Blood Of Gods (Book 3) (47 page)

“There is,” the god said with a sad nod. “I have not been feeling myself.”

“It is fine, my Lord. You will soon heal; you will recharge, and you will be as you were once more.”

To that, Karak nodded. “Until that time comes, however, you must be my sword. You must—”

The god’s eyes widened, his jaw clamped shut, and he whirled his head around, staring down the bridge. His fingers clenched and unclenched rapidly.

“What is it, my Lord?”

“It cannot be,” said Karak.

Velixar followed the deity’s glowing eyes, gazing at the bridge and the thick wood on the other side. He could see nothing out of the ordinary. “What is it?”

“He is here,” said the god gravely. “My brother could not arrive so quickly. It is not possible.”

“Ashhur is here?” Velixar looked around desperately but still could see nothing. His heart began to race. “What do we do?”

“The bridge must be destroyed.”

Karak took a stride toward the bridge and raised his hands. The bridge began to shimmy, its surface developing deep cracks. Velixar joined his god’s side, mimicking his every motion, and soon chunks of the bridge broke off, plummeting to the river below.

Velixar held his breath, awaiting the moment Ashhur would come bursting out of the wood.
Not now! Karak is too weak.
I
am too weak!

Finally a form exploded from the trees, advancing at blinding speed toward the bridge, and Velixar stared at the approaching monstrosity, baffled beyond belief.

Karak had been wrong. It wasn’t Ashhur at all.

C
HAPTER

40

T
hough fishing, farming, and praying were a part of daily life for those in Ker, to reside in the desert and southern plains of Paradise was to live the life of a hunter. Tracking was a skill nearly all children learned early on, trailing game through the prairies and thick forests, that night’s meal dependent on finding and dispatching their quarry. It was a skill Bardiya excelled at, even though he hadn’t put it to much use over the last fifty years.

Not that he needed to be a talented tracker to find the trail Karak and his soldiers had left for him. Just north of the Gods’ Road he saw flattened grassland littered with the dung of thousands upon thousands of animals. From there, the hollow prints of booted feet led directly into the forest. All he had to do was follow the trampled earth and scored trees, which were in abundance.

Days came and went, and much to Bardiya’s surprise, he was never hungry. His stomach never grumbled, his muscles never twitched, his throat never ran dry. He was being guided by a force larger than himself, a duty he had blinded himself to for a long time. It was his faith that now sustained him, as filling as the heartiest meal, as intoxicating as the strongest wine.

The soldiers and elves marched into the distance, leaving Karak and Jacob alone on the opposite cliff face. It wasn’t a perfect situation, but Bardiya knew it was the best he would get. He bowed his head and brought his fist to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. “
Ashhur
, protect me,” he whispered, and felt lightness infuse his being. It was the first time since he’d ordered his brethren home that he’d prayed. Before that moment, he hadn’t dared.

Bardiya clutched his giant sword tightly and began to run. His heart rate remained even as his legs churned, carrying him with ease through the dense foliage. Branches slapped at his face, chest, and legs as he ran, but their impact brought no pain. His shoulder collided with a thick tree trunk, and he heard a
crack
as its roots were ripped from the ground. His feet created deep divots in the packed soil. Still his breath came as easily as if he were taking a stroll along the edge of the ocean.

A series of snapping sounds reached his ears, and when he exited the dense forest, felling two small trees as he did so, he saw that Karak and Jacob were standing on the other side of the river, hands up, eyes shimmering. The bridge was slowly collapsing, large chunks of it dislodging and tumbling to the furious waters below. Bardiya felt his first moment of panic, experienced the first twinge in his muscles. His heart rate quickened, as did his breathing. The sword grew heavy in his hand. A primal scream left his mouth, renewing his courage, and he bounded onto the bridge without care for his safety, racing across the seven hundred foot span with inhumanly long strides. All around him, it continued to break apart.

He saw the First Man’s eyes widen in surprise. Amazingly, Karak’s did as well. God and man continued their chanting, the glow of their eyes brightening as their visages grew larger in Bardiya’s vision. He focused on Karak, who seemed as large as the continent itself, and felt a twinge of fear. The bridge shuddered beneath Bardiya’s feet. He was only two hundred feet away from the end, at most.

I will make it! Ashhur help me, I will make it!

