another one? I am not here to free these demons from their sorcerous cages-’
The apparition stepped forward. ‘Demons? There are no demons here. Only gods. Forgotten gods. You think the skein of words is a prison?’
‘I do not know what to think. I do not know the words written-’
‘Power is remembrance. Power is evocation – a god dies when it becomes nameless. Thus did Mael offer this gift, this sanctuary. Without their names, the gods vanish. The crime committed here is beyond measure. The obliteration of the names, the binding of a new name, the making of a slave. Beyond measure, mortal. In answer I was made, to guard those that remain. It is my task.’ The sword lifted and the warrior took another step closer.
Some fighters delivered an unseen wound before weapons were even drawn. In them, raised like a penumbra, was the promise of mortality. It drew blood, weakened will and strength. Brys had faced men and women with this innate talent before. And he had answered it with… amusement.
The guardian before him promised such mortality, with palpable force.
Another heavy step. A force to match the roiling waters. In sudden understanding, Brys smiled.
The vicious current ceased its maelstrom. Speed and agility returned in a rush.
The huge sword slashed horizontally. Brys leapt back, the point of his sword darting out and up in a stop- thrust against the only target within reach.
Letherii steel slipped in between the silver plates of the left gauntlet, sank deep.
Behind them a dolmen exploded, the concussion thundering through the bedrock underfoot. The warrior staggered, then swung his sword in a downward chop. Brys threw himself backward, rolling over one shoulder to regain his feet in a crouch.
The warrior’s sword had driven into the basalt a quarter of its length.
And was stuck fast.
He darted to close. Planting his left leg behind the guardian, Brys set both hands against the armoured chest and shoved.
The effort failed as the guardian held himself upright by gripping the embedded sword.
Brys spun and hammered his right elbow into the iron-sheathed face. Pain exploded in his arm as the head was snapped back, and the Letherii pitched to one side, his left hand taking the longsword from his fast-numbing right.
The warrior tugged on his own sword, but it did not budge.
Brys leapt forward once again, driving his left boot down onto the side of the guardian’s nearest leg, low, a hand’s width above the ankle.
Ancient iron crumpled. Bones snapped.
The warrior sank down on that side, yet remained partly upright by leaning on the jammed sword.
Brys quickly backed away. ‘Enough. I have no desire to kill any more gods.’
The armoured face lifted to regard him. ‘I am defeated. We have failed.’
The Letherii studied the warrior for a long moment, then spoke. ‘The blood seeping from your hands – does it belong to the surviving gods here?’
‘Diminished, now.’
‘Can they heal you?’
‘No. We have nothing left.’
‘Why does the blood leak? What happens when it runs out?’
‘It is power. It steals courage – against you it failed. It was expected that the blood of slain enemies would… it does not matter now.’
‘What of Mael? Can you receive no help from him?’
‘He has not visited in thousands of years.’
Brys frowned. Kuru Qan had said to follow his instincts. He did not like what had come to pass here. ‘I would help. Thus, I would give you my own blood.’
The warrior was silent for a long time. Then, ‘You do not know what you offer, mortal.’
‘Well, I don’t mean to die. I intend to survive the ordeal. Will it suffice?’
‘Blood from a dying or dead foe has power. Compared to the blood from a mortal who lives, that power is minuscule. I say again, you do not know what you offer.’
‘I have more in mind, Guardian. May I approach?’
‘We are helpless before you.’
‘Your sword isn’t going anywhere, even with my help. I would give you mine. It cannot be broken, or so I am told. And indeed I have never seen Letherii steel break. Your two-handed weapon is only effective if your opponent quails and so is made slow and clumsy.’
‘So it would seem.’
Brys was pleased at the wry tone in the warrior’s voice. While there had been no self-pity in the admissions of failure, he had disliked hearing them. He reversed grip on his longsword and offered the pommel to the warrior. ‘Here.’
‘If I release my hands I will fall.’
‘One will do.’
The guardian prised a hand loose and grasped the longsword. ‘By the Abyss, it weighs as nothing!’
‘The forging is a secret art, known only to my people. It will not fail you.’
‘Do you treat all your defeated foes in this manner?’
‘No, only the ones I had no wish to harm in the first place.’
‘Tell me, mortal, are you considered a fine swordsman in your world?’
‘Passing.’ Brys tugged off the leather glove on his right hand, then drew his dagger. ‘This arm is still mostly numb-’
‘I am pleased. Although I wish I could say the same for my face.’
Brys cut his palm, watched as blood blossomed out to whip away on the current. He set the bleeding hand down on the warrior’s left, which was still closed about the grip of the embedded weapon. He felt his blood being drawn between the silver plates.
The warrior’s hand twisted round to grasp his own in a grip hard as stone. A clenching of muscles, and the guardian began straightening.
Brys glanced down and saw that the shattered leg was mending in painful-looking spasms, growing solid beneath the huge warrior’s weight.
Sudden weakness rushed through him.
‘Release my hand,’ the warrior said, ‘lest you die.’
Nodding, Brys pulled his hand free, and staggered back.
‘Will you live?’
‘I hope so,’ he gasped, his head spinning. ‘Now, before I go, tell me their names.’
‘What?’
‘I have a good memory, Guardian. There will be no more enslavement, so long as I remain alive. And beyond my life, I will ensure that those names are not forgotten-’
‘We are ancient gods, mortal. You risk-’
‘You have earned your peace, as far as I am concerned. Against the Tiste Edur – those who came before to chain one of your kin – you will be ready next time. My life can add to your strength, and hopefully it will be sufficient for you to resist.’
The guardian straightened to its full height. ‘It shall, mortal. Your sacrifice shall not be forgotten.’
‘The names! I feel – I am fading-’
Words filled his mind, a tumbling avalanche of names, each searing a brand in his memory. He screamed at the shock of the assault, of countless layers of grief, dreams, lives and deaths, of realms unimaginable, of civilizations crumbling to ruins, then dust.
Stories. So
‘Errant save us,
Brys found himself lying on his back, beneath him a hard, enamelled floor. He blinked open his eyes and saw Kuru Qan’s wizened face hovering over him.
