One (The Godslayer Cycle Book 1)

by Ron Glick

  “And what makes you say that?” asked Brea. The priestess of truth sat beside the fire, wrapped in a quilt she had purchased for the trip. It was a luxury, to be certain, but these were the Wildelands, after all, and beasts were not the only thing known to kill men who left themselves exposed out here. She had no intention of suffering from a cold or worse for wont of carrying a little extra to assure her comfort and warmth on the trail.

  The tall man shrugged. “If they were, we would have been beset upon by now. We were unaware of them before tonight, and I believe they have been in our shadow for some time. They could have ambushed us, yet have chosen not to. Instead, they stay just beyond our sight, just beyond our ability to learn of who they are without forcing a confrontation.”

  The other man spoke up. “I told you, Derik. Two days gone I heard riders. The echoes of these cliffs can be deceiving for distance, but they were there, for certain.”

  Brea nodded. “And I was foolish enough to not heed your words. Yes, I gather.”

  “Not you alone,” said the taller one. “I did not give credence to Alsen's words, either. I did not hear, and therefore I did not believe.” The man gave Brea a wry smile. “Perhaps I should have trusted my brother more, and perhaps it was a lesson in faith we both failed to see.”

  “Faith, yes,” agreed Brea. The thought occurred to the priestess that at one time, she would have bristled at the comment. It was clearly an effort by the man to undermine her faith in her Goddess, to point out the fallibility of her devotion. At one time, she would have not tolerated the condescending manner in which Derik addressed her, nor permitted a challenge to her authority go unanswered. Yet here she sat, and even aware that an affront had been made, she had no desire to punish the man for his impudence.

  More than her tolerance had changed, as well. She looked across the fire to the tall man, Derik. He was a strapping young man, muscled and well-shaped. She knew he was attracted to her, that he wanted her as a man wants a woman. In the past, she would have looked upon him as a play thing, a distraction to be exploited in the name of her own satisfaction. She would not have even considered whether he shared her attraction; she would have taken him to bed by command, invoking the name of her Goddess and the fear it inspired. She had cared nothing for the feelings of those she seduced, just so long as her own needs were met.

  In the past, she would not have been concerned with acquiring an extra blanket for warmth. She would have relied solely upon the heat of passion, the warmth of a male body to provide all the warmth she needed. And yet she had purchased the quilt, and she had not once thought during the purchase of it as to the reason. The idea of using Derik or his brother, or both for that matter, as living comforters simply had not occurred to her. It was not until on the trail, and catching the fierce longing she had seen time and again since in both the men's eyes, that she realized it had not even occurred to her to use them in that manner. Worse, even becoming aware of what she had neglected to think of before, she had no desire whatsoever to initiate it, even now.

  Both men wanted her, of that she was certain. But Derik was the one who felt the urge the strongest. More than once Brea had sighted him watching her, his masculinity pressing against the fabric of his breeches. Only the mantle of her Goddess protected her from unwanted molestation, she was certain, and that only barely. The man constantly sought to provoke her, to test the boundaries of protection her Goddess granted. And the longer they were on the trail, the less subtle he was becoming. As with the reference to her failed faith, he clearly wished her to give him an opening, and she had no doubt whatsoever that the slightest inkling of interest would result in his making a far more aggressive move.

  Yet she was protected by her Goddess, and more than in just name. She had magics at her disposal, and had not hesitated to demonstrate it. The first night, Alsen had started the fire. Afterwards, Brea had been the one to spark it. The first few days, the brothers had hunted for food. On the fourth, she had demonstrated her capacity for summoning creatures directly to her, and to have them remain still whilst she slit their throats. The fire demonstration had intimidated Alsen, but it was the power to compel obedience from wild animals that had done it for Derik. So though the man might have long ago forced himself upon another maiden in his care, this one remained off limits. At least, she did until he could build up enough courage to try in spite of the consequences.

  “They rode fairly hard the day I heard them,” Alsen said, picking up the conversation. “These walls,” he indicated the sheer rocks rising up beside the trail, “they catch the sounds and send them on for other rocks to catch. I heard what I did because they rode past one wall while we rode next to another.”

