Wrath of the Risen God: Arcane Renaissance Book Three

by Tim Paulson

  Copyright © 2020 Tim Paulson. All rights reserved.

  Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission excepting brief quotations for use in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design and internal illustrations by Mark Smith Illustration

  First Edition: August 2020

  Ikkibu publishing

  Acknowledgments

  You didn't believe I could write a third book, did you? Neither did I. Well thank you for not believing in me. I appreciate it.

  Additional thanks to the following invaluable people, creatures, artificial beings and human like entities:

  Uncle Dogster

  Betsy

  Molly

  Darth Vader

  Little Mary Sunshine

  Spiders

  Be sure to stop by http://paulsonwriter.com where you can sign up to my mailing list and get a free Arcane Renaissance novella: Pyres of the Sixth Ward which takes place fifty years prior the events of Path of Ruin. An auspicious time to be sure.

  You'll also be kept up to date with any new books or free giveaways I'm doing. Like signed copies of books, contests, etc.

  Thanks and happy reading!

  -Tim

  Table of Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  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

  End

  Chapter 1

  "That's the second seasick lout this morning. Martijn said he saw stars brighter below than above last night, that's a sign of the curse!"

  -Mate Louwrens Raadsveld of the PRS Eendracht, 1616

  Rosa pulled the wool cloak tighter around her neck, trying to keep out the wind. Though even that wouldn't stop the endless cascade of snowflakes, little blades of ice that pricked her nose and cheeks. The scarf would have been useful but she'd left it hanging on a wooden peg to the right of her cabin's door. She hadn't thought it necessary. Faustland wasn't supposed to be this cold, not so early in the winter.

  Two gray-headed gulls, floating overhead, bleated warnings as the last mountain of moving stone stomped past her position at the top of the high dock. The flat green flag that hung from the goliath's right shoulder marked it as Marvin's. He was meant to be the last of the formation but Rosa checked again, just in case. She scanned the row of bulk landing barges looking for movement but there was none, not even farther down the docks. It seemed the other companies had finished offloading as well.

  "Is that the last of them?" Angus asked her, sauntering forward, one hand perched upon the butt of the thick highland pistol at his waist. The heat of his breath puffed like a pipe in the cold.

  "Yes," she replied. "The snow didn't slow us after all." Rosa held up a gloved hand, watching the blowing flakes as they swam by. "I think it's lessening."

  The big man shook his head, dislodging several clumps of snowflakes from his thick brown beard. "No lass. You can't judge by the snow itself. You see the clouds?" He pointed above.

  To her eyes, the clouds were just as they'd been all day, a formless gray blanket. She looked back to Angus, saying nothing. She knew him well enough to wait. The big man didn't start a thought without finishing it, for better or worse.

  Angus winked at her. "Just like the curves of a proper woman, it's the shape of them that matters, the angling. I assure you. Even if it snows less now and the wind lets up, it'll get darker yet. Trust me."

  Rosa laughed. "If you say so, old man."

  "I do," he replied solemnly. "Now let's get to the front of the formation. I hear Mr. Buckley's about to speak."

  "It seems so," Rosa said, trying to sound calm and collected though in truth, this whole operation worried her.

  Never had any one country hired every available mercenary company, and each in their entirety. The Hard Horses were here, Martell's Marauders, The Silver Cup Legion, The Gingham Company, The Ten Horns, The Cruciform Spears, and many more, all composed primarily of goliaths. Of course that included her own employer, The Redshanks whose goliaths now stood arrayed in parade formation at the end of a snowy field just two streets over from Hemmersten's high docks.

  "There they are, my lovely stone beauties," Angus said with a smile as they approached the motley group ahead. It was composed of the commanders of the mercenaries, each sporting their own quasi-military insignia, self-awarded of course. Many heads turned as Angus approached, but no one smiled.

  "Is this sorry display your doing?" asked a short man with a sour expression. He wore an extravagant military coat covered in pearl buttons and a tall wide-brimmed hat sporting five dyed feathers.

  "Of course it is!" added a burly woman with thick red hair, her arms crossed. "Old Angus only waited to unload so he could have his at the end of the field."

  Angus bowed his head a tad, giving the others half the respect they deserved, and a quarter of what they expected. "You know me, ever the showman," he replied.

  Rosa stood to his right, under her cloak her right hand touched the edge of the pistol at her waist. She thought it prudent. The Redshanks had fought most of those present, besting several of them.

  "If that kilt comes up I'll put a pistol ball in the first thing I see," the large woman replied. As if to emphasize her statement, she spat a wad of black liquid, staining the snow.

  A tall man with thick black eyebrows and bald head stepped forward. He had a hooked nose like the beak of a falcon and when he spoke, his voice echoed. "Relax, all of you. It's my understanding we're here to work together, not bicker." This was Count Verrun Rickman, owner of the Cruciform Spears, an extremely well-regarded light goliath company comprised primarily of faster goliaths. His eyes lingered on Rosa. "You can release your grip on your weapon girl."

