One (The Godslayer Cycle Book 1)

by Ron Glick

  At that point, Bracken had been grateful that Nathaniel had not yet fully come into his own, though his rage had certainly set aside his self-doubts and permitted him to work more on instinct than before. Thankfully, Nathaniel had soon come to his senses, and abandoned the attack. But for a few moments, as the man had rained one pummeling assault after another upon him, he had feared that he would fall short of what was necessary then and there.

  Reason had not come immediately, and the small glimmer of recognition of what he was doing was barely a rational thought at all, yet Bracken had used it as a sliver into his friend's mind through which he explained his caution, and urged Nathaniel to heed his words. The trio may not have been expecting to be followed, as they had surmised before, but they made no effort to hide themselves, either. Even men who do not expect to be followed hide when they have committed a grave deed. It was in the nature of men, Bracken had come to learn. Deceitful men tended to see deceit in all others, and so constantly guarded against it in all they did. If the priestess were the culprit of the travesty against Nathaniel's family they thought her to be, why then would she act so openly without regard against treachery herself?

  Bracken had to explain this to Nathaniel several times before he at last lowered his sword. The logic was sound, and Nathaniel could not ignore the contradictions, even in his grieving state of mind. He wanted an enemy to fight, one to exact vengeance against, but the good heart inside the man would not allow an innocent to be condemned. And it was this goodness that had ultimately permitted Bracken's reasoning to sink in.

  And so the pair had set to follow at a distance, with Nathaniel insisting upon scouting out the camp each night. Bracken, ever the bull in the chicken coup, knew better than to try to sneak up on a band of humans through trees and bristles, which left the task to Nathaniel alone. Bracken had not liked the idea, but he realized that in making his argument, he had left no alternative to learning the truth. Certainly, they could ride into the camp and confront Brea, but if there was guilt to be found there, they could not expect a confession. Which left subterfuge as the only recourse. And short of some magical device that would carry the words from their camp without risk to either of their pursuers, a stealthy recon was the only viable option.

  Now, on the third night of his scouting, Nathaniel had at last returned with what he, at least, thought had made the risk worth it.

  Nathaniel continued to pace as he recounted his experience. “As I say, I was up behind where Brea sat at the fire. She made a threat to bring Imery out of the fire, I suppose to terrorize the men, and no sooner had she spoken her intent, a face appeared in the fire, and the Goddess herself spoke, commanding Brea to speak with her.

  “Brea excused herself, and walked up the embankment towards where I was hidden. In fact, I had to crawl backwards at one point to avoid her stepping on me. And no sooner had I readjusted to my hiding than I looked up to see Brea was not alone. She was in the company of a woman that had a... glow, for lack of a better word, about her. If I had had any doubts about who it might be, Brea's conversation with her revealed that it was the Goddess Imery herself!”

  “An' she did no' see ya hidin' there? 'Twas a Goddess, Man! How's a man hide from a Goddess?”

  Nathaniel shook his head, stopping in his tracks. “I don't know. I didn't think of it at the time. I just held still and held my breath, because I knew if she did find me, I was as good as dead.

  “What is even odder, now that you mention it,” Nathaniel continued as he started pacing again, “Brea asked Imery to find out who was following her, and the Goddess told her it was just a dwarf, likely uncertain about being found out by a group of humans out here in the wilds. She told Brea that you had two horses, but that you were alone. How does a Goddess make that kind of mistake?”

  Bracken thought about it. “Ya said at one poin' tha' the Ol' Gods made it so's ya coul' no' be found out, so's yer power would stay hid. Is this maybe more o' tha' magic at work?”

  Nathaniel nodded. “Must be. It is the only thing that makes sense.

  “At any rate, after Imery told her this, she also told Brea about what was waiting in Scollhaven. Seems they may not be after the sword, after all. There is some man there passing himself off as a God. Calls himself Avery. Brea is going there to possibly assassinate the man, I think. Imery is concerned that the man is using magic to compel followers, and the Goddess considers him a great enough threat, apparently, to send one of her priestesses there in person to measure whether or not to have him killed.”

