Robert Vardeman - God of War

“Trick me-”

“You know I no longer frequent Olympus, not as long as my father continues to indulge every petty fancy of my sister. Being so far away, I sometimes cannot counter her lies before they fall upon trusting ears.” The God of War leaned close to his uncle, so close that the flames of his hair drew steam from the sea god’s beard. “Ask yourself, my lord uncle, ask yourself only this. Why?”

The sea god did not respond, but a thoughtful cloud gathered upon his brow.

“Why would I offend your sovereignty? Why would I befoul your seas? What could I possibly hope to gain?”

“To kill this Kratos. That’s what Athena said.”

“And if I had commanded this Hydra to do so, why would I direct it to lurk at the Grave of Ships? Did I merely hope that Kratos might someday find his way there?” Ares snorted. “I hardly need summon a Hydra to dispose of Kratos. He is less than a worm. When I want Kratos dead, I will crush him as a mortal might snuff a burned-out taper. He still lives only because his suffering amuses me.”

“But… if it was not you who inflicted the Hydra upon my kingdom

…”

“I do not presume to accuse,” Ares said. “But who has gained from this encounter? Who has made you turn your majestic face from me? Who has defrauded you of power simply to flatter some mortal maggot?”

Poseidon backed off a little and eyed his warlike nephew. “I cannot take back the rage given to Kratos.”

“This I know too well,” said the God of War. “A god with your sense of honor would never take what was given. But I am not asking this of you. I am here, my lord uncle, only out of respect for you. I know that you still have a certain… affection for the city of Athens.”

“That place.” The sea god snorted.

“Zeus forbids direct battle between gods-but as you so lately warned me, there are other forms of retribution. My armies march on Athens at this very hour.”

“Why come to me?”

“As a courtesy, Uncle. I know that once you thought to have that city as your own. Should it be your will, I will leave Athens standing without so much as a scratch. If, indeed, you decide that all Athena has spoken is truth and all I have spoken is lies, I will not protest. I am not, as every Olympian knows, remotely so good a liar as my sister.”

Poseidon took a breath, so deep that it changed the Mediterranean’s currents as far north as Crete. Finally he said, “I do not know which of you is deceiving me-or if you both are. But… that city is no concern of mine. Burn it to the ground and salt the earth, for all I care.” And with a gale’s roar, he was gone.

Ares’s cruel lips bent toward a smile behind his beard of flame. “I will, Uncle. I will do exactly that,” said the God of War, and he rode the winds toward Athens.

IN HER CHAMBERS upon faraway Olympus, Athena dashed her hand into the scrying pool she’d been using to spy upon her brother. She slapped at the ambrosia-tinctured liquid as though she could reach through it and strike Ares and Poseidon both. And when she stopped and paused to listen, she could hear the faint cries of her worshippers, far below in Athens, supplicating for her mercy and support as Ares’s monstrous legions drew in over the horizon and the God of War himself strode among them, ordering them to battle.

And with Ares upon the field, the Word of Zeus prevented her from meeting this peril personally.

Her lips thinned to a line as her anger rose. Poseidon had no cause to turn on her this way. At least her uncle did not actively support Ares. Perhaps…

Yes. She might still turn this to her advantage.

Without the interference of Poseidon, Kratos could sail to her beleaguered city in mere days. To again put Kratos in the position to frustrate Ares’s plans seemed like an equitable solution-but the days his travel would require might well be days her city could not spare. How Ares would make her worshippers suffer!

Athena hurried from her chambers to the Hall of Eternity, down which she strode crisply until she reached the branch she sought. Along this corridor she walked more cautiously, treading softly as the marble gave way to finely trimmed grasses. Fawns nibbled at ivy at the edge of her vision, and soon she stepped out into an airy glade locked in perpetual summer. Athena stood perfectly still, waiting to be acknowledged.

Artemis did not like to be startled, and that bow of hers never missed.

Soon a rustling of leaves came from a myrtle bush nearby. The goddess Artemis stepped forth, suddenly visible as though she had materialized on the spot. With her bow slung over her shoulder and a quiver at her waist, she looked every bit the Huntress of the Gods.

Athena lowered her head formally. “Greetings, Artemis, my sister.”

The huntress only looked her over curiously. She had never been much for formality. “I expected my twin.”

“Is Apollo near? I would welcome his arrival. Matters are grave, and the wisdom of the God of Enlightenment would be welcome.”

Artemis maintained that curiously expressionless stare, as though Athena might be a hart to which the goddess was judging the range. “Even my creatures know of our brother’s war upon your city.”

“Ares brings an army of underworld creatures to the fight. Undead legionnaires and archers take their toll, but the citizens of Athens can withstand their onslaught. The other creatures-the true monsters-are beyond mere mortals’ power to defeat.”

Artemis walked around a full circle, studying the other goddess from every direction. “In the hunt,” she said slowly, “we know who is hunter and who is prey. In that simplicity lies truth. Between you and Ares, nothing is simple.”

“I am not asking you to judge between my brother and myself. I am not asking you anything at all, my sister. I am here only to deliver melancholy news.”

“Do you care for anything in that city beyond the name it bears?”

Athena’s face went cold as stone. She had forgotten that Artemis’s words could strike as sharply as her arrows. “Of course I care for my mortals,” she said. “I must find what concerns you.”

“Ares is no friend. His legions ravage my forests, but I cannot oppose him in the field. Zeus prohibits that.” Artemis’s hand clutched her bow, swung it to hand, nocked an arrow, and fired. The arrow sang through the air and embedded itself in the bole of a tree. “Would that I could aim my hunter’s arrow at him!”

“Your forests,” Athena said softly. “Your beasts-all are prey for our brother’s legion.”

“Your city dwellers,” Artemis said, an edge in her voice. “Those in Athens scavenge my forests too.”

“They husband the forests and beasts,” Athena countered. “Ares destroys. His undead do not eat to survive or to worship us. They leave only destruction in their wake.”

“An abomination,” Artemis agreed.

“My city can celebrate the wilderness-if it survives,” Athena said. “My worshippers admire and respect you. Only last year,” Athena plowed on, “the prize at the Festival of Dionysus was taken by a play exalting you: The Tragedy of Actaeon the Hunter.”

“Tragedy?” Artemis said. “I seek to celebrate life.”

Athena had always thought turning Actaeon into a stag and having him torn apart by his own hounds was a bit excessive for only a glimpse of the goddess as she bathed-but this private thought would stay private; Athena could see no profit in dredging that up. “It is a pity,” Athena said carefully, “that my feud with Ares cannot be settled with, uh, a similarly elegant solution.”

“And why bring this matter to me? Ares is as immune to my arrows as he is to your blade.”

“Zeus would never permit even an arrow shot in anger,” Athena agreed. “However, Ares’s army marches through your sacred groves outside Athens. The foul creatures he commands lay waste to even the most inoffensive of your animals.”