Three (The Godslayer Cycle Book 3)

by Ron Glick

  Brea did not use any arcane words. Avery had spent all morning with the former priestess, and he was certain that she had not had any potential magic dwelling in her breast, either. And yet, when it was needed, it had manifested around the woman. It had not been instant - she drew the power to her, and it built upon itself over several seconds. But there had been no words, no arcane utterance, nothing. Brea was somehow a natural conduit for magic, and this was one detail of what had just transpired that shook the man's beliefs to the core.

  Just when he thought he was beginning to understand magic, something new had come along to prove he did not.

  The other detail was equally as disturbing, but admittedly held less presence in the man's mind as he numbly watched people's ankles clamoring all around him. Still, the question that had arisen in the heat of battle nagged at the back of his mind all the same:

  How had the dwarf's axe survived against One?

  Avery had been through many challenges in the last several months. He had witnessed One slicing through even the most finely crafted steel he could imagine. His sword was capable of felling trees and slicing any solid object in twain. And yet... Bracken's sword had not only withstood One's edge, it had pushed both he and the sword away.

  Avery realized then that he was still lying on the ground looking up at everyone panicking all around him. It had been a miracle that he had not been stepped on. He quickly picked himself up, feeling the weight of One still in his grip. Almost instinctively, the man reached over his shoulder and sheathed the blade. No sense in further panic.

  The man's eyes darted about, looking for any sign of the dwarf, or - certainly of more importance - his axe. Is it possible that the axe is another divine weapon? And if so, who created that one?

  At last, Avery spotted Brea through a break in the racing crowd. She was kneeling beside someone, and though Avery's brief glimpse could not discern who, he had to reason that it was most likely the dwarf. Without hesitation, the would-be-God began tracing his way through the finally thinning crowd. It seemed more people wanted away from where the priestess knelt than towards. Once Avery began moving in that direction, he found his movements far easier.

  Within a few minutes, the man found himself standing over the priestess and dwarf, and the crowd was mostly a memory as the people disappeared into whatever forms of shelter they could manage. The streets were all but empty as Avery stopped at the pair before him. Bracken knelt, holding tightly to the handle of his axe, while Brea whispered into his ear. Even with his heightened senses though, he could not make out what was being said. He was startled though when Brea turned to look at him, as though she had known he was coming. The knit to her brow however did nothing to inspire welcome.

  “Why aren't you leaving?” the priestess barked. “Anything you could have wanted here is gone now.”

  Avery felt the sting of the words as something physical, forcing him to stop in his tracks. Could this have been some residual effect from the magic the woman had just displayed?

  After a moment, Avery managed to speak. “I'm not the enemy here.”

  Brea's eyes narrowed menacingly. “Can you honestly say that? After all you've done, can you honestly say you are not our enemy?”

  “You're the priestess of a Goddess of Truth,” spat Avery, his lip curling at the woman's insults. “Why don't you use your magic to prove me a liar?”

  The woman's jaw set, then relaxed after a moment. Her entire frame looked to have shrunk as whatever emotion she had held on to for strength abandoned her. “I'm not a priestess of anyone. Imery's dead.”

  Avery raised an eyebrow, taking a cautious step forward. “Right. So all of that was what then?”

  The woman shrugged. “I do not know. Ever since Imery died, I have had...” Brea held her arms wide, her palms held upward. “...this.” As she spoke the final words, the former priestess' hands began to pulse visibly. There was no immediate glow of power; her hands literally appeared to expand and retract with a force that defied simple vision.

  Avery was not entirely certain how to react. Sans the swords themselves, he had no experience with anyone who could wield magic like this. And Brea clearly had no sword.

  “That is divine power,” came a familiar voice from behind Avery. “That should not be possible.”

  Brea's focus shifted towards the newcomer. “And who might you be?”

  Avery's scribe made a great production of bowing low. “We have not been formerly introduced, but I am Hamil, scribe to Avery, God of Vengeance.”

  Avery turned his head towards the scribe. “I thought you were with the others.”

  The small man stepped forward, stopping a bare step closer to Brea. “I followed you. Are you saying you are surprised?”

  The would-be-God growled inwardly. Of course he was not surprised - Hamil rarely did as he was told. “Of course not. I just wish that for once you would listen.”

  The small man shrugged. “How can I stand as witness to your greatness if I am always elsewhere when you are great?”

  Brea made an exaggerated groan. “I don't need Imery's gifts to know that's a lie.”

  Hamil's head cocked to the side. “Imery's, you say? I thought she was dead.”

  “And how would you know that?” demanded the woman.

  Hamil bowed again. “I serve a God. Does it surprise you that I know of divine things?”

  “Avery's not a God,” rebuked Brea, standing now to face off against the little man. “He is a mortal man who has one of the Gods' swords. That does not make him a God.”

  “And you have no sword, but wield the power of a deceased Goddess,” rebuffed Hamil. “Is that any more possible?”

  Brea fell silent at that, glaring at Avery's scribe. The silence held between the two for several minutes before Bracken broke the tension.

  “'Nough posturin',” the dwarf growled, standing himself. “We have'ta go aft'r the witch wha' killed Nate!”

