The Eighth God

by Paul S. Lavender

  But he just got so angry, when the half-elf was around. Was it that he came from a better family? That the half-elf was good as a battle mage?

  Ellowe just couldn’t put his finger on it.

  He managed to make it to the latrines without further incident, he cleaned himself up as best he could and then headed to the bathhouse.

  As he entered the bathhouse, he collected a new robe from a pile of neatly ironed ones and headed to the changing area. Like all the battle mages, Ellowe was heavily muscled; you needed to be strong to carry a suit of plate mail and double-handed sword. Ellowe’s preferred weapon of choice.

  While the metal of the plate mail, diminished the overall effects of any magic he used, he thought the extra protection of the plate was a good trade off.

  A lot of the battle mages wore special armour called Plated Leather, but Ellowe figured that in battle it would mark them out, and an arrow could kill an unaware battle mage as easily as anyone else.

  Ellowe soaked in the hot tub for half an hour, letting the hot water relax his muscles and clean out the pores of his skin. Then he dried himself and put on the new robe, carelessly tossing the soiled one in a basket in the corner of the changing room.

  As Ellowe came out of the bathhouse, he spotted the bastard going into stores. He grinned. I’ll get the little fucker when he comes out. Ellowe moved to hide in the shade of the stores.

  11: The New Captain

  Melress walked into the stores, taking in the scene before him. Lamps flickered from iron brackets at regular intervals, allowing enough light to see all the stock piled on the shelves. Two men stood behind a stout oak counter, it looked like one had just told the other a joke, as one of the men let out a loud guffaw.

  Melress walked up to the counter and looked at the two men expectantly.

  The two men studiously ignored him.

  ‘Excuse me.’ Melress began

  ‘Bell’, said one of the men

  ‘What?’

  ‘You need to ring the bell, so'ze we know you're there’. The other man appeared to be smirking.

  ‘But you know I’m here. We’re talking to each other.’

  ‘Rules, soldier. Gotta follow the rules. Look it sez there.’

  Melress glanced down at a faded sign that read, ‘please ring the bell’, someone had written ' if you dare' below it. Melress hit the bell with his hand. Nothing happened.

  The two men started to laugh.

  Turning the bell over Melress noticed someone had taken the clapper out.

  ‘Very funny. Can I have a Captain’s uniform please?’

  ‘Sorry, son,’ Said the older of the two men,’ you have to work your way through the ranks. Ya know, get promoted like. Now fuck off, we’re busy.’

  Wordlessly Melress took a piece of paper out of his pouch and threw it at the man. The man opened the paper, and as he read it, he began to stiffen into attention.

  ‘Righto, sir, Malc go get this fine young officer his uniform, get 'im one from the bottom, not the top. Sorry, sir.’

  Malc ran off.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, stores-man.’

  Soon Malc was back with a fresh Captains uniform. ‘There’s a changing cubicle behind you, sir, ‘said Malc, passing the uniform over the counter to Melress.

  Melress turned around and walked into the cubicle. Five minutes later he was dressed in the uniform of a Captain Battle Mage.

  Striding back out of the cubicle, he walked back to the counter. ‘Stores-man, can you send a suit of plaited leather and a longsword to my quarters, please.’

  The stores-man looked at Melress approvingly, he nodded his head and smiled. ‘Yessir.’

  Melress smiled back, turned and walked out of the stores. As he stepped out into the sun, he was pushed forward as a lance of fire ripped into him from behind. Luckily for Melress the shield that he had conjured earlier sprang back up just before the flame hit.

  For fucks sake, not again, he thought as the force bowled him over and onto the path.

  Ellowe strode forward, flame lancing from his fingers.

  ‘Ellowe, for crying out loud give it a rest!’ Melress shouted over the whoosh of flames.

  Ellowe didn’t seem to hear him, just kept coming, a grimace of concentration on his face. As Melress watched he saw lines start to appear on Ellowe’s face, hair starting to turn grey. Ellowe was paying the price for all his magic use. Ellowe’s hatred was feeding the magic, creating a cycle that would eventually destroy him.

