

  Avery shrugged. “It is what they call themselves.”

  Brea scrunched her brow and drew her cloak tighter. “You're mad,” she said plainly.

  “Enlightened men are often called mad.”

  “Mad men often consider themselves enlightened,” countered the former priestess.

  Avery's face shifted, plainly trying to maintain some kind of composure as he struggled with what to say next. Brea chose to save him the struggle.

  “Look, you found me. You think I can be some kind o
f envoy to Nathan, but I assure you, I have absolutely no influence over him.”

  “You are here with him, are you not?”

  “I am here. He is here. That is about the best I can say. We have had... problems.” Brea raised an eyebrow. “I don't suppose you would know anything about that, would you?”

  Avery sat back, guarded. “How would I?”

  “So you don't know anyone who has one of the swords - one of your Nine - that can play with people's minds? Not someone named Martin?”

  Avery visibly jumped at the name, if not the first part of Brea's query. Imery's talent for seeing and knowing was not needed when her mark was so transparent. But Avery was ever doing the unexpected, just as he did now.

  “I don't know Martin,” confessed the self-professed God of Vengeance. “I've met him though. And he said he knew me. He was the one who told me about Levitz and the second of the Nine. I would have to guess he's the same one you're talking about?”

  Brea had genuinely not expected such a forthright answer, and it set her back. She hid her surprise by looking about herself, at the ruins of Bracken's tavern in the distance, and then pivoting to look at the rough dwelling that she now called home. Bracken's home might have been within the walls of his business at one time, but he had other properties around town, one of which had been this rundown storage shed for holding what he called his more volatile mixtures. It had been converted into shelter for Bracken, Nathan and herself readily enough, with a new lean-to constructed to cover the large barrels that had previously filled the interior.

  Upon returning to Oaken Wood, rebuilding the tavern itself was made impossible by the winter, and now by the massive influx of pilgrims camping in every conceivable empty space they could find. Bracken had expressed no end of frustration at these impositions, but there was nothing to be done for it. The best he could accomplish was to drive campers from the ruins of the Wyrm's Fang Tavern - beyond that, he had no choice but to wait for the crowds to either leave or withdraw to more permanent homes. Only then could he hope to have the room to bring in the lumber and machinery necessary to clear the debris and remake his livelihood.