Three (The Godslayer Cycle Book 3) (17 page)

Praelis fumed, but before she could further protest, Corus bent his knee to his fellow Goddess.  It was the most direct way to impress upon his fellow Goddess of his sincerity, since no God of the New Order ever submitted themselves to another without the most dour of circumstances.  Yet if what Belask had said was to be believed, this was their pantheon's one chance to learn the truth.

“Ankor knows the truth.  You argue that he is innocent, and you alone can prove your belief.  But not here.”  Corus waved his arm towards the discord below.  “Not here.  With Ankor himself.”

“I am not the Goddess of Truth,” sneered Praelis.  “She's gone.  Or had you missed that detail?”

“We do not need truth here,” urged Corus.  “We need you.”

Praelis hesitated, her brow rising in interest.  The God of Knowledge pressed his advantage.  “We do not need to know whether Ankor speaks true if he submits to you and allows you to affirm the veracity of his
memory
.”

Praelis' eyes grew wide.  “Of course.”  Then her brow knit.  “But will Ankor submit?”

“If he does not,” said Corus, rising again, “then we will know he is lying, and that will also tell us what we need to know, will it not?”

*     *     *

Hamil stood with his back against the doorjamb, watching.  If he was ever honest with himself, he might have confessed that this was a completely new experience for him.  But, of course, no true God of Mischief could ever admit that he was anything but in control of his own pranks.  Gods
ruled
their dominions.  They were not trapped by them. 
Otherwise, such a deity would be a God of Nothing, and there was no way that Ankor would ever confess to
that
.

And yet, in spite of what the disguised God of Mischief would admit to himself, he
had
been trapped.  He had sworn to serve the
God
Avery, and though he was not a God in the most traditional sense, the mortal was possessed of divine energy that met the barest of definitions for the word.  Added to the people around the countryside who had sworn fealty to the man as a God, and it created an unavoidable compulsion - Ankor, God of Mischief, had been trapped by the cleverness of his own prank.

To the best of his knowledge, Avery had not shared any of that information with their traveling companions.  Not even with Viola.  And Avery told the former barmaid everything.  Yet there was no change in the way Viola looked at nor treated Hamil.  Likewise, the dwarf and priestess simply had no reason to divulge the information to Avery's companions themselves.  And so it seemed his secret was still safe from even Avery's most trusted.

For now.

Three days had passed since the revelation.  Three days of the would-be-God silently fuming over Ankor's deception.  Avery had been stung by having one the New Order shadowing him for nearly a year, all while pretending to be his loyal and devoted servant.  But even Avery had to know that whatever oath held Ankor was not equal to trust - otherwise, the God of Mischief would never have been able to keep his identity a secret for so long.

Ankor was bound to work in helping Avery in every capacity he was called upon in his assumed identity, but as yet, the mortal pretending at being a God had not compelled the true God's undying fealty.  Ankor still had the ability to do as he would otherwise do, save that he now had to follow whatever directions given him by Avery - but the mortal had simply accepted Hamil's service, not commanded him to swear a firm allegiance.  And the so-called God of Vengeance could require precisely that. 

Should Avery ever recognize this loophole, a simple command to be loyal to Avery in all things would undo the New Order God completely.  Either Avery did not realize he could, or he had elected not to take things to that extreme.

But Avery's silence made it impossible for Hamil to know which.

Well, silent was not
exactly
what Avery had been.  He had given short instructions to the scribe - such as directing Hamil to collect the remaining members of their party, or to have Hamil take a turn at keeping an eye out for the girl's return.  But the commands given were simple.  The former camaraderie, the
rapport
the man had once exhibited towards Hamil was what was truly missing.

And another thing Hamil refused to admit to himself was that he actually
missed
that interaction. Gods did not have friends - not really.  But somewhere along the line, Hamil had found a friendship in Avery, one that now appeared to at best be strained, at worst forever lost.  And the faux scribe genuinely missed the relationship.

Now, as dusk settled in around the small shack, it became quite plain to Hamil exactly how distant Avery had become.  Ever since Levitz, Avery had taken to pulling Hamil aside to seek his counsel. And tonight, just as the previous two evenings, Hamil was excluded.  Avery would not call him over, and if the scribe wandered close, Avery would pierce him with a silent stare until the disguised God retreated.

In Levitz, the first layer of deception had been stripped away, revealing that the scribe was more than a simple man.  But Avery had specifically said he did not want to know precisely
what
Hamil was - not then.  And the expected conversation about it never arose in the months since.  For whatever reason, Avery had become comfortable in knowing that Hamil was more than mortal, but had no desire to know precisely how much more.

Now as Avery sat by the hearth erected outside of the shack occupied by the dwarf and priestess, it had become an unspoken routine that he keep away.  The mortal to whom he had sworn service shared his confidences with his wife and the master of his personal guard, even with Bracken and Brea.  But Hamil was relegated to the fringes with the two sellswords under Lartien's command.  Either Hamil stood watching from a distance or he retreated into the tents they had erected a short distance away.  There was genuinely no other option for him to pursue short of leaving altogether.

The presence of the other Gods was unexpected, but it of course did not surprise the disguised God. One was never startled by the approach of other deities.  It was part of their joined existence that the presence of another was as commonplace as the wind: though one noticed it, it did not really startle anyone.

A bare fraction of power was all that was needed for Ankor to split a new self away from his Hamil persona, this facet shielded from the view of the mortals around him.  The others would not have known he was disguised as a mortal without scrying, only that his presence was nearby.  By separating himself and giving them a form to see, he made the necessity of such divination unnecessary, allowing him to keep the secret of his prank intact.

