Wine of the Gods 1: Exiles and Gods (27 page)

"Is this the northwest road, or the north road?"

"Northwest. It was the fastest way out of town. Does it matter?"

She shook her head. "The army is ahead of us, but I doubt we can get far enough to need to worry about them."

The mares were only a little tired, five hours of walking . . . "God of Roads, everyone on the road tonight needs desperately to get away, give us strength and speed, for just these few last hours."

River squeezed up beside him and pulled the boy onto her lap. "Don’t let Art know you prayed to Harry. He’ll probably do a less emotional, more thorough job of killing you than Mercy managed with me."

"I don’t work for Art."

"Umm. Pax?"

"War."

"Don’t be silly.
I
work for War, and I’ve never seen you."

"Of course not, I had a cover to protect . . . wait.
You
work for War? But, you’re a witch. You’re a part of the New Tokyo pyramid. How could you fool them?"

"By never thinking about it."

Simon shook his head, then steered the mares around a last group of families and let them trot. For five minutes, until they caught up with the next group of people. Then it was back to walking. The pedestrians stumbled slowly out of their way, so at least the mares could walk out at their normal pace. A bit of clear road, another brief trot. At times it seemed like the countryside was blurring a bit, moving past too fast. Simon sent heartfelt thanks to the God of Travelers, old or little, any and all that could help put distance between Miami and the former residents of New Miami and the homes they were about to lose forever.

They stopped at a bridge over a stream, and Simon climbed down to dip buckets and hand them up, for both people and horses. Other people on the road stopped, some coming partway down the rocky hill to help lift buckets. Shod hooves rung on pavement up there.

"You!"

Simon’s head snapped around, that had come from up there, and it had sounded like the Goddess of Mercy. He dropped the bucket and scrambled up the hill. There were screams and yells, the crowd that had stopped for water scattered. A whip cracked and he caught sight of a closed coach disappearing into the night beyond the bridge. River was gone.

"You’ve got a good shield, girl, to survive that spell. Well, it won’t happen again."

River was almost thankful for the paralysis spell that held her up. The army of new Miami had been just an hour ahead of them, marching doggedly toward Kingston. They had stopped now for a breather. Water and rations were being passed out.

"Are you going to walk your army all the way to Kingston? They’ll desert when the asteroid hits." Her mouth felt stiff and clumsy, but was mostly free of the spell.

"Nonsense. Why should they, it’s the sign of our power."

"Haven’t you slept? Dreamed? Don’t you know what we did?"

"We’ve moved the asteroid. It is going to hit New Bombay."

"Mercy . . . no. All the dreams, they’ve come down to New Miami now."

The Goddess scoffed. "As if I’d believe you."

"Mercy, I’ve tried to evacuate New Miami, to get your people out of there."

"Bah." The Goddess raised her hand.

Is there anything this woman cares about at all? Think, witch, or you're going to die here. 
"Mercy . . . Where is Grace?"

The exquisite little woman froze. For one second something real, some human terror showed through. She disappeared.

River felt her muscles unlocking, and held very still.

"Should I kill her, sir?" The man looked like Edmund Vice, but moved and held his sword like the God of War. Pax's commander, another little god.

Pax looked around in irritation. "No. She’ll want to do it herself. We don’t have time for this sloppy sentimentalism. Pick the witch up and throw her in one of the wagons. Get us moving again."

River locked all her muscles, fought to stay stiff, awkwardly posed, as two soldiers slung her on top of the nearest wagon. The wide eyed drover opened his mouth to say something, perhaps to protest, then closed it and faced forward. The little god ignored him, walking off to chivvy his troops into order and get them moving again. River watched Pax pace by; the wagon lurched into motion. She turned her head slowly. Guards there and there, a file of troops three wagons back.

The wagon rolled under a tree. Deep moon shadows. She rolled off the wagon and staggered as quietly as possible around the tree. Spotted a thinnish spot in the brush and kept going.

***

The refugees from New Miami quit when they reached the cross road. Simon blinked in disbelief. This road cut across the lowland, linking the North road to the Northwest Road. They were nearly two hundred miles from New Miami.

Simon turned the mares up the cross road and stopped when he’d put a low hill between them and New Miami. "Stay here," he told his passengers. "You’re safe for now. I’ve got to try and find River."

