The Horns of Ruin (29 page)

"They didn't seem like gods. Hell, they're still
alive, still have some power."

"Very little, because they were only very little gods.
But they were able to hold that power for a very long time, and gather a great
deal of it."

I crossed my arms, my pistol forgotten, and sat down.

"So what happened when we threw them down, and the
mantle of godhood came to us?"

"We had our three Brothers Immortal, and that's
all."

"And now we're down to one?"

"Yeah. The math is terrible."

We were quiet for a while, listening to the airships and
the wind. Finally, I stood and stared down at the archive.

"Something I don't understand. What the hell does this
have to do with the impellors? And why does it mean people want to kill my
Cult?"

"The Feyr used the impellors as a kind of pressure
valve. They invented them late in their empire, when their numbers were
dwindling and the accumulated power was overwhelming them." She lit
another cigarette and blew a long, deep breath out into the room. "They
were venting god."

"Do the impellors still do that?"

"Who knows? And as for why anyone would want to kill
your Cult over this? Well, here we have proof that Amon knew about how godhood
worked, and that you had to have multiple gods to keep it from destroying those
who held that power."

"So?"

"So," she whispered, then turned and looked me in
the eyes, "why would he want to kill his brother Morgan, if the idea was
to have more gods, not fewer?"

I sat up and stared in confusion. My mind was unhinging at
the implication.

"You're saying Amon didn't kill Morgan. That he wasn't
the Betrayer."

"I am. Leaving only-"

"Alexander," I breathed, trembling. "Godking
of Ash."

The throne of the godking sits in the Spear of the
Brothers, the white tower in the old district of Ash. I was taken there for my
acceptance into the rank of Paladin. At that time Matthew was still with us,
before he led his fated crusade against the Rethari in distant Herion. Four of
us went to the throne: Matthew, me, Barnabas, and an Initiate of the Bullet
named Emily, who also went with Matthew on his little crusade.

The Spear sits in the oldest part of Ash, the quarters
along the edge of the city-island where the forces of the Brothers Immortal
first made landfall. There had been much bloodshed cracking the defenses of the
collar countries, and the landing had been murderous. Amon, sickened by the
loss of life, drove his spear into the ground and declared his part in the
conflict over, swearing never again to take up arms. Morgan and Alexander took
the rest of the city, and Amon came after, to sweep through the ruins and
collect artifacts. When the harsh street fighting was over and the peace was
signed, Amon came back to his driven spear and built a temple. That temple
became a tower, and that tower became the seat of power for the three brothers.
Later their Cults split, but the Betrayal left only Alexander. He settled into
the tower, even reclaiming the spear Amon had abandoned and putting it on
display.

I remember looking up at that spear as we entered the
building. It hung in the grand foyer, suspended by wire in midair. The tip was
polished iron, intricately barbed, with two flanged wings at the base of the
head. The shaft was black wood, runed with the symbols of the secret language
of the Scholar. The base of the shaft was capped with dull iron, and still bore
the dents of a thousand counterstrikes and crushed helms.

"Why do we hold this thing up?" I asked my
brother Matthew as I stood beneath it. "It is the weapon of the Betrayer,
is it not?"

"There are stages to our lives, even for the
Brothers," he answered. At the time I thought of him as an old man, but I
realize now he couldn't have been much through his thirties. He laid his hand
on my shoulder. "The Spear of Amon symbolizes his renunciation of the
battle, of violence, and his commitment to knowledge. It is the holiest symbol
of the Cult of the Scholar. That moment in our lives when we put struggles
behind us, and commit to something pure."

"Like the broken plow, for Morgan."

"Yes. Morgan left behind his fields and his wealth,
and warred against the Feyr in their madness. There was once a sect of our
faith that worshipped Morgan the Farmer, did you know?"

"What became of them?"

"What becomes of all of us," Barnabas answered.
"They passed on. Come, the godking awaits."

We walked ceremoniously up the wide, curving stairs of the
foyer and past a line of stiff guards in shiny plate, and tabards of white and
gold. Up to the terrace of the throne. It was not a large building, at least
not this part of it. We waited patiently on the reception terrace while voices
rumbled from beyond the curtain. When an attendant came out, we bowed once and
then were led inside.

The ceremony was simple. Matthew carried my blade, Emily my
revolver. The ceremonial garb of the Paladin was symbolized by a cloak, draped
over the Fratriarch's arm. I walked barefoot, in simple linen. The marble floor
was cold, and the room smelled like old books and too much incense.

Alexander awaited. He sat on the throne of the Brothers
quite casually. Depictions of the Brothers always show them as larger than
life, giants among men, their shoulders broad and their faces divine. But he
was just a man. An ancient man, and a man of great thought and certitude, and a
man who had seen a hundred thousand dawns and raised his sword to a million
foes, certainly. But still, just a man.

