The Warriors of the Gods

by Jacob Peppers

  ***

  He breathed a heavy sigh of relief as he exited the Hale manse and stepped into the open air again. The street was filled with carriages on either side where the guests’ groomsmen waited, laughing and talking among themselves. Several of them glanced at Odrick as he emerged, taking in the fine clothes he wore, and though their expressions were friendly, even subservient as they bowed their heads to him, he could see the judgement in their eyes.

  Just another rich noble, they thought, with no idea at all how the world really works.

  They were wrong—as far as Odrick was concerned, he knew far too much of how the world really worked and was learning more every second—but he had grown used to such looks since his father’s shop had become the talk of all the noblemen in Valeria, and he shrugged them off easily enough, starting down the street.

  His mind ran back over the conversation he’d had with Lord Hale and Armiel and Bastion. He didn’t like the way Lord Hale had spoken, something not so much about his actual words but about some meaning buried in them, and Odrick got the distinct impression the man knew more than he let on about Tesharna and what had happened in Ilrika. Maybe even about Rion and Odrick’s role in his parents’ escape. It was not a welcoming thought, not at all, and once he’d had it, he was unable to fight the urge to look back behind him any longer.

  He glanced over his shoulder, and was only half-surprised to see one of Lord Hale’s burly bodyguards emerging from the ballroom, looking around the street as if searching for something—or someone—until his eyes finally settled on Odrick.

  The big man started toward Odrick. Not running, not exactly, but not taking his time either. Odrick somehow doubted the man wanted to have a friendly chat. He was fairly sure the man knew little, if anything at all, about friendly chats, suspected people usually left his “chats” unconscious. It was possible, he supposed, that there was nothing sinister behind the man’s approach, but Odrick remembered the way Lord Hale had watched him, even while he’d been walking away.

  He hesitated for a moment, then decided if the bodyguard wanted to talk to him, he could send him a letter or, better yet, not. He turned and started down the street, not running himself—not quite—but walking quickly. The streets were surprisingly deserted considering it was early morning, but he supposed that was due, in large part, to Lord Hale’s party. The nobles and wealthy merchants who would have normally crowded the lanes were busy drinking and trying their best to impress their fellows in Lord Hale’s home.

  Normally, Odrick hated crowds; they made him feel out of place and clumsy. The fact that he was nearly a head or more taller than the average person, as well as considerably wider at the shoulders, didn’t help. In truth, it made it worse. Not only was he out of place among such crowds, but he seemed some giant buffoon, unable to blend in no matter how hard he tried. He hated that sense of being closed in, surrounded—hated, too, the inevitable looks and smirks he got, but he would have given a small fortune for a crowd just then. It wasn’t easy for a man of his size to hide in a crowd, but it would have been nice to have any opportunity to rid himself of the heavy weight of the bodyguard’s stare on his back.

  I could go for a guard, could call for help. The thought popped into his mind in an instant, and he dismissed it just as quickly. Any city guard who might have come to help in this area of the city would recognize the colors the bodyguard wore as Lord Hale’s, and more likely than not, Odrick would be thrown in the dungeons as a matter of course. Besides, the guard who he hailed for assistance probably wouldn’t be one of the men Tesharna tasked with the special duty of interrogating Rion’s associates, but then, he might be. No, it was a risk Odrick couldn’t take, not when the answers they would pull from him with their sharp instruments and deadly threats would be used to harm Rion’s parents.

  He cut down a nearby alley, heading for the poor quarter—it was the place where he felt the most comfortable, the most at home, despite his father’s success. He believed if he could make it there he would be able to lose his pursuer in the twisting alleys and winding backstreets. One of the benefits of regularly delivering the goods his father’s patrons ordered was that Odrick knew the city and its streets better than nearly everyone, particularly those streets of the poor quarter which he had traveled since he was a child. If he made it there, there was no chance the man would be able to keep up.

  As he strode down the alley, Odrick pulled up a map of the city in his head. He glanced behind him and saw the man hadn’t yet made it to the alleyway. A good thing. He quickened his pace, breaking into a run and feeling all the more like a fugitive as he thought over his fastest course.

  This alley would take him to Merchant Street, and a left there would lead to another sidestreet which would bring him to Tesharn Lane, a road named after the Chosen herself and one that set on the boundary between what was considered the rich—and safe—quarter of the city and the poor quarter.

  He reached the end of the alleyway and stepped onto Merchant Street. Here, either side of the lane was crowded with merchants selling all manner of wares. As every other time when Odrick had traveled Merchant Street, it was packed with Valeria’s citizens, men and women—and more than a few kids—browsing the merchants’ wares. Husbands haggled with shop owners over items ranging from new tools for their trade such as saddles, to wax for candles, or new jerkins and trousers. Wives looked at new dresses or fabrics to make their own, and children ran among the bustle, begging their parents for sweet treats or for one of the trinkets and toys available at several of the stalls.

  At the sight of so many people, Odrick’s breath quickened in his chest, as it always did, but he reminded himself people were a good thing. People meant witnesses, and witnesses meant it was less likely he’d be murdered. At least, he hoped so. He moved down the street, feeling awkward and clumsy again as he did his best not to bump into those he passed, yet still managed to send a few stumbling in his wake, their answering scowls and curses adding to his anxiety.

