Godmaker: A Novel of Lasniniar

Chapter Four-2

The rider in the lead charged toward Iarion, his saber drawn. His battle cry erased any doubt of his intentions. Iarion loosed his arrow, catching his attacker in the throat. The man toppled from his horse’s back with a gurgle.

The rest of the riders shouted in defiance and rushed toward them. Lodariel took down one with an arrow to the eye while Iarion slew another. Barlo was forced to wait until one of the riders came within reach, slamming his ax into the man’s thigh. The man uttered a horrible shriek and Barlo pulled him to the ground to finish the job.

A blade whistled above his head as another rider rode past him. No doubt Barlo’s lack of height made him a difficult target to reach on horseback. He whirled to face his attacker, who had slipped off his mount to face him on foot. The man’s saber sent him dancing backward out of reach.

The man uttered a crazed laugh. “Why do you resist?” he demanded. “There is no escape. Our god will reward us for your slaughter.” He lunged at Barlo, forcing the dwarf to remain on the defensive.

“If he’s a god, why is he sending you to do his dirty work?” Barlo taunted. These people had obviously been taken in by one of the Unborn posing as a deity.

“We are the god’s chosen!” the man shouted, his eyes wide. “We are the vessels of his divine will.”

Barlo snorted. “In other words, your god is such a weakling, he can’t smite us himself.”

“Blasphemy!” the man shrieked, rushing toward him.

Barlo raised his ax, blocking his blade just inches from his face.

“I can see this is a sore spot for you,” he said from between clenched teeth, trying to hold his ax steady.

His attacker strained against him with the leverage of his superior height. Barlo was strong, but he knew he couldn’t hold out forever. He grabbed the man’s wrist with one hand while lowering his ax with the other, using his attacker’s own momentum to swing him to the ground in a sudden move while sidestepping his blade. The man landed on the sand with a solid thump. Barlo pinned him with his boot.

“What are you doing?” the man demanded as soon as he regained his breath. “How dare you handle me this way? I’m one of the god’s chosen!” He flailed beneath the dwarf, trying to stab him with his saber. The blade nicked Barlo’s cheek. Barlo cursed, annoyed the man had gotten so close.

“Make sure you say hello for me then,” Barlo growled. He knocked the weapon from the man’s hands and slammed his ax into his neck with a satisfying crunch.

A whisper of movement from behind him made him wrench his weapon free. A rider was rushing toward him, bent low over his horse’s neck. His eyes gleamed as he raised his saber for a killing blow.

The man suddenly clutched at his chest, one of Iarion’s arrows protruding from him. The elf had claimed one of the horses for his own and was shooting down the other riders. His eyes widened as the dead man’s horse continued charging toward Barlo, even as its rider slumped from its back. Barlo tried to move, but his legs were tangled in the robes of the fallen fanatic at his feet.

A gray and silver blur slammed into him, knocking him to the ground several feet away. He looked up to find Golhura standing on his chest.

“It’s about time you showed up!” Barlo said to her once he had gotten over the surprise of not being trampled. “What have you been up to all this time? You’re supposed to be guarding my back!”

Golhura remained on his chest, turning her head to Barlo’s left in a deliberate gesture. Barlo followed her gaze. Several mauled bodies lay in a pile in the area directly behind where he had been standing only a few moments ago. Barlo’s eyes widened. He had never even realized anyone else had been trying to attack him. He twisted his head back to face Golhura, giving her a solemn nod.

“My apologies. You did quite well, didn’t you?”

Golhura butted her wet nose against his cheek before stepping off his chest and back onto the sand. Barlo climbed to his feet, taking in the rest of his surroundings.

Lodariel was skewering one of the few remaining men with her spear. She appeared to be unscathed. Her longer weapon was well-suited to fighting mounted opponents. After determining Barlo was safe, Iarion was using his acquired mount to chase down anyone trying to escape with his bow. A long cut on his left arm dripped blood onto the sand. The elf wasn’t usually so eager to shoot down anyone who fled the battlefield, but Barlo could understand the elf’s precaution. These men were fanatics. If they weren’t dealt with now, they would only come after them again, perhaps even trying to kill them in their sleep. As little as Barlo liked the idea of killing misguided humans, the men had given them little choice.

When the last man had fallen, Iarion rode back, sliding from the horse’s back to the sand. His expression was grim.

“Here, let me clean and bind that,” Lodariel said, stepping forward to tend Iarion’s arm. “Barlo, I’ll look at your cheek in a moment.”

Iarion stretched out his arm, allowing his mate to have a look. “Thank you. Those men were not the most skilled, but they fought without caution.”

“One of them told me their god wanted us dead,” Barlo said.

Iarion frowned. “Why—”

He cut himself off, his head tilting to the side as if straining his ears for some faint sound in the distance. A moment later, the air shimmered and Felara appeared before them. Lodariel glared at her, but Barlo gave her a dire look, silently reminding her of their earlier conversation.

“Where in the First Father’s name have you been?” he demanded, facing the Unborn woman with his hands on his hips. “You said you wanted to help us on this journey, but at the first sign of trouble, you’re nowhere to be found!”

“Hello, Barlo,” Felara said in her smooth voice. Her silver locks stirred around her shoulders. “You’ve met my cousin’s followers, I see.”

“Cousin?” Barlo asked, shaking his head.

Felara shrugged. “In a manner of speaking. All the Unborn consider ourselves related.” She frowned at Iarion’s arm, which was currently being wrapped by his mate. “Iarion, do you need me to take care of that for you?”

