The Dawn of a Desperate War (The Godlanders War) (26 page)

Kellen didn’t laugh, though it drew a smile from Corin. The warrior finally shook his head and released Corin. “Go in valor,” he said softly. “For Oberon.”

Half a dozen voices raised in exhortation. “For Oberon!” The ancient cathedral rang with the words. “For Oberon! For Oberon!”

Corin dipped his head. “For Aemilia,” he whispered. Then he slipped away to find his humble tavern keeper.

I
t ended back where it had begun. The abandoned cottage in the border woods of western Raentz was three days’ ride from the farmboy’s stronghold, but it felt a world away. A lifetime. Corin made the trip with time to spare, and as the sun rose on Ephitel’s appointed meeting, Corin waited already in the cottage’s tiny kitchen.

He couldn’t bring himself to look into the inner room. It would be empty but for dust, yet still it bore too strong a memory for Corin. He couldn’t bear it. Better far to hold his place and wait for his guest.

He thought he knew what to expect here. After all, he’d faced Ephitel more than once before. The creature loved to prance and preen, to wallow in his threats and bask in his imagined victories.

Corin had landed a cruel blow by conquering his force in the Wildlands. He’d spread the word that manlings might find refuge in Spinola once again—two thousand years after Ephitel himself had named the place anathema. One way or another, he’d gathered up the force that killed some of Ephitel’s most prized warriors. All of that would burn at Ephitel’s pride.

But worst of all, he’d killed the justicar.
That
had been the blow that earned him this meeting. Corin was sure of it. It hadn’t even been his plan, but three days’ journey to this place had given him time to understand the significance of that action.

Corin had the sword
Godslayer
. It was the only weapon in the world that could kill Ephitel, and Ephitel
knew
it was in Corin’s hands. He could never leave such a thing out in the world. Poor, mad Jessamine had offered Ephitel some hope before. She could sense the sword when the circumstances were right, and that had offered him the promise of securing it. But the moment that she fell, Corin had become too great a threat. So Ephitel set this trap to draw Corin in and seize the sword himself.

That was why Corin didn’t wear the sword. After Kellen’s caution, he didn’t dare carry it on him, even under a glamour. Instead, he wore only his dagger at his side, and a knife in its sheath on his wrist. They were his favorite weapons, but here and now, they left him feeling naked. He chewed his lip and prayed Fortune that Ephitel showed soon.

He did not have to wait long. The sun lay low on the horizon when the outer door creaked open to admit Ephitel. A dozen gladiators were crowded in the garden behind him, as well as tw
o me
n in the plain white robes and clinging mist of the gods’ assassins, but Ephitel could see the room was empty.

He glanced to Corin’s side and noted the sword’s absence. He looked disappointed. He was an elf, after all, and Corin a mere manling. He doubtlessly believed that he could best any manling in a fight, even a manling armed with the one sword that could scar him. He’d have been all too happy to cut Corin down and secure the sword at once.

But without it, he had to carry on his ruse. He had called for this meeting, after all. He turned back, still in the doorway, and spoke a quiet word to his attendants. Then he came into the room and closed the door behind him.

“It is well you came to meet me,” he said.

“We have unsettled business, you and I.”

Ephitel shook his head. “You’ve made a valiant effort. I should have killed you last time we were here together. I thought the druids were the greater threat.”

“Not to you,” Corin answered, bitter. “To your ambition, perhaps, but not to your person. They want to see a stable world, and they will tolerate you if that is what it takes.”

Ephitel arched an eyebrow. “You won’t? You hate your god so much?”

“You are not my god,” Corin said. “I have met Oberon while he still sat his throne. I have glimpsed the world this world was meant to be. I will never bow to your tyranny.”

Ephitel considered Corin a moment, then shook his head. “I would so love to know your story. Perhaps when the rest of this is settled, I’ll take the time to wring it from you.”

“Is that why you called me here? To offer threats?”

“You seem glad enough to seize the opportunity.”

“But I did not summon you. Why have we come here, elf? You can’t possibly believe you’ll end this thing by taking me.”

