by C G Gaudet
Game of the Gods
C.G. Gaudet
Copyright © 2019 by C.G. Gaudet
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.
FIRST EDITION
www.cggaudet.com
Chapter One
The Meeting
I’m not an important person. I’ve known this my entire life, mostly because every person I meet reminds me of the fact repeatedly, but also because I know there are two things that make a person important; heritage and money. If you don’t have one, you must have the other. I have neither.
I’ve never known my parents, though someone once told me they were probably goblins because of how ugly my face was. I’m pretty sure the person was just being cruel since I don’t have green skin or pointy teeth, but I also can’t be positive since I’ve never seen a single image of them. From the age I could ask, no one seemed to know who they were. Maybe they were very humanesque goblins. After all, my ears and chin are a little pointy for a human, and I never quite managed to grow over five feet tall, and that’s only if I stretch my spine until it cracks.
I’ve had a job since I could walk, and yet I’m poor. I don’t worry too much about this. It’s not like I’m the only poor person in the world. In fact, if you ever take a look around, you’ll see the majority of people are deprived one way or another. Maybe not all to the level I am, where I haven’t bought a new pair of shoes in two years even though there’s been a hole through the sole of these ones for as long as I can remember, but they have their own troubles.
I’m also uneducated. Not even an apprenticeship. Which means I have no prospect of ever becoming any more rich or important than I am. Which is fine. Like I said, I’m in good company. Not that I spend time with anyone else if I can avoid doing so. My single room in an all-woman’s house is the perfect size to avoid anything that might resemble a gathering as I don’t think three people could fit inside, and I only have one stool anyway.
I am not important, but I am perfectly average, which makes life simple. I go to work, I come home, I eat, I sleep—poorly—and then I repeat it all the next day. It’s a respectable sort of life.
And head-numbingly boring. Which, I’m told, is how life is meant to be.
It was a decent enough day working at the candle shop. I only had a couple of new burns from the hot wax, and one lone customer threw the stub of an old candle at me when I said we don’t do returns for used products. He said it only lasted four and three-quarter hours when we claimed it would last five.
But like I said, it was only one customer. The rest of the day went perfectly normally.
I had even earned enough I could finally purchase the new pillow I’ve been working toward for three months. Up until now I’ve used scraps from old clothes wrapped around a bit of hay. This was a genuine goose down pillow. The softest thing a person could lay their weary head on after a long day of candle making. I finally owned one, and it’s glorious.
My arms wrap around my brand-new luxurious pillow like I’m hugging a cloud. I feel as though I’m floating rather than walking the muddy roads back to my room in Lady Daria’s Boarding House for Single Women. For the first time in my life, I am going to have a good night’s sleep.
At the last turn, mere steps from my front door, I find a man lying on the street. His entire body is cloaked in the filth that swallows my shoes and squelches up the hole in the sole and in between my toes with every step. Being the decent sort that I am and fueled by the euphoria of having a proper pillow in my arms, I stop.
“Are you alive?” I kick his boot, eliciting a groan.
Alive then, and probably fine. My good deed of the day is done.
I walk away, my focus entirely on my house and the blissful sleep I’m about to enjoy.
“Arg,” he moans with an alarming amount of pain.
I keep walking.
“Gah,” he whimpers a little louder.
I keep walking while muttering a few choice words telling him to shut it already, I’m not the person to help him.
“Yeaaaaoooohhhhh.”
Well, that one was just fake.
“What? What is it?” I spin around to scowl. “And I swear to the gods if you are just drunk, I am going to smother you in the mud where you lie.”
“Oh,” he says in a soft voice while blinking up at me. “I didn’t realize there was anyone there. I’m sorry, did I disturb you with my cries of agony?”
“Not particularly.”
And I keep walking.
He’s on his feet and at my side before I can get two steps away, so clearly not so hurt after all. Not drunk either, from the lack of stumbling and scent of booze. Though the smell of horse and human waste might be overwhelming anything he may or may not have drunk. I press my nose into the pillow and inhale the fresh scent of a new purchase and ignore his presence.
“You’re not going to try and help?” He skips ahead to walk backward in front of me. It was probably similar foolish antics that left him on the ground whining in the first place. If there was anyone around to see us, I’d be embarrassed by his inability to walk normally. Luckily there’s no one around on the quiet residential street. “Aren’t people supposed to help others when they see them in distress?”
“Only if those people want to get pulled into trouble.” I eye the tall figure from head to toe to confirm my suspicion. “You look like trouble.”
He does, not just because he’s covered in all kinds of unspeakable things, but because even with all the grime and stench, he’s unthinkably beautiful. The kind of beautiful where you can’t look for more than a breath because it hurts so much, like staring into the sun.
