The Demigod Proving (58 page)

“You’ve already brought it to me,” he said. “When you allied with my rebellious children.”

“They acted independent of us,” eagle-face said, “even if we had allied with them. But unless you retreat from this field, we will continue what they started. We’ll bring destruction upon you and your country.”

The Master trembled as he towered over the men and horses. The Hasuken in the rear shifted in their saddles, and glanced at one another. A gust of wind stirred up dust around them. Wrend licked his lips, looking back and forth from the Master to Naresh.

And he spoke.

“Master, perhaps we should consider this offer.”

Teirn gave him a sharp look, and Calla's eyes widened. Leenda tensed behind him, and the Master turned slowly to look at him. Wrend eased his horse forward and to the side, so that he was almost even with the Master, but thirty feet off to one side. The Master watched him with a slow boiling rage.

“You . . . disappoint me,” he said.

Wrend swallowed hard and shook his head. How did he dare defy the Master? It wasn’t easy, but made easier as he thought of Rashel lying in the dirt, brutalized, or as he remembered the screams of the cultists as they died, and as he thought of that head lying in the dirt back by the paladins.

“You’ve told me that I have to learn to make the hard decisions. I’m making one, right now.”

Not taking his eyes from the Master, he drew his sacrificial blade and held it in his right hand. He extended his left arm and turned his fist up, exposing the strings that secured the bracer to his wrist. He clenched his jaw and held the tip of the azure blade against the cord.

“Wrend,” Teirn said, “what demon has possessed you?”

With a swipe, Wrend cut the cord. The blue blade glinted in the sunlight. The bracer loosened, and he shook it off. It fell to the ground.

He looked at it. What was he feeling? Relief or fear? Freedom or doom?

He switched the knife to his left hand, and with another flick the right bracer came loose. It fell into the dust with the other. Lifting his eyes to the Master, Wrend held out the knife, point down, and dropped it. The sound of the knife hitting the ground was like prison doors opening—yet also like a bell sounding the death toll.

Wrath churned in the Master's eyes.

“He's right.”

All eyes—except for the Master's—swiveled to Naresh, who prodded his horse forward.

“You couldn’t have chosen a better son as an heir,” Naresh said. “You couldn't have a better option. His draegon soul cries out for mercy and justice, and he sees the proper way to rule.”

“You did this to him,” the Master said.

He finally looked away from Wrend, took a step toward Naresh, and pointed down at the old man. Except, he didn't seem old. He looked younger than Wrend had ever seen him, and he sat in his saddle with a straight back and confident air. He’d even shaved.

“You tainted his mind from the time of his childhood, and I have you to blame for what I must do.”

Naresh didn’t back down, though he stood within reach of the Master’s staff.

“I only planted seeds of truth. Soon, he’ll see another truth—that just because you call yourself god does not mean your word is law. There’s another power that governs.”

The Master shook his head.

“I'll deal with you in a moment. But now that my son has proven himself an unfruitful bough, he must suffer the consequence.”

He moved so fast that Wrend only had time to be surprised that his patience had run out.

Chapter 74: Cut in half

If not for the love of my wives, I would have ceased living many years ago. They have saved me from despair and death on numerous occasions.

-Athanaric

Leenda was ready for it—even if Wrend wasn’t. In preparation, she'd bound Thew and Flux to her body, and was ready when Athanaric leapt for Wrend, drawing his sword with one hand and swinging it down in an arc in a single motion. He moved so fast he nearly blurred, but she had practiced and was small, and had anticipated something like this.

The poor horse, on the other hand, never had a chance.

Her feet had no purchase, nothing to push off with, so she jumped with her body: she bent her back a little and straightened it. It was enough. It created enough motion that the Flux could do the rest.

She lifted off of the horse, pulling her mate with her.

The sword came down across the saddle at an angle; it would have cloven Wrend from head to crotch, and sliced the horse in half. By the time she landed in the dirt—and stumbled backward, falling to the ground with Wrend on top of her—the horse's cries had faded and Athanaric straightened.

“You can't have him,” she said. She pushed Wrend off of her and jumped to her feet. “He's mine.”

Athanaric considered her. The remains of the horse twitched where they lay, and guts spilled out over Athanaric’s boots. Wrend scrambled afoot and took a place next to her.

Nobody moved. The draegon stood in the same place where Athanaric had left it, watching with an obvious eagerness to join: its body shook and its mouth gaped; its tail swished back-and-forth through the dirt, stuck between two crumbling walls. What an abomination. A dog in a draegon's body.

