The army of Borin the Black, from what Liam had learned, hadn't marched the entire way from Ra's city to the City of the Dead Gods. If they had, there'd have been a good third less of them, and Liam would have had a far, far easier time of getting close to them. They had taken ships along the coast, surviving off the villages that they rowed past, and avoiding the danger of piracy by sheer dint of numbers.
Now, almost the whole army that had set out from home was here, right on Liam's doorstep.
The army was neither the organized, gridlike pattern that he remembered from pictures and news stories of modern deployments nor the wild ramshackle that he might have expected. There were clear latrines, demarcation lines between regiments, and centralized locations for the storage of supplies. But there, organization broke down. He could tell, from a distance, which part of the encampment was run by which kind of regiment, as each one seemed to be organized in a different way, with different levels of rigor.
“So,” Meg said, “I count almost two thousand infantry, half that in archers, and a quarter of that in cavalry. That makes just under four thousand bad guys – plus any camp followers, priests, mages, and what not.” She snorted. “If we had a half decent army on the walls, this would be a walkover.”
The two of them crouched on a small ridge that overlooked the broad expanse of badlands that the army had set up camp in.
“What about the Eye of Ra?” Liam asked.
“What about it?” Meg asked. She turned to face him, remaining low and using her shoulders to shrug, rather than her wings. “The Eye of Ra is a single weapon. Any battle plan that relies on a single weapon is throwing the dice. When you're fighting a war, the last thing you want to rely on is dice. And with the Eye of Ra and a decent army on the walls, I'm still betting on the walls.”
“We're throwing the dice here, aren't we?” Liam asked.
Tethis clucked her tongue. “Don't remind me.”
Her hands finished their arcane gestures as she finished renewing the symbols for their disguise. Liam looked down at himself – and once more wished that he could see if he was unnoticeable. Walking into a city had been nerve wracking enough.
“So,” Meg said, “I'll drop you there.” She pointed with one hand. “Then Tethis and I will wait. Signal us when you need it – or if there's a big ruckus - and we'll come and swoop you up. Easy peasy.”
“Peasy maybe,” Liam said. Then, frowning. “Did you pick that up from me?”
“I think I learned at least half a language in vocabulary from you,” Meg said. “It's the third best thing about you, Liam, your rhetorical flourishes.”
Liam grinned. “Ask not what your relationship can do for you, but what you can do for your relationship.”
Meg puffed up her chest, then grabbed Liam around the belly with one arm. Her wings spread and she tensed. A moment later, the night of Purgatory slammed down around them. The darkness was as shocking as ever – and it seemed to raise grumbles loud enough to be heard even from a few miles off. The three of them had spent a day observing the troops, and had noticed a pattern. Unlike a city, where there were whole guilds of people who were dedicated purely to making sure that lighting was as uninterrupted as possible, armies had to rely on their soldiers for that task.
And these soldiers?
Not quite up to it.
The lights in the camp flickered on in staggered confusion as soldiers fumbled in the sudden near pitch blackness of Purgatory's night. Crystals glowed among the wealthier regiments almost immediately, but Meg swooped down in the darkness and set Liam down in the midst of a collection of tents where the loudest sound was vociferous swearing in Latin.
Meg kissed Liam's cheek, then shot into the air. He waited until he couldn't hear the beat of her wings – not long, considering how loud the swearing was – then struck the tinder on the torch he had brought. Light flared around him and the swearing was replaced by a cheer from every tent. Blinking, irritated looking soldiers came from the tent, and seeing Liam's slave collar, didn't even bother thanking him. They just held out their torches.
Up close, Liam was momentarily surprised at how normal the soldiers looked. Then he kicked himself.
Of course they looked normal.
They were just people.
This regiment seemed to be primarily made of short, lean soldiers with olive brown skin, black hair, and dark eyes. They spoke Latin like sailors and they all carried a bladed weapon, even the one who wandered out of his tent buck naked and started admonishing his friends. He picked his fingernails with his knife as he said: “Why are you all getting excited about lights? We are sleeping in an hour, fools!”
The soldiers muttered under their breath but Liam saw a few of them standing at something that a very generous person could have called attention. The nude man stalked towards Liam. He looked him up and down and whistled quietly.
