Reign of Gods (Sorcery and Sin Book 2)
Page 38
Gods—or whatever they were—had proven in the end they could not be trusted. Sometimes you’re only allowed to make a single mistake in life. Gynoth had made two, and they both had involved trust.
If he ever got out of there, which he doubted would come to pass, he would never trust again. He’d learn this time.
SARPELLA BANKED HARD to the right, then tucked her wings and swooped down. She came in fast and hard, her talons raking across the harshness of stone. The landing was unsteady and ungraceful, but it hadn’t sent Oriana lurching off into a jut of rock and for that she was thankful.
From behind came Grish, barreling across the tops of the Crags like a horizontal bolt of green lightning. He beat his wings and arced back around, this time descending in a controlled and lethargic fashion.
Rol had left Grish at Oriana’s estate, and he’d mounted the dragon during a quick swap at the estate when they’d fled Haeglin. He’d also taken Craw with him.
Oriana rubbed her eyes. Though it was midday and the sun a furnace cooking her from the inside out, she could have slept for twenty hours. Maybe more. The flight to the Crags had taken a day and a half, and she had been awake for most of it. She had hoped to see colossi, but only the stillness of forests and mountains greeted her.
She and Horace clambered down from Sarpella. Rol untied the rope leashing a coiled and bound Craw to his waist and climbed down.
“Give me a hand,” Rol said.
Horace stepped onto Grish’s stirrup. With Rol on the opposite side, the men managed to heft Craw off the saddle and onto the jagged spine of the mountain.
“Cut him free,” Oriana said.
Rol sliced away the rope, unraveling it from around Craw. The old man lay there, motionless except for the slight heaving of his chest.
Oriana stood over him, a purposefully placed foot between his legs. “Where are the mutations, Craw?”
Craw coughed. His head listed and his mouth fell open. “Gone,” he said, the mere pronunciation of the word a seemingly monumental struggle.
Oriana punched her foot into his crotch. He writhed, grabbing at himself. “Wrong answer.”
Rocking himself to ease the pain, Craw coughed raspily. “I’m bloody thirsty!”
“No shit,” Rol said. “We all are.”
Oriana had given up on trying to swallow; her throat was too dry. They’d need to find water soon. Food too. They weren’t far from Torbinen, so starvation and dehydration weren’t high on her list of worries. Even if colossi had flattened the city, wine and waterskins likely remained behind, and there were springs nearby. Also, she doubted the giants had ransacked the food storages.
“Why were you trying to escape?” Oriana asked.
“Listen,” Craw said, sitting up. He grimaced. “What you saw—”
Oriana kneed him in the jaw, and back down he went. “If you try your mind sorcery on me once more, I will take off a finger and a toe. You might have managed to sneak your invasive tendrils inside Catali’s mind, but I’ve had my suspicions you were a mindful sorcerer. You never mentioned your discipline, and it’s always the mindful ones who do that.”
Craw plugged his mouth with a few fingers, inspecting them for blood. There was plenty. He sat up once more. “Are you going to kill me?”
Oriana folded her arms across her chest. “Yes. I’ll make it quick if you cooperate. Otherwise, I’ll let my dragons pick you clean of flesh and meat.”
Craw coughed a weak laugh. He smoothed out the silver hairs along his temples. “All right, listen here. I’ll tell you what you want to know. In exchange, you’ll”—he ran a thumb across his neck—“make it quick. Sound like a dandy of a plan?”
“You’ll forgive me for being suspicious,” Oriana said.
“And me,” Horace added. “Rarely do prisoners wish to inform on their friends.”
“I don’t care,” Craw said with a bloody smile. “Because there’s nothin’—not even a smidgen, see—that you can do to change the way the wind’s blown. I did take the mind of that Cat lady, by the by. And that dragon over there, he helped speed things up. But I was comin’ regardless. Like a gale wind, I was.”
Oriana exchanged glances with Horace. “It’d been planned all along? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Oh, sure,” Craw said, snorting. “See here, the clutches were supposed to have done this part for us.”
“What part?” Rol asked.
“The killing of every last lesser man on Avestas part,” Craw clarified.
Rol shook his head. “Lesser man?”
Craw pointed at him and Horace. “Like you two. Non-sorcerers. ’Course, the clutches bungled that all up. So we had to get our hands dirty. Conclave set up loci across Avestas, in all the capital kingdoms. The Children—”
Oriana cocked her head. “Children?”
