Three (The Godslayer Cycle Book 3)

by Ron Glick

  “How could you possibly know you could trust me to keep my word?” asked the Player, trying to buy for time.

  “Because you're fair,” shrugged Dart. “Because to you, rules are rigid and should never be cheated. You would never cheat, anymore than you would ever deceive. There's no challenge if you rig the game. Am I right?”

  The Player considered for a moment longer, then closed his eyes. She was right, of course. In everything she had said. If he agreed to this, he would always agree to this. And it was worth it.

  Without any further hesitation, the Player offered his hand. “Provide me the name of the one who created the Game, and I will forever be your man.”

  Dart's hand whipped across the space between them. “Done.”

  Chapter 1

  The sun had only begun to rise, yet its colors had already spread through half the sky. The light, airy clouds wafting across the sky carried the various shades of orange and yellow yet unseen from the great orb itself out and across the heavens, announcing for all to see the coming of the day.

  Nathaniel sat upon the edge of the wooden bar that had formerly served as the hitching post for the Wyrm Fang's Tavern, looking longingly into the distance. Now with the old business burned to the ground, it was one of the few areas in town where people did not frequent - few were interested in a vacant lot that had only been partially cleared of debris, after all. And those who had once tried to make shelter out of the ruins had been driven off by the dwarven proprietor. It gave Nathaniel a small measure of perceived solitude, and he found himself coming here far too often to be alone.

  Yet it was not the raw vibrancy of the dawn which drew his eye, but an imagined location too far removed to actually be seen with his own mortal eyes. It was lost to him now more than it had been before his grand quest seeking the fate of his son, and more than anything else in his life the reason for that loss heralded a change that would be difficult to ignore.

  The Old Gods had returned. There was no disputing that now. Nathaniel himself had known since they first appeared to him last autumn, but now everyone else knew as well. They had performed a miracle that could not be explained away, even by the most persistent objections of the priests of the New Order. And worse, he had become connected to their miracle - everyone knew him now, and it was a degree of fame he was quite uncomfortable with.

  Last autumn, someone had attacked Nathaniel's homestead. His wife, Mariabelle, had been alone in their shared domicile, and she had lost her life. He had lost his son, Geoffrey, the same night, having been forcefully taken from where he had been staying in the small community known as Oaken Wood, from the care of their family friend, the dwarf Bracken. Both Nathaniel's and Bracken's homes had been lost on the same night, but these were small accounts compared to the death of Nathaniel's wife and the abduction of his son.

  The clear message was that it had been retaliation from the New Order's Goddess Imery, but that had proven to be a misdirection. Imery had known nothing of the crime - but Nathaniel had taken the Goddess' life all the same. Even now, with months to reflect upon his actions, Nathaniel could not say whether his actions were driven by grief over his loss or an effort to protect their companion, Brea, who had been under attack from Imery at that moment in time.

  But the Old Gods - or the Pantheon, as they called themselves - had made Nathaniel a promise. They would work towards resurrecting Mariebelle, keep her body safe until her soul could be returned to her flesh. They had no control over the soul of his wife because she had been a devoted follower of the rival group of Gods known as the New Order, but the Old Gods had believed that they could eventually barter for her soul. And it was from this promise stemmed the miracle which had come to vex Nathaniel so.

  Nathaniel had never thought to ask how the Old Gods expected to keep a dead body viable, to preserve it so that its soul could be returned one day. And to be honest, in the months he was away, he had given it next to no thought. His primary focus had been to track down the ones responsible for taking his son - but this had also been a fruitless endeavor. He had returned to Oaken Wood just before the heaviest of the snows set in for the season, but he had only returned with himself and Bracken - Geoffrey was still lost, and none had any clue as to where his toddler son could be found.

  All Nathaniel could claim as reward for his travels were two mystical swords - Two, the second of the nine godslayer swords created by the Old Gods in their quest to overthrow the New Order, and the sword from which they had all been forged, First. Those and their new companion, Brea, the former priestess of Imery, the now-deceased Goddess of Truth.