“You are the largest slave I've ever met,” he said, quietly.
Shit, Liam thought. He coughed and said. “Hodor.”
It was the first thing that sprang into his head.
The leader – Liam immediately wanted to call him a lieutenant, no matter what his actual title was – blinked slowly. “Excuse me?”
“Hodor,” Liam said again, nodding.
“Ah.” the leader pursed his lips. “I'd heard there was a dim slave in the baggage train. But not one this dim.”
“Nah, sir,” one of the men spoke up. “I think I recognize him. I never heard him talk more.”
“Who cares if he can talk if he's that big all over” a woman whispered, grinning as she elbowed her fellow soldier. The lieutenant's glare fell on them all equally and they all shut up.
“Get back to your duties,” the lieutenant said, scowling at Liam.
Liam bowed his head. “Hodor,” he said.
Then, turning, he hurried away, trying to look purposeful. As he walked along, he put his fingers to his collar. Apparently, the spell worked at least a little. He gulped. Thank you, G.R.R.M, he thought. Thank you so very much. Okay. Now, let's activate the reflective vest and clipboard of the ancient world.
Liam had once been in a tabletop roleplaying game where his friend Ted had played a character who had lacked magical abilities, spectacular kung-fu skills and James Bond-esque stealth. But that character had been able to infiltrate anywhere because he had a reflective vest and a clipboard. Bearing those items and looking like he was heading somewhere important had let him bluff his way past dozens of guards.
And so, Liam paused by a small tent – the sound of eager, vigorous, and quite happy lovemaking coming from within – and grabbed a bucket that had been left beside the entrance. He paused at the entrance.
This is just to make sure neither of them is the Priest of Ra, he thought.
He leaned down and opened the tentflap.
Within, he saw two beautiful Coptic women, their heads shaved completely bald. Both of them were completely naked, their dark bodies pressed together, hands caressing one another. The one on-top, more muscular and sturdily built than the other, leaned back and gasped. She drew her hips back and Liam saw a bright, golden dildo shining between their bodies. He nodded slowly, tore his eyes from the view, and checked the rest of the tent.
Arrows.
Bows.
Swords.
Maps.
Armor.
I am going to go on a bet and assume neither of these are priests. I mean, they don't even have robes, he thought, letting the tent flap swing shut. Then, glancing around to make sure no one could see him, he allowed himself a moment of being a young man and thought: Niiiiiiiiiiice.
Then he turned on his heel and headed forward, bearing a bucket with a serious expression on his face.
Thus disguised, he was able to scout the army base for an hour without a single person asking him what he was doing, where he was going, and who he was.
It was obvious, wasn't it?
Liam paused by a tent, taking advantage of the shadows, to listen.
“The Eye will be ready, yes?” That gravelly, rough voice sounded pure evil. Liam tried to not stereotype based on voice, but he hadn't heard a man sound as calculatingly bastardly in quite some time on Purgatory.
“Yes, Borin,” a tired female voice responded. “Though, I hope it won't be needed.”
“It'll be needed,” Borin said. He sounded like he relished it.
“Humph.”
The sound of footsteps made Liam draw back further into the shadows. He froze as still as he could, holding his breath. The spell would help, but it was still nerve wracking. Bucket or no, lounging around near the commander's tent of an army in the eve before a battle was verboten. It was verboten on Earth, and on Earth, you weren't technically allowed to torture people before killing them. Then the tent flap swung open and his breath stopped and his heart froze for entirely different reasons.
The Priestess of Ra brushed her hands along her head and stood, illuminated by the light that came from within the tent. If she had known Liam was there, he would have believed she was modeling for him.
She was a fusion – like all Chosen – of human and animal.
And like all Chosen he had met, this fusion was exquisite.
Her face was tipped by a delicate, curved beak. It looked lethal and beautiful at the same time, colored a pale gold, with a small red tip. Her head was covered with a light down of white fur, while the back of her scalp was decorated by a gorgeous crest of brown feathers. She had added paint to the feathers, adding red and golden lines to accent them. Her shoulders had two more tufts, while her arms were a curious fusion of arm and wing, with feathers sleeting along her back, giving her the same aspect of a woman wearing a cloak. Her breasts were firm and small, straining against the blue breastband that she had wrapped around her chest. A slender silk kilt surrounded her thighs, which were just as furred as the rest of her. Her legs, though, at the knee, became scaled in gold, ending in clawtips.