  Rosa sighed, sliding her hands from her cloak.

  "Bah! If I can't wave my kilt in front of the rest of them... why come at all?" Angus replied, grinning. "Why just look at those new goliaths I've got! Heaviest armor yet! That's how we do it in the highlands. We're big where it counts!"

  The red-headed woman rolled her eyes. "Someone shut him up before I put a boot in his face!" she snapped. As she turned Rosa saw the insignia on her shoulder. A single golden bell on a field of red and white stripes.

  “You're Simone Bell,” Rosa blurted.

  The woman nodded. “So you've heard of me then.”

  Rosa's eyes widened. “Of course I have. Your maneuver during the battle of Ketubal was incredible... We studied it at the academy in Calinova. It was-”

  Simone put her hands on her hips, threw her head back, and laughed.

  Rosa was stunned into silence.

  “I like this girl Angus. You should keep more like her.”

  Angus glared at her. “Now don't be talking up my competitors! I'm the one pays your salary.”

  Count Rickman held up his hand. “We're all talented here. That's the point I think. Do any of you k
now why we've been summoned?”

  “I came for the money,” said the short man. If the colors of his extravagant clothing matched his unit, he was Dale Gingham of the Gingham Company. “Running a unit with goliaths isn't cheap, the Veil Company makes sure of that. It'll be nice to get some of my money back for a change.”

  “Hear hear!” Angus replied. “Bloody bastards charge an arm and a leg for that powder. I pray every night someone else will figure out how to make it. Even if it's the damned Ardish.”

  “I heard a Fenasian was close to discovering it but they had her killed,” Simone said, an eyebrow raised.

  Angus shook his head. “Bloody idiocy. The Fenasian king might be a bit of a twat, but he'd never let that happen.”

  “Mmm...” Dale said, nodding. The feathers on his hat shook together like the dancers of a burlesque. “In the tale that met my ears, it was the Tian church that took care of her.”

  Count Rickman shook his head. “Aren't you a Cavlinist Dale? Of course, you'd say something like that.”

  Dale's eyes narrowed. “Verrun, you know well the list of reasons to distrust the Tian church and her pope is as long... or you're a fool.”

  “Is it as long as those feathers?” Simone asked, the corner of her mouth pulling into a half-grin.

  Dale reddened.

  Angus laughed in spite of himself.

  “Everyone! This way! Please join Mr. Buckley on the platform provided, thank you!” A voice called from behind them. It was a man with a long goatee, wearing the burgundy of the Veil Company.

  Angus leaned over to her. “Everything on the up and up?”

  It was Rosa's job as Angus's strategist, to assess the situation and advise him appropriately. Chester Buckley was indeed already standing in the center of the platform ahead. He had two guards with him, also wearing the colors of his company, but they appeared only to be carrying batons. All of that looked normal.

  However, behind Buckley stood two large complications. A thick stone man with golden glowing eyes was one of them. Could this be a new kind of goliath meant to replace infantry? How could anyone ride in such a small thing? These were the questions that occurred to her right off, surely there would be more. The more worrying concern was the other figure, the hooded man in a white cloak. His face was mostly obscured by the hood, which had been pulled low, but what she could see appeared to be a mask decorated with a twisting golden filigree. There were rumors about such a man, rumors that strained credibility. Rosa had been trained as a rationalist. You didn't make decisions based on the whispers of tavern drunks, but that didn't mean you forgot them either.

  “Be wary, the man in the white cloak hides his face,” she said.

  “I noticed that as well, lass,” Angus replied. “I suppose there's no sense keeping the man with the money waiting.

  The crowd of mercenary leaders stepped up the short stairs onto the platform, surrounding the Veil Company chairman. It was the first time Rosa had seen him. In truth, he seemed far less formidable than his reputation suggested. Her impression was of a stuffed shirt. He dressed well, with embroidered clothes, a short flashy cape, and his own feathered hat, burgundy of course. He was also impeccably groomed with remarkably straight teeth. Yet he felt fake to her, empty, so much that it turned her stomach to even look at him. It wasn't rational, more of a gut reaction, but an insistent one. She had to fight the urge to back away and run right back to the ship that brought her.

  “Thank you all for joining me,” Buckley said as light snow fell around them, obscuring the more distant groups of goliaths. “I know the weather isn't quite cooperating with us today but if you'll bear with me for a short address you can discover why I've summoned you and why my company has offered up so much money.”

  “About bloody time,” Angus muttered under his breath.

  Rosa took a position on his left, trying to stay close while keeping an eye on the small goliath and the masked man. If there was something off about Buckley, those two were a hundred times worse.

  “As you all know. What was once the Kingdom of Faustland has now, by decree of our former queen, become the Purple Republic, an elected government run by the people. Such a thing hasn’t been seen since the ancient Ganex Republic more than a thousand years gone. Further our policy of religious freedom has guaranteed that the greatest minds of all the world are welcome here, no matter how or who they worship. As I'm sure you're all aware, this has made us many enemies among the kingdoms of the continent and beyond.”