  Of course, Brea was another matter altogether. With the death of her Goddess, she should have been rendered powerless, the magic she had drawn upon through the grace of her worship to the Goddess snuffed along with the life of the deity herself. And yet - Brea had instead begun to exhibit power of her own - independent of prayer, or worship, or devotion. It was power entirely hers, and it was a source of enigma for everyone, including Brea herself.

  When the three companions had returned to Oaken Wood, however, none of their trials away from the small community had mattered. For the small community had become something new in their absence: it had become a mecca of faith, faith long thought lost to the mortals of Na'Ril. It had only been at the beginning of its ebb at the first heavy snows, but by spring, the pilgrims traveling to Oaken Wood had grown exponentially, and the town was now swallowed on all sides by massive camps of people who had come to see - and many to stay in witness to - the impossible demonstration of divine existence.

  And there was a story that had begun to circulate, as well. There's always a story, thought Nathaniel, regardless of how much of the story was actually true.

  The story went that the Goddess Imery had cruelly sought out and had an innocent woman struck down because she stood in the way of her own priestess' desires to possess the woman's husband. But the Old Gods, looking down upon the world from their long exile, took umbrage against the cruelty of the New Order's Goddess. Pitying the woman, they swore to forever preserve her body as a promise to the mortals of Na'Ril that never again would such cruelty be permitted to stand. The Old Gods had returned, and they had taken their revenge against Imery, who had fled from the mortal realms out of fear of retribution.

  If any doubted the words of the story, they had only to ask any priest of Imery - their Goddess was gone. Simply gone. And what's more, the woman's body had been displayed for all to see - at the very site of her murder - sustained as pristinely as if her body still drew breath,

  Nathaniel rubbed at his eyes, doing his best to hold in his tears. The Old Gods had kept their word. They had preserved Mariabelle's body - but had displayed it in a crystal coffin rimmed with gold, silver and precious gems. They had sanctified the site of her death and used her body as a monument of their power. Any could come and see her, resting peacefully below a clear shell, indestructible and immovable. It had become proof impossible to ignore - and a holy site of pilgrimage for countless people seeking proof of the Old Gods' continued existence. For hundreds of years, the New Order had sought to quash the Old Gods' religion, and in one act, they had forever reaffirmed their true power for all the world to see, all focused around the eternally pale body of Nathaniel's wife.

  But what the Old Gods had done forever prevented Nathaniel from ever having the chance to grieve over his wife's grave. Everyone knew who Mariabelle was - she was the wife of Nathaniel Goodsmith. Though he was known to some as the Godslayer, here he was only the surviving widower of the divinely pure Mariabelle. Many had come to believe that Nathaniel himself was blessed in some way, or could impart some blessing upon them by virtue of his association to the divinely blessed mortal woman. None of it was true, of course, and many more still simply saw him in awe for the honor of being the grieving widower, but it made it impossible for Nathaniel to even approach any of the masses of pilgrims clustered around his own home or Oaken Wood itself.

  Unable to be alone
with his wife, how could any man possibly grieve?

  Nathaniel and Bracken had traveled to the Goodsmiths' property almost immediately upon hearing of this debacle. Even then, dozens of tents and camps had been set up around the boundaries of his property - though thankfully some unspoken agreement had kept any from disturbing the ground of Nathaniel's property itself. Nathaniel had been able to approach Mariabelle's body, look upon her and lightly run his hand upon the cool surface that separated him from her body. But that was the last peace he would ever know in Mariabelle's presence.

  It started with a simple question: did he know her story? It had been an innocent enough question from a young girl, certainly no more than fifteen summers. There had been no malice in her words - if anything, they were words of reverence and respect. But it had prompted a heart-worn growl from Nathaniel all the same.

  She was my wife, he had snapped.

