being someone gets a very nasty and messy surprise when they discover what has happened. If I help you your options are vastly better. You can choose how, when and where and I’ll make sure that no one finds your body… unless you want them too. You can just disappear and no one has to know… or I could get ‘news’ months or years later to give your family closure.”
“You would do that for me?”
“I don’t think I could call myself your friend if I abandoned you at a time like this, but…,” I paused meaningfully.
“But what?” Marc asked.
“You have to swear to let me help you.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you can’t do it alone. If you seriously decide you want to do this you have to let me help you. You can do it however you want… I’ll help with any plan you come up with, but you have to tell me first and it can’t be something stupid like drinking yourself to death.”
Marc stared at me carefully for a long moment; his face held more hope than I had seen in a month. “Fine, you have a deal,” he said.
“Swear it,” I insisted.
“I swear to let you know when and how I will die, so long as you swear to help rather than interfere,” he answered.
“I swear to help, no matter what.”
“What now?” he asked.
“I have things to do this morning, how about you?” I told him.
Marc laughed, “There’s nothing on my schedule. I had planned to drink myself into a stupor but that seems rather pointless now. I guess I’ll start planning.”
“I suggest you take a bath and shave first, no sense smelling like a dead rat. Don’t forget though… you have to tell me first, no matter what you decide,” I stressed the last part.
“I will. I’m not sure about the shave though, I was thinking of growing a beard.” He passed his hand over the patchy growth that had sprouted across his cheeks. Marc had never been blessed with a good beard; the hair grew willy-nilly across his cheeks, leaving some spots almost completely bare.
“That’s probably a bad idea for you my friend,” I said, patting him on the shoulder.
“I think you’re just afraid my beard might look better than that paltry goatee you have there,” he replied mockingly.
“Believe what you will… but some of us have the gift and some of us have… well whatever that thing sprouting on your face is,” I teased him. We kept the banter going for several minutes after that before I finally made my way out.
As I headed to my workshop I wondered what he would decide. My instincts told me whatever it was would be better than what he had been doing. Finally I put the thought aside and decided to trust him. I had a feeling things would work out, but I’ve always been optimistic.
Chapter 4
That evening Marcus made it to the dining hall, freshly shaved and looking much better. He was still pale but he was definitely sober. Dorian gave me a quizzical look… I could almost hear his unspoken question: What did you do? Later when I had a chance I told him I had spoken to Marc, but I never did give him the details of our agreement. For that matter I didn’t tell Penny either.
Two days later Marc caught up to me in the smithy. I had been spending so much time there lately that almost everyone knew to look for me there when they needed me now. My work was still proceeding at a good pace but it looked as if it would take me months to accomplish my goals.
“That must be the armor Dorian was telling me about,” Marc said as he walked up. He hadn’t announced himself when he entered but that was hardly necessary anyway.
I didn’t bother replying, gracing him with an unintelligible grunt instead. I had my hands full of red hot metal and although I wore heavy leathers to protect my body and had spelled my hands and arms for hardness and heat resistance I still didn’t dare relax my attention. Careless smiths didn’t work for long, and that probably was doubly true for mage-smiths… if that was the proper term for what I had become. Maybe wizard-smith would sound better?
After a few minutes I found a good stopping point and set my work aside to cool, and then I gave my friend my full attention. “What’s on your mind?” I was a little worried he might have come up with a ‘plan’ but I had decided not to mention it to him until he brought it up himself.
He gave me one of his old grins, the sort that meant he might be up to mischief. “I’m bored,” he said finally.
“Nothing new there,” I replied. “What are we going to do about it?”
“Well I’ve been thinking, about your offer. Now that I have that ahead of me it seems I don’t need to rush things. Instead there might be a few things I’d like to do first.”
I kept my face smooth but inwardly I was smiling. “Such as?” I asked.
“I’ve been thinking about what you told me before… about the things you read in that book on the history of Illeniel. I’d like to know more,” he answered.
“You think you can do something about it,” I concluded.
“No, but that’s the point. I don’t know. Until now I’ve been a victim, and that’s part of what makes it so painful. Not only did she manipulate and betray me, she left me with the knowledge that nothing I do will matter. No action I can take now will affect her or the other gods in the slightest. Mankind as a whole and me in particular, we are insignificant… unworthy of regard or consideration.” Marc leaned back and gazed at the cooling metal I had set aside.
“You think there might be knowledge that will help?” I suggested.
His eyes snapped back to my face, “Yes. The story you told me about the sundering, if true, is proof of that. If the gods were once less than they are now… then they aren’t immortal, eternal, or unchanging.” He clenched his fist as he spoke and I could see the anger simmering beneath his cool exterior.
“And if they aren’t?”
Marc gave me a grin that sent a shiver down my spine, “Then they aren’t gods, and if they aren’t gods then they can be brought to task for the things they have done.”
“Even if they aren’t omnipotent it’s very likely you still won’t be able to hurt them,” I reminded him.
“I have a friend who might be able to…,” he said, looking squarely at me.
I suffered a moment of self-doubt, “That’s a big leap. There’s little indication anyone might have that sort of power.”
“Moira Centyr did…,” he said bluntly.
“She was an archmage.”
“So are you,” he replied.
“Maybe,” I admitted. “In any case, she only defeated one god… and that was with a lot of help.”
“It doesn’t matter Mort. I’ll seek what knowledge I can find. If any of it proves useful then I’ll have made some sort of difference. If not… well I feel much better knowing you’re there to help me… if it comes to that,” he stopped there.
“Where do you plan to start?” I asked.
“Your house… there may be more histories in your father’s library. After that I’ll scour the libraries of the nobility… and if I can get to them, the records of the churches.”
That gave me pause, there might be information there that none of us could guess at. “You’re an ex-saint, which makes you about as popular with the followers of the evening star as a skunk at a tea party. You think they would let you near their coveted records now?”
“No… but I need a challenge,” he declared. There was a light in Marc’s eyes again. He wasn’t the same man he had been, but he was better than the broken creature I’d found in his room a few days before. Revenge might be
