The Warriors of the Gods

by Jacob Peppers

  Finally, a voice spoke from above. “Not here.”

  “No,” this from the man standing directly over Odrick’s head. “They haven’t left the city though—we know that much. We would have seen them, if they had.”

  “What do you want to do?” A third voice from somewhere further in the shop.

  “Put a man watching this place.”

  “Sure. And the rest of us?”

  “I think it’s past time we went and had another talk with Lord Hale and that son of his. Ask them what they know of this Odrick and the rest. Ask them hard.”

  Odrick felt a pang of sympathy for Armiel at that. He might have been a drunk and a fool, but he had always been kind enough in his confused, naïve way. The men filed out, their footsteps echoing on the floorboards. When they were gone, Odrick turned back to look at the Tirinians and his father. No one spoke, but they didn’t need to, for what they were thinking was obvious enough: We’re in trouble. And another thought, this one Odrick’s and his alone, came on the end of that. If Rion and his friends didn’t do something soon, their trouble was just beginning.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The morning sun was just beginning to rise, and the Broken stood as he had for the last several hours, watching the northern gate of the city. In that time, many carriages had come through. Carriages carrying fabrics and dyes, herbs and foods but none of them, so far, had held the fugitives for which he’d been waiting.

  There was a flicker at the corner of his eye, the briefest shifting of shadow along the tree line a short distance away. Most men wouldn’t have noticed, but the Broken, like all Ekirani, had been taught the importance of being aware of the world around him from a young age. “Watch the gate,” he told the Redeemer nearest him, then he walked toward the woods and the shadow waiting there. He might have told his troops what he was doing but felt no real need to do so. For one, a man did not explain his actions to the blade he held, only used it as he would and, for another, he could not be sure of their reactions should they see the creature to whom he would speak.

  The barest hint of a figure stood in the shadow cast by the canopy of a tree. The Broken came to a stop a few feet away. “They have not come as you promised.”

  “No.” The word coming out in a hiss, sounding more like the utterance of a snake, should such be able to speak, than any man. Yet for all its strangeness, the Broken could hear the anger lurking there beneath the surface.

  “They remain yet within the city?”

  “They have gone.”

  This in a furious growl, and the Broken frowned. “Gone where?”

  “I do not know. They have gone beyond the sight of shadows, beyond the darkness.”

  The exiled Ekirani’s frown deepened at that. “How can that be?”

  “I do not know.”

  The Broken felt his eye twitch in irritation, but he took a slow, deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. Still, there was something about this he did not like, not at all. The fugitives had proven themselves clever and capable enough, escaping from the castle as well as from that small backwater town when he and his forces had taken it over and thought to trap them there. He was considering what to do when the shadow spoke.

  “I will find them. I will find Rion, and he will pay for what he has done.”

  The Broken cared nothing for whoever this Rion was—one of the fugitives, he guessed—and even less for the shadow’s need for vengeance. He cared only for the cleansing, only for the death of what was already dying. “Go then, creature. Find them. And when you do, come back to me.”

  The creature did not speak, its only answer a slight rustling of fabric, and in another instant, it was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Alesh sat alone in the fading darkness, the first pale sight of the sun just now creeping over the horizon. He had been sitting so, using a fallen tree for a chair, for the last few hours, thinking. The others remained in the cramped carriage back among the trees. They all slept, and of that, at least, he was glad. The last few days since leaving Peralest had been stressful to say the least, each of them watching the woods around them as they made their slow progress north, fearing the guard had seen them after all, that it had all been some cruel joke. Each of them waiting for the moment when an army of Redeemers, led by the exiled Ekirani, would pop from the forest, barring their path.

  They hadn’t though, and some small part of Alesh wished they had. For they were here, now, he and those who had come to be his friends. It was his plan that had brought them here, would be his fault if the plan failed. And how could it not? He felt like a man trying to avoid a lion’s bite by sticking his head into its mouth. Foolish, yes, but more than that, having a certain inarguable inevitability.

  He had come back. Back to Valeria. Back to the city where he had been marched through the streets, beaten and scorned and spat on as he was led to what would have been his execution. Back to a place ruled by one of those who sought his life. He thought of Larin, of the Chosen who had thought it better to live alone in the wilderness than to risk the company of others. In his darker moments, Alesh thought he understood that. Most people wanted him dead and those who didn’t—those who cared for him—he had brought to the heart of their enemy’s lands, to Tesharna’s very seat of power, and should they die, should they be taken, then could it really be any great surprise?

  His thoughts drifted, and he remembered Larin’s final words to him, recalled him speaking of his father and mother. Alesh knew well the ache of their absence, had felt it since he could remember, a hollow sort of pain that was always there, in the back of his mind. But now, that ache had turned into a sharp, clawing thing, and he missed his parents—the parents he had barely ever known—more than he could have imagined. Larin had said they were both good people who had given their lives to protect him. And just then, with the weight of the world seeming to press on him, with his choice made and nothing to see past it but blood and death, Alesh thought they had been wrong to do so.

  “Are you okay?”

