Two (The Godslayer Cycle Book 2) Read online

  Avery stepped directly up to Gravin, who only stared at the formerly dissected man in sheer terror. The seaman held his arm rigid, his sword completely ineffective in his immobile arm.

  “You have been judged to be... unacceptable,” said Avery.

  Some deep-seated shred of self seemed to suddenly take hold in Gravin. Perhaps it was a submerged desire for self-preservation, or maybe it was the true inner strength of character he had possessed all along. Either way, though, the man's fear fell away in the light of his renewed vigor.

  “Ya'll not judge me,” Gravin said coldly. “I'll be th' one ta cast ya back ta the Pit where ya belong.”

  With blinding speed, Gravin drove his sword up and through the body of Avery. The would-be-God staggered slightly from the blow, blood flashing from his sides. But as Gravin made to withdraw the blade, Avery's hand shot down and grasped the hand holding the sword.

  “Enough of that,” said Avery, his words accompanied by spittle of blood upon his lips. But his strength did not wane as he twisted Gravin's wrist, the snap of the bone loud and unmistakable.

  Gravin screamed and released the sword, falling back and clutching at his wrist. His eyes darted to where the sword still hung suspended from Avery's side, regaining once again his composure as he braced his body to lunge once more for control of the blade.

  Avery, however, was faster. The hand that had shattered Gravin's wrist twisted around and clasped the handle of the sword, pulling it inexplicably free from his own body as easily as he might have pulled it from a large block of cheese. Though the man winced with pain, he did not pause or shudder in the least at what should have been a mortal act. How many organs was the man slicing through in pulling such a sword out of the trunk of his own body?

  Once the sword was pulled clean though, a different vision met Dart's eyes – for though Avery's side showed the obvious stains of his own blood, there was no wound where the sword had been. Much like when he had restored his own flesh from utter decimation, he had again healed himself from what should have been a fatal wound.

  And now Avery was the one wielding the magical sword.

  The self-declared God of Vengeance turned the sword delicately in front of him, taking a few moments to seemingly admire the sword's beauty. Or...

  Dart had the sudden discernment that Avery was not admiring the sword – he was communing with it. Was this man totally insane, as well as unworldly powerful? If so, that was an infinitely more dangerous combination than Gravin's own twisted desire for revenge upon the Witness for a perceived wrong done to his family coupled with his chance encounter with the selfsame immortal.

  “Give it back!” demanded Gravin, still clutching at his shattered wrist. The man turned his eyes to Dart and the Witness, silently pleading for some kind of assistance from his former captives. His eyes seemed to implore, Help me so we can go back to what we were doing before.

  As if that was somehow a more preferable scenario for the demi-Gods than what was presently unfolding. In truth, Dart was hard pressed to which experience inspired more fear in her, but at that point in time, she was prepared to side against the devil she knew in favor of the one she did not. There was at least a chance of mercy from Avery – Gravin had never intended to grant any.

  “While you live, you would be tied to Two,” said Avery. “And with such a bond, you could cause more harm than you know. I would have been satisfied to leave you to your own devices, but Two feels differently.”

  Avery raised the sword into the air before him. “The only solace I can offer is that you will endure no worse than the souls you already condemned.”

  Gravin rose to his knees as if to speak, but his lips moved without sound. He apparently could find no words to defend himself. Some part of him must have known what was coming next – if not the precise fate, then at the very least its end result. He was to be executed, severed forever from the power of the sword – and unlike Avery, he would not rise to continue the battle.

  The water and moisture in the air that had formerly risen at the command of Gravin now rose into the air under the will of another. It spiraled around the room, drawing in its power and strength, but it did not form the tight cyclonic speed that it had under Gravin's control. The water now seemed to move more fluidly, if that were possible. Certainly it flowed more like coils of a serpent. In fact, Dart could almost see a snake forming out of the waters, with a head sliding from side to side, gathering more and more moisture into itself.

  Then without warning it changed its course and turned sharply, diving for its former master's posterior side, thrusting at the last moment up and through his back and out through his chest. Gravin screamed as the unending flow pierced his body, taking more than just his bodily fluids with it when it departed. To Dart's eyes, the fluid exiting the man's body seemed to almost glow with an eery incandescence.

  Avery's taking back all of the power he stole from the people, realized Dart. He's taking back all the energy he stole from taking their lives!

  The fluid arced back upon itself and ran like a great wheel through the core of Gravin's body. The man had thrown his arms wide, his head back as the air he had had in his lungs ran dry and he was unable to draw more to renew his cries. Instead his eyes streamed with the pain he endured, his lips splitting at the edges from being ripped too wide in his efforts to voice his torment.

  Finally the spiral of fluid ceased its cycle of running through Gravin's body and shot through the air to the sword itself. The water embraced the sword, wrapped itself around the steel in harmonious flows, giving up the glowing energy it had collected, returning to the common, unlit fluid it had previously been. Dart could almost – but not quite – see the energy flow down the blade and into the body of its wielder.

