Sons of the Gods

by James Von Ohlen

  The highest ranking man there, the High Inquisitor of Natural Phenomena, spoke. He stated that their lives, and the lives of all men within the borders of The Kingdom, were in danger if they did not act. That it was only a matter of time until they drew the wrong kind of attention from above, and they were destroyed as well.

  Technical data was discussed by the most senior men in the meeting. Shockingly advanced for such a primitive nation. They had discovered some type of weapon in a partially submerged ruin that was abandoned but still intact. The end result of a neutron bomb or five, Anhur thought. All personnel dead, but facilities and tech remaining to be scooped up by UN soldiers. The weapon they had discovered was still operational and they were attempting to decipher how to operate it.

  How to operate it, and use it to destroy The Lost Star. They knew it was Anhur’s home and they meant to kill him. He took a deep breath, freezing the data stream for a second. It was unthinkable that a loyal warrior of The Kingdom would have returned to Anhur’s altar after hearing such. Perhaps he could be bought, or he didn’t understand that his mind could be read remotely when he was in the presence of the technology there.

  For whatever reason, the man had brought this knowledge to Anhur. And now he must act.

  Anhur restarted the data stream, eyes closed as he concentrated. The members of the Academy hadn’t figured out how to power up the weapon. But it was only a matter of time until they did. He didn’t know what kind of weapon it was. His defenses might be able to deal with it. But then again they might not, crippled as they were.

  As the data stream stopped he issued orders to his computer systems. Stored power levels and ordinance stocks were checked and double checked. There were enough resources available to put an end to all of this nonsense. He would give one day for his acolytes in The Kingdom and other nations to spread the word of his displeasure, to state for all the world to see that he demanded his tithing in blood.

  They would tell all who would listen that The Kingdom had grown weak in its peaceful days and he was going to destroy it as punishment for their lives of decadence. He strode to a command console and manually entered the final stages of his orders with a smile.

  After gathering the items he sought from the ruins of Andersonville, his chosen warriors on Veldt, Torsten’s crew, would be brought back here and rearmed. If they brought him what the sought most of all, the decryption device known as the Nexus, he would be able to bring virtually all of his systems back online. Wiping The Kingdom from the face of the world below him would be a simple matter.

  But first he would try to take advantage of the power of his enemies. Torsten’s crew would be beam teleported directly into the grounds of the Royal Academy during their next meeting. And there, Anhur’s soldiers would kill every last member of the Academy. If he could play his cards right they could position themselves to be the rulers behind the scenes in The Kingdom.

  And the most powerful nation on all of Veldt would be his puppet. He saw a central church of the Gods, spanning the entire globe with its power, based in the heart cities of The Kingdom. With one of his agents sitting as high priest. He would be that much closer to completing his mission.

  A completely empty city, and somehow, some way, he still managed to step in shit. Eric shook his foot in disgust, trying to dislodge as much of it as he could with little kicks at the air. He finally gave up and sat on a small ledge of rock jutting out from a pile of rubble.

  Grabbing a small stone, he lifted his foot to examine the sole of his boot. The angle was awkward, but at least he didn’t have to take his boot off. It was cold enough without being barefoot. As he scraped at the bottom of his shoe, his mail jingled lightly.

  It had begun to rust in a few spots. Such an infraction back at Fort Pleasant would have seen him scourged by the first sergeant to cross his path and take notice of his neglectful state. And they always noticed, didn’t they? Of course, if he was back at Fort Pleasant, he’d be dead like everyone else who had been stationed there.

  He didn’t really have a choice anyway as far as he could tell. Nothing even remotely resembling proper gear for maintaining his weapons and armor had crossed his path since he left with Torsten’s crew. And he didn’t exactly have the opportunity to grab anything from the barracks before they left either.

  Maybe he could have taken something from the last village they passed through. After… well after Torsten and his crew had murdered everyone there. He grimaced at the memory. Definitely not what he had been expecting when he chose to enlist in the stead of prison. At least they hadn’t killed him as well.