“You're a fool, Wrend,” the Master said. “I'm god. You've defied me for the last time. You've traded immortality and glory for nothing. You believe I rule by evil compulsion, but I'm no more evil than these men here. Than Naresh. They allied with demigods who killed your mothers and siblings without remorse. They’re no better than me. They make a haughty case, but they killed innocents to provoke me, hoping I would come to them so they would have an excuse to do what they already planned.”

He had a point. Leenda looked over at Wrend, to see how he took it. A bevy of emotions crossed his face. He stood at an angle, with his legs tensed, as if ready to start running. Good thing. Hopefully he had his Ichor bound as well.

Otherwise he would stand no chance of escaping.

Chapter 75: Protected

When you don’t know about all the types of Ichor, you’re at a distinct disadvantage.

-Wrend

The Master's rebuke shocked Wrend, and he knew he needed to re-evaluate his course of action: he couldn't defect to Hasuke any more than he could stay with the Master. They were just as barbarous, wielded their power with equal brutality.

So what to do?

His gaze found Teirn, who still sat back on his horse, eyes wide. Calla looked just as surprised, but also satisfied.

“Wrend,” the Master said, “you've disappointed me and squandered your potential.”

The words cut Wrend deeper than he’d imagined they could. He'd lived his entire life dedicated to the Master, to pleasing him and doing everything he wanted. Now, in this moment of defiance, he questioned his choice. He loved the Master. He did. Simply because he'd come to disagree with the Master did not mean he didn't love him and feel attachment to him. He did.

But he also knew he was right.

Yet so was the Master. Wrend couldn’t ally himself with the Hasuken. Or Naresh, who stood with them. He spoke of lofty things, but was no better than the rest of them.

“Wrend,” the Master said, “I can’t allow you to live. Come and face your judgment like a noble son.”

He spoke with such authority that Wrend began to obey out of sheer habit. He stepped in front of Leenda, as if the voice had tied strings around him and begun to pull him in.

“Don't give up life,” Naresh said. “Stand your ground.”

Wrend ignored him, and instead looked to the one person he thought might understand—Teirn. They’d always speculated on how it would feel to have the Master come for them—the devastation it would cause to know they'd angered their father. They'd always thought it would seem random and meaningless, that they wouldn't know what they'd done to merit death.

Teirn remained back a few dozen feet, sitting on his horse near the draegon, staring back at him with an expression of regretful acceptance, as if he'd known all along that Wrend would do something stupid and get himself killed.

Wrend couldn’t help but shrug and lift one corner of his mouth in a sardonic smile. He wanted Teirn to join him, but knew that wouldn’t happen.

An unusual sensation—almost like a chill—ran along Wrend's spine, up his arms and down his legs. The back of his head began to tingle, at the top of his neck. He shivered and rubbed his arms with his hands, but it did no good. The sensation didn't touch his body—he didn't develop goose bumps and the hair on his arms didn't stand up—but felt almost like when he harvested Thew or Flux. Only, that wasn't quite it, either. This sensation seemed to rise from deep within him, and crawl around his insides and beat against his skin.

The faces of Naresh and the Master contorted in an undeniable exertion of effort. Their heads trembled and their eyes bulged. The veins and tendons in their necks stood out as if they pressed against an impossible burden.

Leenda stepped in front of Wrend, standing as tall as she could. Her body, too, shook with some invisible effort, as if under a great weight. A gust of wind blew her hair back from her neck and shoulders.

To the Master, she said, “I won’t let you have his soul again.”

“And neither will I,” Naresh said.

“What's going on?” Wrend said.

She didn't look back at him. “He's trying to tear your soul out with Spirit Ichor.”

Spirit Ichor? He'd never heard of it. It had never occurred to him that there was a third type, one that could affect a person's soul. He felt ill-informed. Ignorant. For all he knew, there were a dozen types and he didn't know about them because the Master hadn't taught him.

What a fool he was, to think he knew so much, when he had such a limited understanding of the world—and was so inept. He hadn't even tapped his discernment or kept Thew and Flux ready to bind.

But he readied it. He brought his discernment to the forefront of his mind, and bound Thew to his legs and torso. He needed to prepare to run.

“Wrend,” the Master said, “I'm your god. You must obey me. Though you object to my methods, you worship me. Don't betray me any more than you already have. Your soul is at risk.”

Wrend gritted his teeth against the effort of disobeying. “There must be a better way.”

“Mankind is evil and degenerate. He must be controlled with an iron fist, or his inner beast will overcome him.”

It took all of Wrend's strength to shake his head. He couldn't turn back now.

“Perhaps it was once so, back in the days of chaos. But the world has changed, and there must be a better way to rule over a nation. I worship you no longer.”