by M. K. Gibson
Lydia lowered herself on top of me, guiding me inside her. She was warm and wet and once again in full control.
“Don’t you want me to take my clothes off?” I asked.
“Shut up, Jackson,” she said in reply.
The rest of the night—well, let’s just say things got a little more . . . graphic.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Where I Nakedly Deal with a Deity and Have a Talk with My Sexual Partner
I stood naked by the banks of the Lower Eld river and smoked a cigarette. It was several hours before dawn and Lydia had finally fallen asleep. The woman had an incredible sexual appetite. My numb, wobbly legs were just now regaining feeling. And I desperately needed water for rehydration.
I smoked the cigarette, relishing a job well done. Normally I wouldn’t waste the power, but I really wanted the cigarettes. I also needed the power boost during Lydia’s and my sexual decathlon to keep up with her and to push her to the place her body begged to go.
Now, I consider myself a fair to good lover. But any man who thinks he can satisfy a woman every time is a fool. If they, or I for that matter, were as good as we thought we were, then the “personal massager” business would go bankrupt.
Besides, a little external help can be good for both parties if done right.
Sexual dalliances aside, I needed to use a portion of my power for the next leg of our adventure. As I cast the power into water, I looked at the phone. Forty-seven percent. Not good. But we didn’t have an alternative. I may be able to teleport us all to General Anders’s lair. But each person would have to swear themselves as belonging, mind and body, to me. While I relished the notion of more loyal servants, that would also break the rules of the realm. Heroes that belonged to me were not bound by the rules of the realms. Which was why I had to make sure that Bethany, or rather Lady Alianna, was kept safe within the forest.
“Nice night,” a voice said from behind me.
Damn it.
“Valliar,” I said, not dignifying the god by looking at him as he came to stand next to me. “You seem to enjoy appearing near me when my dick is out. Is this something we need to discuss?”
“No. I just enjoy mocking inferior gods,” Valliar said. The god appeared in his full elvish form, a tall, white-haired, ancient elf dressed in forest-colored robes. “You were quite devious at the trial.”
“Thank you.”
“What are your plans for my chosen people?”
“Me? I have no plans for them,” I said as I flicked the cigarette butt into the Lower Eld and lit another.
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“You are just naturally untrusting?”
“Jackson Blackwell, do not toy with me.”
“Why do you love the elves beyond all your other races?” I asked.
“They are most akin to myself,” Valliar lied.
Yes, gods lie. They do it all the time.
“You have exposed certain facts that do not need to be dug up,” Valliar said.
“You mean the ones where your chosen people have actively suppressed the expansion of technology and human growth?” I asked.
Valliar said nothing.
“I take your silence as confirmation. Then it is true. You gods are nothing without mortals to worship you. As you are bound to your realms, if the populace leaves you behind, you grow weak. You die.”
“When you destroy Grimskull, will you leave this realm?” Valliar asked, ignoring my line of questioning.
“Yes,” I said.
“Then I will not hinder you further. Provided, that is, you will do nothing to harm the elves.”
“I swear it, Valliar. I will do nothing directly to harm your race of pointy-eared, xenophobic, arrogant acolytes.”
“If you break that vow, then I will destroy everything and everyone you have ever held dear.”
“Val, the best part of being me is that I do not hold things close to me. All things, all people, can be replaced.”
“So you say, Shadow Master. But the Barrowbride bitch sleeping soundly over there would suffer in ways that only a god could perform.”
That got my attention.
I finally turned to look at the god, who looked back at me. We stared at one another for a few moments, getting the measure of the other.
“Do not harm her,” I said directly.
“Keep your oath and I will not.”
Something about what Valliar said earlier bothered me. “What of Khasil?” I probed.
“I repeat, I will do nothing to hinder you,” Valliar said.
I nodded. He could not offer aid directly, nor move against her directly. So, indirectly, he was warning me. That in itself held a deeper and more positive meaning for me, but I held on to that one little fact for the moment and tucked it into my metaphorical back pocket for later.
“Farewell, Valliar.”
“Farewell, Jackson,” the god said back.
Before Valliar vanished, he paused a moment and then tossed something to me. I caught it in midair.
It was a piece of obsidian carved into a candleholder.
Touché, you pompous prick.
Another noise caught my attention. Soft footsteps. Lydia, naked and sleepy-eyed, came walking up to me.
“Who were you talking to, Jack?” she asked as she sat down next to me. Lydia kept her distance, not sure how to behave.
Sex, while an amazing act, often led to emotional attachment. Real or perceived, it was there nonetheless. I could tell she was unsure if we were still basking in the glow, or if she were once again the leader of the Bastards and I the Shadow Master.
Truth be told, I wasn’t sure myself. Before coming here, I would have thanked her, or whomever it was who shared my bed, for their time, and dismissed them. Once again, I was glad Sophia wasn’t here. After berating me, she would have torn Lydia to literal shreds.
I sat down as well and put my arm around her. To comfort her, but also to stash the obsidian candleholder out of sight. I really didn’t need her asking what it was or how I came to be holding it by the river, naked.
She was slightly chilly, and I shared my body warmth. “No one,” I said, answering her question. “Why aren’t you asleep?”