  Melress realised if he didn’t stop Ellowe, Ellowe was going to die. Drawing upon magic always had a cost, of course, once you stopped the magic, you would start to regenerate back to yourself, but using too much magic, putting too much power into it, could leave you dead. Just an empty dry shell would remain.

  Summoning his other power, a power that seemed to come from nowhere, he closed his eyes, in his mind’s eye, he saw a war hammer, made of ivory and gold. He wasn't sure why he thought of this image, just as he wasn't sure where the power came from. Oh, he had heard the other students whisper about Belief, but he was no priest, was he?

  Ellowe couldn’t stop; the magic was taking control, feeding upon itself, getting stronger and stronger. Fire swirled about growing taller. Guards on the battlements began to shout. The resultant hue and cry causing an alarm to sound out from one of the towers. Help was coming he thought... But it wasn’t going to get here in time.

  Ellowe looked at his hands, at the liver spots on thin skeletal arms; his fingers thin almost claw-like. He looked up again just as the black and gold war hammer smacked into his face, breaking his nose and knocking him to the floor unconscious for the second time that day.

  Melress stood up, as half a dozen guardsmen came around a corner. He reached Ellowe a stride before the guards. Looking at him, Melress decided he had knocked him out just in time. He was small, thin, and hardly able to breathe. He looked as close to death as anyone Melress had ever seen.

  Luckily with the magic gone, Ellowe’s breathing regained some of its regularity quickly. It would take weeks for the rest of the damage to be repaired. Melress knew the broken nose would be the least of Ellowe’s problems.

  A guard Sergeant came up, ‘Get this scum up, attacking a superior officer is a hanging offence.’

  ‘No need Sergeant, we were just having a friendly duel. Got to keep the skills sharp. Just get him to the infirmary.’

  The Sergeant looked at the area of scorched stones and raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Don’t worry Sergeant, I’ll clean the mess up.’

  Melress went off to get a bucket and broom.

  ‘No need for that... Sir, the lads and me will sort it. You get yerself on yer way.’

  Melress realised that it was going to be harder than he thought to be an officer.

  ‘Thank you, Sergeant…’

  Melress and the Sergeant looked at one another as Melress waited. It took a few more seconds before the Sergeant realized what the Battle Mage Captain was waiting for.

  ‘Err…Fug sir.’

  ‘Did you just say your name was Fuck, Sergeant?’

  ‘No sir, Fug. F…U…G’

  Melress looked at Sergeant Fug with a faraway expression on his face. ‘Alright, Sergeant Fug, carry on.’

  Fug watched the young Captain walk off and shook his head before turning to yell at his guards.

  12: High on the Rooftops

  She is coming.

  The voice in Saethryth’s head awoke him from the sleep that he had drifted into.

  Wiping a hand across his mouth, he rose from the chair and made his way back to the window. As he looked outside, he noticed that night had come to Ashen Falls.

  He was glad that he had place Epiacum against the window sill, for while the sword couldn’t see as such, it could sense things. Invisible ripples would pulse from the blade much like a bat would sense things in the dark caves they called home.

  He peered out of the gap between the curtains and saw a female elf mak
ing her way down the ramp. From what he could tell of her in her armour she had looked good, now in a dress, she looked stunning. The dress accentuated her curves without being too clingy, and her hair was such a bright colour of blonde that the moonlight seemed to reflect off it. From the range she was at, Saethryth couldn’t see the colour of her eyes, but he guessed they would be the colour of dark emeralds like so any of his elven kin.

  His eyes, however, were a lighter shade of green, more akin to the colour of raw chrysoprase, and if you let him gaze at you, you would see the flame of ruby within.

  He would seem to be gazing into your very self, and as he looked away, you would be thinking that he had found you wanting.

  Considering that she had killed two men earlier that day the woman was walking unconcernedly. Perhaps she killed one or two every day, Saethryth thought. The kind of woman I could do with as an Orcslayer.

