Three (The Godslayer Cycle Book 3) (7 page)

“And you expect what from this exactly?”  Brea sat at the edge of the firepit, her cloak wrapped tightly around her.  The weather was not intolerably cold, but for some reason sitting in the presence of this man made her feel chilled.

Avery inclined his head toward the lady, doing his level best to effect someone of royal bearing. Brea knew even without seeing his stiff, uncomfortable movements that he was faking.  Eve without the brand upon his wrist which told her he was little more than a heretic who had fallen into good fortune, he simply lacked the simple grace someone born and raised in wealth attained.  Perhaps she might have been convinced that he may have one day before his fall been someone of importance, if only he had practiced at the deception.  But there was no fooling someone who had spent years moving from one lord's table to another in the service of the Goddess Imery.

Of course, it was also a tremendous help that Brea possessed the true sight of her now deceased Goddess.  No matter how good Avery might one day become at deceit, she would always be able to see directly through it.

“I expect only to travel with you, as equals,” said the smallish man.  “Goodsmith has
Two
, which makes him one of the Nine's chosen.  That makes he and I brothers, of a sort.  And I would set aside all animosity between us, if I may.”

“The Nine?” laughed Brea.  “That is what you are calling the swords?”

Avery shrugged.  “It is what they call themselves.”

Brea scrunched her brow and drew her cloak tighter.  “You're mad,” she said plainly.

“Enlightened men are often called mad.”

“Mad men often consider themselves enlightened,” countered the former priestess.

Avery's face shifted, plainly trying to maintain some kind of composure as he struggled with what to say next.  Brea chose to save him the struggle.

“Look, you found me.  You think I can be some kind of envoy to Nathan, but I assure you, I have absolutely no influence over him.”

“You are here with him, are you not?”

“I am here.  He is here.  That is about the best I can say.  We have had...  problems.”  Brea raised an eyebrow.  “I don't suppose you would know anything about that, would you?”

Avery sat back, guarded.  “How would I?”

“So you don't know anyone who has one of the swords - one of your Nine - that can play with people's minds?  Not someone named Martin?”

Avery visibly jumped at the name, if not the first part of Brea's query.  Imery's talent for seeing and knowing was not needed when her mark was so transparent.  But Avery was ever doing the unexpected, just as he did now.

“I don't
know
Martin,” confessed the self-professed God of Vengeance.  “I've met him though.  And he said he knew me.  He was the one who told me about Levitz and the second of the Nine.  I would have to guess he's the same one you're talking about?”

Brea had genuinely not expected such a forthright answer, and it set her back.  She hid her surprise by looking about herself, at the ruins of Bracken's tavern in the distance, and then pivoting to look at the rough dwelling that she now called home.  Bracken's home might have been within the walls of his business at one time, but he had other properties around town, one of which had been this rundown storage shed for holding what he called his more volatile mixtures.  It had been converted into shelter for Bracken, Nathan and herself readily enough, with a new lean-to constructed to cover the large barrels that had previously filled the interior.

Upon returning to Oaken Wood, rebuilding the tavern itself was made impossible by the winter, and now by the massive influx of pilgrims camping in every conceivable empty space they could find.  Bracken had expressed no end of frustration at these impositions, but there was nothing to be done for it.  The best he could accomplish was to drive campers from the ruins of the Wyrm's Fang Tavern - beyond that, he had no choice but to wait for the crowds to either leave or withdraw to more permanent homes.  Only then could he hope to have the room to bring in the lumber and machinery necessary to clear the debris and remake his livelihood.

Now Brea slept in a section of the room divided by an old blanket for privacy.  Nathan and Bracken may have shared the room, but there was very little in the way of regular communication. They gave her shelter and shared in their meals, but anything beyond plans for the spring when the third sword was supposed to awaken was never breached.  Theirs had become a professional relationship, made all the moreso by the clear emotional walls Nathan had erected where she was concerned.

Martin's cohort had implanted a false version of history in all of their heads - one that involved Nathan and Brea being intimately involved.  There was more than just the physical in this illusion though - there had been genuine feelings of love and devotion.  Brea had already suffered from a powerful attraction to Nathan before this enchantment had been cast upon them, and now the memories of having that relationship fulfilled and her emotions returned made her ache.  To make matters worse, Nathan was still a married man, his wife only recently deceased.  He had believed his becoming enraptured in the glamor to be a betrayal of his wife's memory, and it made him particularly hostile towards the thought of having feelings for Brea.

His denial of the emotions, his own guilt, did not remove the feelings however.  Brea could tell this much.  There were times she still caught the image of the same empty ache that she felt reflected back at her from deep within Nathan's eyes.  But he would not relent, and chose to punish himself for something which he was powerless to overcome.  The magic may have passed, but the changes remained.  And no matter how much self-flagellation the man chose to inflict upon himself, it no more changed this than it did for Brea herself.

The end result was a distance, a deliberate refusal to engage Brea in anything more than cursory conversation.  They all shared something in this quest for the swords - and Nathan was clearly too honorable to set her aside because of his own mixed-up feelings - but the working relationship was anything but comfortable.

Bracken at least had begun to come around.  Previously, he had been opposed to her presence in their company, and never let an opportunity pass to express his discontent in his ever-so-colorful manner.  But in recent months, Brea had detected a more comradely way in which the dwarf spoke to her.  His manner remained gruff and antagonistic, but Brea had come to see that as his normal personality.  What made the real difference was that he had all but stopped objecting to having her around, and when he did bring it up, it seemed more of a jovial stab than anything serious.  He had even begun consulting with her on meals, something he did not even do with Nathan. 