Her hands, too, were scaled. Taloned.
Liam gulped. His mind had immediately gone to the bedroom on looking at her – danger tended to bump his thoughts in that direction – but the idea of those claws next to his cock made said bodypart shrivel. The priestess' feathers ruffled up and she hissed, then clicked her beak and stalked off. As she strode away, he heard Borin's voice again.
“The cavalry will lead the sack,” he said, dryly. “Those Tuatha maniacs need their blood gold.”
A chuckle responded – female again. “Borin, you know there's a reason they call you the Black.”
“And here,” Borin said, his voice filled with a brutal kind of fatalism, “I thought it was because of the burns.”
The other female voice clicked her tongue. “Ra won't be happy if you give his city back burned to a cinder.”
Borin snapped his finger. “Like I care for Ra.”
“True, his gold pays no better than-”
“Shht!” Borin hissed. A quiet creak sounded as the people within the tent shifted around, their positions moving. Liam wished he could see through the thick canvas. Instead, he just remained perfectly still. “Be silent. Now. Let us give the orders – remember.” There was a faint sound of finger tapping chest. “The Samaritans are to be kept to the flank.”
Liam's brows bunched together.
Well, these guys are definitely charmers, he thought. tensed and ready to take any advantage of a chance to run. He played, for a moment, with the idea of killing them. But two trained warriors, with guards nearby? No way.
Besides, killing a general is most useful during the battle.
“Now,” Borin said, “Go. But come back soon. I'd love to plow that ass again.”
“You might not get the chance, Borin,” the woman said, sounding amused. She walked out a moment later – and Liam watched her go. Tough. Tall. Scarred to hell. There didn't seem to be an inch on her pale body that wasn't marked by the line of a knife. But she still walked in armor that essentially covered her vitals and nothing else, a thin black thong riding between her ass cheeks.
Liam heard a quiet groan of a cot – and knew that Borin was getting ready to lay down. He moved away, trying to make as little noise as he could, then followed the priestess. To his absolute complete lack of surprise, he came to a bright green and blue tent with an eye of Ra symbol hung over the entrance... and the Eye of Ra itself parked nearby. The weapon was mounted on a large wooden pole which itself was planted on a heavy duty cart, with bronzed wheels and enough places for archers to sit and duck behind cover. The wagon was painted in lurid colors and there were fearsome designs cut into the shields attached to the sides and front, all of them along the same general theme.
Get close, get wrecked, fuckers.
Though Liam was sure they'd express that more poetically, if given a choice.
The Eye itself looked nothing like the symbol that hung over the tent and had been used as a representation for the weapon, even in Tethis' illustrations. Rather than being gold and curved, the device looked like several crystals cut into circular pieces and polished to a mirror shine. They had been mounted in a narrowing set of four bronze poles. A chunk of unrefined gemstone sat between each of the crystal plates, glittering lightly from just the reflected torchlight.
Liam shook his head. “I shouldn't be shocked. But it's a fucking laser.”
“And how do you know what a laser is?”
Liam spun around.
The Priestess of Ra stood there, wreathed only in a sleeping gown, a glowing, crackling field of energy surrounding her left hand. Her eyes were as pitiless and distant as that of any eagle.
Liam remembered energies like that blowing massive Spartoi warriors into tiny chunks with remarkably little effort.
“Well, uh,” he said, bowing to her. “Greetings, honorable priest-”
“You've been enchanted to seem unremarkable. Unmemorable.” She paused. “Three cubits high? Hair the color of gold.” She clicked her beak, her tongue darting along its edge for a moment. Liam wasn't sure how, but she was able to speak utterly fluently. He'd have expected the lack of lips to be an issue.
“I might as well cut to the chase,” Liam said, improvising. “I am Liam Vanderbilt of Earth.”
The Priestess of Ra's eyebrow ridges lifted. “Liam? The warrior Sobek has been throwing at every problem he's run into?”
“Not every problem, but yes,” Liam said.
The Priestess glanced left, then right. Then, jerking her head. “Come in, Liam of Earth. I think you might want to talk to me and tell me what you are doing here before I call for the guards.”
