Two (The Godslayer Cycle Book 2) (28 page)

Two beings stood before him, one in long flowing robes, and another in elaborate plate, his face masked behind a  featureless helmet.

“
Your time is at hand, Godslayer!” bellowed the helmed figure.  “Justice has come to claim your soul!”

Nathaniel sacrificed his footing to make a leap for
Two
.  He landed forcefully on his stomach, the air knocked from his lungs and no idea where the sword had vanished to.

The citizens of the town were attempting to flee, crawling and stumbling as best they could in all directions, more than not colliding with each other as they tried to escape.  The ground continued to roll out from under them, leaving them disoriented and panicked.

Not the only ones
, thought Nathaniel, pulling himself up to his hands and knees, forcing air painfully into his lungs.

“
Stand and face us, Godslayer!”  Shouted the other figure.  “Do not cower now!  Here we are – slay us, if you think you are able!”  The figure guffawed at his own crude humor.

As Nathaniel rolled onto his back, he saw a third figure appear in the air behind the other two.  “It's that one, you dolts!  The one you're having a hard time looking straight at!”  The figure pointed directly at where Nathaniel lay looking up at the trio of what could only be Gods – and since he did not recognize a one of them, they could only be of the New Order.

The mortal champion of the Pantheon managed to get his feet back under him, casting his eyes around for where
Two
had been.  His own unsteadiness and the shifting crowd hid the sword from his line of sight.

The ground split below Nathaniel, forcing him to leap to the side to avoid falling.  A great rent continued to widen where his feet had been, a foreboding reminder of the power these beings possessed. 

“I thought you were
Greater
Powers!” shouted the third God hovering behind the other two.  “Do something
great
already and crush him like a bug!”

“
Silence, Ankor,” bellowed the helmed God.  “I do not see you doing anything to advance the cause!”

“
That's your job, Kelvor.  Remember?”  The God named Ankor simulated a dullard's face as he said, “You big justice dude.  Me stupid joke dude.  Me puny God.  You not so puny God.”

The helmed figure sprouted a third arm from his shoulder and swatted at the one hanging in the air behind him.  “Enough!”

The mocking deity flirted out of the way easily, but stayed a greater distance from the other two.  “For the last time,
him
, not me, you dolt!” 

Without warning, the third God vanished, but his voice just as abruptly spoke from over his shoulder.  “It's getting to where you just don't know who's really on your side anymore.”

Nathaniel turned quickly, catching the momentary beaming face of the mischievous God before he vanished yet again. 
Whose side
is
he supposed to be on?

Just then, Nathaniel saw
Two
briefly as the crowd began to thin out.  How he had managed to roll so far from it, he had no clue.  But he needed to bridge the distance and soon if he had any chance of surviving. 

Where are the Old Gods at a time like this? 
No sooner had he thought this though than their champion remembered – the Pantheon was forbidden by covenant from fighting other Gods.  He was on his own.  So if he could not reach the sword, his quest would end here and now, and the Old Gods would just move on to another candidate for Avatar.

Nathaniel turned his attention back to his opponents in time to see the robed deity bearing down on him.  He braced himself for the impact, but the God had other ideas, flinging his arms outward at the man.  A great force struck Nathaniel mid-body, throwing him backwards, the air once again knocked from his lungs. 

The man looked to where he had seen
Two
, now even further away.  The task of getting back to the sword was becoming less and less likely.  And the Gods were not done with him yet.

A solid hand gripped Nathaniel's shirt and yanked him into the air.  Nathaniel looked into the polished surface of the helmed God, the one the obnoxious God had called Kelvor.  He remembered this one, at least – Kelvor was the God of Justice, rumored to be the other face of Death.

“Confess!” demanded the God.  “Declare how it is that such a weak mortal was capable of taking the life of a Goddess, and I will make your send swift!”

Nathaniel twisted in the God's grasp, choking for breath.  His eyes darted again to the mystic sword that represented his only hope, an impossible distance away.

