War God's Will

by Matthew P Gilbert

  No. Just that one thought was enough. A denial, a refusal to accept this fate. The fear fled, and fire took its place. Time for you to scream, beast. He clamped his searing hand around the tentacle and dug his fingers into the rubbery flesh. The water around him boiled furiously, but from somewhere distant, even through the water in his ears, he heard a monstrous cry of pain and rage.

  The beast caught him by surprise with its counter. Something sharp raked across his chest, slashing to the bone, but Sadrik was resolved. He might still die, but not like that. In his mind, Sadrik saw the flame cycle from red to yellow to white to searing, devastating blue. I will take you with me, count on it! Somewhere, another inhuman scream erupted, and the tentacle released him.

  Sadrik struggled to the surface again, gasping, just in time to see Ariano rise above the water and float to the safety of the shore.

  “Where are you going?” he cried.

  “Time to grow, whelp,” she sneered. “Or die. Let’s see if you deserve to call yourself a Meite, or if you’ve just been fooling yourself all along.” She turned and began walking toward the central pyramid.

  Sadrik screamed in rage at her, “I’ll kill you for this, you wrinkled hag!”

  Ariano stopped and turned, a bemused look on her face. “You’ll have to survive, first.” She turned again and walked away, ignoring his curses and threats.

  Sadrik’s attention was wrenched back to the moat by a shriek of agony. He watched in horror as two tentacles gripped one of the Southlanders and literally tore him limb from limb. Several of the man’s fellows hacked at the beast, only to be snatched up themselves and drug beneath the surface.

  In stunned silence, Sadrik watched as more tentacles rose to pull down the bloody chunks, and he felt the sickness rising in his throat again. We can’t beat this thing! “Get out!” he cried, digging frantically at the water, struggling to move himself in the direction Ariano had gone. “There are too many!”

  As his head slipped again beneath the surface, he struggled, but he simply could not avoid sinking. Of all the problems he might have encountered, this was by far the most irksome. He considered freezing the water solid, but ending up entombed in ice was no solution, not unless he simply wanted to deprive the beast of its kills out of spite. Even then, it would be far more satisfying if someone survived, even if it were not him, just so the tale could be told. Sadrik the Mad: killed the beast along with his entire party. Not a terrible epitaph, but I could do better.

  His problem was simply that he couldn’t find a way to deny his situation. It was too embarrassing, too simple, and perhaps, in his heart of hearts, a secret fear he had always carried with him. Sadrik had always intended to learn to swim, chiefly to avoid this exact problem, but he’d never actually gotten around to doing it. I managed to fight off a dread water beast, only to drown like a common rube. What a miserable epitaph that will make. Ariano will thoroughly enjoy writing it. His frown faded a moment as he realized another simple, pleasant truth. It won’t be Prandil writing my obituary. I outlived that bastard, at least!

  Just as he was returning to the thought of freezing the water, something strong grabbed him around the waist and hauled him upward. For a moment, he fought against it, thinking it was the beast again, but he felt fingers and the mail encasing them, and allowed his rescuer to get on with the rescue.

  Shortly, he found himself face down on the shore, hacking up water contaminated with Mei knew what. Sadrik made a point of noting that he was certain it contained nothing permanently harmful.

  When he could breathe once again, Sadrik turned to see his rescuer. His first thought was that Caelwen looked quite bizarre in his underwear with mail gloves. His second thought was that he had drowned and the afterlife was indeed a bizarre place. How could he possibly be here?

  Caelwen dove back in the water and hauled a struggling Southlander to shore. Eleran, too, was dragging an unconscious warrior through the water. Stranger still, Sadrik could see the Southlanders actual leader now, the younger, darker colored one that had, supposedly, remained in Nihlos, charging toward them. Sadrik watched as the young man leapt from the shore to the ruins of the raft, skidded briefly, continued to run, and leapt again to the shore right beside Sadrik, gasping for breath.

  “Sorcerer!” he wheezed. “What can you do to help?”

  It’s a good thing we Meites are already mad. Sadrik put the idea of understanding things on hold, and focused on controlling them. He rose to his feet and looked about as he tried to gather his wits, noting a few Southlanders were still in the moat, hacking at what seemed now a hundred tentacles. Mei!