  “Why woul' she do tha'? Could no' the Goddess jus' scry down an' look fer herself?”

  “I don't know. Maybe. Or maybe the magic this guy is using is something that stops even her. That would make sense, make him a real enough threat for the Goddess to send in someone on the ground, so to speak.”

  “An' shows the Goddess fer a coward, ta boot,” grumped Bracken.

  “Maybe,” Nathaniel admitted. Stopping in his route in front of the fire, Nathaniel stopped to look down at his companion, eagerness brimming from him. “But all of that aside, don't you see? Once we retrieve the sword, we will all be in the same place, and I can make Brea summon Imery. All we have to do is keep out of site until we reach the town, and then once we have found the sword and she has dealt with this Avery person, we can ambush her and force her to bring Imery to us to answer for what she has done!”

  Bracken flinched at the idea. “Challenge a Goddess? Are ya mad, Nate?”

  Nathaniel's smile was as cold as the anger that had burned so brightly the night he had drawn steel upon his friend. “With a Godslayer in my hand, the Goddess will return my wife to me. She won't have a choice.”

  Bracken felt the chill of Nathaniel's words. He actually intended to threaten a God, and worse, if the thrice-be-damned Old Gods were telling the truth, he may well have the power in his hands soon enough capable of delivering upon the threat!

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I do not like it,” said Derik.

  “Is there ever anything you do like?” muttered Brea. Derik's company had never been the most positive experience. From the outset of their journey, he had gone out of his way to be negative, mostly to underscore Brea's position of authority. However, ever since Imery had appeared in the fire, he had become even more sour.

  Derik had completely abandoned his efforts to impress her now, which had certainly been a positive effect of Imery's' appearance. Yet he had since replaced his interest with a pessimistic brooding that seemed almost belligerent in nature. Derik had become a constant source of complaints: the weather looked to be too warm, the weather looked to be too cold, too wet, too dry. His horse could do nothing right, nor could his brother, who had taken to sulking himself, as well, though more from his brother's abuse than from the shock of the Goddess' appearance.

  Now Derik had ridden on ahead because he did not like the look of the road ahead. Brea had grumbled at the man's insistence at finding fault in everything, but had agreed to let him do so, if for no other reason than to be away from his grousing for a time. Yet when he had returned, he had found something new to grump over: he had found an encampment ahead.

  “There are two tents, one small, one large,” Derik smirked, hearing Brea's words, and taking a perverse pleasure in knowing that he had been the cause of some irritation for the priestess.

  “A pavilion?” Brea asked. “Do you know what a pavilion looks like?”

  Derik scowled. “Perhaps my brother and I fair from backwoods stock, Mi'Lady. Compared to your high and holiness, we must seem to have been born from the backside of a mule yesterday. In spite of that though, yes, I know what a pavilion looks like. And no, it certainly ain't no pavilion, though I think that was the effect being sought after. If I were to describe it in backwoods' talk that would not be too crass for her ladyship's ears, I would say it was a poor man's attempt at looking important.”

  Brea considered for a moment before speaking. “Any guards? Men with weapons?”

&
nbsp; Derik shook his head. “No. I watched for a bit from behind some trees, and all I saw was a man and a woman. The woman I only saw briefly, for she came out of the big tent and talked to the other man before going back in. If I were to guess, I would say there was at least one other inside the larger tent, if only because the woman looked like a servant wench from a bar an' not some high lady. Not even someone trying to look like a high lady.”

  “And the man you saw?”

  “Neat enough. If he had come out of the tent with the girl, I might have took him for the lord of the camp. But it looked more like the girl was passing on instructions to the man rather than the other way around. Even still, the man had a carriage about him that suggested he had some importance. And...” Derik broke off, clearly considering whether to continue with his line of thought.