She turned and walked into her tent.
Liam tried to not get distracted by her tail feathers – flicking up, they caused her robes to part ever so slightly at the back, revealing a hint of warm thighs and inviting buttocks. He clenched his jaw, forced his mind back on track, and started forward into the tent. Once the flap had shut behind him, he saw that the tent bore little resemblance to a mobile temple. Beyond the small shrine – complete with clay statues and tiny bowl for offerings – he saw no religious accouterments at all.
“So, Liam,” the priestess said, her voice clipped. “What brings Sobek's pet Christian here?”
“I'm not actually technically working for Sobek right now,” Liam said. “I'm here from the City of the Dead Gods.”
The Priestess snapped her head around. Her eyes narrowed.
“Sysminor – the false god who claimed the city? He's dead,” Liam said. “The Council is back in charge. There's no reason for this fight to happen.”
The Priestess looked taken aback. She lifted her hand again, crooking the middle finger of her other hand to indicate that Liam should step forward. With a memory full of exploding Spartoi in his head, Liam stepped forward and ducked his head forward. Her palm pressed to his forehead and she whispered in Coptic: “Ra, shine the light of truth on this one.”
An energy unlike anything Liam had felt surged through him. Unlike the gentle touch of Tethis' healing magics, or the almost comforting caress of the magic of Anubis, Ra's light burned. It seared through him and left him staggering and falling to his knees. He leaned his head forward – bumping his forehead against soft, downy fur. The Priestess knelt down before him, her hands on his shoulders.
“Forgive me,” she said, her voice still clipped but more gentle now. Her hands ruffled Liam's hair, the scales feeling oddly soft. “I know it hurts – it's why I cannot simply truthsee everyone I run into.” She clicked her beak. Liam was starting to get the idea that was the eagle-girl equivalent of an irritated snarl. “That black bastard.”
“Hey,” Liam said, his voice still dazed, his mind still reeling. “No racism.”
“What?” the priestess asked. She slapped the top of his head. “Stop being silly and focus, Liam.”
He shook himself, his mind drawing into sharp relief once more.
“First, what's your name?” he asked, putting one hand on his thigh as he got his foot under himself again. Standing, he felt his head spin, but only for a moment.
“Hesira,” she said.
“Hesria,” Liam said. “I have a plan to send this army running tomorrow. But it won't work if they have access to the Eye of Ra.”
She clicked her beak, hard enough to make Liam flinch.
“Damn that black bastard,” she snarled. Liam tried to not point out she had used that insult before -he figured now was not the time. Hesria shook her head and frilled out her feathers as she put her hands on her hips. She craned her head back to look into Liam's eyes. “Borin refused to march unless he had joint control of the Eye. Ra agreed to his terms.”
“He did?” Liam asked.
“Ra is among the oldest gods in the universe,” Hesria snapped.
Liam held up his hands. “Hey, not trying to insult him. Just, well, what does joint control mean?”
“It means that unless we break the sympathetic connection between Borin and the control gems, he can use the Eye in its secondary feature: firing a diffuse ray of heat. It won't shatter the walls, but it will still cook your troops.”
Liam had a sudden, vivid mental image of the Martians from H.G Wells' War Of The Worlds.
He shuddered.
“Okay. How do we break it?” he asked, trying to sound optimistic.
Hesria shook her head. “Unless you can think of a way for me to have a deeper connection to you than to the man who has been giving me orders for the past three weeks, I cannot think of it. The sympathetic connection must be forged, it cannot be rushed or hurried.”
Liam pursed his lips.
“So...” He paused. “The connection between you and Borin the Black is your working relationship?”
“Yes, why?” Hesria asked.
Liam looked at her. He cocked his head to the side. Then he leaned forward and, as he didn't want to risk kissing her beak, he pressed his lips to her furred throat. His hands grabbed her hips and drew her into a tight embrace, his body molding to hers. Hesria gasped quietly, her tail feathers flipping up with a quiet fhump. Then she put her scaled palms on his chest – Liam could feel, with a thankful shudder, that her claws had retracted now that she was not furious. He let her push her back.
“We can't do that!” she said.
“Why not?” Liam asked.
“Well, I...” She stopped.
