Two (The Godslayer Cycle Book 2) (29 page)

Galentine's face twisted in rage as he focused his fury at the Godslayer standing before him.  He opened his mouth to vent his rage...

Then gasped in horror as another blade swung down from behind, arcing through his right shoulder and coming to halt in the region near where a mortal heart would be.  The God's mouth worked, trying to enunciate what he was feeling, but he could not be heard.

Nathaniel witnessed what it was like to see a God's demise from the outside looking in.  Twice now, he had been at the heart of a God's destruction.  Now he was the bystander looking on.

As before, the phantom forms took shape in the air around them, the sky filling as far as the human eye could see with ghostly counterparts of the robed deity.  These forms reacted much as had Imery's – they fought being drawn into the maelstrom of their own destruction.  They were equally powerless to defy the gravitational pull the sword's magic manufactured, yet circled in ever tightening rotations as they tried with desperation to flee the abyss they were being drawn into.  One by one, the ghostly forms came into contact with the central form and were sucked into his being.  As each moment passed, fewer and fewer duplicates were in the air, as more and more joined with their core version.

Finally, no more dopplegangers existed, only one form of the God existing in the one micro-spot of existence, where it had formerly occupied an infinite number of places.  Galentine's eyes gained a strange nobility at the end, as though he somehow had gained acceptance for what was to come next.  The look of peace upon his face expressed forgiveness and glory.

Galentine took one final breath and released it.  And with his last breath, his body simply dissolved.  There was no great burst of energy – he simply relaxed and let go, the white fragments of his former self drifting easily to the earth below.

Standing behind the former robed God stood Avery,
One
held level before him.  “Seems you're not the only Godslayer, anymore.”

Across the gap between them, the two wielders of the only two of the Nine yet awake in the land shared a look.  They held each others' gaze for what seemed an eternity before Nathaniel finally gave a nod.  Avery returned the gesture and in the space of a heartbeat, vanished once again.

The silence in Nathaniel's ears was deafening.  After all that had happened, the quiet was inexplicably overwhelming.  His veins pulsed with new power, yet his hands shook with a weakness he could not identify.

Panic filled Nathaniel's mind when he realized he had not accounted for the third God.  He raised
Two
defensively, casting around for any sign of the Prankster, but it appeared that the God of Mischief had vanished, as well.

Delicately, the sword's new bearer lowered himself to the ground to retrieve
Two
's sheath.  It did not have any means by which he could strap it to his back as he had with Avery's crude belt made from course rope.  Yet somehow it was fitting that he not so quickly set the blade out of his grip.

With great care, the man sheathed
Two
, feeling a moment of satisfaction before the emotions of the sword disappeared from his perceptions.  It was odd, but he somehow felt closer to this sword than he had to
One
.  There had always been a resentment in the other blade that was completely absent from this one.  He could not explain it, but this sword simply – accepted him. 

People had begun to return to the site of the battle before Nathaniel returned to his senses.  He found that he had somehow fallen to sit on his posterior, the sheathed sword lying across his knees.  And he honestly had no memory whatsoever of sitting.

In the distance, a horn blared and shouts could be heard.  “Make way!  Make way!”

The lone victor reached beneath himself and leveraged himself up off the ground.  He found willing hands to his side to raise him to a standing position.  For that he was grateful, for his legs shook ferociously.

Soldiers on horseback could now be seen making their way through the streets, a pinioned banner flying two horses back, identifying the riders as wardens of Carland. 

Well, that was to be expected,
thought Nathaniel. 
The military was bound to ride in and take credit. Just as well.

“
Lord Avery!” called the lead rider  “Lord Goodsmith!  Has anyone seen either of these men?”

Nathaniel weakly raised the hand holding his newly acquired sword.  “I'm here,” he called.

Aaron broke from the regiment and rode up to where Nathaniel stood, his weight supported by a strong fisherman.  The soldier reached down, offering his gauntleted hand in greeting. 

“
Well met, it seems,” said the rider, gripping Nathaniel's hand tightly.  “Do you know the fate of Lord Avery?”

“
He's gone,” said Nathaniel.  “You just missed him.”