“I can end this thing in an afternoon. A thousand filthy refugees cannot stand against the united armies of the gods.”

Corin sneered. “They stood against your first strike.”

“Impressive as that was—I’ll even say astonishing—that one heroic stand was nothing but a gesture. Your rabble survived a strike force one-tenth their size, but I could send ten thousand men against them. A hundred thousand, if that’s what it takes. We’ll unite the world against this wretched band.”

Corin showed his teeth. “If you believed it would be so easy, you would not be here now.”

“You presume to know my heart?”

“I know what my eyes show me, Ephitel. Three days ago, you lost this war.”

“There is no war! There is one pathetic enclave huddling in the godless wilderness. If they have blasphemed our names, we will strike them down. It’s a distraction, not a war.”

“I can’t decide if you honestly believe that. It doesn’t matter. You are wrong. You have seen the first engagement of a war that will change this world, that will rip it from your hands and restore it to the rightful inheritors of Oberon’s ancient dream. You’re finished, Ephitel.”

The elf was incredulous. “You killed a handful of my men—”

“Not I. It wasn’t I who killed your elite slaves, but a farmboy who dared to dream of a world governed by justice and honor. His followers are not gathered there out of need, but out of hope. The whole world waits in quiet desperation for something better, and Auric has now shown it to them. Even if you crush him, the world will remember what happened here. Your easy tyranny is at an end.”

Ephitel considered this in silence for a moment. Then he shook his head, disbelieving. “Does he truly believe that? Do all his silly followers think his legacy can be so powerful? Does he honestly believe he can defeat me with a romantic gesture? That’s why he does this?”

“No,” Corin said. “You give him too much credit. He doesn’t see the subtle truths that will play out over generations. Auric defies you for a much simpler reason. He does it because it’s right. Because you are a cruel, petty master, and the whole world groans beneath your wickedness. Auric stands—at any cost—because someone has to stand against you. And his followers stand behind him because they believe in him.”

“Noble heroes live short lives,” Ephitel said dismissively, but Corin answered over him.

“Perhaps, but legends live forever. Auric drew first blood. He has shown that you are vulnerable. And while you’re gathering your armies to destroy him, he’ll be gathering followers as well. Not just pathetic refugees, but elves long lost in hiding and druids who have waited all these years to fulfill their promise to their fallen master.”

Ephitel’s nostrils flared as he huffed in frustration, but he didn’t answer back. Corin nodded, masking the shock that bloomed behind his breastbone. He was right. He’d known it, he’d believed it, but he hadn’t dreamed that Ephitel would see the truth.

But if the elf could see it through the bloody haze of his own arrogance, it must be true. It must be. Corin’s desperate scheme was going to work. The sad alliance Auric had pulled together was going to change the world. Those who had died before the city walls would not have died in vain.

Finally, frustrated, Ephitel asked, “And you? Why have you done all of this? For Oberon? He was never perfect. He enslaved the dwarves. He welcomed insurrection and challengers for the sport they gave him. In the end, he was weak.”

“He was,” Corin said. “I saw him in those days. And he knew his own shortcomings, but he did his best.” Corin drew a heavy breath, thinking hard, and despite his best intentions, his eyes cut toward the inner room. He nodded to himself, and answered loudly, “I did not do it for Oberon, but for Aemilia.”

On those last two words, the inner door slipped open. It made no noise, and Ephitel never glanced back toward the figure now revealed. Jacob stood two paces behind the wretched god, and he carried
Godslayer
naked in his hand. Both man and sword shimmered with the misty haze of Corin’s glamour, but still Corin’s heart hammered in fear that the elf might glance around, might somehow sense this doom.

If the old tavern keeper felt that fear, he didn’t show it. He walked with an easy step, firm but unhurried, a man about a necessary task. From time to time, he’d said, even a good animal went bad. Any farmer worth his salt knew how to put down a rabid beast. He took no joy in his task, but he understood his role.