“I was alone. Plus, I had to relieve myself by the trees. I caught a glimpse of Wren and Carina.”
“How bad was it?” I asked with a slight smile.
“Hairy and horrifying.”
I laughed. An honest, from the belly, laugh.
“You shouldn’t do that too much. People might think you are a nice person,” Lydia said.
“Well, we can’t have that, now can we.”
“No. Jackson?”
“Yes?”
“What happens tomorrow?”
“We move on General Anders.”
“No, what happens with us?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly.
Lydia nodded. She clearly didn’t like the answer, but she accepted it for the truth.
“Well, it isn’t tomorrow yet,” she said.
“No, it isn’t,” I said, not wanting to argue semantics.
“Maybe this time we won’t need the knives,” she said.
“Shut your dirty little mouth,” I said. “We will always need the knives.”
Chapter Thirty
Where I Lead Us on to the Next Leg of the Adventure, Have a Cold Awkwardness with Lydia, and Find a Job for My Dead Employee
I awoke to see Hawker standing over me. He looked pissed. But he was wearing the armor the elves had given him.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Lydia was still naked and asleep next to me. Hawker looked at her, then at me and sighed.
“Let’s go . . . soon.”
“Are you done with your existential crisis?” I asked, trying to unwind myself from Lydia’s arms and legs. For a short thing, it was as if she had miles and miles of limbs.
“You mean learning everything about my life was a lie? That I’m questing to kill
the man who had my mother and my village slaughtered? And it just so happens to be the same man who’s my real father?”
“Yes, that one,” I said as I pulled on my trousers and lit up another cigarette. Hawker eyed the smoke. I realized that cigarettes from my world really didn’t have a place in the realms. “Pipe weed, but in a rolled form,” I explained.
Hawker nodded, accepting the premise. “Where are Carina and Wren?”
“Here,” Wren said as he and Lydia appeared from the woods wearing their new clothing.
And they were holding hands.
Cute.
I looked down at Lydia, who was now awake. She saw the two of them and noted their public affection. She looked at me for a moment and her face turned dark.
“We should get ready,” Lydia said in a failed attempt to hide her disappointment in the potential notion of “us.”
Rather than deal with a potential emotional time-bomb, I excused myself to go and empty my bladder by the river. As I stood there trying to urinate out a night’s worth of sexual plumbing clog, I noted something odd.
There were weapons on the bank. Perfect, pristine weapons of unknown make. Each of them was presented in a way that suggested they were gifts. Beneath them were the ancient “V” script that represented the followers of Valliar.
Now, why would he give us gifts? Unless . . .
Hmm, it appeared my earlier hypothesis was turning out to be true. Good.
I counted four circles, each containing a gift. A hammer, shield, and armor decorated in red and blue exotic metals, which were obviously for Wren. A set of combat staves and new woodland armor for Carina. A complete set of battle blade and throwing knives with leather straps and holsters for someone with an ample bust and narrow waist. That would be for Lydia. And last was an exotic, oddly reversed S-curved war ax of elvish design, complete with a spiked hand guard. I assumed the weapon was meant for Hawker.
And yet, nothing for me. Wait, there it was. The weapons were perfectly in a line. And at the end of that line was the obsidian candleholder Valliar gave me last night that I’d had to quickly stash away from Lydia.
“Jack, look, about last night,” Lydia said as she approached. “I know we said that—wait, what are those?”
“Gifts,” I said.
“From whom?”
“The gods,” I said.
The rest of my companions came walking to the riverbank and saw the gifts.
“It is the will of Valliar,” Wren said. “I sense his power. These are his blessings. A sign that we are on a noble path.”
“That was Alianna’s!” Hawker said as he ran to the candleholder and fell to his knees. The young warrior clutched the piece of black volcanic rock to his chest and rocked slightly. “She would light this in her study when we made love.”
Oh, lord.
In the prime universe, Hawker would be the guy who replayed the mix-tape he made for an ex-girlfriend over and over while he wrote bad poetry.
What’s a mix tape? Hmm . . . it was like a mix CD, but on magnetic tape.
What’s a CD? Sigh . . . think of it like an .mp3 or Spotify playlist you shared with someone you “watched Netflix and chilled” with. Does that make sense?
Goddamn millennial/Gen-Zeds.
I knelt next to Hawker. “I think this was meant to show you your path is illuminated and clear,” I said, making it up on the spot. And, if I do say so, it was pretty good. Just the right amount of sincerity and nonsensical depth that young people eat up.
“Yes, yes,” Hawker said, as he stood. I figured it was best he held on to it. In truth, the gift was mine, given to me by a god. Such things held power. But with him holding it, anything homing in on it would come for him instead of me. So, win-win.
“I believe the ax is meant for you as well,” I said.
“Why do you think that?” Lydia asked. I felt like she was just trying to be part of any conversation I was in to still communicate, in some way, with me.
“Unlike the hammer, which is both a tool and a weapon, the perfect weapon of duality for Wren, the ax only has one purpose—to cut. And the shape of that wicked bastard has only one purpose.”