  Finally, Avery lowered the sword and the water evaporated instantly. Gravin's body held its position a moment longer, then with an inevitable shift, the lifeless shell fell back upon itself. The angry, bright red hole now torn through his center leaked the remaining fluids of the body upon the floor, but that was the only movement that originated from the body.

  Gravin – the butcher of Levitz – was dead.

  Chapter 21

  Hamil stared in amazement. His little bird had become a condor! His nerves buzzed with the conflicting excitement between how much fun he was having versus the anxiety brought on by an internal voice that practically screamed this game was quickly getting out of hand. Of course, the voice suggesting caution had been long ago locked away in the deepest recesses of the faux-scribe's mind, but nevertheless, it rattled away so loudly that it was not completely impossible to ignore.

  The demi-Gods had been unexpected, yet they had complied with his request. They were staying to their own side of the tavern, letting Avery spread his wings and become all he could be. Even still, the “all he could be” part of that was pretty unnerving, even for the God of Mischief himself.

  There was still an impossible amount about Avery that the God could not comprehend, even after all this time. The root of his power remained masked from the Prankster, just as the swords everyone seemed to be referring to were, as well. He could see water swirling through the air, and even the energy derived from sacrificed souls moving through the water – but whatever power corralled it all was invisible to his eyes.

  Hamil had become convinced that the power of the swords was divine. The man Martin had said there were nine swords created by the Old Gods – and Charith and Malik at least confirmed that much – but for all his divination, he could not find them. That alone should have been impossible, but it was conceivable that the Old Gods had masked the swords from scrying. That was certainly atypical for the extremely rigid and proper stick-in-the-muds, but it wasn't beyond their power.

  The Prankster had not asked the Pantheon specifically for the details of the swords' creation nor state of existence. After all, asking too many questions would give away how little he really knew. He knew, for instance, that they existed, and that Avery had wiel
ded one. Well, now apparently two of them. But both the swords themselves and the power they exerted upon the world created blind spots for the God, which made it impossible to gauge exactly how much power the swords actually possessed.

  But there was more that the concealed God could detect. The magic of the swords could influence both other magic and materials in the real world – as was demonstrated by both Gravin's and Avery's manipulation of water and energy with this second sword. And apparently, the sword would use its bearer as a repository for this gathered energy, as well. Avery had absorbed divine energy from the Galentine priest in Scollhaven and later from his fight with the Imery priestess. And now, he absorbed soul energy collected by the second sword. That, at least, Hamil could gauge. But he could not tell either how these energies were rooted in a mortal's body or how much additional power from the swords themselves added to the reservoir created there.

  Hamil had also made another discovery – when he had first come to Levitz, he had been unable to detect the wall of water around the town, or the town itself concealed within. Yet he had been able to perceive the water flung around by the sword here before him. This suggested that different levels of power were being used for each effect, or perhaps the power was being used in a different way. Either way, it seemed the greater demonstration of power to make the wall had completely masked the effect, whereas whatever power was being used to manipulate the water and energy made its effects visible.

  In effect, the hidden God of Mischief had found a potential flaw with which to exploit the power of the swords. Nothing concrete emerged in his mind on how exactly to do that yet, but he was the Prankster, after all – if there was a way to exploit this weakness, he was confident that he would be the one to find it.

  As for the tableau splayed out presently before the God of Mischief, everything appeared frozen in time, though in truth it was he himself that had slowed down significantly in order to take in all the details present in the room.

  The former bearer of the invisible sword was now lying on the ground, his chest ripped open from the power of the water thrust through him. The man's eyes continued to register his surroundings, though. He could not move, could not speak, but there was still a shred of life left in the body, enough to be aware of what had been done to him, and worse, what was happening.

  As was common with mortals, the man's eyes were drawn to the divine presence in the room. Something about leaving the mortal veil opened a man's perceptions, let him see what his earthly sight rejected. It was common belief that men who lived great and significant lives would be visited at their deathbed by their deity. That must be true for some Gods, but as Ankor, the scribe had never felt so devoted to any particular faithful to make a special trip to commemorate his passing the mortal veil.

  Gravin must have thought that was why a God was here, for the man's eyes looked upon him imploringly, longing for release from the pain.

  “Sorry,” bespoke the disguised deity for the dying man's ears alone. “Not here for you. Just a lucky break for you that I happened to be here, is all. You'll have to make the trip to the afterlife on your own.”

  Panic and disbelief filled Gravin's eyes. A new tear managed to escape, trailing a new rivulet down the side of the man's cheek. The despair in the man's gaze was palpable, for he must have known where he was truly going now. Gravin had been unfaithful, and no God would come for his soul.

  Hamil experienced all of this within a fraction of a moment in time, and in the next, the tormentor of this town passed to meet his fate in the afterlife.

  The God of Mischief then turned to his present project, the self-proclaimed mortal “God”. Avery was no God, of course, but it was so much fun letting him think that, especially since somehow the little man kept managing to overcome impossible feats even without being divine. If there were any chance that Avery's blood could have been linked to a divine heritage, Hamil would have loved to have embraced the man as his own personal child, if for no other reason than to take credit for the impossible.