Accepting Ankor's choice, the other two Gods also remained beyond the vision of the others present.

“Ankor, you are remarkably absent from the higher planes of late,” said the first God as he strode forth from the aether.

“Only as far as you know,” smirked the God of Mischief.  “It is ever my way to move about without notice, Corus.”  Ankor cocked his head to the side, a look of amusement spreading across his face. “Though I will confess, you surprise me, as well.  I thought you and Praelis had long ago rebuffed my efforts to pair the two of you?”

Corus' features darkened, while Praelis crossed her arms defensively.  “We are not
paired
,” Corus contended.  “Other than as partners in our present enterprise, that is.”

“Which would be?” pressed Ankor.

“You, of course,” responded the God of Knowledge.

“Or, to be more precise,” added Praelis, “what you know.”

Ankor covered his mouth with his hand, though the effort made little real effect of disguising his amusement.  “Oh, you cannot be serious.  You expect
me
to share something I
know
with the both of you?  What part of being the Prankster did you misunderstand to be equal to Sharer?  If I told you all my secrets, how would I ever prank again?”

Corus spread his arms.  “Not your secrets, Prankster.  Only what you have already confessed to knowing.”

The God of Mischief's eyes narrowed as his brows arched upwards.  “If you are after something I have already said to know, then what purpose are you here for?”

Corus was about to speak when Praelis laid a hand upon his arm.  “We would have you submit to my dominion, verify that what you have said is your genuine memory, and not created to cause mischief.”

“You must admit,” said Corus, “that you have given us more than ample reason to doubt anything you might say even on the best of occasions.”

Ankor shrugged, raising his hands up and smirking as he looked sideways towards the heavens.  “I can't say as I know much about
that
,” the God of Mischief said in as exaggerated a fashion as he could manage.

In spite of the deliberate humor, Corus was not so easily amused.  “Your lies of the past make your words of the present seem...  questionable.”

“To whom?” demanded Ankor in mock outrage.

“To everyone,” said Corus, adopting a stern look.  “And your efforts to mock me for saying so only exacerbates the problem.”

“You come to me and refuse to play by the rules, and you expect something else?”  Ankor guffawed.  “Now who is not taking this discussion seriously?”

“Ankor, please,” urged Praelis.  “We only ask for one shard of your memory.  I give you my word, that is all any will ask of you.  If I am able to verify the memory is true, then it will settle the debate that has raged lo these many months.”

Ankor paused to consider his next response.  “You want to see the deaths of Kelvor and Galentine.”

The Goddess of Memory nodded.  “Precisely so.”

Ankor looked to the Higher Powers in front of him and gave serious thought to rejecting their request.  After all, pranks were not meant to be transparent, so
proving
anything he had ever said ran contrary to his very nature.  And yet...  By further extension, proving that this one time he
was
telling the truth, well...  That might be the greatest prank he had ever played.

Ankor snorted.  Without a word, he took his index finger and pushed it into his own head.  For all visible purposes, it gave the very real perception that he had just punctured his brain, but as the finger dug around below the surface of his scalp, it moved about without showing any sign of being wounded.  It was immediately apparent that the visualization was merely an illusion - a physical representation of the God of Mischief's efforts to sift through his actual memories.

Ankor found the recollection that his fellow Gods had requested almost immediately, yet he gave the impression that he was still searching, as he continued to dig around with his finger.  In truth, the God of Mischief had needed to isolate certain portions of the memory from other, more secretive aspects.  After all, what would be gained from exposing his own duplicity in the plot to kill the two Gods? 

The God of Mischief would have done much to have removed Avery's presence from the scene, but the would-be-God had not utilized his sword's magic to be invisible - and so his stroke was visible for all to see, even if the sword itself was not.  Avery's actions could not be removed, but Avery had already told the Higher Powers that two mortals had been involved.  By removing the surrounding memories however, his own association with Avery would remain concealed.

After he was satisfied that only what he had visually seen remained in the memory, and that any incriminating thoughts had been removed, Ankor made an elaborate show of twirling his finger about, as though he were winding thread around a spool.  “Just about have it,” he said, sticking his tongue out of the side of his mouth theatrically.

With a loud popping noise, Ankor pulled his finger out of his skull, a thin wisp of gossamer light now flitting about the finger.  He promptly stabbed the finger at the Goddess before him.  “Would you be so kind?  I swear, the thought's on the tip of my finger.”

Praelis reached out, willing the wispy energy to draw across the space between the two Gods.  Once the memory had settled in her own palm, she closed her fingers about it, shutting her eyes as she did so. It took only a moment for the Goddess to complete her work.  With a light toss, she sent the nebulous substance back towards its owner.  Ankor wasted no time in snatching it from the air and clutching it to his chest.

“I shall treasure it always,” the God of Mischief mocked.

“Well?” asked Corus impatiently.

Prealis frowned.  “It is plain that the memory has been isolated from everything else that happened around it.  It would appear that the Prankster still has secrets.”

Ankor started to object, but the Goddess held up her hand.  “But,” she continued, “what he has shown is a true memory.  He did indeed witness both Galentine and Kelvor slain.  The precise means were blocked from his vision, but it was plain that the being he knows as the Godslayer struck down Kelvor before someone assisting him then cut down Galentine.”

“And, as I said,” added Ankor, raising a finger for emphasis, “I fled right after.  I may be many things, but I am no champion.  With two Higher Powers struck down in front of me, there was no way I wished to stay and add my own death to the mix.”