  After he’d made his way into the crowds, he paused, glancing behind him. One advantage of being considerably taller than those around him—some might say, some had said freakishly so—was that the press of bodies did nothing to obscure his sight lines. So it was easy enough for him to see his pursuer step out into the street and look around. It didn’t take him long to spot Odrick. A moment later, the man was walking toward him, knocking people out of the way, his eyes never leaving Odrick.

  The blacksmith swallowed hard, glancing around to get his bearings. Then, satisfied he knew where he was and where he was going, he began pushing his way through the press once more, ignoring the calls of the merchants he passed. Dead men, after all, had little use for perfumes or new pairs of boots. Soon, he made it to the sidestreet he’d been looking for and glanced back to see that the bodyguard—apparently completely willing to use violence to move the press of people along—had gained on him, leaving a trail of men and women who he’d knocked down behind him.

  Odrick swallowed hard then headed down the alley, hurrying again but not running, for several people lingered in the sidestreet. A husband and wife or, perhaps, the man’s lover, walked hand in hand, exchanging whispers. Two kids dressed in dirty linen shirts and trousers—what practically served as the uniform of the city’s poor—sat huddled together on one side of the alleyway, playing with small, well-used wooden carvings.

  Odrick tossed the children a coin as he passed, waving away their thanks as he hurried on, intending to put as much distance between him and them as he could, so they wouldn’t become collateral damage in case anything should happen. He was nearly at the end of the alley when he glanced back to see that the bodyguard had just stepped into the opposite side.

  Bastard’s quick, Odrick thought. He turned back and his breath caught in his throat as he was forced to remember an important detail. Lord Hale had been accompanied by two bodyguards, not one. One stood behind him, had been pursuing him since he left the noble’s residence. But the other
, equally big and equally menacing, stood at the other end of the alley now, a club in his hand. And even that wasn’t the worst of it because. Odrick saw why the second bodyguard hadn’t been with his companion following Odrick down the street. Apparently, he had gone to get help, and judging by the uniforms of the two men—both with drawn swords—standing on either side of him, the “help” they had chosen was Tesharna’s own men.

  It didn’t take Odrick long to realize these were the men Armiel had warned him about. Not normal city guardsmen, not these. Hard men who looked meaner and more purposeful than their city guard counterparts.

  Now that what he feared had come to pass, Odrick realized he was no longer afraid, at least not for himself. Whatever would happen would happen, and he would do his best. No more uncertainty, no more concerns. It was him and the four men, a puzzle that, unfortunately, probably solved itself. But he promised himself he wouldn’t make it easy on them, would make sure that, whatever happened, none of them was going to have a good day. And when they took him to wherever they intended, when they asked their questions and asked them hard…well, he would do his best then too. He would be a man, as his father had taught him. For as long as he could.

  He balled his hands into fists at his side. “Come on then.”

  The four men obliged readily enough, stalking toward him down the alley. Odrick was just about to rush the lone man, thinking if he could somehow get his weapon from him, the stout length of wood would at least give him a better chance against the others. But then he heard a quiet, scared whimper, and turned to see the two children a little way down the alley. In the stress of the situation, he had forgotten they were there at all. The youths had given up whatever game they’d been playing and were both now huddled together, doing their best to disappear into the stone wall. But they couldn’t, of course. There was nowhere for them to go, and nothing Odrick could do to protect them. He only had to hope the men would care nothing for the children, but he suspected men like this, men who would accost another in broad daylight, probably didn’t leave witnesses.

  Just do what you can, he told himself. That’s all you can do. With a growl, he turned and rushed the lone bodyguard. When he drew within range of the man, he swung, his fist powered by his not inconsiderable strength and size. The blow, with his full force behind it, would have been enough, he was sure, to knock the man out—no amount of training strengthened a man’s face and jaw. The problem, of course, was that the strike never landed.

  Whatever else he was, the bodyguard was clearly better trained in fighting than Odrick, a fact painfully apparent when he easily ducked under Odrick’s wild swing, grinning maliciously as he did. A man doing what he’d been made to do, that was all, and pleased to be doing it. Instead of making use of the club he held, the man struck with his other hand, and his fist caught Odrick in the stomach. A hit powerful enough to knock the wind from most. But while he had forged weapons in his father’s workshop, Odrick had also been forging himself, cutting away the excess dross and fat, replacing it with hard, unyielding muscle. So then, the air was not knocked from him by the blow. Instead, he grunted, staggering back.

  There was a brief flash of what might have been surprise across the bodyguard’s features that Odrick hadn’t gone down, then he struck again, still disdaining to use his weapon. His fist lashed out with shocking speed, again and again. Under the barrage, Odrick staggered, backpedaling until he struck the wall. Fool, he thought, why in the name of the gods did you think this would go any other way? Never mind the other four, this one is more than enough.