Kelvor did not relent, shaking Nathaniel hard when the man proved incapable of responding.  “Answer, miscreant!  Divulge your secrets!”

“
You're gonna kill him if you can't play nicely,” spoke the impish God Kelvor had named Ankor. 

So this is the one who knows about the swords? 
The man realized he should have drawn the connection when the name was first uttered, but he also acknowledged he had been more concerned with saving his own life.

Kelvor grunted and released his hold somewhat, giving Nathaniel a chance to breathe in again.  Gasping, Nathaniel struggled for a plan that could somehow free him.  Then it struck him like the power of Kelvor's fist.

“What are you doing here, Ankor?”  The Pantheon's Avatar addressed the Prankster directly.  “This wasn't part of the plan!”

“
Plan?” quipped the robed deity, appearing without notice at Kelvor's side.  “Wait, Kelvor.  We need to hear this.”

As the God of Justice lowered Nathaniel to the ground again, his companion asked, “What do you mean by that, mortal?”

“Don't listen to him,” laughed Ankor, swirling his finger around his temple.  “Guy's gone a bit looney from all the air Kelvor kept from his brain.”

The robed God ignored his Lesser companion and asked again, “What did you mean?”

Nathaniel made as if to withhold the information, then gave in.  “By the Pit, he's obviously playing both sides.  Why should I protect him?”

Kelvor glared at the God of Mischief.  “Yes, we agree.”  For good measure, he shook his captive roughly.  “Tell us what you mean.”

“He's the Trickster, isn't he?  The one you're never supposed to believe?  Not sure why I believed in him when he claimed to want to switch sides, knowing that.”

“
Switch sides?” growled Kelvor, his helm actually beginning to glow.

Ankor tried to move between Kelvor and his prisoner.  “Don't listen to him!  He's a patsy of the Old Gods!  He'd say anything to confuse us right now!”

“You're probably right,” agreed the robed God.  “But then again, he is also right in naming you the Trickster God.  Not a one of us should ever believe what you say, for you so rarely say what you truly mean.”

“
Galentine!” cried Ankor, gripping his chest in mock pain.  “You wound me!  Through and through!”

“
So the Prankster has been helping the Godslayer,” said Kelvor, shifting his grip to Nathaniel's throat.  “We suspected as much, already.  So we can deal with him once this pretender is destroyed.”

The God named Galentine tried to intercede.  “Kelvor, there is more we need to know!”

But the God of Justice would not be dissuaded this time.  His strength increased and the pressure on Nathaniel's trachea would soon crush it.  Desperately, Nathaniel cast his eyes in desperation towards his lifeline, the sword embedded in the ground so far away.  In desperation he reached his arm out for it...

A loud clap of air nearly deafened the mortal man, but inexplicably he found himself on the ground beside the sword.  Wasting no time in trying to make reason out of what had happened at that moment, he gripped the hilt and pulled
Two
from its earthly sheath. 

Once more, Nathaniel stood on his own two feet, this time with the confidence of the Old Gods' power at his disposal.  Instinctively, he reached for the sword's power and marveled at how readily it responded.  He could feel the throb of the ocean behind him, the wafting molecules of water drifting in the air.  He could sense the flow of liquids in living things for miles around.  But most importantly, he could sense the complete absence of any liquids in the bodies of the beings before him.

To the sword, these beings were unnatural, and
Two
's new wielder could taste the blade's thirst to eliminate them from existence.  It was an ambition shared by the man who wielded the blade now.

Another emotion lingered in the blade, however – relief.  Unmistakably, the sword was relieved to be free.  Nathaniel could feel the dark resentment the sword felt for all the harm it had been made to cause, and knew instinctively that the sword embraced him as its bearer if for no other reason than the freedom it now gained from the delivery of such pain.

So these swords can actually know humanity
, marveled Nathaniel.

