The Demigod Proving (39 page)

Athanaric screamed and leapt toward Naresh. But Naresh was too fast. He had too much Ichor and reacted with too much speed. He turned before Athanaric could reach him, and bolted out of the tent.

Athanaric, driven by rage, pursued into the night.

Chapter 44: Accelerated plans

When you've planned for something for hundreds of years, you learn to build flexibility into those plans. If you remain dedicated to one course, and refuse to change your tactics, only failure will result.

-Athanaric

Ten minutes later, Athanaric stood outside his tent, regaining his breath and ignoring the paladins kneeling nearby.

Twice. Twice in one day he’d given pursuit and failed. He sorely needed to replenish his Ichor stores.

The camp lay in general stillness and silence. The clear starlight gave a soft luster to the tents and sagebrush-spotted streets around him. Several tents over, a few serving girls giggled with some of his younger wives—one of whom he would need to summon later on that night—although most people still gathered on the opposite side of the city, at the feast that followed the Strengthening. The celebration had really only just begun, and generally only paladins remained in the camp. Nearly a thousand of them patrolled the area. The other nineteen thousand held positions around the camp and city, watching for the redheaded draegon-girl. And now, also, for the Godslayer.

Now, after the fact, with his anger dulled and his pursuit failed—and the Slayer of Gods disappeared into the dark countryside—Athanaric again felt the appeal of giving up. How nice it would be to lose the burden of ruling over a disobedient and willful people, to just leave them to their own problems and let them deal with the Godslayer themselves. But no, as their god he needed to provide a way for them to live in peace.

Why had Naresh spared him? The Godslayer certainly could’ve killed him; he had the power, especially given his history of defeating gods and Athanaric's own depletion of Ichor. But why hadn’t Naresh killed him?

Athanaric had no firm answers to that question. He could only guess that Naresh wanted to kill him in public so that everyone knew he’d died—the opposite of what had happened in Hasuke, where most still didn’t know their god had perished.

Whatever the case, Athanaric wouldn’t fall to the Godslayer. He would prepare for the inevitable confrontation. He would continue on his course, down to Hasuke, to take control of the country and bring the people under his wing.

Something Naresh had said returned to Athanaric: the cultists worked with the Hasuken honor guard. The thought hadn’t occurred to him before. But it made sense. Along with the Godslayer, the honor guard had overthrown their god, and now worked with the demigods in the neighboring country to overthrow theirs.

Well, they’d failed.

During the last week, Athanaric had spent a great deal of time searching out the rest of the apostates. While he still hadn’t captured Wester, he believed that he’d pinpointed the rest of the dissenters and killed the last demigods—except for Wester—that day at the Strengthening. Only a group of regular people remained, and he'd learned where they were. As proof that he was right, no demigods had been attacked in days.

He’d almost succeeded in eradicating the rebellion. The problem was almost taken care of. Hasuke now loomed as the biggest challenge.

He and his army could reach the border in a week. His original plan had called for him to go to Hasuke after he’d completed the Strengthening, when all of his Caretakers had returned to their homes. But if he went straight there, and postponed the remainder of the Strengthening, his Caretakers could join him in fighting the honor guard. He liked that idea.

He lifted a hand to pull the tent door aside, but paused.

Of course, he could take that as one more reason to just lie down and end his existence. Pile that on top of everything else. His general boredom with life, the slaughter of his wives and children, the poisoning of his servants, the attacks of the renegades—it was all becoming too much. It would be so nice to give up.

No, he had to continue on. He couldn’t succumb until he’d selected and trained an heir that could care for and watch over the people.

And it might very well be Wrend. The boy had demonstrated considerable strength of will, even despite a few foolish decisions, even if those decisions had probably proven the right things to do—which made them even that much more impressive. He’d gone against tradition in order to make a hard decision. His country needed that—someone with a firm hand, who could take whatever steps any situation might require.

Teirn certainly hadn’t made such difficult decisions. He’d stayed the course, proven obedient in all things—which was, of course, also very important. He would be more easily trained, and would obey and learn without question.

But which to choose as his heir? He’d never made a more important decision, and while he’d moved closer to a conclusion in recent days, he still didn’t know who was the right choice.

He’d intended to wait until battles with Hasuke to really test his sons, but he saw now that he couldn’t wait that long. They’d already guessed—or someone had told them—the purpose of the proving. It annoyed him to no end, for with them having such knowledge, he couldn’t hold back any longer.

He needed a test, something that would force the two sons into a direct confrontation. Then maybe they would make the choice for him. One would eliminate the other.

He liked that idea. Let them choose. Perhaps either son would do. He’d suspected it from the start, from the very day he’d selected their souls and placed them into Rashel’s and Calla’s fetuses.