He was no hero, but he’d said all the things Corin needed to hear, at just the moments when he needed to hear them. So Corin would stand here and face the tyrant’s sneer, and Jacob Gossler would become a legend. They’d call him Jacob Godslayer through all the ages. He’d be the man who killed a wicked god. He’d end up next to Auric and Kellen and Aemilia and all the rest in the undying fame of true heroes, simply because he’d been willing to do the job that needed doing.

Still oblivious, Ephitel spoke into the silence. “However small your reasons, however wrong your motives, I do believe you’ve started something grim. I’ve met in council with the gods, and it was they who bid me meet you here. They offer truce. Despite all your people’s sins, the offenders will be given pardon.”

Corin frowned. “They don’t want pardon; they want freedom.”

“Very well. That answer was anticipated. None of mine will sacrifice his lands to rebels and traitors, but we’ve agreed to leave your people unmolested in the Wildlands. Resurrect old Spinola and call it your own. We will trouble you no more.”

Corin staggered back a step, astonished.
This
he had not expected. The gods of Hurope were petitioning for peace?

Behind Ephitel, Jacob seemed to sense Corin’s surprise. He stayed his hand, though nervous sweat now shone on his forehead. He waited, licking his lips, and cast a questioning look to Corin.

But Corin didn’t have an answer. His mind was reeling as he considered possibilities. One thought kept intruding over everything else.

He’d won.

It would take time for these events to run their course—perhaps more than one lifetime—but the destiny was set. Mankind would finally shake off the bonds of Ephitel’s cruel gods. Any foothold—even a ruined city in the godsforsaken Wildlands—would be enough to start a slow cascade. Humanity would thrive beneath that kind of liberty. Between its long-forgotten resources and its position on the trading routes, Spinola would rival Raentz or Ithale or even Rikkeborh once it was reclaimed.

And then the gods would fall. With or without a war, they’d fall. Mankind would abandon their cruel tyranny for the allure of their own nation. They’d forsake the gods, and Ephitel and all his cronies would be no more than memories and scary stories told to children.

He’d done what Aemilia had asked of him. For her sake, and in her memory, Corin had restored the world she’d loved so much. He’d won for her.

But it was not enough. Even as the thrill of that
victory
rang in his head, a fiery, overwhelming thread of hate still burned within him. It twisted tight around his heart, and for all his cautious reason, he couldn’t shake it off. The monster that had murdered Aemilia stood here before him, unpunished.

Corin opened his mouth to answer, but Ephitel hurried to speak over him.

“There is one requirement,” Ephitel said. “Your manling throng can have Spinola and a bond of peace for all time. But we require a token of your good faith as well. It’s only reasonable.”

Corin felt the answer in his bones, but he asked the question anyway. “What do you require?”

“
Godslayer
. Naturally. Your kingdom will live forever. And so will I.”

He showed Corin a victorious smile at that.

“Is this the requirement of your brother gods?” Corin asked. “Or is it only yours?”

Ephitel frowned. “Why does that matter? Will it change your answer any?”

“Curiosity,” Corin said. “How close do they stand behind you?”

“It was a unanimous request,” Ephitel said coldly. “None of them would like to see a god cut down by a man. It sets an
alarming
precedent, you know.”

Corin raised an eyebrow. “You’re quite forthcoming.”

Ephitel showed his teeth again. “You need to know the truth to make a wise decision. I know a little of your heart, Cor
in H
ugh. You killed one of mine, so I killed one of yours. Tit for tat. But then you made it personal. Would you now throw countless lives—the fates of nations—on the cruel pyre of war just to cut me down in vengeance?”

“I’d consider it,” Corin said.

Ephitel shrugged. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. But know this, and know it for truth: You claimed you’d set a thing in motion when your commoner embarrassed me in that pathetic battle. You’re wrong. That setback can be restored with time enough. But if you were to strike at me, if you were to bleed a
god
where all the world could see . . . every god on Attos would come hunting for you. Not just for you, but for anyone who knows your name. If you cut down one of us, you’ll bring such a doom upon your manling crowd as you could not imagine.”