Chapter Twenty-Six
Battlefront
Brogan McTyre
He was not alone, he knew that, but Brogan felt in control of his body and that was enough for the moment. He wanted to get a better view while staring across the almost level landscape and even as he thought that, he rose in height. He grew enough that, if he had let himself think about the transformation, he would have been terrified.
The power moving through him was invigorating and intoxicating. He wanted to laugh at the way his body changed to suit his whims, and he had to force himself back from allowing too much change.
Was this the power of the gods? To recreate themselves so easily? Could he alter the world around him with only a thought? The fallen enemies he walked past made him think so.
Something came from one of the keeps ahead of him. He knew it was a danger when it stepped in his direction, he could feel the power coming from the thing. He swept his axe into a ready position and continued moving on.
If this were a god, he’d kill it and savor every second of the combat.
The shape changed. It walked like a man, but the body was too thick with muscle, too broad through the chest, and the face was reptilian. Brogan had never cared for the gods, had never learned their names or wondered if they looked like people. It had never mattered.
The eyes of the thing glared violently red, and it carried a whip in one hand and a sword in the other. The whip cracked out across the distance between them and Brogan felt the weighted tip of the thing cut across his chest.
The armor he wore shattered with the impact, falling away from him like fragments of ice sliding down in an avalanche. No damage was done but the force staggered him.
The face of the thing opened in what might have been a snarl. There were rows of teeth, sharp and dripping fluids.
Brogan moved fast, charging his enemy. He felt his teeth bared in a smile and shifted the sword in his hand until he could sweep it toward the monster’s face.
It reared back too quickly for him to make contact, and Brogan spun, brought the axe around and buried it in the thing’s side. Meat parted, skin split and the reptilian nightmare let loose a scream of agony that was loud enough to shake the air.
The sword in the monster’s hand thrust at him and scraped flesh in a white-hot line of pain. Brogan grunted and kept pushing forward. Near as he knew the only way to kill a thing was to keep hitting until it fell. God or no, it would feel him and it would fear him if he had any say.
Apparently, it felt the same way. Black blood drooled freely from the wound in its side but the thing came again anyway, smashing into Brogan and lifting him into the air.
He rolled as he hit, his body crushing shapes beneath him. There was no thought of whether or not those shapes were his companions. Brogan focused solely on what was happening in the combat and everything else would have to wait.
Brogan made one knee and felt the whip lash out again, this time the damned thing wrapped around his arm just below the wrist and stung him even as it pulled his sword arm down.
Brogan rose up and charged again. The whip was a dangerous weapon, to be sure, but not meant for closer quarters.
His body smashed into the scaly bastard facing him and both of them tumbled. The face of the nightmare was next to his, and its teeth became the main focal point of his vision as the thing opened its mouth and tried to bite him in the face. The haft of his axe took the blow instead and several of the teeth shattered on impact with the grip.
While the damned thing was working out what had just happened, Brogan used the hilt of the sword in his other hand to take out one of the creature’s eyes. Blood flowed much more freely from that wound and the feet of the god caught him in the stomach and kicked him toward the sky. Brogan soared and then fell to the ground, rolling as quickly as he could to get back to his feet.
By the time he was standing, so was the now one-eyed monster. Five steps and they were back in conflict. The whip that the creature used was still wrapped around Brogan’s arm. He was grateful that it had let go of the weapon or it could easily have staggered him with a hard pull. As he ran the whip fell loose. As he clashed with his enemy, the axe came around again and hacked into the ribcage a few inches lower than before.
He’d have been celebrating if the bastard’s sword hadn’t met with his leg at the same time. Both came away from the collision bloodied and furious. Hot warmth flowed down to Brogan’s boot and he pushed forward. The cut was deep but not enough to cripple.
God or demon or other, the thing looked down at the cuts in its side. While it did, Brogan came down with the axe on the top of its head and cleaved the heavy skull open.
No matter what the nature of the beast, few things continue on without a head. The creature dropped fast to the ground and its entire body shook violently. Brogan planted the blade of the axe in its head four more times before it stopped convulsing.
There was no time for celebration. As the thing finally stopped moving another roar came from further along the battlefield, and something dark came forth from its keep.
Brogan did not wait. He moved in that direction, sweeping his axe around in an arc. The wound in his leg knitted shut amid a series of painful itches. The flesh was solid again after only a few steps. Brogan grinned and charged toward his enemy.
Harper
“What the hell was that?” Harper watched the dead thing on the ground. It did not move. It did not breathe. That was a blessing in his eyes.
Blood flowed freely from the massive wounds on the gigantic form. The blood did not rest easy, but trembled as the body cooled.
“That was a god.” Darwa spoke softly, her eyes locked on the same subject. She squinted. “I believe that was Hepset-Hamu, the River God. There are only a few descriptions of any of the gods, but he was supposed to have the skin of a scaled serpent.”
Harper nodded. “Then what in the name of all that is right in this universe is that?” He pointed to the dark shape that was growing larger even as they watched. It had the form of a man, but the head was obscured by a thick caul of black smoke or mist. There were hints of a face within that constantly shifting mask of darkness, but they were only hints.