A large, earthen section of the bridge dislodged from the structure, making the bridge dip to the side. Another long stride carried Bardiya to within fifty feet of the end, and when his foot planted he leapt into the air, aiming for the chanting pair. He soared, arms outstretched and legs splayed, easily traversing those last fifty feet. Karak took hurried steps backward, but Jacob stood his ground. The First Man raised his hands, whispering words of magic. Bardiya felt a tightening in his chest and a trickle of blood drip from his nose, but the discomfort was slight. Jacob then swore and turned, trying to get away, but he wasn’t fast enough. Bardiya hit the granite ledge hard, one knee striking the ground while the other rammed Jacob’s back, sending the man reeling, his cloak like a cloud of smoke as it billowed. The ground shook beneath Bardiya, the violence of his impact creating a small crater.

Jacob Eveningstar stopped rolling and fell still. Karak looked over at the unmoving man before bringing his glowing eyes back to Bardiya. He tilted his head and smiled. The look caused a chill to run up the giant’s spine.

“The child of Gorgoros,” Karak said.

Bardiya nodded before shoving off the ground with his fist, standing upright. Being this close to the deity, separated by barely twenty feet, Karak seemed not so huge. The giant took a step up and out of the crater he had made. His sword swung lightly in his grip, ever pointed toward the god. Karak himself held no weapon, and he didn’t appear in a rush to defend himself. He simply stood there in his glinting black armor, arms dangling loosely by his side, and grinned.

“Your sins have brought this down upon you,” Bardiya said as he approached. “Even a child of the heavens must be held accountable when so many innocents perish in his name.”

“Is that so, Gorgoros?” asked Karak, laughing. For a moment, Bardiya felt threads of fear at his tone. “Are you here to kill a god?”

“Yes.”

Bardiya reared back, grabbing the sword with both hands, and then swung with all the force he could muster. Time seemed to slow down. While the tip of the giant blade cut through the air, the space around Karak’s right hand shimmered with mist. A sword grew from that mist, a radiant, ethereal blade sprouting purple flames and ringed with swirling shadow. Time sped back up, Karak becoming a blur as he turned his sword upward. The blades of giant and god met with a deafening
clang
. Sparks flashed like lightning. Spikes of torment assaulted Bardiya’s hands and arms. He screamed. The deity shoved forward, forcing Bardiya’s feet to skid across the rocky ground, pushing the blades ever closer to his face. The flames from the deity’s sword leapt outward, singeing Bardiya’s eyebrows.

“You are a fool,” the god said.

Karak gave Bardiya a powerful kick to the stomach, sending the giant flying. He struck the ground and bounced once before sliding fifteen feet. The jagged earth beneath him sliced into his back, opening wounds that bled onto the rocks. His ribs were a swirl of agony, possibly broken. Though Bardiya had lived his whole life in pain, nothing he had ever experienced compared to this.

His slide ended at the lip of the cliff. Groaning, Bardiya rolled onto his side. He hadn’t released the sword when Karak kicked him,
but when he stared at the weapon in his hand, his spirits plummeted.
It was red and smoking where the god’s sword had connected with it, and he could see the steel warping even as he watched. He waited for it to glow as it had when he’d frightened off the beast-men, but no matter how much he prayed to Ashhur, it remained nothing
but stee
l.

“Did you truly think a blade forged by man could challenge one forged in the heavens?” Karak stormed toward him.

Bardiya scampered to his feet, keeping his knees bent, his back hunched. He perspired, though it was cold, and a drop of sweat dripped onto his reddened sword, releasing a
hiss
and a small puff of steam. Dread threatened to overwhelm him.
I cannot win. All is lost.
His lips began to quiver.
I am sorry I have failed you, Ashhur.

A queer sort of warmth then spread unexpectedly through him. It began in his heart, slowing the organ’s violent thrumming, and worked its way out from his ribcage, stilling his shoulders, his hips, his arms and legs. Ashhur’s voice was within him, the most soothing words he’d ever heard, reverberating throughout his body.
All is never lost, my son. No matter your failures, your love, your virtue, has always been true. You are the greatest of my children, heartfelt and wise and willing to sacrifice everything for your brothers. One day, all of humanity will look on you with awe. Reject your doubts. In my embrace, there will be no more pain, no more fear.

“I am your servant!” Bardiya cried. “Ashhur, my life for you!”

His sudden outburst caused Karak to hesitate ever so slightly, allowing Bardiya to straighten himself out and hold the twisted steel before him. The deity then glowered and closed the ten feet between them in a heartbeat, bringing his ethereal sword around in a mighty cleave. Their swords met once more, and Bardiya held strong, gritting his teeth as he tried to keep from being shoved over the edge and into the river. Karak’s sword burned through his. Glowing molten steel flowed down the shaft, causing the blade to bend backward. The deity laughed at him, madness in his radiant eyes. It was a stare that would have reduced any other mere mortal to quivering, but Bardiya simply would not back down. Though the god’s sword had nearly worked its way through his own, he gathered his strength and shoved back. Amazingly, Karak’s grin wavered as his face lit up with cobalt radiance.