  You have got to be kidding!

  We need to see the enemy before we judge her. She is a Captain in the Battle Mages and someone with orc blood has gotten very close to her.

  Humph…

  As the woman drew nearer, Saethryth noticed that she had a slight smile on her face, but then why wouldn’t she, she was probably off to see her lover. As she moved, her hand would brush against a small pouch that sat on her left hip. There wasn’t much in it to attract unwanted attention, he surmised by the size of it, but enough to pay for a meal or two. And she would as like as not be armed, probably with a dagger or even a leather cosh. She would, of course, have her magic to rely on if she needed it.

  Picking up Epiacum and re-sheathing the sword he started to make his way quickly up the stairs and into the attic of the house.

  Once in the attic, he made his way to a small door that led onto the roof of the house. As he closed the door behind him, he noted how well it blended into the surrounding roof. He always liked to appreciate fine workmanship, and this was the best, done by his father so Saethryth could use the rooftops as his own playground. It was an ideal route to follow someone who could fry you to a cinder with just a word.

  The streets were much quieter at night, and it didn’t take long for Saethryth to spot his quarry, and he followed at a slow pace and a respectable distance. The battle mage could have any number of defensive and detection spells working, even though they would have to be short range or low powered, to avoid her ageing too much.

  He could tell as he followed that the woman was going somewhere she had been to before. There was no deviation from her walk, no confusion about direction. Eventually, she approached a building that looked to be a very expensive restaurant. As she approached, she smoothed her already flat dress and approached a man who stood outside the door behind a lectern. They exchanged conversation, and the man looked to be giving her some directions. Then the woman opened the door and walked in.

  Saethryth sat high on the rooftops and waited.

  13: The Shadow

  Rain was falling as Ashalone opened the door of The Fallen General Inn. She took off her wet cloak and passed it to the on-duty attendant.

  ‘Is Master Ishara here yet?’ She hoped he was, she didn’t want to wait too long to eat. The sooner she ate, the sooner she could get him to bed.

  ‘Yes, Captain, he’s waiting for you at table twenty-seven.’

  Ashalone made her way to the table. Sitting there was the most astounding elf she had ever seen. Her pulse quickened as it always did on seeing him. They had been lovers now for six months. Ashalone shared everything with him, her hopes, her fears, and her body.

  Ishara started to rise on seeing her, a huge smile on his face. ‘Ashalone, my darling. Good day at the office my dear?’

  Ashalone and Ishara embraced and kissed before she replied ‘Strange day Ishara, strange day. But let’s order first before we talk.’

  Ishara seemed to darken slightly, then exhaled. ‘All right my love.'

  The two of them ordered their meals and some wine to go with them. Neither of them saw the shape in the shadows of the rooftops, watching them.

  Soon the meal was over. Ishara held Ashalone’s hand as they made to get their cloaks. Her skin prickled at the touch of him, and she started to imagine what would happen when they got back to his house in the merchant quarter.

  As they walked, Ishara spoke. ‘So tell me, Love, about your strange day. Is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘The Commander made one of the soldiers into a Captain, and sent him on a secret mission.’

  ‘Oh. ‘Ishara seemed to stiffen. ‘Where has the new Captain gone, anywhere exciting?’

  ‘All I know is that he’s gone to one of the borderland keeps.’

  Ishara’s face turned red with anger, and his features seemed to alter, to become less than human. He grabbed an arm tightly and dragged her into an alley, where it was dark and quiet. ‘Which one, tell me?’

  Ashalone gaped in horror at the monstrosity before her. She had been sleeping with a half-orc, gods she was going to be sick. She started to reach for her dagger, but Ishara was quicker. His orc gutter whipped out and plunged into Ashalone’s side. She screamed in agony, the pain unbearable. She just had time to see an elf in black leather run up to Ishara and start fighting him before she blacked out.

