One (The Godslayer Cycle Book 1) (26 page)

Outside the door, Hamil did indeed lay sprawled in the walkway, his tome that he had been chronicling Avery's works and deeds in acting as a pillow.  The young man's arms were locked to his sides, but his right arm was in such a position that it took only a slight effort to move the material aside.  Sure enough, the same brand stood red and inflamed upon the back of his wrist: four horns opposed to each other.

How many others were there?  Avery caught himself panicking.  Had the entire town set themselves out as heretics?  All because Avery had claimed it was his mark of divinity?  Because he had sworn to protect any with that mark...

No, not as heretics, Avery realized.  As devout faithful.  They had marked themselves as a sign of devotion to him.  They truly saw him as their God and they willingly scarred themselves to demonstrate their devotion.  And they believed he would protect them for doing so...

By the Old Gods,
he thought. 
Correction: by the
real
Old Gods,
he amended.  He had created a fellowship of heretics!

Well, so long as he had
One
at his side, he was as good as a God.  That much was for certain.  And he seemed to be growing more powerful every moment.  Perhaps these people's worship, their devotion, truly was empowering him, just like a real God?  He remembered something he was told as a child about that, about how a God drew his power from the
faith
of his followers.  At the time, it had been told to him as an admonition against being faithless, assuring him that he would be forever denied the Gods' blessings if he did not fully commit his spirit to them in faith.  Now though, the words took on an entirely new meaning.

If the Gods drew their power from faith, and he was becoming more powerful with the faith of his people, then he must truly
be
a God after all!

Of course, the real Gods had the whole world to draw upon and he only yet had a small fellowship by comparison.  But if he could increase his influence, send out missionaries to spread word of his divinity, how much more powerful could he become?

Avery grinned at the prospect.  He had finally come into something that he could truly revel in.  Many could dream of the power of a God.  Avery had the power at his fingertips!

Satisfaction surged through him as he drew
One
from its scabbard upon his back.  Carefully, he turned the blade, studying its every fine detail yet again. 
Which God did you belong to, I wonder?
  he  thought. 
You must have belonged to Malik, for only a God of War would have need of such a blade.  Yet it is hard to imagine a force that could defeat him...

That thought sent a shiver of dread through him instead.  If Malik had died, his sword cast out to be buried and forgotten, what did that say for him?  Malik had
had
all the power of a real God and certainly enough faithful worldwide to protect even a God of War.  What hope then did an ex-merchant-in-training have in fending against whatever it was that had defeated him?

He glanced down at the sleeping body at his feet.  Hamil's scripture now had a much more urgent need for completion.  Avery was extremely vulnerable while he held such a small fraction of divine power.  He needed more and quickly before he became a target – before he attracted the attention of the Gods' slayer!

“Hamil, wake up,” Avery said. He wanted to go off alone for a time, but he needed to leave instructions first. 
Besides,
he thought,
Viola may be ready to help distract me for a time.  Fates know I need to find something else to occupy me while I plan what to do next.

“
Master?” said Hamil sleepily, lazily looking from side to side.  Avery had not chosen to be seen, only heard.

“
Look after the ladies within, Hamil,” Avery instructed.  “I have another I would see.”

“
Master, while you reposed, a man came to summon you,” blurted the scribe.  “The magistrate would hear your testimony regarding Quinn's crimes.  Of course, he would not disturb you, but asked that you come at your soonest convenience.”

Avery thoughtfully re-sheathed
One
.  He had not realized that he still had the blade drawn until that moment.  “Why would the magistrate require to see me?  Surely, your accounts alone should suffice.  And dozens witnessed the man's confession.”

The scribe looked uneasy at speaking to a disembodied voice, but continued.  “It is the way of the law to hear from witnesses directly, Master.  The magistrate is...  not convinced of your divinity, I think, and would challenge your claims.  Or perhaps Quinn has arranged this.  He does have great influence.”

“Indeed,” mused Avery.  “Perhaps he needs a new lesson in humility.”  Avery was not sure if he meant the magistrate or Quinn, and somehow it hardly mattered – all that mattered was that he have an outlet for his vengeance.  He had become possessed with such impulses since first he had challenged Quinn the night before, and he just did not care to resist the urges they now called upon him to do.

Avery asked for and received directions to Drake's home, leaving a bewildered Hamil behind, especially since the little man did not realize that he was no longer in his God's presence.

Avery made his way quickly out of the inn and into the street.  The Leaping Lizard had only a few patrons at this time of day, and its owner seemed pleasantly engaged in his work.  But Avery could not miss the welted sore upon his right wrist as he bustled about, nor the occasional sign displayed as one customer or another moved his arm.  At least one man did not have the mark yet, a loner that sat to the back of the room.  Avery recognized him as one of the three who had chased him two nights ago.

Oh well,
thought the faux God,
at least not everyone has succumbed to madness.
  He knew he would have to bless those that had branded themselves in some way, yet Avery was still personally appalled that anyone would intentionally brand themselves as heretics.  Of course, he had years of bitterness that gave him a somewhat tainted viewpoint on the topic.  To him, it was a mark of scorn.  To these people, it had become a mark of reverence, devotion.  And Avery would need to take full advantage of their blind loyalty for as long as he could, which meant he would have to openly praise what he internally thought of as travesty.

As he walked into the street, the day's bright light struck him and he grinned impishly.  He truly felt alive now; the burden and fears of being an outcast had been fully dispelled.  He had new purpose in life and faithful attendants at his beck and call.  What better life could one imagine?