  “And where would you propose we go?” asked Avery. “She's gone. Vanished.”

  “Vanished, yes,” mused Hamil. “But I am thinking perhaps... not gone?”

  Avery raised an eyebrow. “What are you meaning?”

  “Think of it, my lord,” mewed the little man. “This girl has Three. And we know what Three is supposed to do.”

  The taller man closed his eyes for a moment. “Right, Martin had Three. He said...” Avery watched the scene unfold before his mind's eye, witnessing again what had happened the day after he had lost his hand to the Godslayer. “He said it allowed him to travel back to speak with me.”

  “Back from a time that had not yet come,” amended the scribe.

  Avery's eyes burst open. “Martin disappeared as well. He went back to where he came from.”

  “Back to his own time.” Hamil had adopted a wicked sneer. “Three appears to move a person from times that have not come to times that have. If Martin is to be believed, of course.”

  “So you're saying this girl is from our future?” asked Brea, taking her own interest in the conversation.

  Avery bobbed his head in agreement. “Martin came to us and then vanished when his message was delivered. Though to be honest, he seemed to be fighting it. I don't think he wanted to go back. He wanted to tell me more.”

  “I don't think that the girl wanted to be here,” suggested Brea.

  “So she went back on her own,” said the would-be-God.

  “Unless this was her time, and she escaped into the past,” suggested the woman.

  Avery considered that for a moment before responding. “I don't think so. It's possible, yes. But she came here looking for the Old Gods. She knew to come here. And if she was coming from the past, how could she have known about this?”

  “Tha's assumin',” put in Bracken, “tha' she was here wit' the sword's magic, an' no' on her own.”

  Avery snapped his fingers. “Three hasn't woken up yet.”

  Bracken's face tightened. “Wha' do ya mean by tha'?”

&n
bsp; “I mean,” explained the tall man, “that I know when the third sword is supposed to wake up. The Nine told me when all the swords would. Nothing exact or precise, but close enough. That's why I came here when I did - to get the Godslayer's...” The man broke off, looking to Brea. “I mean, Master Goodsmith's... help. To find it when it did.”

  “So you're saying...” Brea paused, visibly working out the problem in her mind. “You're saying the sword could only have come from some time that has not yet passed, because it hasn't been found yet in the normal sense of time?”

  “Precisely.” Avery beamed with his accomplishment. “So all we need to do is wait for her to appear in her own time. She will have to appear here, where she vanished. And once she does, we can take the sword from her.”

  “That's assuming she is from the future and you're right about the third sword not being awake yet,” rebuffed Brea. The woman pinched her brow. “All this talk about now and not-now is making my head hurt.”

  “Nate sai' tha' the swor' was in'n out o' his... wha'ever he has wit' the swords.” Bracken interrupted. The dwarf had hefted his axe over his shoulder now, creating an even more imposing visage than before. “He sai' 'e had'n' felt i' wake, only tha' i' was abou', then i' would go 'way.”

  “The Godslayer could find the swords then?” Avery caught himself on the use of the name, but decided not to amend it this time. “I thought he must have a way of finding them.”

  “Nathan could...” Brea's voice choked for a moment, and her hand darted over her mouth. In a moment, she pushed down her emotion and continued. “He could feel the swords when they woke up, something like living through it himself.”

  Bracken gave an evil glower to Brea, but she turned her head away. “He's dead, Bracken. There's no point in keeping this a secret now. The Old Gods will have a new Avatar soon enough, and we'll need to know how he finds the swords if we're going to be involved.”

  “A new what?” Hamil's outburst was felt as much as heard, once more drawing Avery's mind to the mystery of exactly who or what his scribe truly was under his disguise. But it was not Avery alone who noticed the slip.

  “Who are you?” demanded Brea, her stance becoming rigid in a moment. “You're not really just a scribe, are you?”

  Hamil's eyes darted to Avery for a moment, as if the self-proclaimed God could provide him some relief. Then, as if his will were broken, his face broke in a snarl and his form shifted. No more was there a smallish man standing before the group - now there stood a being that none could mistake. They were in the presence of a true God.

  “I am Ankor, God of Mischief,” said the newly-exposed God, a look of disdain upon his face.

  Avery leaped back, his sword drawn in a moment. “You're a God?!”

  “Damnable rules,” spat Ankor. In a moment however his features changed, his hands going up in a pleading manner before him. “Please, I mean no harm. Not to you.” Ankor swung his left arm out to the others. “To any of you.”

  Avery could feel One ebbing in his hands, the power of the sword compelling him to strike. Before, he might have succumbed, but the man had gained a new level of authority over his sword now that permitted him to resist the sword's commands.

  “How long--” The would-be-God stopped himself, shaking his head in self-rebuke. “Stupid question. You've always been Ankor, haven't you?”

  “I have,” admitted the God, surprising all by taking a knee in front of the man to whom he had pretended to serve. “But I have helped you. Always helped you. You know this.”

  It was genuinely something Avery could not deny. “But why?” The man's eyes darted to his sword. “I carry a sword designed to kill you and your kind. Why would you help me?”