  “Yet today, and likely yesterday, as well, if not more days besides,” interjected Derik, “they ride more cautious. Seems ta me that they wanted to catch up to us, but don't want to actually catch us yet. Don't suppose you be running from anyone, Lady?” Derik smirked lewdly at Brea, but again she chose not to rise to the challenge.

  “I left on good terms, if that is what you are implying,” said the priestess. “My Goddess forbids deception, so I could no more have left owing a debt than I could have lied to you about it. I have no clue as to why we would be followed, either. None know of where I go, nor why. I travel under my Goddess' command, and her words were for my ears alone.”

  Brea picked up a stick from the side of the firepit and stirred the embers within. The fire leaped up in response, dancing between the men and herself. A wicked idea crossed her mind, and despite her changed perspectives, she could not pass the opportunity to play upon the men's fears. With a grin to match her wicked impulse, she said, “Perhaps I should summon my Goddess, so that you might ask her yourselves? I can bring her out of the flames at a whim, you know...”

  Both men startled at the suggestion, but Derik was the one who stuttered a response. “N-no, no need for that, M'Lady. We believe you. Don't we Alsen?” The brother nodded vehemently, his eyes wide. “Please, no need for Gods here. Your word's good, it is!”

  Brea let her smirk fade as she thrust the stick sharply into the fire again, sending sparks high on the light wind. “Remember that when you speak of faith...” Brea's voice faded off, her own eyes wide with shock as the face of her Goddess did appear in the fire directly in front of her.

  “I would speak with you, my priestess,” came the Goddess' words. Both of the men on the other side of the flame jumped at the sound, though they apparently could not see the visage.

  Brea rose up sharply. “It would seem, my Goddess requires my presence,” she said haltingly. “I will go now to commune with her.” She cast a cold glare at the two men, though it was plain that her words were directed at Derik. “You will stay here.” When both men nodded their compliance dumbly, Brea turned to leave the camp, wrapping the quilt tighter around her shoulders to keep in as much warmth as she could.

  Brea did not have to travel far before she heard the footsteps of Imery beside her. “You command the men well, yet you do not seek to convert them. Why is that?”

  Brea swallowed before she responded. “My mind has been... distracted, My Goddess,” she said, truthfully.

  “You still pine after Goodsmith?”

  Brea considered her response carefully. “Not... entirely. I worry over many things. Nathan is only a small part of it altogether. I worry about what I will find when I reach Scollhaven. I am concerned over my newfound ability to see truth in others around me, fearful of what I might learn. And yes, I miss Nathan terribly, though I know it is the curse of the Old Gods at play, and I try to dwell on other things instead. Yet it is these other worries that end up vexing me.”

  Imery nodded. “You speak well, my child. You yet again demonstrate that my faith in you has not been misplaced. I am confident that you will rise to the occasion and accomplish what few of my faithful could.”

  Brea blushed at the compliment. “I thank you, My Goddess.”

  “In fact, this is why I have come.
I bring information, things you will need to know as you approach closer to your goal.”

  Brea turned hopeful eyes to the Goddess. “Do you bring word perhaps of who follows us?”

  Imery was caught off guard, a fact that did not entirely escape Brea's attention. Yet the Goddess quickly recovered. “That is of no consequence as compared to what lies ahead of you.”

  Imery could sense that her answer was being questioned by Brea. The priestess had begun to doubt, in spite of the carefully chosen compliment the Goddess had just delivered, and her faith could not endure further doubts. With an inward sigh, she reached out into the night to sense who else was in the near vicinity. What she found made her smile, knowing that she could set her priestess' fears to rest.

  “If that is another concern on your mind, then let it rest. It is only a dwarf riding alone, likely fearful of letting humans know he is about. He has two horses with him, which may give the illusion that there are more, but I assure you, there is not.”

  Brea sighed in relief. “Yes, My Goddess. That was a great fear of mine, if truth be told. I feared bandits were about.”

