Brian McCLELLAN - The Autumn Republic

Cheris shook him like a doll. “I did not want this,” she repeated. “I wanted to do this the easy way. I would have led Adro to greatness. I would have united the Nine once again, toppled the rest of the monarchies, ushering in a modern era of prosperity and unity. I would have erased all memory of the old gods and created a utopia that Kresimir could never have accomplished.

“I could have done this all with bloodless revolution. I told myself that the people would choose wisely. That they would unite behind a man like Claremonte. But they didn’t, and now you’ve forced my hand. I will unite the Nine. I will unite the world. Even if I have to kill half the people on this planet to do it.”

Tamas felt his eyes bulging, his mind screaming from the lack of oxygen. He could feel his own struggles growing weaker. A bullet hit Cheris in the cheek and shattered without leaving a mark, pieces of lead ricocheting into Tamas’s shoulder.

“You obstinate shit,” Cheris said. “I would have had you lead my armies. What a waste.” He felt her fingers squeeze and he knew any moment his head would pop off his shoulders like the head of a dandelion torn off its stem. He thrashed and tore, and out of the corner of his vision he saw the swinging rifle stock.

Cheris did not.

The stock hit her in the side of the face hard enough to shatter the whole length of the weapon. Her head jerked to the side, if only slightly, and she turned to face Vlora with a look of disgust. Tamas was thrown, suddenly able to suck in a breath for only a moment before he hit Vlora and the two of them rolled across the cobbles of the square.

Tamas gasped, air cutting like knives through his injured windpipe. Vlora scrambled to her feet.

“Don’t you see that this is just a game to me?” Cheris demanded. “Do you not see how insignificant you are?”

Andriya, covered in blood and gravel and dust and screaming like a pit-born devil, ran at Cheris with his bayonet fixed. He thrust with enough force to skewer a bull. The blade struck Cheris in the belly, bending like it was made of rubber. Cheris twitched a finger and Andriya’s head exploded, showering Tamas and Vlora in blood. The body stumbled and fell, neck still spurting crimson.

“Fire!” Arbor’s voice bellowed.

The crack of two hundred muskets shattered the air, and Cheris turned toward the sudden hail of bullets and faced the ranks of Adran soldiers, as unperturbed as a man walking into a gentle rain. She lifted her hands, and Tamas opened his mouth to scream a warning to Arbor.

Taniel ran at the goddess with all the speed he could coax out of his body. She turned toward Arbor and the soldiers, and he knew that it would take her but a wink to do the same to them as she’d done to Andriya.

His fist connected with her chin and he heard an audible crack. The goddess spun fully around from his blow, toppling to her knees. She shrugged off the punch – a punch that might have put down an elephant – and was back on her feet in a moment, her face an expression of shock and outrage.

So he punched her again.

Cheris’s head jerked back. She raised a hand, and he felt a sudden pressure build in his ears, but he slapped her hand away and slammed his fist into her gut. She doubled over and he brought his elbow down on her shoulder, dropping her to her knees. He drew his fist back, ready to come down on the base of her spine.

Her punch to his stomach felt like he’d been hit by the prow of a Brudanian ship of the line. He stumbled, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as he tried to regain his footing, but her second punch snapped his head back, sending him soaring through the air. It was with great surprise that he found himself still alive, forty feet away from the god. He stumbled to his feet, preparing to run at her again, but he could see that he now had the goddess’s undivided attention.

She flexed one hand, and Taniel felt as if a steel cage had snapped in place around him. His arms could barely move. His legs wouldn’t respond. The sorcery closed in on him. His bones and muscles protested against the pressure and it took all the strength he could summon to take one step forward.

Sweat poured off his brow and into his eyes. How was this possible? Not even Kresimir’s magic was this strong against the sorcery Ka-poel had woven into Taniel’s bones. Was Brude really stronger than Kresimir? What if Ka-poel’s wards weren’t powerful enough to hold off this god’s power?

He took another step forward and felt a scream of agony wrench itself from his lips. His vision blurred. He could feel the sorcery pushing down on him with the force of a mountain, but he knew that he had to end this. It was the only way to get back Ka-poel.

Suddenly the goddess was in front of him. He swung one fist and she stepped out of the way, catching his arm and slamming the tip of her finger into his shoulder. He groaned and she reached out one hand, grasping his face, and threw him away from her with an angry grunt.

She raised her hands and leapt into the air. He waited for her to come down upon him with the force of a mortar shell, but she stayed in the air, hovering well above his head. “Your lives are nothing to me. Surrender this battle now or I will lift this entire city into the air and drop it from a hundred miles up. Everything you’ve ever known and loved will die at once and there will be nothing you can do to stop it. Surrender!”

Taniel bared his teeth and looked toward his father, who was now on his feet, leaning against Vlora.

“Why don’t you do it, then?” Tamas demanded. “If we’re so insignificant, why do you hesitate to kill us? Go to the pit.”

The goddess laughed. She spread her arms, and the air began to shimmer. Taniel felt a sudden nausea in the pit of his stomach as his entire body grew weightless. Rubble and paving stones suddenly lifted off the ground. His heart leapt into his throat. There was a groaning, wrenching sound and the earth began to quake. Soldiers were lifted off their feet. Horses panicked and screamed as their hooves left the ground, and an immense cannon rose six feet into the air.

The goddess suddenly fell to the ground. She landed in a crouch and blinked at the world around her as the rubble and dust all settled back down to where it had once been. There were shouts of relief, and some of pain, as men fell back to the ground.

“What is this?” Cheris demanded.

A figure appeared in the haze and the goddess turned to face it. Taniel squinted, trying to make out its identity.

“You’re dead,” the goddess said.

The figure was tall and fat, with black hair. One moment he looked like Charlemund and the next like Mihali. His features warped and slid into something vaguely in between. He wore a white apron and a tall hat and stood with his hands on his hips.

“You’re mistaken,” he said.

Tamas stumbled over to Adom, his senses still reeling from Cheris’s attack. “I’m glad to see you show up,” he said hoarsely.

Adom didn’t respond. He raised his chin at Cheris and she sneered back.

“Get out while I let you leave,” she hissed. “I’ve never been as fond of you as my other half has.”

“You’ve killed them all,” Adom said sadly. “I went looking for them. All of our brothers and our sisters. Novi and Ishtari and Deliv and all the rest. You’ve managed to lure them all back here and murder them. All right under my nose. Only Kresimir and I are left. And you.”

The goddess snorted. “Kresimir won’t last the day. I’ll spare you his fate if you stand down now.”

Adom seemed to consider her threat. He turned to Tamas. “You should go.”

“What do you mean?”

“To the palace. Claremonte – Brude – he’s going to kill Kresimir. You can’t let that happen.”