Lodariel’s shoulders tensed at the snub, but she remained silent, completing her work. Barlo gave her a nod of approval.

“Lodariel has things under control,” Iarion said in a bland voice as he flexed his fingers to test the tension of the bandage. “My mate is clever with herbs and cunning with her hands.” Felara’s violet eyes blinked, but she made no other response.

“So why were your cousin’s followers trying to kill us?” Barlo demanded. “More importantly, why didn’t you help us during the fight?”

Felara turned her uncanny gaze on Barlo. “I do not approve of his ways, but he is still one of my own kind. The Unborn do not interfere directly with one another or any of our chosen followers.” She sniffed. “It’s not done.”

Barlo rolled his eyes. “Well pardon me for offending your delicate sensibilities, but you might have mentioned that a bit earlier. We could have been killed.” Felara expression remained impassive. Barlo decided to switch tactics. “Iarion could have been killed.”

Felara recoiled as if she had been stung. “I would not allow such a thing to happen. Do you think this is some personal preference? What do you think would happen if any of the Unborn turned on one another?”

“It would be a declaration of war,” Iarion said in a grim voice.

Felara gave him a satisfied nod. “And it wouldn’t remain a war between two spirit creatures. Our followers would become involved as well. It would be a war involving both magic and devout worshippers—a holy war. Is that what you want?”

Barlo swore. “Something like that could tear Lasniniar apart.”

“Exactly,” Felara said, her tone crisp. “So please do not mistake my lack of involvement in your little skirmish as a lack of interest. I knew what you were up against. I also knew you were strong enough warriors to defeat your attackers, although some of you turned out to be more formidable than I anticipated.”

Her gaze flickered over Lodariel, who gave her an answering flat look but remained silent. Her jaw clenched and Iarion’s hand tightened on her arm.

“Ha!” Barlo barked a laugh, dispelling the tension. “If you think you’re going to get Lodariel out of the way by throwing her into battle, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“You should make for the mountains,” Felara said, as if no one else had spoken. “You will be safer there. I will take my leave of you now, seeing as you have no need of me.” She gave Iarion one last look before disappearing.

Lodariel blew out a breath. “Thank goodness she’s gone. I don’t think I could have taken much more of her.”

“Don’t worry,” Barlo said, shaking his head. “She’ll be back. And as much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. The dwarves keep watch over the mountains, and the ones who live in Lomolud are too hidebound to get tangled up with any of the Unborn.”

“We can take the horses with us,” Iarion said, giving the milling beasts a speculative look.

Barlo snorted. “The poor creatures are barely standing up as it is!”

“We can’t leave them here,” Lodariel said. “They’re already starving. The dwarves can care for them and trade them if they wish.” She pulled some rope from her pack and started tying it to each horse’s harness as a lead. The beasts lowered their heads for her without complaint.

“Well they certainly won’t be riding them,” Barlo said. “And I won’t be either.”

“Don’t worry, Barlo,” Iarion said with a chuckle. “I doubt any of them are in any condition to bear your weight anyway.”

Barlo shot his friend a sour look. “Thanks.”

“Come on,” Iarion said, grasping the harness of the lead horse. “The sooner we reach the mountains, the better.”

Barlo nodded, trailing after him with Golhura pacing at his side. His thoughts went back to their conversation with Felara. She had given them some new information, but he couldn’t help but notice she had avoided answering one of his questions completely.

Why did one of her cousins want them dead?

Iarion stared out at the rolling hills and valleys of the grass-covered Highlands, probing pockets of fog with his gaze. He and his companions had set out from Lomolud that morning after spending the night in the dwarven city. They had left the underfed horses behind. The poor beasts needed food and rest, and were bred for the heat of the desert. They wouldn’t have fared well in the late winter cold and damp that lay beyond the mountains.

After what had happened in the desert, Iarion was wary. Felara had given them no indication as to why any of her cousins’ followers would have any desire to track them down. Even though he had spent time in some of the human cities and villages trying to spread the word about the true nature of the so-called gods the people had begun to worship, he didn’t think he had done anything that made him a target. The elves had given up on helping the humans long ago and he had avoided their settlements ever since.

The attack in the desert only reinforced his instinct to avoid the more populated Riverlands for as long as possible. They would cut south across the Highlands, swinging west before they reached the coast. Hopefully Felara’s mysterious seafaring contact would be in one of the smaller villages. The dwarves had agreed with Iarion’s plan to avoid the Riverland cities as much as possible. Several cults had taken root there, and the dwarves had stopped trading with the humans long ago. After a history of enslavement by the Riverfolk, Iarion thought the dwarves had every right to be cautious.

By unspoken agreement, he, Barlo, and Lodariel did not mention Felara to the dwarves or one another. The Unborn woman had not appeared since her abrupt departure in the desert, and Iarion had not sensed her presence. Lodariel seemed happy about that particular development, reverting to her usual witty, teasing self. Barlo, on the other hand, seemed tense, as if he were waiting for something to happen. His friend had also been quiet since their departure from Lomolud, which was unusual. Iarion spared a glance over his shoulder to look at the dwarf trudging behind him with a glum look on his face. Golhura had tried to cheer him with her antics at first, but now she padded beside him, occasionally bumping his hand with her head in an effort to comfort him. Iarion gave Lodariel a wordless look of concern. She gave him an answering nod and Iarion fell back to talk to Barlo.