The god’s eyes widened, and when Bardiya shifted his gaze to their locked swords, he saw that his was no longer made of folded steel. What he held in his fists was a column of pure energy, blazing white and blue and white again.
For you, Ashhur!
The light from his blade and the dark flames around Karak’s seemed to forge a battle all their own; eddying and lapping, one force of nature trying to overtake another.

Strength poured into Bardiya’s soul. As with Karak’s man-beasts, he couldn’t explain the glowing sword, his newfound vigor, or the way his instincts directed him—but it felt
right
. He chanced to release one hand from his weapon’s handle, swinging a meaty fist around and connecting with Karak’s cheek. The deity’s head snapped to the side, a grunt escaping his lips. He stumbled and had to hold an arm out to keep his balance, and his ethereal sword dipped. Bardiya used the opening to attack, hewing low, so the tip of his blade passed beneath the god’s. The lighted shaft met Karak’s leg, burning through his black armor and slicing the godly flesh beneath. The deity shrieked and staggered away from the giant, his free hand groping for a wound that leaked liquid shadow.

Karak glanced at the gash and scowled.

Bardiya gave him no reprieve. He charged the god, hacking away like a crazed woodsman. Karak parried blow after blow, inching backward each time, constantly on the defensive. There was no skill in Bardiya’s attack, no style to his fighting; he operated on predatory aggression alone. Embers leapt into the air each time their swords met, falling all around the combatants as if they fought within a ring of fireflies. And still Bardiya pressed on. His muscles felt no wear; his bones didn’t ache. He was simply a tool of his god, acting on intuition, defending that which he knew to be righteous. He might be violent on the outside, but on the inside he sang.

When they drew close to the trees, Karak pivoted, heading instead back toward the center of the granite cliff. The wound in his knee had stopped seeping, but still he limped. Gone was the look of madness, replaced by something Bardiya would never have expected to see on the face of a deity—concern. Bardiya hacked left, brought his sword around, and then chopped to the right, throwing the god off balance. Karak attempted a desperate lunge, which Bardiya easily sidestepped. The maneuver left the god open to attack, and Bardiya thrust his luminous blade at Karak’s shoulder. The tip found a slight gap between breastplate and pauldron, slipping into the god’s flesh as easily as a stick into a muddy pool. The deity threw his head back and screamed. The glow of his eyes dimmed, and the purplish flames surrounding his sword sizzled as if doused with water. Spools of thick shadow leapt from the new wound, crackling when they came in contact with Bardiya’s shining blade.

The giant kicked Karak square in the chest, knocking the deity flat on his back. His sword withdrew from the god’s shoulder with a sound like a murmur on the wind, the shadow fizzling on its surface. Karak’s sword hand opened when his head struck the ground, sending the blade tumbling away. It turned to mist mid-spin and disappeared.

Bardiya loomed over the prone deity. Karak panted, his face now wreathed in the shadow that poured from his shoulder. The god’s throat rumbled as he tried to lift himself off the ground, but Bardiya stomped on him, forcing him back down. The god’s armor was hot against the soles of his bare feet. He shifted his grip on his sword, aiming the tip downward while he raised it high above his head. Its brightness intensified, becoming nearly as intense as the sun above.

“Your depravity shows in your weakness,” Bardiya proclaimed just as he began to bring his blade down, intending it to strike Karak’s head.

“Not nearly so weak as you assume,” came a voice from
behind him
.

Bardiya never had time to turn. Inky blackness enveloped his vision, blinding him. Something powerful wrapped itself around his forearms, stilling his downward thrust. He was then towed backward. The invasive force was strong; it felt like his bones were being crushed. Vigorous laughter filled the air.

Dragged to his knees, Bardiya hurriedly lifted his blade, slicing through the wall of suffocating black that ensnared him. His head snapped around toward the source of the laughter, and there was Eveningstar, kneeling where he had fallen, hands raised. His cloak billowed around him; his eyes blazed red. Tendrils of shadow leapt from his fingertips, undulating as they raced through the air. Bardiya lifted his glowing sword, cutting through them. He gritted his teeth as he fought to stand.

A furious pain then hit him, tracing him from shoulder to ribcage. His heart skipped one beat, then two, then began to hammer in his chest as if it were trying to escape. Glancing down, Bardiya saw Karak’s sword, simmering with dark flames, protruding from his bare chest. The flames had cauterized the wound, which was a smoking, pulpy line that began at his collarbone—the same one scarred by Ethir Ayers in the mangold grove so long ago. His bones had held then, but not this time. Not when the force of a deity fell upon him.