  “And...”? Brea prompted.

  Derik looked uncomfortable for a moment. “Understand, I know enough how to stay out of sight when I want to, and though the camp is well placed by the road with absolutely no effort to hide, still, I did not want to be seen. Yet after the girl went back inside, the man turned to look my way, and I could swear...” Again, Derik trailed off, but before Brea could prompt him again, he finished his thought. “I could swear he was looking right at me, right through the tree. There was no way he should have been able to see me, yet he did. I know he did. And then he just... grinned and moved off in the other direction, like I didn't matter.”

  Brea closed her eyes to think, moving her hand to cover her mouth. The grimace she could not control would have perhaps been seen as anger, and she did not want the men thinking she was in the least bit perturbed by the new group's appearance. Yet she was. Irked that some unknown quantity was now entrenched between her and her goal.

  The more time she had spent on this trek, the greater her impatience had become to see the deed done and over. And one more delay was one too many. They had been on the road eleven days now, and four of them had been in the company of a man who went out of his way to turn all around them into dirge and gloom. The stress of her all-too-vague quest was enough, but to add to it the acidic companionship she had found herself bonded with was grating upon her patience and resolve. None of this took into account that the comfort she should have been able to take from her Goddess was also lacking due to her internal crisis of faith. And she certainly had no one to share that with.

  Then there was the dwarf. They still had signs that he continued to follow, and that he had even been quietly observing their camp at night. Each morning, one of the brothers had found signs of disturbed earth from where the small man must have tried to hide his trail. He, of course, had no way of knowing that they knew who and what he was, or even likely that they knew he followed. Brea had cautioned the men to not do anything to betray their knowledge, and to do nothing which would be seen as a threat. She wanted the dwarf on good terms with her, and perhaps to even gain the nerve to come out and greet them. Better to travel with him, she had said, than to have him be a constant unknown quantity to their rear.

  Yet in spite of her best intentions, the dwarf had stayed an enigma. They never caught sight of him during the day, and if the stories were true, his night vision would be far superior to theirs. Dwarves as a race lived primarily underground, after all, and would be at an advantage in the dark. But lore told that they had special sight that gave them more than an advantage – it was near mystical in how well a dwarf could see in the dark, seeing the heat that radiated off a body rather than light, it was said. If there were any truth to the lore, confronting the dwarf at night, provoking him into hostility, would be a grave mistake. So they were left with the daylight, and during that time, the little man was scarce.

  Now, with the unknown travelers in front of them and the dwarf behind them, she could see a potential risk, as well. If the dwarf thought they were traveling to meet up with this other group, if he thought that they potentially represented a threat to him, one he could not bypass, he may turn aggressive, if for no other reason than for self-preservation. She needed to eliminate that risk somehow.

  Brea looked up to where the sun had fallen behind the nearby ridge, casting the trail they were on into shadow. The light from the sun could still be seen over the trees lower down the terrain, but where they parlayed, the night was fast approaching. Brea knew she had to make a decision and soon. They would have to make camp for the night within the hour, or lose what light they had to prepare for the night. Yet here, they were too close to the other encampment to avoid being seen, and she was not certain she wanted to be seen yet by them. And if they went back along the trail, they risked provoking the dwarf.

  The dwarf's presence behind them, at least, had been one thing Brea could now see had had some merit amidst all of Derik's other rantings. At first, she had taken her Goddess' word that he presented no threat, that he was only being cautious around men. Yet as time progressed and as the brothers kept coming forward with news of leavings from their nighttime spy, she had become less and less certain that the dwarf, solitary though he may be, did not present a potential risk to them. He certainly had all of the advantages if he wished to force a confrontation, and that did not sit well with Brea, not at all.

  Finally, Brea opened her eyes and sat up straight in her saddle. “I shall go aft and attempt to make contact with our friendly sleuth. You two wait here and watch for any signs that anyone from the camp tries to follow up this way.”