Bracken Hillfire might never embrace Brea as she so desperately hoped Nathan might, but she was now far more confident of his acceptance than she ever thought she could be.

Brea turned her attention back to the pit in front of her, watching the embers pop and sparks dance as the cool wind swept over them.  Bracken had erected this partial hearth shortly after taking up residence in the shack, and it served them all well - both for cooking and for heating stones for evening comfort.  The shack was many things, but it was not designed for people to live in - and even Brea could tell that any effort to build a fire within its walls would have been disastrous.  So instead, the building was heated by a constantly revolving set of heated stones, mounted along the walls and in a pile within the center of the room.  It was by no means an elegant solution, but it at least made the interior of the small building comfortable once the men had sealed the cracks in the walls and roof.

Now with spring on the wind, the temperatures had risen, but there was still an early morning bite to the wind, and Brea still practiced a routine of sitting by the morning embers as she meditated upon her day.  When she was a priestess, this meditation would take the form of prayer - but when one's God was dead, to whom did one pray?

But this was where Avery had found her, suddenly walking up to her without any effort to conceal his approach.  It had been a bold move, one the former priestess could not help but respect on some level.  But her inherent distrust of this man trumped any respect she might have for his audacity. 

“A man came to our camp the day after we first encountered you,” Brea finally explained.  “He had one of the swords, but it was not one that any of us had ever seen.”

“Martin had
Three
,” confessed Avery.

Brea's eye shot across to the man seated opposite her.  “The third sword?  I thought you told Nathan that it would not wake until the spring?”

Avery took a deep breath, spreading his hands wide as a gesture of sincerity.  “I know.  And what I said was true.  The third sword was not awake when Martin visited me. 
Two
had barely woken.  But it does not change that he did indeed have
Three
.”  Avery reached across his back and pulled his own sword from its sheath, displaying the hilt of the sword for Brea to see.  Upon the hilt, a single white dot rose from a small black square inset on the handle.  “I saw the pips myself.”

“How is that possible?”

Avery laid the sword across his knees as he visibly considered how to answer.  “Martin said he came from a time that had not yet come, that he had come into the past to tell me to travel to Levitz, that this was where I would find the second sword.  I had no idea whether to believe him or not, but I had nowhere else to go.  So I did as he advised, and went to Levitz.”

“And he was right,” Brea said matter-of-factly.

“He was right,” agreed Avery.  “I found
Two
, and I exchanged it with Goodsmith for the return of my own sword.”

Brea felt her mouth twist in distaste.  “I wish you would stop calling him that.  It sounds too... impersonal.  Disrespectful.”

Avery seemed struck.  “I meant no offense.  I just don't think it's proper for me to use his given name.  It's a bit too...  familiar, I think.  Don't you?”

Brea waved a hand dismissively.  She had forgotten that in spite of the man's pretense, Avery really did not have the experience of addressing people formally.  “Of course.  But could you not call him 'Master Goodsmith' or 'Sir Goodsmith'?  Or something else that would not strike such a distasteful flavor to your saying his name?”

Avery blushed, clearly realizing his mistake had been discovered.  “Of course.  Master Goodsmith.”

Brea looked at the man. 
A child playing at being a man
, she thought, citing a line from an old parable.  “At any rate, we did not recognize the sword this man had, but he spoke of Martin.  He also kept talking about 'time' and said things about his 'illusions'.  I think we all assumed his sword controlled our minds in some way, but if Martin also had a sword--”

“If your man had a sword that affected the mind, it was not
Three
,” interrupted Avery.  “Martin was quite clear. 
Three
gave him the ability to come back and give me instructions.  Which means that Martin must have brought back another sword
besides
the third of the Nine.”

Martin's the smart one, or so he's always saying.  But I'm the one he sent to outsmart the Godslayer.

The stranger's words echoed in Brea's mind, giving her an overwhelming sense of dread.  While this man had distracted them, Martin had plainly met with Avery.  How many others had been about that day, and what else could they have done to hurt all of their future plans?

“So did Martin send you here?”  Brea shivered at the prospect.  “Was it his idea to find Nathan in order to get your hands on the third sword?”

“In all honesty, I have only met Martin that one time,” responded Avery.  “And he disappeared right in front of my eyes, so I cannot tell you where he is or where he went.  So no - my coming here was not his idea.  It was mine.”

A gleam flashed in the would-be God's eye.  “And I have one of the Nine.  What reason would I have to possess another?”

Up to this point, everything Avery had said had a ring of truth to it.  Brea's true sight had verified that with absolute certainty.  Yet in the last, there had been a deflection.  Not an untruth precisely, but there was definitely something the man was choosing not to say.

Brea sighed.  There was no way to know what Avery hid, but the man's inclination towards honesty up to that point gave Brea pause in rejecting his request outright. 

“Bracken and Nathan are not here,” the woman finally said.  “They have developed a routine in recent weeks of leaving before first light.  To where, I can only guess.  Hunting, at least in part, as they usually return with fresh game by mid-afternoon, but they did that before from Nathan's traps and it never required them to leave so early.  I suspect there is more to what they are doing, but I am not entrusted with the knowledge of what that might be.  And I do not pry.”

“May I wait here for their return?”

Brea gave a light laugh.  “As I have said, I have little say over anything.  I will not bar you from staying, but I will also offer you no assurance of safety if you do.  Nathan's decisions about you will be his own, and I will not act to dissuade him, either.”