Where would Mercy be? Would she have passed the army, gone ahead, or was she staying back from the hostilities? Up ahead there the lead elements must be setting up their siege on Kingston. "I need to hurry." He rubbed the two mares’ foreheads. "I’m sorry to do this to you." In the dark, no one noticed him pull the saddles out of a empty metal frame. He rubbed the mares down, watered them, fed them. Saddled them and headed back for the northwest road. Tired people were everywhere, spreading out, collapsing. Whatever god had given them energy, had kept them going, was gone.
And we’re at least four times further along than any of us walked or rode. Thank you, Harry.
He mounted Artemis and led Diana up the suddenly empty road. He hesitated, uncertain who to pray to for a lost witch. "God of War, I suppose. Or Health, she looked so weak. Oh damn Mercy!"

In the dark, Simon heard the arguments before he could see the guard post. He reined Artemis to a stop and listened.

"But we have to keep moving. We have to go north, the gods said so."

A male voice, exasperated. "All that's north of here is going to be a battlefield. You don't want to take your family there. Back off a couple hundred feet, I think there was a stream, camp there. After our gods have put this upstart Mage King back in his place, you can move on."

Simon looked around. The local semi-tropical forest was fairly open here, and his night adjusted eyes showed a faint track off to his left. He turned Artemis and actually had to give her a nudge with a heel to get her to move out again. "Sorry, lady, I know you're tired." The clink of the horses' shoes was loud in the night, then muffled as they left the hard road. He let the mare pick her way along the track, and extended his mental senses forward. The little glows of animal life were overshadowed by the brighter glows of humans. The human glows varied enormously, from those with no special genes to some who were, no doubt, Little Gods.
I wonder what it was like, before the Exile? When people with no magic whatsoever were the vast majority. Surely the genetically engineered must have stood out, obviously better than the ordinary human.

Simon pulled his wandering thoughts back to the present. The mares weren't the only tired ones around.

A brilliant glow at the very edge of his perception. He recognized Mercy, and put up a cautious shield to keep his thoughts inside, but allowing him to see the army, and keep track of Mercy. She was further to the left . . . would that be where she had River imprisoned?

Simon pulled his sight back into the real world and looked for deer tracks turning right. Deer being small creatures, he soon dismounted, and finally gave up and dropped  the mares' reins. "Remember that you are trained to ground tie. I'd prefer to not have to chase you all over the county in order to make a quick get-away."

They pointed their ears at him, then dropped their heads to scavenge for bits of not-too-winter-dried grass.

Simon checked for glows; three gods now. Mercy, Pax and Art, he'd bet.

The forest ended in a fringe of brush. He eased through, staying low.

The meadow ahead was swarming with the bright dots of campfires, the dull glows of lanterns inside canvas tents . . . and centered on the west side, two large buildings. Mercy's and Edmund's movable mansions.

Right, no Art, this isn't pretty enough for him.

He blanched at the thought of River in Edmund's hands, and slid back into the forest. He ought to be able to get around behind those two buildings . . .

There were two sentries pacing behind the buildings, and another glow just inside the line of trees. Very dull, almost animal-like. Simon caught a brief silhouette and couldn't stop a snort of amusement.
Or a powerful witch shielding hard.

She'd heard him, and turned, hand raised to throw what was probably a really nasty spell.

"You just don't know when to quit, do you?"

Her glow wavered, dimmed again. "Simon. How did you find me?"

He slid up next to her. "I was planning on burgling Mercy's home, to rescue you. What are
you
doing?"

She nodded toward the building. "Amused and Flattered are in there. They feel frightened."

Right, her Triad. Mercy can't hide them from that bond. Or perhaps she doesn't want to.
"Even odds it's a trap."

River shook her head. "Mercy's too busy to really worry about me right now. I need to help them
now
, later will be too late."

He looked at her, nearly invisible in the dark. "You sound like you're about to keel over in a faint." He sighed. "So let me get rid of the sentries and scout ahead. Please?"

"Certainly. Couldn't deny you the chance to show that you're the God of Heroes, now can I?"

"Just so you don't do the archetypical fainting maiden routine. I don't know the lay out here."

"The dungeons are in the basement, of course. Unfortunately, the stairs down are outside and near the front left corner. We're going to have to get rather uncomfortably close to the gods, to get down there. I was waiting for the big distraction." She leaned her head briefly on his shoulder. "And trying not to faint."

