The Hall of Judgment itself was suspended between heaven and nothingness, between clouds and nothing, and was only fastened by the will of the god.
It was in the middle of Sir Gunnar the Blood Pious, who was arms crossed behind him, looking through crystal windows where the light was bleeding out. His armor of silver was perfection not a spot, not a spot, not a blemish in it in all its centuries of service. It was a second skin, which had not been made, but was alive, and breathed with the slow motion of the absorbed prayers.
Behind him, a boy knelt.
Thirteen years old. Newly chosen. Still wearing white robes smelling of incense and ceremony. His fingers were shivering upon his knees.
Gunnar didn't turn. "Rise."
The boy scrambled up. Gunnar looked at him at last seven feet of exalted divine intent, eyes as molten gold, which sped naught. The boy's trembling got worse.
"What is your name?"
"Kael, Your Grace. Kael of the Western Marches. My village "
I did not enquire about your village. Gunnar's voice was calm. Not mean merely deadly sure. "I asked your name. That's all you bring here. The rest burns away."
Kael swallowed. "Yes, Your Grace."
Gunnar went to the window, and beckoned to the boy to come with him. The mortal world, an underworld, beneath, below, through the crystal, was like a map, rivers running through it like veins, mountains scarring it like scars, specks moving across fields and forests.
Three days have passed, and a cursed man killed the Grave Titan. Gunnar pointed. "There. In those mountains. You can not see the body there it is too small but it is. Crumbling."
Kael narrowed his eyes, which would do no good. "The Grave Titan, Your Grace? I thought... I thought it couldn't die."
"Nothing can't die, boy. That's the first lesson." The mountains never left Gunnar out of his eyes. "The gods made the Titan. They made it strong. They made it not impossible to kill. There's a difference."
Kael nodded swiftly and was not quite certain that he had.
The man that killed it they call the Ash Cursed. Sir Spartan, sometimes. Godsbreaker, in the whispers." There was a slight tightening of the jaw of Gunnar. He was our greatest crusader once. Blessed by Vharos himself. Chosen."
Kael's eyes widened. "What happened?"
"He was tested. He failed." Gunnar wheeled round, and faced the window. Now he drifts, and slays whatever godlike thing he meets. Absorbing relics. Growing stronger. he reckons that he is crushing his destiny.
Kael hesitated. "Is he... not?"
Gunnar almost smiled. Almost.
The Ash Cursed is of the opinion that fortune is a rope. There is something that shackles him, keeps him in one place, restricts his options. He passed the boy, to his spear bent against the wall and humming. "But fate is not a chain. It is a river. You are able to swim up against it, wrestle with it, curse it. flow still flowed where always flowed. And you?"
He picked up the spear. Light blazed.
You sails To where the heaven guides thee.
Kael watched, mesmerized. "Then... why hunt him? And is he merely floating where heaven has him to so?
Gunnar experimented with the weight of the spear. It sang.
Because streams must be trimmed up now and then. He gazed upon the boy and gazed, beyond the trembling, beyond the fear, to the very bottom. "Weeds grow. Branches fall. The water gets blocked. And when that comes somebody has to clear the path.
He passed Kael, his way to the window.
"Stay here. Pray. Otherwise, come back and tell the King that I served him to the end.
The mouth of Kael opened, but there was nothing to say.
Gunnar went through the window and plunged.
The forge hid in plain sight.
Externally it was as ordinary as any other volcanic cavern vapour spurting out of cracks, rock yellow with sulphur, nothing to be found on a square mile alive. It would have gone past Aldric had not Artemis seized his arm and pointed.
"There. It is through the steam vent at the entrance.
He looked. Saw nothing. Then the steam passed, and he seized it a fissure in the rock, not this time natural, but too small a fissure to be natural.
They climbed.
It was walled in with the heat. Aldric's skin tightened. His chains hissed And where they came in contact With the air Steamed. Artemis went on, grimoire a glow, violet light driving away the darkness.
The cave led to a room that was as big as a cathedral.
And one in the middle of it a man worked metal.
It was very old late sixties perhaps older and he was a siege engine left out in the rain in the decades. Barrel chest, big arms, hands like war hammers. White hair brought back without much care, long beard, streaked with ash and what appeared to be dried blood. He had a heavy scar on his left eye that rendered him milky blind. His right eye, which was pale steel gray, narrowed as they came nearer.
Both forearms were an interweaving of glittering burns and black streaks of veins. When he moved they shone dimly as though they were embers in ashes.