  He was so lost in his thoughts, in his grief, that he hadn’t noticed Katherine approach, and he jumped at the sound of her voice. “Hi,” he said, clearing his throat and running an arm across his eyes. “Yeah, I’m okay. Couldn’t sleep?”

  “With the way Marta snores I’m surprised anyone on the continent can,” she answered, giving him a smile that faded a moment later. “I still can’t believe it worked, what she did. What we did.”

  Alesh nodded. He had been ecstatic at first when they’d made it away from Peralest and the Broken’s troops—they all had been—but he was finding it difficult to summon up any of that excitement just then. “Yeah. Whatever issue she’s got with Alcer, we owe him our lives, that much is certain.”

  “Yes. And her too.”

  Alesh grunted. “I wouldn’t tell her that, if I were you. She’s already incorrigible.”

  They lapsed into silence then, him feeling the weight of his choices pressing on him, and her recognizing that weight, recognizing how the essential part of him bowed beneath it. Finally, she moved to sit beside him and put a hand gently on his shoulder. “It will be okay,” she said.

  Wracked with emotion and doubt, the simple human gesture struck Alesh like a blow, and he cleared his throat again, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “I hope so.” And in those words was all his pain and doubt, all the emotional turmoil he had endured over the last hours and days.

  “Alesh.”

  He turned to her then, and a golden ray of the slowly rising sun filtered through the trees, bathing her in sunlight as if by magic. Her long blonde hair seemed to shimmer with it, her green emerald eyes sparkling. “You’re not alone,” she said softly.

  If only I were, he thought. A man can handle making a choice that gets himself killed, at least I think he can. But when it’s everyone else…when it’s his friends…

  “You didn’t force us to come here,” she said as if reading his mind, “you know that, don’t you?�
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  He cleared his throat. “Yes. I know that.”

  “We came,” she went on, “because we wanted to, because we believe in your plan. But more than that, Alesh. We—they—” She paused, gesturing at the carriage and its sleeping occupants. “They came because they believe in you.” She leaned forward, taking both of his hands in hers. “I believe in you,” she finished softly.

  He kissed her then. He didn’t plan to do it, wasn’t aware of any conscious decision, but the next thing he knew they were together, his lips on hers, and he felt the warmth of the sun on his skin and face. It was a kiss he thought had been long in coming, and he lost track of time as it went on.

  Alesh heard the distant sound of the carriage door opening and closing again, but he paid it no attention, just as he paid no attention to the sound of leaves crunching underfoot as someone approached. All that mattered was her, the feel of her hair as he ran his hand through it, the smell of her that somehow reminded him of flowers after a spring rain. There was goodness there, in the smell, the feel of her, a goodness no shadow could touch, a light on which night would never, could never fall.

  “I uh…we’ll come back.”

  Katherine pulled away, and they both turned to see Marta standing there with Darl. The girl looked embarrassed and…something else. Alesh would have almost thought it was anger he saw in her narrowed eyes, but that couldn’t have been right. The Ferinan though didn’t look embarrassed or angry. He was smiling widely, displaying bright white teeth. “It has taken long, Alesh, Son of the Morning, but like a parched man wandering in the desert, too delirious to remember the waterskin at his waist only for his hands to stumble upon it by chance, you have finally found your way.”

  Alesh felt his cheeks color at that, and he and Katherine shared a look, partly embarrassed but mostly just satisfied. “I guess I did,” he admitted, and she smiled widely at him.

  “Whatever,” Marta snapped, and then she was off and stalking through the trees back to the carriage.

  Alesh watched her go, confused. “What’s that about?”

  He glanced at Katherine who winced. “I think…that is…she has a bit of a crush on you.”

  Alesh raised an eyebrow. “Well, she deserves to be pitied for that, if nothing else.” He started to rise, “Maybe I should go talk to her and—”

  “That will not be necessary, Son of the Morning,” Darl said, holding up a hand to forestall him. “I will speak to Marta. And do not hold her rashness against her—she, too, tries to find her own way, as we all must. Now, there is still half an hour or so before the guards open the doors to Valeria for the day. Enjoy yourselves—such times are rare and must be appreciated.”

  The Ferinan walked away then, his steps soundless upon the forest floor and, in another moment, they were alone. “Enjoy ourselves,” Alesh repeated, glancing at Katherine, a grin on his face.

  She smiled, leaning into him, and for the next few minutes, there was nothing else in the world. No nightlings, no gods bent on their death, no exiled Ekirani or creature of shadow seeking their destruction. There was only him and her and the feel of the sun on their skin. And they enjoyed themselves.

  Chapter Thirty

  A damned stupid idea is what this is, Odrick thought as he walked through the streets of Valeria, his big shoulders hunched, his head down, expecting Tesharna’s secret guards to show up at any moment and arrest him. A foolish idea, and he a fool for agreeing to it, particularly since it had been his idea in the first place. He had no business wandering the city just now, not with the Chosen’s men looking for him and the others—he might as well walk up to the executioner’s block and put his head on it himself.

