Pain rose through Nessagafel as bubbles through boiling water. He could not speak and would not scream. He could barely twitch. Pain played over him as argent lightning arcs, then sank deep like fangs into flesh. It melted him from the inside out, churning him into a roiling lump of unrecognizable existence.
“Weak? Weak? Is that weak?” Grija assumed human form to more properly strut his outrage. “You are in my power. Do not forget that, Father. You will obey me. I do not need you to succeed. I wish to return to you the freedom you have long been denied because my brothers have wronged you. Their oppression wearies me.”
Nessagafel allowed himself to gasp weakly, feeding Grija’s ego. As quickly as he could, the elder god hardened the lines pain made in his essence. He clung to that lattice, pouring himself into it. Through it he could read every outrage Grija had known since the moment he burst into existence. As with every other instance of torture, Grija used his own pain as a model for that which he visited upon his father. Instance by instance, he gave Nessagafel what a lack of omniscience denied him.
One does not escape a prison, one escapes the warden.
Grija paced and prated. “You alone are capable of understanding what I put up with, for we are both trapped here. They think they tricked me into accepting the Underworld as my realm, but I knew what I was doing. I will have all the power eventually.”
“But you were not content to wait.”
“Impatience is only a vice to those who lack the intellect to see the inevitability of the future.” Grija closed a hand into a fist. “All is to be mine, so why wait?”
“Why, indeed?”
Grija narrowed his eyes. “Why do you say that? What do you know?”
Had Nessagafel felt the need, he would have shrugged. “Is it not curious that you are the god of Death and, yet, you have not died?”
“Curious, but immaterial. Were I to die, I would simply bring myself back into existence.”
“Create something from nothing? That is quite a difficult task.”
“But you did it.”
“So how hard can it be?”
Grija laughed. “Exactly.”
“Not hard at all.” Nessagafel chose to smile, but Grija could not recognize it as such. “I made death from nothing. I made all of you from nothing.”
“And yet, here we are.” Grija shook his head. “But you shall be freed soon, to be my vassal.”
“I prefer agent.”
Grija’s eyes sparked and pain drilled through Nessagafel. “Be pleased I do not make it slave.”
Nessagafel grunted and became quiescent.
“I am not fooled, Father.” The god of Death shook his head. “Do not think I have not considered treachery on your part. I have taken precautions.”
I am certain you have. Nessagafel formed an eye and stared at Grija. I do not choose to believe they will be effective.
“Soon, Father.” Grija waved a hand and the glow surrounding him blinked out of existence. “Gods will tremble and gods will die.”
TheNewWorld
Chapter Twelve
24th day, Month of the Hawk, Year of the Rat
Last Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
737th Year since the Cataclysm
Kelewan, Erumvirine
The trio of ships stood out, in part because of their enormous size. The hulls had been made of a black wood and the ships were so broad abeam that little of the deckhouse could be seen from the riverside. Six tall masts rose from the center of the ships, but none bore any canvas. They drifted upriver slowly, and had they been found floating in a bay, they would easily have been taken for derelicts.
Though clearly designed for traveling the ocean, the ships moved up the river steadily. As with much other river traffic moving against the current, the ships had a line out which had been fastened to the harnesses of draft beasts. But where a buffalo or ox might have drawn a raft along, a dozen of them could not have even held the ship in place against the current. Yet the lines did go out, and draft beasts did draw them along, step after plodding step, closer and closer to Kelewan.
Nelesquin read the disbelief on Keerana’s face as the first of the black ships came around a bend in the river. The warrior’s expression had begun to change earlier, into one of puzzlement, as the ground shook with the beasts’ footfalls. Nelesquin had known what to look for, so he’d seen the first beast’s head rising just past the tallest trees. The creature, easily a hundred feet long and half again as tall, had a long neck which made nipping tender leaves from the tallest branches easy.
The Durrani stared, dumbfounded. “Such a beast I have never seen.”
“They were created after you departed.” Nelesquin waved casually toward the dark green creature pulling the ship upriver. “I remembered, belatedly, how difficult Tsatol Deraelkun could be to destroy. I created a few things to aid you, and I shipped them here.”
“But how?” The warrior’s amber eyes slitted. “You could not carry more than one or two of those creatures on the ship. Its appetite must be enormous.”
The ground shook more violently as the creature came closer. Nelesquin’s mount shied, and the Prince roughly reined it back under control. “We fattened them up in Anturasixan, then laced their food with Bloodstar orchid blossoms. The creatures slept, and the three you see here were wakened at the coast. They are docile and easily controlled.”
Nelesquin pointed to the creature’s long back. Between the creature’s shoulder blades sat a Durrani warrior. He manipulated two golden rods that looked to be the size of broom handles. “Those rods are driven down into slots in the vertebrae. The driver controls the beasts that way.”
Keerana nodded, watching, his hands imitating the motions of the driver.
Nelesquin smiled. From curiosity to shock to cunning. He measures the beast for combat. “Magnificent, no?”
“Yes, Master, incredible. I can have my men shape a platform for the back. Archers can shoot from it. Depending upon the fortification, the creature could smash walls, or we can step from its back to the top of a palisade.”
“Oh, no, no, no, Keerana, nothing of the sort. These creatures-which your people have dubbed kasphana — are for pulling wagons and ships. I have others for toppling walls. You shall be amazed.”
“Yes, Master.” Keerana smiled. “Please thank your lady, Nirati, for her part in this. I can see her gentle hand in its shaping.”
“Then your eyes deceive you, Keerana, for Nirati had nothing to do with the kasphana, nor any of the others I have brought. Certainly some of the failures reside in her realm, but not these. They were bred for war and, mercifully, she knows little of that.”
“She is too gentle a creature for war.”
“How very true.” Nelesquin frowned, thinking back to his reincarnation. He had emerged from nothing and had met the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. At least, that is the way he’d felt. There was something about her which seemed to answer his every need. She had been his perfect match.
At least such had been true at that moment.
Then he had met her grandfather, Qiro Anturasi, and recognized in the man’s hatred for the Nine Principalities a commonality. In no time, Nelesquin’s imperial designs and ambitions had been reborn. With Qiro as an ally, shaping an army to fulfill their mutual desire for revenge and justice had been child’s play.
Nelesquin labored under no illusions that he would have to destroy Qiro. He’d known that from the first, of course. Qiro wanted to destroy the nations so he could be raised above all others. Nelesquin knew he was above all others, and a rival was not something the Prince would tolerate.