God Class, page 26
The ability was healing the creature. Somehow, the Guardian was not viewed as hostile. Before Silas could dwell on it any longer, a hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back.
“What are you doing?!” Rae shouted, scanning the ground in astonishment for a moment. “We have to go! It is going to collapse!”
Silas spared a glance back to the Forest Guardian and spotted H’Alik coming into focus behind a small wave of scouts. The cavern around them was trembling, and the Forest Guardian had inched forward again, more of its body lying on the Consecrated Ground now as it dragged itself forward with its one good arm. Behind it, H’Alik was moments from launching another orb of flame, her mana clearly close to bottoming out. Silas did not wait another breath, and together with Rae he ran forward until they got to the opening.
He reached up, his hands meeting the soft dirt and grass and his face basking on the gentle warmth of the sun for the first time in days. The cool air was orgasmic, washing away the humidity and stench of the Goblin’s cavern. After a moment basking in the daylight, he saw Tulk reach out and he grabbed the trainer’s hand, who helped haul him up and out of the hole, following up for Rae next. As Rae was exhumed from the entrance, the ground behind them tremored violently as the shattered floor caused from [Consecrated Ground] could hold no longer and began to fold in on itself.
Goblins began to scream from the tunnel. H’Alik’s voice carried out, shouting for them to move forward and to go after the humans, but most were too fearful of the cracks that they watched explode their comrades. Soon they were muffled by the sounds of falling rocks pummeling one another, and the shouts of the Charred Bone clan soon turned to screams of pain and retreat. Just as the green skin of a few scouts emerged from the entryway, it too collapsed leaving nothing behind but churned earth.
All was silent for long beat. Birds chirped, wind blew, insect wings clapped, but all around them things were mostly still. Then, Rae let out the longest sight of relief in existence.
“We… We did it. We did it!” Rae shouted and hopped up to his feet, raising arms in victory and facing the sun as if to drink it in. “How many mornings have I missed? Oh, how many warm days have passed me by? Free! I am free! Garther, I’m free!”
Silas recognized the name as the young junior alchemist who had been trapped with Rae and thwarted by the Goblins from the story, he had told him. Silas said nothing, just smiling as he watched the joy carry over Rae from his eyes down to his toes. He danced in the sun, tears rolling down his dirt-covered cheeks to leave streaks of clean skin behind them. Even Tulk looked more relaxed and held a smile, though he said nothing as he looked over their surroundings.
A sigh fell from Silas’s lips. He laid back on the grass and watched the thin clouds glide by over them. He was sure the Goblins had another way out, it would be beyond foolish not to, but if Tulk was not concerned then he would not be either. He would enjoy the moment for what it was before they inevitably had to move on from here. Even Burbles, who Silas had almost forgotten about, was happily digging around the base of a small, pink flower and pulling out small worms to eat with its sizeable claws. All was peaceful, and they each tried to live in it as long as they could.
Then the sounds of digging and crumbling began from the former entryway.
It was faint at first, then it grew louder. Soon the earth could be seen moving, and small stones rolled aside. Tulk was the first to notice it, jumping to his feet in an instant, a dagger drawn from his boot to compensate for the weapons he had lost during their flee for the exit. Silas took a place beside Tulk, readying himself as Burbles crawled next to him with its claws raised. Rae had taken a different position when he noticed the commotion, moving behind the other two as if solely there for moral support.
“If it is her, we cannot win and we cannot run,” Tulk said. “But, if it is a few scouts, we can end this here and now.”
“And if it is the Forest Guardian?” Silas asked, still focused on the collapsed entryway.
“Then you two hold it off, and me and crabmeat will make a break for it!” Rae added.
“Crabmeat!” Burbles echoed.