“I mean, do you find me attractive?” Liam asked, grinning at her. His hand caressed the side of her beak. The priestess turned her head, bumping the blunt front of her beak against his palm, the bottom opening so her tongue could dart out and lick his skin. Her tongue was dark black.
“I do...” she murmured.
“You are beautiful,” Liam whispered back, his voice husky. His free hand caressed her rump, squeezing the smooth, hard curve of her furred backside. Hesria moaned. “And we do need to break the sympathetic connection. Desperate times, desperate measures and all that”
Hesria' golden eyes flicked up to skewer his blue ones.
“So, I'm just a military objective?”
Liam grinned, cupping the bottom of her beak. His eyes were warm. Inviting.
He had gotten quite a bit of practice at this.
“Hesria, I'd be doing this no matter what the military objectives are...” He leaned forward, kissing the front of her beak, then turning his head to the side. Her tongue tentatively pushed out, stretching and touching his tongue. It was the most awkward kiss he had ever started but from the way Hesria melted into his arms, her breasts mashing against his chest, it clearly did something for her. His hands squeezed her ass and he gently lowered her to the cot that dominated the left side of the tent.
Hesria lifted her arms above her head, the wing-feathers that covered their backs fanning out under her. Liam took hold of her breast band, shoving it up and over her breasts. Her nipples were hard and bright pink against her white fur. She moaned as he ducked his head forward, sucking first on one, then the other. She squirmed under him, her scaled hands caressing his back.
“Oh, you aren't incompetent,” she murmured.
...thanks? Liam thought, looking up at her, his mouth fastened around her nipple. He released her tit with a quiet smack and then kissed her belly, his own cock growing harder and harder. If his kilt hadn't been hanging loose under his thighs as he kissed around the priestess' belly button, he'd have been pitching a tent as big as the one they were in. He found her slit, pushing up some of her pubic feathers – a curious reflection of Meg – and dove his tongue between her pussy lips. He tongued her eagerly, his nose rubbing her clit as he buried his face against her pussy.
Hesria moaned and arched her back. Her thighs spread wider and one of her clawed feet spread and then clenched in the air above Liam's head. He watched, out of the corner of one eye, aware of just how sharp those claws were. His hand went to her thin ankle, lifting her leg further as he kissed the inside of her thigh. From the quiet growl that emerged from Hesria, she was horny. Liam grinned and bit down on the inside of her thigh gently, then harder, drawing a series of delicious moans and groans from Hesria.
His free hand, though, wasn't idle. His middle finger plunged its length into her sex and he finger-fucked her. His thumb found her clit and circled it gently.
“Oh Ra!” She crooned, her beak opening as her tongue lolled into the air, her eyes looking dizzy as her hips twitched under his lips. Her sex clenched around his fingers and juices collected on his palm. Liam grinned, then tasted them with a single lick.
“Mm, sweet,” he murmured.
“Ahhh,” Hesira moaned, her eyes closing. “Oh that was g-good.”
“Is that enough of a connection?” Liam asked, planting another kiss on her belly, feeling her muscles tightening as he slipped his finger from her pussy. He licked his fingertip and sighed. She was sweet.
“Y-essss...”
Liam nodded. “Okay, then-”
But Hesria spread her legs, slowly, lifting her ankles as she reached down to open the soft, black fold of her sex. Her eyes were shyly averted and she murmured under her breath. “But, uh, we should be sure. Right?”
Liam bit his lip. Then he slapped his forehead. He was a fucking idiot. He reached into his belt pouch, pulling out the way he was going to signal Meg for pickup. He tapped his iPod on and saw that the clock said he had a good two hours before sunup. He tapped at it a few times as Hesira looked at him with increasing confusion.
“What are you doing?”
“Thirty minute timer,” Liam said, grinning at her. Then his hands went to his kilt and he unbuttoned it with a push of his thumbs. His cock sprang free and Hesria's eyes widened in a very gratifying way. Her arms reached to either side of the bed, grabbing onto the cot frame with a quiet click of claws on wood as Liam crawled over her. He nuzzled at her neck as her tongue flicked along his ear. She whispered, eagerly.
“I want that inside me.”
“Never would have guessed,” Liam murmured, kissing her chest. He shifted, his cocktip pressing to her sex.