  Another blow struck his stomach in the same spot as before, and he grunted. He didn’t double over, not quite, but he bent at the impact, enough to add extra force to the bodyguard’s uppercut as it took him in the chin. Odrick’s head rebounded off the wall, and the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. Through his blurry vision, Odrick saw the bodyguard raise the truncheon, and he threw his hand out desperately, managing—more by luck than design—to catch the man’s wrist.

  Growling, the man tried to force the truncheon down, his grin faltering with the effort. But for all his greater skill, the bodyguard could not break free of Odrick’s grip. Here, finally, Odrick was able to bring his greater strength to bear, and he gave the man a bloody grin. “My turn.”

  There was time enough to see the bodyguard’s eyes open in surprise, then Odrick grabbed him by the front of his jerkin, lifting him off the ground. The man kicked, trying to break free, but Odrick hurt all over now, and he barely felt the added blows. With a growl, he pivoted and hurled the man through the air. The bodyguard sailed into the opposite wall of the alleyway, crashing against it and collapsing to the ground. He lay there, unmoving, as Odrick bent and retrieved the truncheon from where it had fallen. Then, he gave his head a shake in a failed attempt to clear it before turning to the others.

  “Look, big fella,” one of the guards said, “we don’t want to hurt you, alright? Just got some questions for you is all.”

  Odrick hefted the truncheon. “Ask your questions. I’ve got your answer right here.”

  The man scowled, looking at the remaining bodyguard. “Take him down but be quick about it. We don’t want to be out here any longer than necessary.”

  The bodyguard grinned, craning his neck until it popped. “Happy to.”

  The man came forward, brandishing his own truncheon, and Odrick watched him, feeling a growing sense of despair. The man moved smoothly, and Odrick suspected that this one, like the other, would far outclass him in skill. Lord Hale, it seemed, had not been lax in hiring his bodyguards.

  Odrick staggered then, falling into the wall and catching himself with his free hand. The bodyguard laughed as he righted himself. “Poor big bastard. You can barely stand. Well,” he said, shrugging, “there’s no help for it.” He rushed toward Odrick, and although the blacksmith had been waiting on him to do just that, the man was so fast he still almost missed his swing as he rose to his full height, abandoning the broken, weary stance he’d given to fool the man.

  But he didn’t miss, not completely. Instead of striking the man in the face, as he’d intended, his heavy, wide swing hit the man in his arm. Something cracked, and the bodyguard screamed, stumbling away. Odrick took a second to glance at his truncheon. Still intact, with no noticeable dent or crack. Not what had broken then, and another look at the reeling bodyguard and the arm, now hanging at an unnatural angle, confirmed it.

  The bodyguard howled in pain, and Odrick started toward him. “Seems you’ve broken your arm. Well,” he said, baring his teeth, “no help for it.”

  The man backed away desperately, and his path took him into the two youths who seemed to be frozen with fear. He grunted as he hit one, and Odrick saw the thought come into the man’s head. Before he could shout a warning, the bodyguard reached down and snatched one of the boys, wrapping his arm around the shouting child’s throat. “S…saw the way you, looked at them,” he said, spreading his mouth in a grin that looked equal parts grimace. “Well, I’ll tell you this blacksmith, you come one step closer, I’ll snap this little bastards neck. Do you believe that?”

  Odrick did believe it, so despite the anger rushing through him at the naked terror on the kid’s pale face, he stopped. “Let the boy go—he’s got nothing to do with this.”

  “Well,” the man hissed, “that’s up to you, ain’t it? Now, why don’t you drop that stick.”

  Odrick did. There was nothing else to do.

  “Good, that’s good.” He turned to Tesharna’s men. “Alright, he’s yours. And about the coin I was promised—”

  “You’ll have it,” one said, stepping forward. “Chosen Tesharna always pays her debts.” Odrick had known, in some way, that Tesharna had to be behind what had been going on in the city. According to Rion, she was actually in league with the Darkness. But knowing a thing and knowing it, actually hearing it from one of her own men was a different matter, and he felt a thrill of fear run up his spine.

  He w
ondered what had happened to those who had disappeared, the ones Armiel and Bastion had spoken of. Had they been caught in some other alley by men like this? Had they been asked the same questions the men would ask him? He thought maybe they had, but either way, he would find out soon enough. He turned back to look at the boy in the bodyguard’s grip, his lip trembling, wanting to cry but wanting not to as well. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, though whether the words were for himself or for the youth, he couldn’t have said for sure, and it didn’t matter much in any case. After all, it was clear neither of them believed it.

  What strength he had seemed to leave him then, and the blows he’d taken from the first bodyguard made themselves known, and he did not feign it, this time, when he staggered, nearly falling.

  “That’s alright, big fella,” one of Tesharna’s men said, almost crooned, “that’s alright now. We’ve just got a few questions for you, that’s all. Then we’ll get you to a healer and they’ll set you up fine, how’s that sound?”

  It sounded like a lie, more than any Odrick had ever heard before, but there was no point in saying it. And, the truth was, he wasn’t sure he could have, even had he wanted to. His vision was swimming, the men little more than shifting blurs as they moved toward him. The hit he’d taken to the head must have been worse than he’d realized. The world around him suddenly shifted, and the next thing he knew, he had fallen to his hands and knees.