The Undying God (38 page)

“Yes.”

Nishka didn’t want the day to end as
Arxu escorted her to her room. It felt as though she had explored
the city with an entirely different person.

Arxu had changed so much since their
first encounter. He was revealing more of his personality, opening
himself up to Nishka. He even admitted that he liked to see her
smile. The endearing thought made her heart beat a little faster.
Did he feel anything else for her?

“Arxu, can you help me with something?”
He approached, wondering what could possibly require his
assistance. Nishka flipped her hair over her shoulder and turned
around. She said innocently, “I need help with my armor.” Arxu
looked at her quizzically.

“It’s on,” he said.

She replied seductively, “I want you to
take it off.”

Arxu paused before walking across the
room to consider the woman awaiting him. His fingers trembled as he
reached for the straps on her breastplate.

He could feel emotions rising within
that scared him, unfamiliar feelings, excitement that left him
breathless. Nishka sighed softly as Arxu slipped one of the leather
straps out of its buckle. Arxu fumbled with the fastenings, his
hands becoming awkward and inept so near to her. He felt as though
he could scarcely breathe; he was afraid to discover how much or
how little clothing he would find beneath.

He could not explain why he felt so
enlivened and paralyzed. He almost couldn’t form the movements with
his fingers to unbuckle her. Arxu quickly undid the straps and
turned for the door. He left without a single word.

A confused Nishka turned and watched
him leave.

* * *

The streets of Eternitas were no more
densely inhabited than a crypt. Again, he was alone as he crept
across the city under the veil of night. There was no greater or
more decadent time than this, the ripe hours of night. It triggered
the primal urges inside every man, exciting his animalistic desires
until they could not be contained. He paused at the sight of the
guards at the gates, sharing a bottle of vodka among themselves.
Their polearms glimmered in the faint torchlight.

He would require a more stealthy
approach to the temple. He quietly retreated from the gates and
explored a side street devoid of life. His eyes wandered across a
sewer grate barely visible on the cobbled surface.

It growled as he roughly pried it
loose. Setting it aside, he lowered himself into the
sewers.

Margzor plunged into the darkness. He
slinked through the filthy tunnels like a creature of the dark, his
eyes attuned to the pitch black. Every sound echoed within the dank
corridor, the placid drip of water whispering in the
distance.

He thought he sensed movement at the
end of the tunnel, but nothing reared up. He ascended a ladder one
rung at a time and reached for the filth-encrusted grate. Emerging
into the temple quarter, he rejoined the shadows and
vanished.

Chapter 37

Nishka leaned against the balcony
adjacent to her room. The city sprawled before her. The air, still
electric with joy from the spring festival, simmered down as the
night evolved. She wanted to relive the excitement of this day;
dancing in the streets, feeling the music pump through her heart,
embracing another culture. If only she hadn’t invited Arxu to her
room and asked…

She sighed… for what might have been.
Now she may never know how he felt about her. She almost returned
to her room when the main entrance to the inn swung open. Below,
Nishka saw a figure emerge into the streets, cocooned in a dark
cloak. As if sensing her eyes on him, the Nightwalker peered over
his shoulder.

He hardly looked surprised to find her
there. Nishka often accompanied him in the past few days, and he
noted the ironic reversal in roles. No longer was he a bodyguard,
nor as invulnerable and strong as he once thought. He could master
control of his reflexes but it seemed emotions bested
him.

Nishka did not require his protection
anymore. In fact, she had been protecting him recently. She helped
heal his grave injuries and escort him to the city. She stayed with
him and made him feel less alone. Arxu’s weak smile spoke the
gratitude that his words could not.

He yearned to be alone if only to
contemplate the events of the past several days. So many emotional
changes had come over him and it was perplexing to absorb all at
once.

“I’m leaving the city for the forest,”
he announced. Nishka regarded him warily.

“I’ll return soon. I’m going to charge
my spell components.” He wrapped his cloak tighter around himself
like a second skin. As he departed for the city gates, Nishka
looked toward the heavens.

The moon was absent from the
sky.

* * *

Ethan wandered the divine halls for
hours, on the verge of collapse. Was it possible he could no longer
recognize his home? Every hall looked the same and he feared he was
walking aimlessly in circles.

The bedchambers no longer sheltered
followers—or Kayla. She had vanished from his life like the most
alluring flame. He briefly stopped by her room, afraid to set foot
inside. Her scent still lingered there, evoking a tender feeling
that drove back the confusion in his mind. He gently rested his
hand on her bed, as if beckoning her to appear.

Given the chance, he would confess the
feelings he denied for years and embrace her. He would hold her
hand, lose himself in the splendor of her eyes and speak the words
he had eaten for far too long.

A sudden noise outside the bedchamber
had him spinning on his heels. No one stood outside the room. He
felt like a criminal sought by authorities. How could he feel this
way in his own home? He lifted a hand to his chest, feeling the
palpitations of his heart. Perhaps he would wake up from this
nightmare.

Suddenly, a shrieking sound assaulted
his ears. His blood ran cold. He dashed to the cleansing chamber,
tearing through the halls at a frantic pace. In his desperation, he
became entangled with a candle holder and tripped over the device.
He sprawled on his hands and knees as another jutting scream
pierced the temple. Ethan burst into the hall and darted toward the
balcony. Nearly throwing himself over the edge, he leaned over and
stared.

Fanatics were cleansing their souls in
the pools, crying out to their demigoddess. They raised their arms
toward the ceiling and beseeched Astalla for
forgiveness.

Ethan sighed and fell to his knees. He
could feel the threat congealing outside the temple, waiting for
the perfect opportunity to cripple them. Ethan wiped the sweat from
his face and set out in search of the guards. He casually bestowed
blessings upon them, trying to distract himself from his own
fear.