  “Because you do have such a sword,” responded the kneeling God. “Because you can kill Gods.”

  “That makes no sense,” said the man.

  “Actually,” inserted Brea, “it does make an odd sort of sense.”

  Avery turned to the former priestess. “How do you reason that?”

  Brea walked straight up to the God and stood between him and Avery. “Ankor is also known by another name. The Prankster. But not because he plays games with mortals - though many a legend tells of times that he has. Because of the tricks he plays on the other Gods. I cannot believe that centuries upon centuries of these kinds of antics has made Ankor very popular with his fellow Gods.”

  Ankor nodded fervently. “True. Very true. They don't like me, at all.”

  “So what better way to get back at the other Gods than to play the biggest possible prank of all - to help kill the other Gods. After all, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?”

  Ankor's face twisted in a smirk of satisfaction. “A woman after my own heart! Ah, if only you weren't mortal, we could be doing things right now that--”

  “So wha'?” interjected Bracken. “'E goes 'bout helpin' Avery think 'e's some God 'imself, so's 'e ken help ge' rid o' the others?”

  “Something like that,” agreed Brea. “It's why only the New Order Gods have fallen so far. He wants to get back at the Gods who haven't much appreciated him.” The former priestess' eyebrows rose. “Am I wrong?”

  “Not in the slightest,” agreed Ankor.

  “Except,” put in Avery, “you have been telling me that I'm a God. How does that fit into your plan? Were you planning to kill me then?”

  “Actually,” said the exposed God, “you came up with that on your own. I was just going along with it. I am the Prankster, after all. What better prank than to keep everyone thinking you're a God, so the real Gods would have to put up with someone taking away their faithful?

  “But,” said Ankor, raising a finger, “you're not entirely wrong, either.”

  “What does that mean?” demanded Avery.

  “It means,” said the God, “that you're not entirely mortal anymore.”

  “What does that mean,” echoed Avery.

  “It means,” said Brea, her eyes going wide as she turned to look at Avery, “that you're not a God. But you're... not not a God, either. You... We... You and I. We've been changed. I don't know how I could not have seen this sooner.”

  “Seen what?” demanded Avery.

  Brea held up her hand, lowering her head as she visibly considered what to say next. “When Imery died, there was this... light. Solid light. It just... fell. When Imery died.”

  “You were there?” asked Ankor, his eyes betraying his excitement at the prospect.

  Brea nodded. “Nathan stabbed her from behind. With one of his swords. She just... dissolved, broke into hundreds of pieces of light. And where they fell, I tried to grab them before they disappeared.”

  “But you couldn't hold them,” offered Ankor, his body just short of shaking with anticipation over the coming revelation.

  “No,” confirmed the woman. “They fell through my hands, through my lap, and disappeared into the ground.”

  “But it didn't all go,” the God supplied. “A mortal who touches the divine can absorb the divine into their own bodies. It is why we have our priests use arcanic runes to cast their magic - it keeps them from directly absorbing all the power they use for their spells.”

  “Only some still stays behind in their bodies,” offered Avery, a sudden awareness coming over him. “When I killed that priest of Galentine, in Scollhaven. When I killed him, I felt...”

  Ankor leered. “Yes. You felt the old man's bond to the divine, and you drew power from it. And then, when you killed my brother God, you drew even more.”

  Avery looked to his hand, the one so recently restored. “So this--”

  “That was something else,” confessed Ankor. “Your body was destroyed by the fishmonger. When you were reformed, your hand came with it. But,” Ankor once again held up his finger to emphasize his point, “it was how you kept yourself from bleeding to death when the Godslayer took the hand. I told you then, do you remember? I told you I could not heal you because you had taken in too much divine energy for me to d
o so.”

  Avery's mind returned to that night, to the wild flight through the forest, clinging to the severed end of his arm. He had collapsed and a voice had come to him, telling him...

  “You did tell all of this to me before,” gasped the man. “But when I saw you as Hamil, you denied doing so.”

  Ankor bowed his head. “To keep up the illusion that I was not a God myself, I needed you to believe that it was not a simple scribe who could tell you how to use your magic.”

  Events of the last several months began to fall in place more and more. All that had happened - so much of it made sense now. All except for...

  “If what you're saying is all true,” asked Avery, “then I still see no purpose in the illusion. Why pretend to be my servant at all? Why not simply come to me and offer your help?”

  Ankor's head rose, a dark look of glee in his eyes. “Because it is my nature. You know this. I exist to inspire mischief, and that by its very nature requires me to manipulate others.”

  “So why reveal yourself now?” asked the man.

  Ankor threw his head in Brea's direction. “First rule of divinity: A deity must always name him or herself when asked.”

  Brea laughed. “And I asked who you were.”

  Ankor shrugged. “You trapped me. I could not escape the direct question.”

  The priestess stopped suddenly, her eyes going wide in surprise. “Third rule...”

  Ankor sighed. “Yes.”

  “Third rule?” asked Avery.

  “A God is always bound by his or her word,” supplied Ankor grudgingly. “I swore to serve you, Avery. As a scribe, true, but as a scribe to a God. It is why I could do nothing, even once I realized the truth of what you were becoming.”