  “Get out of the water!” Sadrik called in a voice pitched a bit higher and a bit shakier than he had intended, but it carried well enough. “Get out now!” Of course, no one paid him any more attention than they had before.

  Sadrik spied Sandilianus in the thick of things, knee deep in the filth and swinging his blade with gusto at a tentacle. The fellow glanced back at him, then backed away from his own fight and shouted Sadrik’s message to those who hadn’t heard it clearly. “Leave it, fools! Get out of the water!” His shout was loud enough that Sadrik fancied he could actually feel the vibration in his teeth. Mei, the man has a sorcery all his own with that kind of volume!

  “Remind me of your name, Southlander,” Sadrik said to the man standing beside him, his eyes following as the survivors scrambled ashore.

  “Ahmed Justinius. Don’t worry. I’ve forgotten yours, too.”

  “Sadrik Tasinal,” Sadrik answered as he sank in a squat and reached for the water. “You’ll remember it now, I’ll wager.”

  Rage was temperature. Sometimes, it was a searing, disintegrating blue flame that charred bone and melted flesh. But sometimes...

  Sometimes it was cold fury. It’s so strange, how blue can be hot or cold.

  As the last of them cleared the moat, Sadrik put his palms to the toxic water and felt the shock of bone-numbing cold rising from the surface, a freezing fog that had a burn all its own. Sharp reports tore through the air as the ice swelled in the banks and cracked, and from somewhere beneath them came a shrill keening. We didn’t expect that, did we? Die, bastard!

  Sandilianus was of a similar mind. “Finish this damned thing!” he cried. The Southlanders charged across the rapidly spreading ice and began hacking with abandon at the numerous trapped, exposed tentacles, sending putrid, black liquid spraying over the frozen surface. Again, the thing beneath howled in misery, bringing a broad grin to Sadrik’s face. Eleran swung a fist at a trapped tentacle with enough force to burst it open, to a round of cheers.

  Ahmed shook his head. “This is an indulgence. We waste time.”

  Caelwen, now dressed again, picked his way gingerly across the ice, trying not to slip.

  Sadrik waved and called out, “I don’t know how you got here, but I owe you my life.”

  Caelwen scoffed at this, then grinned. “I’d have left a Meite for last, but Rithard insisted that he owed you.”

  Sadrik raised an eyebrow, now thoroughly confused. “Rithard of House Amrath? He’s here, too? But how?”

  Caelwen offered him a smirk. “We were teleported here by Tasinal.”

  Sadrik considered doing something nasty and drastic in response to having his leg pulled so hard, but reminded himself that his intended victim had indeed just saved his life. He settled for a long and luxurious eye roll and a dismissive wave.

  Caelwen winced as he checked some sort of wound in his shoulder, then, apparently satisfied, grabbed Ahmed by the arm, his expression urgent. “Ariano is here, too. Be careful.”

  Ahmed nodded. “We’ll have to face her, for good or ill.”

  Sadrik snickered. “No need to worry. She had it in her head to stop Ahmed from bringing his piece of the Eye here, but…” He shrugged. “Prophesy, eh?” His face grew dark with anger. “At any rate, it’s our turn to hunt her, now.”

  Caelwen frowned at Sadrik, his eyes narrowing. “As I recall, you were with her on th
at plan.”

  Sadrik waved Caelwen’s point aside, scowling. “You know the rules, Caelwen. Waste not, knuckle under to the stronger. Besides, that was before she left the lot of us to die here.”

  Sandilianus, having at least dulled the edge of his own rage on the moat beast, slogged out of the water and joined them. “Aye. We have business to settle with her.” He sat and began cleaning his blade. “

  Sadrik gave him a knowing look. “We’ll even the score with that old cunt, believe me.”

  Sandilianus sighed wistfully. “It will be a glorious battle, when it comes. But we must keep our eye on the prize, eh?”

  Ahmed nodded. “No fucking around with personal vendettas until we have done Ilaweh’s work.”

  Sadrik raised an eyebrow. “Patience is not generally a Meite virtue. Of what, pray tell, does Ilaweh’s work consist, and why should I care?”

  “Saving the world. And because you live here.”

  “Fair enough. Save the world first. Then murder Ariano. One needs to have priorities.”

