Two (The Godslayer Cycle Book 2) (5 page)

Brea placed her hand on her lover's arm.  “Nathan, calm down.”

Nathaniel pulled his arm free.  “Would you stop that?  I've told you I am married...”

Brea stepped back, shocked.  Nathaniel stopped in mid-speech.  He
had
said that before to Brea, when she had made advances on him before.  When...

Again, the double set of memories tried to reassert themselves over Nathaniel's mind.  He gripped the sword's scabbard tightly, trying to master the power coming from the blade.  In desperation, he seized the handle of the sword and drew it forth, meaning to force his will directly onto the blade.  He had mastered it before, and he would do so again...

The memories intensified, the phantom set now gaining strength over the memories he still knew to be true.  No longer was he kneeling, tying Avery's wound – he was tying off Bracken's.  Brea had rushed over and was canting a healing spell, pulling the severed tendons together roughly as she did so.  He remembered Bracken's curses and the swings he leveled at the priestess, and how she simply ducked out of the way and continued with her work.  He remembered looking to the woods where Avery had fled, searching those woods for any sign of where the miscreant had fled to and only finding the cast-off scabbard with its rope-fashioned baldric... 

Nathaniel looked over at their captive.  Avery was gone, and someone new now sat beside the tree.  Though the man's arms were behind him, there were no ropes binding him.  It was only a pose the man was holding.  This man was of similar build to Avery, if a bit taller, and his black hair was slicked back like Nathaniel had seen a few nobles do in his day.  Even the clothing had changed from the almost-fine clothes Avery had been wearing to simple leathers.

Nathaniel rushed across the space between them and took hold of the front of the man's tunic.  “Who are you?”

“
I am Avery, God of Vengeance.”  The man's eyes narrowed, testing what Nathaniel was seeing.  “Who else would I be?”

“
Nathan, what are you doing?”  Brea had come up behind him and was trying to pull him back from their “helpless” prisoner.

In response, Nathaniel grabbed Brea's hand and thrust it onto the hilt of
One
.   Brea tried to pull back instinctively, but after a moment, her eyes cleared and she looked in shock at the man in front of them.  “Who's that?  Where did Avery go?”

The man twisted out of Nathaniel's grip and darted back and away.  “Knew I shoulda taken those swords while I had the chance.  Martin said we couldn't do that though, 'cause they were still needed in their rightful timeline.  But I knew.  I
knew
they would be able to see through my illusions.  And I was right.”

Nathaniel started to advance on the man again, but came up short when he produced a sword of his own – an identical match for the sword Nathaniel held in his own hand.  This stranger held one of the nine God-made swords...

Nathaniel's mouth went dry.  “Which one...”

The man smirked.  “Got your attention, have I?  Martin's the smart one, or so he's always saying.  But I'm the one he sent to outsmart the Godslayer.  Guess that's not saying much for me, of course, 'cause you still figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” asked Brea.  “And who's Martin?”

“
Wouldn't you like to know, Lady Brea,” scoffed the man.  “But you'll know.  You'll all know soon enough.  It's just not your time yet.” 

Movement to Nathaniel's side drew his glance, yet it was only Bracken who had come up to stand at his other side.  Where the sellswords had gone, he could not say, but at least there were now two weapons against the man's one.

“Why do you keep talking about time?” asked Nathaniel.  “I don't understand what you're talking about.  But all we want is the sword, so if you surrender it, we won't come after you.  We'll forget all about this, about whatever memories you played with--”

“
It wasn't real,” blurted out Brea, tears welling up in her eyes.  “You made me think it had been real between Nathan and I, and it wasn't real.”

Without warning, Brea leaped at the man, her fingers ready to claw his face.  Instinctively, the man raised his sword to defend himself.

And then suddenly the man was gone.  Brea fell forcefully upon the ground, her momentum carrying her through the space the man had previously occupied.

Nathaniel lowered his sword and moved over to help the priestess up.  “Are you okay?”

“Peachy,” spat Brea.  “Played for a fool.  Again.  Just peachy.”

Nathaniel realized in an instant what Brea meant.  When his real memories returned – not the ones he had been made to believe were true – he had forgotten that he had woken up with Brea.  But she had not.  She had always made it very plain that she had feelings for him, deep and inexplicable feelings.  Yet it was as Nathaniel said – he had only just lost his wife days ago, and the thought of being with another woman was impossible for him.  Yet he had accepted it as true when he had woken up beside her.  Somehow, the stranger had changed their memories, convinced them they were lovers, that they had been for some time.

As Brea lifted herself back to her feet, she avoided Nathaniel's eyes.  But he didn't need to see her eyes to know the shame she was feeling – for he felt it just as keenly himself.

*     *      *

Avery rode slouched in his saddle, his right arm tucked instinctively into his middle.  There was no pain, not even a lingering ache as he might have expected.  After all, when one has one's hand severed, one expects there to be pain and a great deal of it.                It was as though the wound had healed completely, even if the flesh was freshly pink.  Still, he expected it to hurt, and so he sheltered it as though it did.

Viola and Hamil kept their horses paced with his own to either side.  The scribe seemed intent upon looking all around, searching for the elusive Godslayer who had felled his master.  Yet Viola only had eyes for Avery himself.

Viola had ever been attentive and needful of Avery, especially between the sheets.  When they bedded together in Scollhaven, she had shared him with the other women, yet was ever there when he called upon her.  There was neither jealousy nor possessiveness to it – simply a complete and absolute acceptance that transcended loyalty in any form that Avery had ever known.  It was that way with all of his faithful, yet there was more in Viola than the others – or perhaps he only
saw
more in her.