Darwa shivered and wrapped herself in her arms though the air was warm enough to elicit sweat. “That is Gla’Eru’Wrath the Light Eater. All that is dark and hidden in darkness is the domain of Gla’Eru’Wrath. It is also the death dealer.”
The thing drew a sword and swept that long-bladed weapon in a full circle around its body. As the blade was wielded the air behind it rippled, turning dark wherever the sword has been.
“What?” Harper stared, uncertain as to what, exactly, he was seeing.
“Gla’Eru’Wrath’s sword devours light and leaves a rift between worlds. To be cut by that blade is to be forced between two worlds. It is death.”
“Do you think you could have warned Brogan about that before he had to meet it in combat?”
Darwa grinned, but there was no joy in the expression. “He wouldn’t have listened. He is far too arrogant for that.”
Brogan
The shape of the thing seemed very nearly made of shadows. Against the backdrop of dark clouds and harsh winds its face was hinted at but not seen. It was dressed in dark armor and bore a heavy cloak. Far more importantly, it carried a massive long sword that had better reach than Brogan’s sword or axe. If it hit first there was little he’d be able to do to avoid being cut in half. The figure stood still as he charged and Brogan watched that cursed blade. Behind it more darkness moved along the path the blade had taken.
Brogan slowed down. He did not trust what he was seeing. He could not.
“Will you not fight me?” The words were not spoken aloud, but forced themselves into his head like thrusts from a rusted dagger.
He shook his head to clear away the question.
“I’ll fight you. I’ll just not make it easy for you.”
“Yo
u will die either way.” The voice continued in his skull and Brogan shook his head to clear it. The shadow-maned form swept the vast sword around as easily as a dandy from Edinrun might a thin rapier. “You have offended the gods and you have killed two of my brethren. It is time for your end, Brogan McTyre.”
“You killed my family!”
“Your family never mattered. You never mattered. You are merely food to be harvested as we see fit.” The thing moved closer. “My name is Gla’Eru’Wrath. I will kill you now.”
“Your name is shit, and I’ll wipe you off my boot, you prick.” He grinned again as he prepared for the fight. Let the bastard come to him. Let him think he had a chance, but this was for Nora and the children. This was what he lived for now. This was all he wanted of the world, a chance to kill the sadistic bastards that had taken from him without remorse.
That hint of a face lost in darkness scowled and then the armored giant was charging, coming his way and actually growing even as it moved.
Brogan stood his ground as the thing came closer. The feet hit the earth hard enough to cause vibrations. The very ground cracked under each gigantic tread.
And Brogan waited, breathing deeply and preparing himself.
Gla’Eru’Wrath was twice his size at least, and grew larger as it came. Brogan wasn’t sure that was to the god’s advantage. He had reach, but if he could not strike Brogan down with one blow, he’d have a chance to retaliate properly.
On the other hand, he definitely had reach. The giant swept back his sword and the eyes within that vast cloud of a face squinted as he took his swing.
Brogan saw the strike coming. Trouble with a truly big sword is it’s devilish hard to hide an attack. The advantage of course was one good strike and you’d likely cut a man in two.
Brogan dove to the side, rolling past the immense blade. The air behind its edge wailed as it was sliced open and Brogan saw the wound that was cut between the worlds.
He had no idea how these things worked. He was still trying to accept that he had passed between realms, but the air trembled and then the sword hit the ground and split the foundations of the world as easily as his axe might split a log for a fire.
The ground crackled and the rend in the fabric of the land raced toward the Gateway and the people he knew and cared for. The bodies of dead soldiers and Marked Men alike collapsed into that rift, and plummeted through the clouds to land the gods alone knew exactly where. More importantly, the dead lizard thing fell through the tear in space and Brogan saw the rivers of blood falling from the thing that rained down as well.
Part of him wanted to know where they fell. He never had the chance to see as the ground sealed itself after a few seconds.
That was for the best. He had no desire to be thrown through that hole himself.
Even as the tear formed between the worlds and the fallen dropped across a dead land, Brogan rose up and stabbed his enemy in the chest with the points of both axe blades. The tips cut through the hard armor and punched into whatever passed for flesh on the deity. Gla’Eru’Wrath had not recovered from trying to cut Brogan in half; he was still off balance. Brogan used his own weight and shoved the axe harder, and in the process he grew again, matching the height of his attacker. The growth was effortless. He barely had to think about it.
The god’s sword fell from his grasp and Brogan pushed again, grunting with effort as the double tips of his axe blades punched deeper into torn armor and meat alike.
The body of the god opened still more and cold, shadowy filth spilled from the wound and bled down over Brogan’s hands, slicking them and chilling his flesh.
He pulled the axe free, and shoved his short sword into the smoking face of the god. Tendrils of midnight wrapped around the blade but did not stop it from cutting deep into whatever lay beneath.
Gla’Eru’Wrath cried out and Brogan pushed harder, stabbed deeper into the head of the deity. The sword blade bent, and after a moment the metal shattered. What was left was a jagged stub of blade and a hilt. Brogan drove that edge into the god’s face, pushing with all of his strength. He could not see the wound he made, but he felt the cold flow of viscera that came from it.