Let them decide who would be his heir.

The perfect idea came to him.

Satisfied, he headed back into the tent to tell Wrend what he’d decided.

Chapter 45: The deep recesses

The most important memories are the ones hidden the deepest.

-Wrend

As Wrend waited for the Master to return, his worldview threatened to shift toward uncharted territory.

He waited with the dogs, jealous as they gobbled up the food that had spilled from the table while he sat there in the chair, still tied up, nothing in his stomach. His knife lay in the clutter from the table; it had been knocked to the ground in Naresh’s fray with the dogs.

With Naresh and the Master gone, the dogs became wild and reckless, bickering with each other over food and even jumping up onto the table to eat. They jostled the kerosene lamp, which made the shadows of the room swing, and for a moment Wrend thought they might tip it and start a fire. But they didn’t—they just ate the food. It was the worst when they ate the cheese. Cheddar. Probably extra sharp.

After the approximately forty-eight seconds it took them to eat all the food, they retreated to the carpet near the divan and collapsed into piles of shaggy gray fur. All except for the one killed by Naresh.

The Godslayer. When Naresh had revealed himself as the slayer of gods, the Master’s face became relieved, but that look had lasted only a second. Then his face blanched. His hands had trembled, dropping an apple, and he’d gone bleary-eyed for several moments.

Whoever Naresh was, Wrend had cause to fear him if he created such a reaction in the Master.

He didn’t know what to think. Well, he did and he didn’t. Obviously Naresh, an enemy, had tricked him and had tried to get him to act foolishly. Yet even so, the ideas he’d taught still rang true. It was right to consider others’ points of view. It was right for people to have the freedom to choose.

Yet, it was wrong to slaughter innocents. Hadn’t Naresh confessed to being a party to those crimes, to being in league with the rebels? Wasn’t it also wrong to defy the Master?

Maybe not.

That thought chaffed on his sense of propriety like the ropes rubbing his arms, legs, and shoulders. Yet, he couldn’t get rid of the thought even though he tried.

Everyone seemed intent on defying the Master. First the apostates—Caretakers, priests, and regular citizens—and now Naresh. He’d called for the Master to step down from being a god. As if the Master could do such a thing. One couldn’t stop being a god just as one couldn’t stop being a person. Just as one couldn't become a . . . god.

But, if he or Teirn could become a god, did that mean that the Master had once
not
been a god? What had Naresh said? That the Master had taken godhood upon himself, that he wasn't really a god. Did that mean he'd decided to become a god on his own accord—he'd appointed himself to the position? Not anyone could do that. He'd been the son of a god, the grandson of Pyter. That was why he could become god. Same with his brothers? The ones he'd killed?

But why him? Why not any of his brothers? Had he become god because he was stronger, or because he was a better person? Defeating his brothers—had that been good or bad, and who had determined that?

It all seemed so circular and confusing, but none of it had ever occurred to Wrend. The implications made his blood cold. If it were true—if the Master had no inherent right to rule and reign—nothing Wrend believed made sense. None of it held true. Everything he’d been taught all his life was wrong.

As he sat there, thinking on that, the tent faded away, out of his consciousness. His mind and thoughts consumed his attention as questions flowed into his awareness from an unknown place—perhaps from a different person, or from a hidden place of memories. Yet they felt right, like questions he’d always known he should ask but simply couldn’t think of—things he never would’ve been able to come up with on his own. And all of it started with the one undeniably good point Naresh had made.

Who ensured that the gods were good and true, that they didn’t abuse their powers?

For if they were truly gods, they surely had the responsibility to rule over their people with love and kindness. They had the charge to see that their people were happy and safe, fed and sheltered. Free from war, crime, and suffering. Who kept these gods in check, ensured that they fulfilled those responsibilities? Was it Naresh, himself? The Godslayer?

What, exactly, did it mean to be a god? Did they really have any responsibility to do good, or by virtue of their godhood could they do whatever they wanted? Were they laws unto themselves, above the reproach of man or nature? And if he or Teirn became god, would they suddenly become subject to that higher law? Was there any over-arching governance that determined what, ultimately, was right and wrong, and who should be god?

Were any of the questions even relevant?

Yes.

He felt it in his core, from the deep recesses of his mind, where if he could light a lamp, he would find the answers.

What was that place in his mind? He’d never encountered it before, and though he reached for it he couldn’t quite grasp it.

Where did those questions even come from? Had Naresh placed them there? Could that be done?

Doubts flowed through him. He could not find any solutions. Only more questions—questions that there should have been answers to. Questions that everyone should have had answers to. But he had none. Did anybody?

He didn't want to wait for the Master to return. He focused on his discernment, intending to break his bonds.