  The only problem was that the threat of a violent and terrible death did nothing to keep hunger pangs at bay and no amount of reasoning with your stomach filled it. So here he was, heading to the baker’s shop nearest his father’s shop and hoping to the gods the epigraph on his tombstone wouldn’t read He died for bread. Not that he thought Tesharna or her men would bother with anything so much as a tombstone in the first place. More likely, he would just disappear, his body rotting in some unmarked grave or thrown into the woods to feed the nightlings.

  The thought gave him no comfort, and he quickened his pace. Unfortunately, the nearest baker’s wasn’t particularly close to the smithing quarter of the city. Not surprising as the leatherworkers and tannery were close to the shop, and the smell they put off was enough to keep even Bastion from being able to eat. At least, probably. When it came to the future priest and food, there was no real telling.

  As he’d hoped when choosing to leave in the morning, the streets were crowded. All manner of merchants and vendors had erected stalls on either side of the street. Odrick did his best to blend in with the people perusing the wares instead of breaking into an all-out sprint for the baker’s which is what he wanted to do. His eyes caught a flash of white and gold in the distance. A guard. Odrick’s skin went cold, and he moved to the nearest stall, realizing belatedly that the merchant was selling ladies’ scarves, and he was the only man among a group of women.

  Several of the nearest gave him strange looks, but that was alright. Odrick figured a group of well-to-do women believing he enjoyed wearing women’s scarves was the least of his problems just then. A bigger one was that he was at least a head and a half taller than the closest of the women around him—and considerably wider—and so unable to hide among them as he had hoped. If the guard chose to look in his direction, there was no way he could miss the giant, wide-shouldered man who apparently had a love of silken women’s scarves.

  Damnit, Odrick, he cursed himself, you’re supposed to be avoiding attention. He gave the staring women the best smile he could manage and, his face heating with embarrassment and more than a little fear, made his way to the next stall. At this one, the merchant was selling potions meant to enhance a man’s sexual performance as well as his…girth. The men gathered around this particular stall all gave him suspicious glances, but Odrick told himself it was only the normal stares of men when considering purchasing such an item.

  Yet, he could not be sure of that, and he wished he had taken his father up on his offer to go. After all, his father hadn’t been chased through the streets only to end up getting in a fight with Tesharna’s men. But no, those men who had come by a few days ago had mentioned they were going to speak with Armiel, and they hadn’t struck Odrick as the type of men who would take their time about such matters. By now, they no doubt knew everything about Odrick and his father’s business—which meant his father would have been in just as much danger as he.

  No, it was better that he was here. After all, it was his fault his father was in danger, he who had brought the Tirinians to the shop and given them shelter, and never mind that his father continually told him it had been the right thing to do. Odrick believed it had been, didn’t think he could have done anything else. But still he had brought danger to their door. So no matter how scared he was, he would find food for him and the others—that, at least, he could do.

  He glanced over to where he’d seen the guard and noticed the man was moving closer, not seeming to have noticed Odrick or be paying him any particular attention, only patrolling the street, likely trying to prevent any would-be thieves from plying their trade. At least, he hoped so. While they had been discussing the need for food back in the cellar, Odrick had done what he could to assuage the fears of the others—and his own—by saying it was unlikely Tesharna’s regular city guardsmen knew of the activities of those other men in her service. After all, if Tesharna really did serve the Dark—as seemed pretty apparent at this point—she wouldn’t advertise it by telling every single one of her guardsmen, some of whom must surely still be loyal to the Light.

  It had made sense when he’d said it, had given him the courage to step out of the cellar—aided in no small part by the gnawing pain in his stomach—but it gave scant comfort now. For whatever guise Tesharna had worn to pretend she was still a servant
of the Light and for however long she had carried it, it was slipping now, and there was no question of that.

  Over the last weeks—even before her men had begun combing the streets, asking their questions—Valeria’s ruler had been seen at fewer and fewer audiences until, finally, she had stopped showing up altogether. That wouldn’t have been a big deal in itself, but there was more than that. Rumors ran rampant in the city, talk of people—servants or guardsmen mostly—who had annoyed the Chosen disappearing never to be seen or heard from again. Such rumors might have been fabricated of course, but Odrick didn’t think so, and there was no denying that the Redeemers, those hard-faced men in their red cloaks and black armor, had been seen going in and out of the castle nearly every day. The same Redeemers who—rumor had it—had been responsible for the death of Chosen Olliman, Ilrika’s rightful ruler, though how exactly they were involved no one seemed to know for sure.

  Except Rion, Odrick thought, and those with him. I bet they know of it, probably more than they’d like. If, of course, they were still alive. Odrick cut that line of thought off quickly. He had more than enough to worry about already. Either Rion and his companions were alright—please, gods let them be—or they were not, and he could do nothing about it one way or the other. All he could do was what he’d come to do—get food for himself and the others.

  Odrick had just stepped away from the stall when he heard shouts from farther down the street. He looked up and saw people running, thought someone must have recognized him, that maybe Tesharna had put up posters of him as well and someone had called the guards. He hadn’t seen any—and he’d been looking—but it was a big city, and it was all too likely he’d missed one or more than one.