We pushed through the silent crowd that had gathered. Cassandra ran gracefully down the incline and knelt at the side of her god. I waited up top. The crowd began to mutter.
I heard a lot about Amon the Betrayer, about how he was dead and was back. To finish the job he had started, some said. Others, that he had allied with the scions of Morgan to put down the true godking. Others claimed he was someone else, some new god. Some devil, or a sign from the next ascendant race. Some knelt right there and swore allegiance to this unnamed deity. Some called for a lynching. Some stayed quiet, too scared or confused to do anything but stare.
When Cassandra looked up at me, the crowd stiffened. I hopped down and made my way to the girl.
"They'll kill him," she whispered.
"He might have killed himself," I answered, my eyes up on the crowd around us. "I think we're in a delicate place here, girl."
"He did what was natural. He did what you would have done, in his place."
"Aye. Doesn't make it right."
"Paladin," one man called down to us. His robe was singed, and there was a nasty scar along one eye. "Who is this new god, that we may name him?"
"Amon, Brother of Morgan and Alexander," I answered. "The Healer bound him. Morgan has released him."
"Why would you release the Betrayer?" he asked. Those who had knelt looked at me expectantly. I held a new religion in my hands. I wasn't sure what to do with it, whether to crush it or let it grow, set it free to find its own way. Nurture it. Cassandra tugged on my hand, pulling herself up. She was still so light. She faced the crowd with her blinded eyes and the dripping blood on her breast, the pale skin of her torso and the charred metal covering her shoulders.
"Amon was betrayed, as was Morgan. Alexander acted against them, to gain the throne," she said in a clear, loud voice. "Alexander is the Brother Betrayer."
"Well, I probably wouldn't have gone that far…" I hissed. The crowd was restless now. New gods were one thing. Casting down the old, established gods was something else. I took Cassandra by the arm and bent my head to hers. "Losing either of these gods is unacceptable, Cassandra. Divinity has been lost, and the cycle is turning. We can't put Alexander down without threatening the whole divinity of man."
"He murdered your god, Eva. He kept my cult as a pet and yours as a shield, until he burned the Strength and strung up your Elders. You would forget that?"
"No. But remember, your Cult has been tolerated for two hundred years because you served the god Amon was before the Betrayal. Now it is Alexander who is in need of that tolerance. Nothing's changed."
"How can you say that, woman?" she hissed. "Alexander must be punished for his crimes, his followers cast down and his temples leveled. Nothing short of justice must be seen. Nothing has changed? Everything has changed! Amon lives!"
I pushed her away, back to her prone god. "The only difference is that you are in the right, now, when before you thought you were in the wrong. Only you have changed."
"Eva-" she said, scowling. I held up a hand.
"Enough. See to your god. He won't be worth a miracle for a while. And when the power in him settles, I'm leaving it to you to see that he doesn't let his rage guide his terrible hand."
"You would dictate to your god?"
I climbed back out of the crater, then drew my sword and presented it to the girl and her god.
"I am Eva Forge, last Paladin of the dead god Morgan. Last scion of that god, his living blade and only initiate. I am the Cult of the Warrior, and I will hold you accountable. Amon is mad. Alexander is a murderer. Only the Warrior stands."
"The Warrior stands," several members of the crowd whispered back to me, and then more. The Warrior stands, rippling out into the mob, into the city, into the sky. I turned my back on them and headed toward the wreckage of the Spear of the Brothers.
I had another god to settle, and another score to count.
* * *
I could not walk alone. I hoped that the crowds would stay behind, but some followed, and more joined as I made the long walk across the city. He was easy enough to find. The sky was cut where he had fallen, a line of night in a bleached sky.
Halfway there, Malcolm appeared at my side. He was smirking. Looking back at the crowd that had gathered in my wake, he leaned to me and said, "Tell me something about your parents, Eva."
I gave him a look. Not a happy look. "What are you talking about, old man?"
"Your parents. Were they kind? Cruel? Did you run away from them, and swear to the Cult of Morgan to spite your mother? Or did they raise you holy and chaste, and cried tears of joy when their little girl chose the humblest of the Cults to call her own?"
I grit my jaw and marched on. "This isn't the time."
"It's not. It's a terrible time. But I have to know what I'm seeing, don't I?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You don't," he said. He waved a hand behind us. "But they know. They can feel it."
I stopped walking, and the Amonite walked past me a couple steps before coming back. He was still smirking.
"Let's get something straight," I said. "I've got a hell of a lot on my mind. We have two gods, and they're both dangerous. My Cult is the last unspoiled Cult in the city of Ash, the last holy house in the divinity of man. And my god is dead. I don't have time for games, old man."
"No," he said, quietly. "You don't."
"I've already threatened one divine being today, Amonite. I'm on my way to maybe kill another, or maybe forgive him his life. I haven't decided. So do you have anything else you'd like to say, or can I be about the Warrior's business?"
"Of course." He bowed and held his hands out, palms to the sky. "Do what you must. Do what you were raised to do."
I grimaced at the formality of his pose, glared at the crowd behind me, then stomped off. The crowd followed, flowing around the old man like a river. When I turned the next corner I looked back. He was still there, unmoved.
Alexander had his own crowd. Mostly whiteshirts, from initiate Healers to patrolmen to Electors and ArchPaladins in full battle gear. A scarred valkyn lurked at the edge of the crowd, its glimmering eyes watching me, hissing steam from its neck. They were quiet as I approached. Past a certain point my followers held back. Some unconscious calculation of blast radius, I suspected.
I walked with intent, and without forgiveness. They parted silently to let me pass, closing up behind me, patrolmen and priests looking at me with eyes that ran from disbelief, to horror, to hate, to fear. Most of them looked lost, and furious at their loss. Near the inner edge of the crowd I passed Owen. He nodded to me, and I put a hand on his arm and squeezed. He looked shocked.
Near the center there was chanting. Arcs of light danced over the crowd. When I got there, I saw five High Healers standing around Alexander, hands joined, chanting the rites of fulfillment. I clambered down into the crater, so much like Amon's landing spot, and put my hand on the shoulder of the closest priest.
"What he has can't be cut away, Doc."
He stumbled in the invokation, and the arcs of light fell away. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, but the Healers split and faded back. Alexander was alive, awake, sitting up. When he saw me he winced and struggled to stand. The Betrayer's mask was nowhere to be seen.
"You would have a word with me, I suppose," he said. His voice was cracked and weak. I nodded. "Then have it. I have a city to rebuild."
"I want it from your mouth," I said, and shocked myself with the cold anger in my tone. "I want it in your words."
"Who are you, to demand-"
"Who are we, to demand. The city. The generations of Amonites who have suffered, the legions of Morgan you have thrown into battle. These, here, who have sworn words to your name, and knew not to whom they were swearing. Who are we? Your Brothers Immortal, Amon, Morgan. We demand it, Alexander." I raised my arms and turned to the silent crowd. I saw some who had followed me filtering in. "In your words. From your mouth."