Aaron raised himself up, looking about the streets hopefully.  “That's a shame.  I would like to have offered my gratitude to him, as well.”

The weak man laughed ironically.  “Hard as it is for me to admit, I think he would have actually deserved it this time.”

Nathaniel gave a grateful nod to the man helping him stand, then moved away from his support.

“Where are you going?” called Aaron.  “What exactly happened here?”

Nathaniel suddenly found his exit blocked as Aaron moved his horse to intercept the retreating hero.  “I could have you detained, force you to answer my questions.”

The reluctant Avatar looked up wearily at the soldier.  “But you won't,” he responded.  “Or you would have ordered me stopped rather than appeal to me personally.”

Aaron struggled with the frank observation, but finally nodded his head.

“Besides,” continued Nathaniel, “you'll find more answers from everyone who witnessed what happened the entire time, not just what I saw at the end.  Let their stories be what you write in your report for Lord Justin.”

“
Where will you go then?  How can we find you if we need answers these people cannot give?”

Nathaniel smiled ruefully, his eyes cast longingly at the horizon.  “I am going to take the advice of someone I had never thought to before,” he answered.  “I am tired, and I am going home to rest.”

“And where is home?”

The man known by some as Avatar, by others as Godslayer, and by those closest to him as friend and companion, laughed softly and answered.

“Oaken Wood.  I am returning to Oaken Wood.”

“
And what exactly are you complaining about?” asked Ankor, leaning against the wall made of clouds. 

It was always so confusing for the God of Mischief when visiting these Pantheon types – One never knew what part of their disparate demesnes you would be visiting.  So far, he had visited Charith's region devoted to death (dreary and colorless) and what he assumed was Malik's domain of war (all twisted and dark corridors).  But today he was visiting Charith's domain of life, and the clash between the God's counter-domain could not have been any more striking.

Charith's region of death was comprised of stone halls with colorless, drab imagery consumed with the wails of lost souls throughout.  Here in the demesne of life, it was all white clouds, delicate paisley colors and soft, melodious music.

Ankor had come here immediately after leaving Levitz to share the news of his brothers' deaths with his illicit compatriots.  Unfortunately, where he had envisioned warm and joyous greeting, the Pantheon Gods were instead a tad more upset with him than he felt was proper.

“I do not know how I could be more clear,” proclaimed Malik, his great masculine voice booming through the oh-so serene environment. “Our purpose in this... let's call it a partnership for the moment... Our reason for entering this partnership with you was to
avoid
your fellow Gods finding out about the swords.  Instead, by all reports, you
led
two of them to the site of the second sword and set them on one of our mortal agents.”

Ankor perked up his head.  “Agent?  When do Gods have agents?  We have servants, worshippers, faithful, but an agent?  Blasphemy!”

The elegance of Charith's dark, flowing dress contradicted the sour look upon her beautiful face.  “You know who we are talking about, Trickster.”

“
Yes, yes.”  The God of Mischief waved his hand dismissively.  “This so-called, Godslayer, who's really not
the
Godslayer.  I believe his name is Nathaniel Goodsmith of Oaken Wood.  Am I right?”

Malik glowered.  “You know it is.”

“Yes, and you insist on calling him your
agent
.  Why do you call him that, I wonder?”

Malik opened his mouth to respond, but Charith raised her hand in caution.  “You are trying to change the subject.  Answer first why you would break our agreement and inform your other Gods about the swords.”

“
But I didn't tell them about the
swords
,” said Ankor, adopting an innocent expression.  “I told you before – they were after whoever slew Imery, and that happened to be your Godslayer.  I was bound by  Greater Powers to reveal his location if I discovered it.  And, to be honest, going along with that direction was the only way I could excuse the liberties I took in keeping knowledge of the actual swords from them.”

The two Pantheon Gods only stared in response.  Ankor made an elaborate sigh, then continued.  “Look.  The New Order wants to know who killed Imery.  Kelvor and Galentine charged me with finding out who it was.”

“Why you of all people?” asked Malik.