  Naturally, the greater the rise, the more devastating the fall would be. Hamil kept expecting to witness Avery fail, but each time he overcame even the true God's expectations. The little man was indubitably destined to fail and do so gloriously, and the scribe intended to be on the sidelines to witness the spectacular event when it happened.

  Presently, though, the great and powerful “God of Vengeance” was naked as a babe, standing amidst the ruins of both bodies and furnishings, in the middle of a tavern with no name, in a town that probably should never have had one, either.

  Hamil held the moment for just one more heartbeat, then let himself fall back into the normal flow of time. There was only so much he could admire his own handiwork before he just had to see what came next.

  Avery was breathing calmly, his eyes focused on Gravin's fallen body. Hamil made note of how little all of that magic had seemed to cost the would-be-God. There had been no real exertion by the man, even though the display of power had been extensive.

  Not to mention, Avery must still be maintaining Gravin's barrier around the town, as well – Hamil could still sense nothing beyond where the magic had erected the wall that he could not see. Where before the town had appeared as a nebulous void to him, now the whole rest of the world was gone.

  Ironically, Hamil's God-form had other incarnations out in the world – it was the nature of godhood to be able to exist in an as many places as necessary – and he was in contact with each manifestation, seeing the outside world through their forms. But the part of himself here was blind to what transpired beyond the magical barrier. And try as he might, he knew his other forms would not be able to penetrate the wall, anymore than his present body could move beyond the town, either.

  As Avery stood in rigid position, Hamil could feel the people behind him. Someone must have been watching the final confrontation from the doorway, because now everyone who had been waiting outside were slowly moving as a collective unit. Within moments, the first citizens looked tentatively in through the door, espying the carnage and disaster. But anyone looking in would also see one sole figure standing in the middle of it all, and no reasonable person could possibly mistake the skinny runt Avery for the heavily muscled seaman. Seeing this only inspired confidence, and the people began filtering into the building proper.

  Through it all, Avery continued to stand over his defeated foe. He seemed completely oblivious to Hamil's or anyone else's presence.

  Of course, even if Avery looked his way, the fake God would not see Hamil's true form. He would still see the faithful scribe. Avery may have deduced some of what Hamil had sought to conceal, but the fool had not yet realized that the scribe was not really a man, in the first place. And this continued to serve the Pranskter's purposes well.

  Hamil moved back and away from the door to permit the tavern's rightful patrons to enter. As he did so, he realized that Avery was not really looking at Gravin's body.

  The would-be-God was focused on a space directly in front of him – upon the sword, perhaps? Was he reading some kind of inscription, or possibly just marveling over its appearance? It was impossible for the true God to say, since he could not see what it was that Avery did – but the more the God watched the man, the more he became convinced that it was the sword the man studied.

  “I will need to get some clothes,” said Avery. “It probably wouldn't be a good idea to greet him like this.”

  “Greet who?” Hamil asked.

  The townsfolk did not wait for Avery to explain – without hesitation men in the crowd began to strip off their clothes in order to give Avery the dignity he requested.

  Avery turned to look at his companion as one woman helped him into a cloth shirt that tied together in the front. “Nathaniel Goodsmith. The one I have called Godslayer. He has entered Levitz and is on his way here.”

  * * *

  “Now!” Ankor practically screamed. “The time is now! Get ready!”

  Galentine and
Kelvor stood before the frantic Lesser God silently. Clearly, neither seemed all the intent upon rushing at the Prankster's urgings. They had responded quickly enough to the God of Mischief's summons, but their complete lack of interest was only magnified by the nearly pure emptiness of Imery's former realm.

  “What now, Ankor?” asked Kelvor. “For weeks you tell us wait, wait, you will tell us when it is time--”

  “But it is time!” interrupted Ankor.

  “--and that when the time was right, you would give us a proper forewarning. Now you summon us in a panic, all hellsfire and brimstone, intent on us rushing somewhere?” The God of Justice gave more the appearance of a God of War at that moment, as he stepped forward menacingly. “No more, Prankster. Straight answers, or we are done.”

  Galentine put a restraining hand on Kelvor's arm. “Please, brother.” Then, to Ankor. “You have to understand our trepidation, Ankor. It is as Kelvor says – you have refused to bring us into your confidence, and now you seek to compel us to act without any rightful explanation.”

  Ankor threw his arms up in the air and began to pace back and forth rapidly. “Avery is in Levitz, and he killed another wannabe God, but the Godslayer is coming now, so you need to get down there to deal with him!”

  Kelvor snorted. “Now I know you lie, fool. Levitz was erased from existence.”

  “No,” said Ankor, pausing in his pacing to emulate the impatience one gains in dealing with a slow child. “Levitz was blocked from our sight. It was hidden by Pantheon magic, a great liquid barrier, which is why it appeared to blink out of existence.

  “But none of that is important just now.” Ankor started pacing again. “You wanted to know when it was time to act, well that time is now. I honestly thought I would have more forewarning, but the little goblinoid snuck up on me. So you need to get ready to act and soon.”