  And from that moment on, all knew who he was. And none would let him be. All wanted stories of Mariabelle's life before she had been divinely blessed, to somehow live vicariously through Nathaniel's private memories. He had been swarmed within moments, and he had been forced to retreat. He had never again been able to approach Mariabelle for fear of receiving the same treatment.

  The widower had journeyed to his homestead many times in the months since, and the number of camps surrounding his home had continued to grow. Now the trees were beginning to be cut back to make room for permanent camps and a rough settlement, all to provide for those who came to worship. None cared for his own feelings on the matter. None cared whether he objected, or was offended, or whether he even wanted to return home to rebuild his lost life, as devoid of family as it might be.

  All any cared was for themselves, and their own selfish pursuits of what they believed to be paramount - the presence of the divine on the mortal plane.

  Likewise, the Old Gods themselves had equally been silent these last several months. Where before they had plagued him near-daily, ever since Levitz, the Pantheon had been notably absent from his life. Avery had said that the next sword would not awaken until the spring, and part of Nathaniel believed that they were simply biding their time, waiting for the next mission they could send their chosen avatar upon. But there was also a part of Nathaniel's heart that knew this not to be true. They were not keeping their distance out of lack of need; Nathaniel knew deep down that the Pantheon genuinely feared his wrath. Over what had been done with his wife, over the loss of his son, over their complete failure to preserve any aspect of the mortal man's life - all for the glorification of themselves.

  Nathaniel ran his finger along the edge of the hilt of the sword resting beside him on the wooden hitching post. He had taken to bringing along at least one of the swords wherever he went. This morning, it had been Two, the elemental sword. The sword that could use water as a weapon. There was no particular reasoning behind his selection - it was just a sword to him. In spite of its power, it was just a steel object that had become attached to his life by fate. Avery had belief that the swords were more than this, but not Nathaniel. In spite of their power, they were only weapons - powerful weapons, but weapons all the same.

  “I had not thought to see such a fine blade this far away from the coast,” came a woman's voice.

  Nathaniel started, unprepared for his vigil to be interrupted. He looked to his side and saw a commonly garbed woman standing there, her leather garment appearing almost drab in its coloring. No effort had been made to dye the material, and it all had a very plain, soft brown color. It was well kept, despite this, and the woman's posture gave off a sense of confidence that gave her a near regal air. Her soft brown hair seemed to almost clash with the sharpness of her eyes.

  “I do not mean to bother you,” offered the woman. “My name is Tanath, and I am only a visitor here.”

  Nathaniel blinked a moment before responding. “Sorry, you startled me. My name is--”

  “Oh, everyone knows you, Nathan. You're the poor husband to the woman all trussed up there in the woods.” At this, Tanath nodded her head to the side, aimed into the distance where Nathaniel's gaze had been wandering but a moment before.

  “That is a rather harsh way of putting it.”

  “Perhaps,” agreed Tanath. “But true, all the same. What civil person would lay out a body in that fashion? The poor girl's dead - let her rest in peace, ya know?”

  Nathaniel felt an unwanted smile creep across his face. There was something about this girl that he appreciated. Moreso than almost anyone he had met in all his journeys.

  “It doesn't sound like you came to Oaken Wood for the sites,” the man offered. “So what brings you so far inland?”

  “Oh, I came for the sites, alright. You have to at least once see something like this. I just didn't come for the same reason as everyone else.” Tanath shrugged. “I've come, I've seen, now I can move on with my life having done so.”

  The woman's eye fell again upon Nathaniel's hand that rested upon Two. “Still, that sword is unexpected, a sight I certainly was not prepared to see.” Tanath reached out. “May I?”

  Nathaniel hesitated a moment, but only a moment. No one besides Avery, himself and the now-deceased rogue pirate in Levitz had ever wielded one of the magic blades. He was not entirely certain what was required to draw the power from the sword, either. Could this Tanath learn of the blade's power just from handling it? And if so, what would she do with it?

  The hesitation passed however, and Nathaniel brought up the sword. Balancing the length of the blade between his hands, he offered it to his new companion. “Be careful. It is... special.”