“
Because I happened to be
in
Scollhaven while Imery was investigating Avery's appearance, and it was assumed
I
had something to do with her death.  The only way I could gain any liberty to track down the real killer was to accept their terms.”

Charith stepped forward, her deadly beauty giving power to her words.  “So you say you were giving them information on the one Avery called the Godslayer, but you had to know that would lead your brethren to the swords.  So how is this
not
a violation of our truce?”

“
Because,” yawned Ankor, “if any God was going to wander in blindly to confront someone responsible for killing a God without first asking
how
the deed was done, I knew it would be Gods of Honor and Justice.  And since they knew nothing of the swords, and none of us can actually
sense
the swords, I took a gamble on the chance your boy could get the upper hand.”

“
And so you're saying the death of Kelvor and Galentine was part of your plan all along?” asked Malik.

“
Of course!” exclaimed Ankor, beaming with satisfaction.  “Finally, one of you has been listening!  No offense, old man, but I had given odds to the lady here acknowledging that first--”

“
How do your own Godlings ever handle all of your prattle?” demanded Malik.

“
Truth to tell, they don't really,” admitted Ankor.  “They usually either banish me from their presence if I am in their domain, or just go away in disgust if I'm not.  I don't mind admitting--” Ankor jabbed his thumb at his chest, “--the life of this God of Mischief is a lonely one, indeed.”

“
So now you are saying you are out to see your brother Gods dead?” demanded Charith.  “When did that become part of your plan?”

“
And sister Gods,” offered Ankor.  “Can't forget the sister Gods.  They're the worst!”

Charith raised a delicate eyebrow.

“Oh, the question,” said the Prankster.  “Right.  Truth to tell, it became part of the plan when I realized that was what
you
lot were doing.” 

The God of Mischief held up a finger to block the other Gods' protests.  “Don't bother denying it.  Why else create nine magical swords that can kill other Gods?  You certainly weren't planning on killing each other – your covenants forbid it.  Which means, they're only good for slaying
other
Gods, which from where I stand – unless you plan on carving out a new empire somewhere and leave us younger Gods be – we are the target.

“
So when I decided to start working with you, it was more an act of preservation than anything else.  If I could help you line up the other New Order Gods for the slaughter, then I would have some worth – and I hoped that my worth could buy me a pardon from your genocidal plans.”  Ankor shrugged.  “Was I wrong?”

Charith shared a lingering look with the God of War and Peace before turning her attention back to their guest.  “You are not...  entirely wrong,” admitted the Goddess.  “The swords were indeed created to give our
faithful
the means to fight back against your brethren, if they chose to do so.  We are, after all, forbidden, as you say, from attacking other Gods.” 

Ankor sensed there was something omitted from the explanation, but chose not to confront it.

“Yet,” continued Charith, “we cannot command our faithful to actually attack you and yours, either.  Just as we cannot command them
not
to forego killing any God, including yourself, regardless how deserving you may be of that immunity.”

“
But you can make suggestions,” amended Ankor.  “You can speak to your Godslayer, tell him of our treaty, and make sure he's not going to come swinging for me while we are allies.”

“
We could,” acknowledged Malik.  “But – if we are indeed being honest with each other – I do not believe Nathan will be of a mind to listen.  I had already informed him that you were working with us, and then you showed up in Levitz at the side of Kelvor and Galentine.  How would you suggest we convince this very willful young man – and I assure you, he is
extremely
obstinate, at times – to stay his hand if he believes you have broken the truce once already?”

Ankor stiffened.  “I never attacked your man.  Ask him.  I stayed back and let the other two do all the work.  I even tried to warn him in the middle of the battle.  I whispered in his ear that he couldn't tell who was on your own side.  I could not have been more direct without revealing our outright allegiance, though the
boy
blurted
that
out on his own!  He could have cost us the entire battle?”

“
As I recall, having been watching the town myself,” Charith supplied, “he was about to have his neck snapped at the time.  How exactly were you helping him at that moment?”

“
I
would
have, if he had been too at risk, I assure you,” rebutted Ankor.  “I was right there – if I felt his life was in danger, I had the opportunity to intercede.  But he used his own magic to teleport away, and so I didn't have to expose myself.”