He plunged into her, pinning her to the bed and himself to her. For a moment, all he could feel was her tightness, her eagerness. Then he slid back, so that only the very tip of his cock filled her wetness. He slammed back down, his balls slapping her feathered ass. Her shoulders hunched and she bucked her hips back against him with the desperate eagerness of someone who hadn't been fucked like this in a while. Liam rushed himself, knowing that in a proper world, he'd have enjoyed this for a long time.
But this wasn't a proper world.
This was Purgatory.
He broke the kiss to her neck, looking into her eyes.
Hesria's eyes were unfocused and her break opened, then closed. “Oh Ra, oh Ra, oh Ra!” She spoke in counterpoint to the soft pap pap pap of his balls slapping her rump. Her tail feathers twitched up underneath him, caressing his thighs and his balls. Her clawed hand reached up, caressing his neck. Liam felt that her claws were free – but they were very gentle as they slipped along his skin. Her eyes met his, focusing slightly. “C-Cum in me!”
Liam grinned at her.
“As you command,” he murmured.
He picked up the pace, taking her ankles in his hands and spreading her wider. He slammed home harder and faster, the cot rocking and creaking loudly. She turned her head and bit down on her pillow to avoid screeching loudly enough to wake half the camp. But then Liam felt pleasure course through his body. Heat. Whiteness. All of it surged into him and he shuddered and let himself loose inside of her. His balls clenched as he emptied both nuts into her.
“Ah...” Hesria hissed as the quiet chime from his phone told him that it was time to go.
Liam slid from her sex with a wet slurp – pausing only a moment to admire the way that her sex dripped with his seed.
He never got tired of seeing that.
Then, smiling at her, he said: “Gotta fly, Hesria. Remember, you just need to make sure the weapon isn't used – we'll handle the rest.” He paused. “Oh, and Borin mentioned that some of the soldiers wouldn't be in for a sack.”
Hesria nodded. “The Samaritan spearmen, some of the other archer units.” Her brows furrowed. “Why?”
“If you could talk to their leaders – try to get them to stand back, it'd help. Even a little bit will help.”
Tiredly, she nodded. “I'll do the best I can, Liam.”
Liam smiled at her. “That's all I ask.”
He turned and slipped from the tent.
And found himself face to face with Liviana of Sparta and a muscular lizardman made of solid gold.
“So,” Brax said. “You're Liam Godkiller.”
He looked down at Liam, then up at her again.
“Do you want time to put your kilt back on?”
* * *
There was something to be said for a lifetime of shocks - it taught one how to affect calm. Liam noticed, first, that Liv had a slave collar around her neck. Her eyes were clear: Yeah, I know, right? Liam nodded to her subtly as he finished buttoning his kilt tightly and brushed his palms along the front of his kilt. He took a moment then to look Brax over.
The General.
Someone who could take an entire city with less than a hundred lizardmen and hold it in the face of constant, simmering resentment. Someone who could instill enough loyalty for his men to turn against a god, but remain at his side. Despite having never met him before now, Liam felt as if he had a sense for the other man’s mind, seeing how his army had operated even without his oversight.
“Funny,” Liam said. “I expected you to be taller.”
“I felt the same, honestly,” Brax said.
“I don't suppose that Borin the Black is a friend of yours,” Liam said.
“No, actually,” Brax said, grinning. His hand went to his neck, where a tiny necklace was looped around his shoulders. His finger touched the amulet and his body shimmered, and in his place stood a shortish, tough-looking son of a bitch. As a human, with an easier to read face, Liam could see the steady experience, the crooked smile, the calculating eyes. Then Brax drew his finger away from the amulet and he looked like a golden lizardman again.
“So, we're both infiltrating this place,” Liam said, shrugging. “So, I think we can agree that fighting will get us both killed.”
“But of course,” Brax said.
“Now, I'm presuming you're here to find out what this army is doing parked outside of your city.”
“Well,” Brax said, spreading his hands, “It did seem prudent.”
“All right,” Liam said. “Did you run into any of your fellow lizardfolk?”
Liv, meanwhile, was glaring at Liam. She jerked her head at Brax – and if she wasn't trying to tell him to kill the bastard, Liam would have eaten the only bladed weapon he had on hand at the moment, which was a small knife tucked behind his kilt. He met her eyes, then looked back at Brax.