He had a scalded leather apron on over scaled-mail. His hammer struck metal clang and the entire cave appeared to tremble.
Aldric paused at a distance of twenty feet. Waited.
The man finished his stroke. Set the hammer down. Turned.
"Visitors." His voice was gravel and rust. Three years, haven't had those, have you? Four?" He looked at Artemis. "Mage. Forbidden magic, by the smell." Looked at Aldric. And you are the one the deities are shitting themselves about.
Aldric said nothing.
The man snorted. "Gorm Iron Sided. You're in my forge. That is to say you desire something. He went, disregarding the heat, disregarding the chains which lifted a bit as he came near. "Let's see it, then."
He took the left arm of Aldric without inquiring.
The chains answered lashing, making an effort to loosen. Gorm held on. There was something ridiculous about the way he held on, fingers in the welded metal, twisting Aldric's wrist to a better position.
"Interesting." He poked at the links. Squinted with his good eye. Followed the runes using a scarred thumb. "Vharos's work. Old smiting, as well hundreds of godlike blood smelted into the iron. You can tell by the color." He tapped a link. "See that? That's not rust. That's dried ichor. The gods are colored different colors; when dried, the blood of Vharos is black.
Aldric waited.
Gorm released his arm. Stepped back. Up and down he looked at him, and his expression was something respectful or something disgusting it was difficult to say.
"You call this maintenance?" He pointed to the chains, at the scabs of the skin of Aldric, at the smoke that fell off his shoulders. These could be swung by a child. The connections are chain where they ought to move. The signs overlap you see three religious marks of the divinity quarrelling. And the fusion points?" He shook his head. You are lucky to have your arms in good shape.
Aldric: "Can you upgrade them?"
Gorm gazed a long time at him. Then he laughed a gristle, grinding laugh.
"Upgrade them." He shook his head. Boy, more old than a kingdom are these chains. They have killed more that you have breathed. And you desire me to upgrade them?
"Yes."
Gorm stopped laughing. Gazed at him once more this time, indeed, beyond the ash and the marks and the eyes that were dead.
"You killed the Grave Titan."
It wasn't a question.
Aldric didn't answer.
Gorm nodded slowly. "Heard the screams. Felt the tremors. Something big was killed in those mountains, three days ago. Something old." He glanced at Artemis. "You were there?"
"I was."
"And you brought him to me." Gorm turned back to Aldric. You would have me, working on weapons of one of the gods who is still alive? Vharos knows I'm here. He might strike this cave at any time he likes.
Aldric: "He won't."
"Oh? And why's that?"
"Because he's watching. Waiting to see what I do next." Aldric met Gorm's eye. "Entertainment."
Gorm stared at him. Then, slowly, he smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.
"Bring me a god part. Then we talk."
He faced about to his anvil, grabbed up his hammer, and resumed his work. The conversation was over.
Artemis pulled Aldric by the sleeve. He accompanied her to a part of the cave where the heat was a little less offensive, and they sat.
"We rest here tonight," she said. Gorm does not help gratuitously, and we have not yet paid him. But he will allow us to remain he is inquisitive. That's enough for now."
Aldric was leaning against the rock. His head remained towards the door.
Artemis observed him some time, and then turned her head.
Hours later, Aldric slept.
Artemis waited till his breathing had been regularly evened, then quietly rose, and returned to the forge.
Gorm was still working. He didn't look up.
"Knew you'd come back."
Artemis paused some feet off. "Did you?"
"Women always do." He set his hammer down. Swiped his forehead using a scarred forearm. "What do you want?"
"Information."
"Information's expensive."
Artemis reached into her robes and extracted a little pouch. A coin of gold pre divine old dearer than its weight. She tossed it to him.
Gorm caught it one handed. Weighed it. Nodded.
"Ask."
"His chains. You told me that there are three divine signatures at war. What does that mean?"
Gorm bent against his anvil. "Means he's absorbing too fast. Every relic has the fragment of the personality of the original god to which it belongs his personality, his grievances, his manner of observing the world. When one takes relic, he or she usually leaves it to rest. Bond with it. Before that add another sound the voice of the old god die.
He shook his head. "He's not doing that. He's stacking them. The Titan core, the Hound, that eye they are all still functioning. Still fighting. Wherever he goes, the others recede each time he walks on one of them.
Artemis absorbed that. "Is that dangerous?"
