Matthew P Gilbert [Gilbert - Dead God’s Due

DEAD GODS DUE

2019 MATTHEW P. GILBERT

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the authors.

Print and eBook formatting, and cover design by Steve Beaulieu. Artwork provided by Dusan Markovic.

Published by Aethon Books LLC. 2019

All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

Prologue

ONE MILLENNIUM PAST

T he Monster simply would not die. More than an hour after he had been hoisted outside the praetorium, the fiend still kicked furiously at the air, leering down at the men who had come to celebrate his well-deserved end. Somehow, he had turned even his execution into another chance to sow discord. At least the noose kept his poisonous tongue from inciting yet more trouble, but the whole affair was not merely futile, it was disruptive of good order. If the Monster would not die, leaving him hanging bordered on the obscene, yet what could be done?

Imperator Publius Xanthius Bellicus had any number of problems due to both his position and the situation at hand, more than one of them the sort that could cause a man to lose his grip on sanity, but this was by far the most pressing. A failed execution was a clear statement that a leader lacked resolve, and that was not a message he could permit, whatever the circumstances. He wiped sweat from his brow, cursing the heat. Weeks past the end of summer, the evening ought to have been cooler. They were, until today. Its as if we are cursed.

Husam al Din, Xanthiuss second, strode around the corner of the command tent and made a beeline for Xanthius. At six and a half feet tall and thick as a bull, Husam was intimidating enough. In motion, with grim resolve plastered across his face, he was positively terrifying to the lower ranks, a force of nature that would exact penance from the insubordinate and indolent.

Xanthius almost smiled at Husams approach but caught himself before it could show on his face. I suppose I am his target, now.

Husam stopped a pace from his commander, snapped to attention and hammered a fist against his breastplate in salute.

Xanthius raised an eyebrow at the sight of his friend and trusted officer. It seemed only yesterday that Husams skin was a chocolate brown, but now it was almost black, his eyes seeming to glow in his darkened face. Had there been a day when he was between shades, Xanthius wondered? It must have been so, and yet he had not noticed it until now. The time had simply slipped away, unaccounted for, like so much else. At ease. Report.

Husam looked at his feet and ran a hand over his great bald head, shaking it slowly back and forth, a gesture that Xanthius had come to recognize as indicative of the mans disapproval. Husam growled to himself briefly, then spoke. The sorcerer wishes audience. He spat upon the ground in disdain.

Xanthius inclined his head toward the Monster, still dancing at the end of the rope. About him, I presume.

Husam nodded, still scowling. Presumably.

Noting the subtle undertone in Husams voice, Xanthius raised an eyebrow. You disapprove? Youre the one who brought him to me.

Husams mouth twisted in a sour expression. So it was, and Ilaweh knows, I have fought many men and befriended them later. But these men are treacherous.

Xanthius clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a fatherly smile. Strange times, strange bedfellows. Ill see him inside.

Husam snapped a salute and turned to carry out his task. Xanthius took one last look at the Monster, still leering down, then removed his galea, tucked it under his arm and turned toward the command tent. As he reached for the tent flap, he paused, his attention wandering toward his second biggest problem: The Wall. He looked up at the barrier, knowing it would not be enough to stop his army should he choose to enter the city, but the cost would be high. I will need to make a decision on that soon, as well.

Xanthiuss camp was well out of arrow range, but close enough to observe the defenders. He watched them briefly as they ambled back and forth between merlons, full of nervous energy that had to be walked off, most not even bothering with helmets or mail in the heat. Fools. I could rush you with archers and kill half of you before you even understood what was happening. But they knew no better. They had never trained to resist a siege. They were farmers, guards, bureaucrats, even a few criminals, likely, but not a soldier amongst them. The soldiers were encamped outside the wall with their Imperator, awaiting his command to breach.

Huddled behind the wall, terrified, the civilian populace prayed for salvation, as if there were anyone who could accomplish such a thing. The wretched politicians and lawyers who had brought them to this state had no doubt reserved the better accommodations for themselves, but there would be little enough for any of them soon enough.

A sea of steel and flame spread before Xanthius, campfires lining the ground to the limits of his vision, light glinting orange and deadly from sword, shield, and breastplate. They had been more, almost ten times as many when Alexander fell, but extricating themselves from Prima had been months of butchery. There was no telling how many of the enemy they had killed, how many would go unburied, food for the crows in a blasted land once known as the cradle of civilization.

Without Alexander and the Eye, there was no hope of coordinating his men, much less the logistics. Starvation and disease would come soon, and then the infighting. Without the supplies within the city, another nine in ten of his men would be dead within the month, and the rest reduced to cannibalism. Xanthius cursed under his breath. The fools behind the wall refused to see reason. They leave me no choice.

Xanthius forced his thoughts back to more pressing matters and ducked into the command tent. Despite how he had downplayed things to Husam, the sorcerer would be a prickly issue. Xanthius laid his helmet on one of the several tables and turned to the washbasin and mirror, privileges of rank. He dipped a cloth in the tepid water and cleaned sweat and dirt from his face.