  Chosen of the Gods or not, they were showing all the signs of being stark, raving mad. In such company, his own life could only be significantly shortened. One minute they were all playing dice and joking, the next they were talking in strange voices and killing everyone else that crossed their paths. This was definitely not his first choice of company.

  But what other way was there? Torsten had apparently saved his life by taking him with his crew in the desperate flight from Fort Pleasant. Eric vaguely remembered flying as some great light shone behind him. He distinctly remembered the smoking crater that stood where the fort had. They could have left him to die afterwards, but they hadn’t. Did that mean he had value to Torsten’s crew, or that he was simply seeking more soldiers to use as fodder?

  They had brought him all the way the hell to… well, wherever this was. Some Graveyard of the Ancients. Or ancient graveyard. Or just a big fucking pile of rocks and bent steel. If they went any further into the mountains they’d likely be wiping the sun’s ass. Even now, in full midday sunlight and no biting wind in his face, Eric was still cold. What a paradox, to be so close to the sun, yet so cold.

  Roughly a day and half. That was how long they had been there. He paused in his sanitation work to look up at the sun. What animal was brave enough or stupid enough to run through this place and pause long enough to take a dump? He hoped it hadn’t been a human. Then again, he wasn’t sure if that would be better or worse.

  Back to the work at hand. Or at foot, depending on how you looked at it. Yeah, he thought, about a day and a half. Torsten had disappeared almost as soon as they had entered the ruined city.

  He thought about the other men that had entered with them. Ragnald, who had been quick with a joke when he wasn’t busy murdering Mountain Men, had grown oddly silent as they approached the city. Not because he was trying to hide his presence to potential enemies, but seemingly because he thought something bad was going to happen here.

  Styg. A decent friend when he wasn’t channeling the War God. Eric could have seen himself drinking and whoring with the man back in the East. Seeming demonic possession aside. The man had even confided in him that Eric greatly resembled a younger brother that lived in The Western Fringe. Eric had been glad to hear that as he had begun to grow afraid that the man had taken a very different type of liking to him. And he didn’t think he’d be able to fight him off if need be.

  Pier. Always carrying that huge axe like he was ready to take a head or ten. It never hurt to be prepared, especially out here in the wilds, but the man seemed to overdo it. He had overdone it as well when he had killed a few dozen women and children at the Mountain Men’s village. He had seemed contrite and disturbed enough after the act, but when he cut them down he was all smiles and laughter.

  Ed. Torsten’s second. Lucky, the others had constantly called him. Eric didn’t think he was so lucky to have that weird hunk of metal stuck in his face with a burning blue orb in it. Even if it had given him magic fucking powers, Eric wouldn’t have wanted something like that. Torsten’s hand was bad enough, but at least it could be hidden behind a thick glove and long sleeves.

  Ed’s eye couldn’t be hidden with anything less than a full plate helm. Good luck getting any ass with that thing hanging between you and the girls, Eric thought. Though it hadn’t seemed to bother the girls in the village. But then again, they had been coerced into bedding with every m
an in Torsten’s crew by some zealot of a priest.

  Eric hadn’t complained about that. Beautiful girls, or at least thin and shapely if not pretty, and plenty to go around. What had happened to them, though, he couldn’t stomach. He’d thought they were betrayed and under attack in the dark of night. He’d killed more than a few men himself. Did that make him accomplice to their murder? Would he stand before angry Gods demanding he answer for his crimes in the moments after his final day?

  He supposed he would have to wait and see.

  As soon as they’d entered the Graveyard of the Ancients the men of Torsten’s crew had frozen, in that weird way that Eric had come to interpret that they were either speaking to each other with their minds or that the War God was speaking directly into theirs. It was rare indeed that something bad didn’t happen immediately afterward. This time thought, the results had been relatively benign.