  Ahmed gave them each a hard look to drive home his point, then turned to Sandilianus. “I have a gift for you.”

  Sandilianus’s eyebrows rose high on his head. “A gift? Now?”

  Ahmed grinned at him as he removed Brutus’s blade and scabbard from his belt and handed them over.

  Sandilianus’s shook his head and pushed the sword away, his eyes moist. “Ahmed, no. He gave this to you. If he had wanted me to have it, he would have said so.”

  Ahmed nodded, but continued to offer the blade. “I needed it at the time, but now I have another.” He gestured to his new sword, the one Tasinal had given him. “I am certain he would want you to have his blade now. Bring Brutus with us to this last battle. We need him.”

  Whatever the Southlanders were discussing, it held tremendous power, of that Sadrik was certain. Only two things move men like that: hate and love, and either will prove invaluable in the coming battle. “I have no idea of the particulars, but I can feel the strength of the emotion. It will serve us all today.”

  Sandilianus wiped a tear from his eye with a rough swipe of his arm and took the sword from Ahmed. “Aye, no doubt he is with Ilaweh now, furious at being denied this fight.” He held the sword for long moments, gazing at it, his eyes clouded with memories. “I will carry Brutus’s blade. But I, too, have a sword already. It was my father’s, and he should join us for this battle as well.”

  Sandilianus gave Ahmed a conspiratorial wink, and shouted at Eleran, “Demon Man Dog! Come here! I have something for you!”

  Ariano’s shriek of outrage was almost enough to make Maranath forget about the vicious pottery shard poised at his jugular. “What treachery is this?” she cried, her voice making the debris on the floor dance in agitation.

  Maranath cut his eyes toward his attacker and said, “Go ahead, finish me. You can explain this to her.” He grinned at the look of utter confusion that erupted on the man’s face.

  Lothrian put a palm to his forehead and heaved a deep sigh. Aiul, now pressed against the wall by several of Maklin’s junk golems, howled in fury and swiped at them with his mace, but they weren’t solid enough to damage. The pieces simply moved back into place once the mace passed, unharmed.

  Maklin himself wiped blood from his brow and spat, “Just who we didn’t need!”

  Ariano stood for long moments, chest heaving, eyes bugged, hands clamped to the side of her head.

  Maranath’s opponent, not relaxing his grip on the shard, muttered, “Is she with you?”

  Maranath offered an apologetic shrug. “I told you, it’s a family matter.”

  To Maranath’s surprise, the pressure on his neck eased, and the stranger stepped back cautiously, shard still poised to strike, his eyes darting back and forth at everyone. “Can you help him?” he asked, nodding in Aiul’s direction.

  Maranath rubbed at his neck. “That’s why we’re here.”

  The man licked his lips, eyes still nervous. “I cannot read you. I do not know if I can trust you.”

  Maranath knew just how the man felt. “You’re the second person to tell me that, lately. You’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way, like the rest of us.” He offered a smile, having little else. “Guess.”

  As the stranger gave Maranath a quizzical look, Lothrian lowered his hand and spoke. “Ariano—”

  Her reaction was immediate and furious. “Lothrian wouldn’t recognize me!” Her shout was a visible distortion in the air that hurtled at him with breakneck speed. “What are you?”

  Lothrian’s face grew dark and stiff. The wave hit him in the chest, but he held his stance. Even so, he skidded a good three feet backward, but showed no other harm. “I would know you anywhere,” he called, his voice cold and imperious. “And you know me, too.”

  Ariano’s eyes grew wider still, then narrowed. “Lothrian is dead!”

  Lothrian’s jaw clenched, and he looked at her as if she were a complete idiot.

  Maklin shook a finger at the dark, bearded stranger. “Why don’t you do us all a favor throw a damned rock at her!”

  Maranath shook his head. How many times do we need to go through this? “It’s him, Ariano.”

  Ariano looked back and forth between them, near panic, her chest heaving. “How can that be?”

  Maranath tried desperately to focus her attention, gesturing with his head and eyes toward Aiul. “Couldn’t we talk about that later?”

  It seemed as if Ariano had only just realized Aiul’s presence. The anger drained from her, and she cast a nervous look to Lothrian. He nodded back and mouthed, “Go to him.”