  14: A Silent Vigil

  The first half an hour hadn’t been too bad, but then the rain had started to fall. Normally Saethryth would have just pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head and tugged the edges of his cloak tight around himself. But he didn't want to move and risk being seen, he could have used his armour to fashion a helmet, but he couldn’t be bothered to listen to the rain pinging off it, so had no option but to get wet. Then wetter. Then soaked through. Cold rain ran through his hair to drip off the end of his nose and the tips of his ears.

  He was starting to feel thoroughly pissed off now, every time the door opened, he found himself wishing, hoping that it was the woman and her lover.

  Another half an hour passed before the door opened and the woman stepped out. Saethryth leant forward to get a first glimpse of the man who was with her, his eyes going wide as the person stepped out and put his arm around the woman’s waist.

  To look at the man, he was just a normal elf, good looking in his way, his hair was more of a sandy brown than blonde, and he wore a robe of black silk with golden trim. It was the robe that was Saethryth’s first clue that the man was more than he seemed, he had seen many an orc shaman in the same garb in the orc lands.

  He is the one.

  Epiacum as always spoke directly into Saethryth’s mind and Saethryth considered asking the blade if he was sure and then thought better of it. Epiacum was never wrong when it came to orcs. Saethryth drew the blade from its scabbard.

  ‘You’re not going to do that god's awful singing, are you?’ He felt the need to ask even though the blade had done it every fight for twenty-five years and more.

  Of course, it is my duty.

  Saethryth wondered what he was going to do about the battle mage, he couldn’t see her letting him kill her lover and run off into the night afterwards. Even though mages couldn’t attack the physical body directly, there were plenty of ways they could kill a person. Fire, electricity, lifting a person into the air and dropping them, the list was endless.

  Even as Saethryth tensed, ready to make his move the man started to get angry and his looks began to get more orcish, the woman’s eyes widened at the apparition before her.

  Saethryth leapt down from his perch and ran towards the half-orc and as he neared the man thrust his gutter into the woman’s body.

  Saethryth knew at that moment that he was going back to war.

  15: The Fight

  Bazak-Kul moved forward to finish Ashalone off, a quick slash across the throat should do it, he thought. Suddenly out of the corner of his eye he saw movement. He spun quickly to see an elf closing in on him fast.

  The elf was wearing a black leather vest and trousers, a black cloak on his back. In one hand he held a long
sword, but instead of a steel blade, it had a black one. The blade seemed to have a malevolence all its own.

  Bazak-Kul pulled out a second orcish gutter, and as the elf swung down, he brought both gutter’s up in an x shape. Sparks danced as the long sword was halted. Suddenly the elf sprang off his heels and somersaulted over Bazak-Kul's head.

  The elf started a reverse thrust, Bazak spun to his side, and the long sword nicked his robes and sliced weakly into his flesh.

  Then the sword seemed to light from within, and a litany of the dead seemed to pore forth from its blade.

  Oshas-Sha, Pekko-Uk...

  Bazak swung one of the gutters backhanded, the blade sunk deep into the neck of the elf.

  Nothing happened.

  Og-Og, Mog-Og...

  The elf smiled, ‘You’ll have to better than that orc scum. It’s time to die!’

  Bazak was scared, his blade should have severed the spinal cord, and this fucker should be dead. Not a scratch, no blood, it was like he was a ghost. Panic set in. Back pedalling he put one of his gutters away.

  Hesh-Kul, Osh-Igg...

  Bazak put his hand into his robe and pulled out a small sphere. The elf swung at Bazak’s head. Bazak ducked and slashed with his gutter. The elf’s cloak strap sliced, and the elf had to shake it away from his sword arm.

  Agg-Jut....

  Bazak had time to throw the smoke bomb, as he did so, he noticed a small, golden brooch on the elf’s chest. Previously obscured by the cloak, it showed what looked like an orc head, behind, which was a crossed sword, and lightning bolt.

  ‘What the fuck is that?’ He thought.

  Then he ran.

  Sh... K....

  What was that last name?