A small, green hand broke the dirt first, pushing aside stones and debris in its wake. Then another came through, searching for purchase on the land above as yet another shattered the collapsed earth. There were four, then five, each digging and clawing their way out amongst the growing sound of Goblin chatter. Silas’s eyes grew wide as he tried to imagine how many were breaking through. It was possible that a majority gave a final push and made it to the end of the tunnel before the collapse, and for all he knew H’Alik could be with them, scratching her way through fallen debris with volcanic rage.
One scout emerged, covered in wounds from the collapse and layers of dirt. It stared daggers at them with its one eye while the other sat in a bloody mess. It screamed, brandishing a crude hammer and raising it high. Two more emerged and fell in line with the first, then another pushed out with a crossbow in hand and a bolt already equipped. Each seemed to be on their last leg, barely able to even stand, but the fury in their gazes let the group know that these scouts would not go without a fight.
Then another broke free and joined their ranks, and Tulk furrowed his brow.
“Can we take them?” Silas asked, taking a step back in prepared retreat. “We could run, they don’t look like they can run very far in this condition.”
Tulk nodded. “We’re outnumbered, but they’re weak. Retreat may be a better option here but be warned that these are scouts. They will track us for miles, so eventually a fight will find us.”
“I’ll take those odds,” Silas said, but before he could take his first step away, something rattled the ground beneath their feet.
The stones and earth of the collapsed entrance grew into a mound. It rose higher, as if by some great, unseen force, and even the scouts who managed to escape turned back in stunned confusion. Before they could even comprehend what was happening, a great, wooden arm broke through the dirt followed by a charred head and torso. It pushed up with such velocity and power that it shot from the earth, legs still trapped by the debris, and collapsed on the ground in an enormous thud right where the Goblin scouts had been standing. Four of them were crushed instantly, splattering like rotten apples under a mallet. Only one remained, the one with the crossbow, and it turned to aim its weapon at the Forest Guardian who laid near-lifelessly on top of the scout’s allies. It let its bolt fly, the arrow snapping into the wooden chest of the Guardian harmlessly, sending a puff of charred wood up as it connected. In return, the Guardian used what little strength remained, raised its one arm, and dropped it on the final scout.
The Forest Guardian groaned in a way that seemed to show it was content, and then laid still. Its head moved just enough to look at Silas, but it tried to move toward them no further.
“What the…” Silas lowered his hands, viewing the landscape in front of him.
He took a step forward, the buried entryway no longer stirred, and all was silent except for the low groans of the Forest Guardian, along with the natural sounds of the land around them. Tulk grabbed his wrist in an attempt to stop his advance, but Silas shook him off. Even Burbles scrambled and nipped at his ankles to stop him.
“Is it… dead?” Silas said, drawing closer to his first nemesis and crouching down to get a better look into the empty holes where eyes should be. A warm yellow light remained within but was flickering and fading like the final moments of a campfire.
Tulk shook his head. “No, but it is dying. It has suffered far too much in this exchange, I am more than surprised that it had even made it this far.” Tulk walked beside Silas, who had crouched down and placed a hand on the Forest Guardian’s head.
The bark was burned and left a black ash on Silas’s palm, and the wood still felt warm from the fire that had fed on it. The Guardian did not move, just a subtle groan leaving its hollow mouth every few seconds. Silas could not help but wonder if it was breathing, although he did not feel any air moving around it. Despite the thumping in his chest and the cold chill encasing his legs, Silas didn’t feel the true fear he had expected.
“Come, human,” Tulk said, looking down on the Guardian and shaking his head. “We should keep moving.”
“Yes,” Silas answered and shut his eyes. “You’re ri-”
Silas was interrupted by a rich, red aura that emanated from the downed Forest Guardian. It outlined the figure entirely, as if the creature had been glowing by some external source rather than anything it was conjuring itself. Judging by the blank and somewhat confused expression of his ally, Silas knew that Tulk could not see it. With that in mind, Silas focused on the aura just a bit more until something in his own mind gave way to new information.