  Torsten had issued orders to each man and then set out on his own. Eric had been sent to search the remains of something called a “research center”, whatever the fuck that was, and to find anything of “interest”. Whatever the fuck that meant. He’d been shown a few piles of rubble and told to search them.

  He stood there in the sunlight, his breath freezing in the air and stared at the rocks. That was about all the searching that could be done. Eventually he’d started walking around them. Then he’d tried walking over them. Once he’d found a stone stairwell that went nowhere and had collapsed under his weight.

  He had avoided injury, but when he recovered his bearings, he realized he didn’t have any. For all his skill at tracking in the wilds, he was lost in an unfamiliar city. Each pile of rubble looked the same as the others. “Research center”, whatever the fuck that was, became “big fucking pile of rocks.” As did everything else he saw.

  In a few hours he was hopelessly lost.

  And that was when he became sure that someone or something had started following him. Perhaps it was one of Torsten’s crew, having a laugh or plotting to kill him. But either way, they’d have already done it. Not like them to draw things out so much.

  He’d tried to double back a few times and ambush whoever was on his tail, but he could never find them. Perhaps he had been wrong about being followed, but better safe than sorry. A few times a gleam of sunlight, as though reflected off of polished metal had nearly blinded him and then it was gone. He thought of the gray men. The way the light struck them. But it was wrong. Different. Maybe the ghosts of the Ancients were having a laugh at his expense. Or maybe he was just crazy.

  In that case he seemed to fit right in with Torsten’s crew. How long would it be until he was claiming to hear the voice of the War God and he was cutting down children?

  Eric finished scraping the shit from his boot. Casually he leaned forward, pretending that he hadn’t just heard the tiniest sound of a footstep somewhere to his left, and grabbed his sword from where it lay.

  If whoever or whatever it was got too close, it might find itself on the wrong end of a still sharp sword. A grindstone was the one thing he’d managed to replace on the trail of the sorcerer. And he’d made good use of it. He could have shaved with his sword if he had the need.

  Firmly gripping the handle of his blade, he slowly stood, muttering to himself about the cold as he did so, and deliberately turned to his right. His senses strained as he focused as much as he could on the area the sound had come from without actually looking at it.

  Eric took a few steps behind a pile of rubble that would obscure the line of sight between him and anyone who might be following him. There he began moving as quickly as possible while remaining relatively silent. Intent on circling around and flanking any potential pursuer.

  He heard footsteps as he moved. Got you now, fucker, he thought. There was no doubt in his mind that he was mere feet away from his pursuer. Possibly mere feet away from a fight to the death.

  Eric made sure he knew where his target was before he acted. Blade gripped tight he leapt from a pile of rubble, above and behind his target. His potential enemy wouldn’t be in view until just before he landed, but that was all the time he needed.

  His feet hit the ground with a crunch of boots on loose stone and his sword arced out towards the neck of the shape of a man. Impact jarred up his arm, numbing his hand and forearm as his sword struck something. Hard.

  There stood a wavering mass of light in the shape of a man where the man ought to be. As though the sun was passing through water or ice. It had reached up and caught Eric’s sword in its bare hand, stopping the potentially lethal blow well short of its intended target.

  He didn’t know what to do and he froze. A wavering outline of a man’s head turned to face him with nothing resembling a face. Blue eyes suddenly flared to life in the mass of bent light, unnatural and intense. Witchlight. The shade’s gaze bored into Eric’s, driving into his very thoughts.

  Run. It said only one word. He was unable to move for a split second. When he regained his composure, he pulled his sword free of its grasp and swung again. This time the blow was deflected by the shade’s forearm and it simultaneously reached up with its other hand and knocked him off balance.

  The eyes blazed brighter, carrying the weight of threats from things beyond the world of men. This time he did as it bade him, and he turned and ran.