  Imery smiled. “Dwarves have ever been of their own kind and their own Gods, but ever in my time have I known them to have honor above many other of the races. A dwarf is as likely to be a bandit as a chipmunk is likely to be a king.

  “Now, enough of this errant dwarf. I came to you this night with purpose. There are things you need to know.”

  Brea bowed her head in reverence. “I am yours to command, My Goddess.”

  Imery smiled at that, always taking great pleasure in the basking of her devoted. “The one you seek in Scollhaven goes by the name Avery. He is a false God. He has many whom he has deluded, and who will likely seek to protect him. Above all else, do not let the man know you until you are able to smite him down, and then only after you have spoken with me so that I may determine whether he is a true threat. There is also the question as to whether he uses magic to charm the people about him. I would not have you fall under another such spell.”

  Brea blushed at the reference to her prior weakness. “I will obey as my Lady directs me,” she said, lowering her head further in submissiveness.

  Imery nodded. “You do well to remember, Lady Brea. Do not permit your faith to be questioned, for any doubt may prove your undoing.”

  When the Goddess said no more, Brea opened her eyes. When she at first saw nothing before her, she more bravely lifted her head to verify that her Goddess had indeed gone. With a sigh she could not help but recognize as relief, she turned and began walking back toward the camp.

  A curious feeling came over her though as she reviewed again what her Goddess had told her. Previously, when in the presence of her Goddess, she had felt overwhelmed and overawed by the mere presence of the deity. Yet this time, she had barely felt her presence when she had appeared, and had not even felt the moment Imery had vanished for certain. It was almost as if her link to her Goddess had grown weaker as her own self-doubts had increased.

  If this were true, it was hardly good news. She was on the cusp of a confrontation of epic proportions, a challenge set to her by a Goddess who seemed incapable of dealing with it directly. And her link to her Goddess, the source of her power, appeared to be dwindling. If it progressed further, she could well find herself defenseless against this Avery person when she found herself in need most of her Goddess' blessing.

  Despite her knowing that she needed to bury her doubts, this line of thought still created a new one for her to dread: How could her Goddess not have sensed her own crisis of faith?

  * * *

  “Ya keep playin' this game, Nate, an' ya won' have ta be worryin' 'bout some magic sword afar off in Scollhaven seein' ya ta an early grave. You will be findin' yurself buried in the groun' 'ere instead!”

  Nathaniel knew the dwarf meant well, and certainly he had valid concerns, but what had been learned tonight had justified all that he had risked. And he had not had to force a confrontation to glean it, either. In spite of Bracken's fears, he had ventured forth and returned better prepared than when he had left. Of course, in learning more about his enemy, he also had encountered a new, unforeseen obstacle, as well.

  “I was a trapper a long time before I was a vengeful husband, Bracken. I know how to move about unseen in the wild.”

  “Aye, an' ya know tha' hidin' upwin' from some grazer or swine be no' the same as hidin' from men, though. All yer years o' trappin' taught ya nothin' 'bout bein' unseen by them!”

  “Actually, men do not seem to be that different, really. The techniques are the same. Sneak up, stay still when they are near, be silent to hear what they are about. If anything, men are easier than animals, because they automatically expect a stray sound to be a wild animal, and it keeps them closer to their fire, which blinds them to the dark.”

  The dwarf scoffed. “An' yet a man can see yer tracks af'er ya leave, so's they know in the mornin' tha' ya been there.”

  “But in the morning, I am never there. And I can hide my trail well enough to not lead them here.”

  Bracken grumbled something unintelligible under his breath and turned away, which to Nathaniel was a sign that he was abandoning the argument. Certainly, the dwarf was not conceding defeat. Bracken would never do that. But the dwarf had come to accept that it was a battle he could not win, and so made certain his was the last word on the topic, even if it was words that only he could understand.

  “Besides, tonight made up for all of it. It's going to be a great deal easier to exact revenge on Imery than we ever thought.”

  Bracken turned his head back towards the man, expectantly waiting for Nathaniel to finish what he had begun to tell.

  “Brea can summon Imery, it seems. And not just her magic, the Goddess herself!”