His strong cheekbones lead down to a perfectly crooked smile and teeth so white, they might be made of ivory, though they’re too finely fitted to be anything but real. It should be impossible to tell his hair color under the muck, yet it appears to shimmer like a polished copper coin. He’s tall, though everyone is compared to me, but with him I must stretch my neck particularly far back to see his face, which makes it more comfortable to stare at his chest. More comfortable physically, but just as bothersome mentally. Staring at any point of this man would only lead to uncomfortable thoughts I have no interest in entertaining.
The only thing about him that could be considered a flaw if it didn’t make him more alluring are his eyes. One so dark it feels like a hole into his soul. The other so light, it practically casts a glow. Though that was impossible. Wasn’t it?
“Definitely trouble,” I say firmly.
He presses his hand to his chest as though I’ve hurt him and dramatically drops his head to the side to mimic being slapped. Though nothing about the motion seems natural. It’s as though he’d watched someone be upset once and is now impersonating their movement in an overly stylish way.
“I don’t know what could give you the idea I’m anything more than a simple man looking for help from a fellow human.” He peeks down at me for a moment as though to check to see if his act is working on me. I make sure to stare back with as dead an expression as possible in hopes it will be enough to get him to leave me alone. It’s not. A smile twists his lips and he winks his dark eye at me as though we’re both in on a joke I have no interest in being involved in. “Okay, you’re right. I’m clearly not capable of passing myself off as something so pathetic, so allow me to come clean. Metaphorically of course,” he adds with a glance down to his filthy outfit. “I’m looking for a hero. The type of person who would run over and help me while I’m prone in the mud without any hope of reward. I would, in turn, reward them with abilities beyond their meagre understanding of what�
�s possible.”
“Would that reward be for you to stop following me?”
“People around here are heartless.” He doesn’t even acknowledge my question, just continues talking as though giving a monologue in a play and only the appropriate responses will be recognized. “You were the first person who bothered to check if I was alive or not.”
Not particularly surprising. Nothing good ever comes from sticking your neck out for other people.
“How many walked past?” I ask, only vaguely curious how much better a person I am than my neighbors.
He hesitates long enough for suspicion to creep in.
“You were the first,” he admits but hurries to justify himself when I groan and slip past him to take the stairs up to my building. “This street is surprisingly quiet. I really should have chosen a place with a little more traffic. Not somewhere too busy of course, just in case, but at least a handful of choices would have been preferable.”
“Just in case of what?” I instantly regret showing any sign of interest in his delusional tale. He seems like a talker and all I want is a delightfully comfortable nap. “Know what? Never mind. It was unpleasant to meet you, and I hope to never see you again. Good day.”
He grabs the door before I can get through, as though he plans to follow me inside. I stare at him a moment, even gesture with my head for him to go away, but he remains next to me, looking grim.
“This is a women’s only dorm,” I say with little hope that his conscience will kick in and he’ll leave me alone. “That means you can’t come inside.”
“I’m afraid I might have made a small mistake.”
“Yes, I believe you have.” It’s too easy to believe he’s talking about trying to follow me inside, though I should know better. “No harm done. All is forgiven. You can leave now.”
“It’s an ever so tiny mistake,” he says, though his expression tells me the opposite. “Nothing really to worry about. But then again, you are human, so you probably should be a little worried. You are so breakable after all.”
I consider pushing past him to get into the house and never thinking about the strange beautiful man covered in crap again. But I must admit I’m intrigued. Just a little. But that’s all it takes to ruin your life.
“Human?” It wasn’t the first time he called me one, but I thought he was being dramatic before. The longer he stands beside me the more I wonder if he might be another race. It would explain the eyes. Maybe an elf, or sprite or something else mildly troublesome. I’m not actually sure what other races look like since there aren’t any in the city, and I’ve never gone beyond the walls, but I’ve heard stories, and bards paint a detailed image in my mind, both horrible and captivating.
Then again, I have no interest in getting involved with elves, and I have an early morning tomorrow and a long sleep to enjoy in between. I try to push past him, but his arm blocks my path. I’m about to demand he step back when he turns to look behind us and sighs. Before his breath fully emerges, the building I’m about to walk into explodes.
Chapter Two
Trouble Comes in Double
Debris flies everywhere. Chunks of the stone wall narrowly missing my head by mere inches. Dust and dirt fill the air, making it impossible to see beyond the tip of my nose and there’s a sound that pops my ears and leaves nothing but ringing in its wake.
The strange thing about the dirt and dangerous flying chunks of building, other than that it’s bits of my home swishing past me, is the fact that not a speck of it touches either the man or myself. It’s as though it moved toward us, thought better, then flew away.
“I really should have been more careful about who followed me here,” the man says as though chunks of building aren’t still dropping at our feet.
“Kesarre!” A booming voice startles me, and I spin to look behind us at the street. The man who spoke is covered head to toe in silver-black robes with skulls and sharp pointy bits attached to his shoulders. He looks like a church cleric who took his following of the god of death much too seriously. “I have a message from the Lady Adoria.”