Avery had to quell the lust that again rose in his loins with effort.  The power made him lustful.  It made him want pleasure and Viola's fabulous passion dredged itself up from his memory yet again to taunt him.

But Avery had another matter to take care of first.  The magistrate was a challenge to his authority and needed to be dealt with posthaste.  With that thought came the resolve to put aside his carnal desires, at least for awhile.

Avery strolled casually across town, following Hamil's directions easily.  It really was a small town, perhaps home to a couple thousand, at most, so he was not likely to get lost.

Moving along unseen, he could not help but notice men, women and even children openly displaying the heretical emblem, now his holy symbol.  It seemed to be an even division of the populace that had taken to marking themselves.  There must have been a mass movement to organize the people this morning while his focus had been elsewhere.  He silenced his own internal qualms at the thought of a mob descending somewhere – likely the blacksmith's shop, he realized – to be branded.

Finally, Avery came to the building that Hamil had described.  Two armed men stood, one to either side of the entrance, their eyes casting watchfully from side to side.  Avery took note that neither wore his emblem on their wrist.  He wondered if Drake had intentionally chosen these two as guards for that very reason.

Avery willed himself to be seen, appearing suddenly before the two men, who reacted with startled curses.  “Your magistrate has requested an audience,” he heard himself say.  He amazed himself at how official he could sound if he needed to be.  “You will announce me.”

The larger of the two men placed his hand upon the sword hilt at his side.  “None may enter armed.  You will need to relinquish your sword.”

Avery lowered his brow menacingly at the implied threat.  “None but I touches
One
,” he said.

The larger man looked to his companion and swallowed before responding.  “We have orders to take it from you, if you refuse,” he said, drawing his own blade.  Avery heard the sound of his companion doing the same.

“You may try,” sneered Avery.

The two hesitated only a moment more before they both drew new courage and charged forward.  The larger man's blade raised high, while the other thrusted forward with his own.  With speed Avery could not believe of himself, he drew
One
while stepping easily to dodge the thrust. 
One
rose high and intercepted the larger man's sword on its downward stroke, the man's blade shattering upon impact.  Turning, Avery brought
One
around in a smooth arc that cleanly severed the other man's head from its shoulders, then twisted the blade in his hand to thrust backwards to impale the larger man through the chest.

In all, the skirmish had lasted seconds.  Avery had not even worked up a sweat, he realized, as he slid
One
neatly clean of the man's body, letting it fall lifeless to the ground.  A few people had stopped to stare at the sight, some in awe, others in disbelief.  None, he was sure, had ever laid eyes upon him before, but recognition dawned in all of them nevertheless.  They had at the very least heard of the new God in their midst.  And now they had seen him in action.  The word would spread further.

“
Wh-what is this?  What happened here?” came a man's voice from behind Avery.  The would-be-God turned to look upon the graying man standing there, his face red and flustered.  Around his neck hung a heavy chain, with a large circular symbol hanging from it.  Avery recognized it as the holy symbol of Galentine, God of Honor. 
So,
thought Avery,
the magistrate is also in league with the local priest.

“
Is this how you would greet your God?” demanded Avery in a voice that seemed not entirely his own.  “With violence and deceit?”

The old man glowered.  “You are no God of mine, nor God at all, for that matter,” cursed the priest.  “One magic sword does not a God make.  And your claims have wrecked havoc amongst the truly faithful of Scollhaven.  I compel you by the word of Galentine to cease and desist, or suffer his wrath.”

Avery grinned maliciously.  “Do your best, old man,” he challenged.  Inwardly, Avery was horrified at his own words.  He needed to
avoid
the other Gods, not challenge their priests!  How could he be acting in secret to marshal his power if he flaunted himself in front of
real
Gods and their followers?

The priest took a step back and began an incantation.  Words of power Avery could almost comprehend, though not quite, formed a magical force around the priest.  In the space of a few seconds, the priest had finished and sent the force of his power directly against Avery.  The energy, whatever its intent had been, never touched Avery though, as
One
moved to deflect it with ease.

The priest's eyes grew wide when he saw Avery unfazed by the assault, but Avery only continued to grin.  “My turn,” he sneered, and thrust forward with
One
, cleanly cutting beneath the priest's left collarbone, conveniently severing the chain, sending Galentine's symbol clattering to the ground.

Unlike with the previous two, Avery felt a surge of power ebb along
One
's length and enter his body.  The priest was a vessel of his God's magic, Avery realized, and
One
was actually drawing that power out of the man and into him!  It was like nothing Avery had felt so far, and though it was over in moments, it had seemed an ecstatic eternity while it had been happening.  Priests, it seemed, possessed only small amounts of energy.  Oh, he would definitely need to find himself some more of those!

Avery withdrew
One
and sheathed it, knowing by now that blood from the fights had not stained the blade.  The priest fell to his knees, his eyes staring vacantly in disbelief, clasping the gaping wound in his shoulder.  Looking up at Avery, his mouth moved without words for several seconds before he could speak again.  “What did you do?” he finally managed.

“
If you will not serve me,” replied Avery, “you will serve none.”  The look of horror that filled the old man's face was strangely satisfying to the former heretic.  Somehow, he knew what had been done to the man – he had severed the man's connection to the divine, probably forever.  Whatever link the man had had to his God, and the power he drew through that connection, was now gone, snipped as cleanly as the barest thread.  This man before him would never be a true priest ever again.