Teirn said. “Our great grandfather, Pyter, the Father of Gods.”
Wrend finished swallowing and jumped in. “And his grandchildren—your siblings you defeated.”
The Master nodded and used a knife to chop the top and bottom off of a turnip. He popped the vegetable into his mouth.
“There used to be many gods. Dozens. My cousins and uncles. But over the last thousand years they’ve been killed off. Gods live forever, unless they are killed. Or choose to die. There’s been much strife over the last five thousand years, with gods warring and fighting to gain dominion. Hundreds have died. Now, only a few remain in our part of the world, although there are others in distant lands. In fact, there used to be a god just to the south of our country.”
“Used to be?” Wrend said.
“I’ve recently learned,” the Master said, “that about a year ago he was killed. His name was Hasuke. Since then, his priests have tried to conceal the fact that he’s dead.”
“They’ve failed, then,” Teirn said.
The Master shrugged and put a turnip in his mouth. He spoke as he chewed. “No, not really. It’s not common knowledge, yet. He was killed by the one known as the Godslayer.”
Wrend shivered at the word. Godslayer. A fearsome title earned through fearsome acts. How did one gain the power to kill a god? Wrend again felt the curious sensation from earlier in the day, when talking with Wester about the rebels. Gods could be killed. How intriguing.
It was a wicked thought. Wrend quashed it.
Singing voices arose from the dance floor, and the demigods in that area of the courtyard began to clap and stomp in time with the words and fiddles. Even more of the demigods, drawn by the music, swarmed onto the wooden floor. He watched the dancing as he drained the last water from his cup. No sooner had he returned it to the table, than the red-haired serving girl filled it again.
The Master lifted the last turnip from before him, and the serving girl leaned in to remove the plate.
“I’ll bring another.” She had a timid voice, and kept her eyes down.
The Master raised his eyebrows at Wrend, and looked at Teirn. “Hasuke’s death presents us with an opportunity. Locaran began as a small country, not much larger than the Seraglio and the city outside the canyon. Over the years, as the gods squabbled and died, I gradually expanded my territory a little at a time, as opportunities arose.”
“And now you want to take control of Hasuke,” Teirn said.
“At least part of it, yes. It’s a relatively large country. I don’t want to overextend myself. There are other gods who will try to seize the southern and western portions of the country.”
“Gods are greedy,” he said. “They’re always taking more land than they can reasonably handle. I’ve lived this long and been so successful because I haven’t taken unnecessary risks. I don’t want to, now. But—we have the chance to expand our borders.”
And why not? Wrend thought. The people of Locaran, the Master’s domain, lived in prosperity and peace, while the outside nations suffered poverty and strife. If more people could be brought under the banner of the Master and live better lives, why not do it?
The redhead brought more turnips and placed them before the Master. Before she could even retreat, he grabbed one and started to cut off the leaves and tip.
“So,” he said, “I have a small question for you two. I’m very interested in your responses. How should we go about this expansion?”
Here was the promised test. Or, at least, part of it. Wrend’s heartbeat hastened, rose up into his throat. He nearly ceased harvesting Ichor.
What answer did the Master want?
He looked to Teirn, and their eyes met as they had a thousand times before, when a priest or mother had presented them with a question. They’d solved scores of challenges together, by talking through the options, obstacles, and possibilities. Wrend would have liked to consult with Teirn
Wrend finished swallowing and jumped in. “And his grandchildren—your siblings you defeated.”
The Master nodded and used a knife to chop the top and bottom off of a turnip. He popped the vegetable into his mouth.
“There used to be many gods. Dozens. My cousins and uncles. But over the last thousand years they’ve been killed off. Gods live forever, unless they are killed. Or choose to die. There’s been much strife over the last five thousand years, with gods warring and fighting to gain dominion. Hundreds have died. Now, only a few remain in our part of the world, although there are others in distant lands. In fact, there used to be a god just to the south of our country.”
“Used to be?” Wrend said.
“I’ve recently learned,” the Master said, “that about a year ago he was killed. His name was Hasuke. Since then, his priests have tried to conceal the fact that he’s dead.”
“They’ve failed, then,” Teirn said.
The Master shrugged and put a turnip in his mouth. He spoke as he chewed. “No, not really. It’s not common knowledge, yet. He was killed by the one known as the Godslayer.”
Wrend shivered at the word. Godslayer. A fearsome title earned through fearsome acts. How did one gain the power to kill a god? Wrend again felt the curious sensation from earlier in the day, when talking with Wester about the rebels. Gods could be killed. How intriguing.
It was a wicked thought. Wrend quashed it.
Singing voices arose from the dance floor, and the demigods in that area of the courtyard began to clap and stomp in time with the words and fiddles. Even more of the demigods, drawn by the music, swarmed onto the wooden floor. He watched the dancing as he drained the last water from his cup. No sooner had he returned it to the table, than the red-haired serving girl filled it again.
The Master lifted the last turnip from before him, and the serving girl leaned in to remove the plate.
“I’ll bring another.” She had a timid voice, and kept her eyes down.
The Master raised his eyebrows at Wrend, and looked at Teirn. “Hasuke’s death presents us with an opportunity. Locaran began as a small country, not much larger than the Seraglio and the city outside the canyon. Over the years, as the gods squabbled and died, I gradually expanded my territory a little at a time, as opportunities arose.”
“And now you want to take control of Hasuke,” Teirn said.
“At least part of it, yes. It’s a relatively large country. I don’t want to overextend myself. There are other gods who will try to seize the southern and western portions of the country.”
“Gods are greedy,” he said. “They’re always taking more land than they can reasonably handle. I’ve lived this long and been so successful because I haven’t taken unnecessary risks. I don’t want to, now. But—we have the chance to expand our borders.”
And why not? Wrend thought. The people of Locaran, the Master’s domain, lived in prosperity and peace, while the outside nations suffered poverty and strife. If more people could be brought under the banner of the Master and live better lives, why not do it?
The redhead brought more turnips and placed them before the Master. Before she could even retreat, he grabbed one and started to cut off the leaves and tip.
“So,” he said, “I have a small question for you two. I’m very interested in your responses. How should we go about this expansion?”
Here was the promised test. Or, at least, part of it. Wrend’s heartbeat hastened, rose up into his throat. He nearly ceased harvesting Ichor.
What answer did the Master want?
He looked to Teirn, and their eyes met as they had a thousand times before, when a priest or mother had presented them with a question. They’d solved scores of challenges together, by talking through the options, obstacles, and possibilities. Wrend would have liked to consult with Teirn
Similar Books