  Alsen started at her words. “Mi'Lady, no! It is too dangerous!”

  Derik chimed in close on the heels of his brother. “Alsen is right. You may be blessed of your Goddess, but you are still just a skirt riding into an ambush if you go alone. At least let one of us go with you...”

  Brea stared Derik into silence. “If I appear defenseless, I believe I will have a better chance than if I am accompanied by an armed man. I wish to appeal to the dwarf's honor, not challenge it. Dwarves are rumored to value their honor above all else save gold...”

  “Dwarves under the ground, perhaps. But usually the reason a dwarf takes to living above is because they have lost their honor and been cast out. This could be a murderer that follows us, waiting for just such a chance to come upon him to rape and flay you for some deviant purpose! He could well be in league with demons...”

  “Derik!” Brea nearly shouted the man's name to silence him. “That will be quite enough! My Goddess has assured me that the dwarf means no harm, and, unprovoked, I believe he will treat me with dignity. If I am mistaken, then I have my Goddess' magics to protect me. The dwarf will have had no real way to know the extent of my power. At best, he's seen a little communion and fire-starting. He will not be prepared to deal with the true measure of power I wield.”

  Derik scowled. Then, as an afterthought, made an exaggerated bow towards Brea. “As you command, M'Lady,” he drawled. “B'sides, I have no 'dea what I was thinkin' tryin' ta share my addle-witted ideas with you whose clearly so much better at thinkin' than I's is...”

  Alsen snickered at this, but quickly caught himself as he sent a furtive glance towards Brea. The priestess had clearly seen no humor in Derik's ridicule. The fury she felt at being so blatantly mocked was palpable in the air around her. Later, had Alsen been called to witness, he would have attested to seeing the air itself turn darker around the lady before she ever uttered a word, as she battled within herself about whether to react or not. Brea had been trained for years in how to settle inner conflict and to resolve conflicts without resorting to pettiness. When faced with a man who had first undermined her, then irritated her and now outright demeaned her, diplomacy and malice had never been more at odds within her. In this one instance though, diplomacy lost.

  “A fool you would appear, then a fool you shall be,” Brea growled. Waving her hand in a manner far more aggressive than was needed for the somatic component of the spell, she molded her spell. “Insipient,” she uttered, the word empowering her intent. The word washed away from her lungs, the power imbued in the wo
rd. Typically, the spell she used was intended to stun, to leave a person confused for a short time. Yet so enraged was she that Brea knew even as the spell was uttered that there was far more power in the casting than she would have thought necessary. Worse still, she did not care.

  Derik's eyes were the first to visibly show effect. What had been a haughty, self-important gleam faded to confusion, an inability to comprehend what was happening. As his eyes began to blink rapidly, the smirk of satisfaction on his face slowly turned downwards, initially to an open-mouthed gape of hesitation, then to a slack-mouthed expression of incomprehension. As his jaw began to lower to reflect his mouth's gape, his entire body lost the solidity of its self-confidence and moved into a slouch of unconcern. Panic began to set into the man's eyes as the physical signs began to overcome his mental faculties, yet soon even the intelligence necessary to register the fear was gone. Within a handspan of moments, the man who had been Derik the guide became a simpleton who could not comprehend even the simplest of things around him.

  Alsen became horrified at the change in his brother and rushed to try to shake the man out of his fog. “Derik!” he shouted. “Snap out of it! Come on, Derik! Stop playin'!”

  Alsen's voice reflected the panic that no longer registered in his brother's eyes. And as Derik looked into the face of the anxious young man, the full extent of the damage became apparent as the larger man stared at his brother for several moments without recognition. After a few moments though, Derik's face finally split into a witless grin as he finally recalled whose face it was he was looking at. With a wooden, stiff motion, Derik reached up and cupped his brothers cheek in the palm of his hand. “Alsen,” Derik finally slurred as drool ran down his chin. “It's okay, Alsen. I'll take care of you!”