  Tanath smirked. “Oh, I can see that.” Taking the sword in hand, Tanath quickly pulled the steel from its scabbard, eyeing the magnificent sheen of the steel in the early light of day. “This is just magnificent,” she almost sighed. “And the runes in the blade - I don't think I have ever seen anything so incredible. And I have seen a lot of swords in my time.”

  The strange woman turned the sword twice more, then swung the blade once sharply through the air in front of her. “Incredible,” she repeated, once more slipping the steel into its leather housing. “Absolutely incredible.” With an almost reverent effort, Tanath mimicked Nathaniel's earlier offer, placing the sword across her hands in an offering of the blade back to its master.

  Nathaniel found himself smiling again as he accepted the sword's return, but his smile quickly faded at Tanath's next words.

  “So how many around this place know that you are the Godslayer?”

  The man's guard immediately rose, the sword falling almost too comfortably into his open palm, his other resting upon the sheath, ready to draw it in self-defense. A gift from Malik into what the Old Gods called the Avatar Matrix had been the instinctive knowledge of weaponry, and it had almost become a nature that the man drew upon without even thinking about it. Almost.

  Tanath threw up her hands in supplication, laughing. “At ease, Nathan. I just had your sword. Don't you think that if I meant to hurt you, I wouldn't have done so while you were defenseless?”

  Nathaniel did not immediately relax his posture, however. “Who are you?”

  Tanath leaned back against the rail beside Nathaniel, taking on the posture of common companionship in spite of the clear threat poised inches away. “I'm a demi-God,” she said simply, looking out of the corner of her eye. “I see from your reaction that you know the word, but it doesn't seem you really know what it means, do you?”

  “Demi-Gods are the children of Gods,” Nathaniel said simply. “They're legends, but all the legends say the same thing: they live their lives in hiding, afraid their parents will kill them if they are discovered.”

  Tanath nodded. “True, all of it.”

  “But you're going to just tell me you're a demi-God. Just like that.”

  “Just like that.”

  “Why? If you're really a demi-God, why would you tell me of all people something like that?”

  Tanath laughed deepl
y. “Because you're the Godslayer. Who else would we tell something like that to? You kill the very Gods we live in fear of. Makes for the perfect friendship, from where I'm standing.” She leaned closer to Nathaniel. “And believe me. We want you as our friend. We really, really do.”

  “I don't understand.”

  Tanath pushed herself up so that she now sat fully upon the rail, her legs dangling beneath her. “See, we've been hearing stories about you for awhile now. Some of us have, anyways. Most of our kind do live in hiding, even from each other. But people like me, we see the value in working together. And so we do. We share information, we work together. To hide, to keep each other safe. That kind of thing.

  “When stories started coming up that there was a new Godslayer, we knew we had to find out of it were true. Think about it: if you lived your whole life being afraid that a giant cat would pounce on you one day, wouldn't you want to find a way to help someone who could remove the cat altogether?”

  Nathaniel chewed on his lip. What Tanath said made perfect sense. But even still, it did not at the same time.

  “Let's just say that what you are saying is real in any kind of way,” mused Nathaniel. “How do I even know you are what you say you are?”

  Tanath pursed her lips. “Well, that's a little hard, to be honest. See, all of us have certain powers we got from our birthright. Mine isn't something I can just show you though, which makes it kind of hard to show you anything. At least, not right now. If you give me a couple weeks, I could prove it to you, but I imagine you want something more 'right now'. Had I known you would be here, I could have made better plans for this. But I didn't, and so we have this little problem in front of us.”

  “What are your powers then? What can you do?”

  Tanath's eyes clouded over for a moment as she considered how to respond, but she eventually let out a sigh and responded. “You have to understand, this is about as strange a conversation for you as it is for me. Like you said, we spend our lives hiding. So just coming out and telling someone something like this, well... It's not easy to do. We all agreed that if we found you, this would be how we would deal with you - but it's still really, really hard for me.”