Yet the man had no more time for reflection of his sword's feelings.  The Gods of the New Order were standing in confusion at the incredible disappearance of their prey, and they were looking around for where he had vanished to.

A memory flashed in Nathaniel's mind – he had done this before.  He had once been moved from his home several miles distant to what ended up being the ruins of Bracken's inn, the Wyrm's Fang Tavern.  At the time, he had assumed it was the power of the Old Gods, responding to his need to try to rescue his son. Now, he recognized it for what it was – a manifestation of a power of his own.  It had to be linked to the Avatar matrix, like his inexplicable knowledge of swordsmanship or bowyery.  If he survived this battle, he would have to find which of the Old Gods to thank for this particular blessing – for it had saved his life. 

“
He's over there!” shouted Kelvor, finally spying where Nathaniel stood. 

The God of Justice did not move – or at least, he did not appear to move exactly.  He more appeared to melt out of existence and reappear right in front of Nathaniel, again reaching his mailed fist out for the mortal's throat.

But this mortal was prepared this time.  Without any warning, Nathaniel shoved
Two
in front of him and let the God's own blind justice impale himself upon the blade.

The helmed face twisted in an odd imitation of shock, though Nathaniel had no way of knowing how any emotion could register on a featureless surface.  Remarkably, the metal of the helm flowed, elongated before the man's eyes, and an opening that could almost be called a mouth appeared.  There were no teeth, gums or tongue to mark what one would otherwise identify with such an orifice, however – only a gaping, dark hole.

The God reached down and fumbled at whatever it was that held him in place, for it was plain that the deity could not see the sword.  His hands moved across it, even through it, but his form could not grasp the source of his discomfiture.  The dark opening in his face made a gasping sound, ostensibly trying to find a sound to make audible his distress.  Then he found it.

Throwing his head back, the God of Justice suddenly emitted a howl unlike any mortal voice could ever manufacture.  It reached out and vibrated every nerve in Nathaniel's body, its very force conveying sheer and utter agony of a sort no man alive could ever have envisioned.

And then the phantom forms began to coalesce in the air around him.  Just as it had with Imery, the God's mortal wound was drawing in all of its other manifestations, all forms of existence it maintained throughout the mortal world and the dimensions beyond.  With Imery, though, Nathaniel had only been able to see the forms the flickered in and out of the light of the fire.  Now, it was daylight and the sky quickly filled with the infinite number of alternate forms that the God of Justice had created for himself.

Imery's spectral selves had tried to resist, to keep from being drawn into the center of her destruction.  But for the God of Justice, it was different.  Nathaniel sensed that these forms were not trying to escape destruction, but instead were flocking to the heart of the danger to bolster the strength of the God.  It was as though the God were of the belief that justice – given enough fortitude – could overcome anything.

In this, justice was wrong.  For coming together only hastened the God's demise.

As each new form flowed into and merged with Kelvor's impaled manifestation, the God's body shuddered and more and more power leached away from his body and down the blade of the sword.  Nathaniel felt even more power drawing from this death than he had from Imery's.  Yet he sensed it was not because this God was more powerful, so much as it was he had become a more tempered vessel for the flow of power.

At last, the final ethereal form merged with the central body.  At the last moment, the God's plated face melted away, and a childish face of pure innocence appeared.  The true face of justice was revealed in that last moment, that of a naïve child who was incapable of understanding anything else but its own existence.

Then with a final shudder, the last image of Kelvor, God of Justice, shattered into a million fragments of soft white energy, flowing down and off of the sword, released at last from the binding that had fragmented his very existence.

“Kelvor!”  The God known as Galentine was standing in the spot behind that previously held by the God of Justice, his eyes wide with disbelief.  Nathaniel only wished he could remember what dominion this one was supposed to oversee.  It might have helped in knowing what kind of threat he continued to pose.  Would he flee in the face of his brethren's death, or would he stand and fight?