[Alert: Match found. Argor, Guardian of the Forest, has matched as a candidate for the Gift of the Wise, of the Seven Gifts of Divinity. Warning, each gift may only be given a single time with an unknown toll taken on the Deity. Each gift is unique to the recipient, and the results for a non-human creature may be chaotic in nature. Warning, this will fundamentally alter Argor, Guardian of the Forest. Continue?]
OceanofPDF.com
Thirteen
Company Kept
The ale shown amber in the flicker of lantern light. It splashed at the bottom of the glass tankard, creating a whirlpool of bubbling, golden waves that rode the walls of the cup until it came to a soft, foamy head right at the rim. A single drip fell down the side of the glass, slowly crawling its descent to the wood of the bar top. Fianna’s fingers slid along the tankard, rage still echoing in her trembling hand.
Without another thought, she raised the glass to her lips and finished off half in a single swig. Warm and bitter, the ale slid down into her stomach and offered brief moments of contentment in the storm of her emotions. Rainier had humiliated her; he had mocked her. The same as last time, and the time before that. It was her endless cycle, spiraling down an infinite well of torment. She told herself not to attend, that one day she could just simply run off and not be at his whim. Yet, Fianna knew the truth. He would never stop taking, never stop torturing.
The empty place where her left arm once was tingled at the thought of his cruelty. But the arm was not the only void the emperor had left in her life. Thoughts of Alvara, her love, clouded her mind and heart more than a full barrel of ale ever could. She finished her glass then, not wanting to stew in her own conscious for even a moment more than she had to. Sliding the glass toward the barkeep, she ran her fingers through the short crop of her blonde hair and heaved an empty sigh.
“Another, Queenslayer?”
“Yeah,” She nodded. “Thanks, Sam.”
Fianna rested her elbow on the edge of the bar, then her head in her palm. Sam tapped a new barrel, poured the ale into the tankard without question, and placed it back in front of her.
“On the house,” he said, wiping the counter with a torn cloth.
Fianna smirked. “Be careful, Sam. Not sure if your house can support this many on it.”
He laughed, and like a disease it was contagious enough to elicit one from her as well. Sam shook his head, stuffing the rag in his pocket and pouring a glass for himself. He took a draft of his, Fianna doing the same, and both sighed in unison. A foam mustache formed a pack with his bushy red one before he wiped it away on his sleeve, clearing the rest of his short beard while he was at it.
“Come now, Queenslayer. Business is good! Very good in fact,” he said and gestured to the tables spread out around the tavern. “Think I can afford to quench the thirst of a local legend now, right?”
Fianna gave a glance of her own, already knowing that the place had been beyond the level of crowded.
The Stone Axe Inn was one of the oldest taverns in Tartune. It was said to have been around back when the city was merely a ghost town, before Rainier raised it to the capital it had become, but that was merely a rumor. The truth of it was that Sam, and his parents had started the place after seeing a need for a pub with sleeping quarters following the increase of soldiers during Rainier’s rise. While several others had also popped up after the success of the Stone Axe, it still held its ground as the cornerstone of early Tartune.
Polished wooden boards lined the floor, well-crafted long tables laid parallel over them along with a scatter of simple stools. The walls held battle remnants as souvenirs: a pike thrown and snapped during the first siege of the southern boarder at Senza Vita, a sword rumored to have been carried by Rainier himself, an assortment of shields and crossbows, and even an undamaged flag that had been flown during one of the final conquests. It was a place of history meant for the merriment of the guards and soldiers, and with over a dozen rooms upstairs it was a safe place to catch rest after a nightly binge.
Fianna had a standing invitation, though she tried to use it as little as possible.
“You do well for yourself here, Sam,” she said, taking another swig. “And I appreciate the hospitality.”
“Do not bother,” he said through a laugh. “Most of these buffoons would not know combat if it bashed them over the head. Just happy to have a real warrior in here, just as my parents had when I was young.”
After finishing off her cup, Sam grabbed it and prepared a follow up round for her.