  “Indeed, it has,” remarked the count.

  “With so many enemies, it is of tantamount importance that we of this new republic have the most formidable armies possible. In order to ensure that our freedom is not snuffed out in its nascent state.” Buckley cleared his throat. “This is why I've called you here. You bring with you more than two hundred goliaths, each with the power of a thousand infantry. Together, they amount to more than most nations can field. They will bolster our numbers greatly, I thank you,” Buckley said with a smile.

  “Wait one second, what about the money?” Angus asked. “Isn't there money?”

  “Oh, there's money,” Buckley replied. “I'm just not going to give any of it... to you.” At that he turned on his heel and strode away from them, exiting the platform using a small stair at the back. As he passed the hooded man, Buckley waved his hand.

  “Hey!” Dale called after Buckley. “It cost me money bringing my unit here! I'm going to charge you for this!”

  That ugly feeling in the pit of Rosa's stomach was growing, like a yawning chasm opening inside her.

  “We need to get out of here!” she said.

  “I think your girl is right,” Simone replied.

  “Now just one bloody minute!” Angus said, pulling a pistol from his waist and aiming it at their retreating host. “Where's my money!”

  The stone creature with the golden eyes immediately stepped in his way, shielding Buckley. Rosa wasn't paying attention to that, however. All she could see was the man in white. His hands were moving, unnatural hands, seemingly crafted of carved ivory rather than human flesh. The motions were anything but random, they appeared to be writing something, something complex. Her feet kept backing away on their own.

  “Angus, we have to go!” she called.

  He glanced back at her, fire in his eyes. “I will not! That fuck brought us all here for nothing!”

  At that Angus fired his pistol. The ball ricocheted harmlessly from the face of the golem, causing all the others on the platform to duck.

  “Damn it, Angus! What do you think you're doing!” the count said.

  At the sound of the shot Buckley did pause but he did not turn around. His head only turned slightly to the right. “Golem, kill them,” he said and began walking again.

  Instantly a great stone fist stabbed forth, wrapping thick fingers around Angus's neck before crushing it with a single bloody squeeze.

  Dale Gingham let out a frightened yelp and ran, slamming into Rosa as he pushed his way toward the edge of the dais. The others drew weapons, most of them glowing veil blades.

  The golem threw Angus's limp body to the side, reaching for another of the guests, just as a bright flash emanated from the hands of the hooded man. The glow was incredibly powerful, many times greater than the sun on such a snowy day. Rosa found herself stumbling back from the light of it, reeling, trying to shield her eyes with her arms.

  Something caught her feet however and she fell. She tumbled from the side of the platform, landing on her back with a heavy thud. Her backside smarted where it had rammed into the ground, making her wince but nothing like what was happening where she'd been. Screams of agony came from the platform above.

  The pistol hadn't even dented the creature. Veil blades must not be cutting it. What was that thing? What was happening?

  Then great cracks could be heard from all around. Rosa turned her head to see, feeling numb, as if she were viewing it all from the crows nest on a ship in the harbor. She watched
as the goliaths of the Redshanks Company cracked open and reformed themselves. It was as if some great force was crushing and re-molding the stone like clay. More cries came from inside the goliaths themselves. The riders... they were still inside? No!

  What was happening!?

  * * *

  Giselle sneezed yet again and, as usual, found herself spending far too long looking for a spot on her apron that wasn't entirely caked with flour. That was her lot in life these days, constantly defending her nostrils against the main ingredient in paste.

  “What are you doing?” Ina asked her. The keralti girl was remarkably patient for her young age but Giselle could hear the edge of annoyance in her voice.

  “I'm sorry! It keeps getting in my nose!” she replied, finally deciding to give up and fish out the small rag that she kept under her apron. It too was caked in flour.

  “I've told you. You have to be more careful when you're handling the dough. Of course it'll puff up clouds of flour if you throw it around like that,” Ina said from her station at the churn.

  Giselle pursed her lips. “You tell me not to throw it around, but you also tell me to speed up because I'm not going fast enough. You can't have both!”

  “Yes, I can... You just have to get better about handling it is all. Come take a turn at the butter churn. I've got to catch us up or mother will give me a tongue lashing,” Ina said, her round dog-like ears flicking back and forth at the prospect of being yelled at.

  Giselle sighed. “I really hate the churn,” she said. “Why doesn't your mother just buy butter? Why do we have to churn the cream ourselves?”

  Ina's eyebrows went up. “You know this. I've told you... First, because it saves us money and second because-”

  “It just tastes better! I know. I know!” Giselle replied. Her shoulders ached but that was nothing new. She'd learned quickly that living with a baker meant a great deal of hard work. However, she would have thought that given all the time that had passed, her muscles would have started to hurt less. It wouldn't be as bad if she could make the pretzels or mix batters, but she'd botched those up so many times she wasn't allowed near any of the ingredients. The only thing she was allowed to do besides churning and carrying things, was kneading dough, but even then she was slow. How could she help it if it always made her sneeze?