"It's killing him." Straight out, as saying the weather, Gorm said it. "Look at his skin. Those cracks? His body is trying to hold more divine in it than it can. Every new relic widens them. Each battle is what strengthens them. At length " He flicked his fingers. "Gone. He is not dead curse never lets him die but away. Only a strolling assembly of Godlike parts with not a bit of humanity left in them.
Artemis's jaw tightened. "He knows."
"Course he knows. He's not stupid. Just stubborn." Gorm studied her. "The question is: do you know? What you are going into, after him?
Artemis didn't answer.
Gorm nodded like she had. "Thought so. You are not the only one to trail a god killer. Won't be the last. They all believe they are capable of dealing with it the pain, the losses, the observance of one person disemboweling themselves in the name of a cause. He picked up his hammer. "They're always wrong."
He turned back to his work.
Artemis was standing a long time. Then, quietly: "He's going to die. You said that earlier. The curse all the relics add to it. One day his body simply collapses on him.
"Yep."
"And you still want payment. Yet him desire bring you god parts.
Gorm's hammer paused. He turned his shoulder towards her.
"Boy's going to die anyway. The question is how many are the gods he carries with him. His eye narrowed. I lost my wife and three sons and all the friends I ever had in the hands of the divine crusaders. Vharos's orders. He spared me to live and see them burn and tell the tale. He turned back to his work. And in case the Ash Cursed wants to supply me with more god parts to use, I will turn him into the sharpest damn weapons that heaven has ever known. Not for him. For them."
The hammer fell. Clang.
Artemis walked away.
It was not till she was halfway returning to Aldric that the light was changed.
Not slowly not at all, as though a person had turned on a light. The cave turned as dark orange into aglowing white. Heat spiked. The rocks at themselves appeared to lean away at something coming.
Artemis spun.
Sir Gunnar were walking as through the cave he owned it.
No stealth. No ambush. That is nothing but a tall man with the perfect silver armor, with the spear of pure light in his hand, and with the eyes which are molten gold searching the darkness. He found her immediately. Dismissed her. Continued to walk towards the forge.
Gorm saw him coming. Set his hammer down. Folded his arms.
"You're not welcome here, angel."
Gunnar stopped ten feet away. "I'm not here for you, smith."
"Then turn around and leave."
Gunnar ignored him. Raised his voice slightly. "Ash Cursed! You are the King of Heaven that is to be corrected. Look at me or I will blaze up this cave and burn all in it.
Behind Artemis, movement. Aldric got up out of his sleeping, chains already stretched, eyes flat and dead.
He passed by her without saying anything. Twenty feet away, halted in front of Gunnar.
Both were, on the other side of the heat shimmered air in the forge.
Gunnar looked at him some time. Then, with hardly any hurt: You are a mistake. I am here to correct you."
Aldric's chains rose.
Gunnar's spear blazed.
And the world was gone in bloodshed.
Gunnar was fast.
Quicker than anything Aldric had contended. There flashed the spear light incarnate thrust, slash, sweep that every smote Aldric was not able to follow. Efforts were made by his chains to reply, but Gunnar was never absent, in his guard and spear point kissing his throat, his heart, his eyes.
First blood: Aldric's. and a nick on his cheek, deep enough to the bone.
Second blood: also his. Spear through his shoulder, turning, wrenching out.
Third: his knee, when Gunnar ran low over, and the haft of the spear broke across the knee.
Aldric went down. Rolled. Came up with chains lashing Gunnar was not there. Now he was behind him, with spear drawn, and blood streaming down.
"You rely on stolen power." The voice of Gunnar was conversational. "But stolen power is borrowed. It doesn't know you. It doesn't trust you. I hit not the flesh but the relic when I hit. The authority, not the body."
Aldric felt it. Each time the spear touched him one of his relics trembled. The Titan core went quiet. The Hound's fragment dimmed. Even his chains were hesitating a little before giving a reply.
Gunnar was cutting him off to himself.
"You cannot win." Gunnar moved forward, spear dashing indolent figures in the air. And not because I am stronger that I am. Not by reason I am quicker, of that although I am that, as well. You are not going to win, as you fight on your own behalf. For vengeance. For pain." He shook his head. "I fight for heaven. For order. For the shape of things."
Spear lashed out. Aldric to avoid just felt it touch his ribs.
Your shape does not belong to you.
Down went Aldric, rolled, rose with chains lashing in all directions. Gunnar leaped over them as though they were not there. The spear found his thigh. His side. Above the wrist of his left arm.
Blood ran. The chains slowed.