“Yeah, well… I am no real warrior these days. Far from it,” Fianna replied. Her lips curled at her own words, how weak they sounded and how sour they tasted on her tongue. She had swallowed that truth years ago now and learned to live with the limitations of it. Still, admitting them, even years later, had never hurt any less. “Just another former soldier of the Empire. Count me as one of many, I suppose.”
“You sell yourself too short, much too short,” Sam answered with a smile. “My parents always said everything in this world was about leaving a legacy or carving your path into history. Theirs? Just a small tavern in a growing city. But yours?” Sam sighed and shook his head, the smirk never leaving his lips. “Yours is etched into every stone of this city, written on every parchment of royal decree. Believe it or not, Fianna, but there are still a few of us who believe there may not have been an Empire without you.”
Fianna took another sip, refusing to make eye contact with Sam. He was right, he was always right. She didn’t buy into any wandering notion that there would not be an empire without her, but she knew the hand she had played in Rainier’s name, and it repulsed her. He would have found a way without her, he had already begun his conquest when she was still a mere child. But she was the Queenslayer for a reason, even if the title was now more of a burning prod to her back rather than a badge of honor.
She was almost positive that Serrula Cilipe, former matriarch and queen of rebel House Cilipe, was laughing at her from the grave.
She raised the glass to her lips once more but was cut short when shouting erupted from the already loud space behind her. Fianna turned her head to spare a peak over her shoulder at the cause just as three plump and drunk guards hobbled their way through the other patrons and up to the bar. Despite their ruckus, she could still hear Sam sigh as they approached.
The first to arrive nearly fell into the bar as he stumbled up. A shaven head and curling red beard, two red cheeks made redder by the drinks, and a sizable scar on his forehead made him the standout of the group. He also wore a gold sash that swung from his left shoulder, across his chest, and down to the right of his waist, with a single red star embroidered into it. This was not just a guard, but a knight sergeant of Rainier’s infantry force, and Fianna noted that the two behind him each brandished a thinner, red sash in the same fashion. She grimaced a bit at that.
Her experience was enough to know their type. These three had seen combat during the days of the last conquests, had served in a full platoon, and had been the sole three survivors. Fianna had seen the carnage of the war herself, and witnessed platoons rise and fall on the battlefield. Either these three were incredibly lucky, or they sacrificed their brothers and sisters of the shield to save themselves.
She kept her words to herself, washing them back down her throat with another swig.
“Aye! Aye!” The sergeant called to Sam, slamming his hand down on the bar top hard enough to rattle the glasses. “Ale, your biggest and best. Three of em’!”
Sam, for what it was worth, gave them the same smile as he gave most customers of his tavern, despite being shouted at from only three feet away. He gave a simple nod, preferring not to speak to three riled infantrymen, and ducked low to grab the largest mugs he could muster. The three rattled on, slurring their words and barking laughter that would make most wild dogs jealous, while Sam began placing their cups on the counter. Fianna could not help but be a bit jealous, as these looked more like small, wooden barrels, each one easily three times the size of her tankard.
Then again, she guessed these three were drinking on Rainier’s dime. Fianna had not received any war ration or stipend of her own, regardless of promises made, but she had heard the sum was generous. Three survivors of the final forces had most likely made enough to start a small village if they had wanted to. Yet, like most, they chose to hand over coin in exchange for a few moments of a happily clouded mind.
And who was she to judge?
“Now, would you look at these?” The sergeant howled, leather gauntlets resting on his plate armor coated gut as he laughed. “These will do nicely, yes. Keep these coming, right?”
Sam maintained the smile and nodded politely. “Absolutely, honored guardsmen. And thank you for your service to the Empire.”
The three spat with laughter, ignoring Sam’s polite grace and instead starting their work on the small barrels of ale. All three men sported unkempt facial hair, with one having a long, black beard while another had an unruly goatee of sorts, and the foam of the ale ran down each strand as if it were magma slowly making its way down a forested mountain. The sounds of their guzzling and lapping were enough to nearly make Fianna sick.