Gla’Eru’Wrath caught Brogan by the neck, both gauntleted hands wrapping around his throat, the thumbs seeking to crush his airway.
Brogan’s axe wielding arm swept up and across the two hands of the god, knocking them aside before the thumbs could find good purchase. As the arms were slapped away, the broken sword blade crashed into the god’s throat, driving deep into tender flesh and carving a trench that bled still more cold blackness into the air.
Gla’Eru’Wrath spoke no more, but instead coughed and backed away, vomiting ichor from whatever passed for a mouth in that black shroud around his head.
Brogan pulled back and stabbed again, again, and again, each time feeling flesh and bone against his hand and what remained of his sword.
Gla’Eru’Wrath let out a throaty gasp and fell forward, crashing into the ground. The black cloud around the god’s head bled outward, slowly swallowing the body of the dead thing. By the time it was completely consumed, Brogan had moved on.
There were more gods and he didn’t trust that they would wait patiently for him to reach them.
He was correct in that belief.
The arrow caught him in his shoulder and cut through meat to vibrate in the bone. The pain was exactly as fearsome as he might have guessed, and Brogan let out a completely involuntary yelp of pain.
His eyes looked at the arrow for a moment and then tracked the path it must have taken to find the archer. She was tall and slender, and had gray in her hair. She was an attractive woman, or at least chose to show herself that way. Whatever the case she pulled another arrow and drew back her bow in one fluid motion, exactly the sort that made him envy Harper whenever he saw the man prepare to kill.
Whatever the case, the bow was drawn and the arrow loosed. It came toward him in a blur that he didn’t think he could block.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Blood of Gods
Harper
The woman’s form was flawless.
Before he could ask Darwa said, “Mahnsatepusamu, Queen of the Gods and God of the Storm and the Hunt. She is the very finest archer ever.”
“Then why did she miss?”
Darwa looked away for a moment to stare into his face. “Harper, she did not miss. That was her way of warning him of his impending death. Also, the Books of Galea state that she likes her enemies to suffer.”
“Brogan can’t dodge an arrow.”
“Nobody can who is not very lucky.”
“Why don’t they attack together?”
“The gods?” Darwa looked toward him and shrugged. “Why does he attack the gods?”
“Because he means to kill them, of course.”
Darwa nodded. “And why does he attack alone? Why not bring a dozen people like you with him?”
“He said he cannot.”
The Galean shook her head. “He does this alone because he wants the satisfaction of killing them. Whatever else he might claim, that is the truth of it.”
Harper nodded his head.
As they watched, Brogan stooped down to capture the smoldering sword left behind by the last god he’d battled. The goddess loosed another arrow and by sheer blind luck Brogan was lowering himself to grab the sword’s hilt as the arrow ran across his back and skittered harmlessly off his armor.
He winced as he hefted the blade. The black aura around it continued on, smoking and leaving a black trail whenever he moved it.
The archer frowned, disapproving. She said something but the words were unknown to Harper.
Darwa said, “She’s chastising him for using her brother’s weapon.”
“I don’t think he cares.” Harper shook his head.
Brogan said, “I don’t care!” His voice boomed out across the battlefield.
The body of Gla�
�Eru’Wrath had liquefied; all that remained was the hollow armor and a jet-black residue that oozed slowly across the surrounding area.
“They fight him alone for the same reason, I suppose. They want to prove that one mortal is not enough to cause them fear. They want to kill him themselves, to prove they are the strongest.” She shrugged. “That, or they are simply not speaking to each other. Sometimes the gods squabble.”
That was all the time Harper had to waste. His friend was fighting gods, after all.
All around him the remaining humans talked and watched. Not a one of them thought to attack. His best arrow shot would never reach the archer fighting Brogan, and even if it did none of them had been touched by a god or granted the ability to fight one.
The massive redhead slaver came closer, nodding to him and looking at Darwa. “You are Galean?”
“Yes, I am.” She didn’t look away from the fight. Mahnsatepusamu pointed a finger at Brogan, while he held the sword at the ready and ignored the wound in his shoulder. Or, rather, tried to ignore it. Harper knew his friend and human anatomy well enough to know he was suffering.
“What is that stuff?” She pointed to the pool of blackness spreading from the dead god’s armor.
“It is the blood of a god.”
“What does it do?”
Darwa turned away to look at the woman. “It’s blood.”
“Yes, but it’s the blood of a god. I have been told that the shards in the Broken Swords were the blood of a god, or possibly the remains of a sword. Didn’t Brogan McTyre have to do something with those before he could take on the power to fight a god?”
That got Harper’s attention.
Darwa looked at the woman and slowly a smile spread across her face.
“That was the blood of a dead god and it required great rituals. This is the blood of a dead god and I have no idea what it might do if you touch it.”
Stanna frowned and considered that for a moment. “One way to find out.” With that, she started walking across the battlefield. Three others walked with her. One of them was Grakhul. The other two were young and likely as foolhardy as the giantess.
Gates of the Dead Page 29