  Rithard found himself almost running to keep up. Ahead, Sadrik and Sandilianus stalked forward, their eyes filled with vengeful promises. Ahmed was just behind the pair, alternating between cajoling and threatening them to remember why they were here.

  Behind Rithard, the remaining Southlanders followed, their numbers much reduced. At least three of them had perished in the moat. Rithard counted eight now. How tragic to come so far and not see the end.

  He followed the others down an endless flight of stairs and into a huge chamber dominated by a great basin in the center, and suppressed a gasp at what he saw there. The Black Pool! To his dismay, the liquid in the pool had begun to glow, shedding a strange, purplish light, unearthly and disturbing. Mei! It’s charged just by the presence of the pieces! We have to find that damned book!

  What his eyes fell on next shattered his analytical calm like a vase dropped from a rooftop. At first, his mind simply refused to accept what it saw. Mei, what is that? He tried to categorize it, but it honestly defied description. It was a thing, a twisted, mockery of human form, apparently dead on the floor near the pool. It’s huge! How could it even support its own weight? Rithard was suddenly filled with the mad urge to dash forward and begin dissecting it at once, but knew it would be bad form. And we have more important matters to attend. But after….

  With some difficulty, he forced his attention away from the bizarre corpse, and back to the practical realm. He looked about, trying to take a lay of the land and form some ideas on where to even begin his search for the book. He saw four exits to the room, each at cardinal points of the compass, one of them enormous. Presumably, that leads into the rest of the complex.

  Rithard’s gut churned as he recognized Aiul, currently pinned against a wall by some of Maklin’s sorcerous constructs. Rithard did a doubletake to see Aiul’s hair was no longer blond, but bone white. Ariano, her face now sweet and chipper, stood before Aiul, hands clasped, in animated conversation. I pray you can talk him down, you wicked harridan. I will have to confront my sins if you do, but it’s nothing more than I deserve.

  Ariano stiffened as she turned to see them entering. Sadrik cast her a wicked, murderous grin, and Sandilianus’s hand tightened on the grip of his sword. Again, Ahmed moved closer and whispered something to them.

  Hold it together!

  In the last year, Aiul had endured more pain and g
rief than he knew was possible, and had become quite inured. He was ready to withstand anything except Ariano.

  Here I am, surrounded by enemies, and she is somehow here to save me again. Why? Yet here she was, as always, and with such a simple request: “Let me take you home, Aiul.”

  Aiul relaxed against the press of the golems and sighed. Suddenly, things seemed...different, the jagged thing in his mind faded, his grief suddenly so much stronger and heavier than his rage.

  “You always save me,” he croaked. “You treat me better than my own mother.”

  Ariano looked at him, her eyes filled with a profound sadness that Aiul could not fathom. “Your mother has always taken care of you, Aiul.”

  The world was too bright and sharp. Aiul closed his eyes, letting the myriad of conflicting thoughts in his mind play out. This had all begun with his family being taken from him, and a part of him still wanted revenge, on everyone and everything. That’s a fair thing! Blood calls for blood! And yet he had only learned that phrase because he had, for reasons he could not fathom, been chosen to understand what it truly meant.

  He could still hear the voices of the damned in his mind: their screams of agony and terror as they were made into ‘art’; their cries of fury as they took their vengeance on their tormentors. He and Logrus had been instrumental in giving those wretched, broken souls what they needed to overcome their unbearable horror.

  Aiul’s own pains seemed smaller now, less urgent, just as Logrus had told him. It was not that they were gone. It was just that they were less significant. After seeing the sort of horror and evil that drew Elgar’s attention, even the loss of his family dimmed in comparison.

  But most of all, he realized he needed to bury his wife and child.

  At first, when he opened his eyes, he could not speak. The emotions in him seemed to fill his throat. He swallowed hard and managed to croak out, “I want to go home.”

  Ariano, tears in her eyes, nodded and smiled back. “Release him, Maklin.”

  Maklin looked back and forth at everyone, suspicious. “For the record, this is a bad idea.” Finding no supporters, he waved a hand with a resigned air, and his automatons collapsed to the stone floor, lifeless piles of debris. “Don’t blame me if he kills anyone.”