  Piles of rubble gave way to a wide street, bisected by strange markings left by the Ancients. Eric ran without thought, giving in totally to the fear. He looked back and saw the warped space of air following him. Matching him step for step. It changed color as he ran, matching the background behind it.

  He paused for a second to marvel at the transition, but almost fell as the rubble beneath his feet shifted. Running again before he could hit the ground, he continued. Turning left, then right, the left again and following wherever the streets allowed him to go. Lungs straining and legs burning. Mail jingling as he ran, giving away his position to anyone who might be within earshot.

  His thoughts were blurred as he moved. Somewhere in them a voice he recognized as his own suggested he draw an arrow and put it squarely into whatever was chasing him. He thought of the men struck down by the magic of the gray men during the siege of Fort Pleasant. Johan’s headless corpse crumpling to the floor in a spray of blood. And then he thought of the empty quiver hanging on his back next to his bow.

  Even if he had the balls to try it, he didn’t have the arrows. Footsteps sounded behind him, far too close for his comfort and he picked up his pace as much as he could.

  Fog descended on him physically as well as into his mind as he ran. Finally he found himself facing a seeming dead end. Shattered stairs reached up to a pile of rubble and shattered stairs led down to the same.

  Nowhere left to run, he turned to face his pursuer once more. He would be damned if he didn’t go down without a fight. Sword in hand.

  The shape of the man pursuing him slowed to a walk and seemed to shift as ripples like those on a pond disturbed by a stone washed over it. Distorted light gave way to silvery metal, still in the shape of a man. Armor, then, he thought. So one of the gray men has caught up to me.

  Eric opened his mouth to shout his challenge and light swam all around him as he was suddenly seized by the throat. The afterimage of a silver man moving impossibly fast danced across his vision as he blinked. Had he been naked? His hands rose to stab his opponent with his sword, but it was stopped short of the mark by the man’s other hand gripping both of his firmly around the wrist.

  His vision began to blur from the pressure on his throat and it relented slightly. He looked into the face of his attacker, seeing only a smooth plate. Curved somewhat to the normal contours of a human face, but showing no features. Like a sculptor had begun carving a face in marble and then stopped. It was polished to a mirror-like finish. His own face looked back at him in the reflection, eyes wide with fear.

  One blink of the eyes later and the face plate was gone, seemingly melting away and sinking into the flesh beneath. He
dropped his sword when he saw the face. Friend or foe, he couldn’t tell. But at least if this man had been intent on killing him, he’d already be dead. Of that there was no doubt.

  The pressure on his throat was steady. Strong with the threat of violence, but none came. Through gritted teeth he managed to speak, just barely louder than a whisper. Voice cracking like a teenager and somehow managing to sound like a frog going through puberty.

  “Hello, Torsten.”

  “Hello, Eric.” He replied in a low tone. “You’re coming with me. I have something important to show you. And it would be best for everyone if you remained silent for now. It wouldn’t do for the others to find us just yet.”

  The hand gripping his throat with inhuman strength fell away and he breathed in great gulps of air. A strange rippling effect moved over the armor Torsten wore once more and it seemed to change shape. Like ripples on the surface of otherwise calm water, and suddenly it came into sharp focus. He looked down at the metal suit.

  It was too many different shades of silver to be any type of steel he had seen before. And silver would have been a bad choice for anything but ceremonial armor. Even then, you’d have to constantly polish it for it to look good. Way too much work. Eric should know after so much time spent polishing the silverware of higher ranking officers before they ate in their own mess halls, away from the lower ranks.

  “You scared the shit out of me.” Eric managed to wheeze out as he rubbed at his throat with one hand.

  “Aye. Sorry for the rough treatment, but you need to be silent for the moment. I had to make sure you didn’t yell and give away our position. I’m not sure if we’re still in their range or not.” He paused and looked at Eric for a brief moment. “You did extremely well to control yourself in the face of a potential unknown enemy. Your fear registered quite high on my scanners and you didn’t panic. I can see why Anhur brought you along with us.”