The Dawn of a Desperate War (The Godlanders War) by Aaron Pogue Read Free Book Online Page A

finger on it. Aemilia is dead. Ephitel came for her.”
    “Gods’ blood! How did he find her?”
    “I don’t quite know. The druids think he might have had the help of one of theirs—a traitor by the name of Jessamine—but all I know is that he came to punish me for killing Blake.”
    “He came for you? But how—”
    Corin shook his head. “He came because of me, but Aemilia was always his target. He thanked me for giving him a druid t o kill.”
    “By the rings, Corin, I didn’t know. You have my sympathy. Can I do aught to help you?”
    Corin glanced toward the back corner of the room, still suspicious of the serving girl, but her gentle snores continued behind the folding screens. Despite them, Corin asked, “Will you take a walk with me? It . . . it would help to clear my head. And we do have much to discuss.”
    “Aye. Of course.”
    They left the artist’s studio and descended the narrow, creaking stairs of the tenement building. Ben Strunk liked to spend his evenings hobnobbing with the wealthy and the powerful, but he’d always said he preferred to live and work among the poor. There’d been a time when Corin thought it was a careful plan to preserve his artistic hunger, his perspective for the plight of the common man.
    One day he’d commented on it, and old Ben had chortled heartily. No, he explained, he preferred to do his work among the poor because his wealthy patrons hated visiting him there. That kept them from interfering in his works in progress. That had been the day Corin and Ben became true friends.
    Now they walked in icy silence, leaving the rundown building for an alley just as foul and claustrophobic. Corin set the pace and chose their path. He turned left at the first intersection, then right. Ben only walked along beside him, keeping his pace and holding his tongue. Dwarves were masters when it came to patience and ancient friends with stony silence.
    Corin’s path might have seemed random at a glance, for he followed no major thoroughfare. In fact, he was aiming for the highest of the city’s seven hills, tracking like a bloodhound straight as the ancient, twisting streets would allo w him.
    They’d left the studio more than a mile behind before Corin finally drew a heavy breath and turned to his companion. “I want justice, Ben.”
    “I hate to be the one to tell you, but you’re in the wrong world for that. There’s no justice here. There’s just Vestossis.”
    “I’ve tried my hand at them,” Corin said, casting his voice lower. “They die easy enough. Now I want to aim a little higher.”
    “I can hardly say I blame you, but it’s a fool’s errand, boy. Believe me. I’ve met the man. He won’t die easy.”
    “He’d better not,” Corin said. “I want him to die hard and weeping.”
    “It won’t bring her back.”
    Corin clenched a fist and bit his tongue. Shouting at his friend would do no good. He was not a sentimental child chasing satisfaction. He’d seen more than his share of misery, and he knew just how bone-deep wicked Ephitel’s Ithale was.
    But he was not willing to accept that anymore. The time had come for change. He took a calming breath and answered levelly. “It’s not revenge I’m after, Ben. It’s justice. Oberon himself gave me this task. You’ve had a glimpse of the power he gave me, and he gave it to me for this very purpose.”
    Ben walked several paces in thoughtful silence. He knew the name of Oberon, knew its significance, and he’d heard some portion of Corin’s impossible tale. He chewed on Corin’s plans awhile, then asked with all the curious care of a master craftsman, “How?”
    “Another gift of Oberon’s,” Corin told him, hesitating over his words. He had told no one but the druids about the sword Godslayer . It was his secret weapon, and he hoped to keep it tha t way.
    It was also a tricky thing to carry with him. He had some plans in that direction, but first he had to make sure that Ben was with him. Corin