“Does she send her love and wish me happiness?” Kesarre, as his name seems to be, shouts back without turning around. He’s focused on something he’s keeping hidden from the death-cleric. “Because if not, I’m not much in the mood to listen.”
I turn once more to the death-cleric as he raises a staff covered in layers of spikes all the way down to the center where his gloved hand wraps around a leather grip. As he lifts the staff, a light somehow both brighter than the sun and darker than the darkest night begins to flitter around the swirling carved design at the top.
Being an average sort of person, I’ve not experienced a lot of magic. I once saw someone perform tricks in the street for money. He called himself a magician, but I’m pretty sure it was mostly sleight of hand since I could follow most of his movements. Even with my small level of experience, I know the glowing staff is not good. I need to get away, now, or I’m going to end up crushed under another building.
Kesarre still has his back to the man who’s trying to kill him, so I decide to leave him to his fate and run. I grab my skirts, pulling them up to my knees revealing the torn and dirty stockings I refused to replace while saving for my pillow, and sprint in the opposite direction of the death-cleric. It’s only when I notice how easy it is to run because both of my hands are free to lift my skirts that I realise I’m missing something very important. My stomach drops in mourning for my pillow. I nearly turn around to go back to get it but remember what the man’s magic did to the building and how it would not be smart to let that happen to me. The pillow isn’t worth dying for.
Maybe I should go back.
“Running,” Kesarre says while easily keeping pace with me. In his arms is my pillow, though it doesn’t look quite right. There’s a shimmer to it I’m sure wasn’t there when I bought the thing. “Good idea. It’s harder to hit a moving target.”
“What…are you…doing?” I’m not used to running. Not something you do as a shop keep. I’m even less used to running while talking, so there’s a lot of huffing happening. “Go…away.”
I grab my pillow from his arms and shove him back, both of which are too easy to do. He should give some resistance, but it’s like he wants me to react just as I do.
“You’re right.” He’s much too happy, and it takes me too long to understand why. “I’ll go hide while you defeat this guy. Good plan. I knew I chose a good hero.”
The road before me explodes just as I’m about to step forward. If I hadn’t slowed to look at Kesarre, I would be part of the dirt and mud currently flying in front of my face. I instinctively shriek and cover my head with my arms, instantly regretting my decision when I realize I’ve put my pillow in direct line of the falling mud. A quick inspection reveals that once again none of the debris has touched me or the pillow.
I don’t have time to be relieved as the death-cleric shouts once more.
“You were meant to provide a proper challenge unlike the champions I’ve easily destroyed.” He lets out a guttural laugh. “Instead you run like a mouse from a cat.”
Kesarre turns to face the death-cleric for the first time. A fire shines in his eyes that reminds me of real flames, though I must be mistaken. I’ve never heard of anyone, even elves and sprites, having actual fire in their eyes before. I’m sure I would have heard stories about the terrifying fire-eyed creatures who eat children and do other horrible deeds otherwise. It must be a reflection or something reasonable I’m seeing.
“Did you call me a mouse?” Kesarre pouts like a child who was just called a ‘poopy-head.’ “You, dear sir, are the mouse.”
“I don’t think name calling is the issue here.” Clearly, I’m the only reasonable person on this street. “He’s trying to kill us.”
Kesarre turns to me with his grin wide across his perfect face and his eyes lit up by literal flames.
“Then you should kill him first,” he says as thoug
h it’s the most obvious response to this situation.
I must admit, I stand still for much longer than I should with a mad man with magic trying to kill me only steps away, but I just can’t get my jaw to shut or to stop staring at the idiot who got me into this mess.
“How?” I clutch my pillow tight to my chest and imagine myself sinking into its depths, forever protected by its softness. “Should I beat him up with my pillow?”
He nods much too enthusiastically and if I were the type of person who hit others, I would smack the smile off his face.
“Perfect. Do that.”
In a move so quick I can’t resist, he twists me to face the death-cleric and shoves me in the direction of my doom.
His touch does more than move me forward. A feeling of power flows through me, starting at the base of my spine and spreading through my body like the warmth of a good meal on a long, cold day. I feel strong in a way I’ve never imagined. My body feels impossibly light, and I have to look down to make sure I’m still touching the ground and not somehow floating. As I do, I catch sight of the object in my hand. My soft, beautiful pillow is transformed before my very eyes into a shimmering white scythe. Eight feet of smooth ivory leads up to a foot-long curved blade. It shimmers in the dull light of the evening as I twirled it expertly in my hands.
Red symbols shimmer above the weapon for a moment before fading away.
Scythe of Kesarre – Epic item Level 1
Attack – 5
Defence – 3
Two handed, long reach weapon.
I should not know how to twirl it expertly. I should accidently stab myself in the gut for trying, but somehow I know exactly what to do. The appearance of glowing letters floating before my eyes should worry me as well, especially since I’ve never read a word before now, but the logical part of my mind seems to have shut down, and I’m running on instinct I never knew I possessed.