Ankor raised his hand to forestall further argument.  “Look, I can run through this all day or you can just accept that what I did, I did for the good of our mutual cause, which for the moment I am going to presume includes my safe passage through the realms for the moment, yes?”  When neither Pantheon God objected, he continued.  “I am expecting you to give me a fair warning if that situation changes, of course.

“But there is one more thing I want to make clear before I leave.”  Ankor's face took on its most serious expression.  “No other of the New Gods to my knowledge know anything about Avery, the Godslayer or your precious nine swords, other than what they will learn in the days to come from Avery's loud mouthed speech on the street of Levitz.  Imery, Galentine and Kelvor had been part of some secret splinter group investigating Avery's emergence, and the investigation by extension became an investigation into the Goddess of Truth's death. 

“
But if what they told me is true, no other New Order deity knows what they were doing.  I was brought into a very tightly knit conspiracy, and as far as I know, all players in that game are now gone from the board.  Except for myself, of course.”

Ankor clapped his hands together, rubbing them enthusiastically as his cunning grin returned.  “Which also means you need me more than ever.  No one at the moment – not even myself – knows what will be coming next, or what my fellow Gods will do now that not one, but
three
Gods have been killed.  There will be a reaction, for certain, but without me being embedded in their camp,
you
won't know what to expect.”

Ankor paused, letting this sink in.  At last, Malik gave a curt nod of reluctant agreement.  Ankor returned the gesture.

“Then for now, I'll take my leave,” said the God of Mischief.  “There is a lot going on in my domain that I will be needing to attend to, now that the watchdogs of justice and honor are no longer looking over my shoulder.”

With a wicked wink, Ankor vanished from Charith's demesne.

*     *     *

Ankor appeared in the great amphitheater that served as the Lesser Powers' gathering place.  Gods did so need their common ground.  The Pantheon had theirs (though who knew what
that
resembled) and the New Order had a grand hall in which they gathered when common need dictated it.  But since the Lesser Powers were not permitted to utilize the Greater Powers' domain, they forged their own, choosing an amphitheater in the ideal that each could rise to a point in the area and be heard equally.

Of course, being of divine form, there was no one set point in which this could be accomplished.  The stage area of the semi-circular structure moved and flowed, depending upon where the God wishing to speak presently stood or sat within the structure.

Three Goddesses immediately took notice of the Prankster's arrival.  Two of them made directly for his side, while the third raised her head in disgust and moved away.

“
I see Daerma has not yet forgiven me,” he murmured, presumptively to himself.  Yet he knew the Goddesses approaching would hear, nevertheless.

“
What do you expect?” asked Wronri, Goddess of Seduction.

“
When you manipulate the Dream Mistress to embrace a fantasy,” added Seree, Goddess of Charm, “you are bound to bruise her ego.  Dreams and fantasies are her dominion, and you outdid her.”

“
Poor girl,” said Wronri.

“
Yes, poor girl,” acknowledged Ankor.  “I should probably be punished for overstepping my bounds.”

Wronri leered viciously at the Prankster, reaching out to delicately draw a fingernail down his chest.  “Are you inviting?”

Ankor cupped the Goddess' hand in his own.  “Any other time, but there are important matters that need to be addressed first.”

“
Yes,” spoke up Seree, a glint in her eye.  “My faithful tell me you were there this time.  Were you?”

“
Oh yes, I was.”  Ankor's head bobbed enthusiastically.  “I maneuvered the pieces all together perfectly and got to have a ringside seat while they went to war.”

“
Which is where, I do believe,” came a masculine voice from across the arena, “you take the stage and tell us what exactly has happened, Ankor.”

The God of Mischief nodded his head towards Laer, Lord of Darkness.  “If you ladies will forgive me, it seems others are demanding my attention.”

Seree bowed and backed away, while Wronri dug her nails lightly into Ankor's chest before stepping back herself.  There was a promise there, one which Ankor realized he might have to consider acting upon before she changed her mind.  At the moment, he had become the center of attention, but the Gods' favor was ever fickle.  Who knew how long he could continue to hold these Lesser Powers to his objectives?