“That’s what I said, yes. The Children thought to step out of the loci and… well, kill you all in a massive display of godly power. But see here, yours truly is a smart boy.” Craw tapped his head and grinned, his teeth tinged with blood. “I said why not save the infrastructure and simply kill the people?”
“With mutations,” Rol said.
Craw wagged a finger. “There you go. Terrible mutations, mm-hmm. Not the kind that’ll bless you with power from an elemental realm, but mutations that’ll scorch your innards and melt your flesh. Soon as I got to Haeglin—well, after I talked to you and told you all about how mutations were going to save your world—I met a Child there.
“We agreed to put our lovely plan into action. It was a bit earlier than we’d expected, sure, and we didn’t have Lusilia’s exact permission to begin… but I do think she’ll be very happy.” He winked and added, “Hells, if I’d have mounted myself a horse and loped away from Haeglin, I might’ve been her favorite descendant. She might’ve just made me a Child. A god.”
Rol threw his hands up. “What in the hells is—”
Oriana stopped him. “You know the colossi and demons will put an end to your plan, as you call it.”
Craw laughed. “They did skedaddle across the seas a wee bit earlier than we pegged them for. But giants and demons? Naw. You ever see a god? Nothin’ can stop a god, missy. Well, another god, perhaps. But the ones who’d stop us are all… how should I say this? They’re not dead, no, but… they won’t be crawling out of their dark, dank caves anytime soon, I shouldn’t think.”
A screech made Oriana jump. It came from Sarpella, who’d stood up on her hind legs and beat her wings.
“What’s with her?” Rol asked.
Grish shook his massive head and roared. He lunged forward, taking to the air, and Sarpella chased after him.
From the swirling tufts of thin clouds lolling along in the distance came a wink of silver. And then a glimmer of red, and sheen of green. A prismatic display of brilliant scales melding into one colorful rainbow plunged from the clouds, screeching and shrieking.
Oriana counted twelve all together, including Sarpella and Grish. It seemed, despite the long odds, that her dragons were all safe and sound.
Oriana elbowed Rol and said, “Help me pull him to the ledge.”
Craw furrowed his brows. “What?”
“I imagine my dragons are hungry,” Oriana said. She and Rol grabbed one arm each and dragged Craw to the edge of the mountain.
“Is that how it is?” Craw spat. “A promise is nothing, then?”
Oriana shrugged. “I suppose so.”
As twelve dragons soared overhead, Oriana and Rol tossed Craw off the Crags.
Sarpella got to him first, picking him up by the arm and swinging him high into the sky. He plummeted only a few feet before another dragon chewed into his foot and hurled him toward the ocean. And on it went, his limbs picked apart until none were left. They feasted on his shoulders, then, and moved onto his hips and ribs.
Oriana rubbed her lips. She faced Horace and Rol, an unexpected gush of hopefulness budding within her. She had little reason to be hopeful, less than she’d ever had before
. She didn’t search for explanations as to why. Didn’t question it. Didn’t turn inward and call herself silly and stupid for being optimistic in such a hopeless time.
She simply went with it. Enjoyed it.
“Cat once told me,” she began, “about a land she’d heard of from the Conclave. I think she called it the Ancient Lands. I don’t know if it exists. But if it does, maybe we can find help there. Maybe those so-called gods and the caves they dwell in”—she shrugged—“maybe we’ll find them. What do we have to lose?”
Rol cleared his throat. “Our lives,” he said bluntly.
She turned, facing her dragons, who had completely devoured Craw. They were playing with one another out at sea. “I think if we stay here, we’re going to lose those anyway.”
Horace sidled up to the mountain ledge, beside Oriana. “For the first time in my life, I have been outmaneuvered and without a plan to regain my footing. I do not share your optimism, I’m afraid.”
“I am Oriana of Liosis, Horace Dewn.”
“And?”
She creased her eyes. “The world will know my name.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Justin DePaoli called Pittsburgh home for twenty-one years, but now lives in Kentucky with his fiancee, daughter, stilt-legged German shepherd, two cats, and a company of fish.
Beginning his career as a freelance writer, he now writes fiction full-time.
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Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Map
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
A Free Book and a Cheap One
About the Author