Brax, meanwhile, hadn't moved his hand an inch closer to the short sword strapped on his hip.
“I may have,” he said.
“Did anyone tell you that Sysminor got blown to kingdom come?” Liam asked.
“Ah,” Brax said, “That explains it.”
Liam smiled. “Don't suppose you're going to tell me what it is?”
“On the contrary.” Brax pulled something from a belt pouch. He held it up. It looked like a chunk of blackened stone, but as he clenched his hand around it, it shimmered to life. In the darkness of Purgatory, in this quiet encounter in the middle of an armed camp, it shone with a pale white luminescence. A series of rectangular screens appeared in the air, hovering around it – each one glittering with runes and words that translated as Liam looked at them, filtered through the translation magic Meg had laid on him so long ago.
Though, really, the words remained mostly nonsensical.
But that didn't change the fact their meaning was clear.
Genetotype A – begin neuropathic bionano generation.
Ansiblelink Disassociated, Reacquiring...Reacquiring…
Brax stopped squeezing on the rock and the glow vanished.
“You know what this is,” Brax said. “Plus you killed my god.”
Liam tensed. But as he watched Brax, he saw the other man pause to consider. Liam had gotten fairly decent at reading people. Something about people trying to murder you on occasion instilled that kind of ability. And in those eyes, disguised as they were, he could see a man delighting in a thorny, complicated problem.
“Liam, have you ever been a slave?” Brax asked.
“No, but I do have eyes and ears. And a soul,” Liam said, shrugging his shoulders.
Brax nodded. “Sometimes, you don’t need a collar to be a slave. Sometimes, you can be enslaved by your title, as much as by the master’s whip.”
Liam grinned. “Sysminor-”
“Is a generous god,” Brax cut in, speaking a bit more forcefully now. “He arrived without us even asking. Gave us gifts like those amazing sorcerers that you have faced in battle.”
Malformed. Mutant. Hunched and twisted by their... gifts. Liam read between the lines.
“But what choice do we have?” Brax asked. “We were here first. And yet, we have been driven into the deep jungles. We have to steal bronze - we don’t work it. You could see why Sysminor’s...” He paused, and though Brax was disguised as a human, Liam could almost hear his tail whipping back and forth. “...offer was so tempting to some. What other future do we have?”
Liam’s eyes dipped to Brax’s sword again. The weight of the other man’s regard settled on his shoulders as Liam realized that Brax was waiting for an answer to that question. He had a disguise and the sword and was clearly smart. Liam knew that if he wanted, he could bring the hammer down on him if he didn’t like the answer to the question.
Liam smiled. “On Earth, my world, we have a long history of people being pushed to the sides by others. It’s called colonization. Sadly, my people tended to be the ones who did it to others.” He shook his head. “My ancestors would kill entire tribes to get at their lands, their resources, and claim it was in self defense.” He smirked, bitterly. “I understand the choices you have, Brax. But-”
Brax pocketed the rock. And for just a moment, he looked deeply, deeply relieved. Then the emotion was wiped away and a perfect poker face settled back into place. Liam wondered, not for the first time, how much Sysminor could observe Brax.
“Liam,” he said, “Watch your flanks when we face one another. I never fight a pitched battle when I can encircle someone. And remember: you can only truly kill a god when they have taken the whole of their being to face you. Not merely part - all.” He tapped his temple, then turned and walked into the shadows.
Liam's throat worked as he gulped.
Liv remained stock still but a quiet word for Brax made her slave collar glow. She turned and walked off, her back straight. Something hit the ground behind her. Liam remained perfectly still, his mind whirling. He walked forward, picking up the scrap of leather, scrawled on with dried blood. He tried to not guess where Liv had gotten it – it smelled awful.
D. HAS PLN. DN'T TR.
Liam pulled out his iPod.
Dad has plan. Don't trust.
He tapped the 'generate wi-fi hotspot' function on.
And before dawn, Meg swooped down from the darkness and soared into the sky. Liam spent the flight back to safety in thought as Meg's wings beat loudly in the air.
Sysminor's playing a game. Brax is playing a game. Ares is playing a game. And we're all going to pay the price, aren't we?