Simon dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "I think we'd best do the burgling now, and escape when the big distraction hits." He moved up to crouch and watched the movements of the sentries. Careless, their attention inward, toward the camp. As they reached opposite ends of the two mansions, Simon eased out of the brush and crossed to the house . . . paused to wait for River as she staggered after him. "This is not smart!"

"I know the house. If they aren't in the dungeons, I can find them faster than you could." She reached out and propped herself against the wall of the house, then staggered around the corner.

A low wall bordered the stairs down. Open to the front. No sign of a guard. Simon slipped forward and took a good look around. And froze, his attention riveted to the north.

He hadn't noticed the wall of tree trunks, the hasty forward fortifications of a town about to be attacked. At the top of the wall, on some sort of platform, three people. The God of War and the Goddess of Logic flanked a man who glowed nearly as brightly as they. This King Kelso, perhaps? Another figure joined them, glowing, handsome . . . the God of Love.

Below, far enough away from the barrier that they didn't have to crane their necks, five bright figures. Even at a distance Simon recognized the tiny figure of the Goddess of Mercy, the bulks of the Virtue and Vice twins, the taller, slimmer figures of the God of Peace and the God of Art. Other glowing figures were moving, forming up in an arc behind them. All the little gods. Scores of them. Perhaps a hundred, and more were scattered among the troops.

"You're outnumbered, whether you count Gods, Magicians or soldiers." Pax's clear voice carried unnaturally. "Why don't you three just go home and let us take care of these upstarts?"

"They aren't upstarts. They are people, and they have the right to build on any open, unclaimed land they want." Logic's voice was magically amplified as well. "Try to remember your roots, the precepts of the society that raised us."

Mercy laughed. "Oh, you mean their empty prattling about civil rights and freedom, while they called us sub-human and enslaved us?"

War's deep rumble rolled over the meadow. "They fell short of their ideals, but you? You have
only your pride and desire for power."

Peace laughed. "Indeed, and you let your power spread and dilute. A few of us had more sense than that."

"Probably wise, although for all the wrong reasons. I thought I was spreading strength and courage, but it was only madness." The God of War took a step forward. "And so it ends."

The god glowed, blindingly bright as he lowered his shields. Simon could feel Mercy gathering power for a strike, but her gaze met Logic's cold watchfulness, and she shrank back a bit. And behind them, screams of pain and loss. Simon's eyes jerked to one near by. A little god, looking like Barry, but his stance and gear that of a War God. Some extra shine faded as Simon watched. The man fell to his knees, panting, now. Struggling back up to his feet. He looked almost awkward in his armor. His hands were clumsy as they patted his sword hilt, his face.

Simon wheezed as he realized what had happened. Whatever divine spark the little god had held was gone.
And they never had any training in arms. They simply
knew
how to fight.

"And now they don't." River finished his thought for him.

They looked to the platform, where the God of War glowed so brightly he was painful to look upon. And dimmed as he raised his mental barriers again.

Mercy looked fearfully at the Old Wolf and suddenly clutched for all the power she could pull from all the Little Mercies around her. Women staggered, looking around suddenly baffled by their participation in this insanity. No lingering ties to the goddess, she'd never cultivated a following.

And that quickly, over half of Mercy's Little Gods were destroyed. As such. The remnants, the people without the overlay of power, backed away, through the puzzled, or perhaps horrified, ranks of Travelers, Lady Lucks and Gambling Men.

The witches and mages were pulling back too, away from the group of gods. Could Mercy drain them as well? Surely not. Whatever effect the collective subconscious had on them, there wasn't much Mercy in any of them. Simon heard sharp commands in a high voice, and the retreating witches wavered, stopped. Did he recognize Firefly's voice? Someone was rallying the witches, getting them back in line with Mercy.

"C'mon." River eyed the confusion out on the field, and scattered thinly through the army. She turned her back on it, and tottered down the steps. A quick look showed all the cells empty. The door at the far end yielded to a tiny spell. A thankfully normal basement lay on the far side. Shelves loaded with gleaming jars. Large crocks probably full of grain. Wooden barrels. Floor to ceiling wine racks, mostly full. And stairs leading up to a kitchen.

River paused and glanced down a hallway. Shook her head. "Staff. Hiding under their beds, like sensible people." She kept going, pausing to scan an ornate dining room, and then a huge reception hall before she turned and tackled a double height graceful curve of stairs.

Simon wrapped an arm around her and half carried her up. "I hope you have an escape route planned out. I really don't want to go travelling with Mercy, when she flees the battlefield."