Yet ever since Avery had rushed into camp the night before with Hamil close behind, her attentiveness had trebled.  Where before, she was content to attend to other affairs when Avery did not have specific need of her, now she wanted only to be at his side, never far from reach.  Even now, she rode her horse a little closer than was prudent for the speed they were traveling, her eyes kept too much upon Avery than where her horse's feet traveled.  The night was only beginning to fade, and how she had managed to ride through the night without crippling her horse, Avery had not a clue.

Viola had not yet seen Avery's hand – or the lack thereof – as far as he could discern, though she knew something was amiss.  That much was certain.  Well, their rush to abandon camp and flee into the night could have told her that much.  And Viola was no fool.  But like a mother hen, Viola had suddenly grown overly concerned with Avery's well-being, even if the actual source of harm he had kept concealed from her for now.

The trio had set out back eastward at first, though had taken the first southern trail off the main road they could find.  They abandoned the tents, and only collected what they could quickly of the foodstuffs before setting out.  Even the packhorses had been cleared of their tack and set free. 

Avery had no illusion that should the Godslayer continue upon his path, that he would overtake the trio in no time.  But he also knew where the main road led – back to Scollhaven, and the people foolish enough to pledge themselves to his faith.  And he had no intention of leading this immortal demon back there.  They did not deserve to be slaughtered as this... whatever he was sought vengeance against the self-proclaimed God of Vengeance.

As the dawn crested the tree line, the group came upon a heavy stream and were forced to halt.  Avery looked first one direction and then the next along the banks looking for a bridge or some place more passable.  But there was none within sight.  Obviously those who used this trail simply forded the river at this point, or else the trail would not have ended so abruptly at the shore.

Avery had never forded a river on a horse – in fact, until a few days ago, he had never ridden a horse for more than for an occasional task back in Kellenburg – and then only a workhorse who had to be coaxed to carry a heavy trailer.  He knew the basics of how to guide or lead one, but had certainly not mastered it – his chafed inner thighs and aching muscles told that story well.  He certainly had never ridden one for more than an hour, and never before for several days, followed by a night of brisk riding without more than a pause in travel.  Avery felt bone-weary and uncertain, and all he wanted to do was throw himself into the water and drift away.

Hamil spared him that indignity.

“I would recommend resting the horses for a time, my lord,” said the scribe.  “Though I do not know more than I have read of their care in books, I do recall that messengers could not ride theirs as much as we have without receiving fresh mounts.  I would not wish to make one lame, for we need them all with the other two set free.”

Avery nodded weakly.  “You're right, of course, Hamil.  I believe we will rest here.”  The would-be God wasted no time in heavily moving himself out of the saddle, falling to the ground in a far less dignified manner than he had intended.  It seemed all sensation had fled from his legs during the night and he had not even noticed.

Viola was soon at Avery's side, offering her hand.  Yet it was a hand from behind that reached him first.  Avery almost accepted the aid without question until he saw the look of surprise on both Hamil's and Viola's faces.

“
Here, my lord,” said a man's voice as a body thrust itself to his side for support.  “I would be honored if you would lean upon me for the short time it takes you to recover.”

Avery attempted to pull free, but the man possessed a marked strength that held his arm fast around Avery's shoulder.  “Who--”

“Men call me Martin, for it is not wise for any man to have his
true
name known.  Or so I was raised to believe.”  The man's speech had a slight accent to it, one that Avery could almost though not quite place.

Avery took a deep breath and made to pull himself away again, and this time Martin let him.  Though his legs were still unsteady – and ached abysmally for the blood forcing its way back into them – at least he could stand and face the stranger.  “What are you doing out here all alone?”  Avery cast a look to the trees on either side of the road.  “You are alone, are you not?”

Martin chuckled.  “Yes, Lord Avery.  I come alone.”

Avery's eyes grew wide.  “How did you—”

Martin held up his hand.  “I would love nothing more than to stay and answer any and all questions you might have.  You have no idea what a pleasure it would be to study under you at this, your time of emergence.  But you led me to believe that I would not have a great deal of time, so I must speak quickly and only of what you have instructed me to.”

“
Me?” asked Avery incredulously.  “I have never met you before in my life.”

Without warning, Hamil rushed forward and took up the man's right wrist, pulling back the fabric to expose the man's skin.  “He does not wear your mark, my lord.  He is no faithful of yours!”

Martin pulled his hand free and scowled at the scribe.  “Do not touch me, unholy thing!”

Hamil backed up, a look of scrutiny suddenly appearing upon his face.  Avery could not help but think that there was more to that look than simple affront.  But his attention was drawn almost immediately back to the stranger.

“I apologize, my Lord Avery,” he rushed out, half bowing his head as he did so.  “I forget myself.  There are some... prejudices I must not speak of.”  It did not escape Avery's attention that the man's glare had never left Hamil, even tilting his head ever so slightly as he had bowed.  “There are things you must not yet know.”

Martin threw his head back and just like that lost all of his ominous nature.  “Yet there is some that you must.  Know that your...
scribe...
speaks true.  I do not wear your sigil, because I am not of your devoted.  Yet this does not make me any less faithful to you or your cause.  For I have been sent here with a message, and while my cohort distracts the Godslayer, you must hear my words.”

Avery took a step back cautiously.  “First explain how you know me.”

Martin grinned and moved his hand to his side – where Avery had failed to notice the great ebon sheath hanging therefrom.  Avery's heart skipped a beat – not because he feared an attack, but because he recognized the scabbard.

“
One
,” he whispered reverently.

“
Actually,” said the stranger, drawing the sword and laying it open across his palms, “
Three
.”