“To cut wide a swath of blood in any of those who ally themselves with Grimskull,” Hawker said as he picked up the ax, testing the perfect balance with a few swings.
“Indeed,” I said.
“What of you, Jack?” Hawker asked. “I see nothing for you.”
I shook my head. “You all may find it hard to believe, but the gods don’t smile upon me. Not even the evil ones.”
“That’s for sure,” Lydia said. “The priestess of Khasil said you were marked by her for unparalleled suffering.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“Take my sword,” Hawker said, unbuckling the sword belt.
“The elves gave that to you,” I said.
“And I am giving it to you. A gift.”
“Thank you,” I said, accepting the weapon.
“Are we going?” Wren asked as he shoved the boat into the river. He had already donned the god-wrought armor and weapons. Carina also had donned her gear and stashed her combat staves behind her back. She stood at the ship’s aft with the guide pole.
“Yes, we are,” Lydia said as she finished getting dressed and buckled on her new set of combat blades. Lydia waded into the water and then into the boat.
Hawker and I were the last to get aboard, the five of us fitting with little in the way of extra room. Beneath the bench-style seat, the elves had been nice enough to supply us with traveling rations. And, if I had to guess, several more bottles of stolen wine Lydia had stashed. I caught her eye, looked at the bottles and smiled.
Lydia just turned her head away.
Well, won’t this be fun.
Carina pushed off the guide pole, and we were off on the next leg of the adventure.
Slowly.
Painfully slowly.
“Sit down, Carina,” I said as I took her spot in the aft and gripped the guide pole.
“You think you have the strength and stamina over a half-dwarf?” Carina asked, bemused.
No, just the foresight to cheat the system. I closed my eyes and began to murmur an incantation. A fake one.
The water beneath the boat began to churn while the mud and clay from the riverbed kicked up, obscuring the clear water.
“What are you doing?” Hawker asked. “What sorcery are you conjuring, Jack?”
“We need to get to Fyrheim. A guide pole won’t get us there, not with how far we have to go. So, a little magic is in order. Sit back and enjoy the ride.”
Within a few moments, the boat was cruising at a fairly fast rate. Not at a speedboat level, but we were definitely moving.
“This is wondrous,” Carina said while Wren grunted in agreement.
“You never cease to amaze,” Hawker said.
“Or disappoint,” Lydia whispered.
I let both comments go. For Lydia, I had not yet come to terms with what I may, or may not, be feeling. Her romantic longings would have to wait. As for Hawker, it was most assuredly best he did not know the means of the boat’s propulsion.
I suppose it could be funny, for me at least, were he to know that it was the animated corpses of his beloved Alianna and her two guardsmen beneath us. The undead were clinging to the boat and propelling us with all the tireless power of zombies. It was fortuitous, for me, that my contract with her specified that she, and all she owned, belonged to me for fifteen years. The subordinate clause to that of course read: alive or dead.
So, my trusted elvish agent and her guards were, in essence, my medieval outboard motor.
The Tenth Rule of Villainy
Villains make mistakes. A successful one learns from them.
Chapter Thirty-One
Where Intelligence and Toilets are Key
“You want us to break into there and do what exactly?” Hawker asked, peering over the small rise.
“Eliminate General
Anders,” I said. “I don’t see why I need to keep spelling it out for you.”
For the bulk of our trip along the river Eld and into the Nameless Sea, I’d explained to my companions that in order to cause enough confusion, while simultaneously weakening Grimskull, we had to remove his top lieutenants. Their absence would degrade his power base and limit his reserves by creating a power vacuum. Those who served under Anders and Chaud would be chomping at the bit to claim that power for themselves.
Villainy 101: Whoever is under you wants you gone. Like the Rule of Two with the Sith.
My hubris aside, even I needed a reminder of the rules from time to time. Otherwise, I would have had a better countermeasure in place for Courtney’s betrayal. There was going to be a reckoning between my former head of security and me.
Following our covert landing on Fyrheim, we’d secured our ship along the jagged, rocky shore of a small private beach. From there, we’d made our way to a small hill to hide and get a better lay of the land. The entire island was a contrast in nature.
In the middle of the island, a lone volcanic peak stood out with dark clouds circling. The active volcano rumbled constantly. Yet the island was perpetually covered in snow and black ash. The perfect place for General Anders herself. Unless I’d missed my guess, the abnormal weather was due to an ancient Frost Giant artifact. One that was a weapon to their Fire Giant cousins, but one that, in the hands of a half-giant like Anders, would cool her fiery side and allow her to operate without her magically enchanted ice armor.
“Gods above and below,” Wren swore, “I’d hoped to never return to this dreadful hunk of rock.”
“What can you tell us of the place?” Hawker asked.
“Wait for Lydia and Carina to return,” I said. The two women were far better suited to scout the area. Lydia’s thieving skills allowed her to be unseen; Carina’s time in the Twilight Guard, coupled with her dwarven direction sense and terrain adaptability, made her more than suited to reconnoiter unfamiliar territory.
“Jack’s right. Best to hear the report and understand the situation before making a plan of attack,” Wren explained. Hawker nodded his head. For all his temper, the kid had an uncanny ability to listen to reason.