Elder Invictus was still trying to
decipher the message in his mind, but the words were much too
garbled. He stared at the wall as the cracks seemed to grow larger,
and the marble began to blur. Words and fragments of expression
flitted across his consciousness, but nothing connected. His pulse
was rushing and his temples began to pound with unbearable
strain.

Astalla was going to die. He clutched
his head and his fingers dug deep furrows across his
scalp.

Suddenly, he arched his back and lifted
his face to the painted dome above. The Elder Cleric let out a
bloodcurdling scream as Margzor burst through the double doors in
the entrance hall.

Two guards stationed at the doors
leaped to attention. They quickly recovered and turned their
weapons on the bold intruder. Their efforts would never be enough
to save them.

A guard leveled his halberd to run
Margzor through. He considered the guard with amusement and
charged. He quickly dodged the attempt to sweep him off his feet,
but the blade came around again, barreling toward his chest.
Margzor swung his sword and braced against the stunning impact. The
blow nearly tore the blade from his hands. From behind, the second
guard brought his weapon to bear.

Margzor spun as the spear plunged
toward the back of his neck. He circled around and blocked the
steel shaft with a kick, knocking it far to the right. With the
same steel clad foot, he drove it into the guard’s face. The
guard’s ability to breathe was stolen from him. As blood gushed
down his face, he could taste the nauseating sweetness on his
lips.

Margzor dove and rolled across the
floor as another blow threatened to shear the head from his
shoulders. He agilely pounced to his feet.

A guard lowered his halberd again to
impale him. Margzor leaped on top of the flat blade, pinning it to
the floor. A single stride carried him to the guard and his elbow
crashed into his jaw. His blade came across and severed the arm
wielding the halberd. The guard’s mouth opened for a scream but
Margzor’s sword denied him the opportunity.

Margzor spun around and raised the
corpse. He recoiled as the human shield bounced hard against a
spear.

The second guard, obviously horrified
by what he had done, staggered backward. Margzor tossed the dead
man aside with the sword still lodged in his throat. Desperate to
avenge his fallen friend, the other guard let his anger override
him. Margzor only dodged, making no attempt to retaliate. He
savored the young man’s hate. The warrior reminded him so much of
himself, yet his discipline was sloppy and unpolished.

He dispatched the guard with a ruthless
blow. His eyes remained wide open in death, host to the most
exquisite expression of horror.

Margzor reached for his sword when he
sensed a powerful presence in the upper levels. The surge of energy
tingled across his skull, exciting every nerve in his body.
Harnessing his demonic nature, he could sense a divining device. He
secretly delighted at the possibilities of such a magickal
anomaly.

He wondered if he could see the woman
of his fantasies.

* * *

Astalla gazed absently out the window.
Hours slipped by in silence, strengthening anxiety’s hold on her.
Still, nothing would grant her the peace of mind she so desperately
sought. Only an answer from the Elder Cleric would end her
worry.

“Astalla...” a smooth voice whispered
from the corner. Astalla hadn’t realized Ava was still there. “You
look like you need rest.”

“No. I cannot sleep. I have tried but
cannot do so, knowing that my faithful are...” She turned away,
unable to bear the thought. Sleep had escaped her for several days
and the effect on her mind was obvious. Suddenly, she felt dizzy
and stumbled past an altar. She brushed against a chalice, which
shattered into pieces on the pristine floor.

“Please, Astalla! I also fear for the
faithful, but you are losing strength!”

“Ava!” Astalla yelled. “I refuse to
rest while innocent women and men are being murdered!” Her eyes
glittered fiercely but Ava did not retreat.

“This is exactly what Margzor would
want. Exhaustion is sapping your strength.”

“I need to listen for the Elder Cleric!
He could respond to me at any moment.” The virgin deity rubbed her
aching head. “I wish you could understand, Ava. I must remain on
alert. Now leave me alone—!”

Her eyes widened and she doubled over
as hot pain erupted in her chest. Her body viscerally reacted to
every kill Margzor enacted. She gasped and collapsed to her knees.
Ava shrieked as Astalla clutched her chest in pain. She could
almost feel the blade, the blows landing on her
faithful.

Suddenly, her body spasmed and she
coughed up drops of blood. Crimson spattered on the marble floor.
Her eyes grew with horror.

* * *

Margzor entered an opulent chamber with
blue walls. A large, polished gong hovered at the opposite end of
the room. Flames roiled in the braziers, wavering across the walls
like a veil of light.

A man he hadn’t noticed before was
approaching him. Ethan pounded down the stairs, striding toward the
intruder.

“Demon!” he yelled. Margzor halted and
considered Ethan. “You have destroyed countless lives and condemned
hundreds of innocents to death!”

Margzor acknowledged his valiant
display as deep interest grew. Ethan glared at him. “Your slaughter
ends tonight.”

Margzor had been delayed long enough.
He charged toward the young cleric. Ethan’s hand leaped to the
pendant around his throat. He chanted as fast as he possibly could.
Margzor closed the distance and raised his weapon to kill
him.

Ethan thrust his hand forward and an
immense force assaulted Margzor. It slammed full force into his
knees, sweeping him off his steel clad feet. Margzor narrowly
avoided bashing his head against the hard surface, a blow that
would have surely resulted in a concussion. He catapulted across
the room and his arm snapped against a pillar.

He fell flat on his chest but the force
continued to push him. It forced him through a tiled corridor as he
clawed at the floor, his nails digging into the blood-stained
surface. He furiously grappled for something to cling to, slinging
his arms around a pillar. At last, the force subsided.