Alexander's hair was dark, and his brows and lips were
heavy. He looked at me with simple brown eyes, but there was a depth to his
gaze that weighed on me. We lined up in front of the throne and knelt. When I
looked up he was leaning forward slightly, like a bored man who has seen
something unique. He raised a cupped hand, and we stood.

"You have brought my fallen brother's latest
scion?" he asked.

"We have, Lord." Barnabas put a hand on my
shoulder and indicated I should step forward. I did. "Eva, daughter of
Forge, Initiate of the Blade. We have examined her, and recommend her for
acceptance into the role of Paladin."

"Initiate of the Blade." He stood from his
throne. No taller than any other man. No taller than me. But his voice was
soft, and carried generations within it. "An unusual choice. A brave
choice. It was always my brother's choice, as well."

"You honor me, Lord," I said.

He walked around the four of us, pausing to examine the
vestments draped across Barnabas's arm. When he came to the sword, balanced
across Matthew's palms, he lifted it and looked down its length before handing
it back to Matthew.

"The Grimwield is a hell of a blade, Eva Forge. Even
this figment of its dream will serve you well in battle. Have you seen my
brother's true blade?"

"Yes, my Lord. I stood my night beside it, meditating
on the acts of god Morgan."

"Of course. It is good that you follow the old
ways." He returned to the throne, and an aura of fatigue seemed to settle
about the room. "More should follow that path. Enrobe her, that she might
stand before me."

I knelt, and Barnabas draped the cloak across my shoulders.
I turned to Emily, and she presented me with the revolver and belt of bullets,
laying them over my arm. Matthew stepped in front of me and presented the hilt
of my blade. There were no words to the ceremony, as Morgan took the blade
without grand speeches or stirring exultations. He led with actions, and with
steel.

Sword in hand, robed and armed, I walked humbly to the feet
of Alexander.

"I have never liked war, Eva Forge. That was my
brother's calling, and his burden. When he fell, I took the mantle of his
vengeance and carried it out. Since then I have offered the final blessing to
his initiates in his stead. And so now I offer it to you. Will you serve the
Fraterdom, in all your days, against all its enemies?"

"I will."

"Will you carry the sword and the bullet in true
faith, protecting the weak, defeating the strong, opposing those who oppose
you, standing with those who stand beside you?"

"So have I sworn."

"In faith Morgan raised you, and in faith he has
clothed you. Find comfort in the actions of his life, in the deeds of his
greatness. Find strength in his memory, and courage in his courage. Remember
always his death, and his life."

"His life," my three brothers whispered behind
me.

"In all things, honor him. Morgan, god of war and of
the hunt, Brother of my Brother, Betrayed by the Betrayer. Stay true to him and
he will guide you. Depart him, and he will depart you. Fight for him, and he
will fight with you."

"Forever," we said in unison.

"Forever," Alexander answered. He touched his
finger to my forehead, and then my sword, and finally my bullistic. He settled
into his throne, and the energy went out of him. We left the room quietly, while
he stared out the window at the lake. Just as we reached the door, he raised
his head and called to me. The others were already in the hall.

"Eva," he said, though so quietly I could barely
hear his voice. "Your sword may be Morgan's last. May your blade bear much
fruit."

"I ... yes, Lord," I answered, and then left. The
others gave me curious eyes, but I shrugged.

"He seemed tired," I said.

"Alexander gets like that sometimes," Barnabas
said. "Especially when discussing the Betrayal. It saddens him."

"I imagine it saddens Morgan, too," I answered.
Matthew grinned, but the others didn't like it so much. We were quiet until we
got outside the Spear. I pulled on the boots I had left with the attendant,
then wrapped the ceremonial robe more tightly around me.

I told the others what Alexander had said, about my blade
possibly being Morgan's last. At the time they chuckled nervously and changed
the subject. Later, I thought he was speaking to the general dwindling of the
Cult, and the lack of new recruits. He was right in that. No more initiates
passed the Rites of the Blade, and very few even entered the path of initiate.

And now there were no more initiates, and no more Cult, but
only my blade. The last of Morgan.

sat cross-legged on the floor,
the blade across my knees, sharpstone in hand. The stone rasped as I drew it
against the edge. It was a drone that was familiar to my ears, like a prayer
for calm. The girl was still staring at me. Waiting for me to do something.

"You were in a hurry a minute ago," she said,
after several long minutes filled only by the stone's song.

"Things change," I said.

"Just in the short time I've known you, you've always
been the sort to act. Rather than sit."

"I am. But now I must also be Barnabas, and Tomas, and
Isabel." I turned the sword over and started on the other side. "I am
the Council of Elders, and the legion of Paladins, and the armies of the
initiates. I have to be the whole Cult, Cass. The luxury of being only the
Paladin is ending."