Gunnar withdrew to leave him space to get up. It felt almost like courtesy. Almost like mockery.
"You see?" Gunnar spread his arms. "Fate is a river. You drift wherever heaven hath willed. And here heaven is your guide to cease.
Aldric pushed himself up. Breathed. Gazed at the angel the flawless armour, the quiet eyes, the spear that was whistling with perfect confidence.
Then he spoke.
How many towns in heaven did you torch in thy name?
Gunnar's spear paused. Just for a heartbeat.
Aldric demanded: How many were the families who saw you come down out of the sky and name it salvation? And how many children were taught to pray to the god who sent that nice angel to kill their parents?
The hesitation stretched. One second. Two.
Gunnar looked and looked not doubt, but something. Memory, maybe. Something he'd buried.
Aldric's chain moved.
Before Gunnar could move his ankle was caught, and pulled, and banged him to the wall of the rock twenty feet distant. Stone cracked. Gunnar broke his armour, immaculate, untarnished, unmixed on one arm. Golden ichor ran out of the cut.
He looked at Aldric and his calm mask was broken the first time.
Aldric walked toward him. Chains were stretched, and wrapped around the arms of Gunnar, around his chest, and his throat. Drawing him down off the wall, hanging him.
"Fate is a river." Aldric's voice was flat. And then say to me: when your god ordered me to kill my family then was that destined? Or was that just fun?"
Gunnar's mouth opened. Closed.
Aldric's chains tightened.
"You don't know." He shook his head slowly. "You never asked. You only obeyed and named it faith.
Someone flicked back behind the golden eyes of Gunnar someone just a moment just a moment. Confusion. Pain. The initial breach in centuries of certitude.
Then his spear was flashing, and his bonds were broken and he had vanished.
The sudden quiet left Aldric to breathing his second hard, and the chains re forming themselves at his wrists. Gorm stood on the forge with an inexpressible expression. Artemis came in his turn, his violet eyes open.
"He... retreated."
Aldric nodded.
"He actually retreated." Artemis shook her head. "I've never seen that. Angels don't retreat. They struggle to the end, or until they conquer.
Aldric gazed about the place where Gunnar had gone. The ichor upon the rocks already was dwindling, sunken back into heaven.
"He'll be back."
"When?"
Later on, after he gets to know what I said.
Artemis stared at him. You destroyed his faith in a single question?
"I didn't break anything." Aldric turned away. "I just asked. He did the rest."
That evening they quitted the forge.
Gorm did not take leave he grunted as they went by, he was still at the work, still moulding god blood into arms. But as Aldric rode by the old smith was talking without turning his head.
The next time bring me something to work on.
Aldric kept walking.
they proceeded northwards, into more elevated mountains, to the next temple. The air got colder. The trees got thinner. The sky remained transparent, with its stars which without being stars were.
Artemis halted around the middle of the night.
"Wait." She held up a hand. "There's something ahead. Small. Human."
Aldric's chains rose. He went on, mute, sweeping out the darkness.
And found her.
A child. Little, cheesy, perhaps twelve years old. White ash dusted pale skin, permanent, like his. Uneven, self-cut short silver-white hair. Large lavender eyes that threatened to look up and stare at him came his way.
She was on the middle of the road, all alone, and she was in a ragsome cloak that was larger than herself. In the distance, beyond her, there was smoke in place of what once was a village.
Aldric stopped.
The girl looked at him. At his chains. At the flaking of his shoulders. And then gradually she reached forward and touched one of the links.
Her fingers were cold. Small. Trembling slightly.
But she didn't pull away.
You are not a monster, you see, she said.
It was the first person who had ever told him that.
Aldric knelt. Looked at her really looked. First on her skin, as on his, the same. In the burns of her arms, half healed. In the vacuity of her eyes which he knew because he had noticed them every morning.
"What's your name?"
She shook her head. Either had not one or would not give it out.
Aldric stood. Gazed up at Artemis who stood by and looked in an indefinable manner. Then back at the girl.
"You can walk with us," he said. "Or you can stay. But northward, into the mountains, to the deities who did this.
The girl gazed behind her at the smoke. At the cold path ahead. On the ash filled knight with chaining hands.
She lifted her hand and grabbed his hand.
Her grip was small. Fragile. Absolutely steady.
Aldric turned and walked north.
The girl would be following behind him, her oversized cloak sweeping him with the dust.
Artemis had been watching them, and then slowly shook her head and trailed behind them.