  “Ya saw 'er summon Imery? Wha', wit' some kinda ritu'l?”

  “No. I was up and behind where she sat in the camp, and could hear enough of what they were saying. They know we're following, by the way. They've known for a couple of days.”

  Bracken made a hrumphing noise. “We knew we could no' keep 'em from knowin' ferever.”

  Nathaniel nodded. “I know. But now we know that they know, which is more than just wondering when they would catch on.”

  Nathaniel began pacing near the small fire in his excitement. The two had erected the fire in the shelter of some stones, just as they had all but the first two nights of their quest, when there were no stones to face the fire against. By comparison to the blaze the trio ahead of them had lit, this one seemed barely capable of warming more than one of the men, but Bracken had insisted that the fire would warm the stone, and it would be the stone that would keep them warm with less chance of discovery. The dwarf had been right, of course, and it had kept those they followed from seeing their fire as they had approached closer each evening.

  The man and dwarf had been on the road now for six days. It had actually been three nights past that they had first seen the light of their quarries' fire as they stopped to make camp. In fact, had they ridden further into the night, they may well have ridden directly into their camp. They had made no effort to conceal themselves. That alone gave Bracken pause about rushing their camp that very night, as Nathaniel would have had he been on his own.

  Ever since he had acquired the sword from the God Malik, the man had held a renewed vigor towards exacting revenge upon the priestess. Before, he had been wrathful, yet could be reasoned with. Now he seemed possessed with the spirit of vengeance, armed with the knowledge that he had the power to exact revenge upon the one who had sold out his family. Though it may have been at Imery's command, the man had reasoned that the priestess had been the hand through which the mercenaries had been hired. To Nathaniel, this made her as culpable as the Goddess in Mari's death. Though Imery had been seen as an ethereal target, at best, Brea was a very real person who revenge could be exacted upon. And Nathaniel was keenly aware that the longer it took to overtake the priestess, the further away
his son would be taken by his abductors.

  With all the burning rage within him, it had come down to actual conflict to stop the man from rushing the encampment. Bracken had had to draw Hal'braken from its holster and physically plant himself in the man's way before Nathaniel even noticed him. Once the fire had been seen in the distance, it was all that Nathaniel could register in his mind. Yet seeing his friend firmly entrenched against his racing to the campsite was not enough to shock Nathaniel back to reason, either. Nathaniel had actually drawn his newly acquired weapon and launched an attack at the dwarf to force him aside.

  That Nathaniel had even considered that a show of force would sway the dwarf had been a clear sign that he had abandoned all common sense. Never in the years Nathaniel had known him had the man ever seen Bracken back down from a challenge. Dwarves were well known in lore for being stubborn and intractable once they had set their minds to something, and Bracken was the living embodiment of his race's stereotype.

  Despite the surprise that Nathaniel would actually draw steel upon him, the dwarf stood his ground and met the attack with his own force. The two had spent part of the day prior practicing with the two weapons, giving Nathaniel the opportunity to learn what he was capable of with a weapon in his hand. Bracken had been convinced that had he had any other weapon, it would have been shattered time and again by the force of the blows that Nathaniel could rain down upon him. And had he been a less experienced warrior, he may well have fallen to the blade several times himself. Only the fact that his own blade was God-made, and that he himself had spent years in the field mastering it gave him an edge against Nathaniel's newly discovered skill.

  Nathaniel was likely the best swordsman Bracken had ever met, though he would never admit such to the man. The only thing that betrayed Nathaniel, that had given the dwarf any real advantage, was that the man's body did not respond well enough yet to the commands his mind was giving it. It was clear that the mind knew what to do, but the body was not accustomed to the movements yet, and Nathaniel himself had a difficult time letting himself be controlled by instinct. Yet once he overcame that inhibition, and once his body grew used to wielding the blade, Bracken doubted he could have beaten Nathaniel. As it was, the pair had had to stop out of sheer exhaustion without a clear winner of their sparring, but Bracken knew who the winner really was, even if he had not succeeded in overpowering the dwarf yet.