Cameron Johnston - The Traitor God

To the readers and the dreamers, who in my experience tend to be oneand the same.

Ten years.

Ten wretched years spent fleeing daemons and debt, reduced to a vagabondwith little more than the clothes on my back and a set of loaded dice.Every week brought different taverns, different faces, and none thatcared if I died in a ditch. The same old scams day after day, blurringinto a dreary endless mass as I kept two steps ahead of the unnaturalbeasts that stalked me. I was a hollow man clinging to existence for asingle purpose. It was a price I was more than willing to pay.

I stared into my ale-cup and wondered what had become of my old friends,the very reason for my exile. Concentrating on Lynas presence in theback of my mind, I felt his comforting warmth pulsing through theGift-bond that irrevocably linked the two of us. We were more thanfriends, and more than family; we were part of each other. He was stillalive, though a hundred leagues between us had reduced our magical bondto a single thread of sensation that offered no further insight. Thedeal still held my exile kept Lynas, Charra and their daughter Laylasafe and healthy. It was all that kept me going.

As I did on every anniversary of my flight from home, the great city ofSetharis, I lifted a cup in their honour. I drained dregs as sour as mymood and thumped it down on the rough table, a splinter jabbing myfinger. The wood was battered and scarred, every bit as worn down as Ifelt. Come the morning Id be glad to finally see the back of this dingytavern and tedious town of Ironport. I teased the sliver of wood from myskin and sucked at the bright bead of blood, the fiery savour of magicbursting on my tongue, expanding my senses.

A hint of burning reached my nostrils: pitch, woodsmoke, and somethingmore unpleasant that tickled the back of my throat. It wasnt comingfrom the taverns kitchen. The docks perhaps? I squinted at the door tothe street and wondered if I should step out into the night air and takea look, but then the serving girl drew my full attention, weavingtowards me through a clamouring crowd of dusty and drink-starved minersjust off the last shift in the iron mines.

Here you are, mlord, she said, setting a steaming bowl of stew downin front of me. She flashed a coquettish smile and batted her eyelashesin what I could only assume was meant to be an alluring manner; orperhaps she had something stuck in her eye. Her gaze lingered over theragged scars that cut from the corner of my right eye to my jaw andtrailed off down my neck, intrigued by their unspoken tale which washow it would remain. Some stories are dangerous.

Thank you, lass, I said, already feeling the fuzzy warmth of alcoholspreading from my belly. I was pleasantly tipsy rather than drunk, butthe night was young yet and I wasnt here for anything so insipid aspleasant no, I was trying to drown the thought of yet another yearbled out in the gutters. I slid my cup towards her. More ale. Keep itcoming.

The high and mighty magi of the Arcanum had beaten it into us that nomagus should ever get drunk, but I never had given a rats arse abouttheir stupid rules. They might rule Setharis but they did not rule me.Once those arrogant bastards got their claws into a magically Giftedmind like mine they never, ever, let go, and they would be hounding mestill if I hadnt taken great pains to fake my death. A bucket of myblood, a lot of magic, and a masterwork of deception was a small priceto pay to get them off my back. If only my daemons were as easy to fool.

From the other side of the tavern, old Sleazy glared at the serving girlwith his one remaining eye, bald and scarred pate beading with sweat ashe hefted a barrel of ruby ale into place behind the bar. She hastilycollected my empty cup, favouring me with another smile before scurryingoff back to the kitchen.

She wasnt dissuaded by my scars, overlooking the ugliness because of myfine clothes and a pouch fat with coin. I was ostensibly a good catch,and she was still young and pretty enough to think herself destined forsomething more exciting than a life of drudgery in a grimy little miningtown like Ironport. She wasnt to know that I was a liar and a killer,or that my pouch held mostly copper bits. She couldnt know that inSetharis the name Edrin Walker would cause folk to slam doors and tracesymbols in the air to ward off evil.

I shuddered. Best avoid thinking about home, of deals, dead gods anddaemons, and force myself to ponder better things. Safer things. Iwatched the bloodied sliver of wood burn in the flame of my table candle it really wouldnt do to leave any trace of my magic here. My pursuerscould track me by such things, which is why I used it so rarely.

The girl hurried back with another cup of ale a better brew than Idpaid for before moving on to serve a table of rowdy, drunken sailorsbandying rumours of missing ships and Skallgrim sea-raiders pillagingvillages up and down the coast. Sailors were wont to exaggerate, andtheir fanciful tales devolved into wild rumours of kidnapped childrenand blood sacrifice, nothing I hadnt heard a hundred times before aboutthe tribal savages from across the Sea of Storms.

I ignored their wagging tongues and watched the girl. I wasnt about todisabuse her of any fanciful notions on my last night in town, to ruinmy only chance for a little fun; with my itinerant lifestyle it was inshort supply. Sleazy turned his gimlet glare on me and I looked away.That sour bastards single eye held as much malice as any ten normal mencould muster. The tavernkeep was not so easily fooled. He must have beenpleased when a couple of overdue ships finally docked, ready to carry meaway from his shitty little tavern in the morning.

I was sat in a corner of the rundown shack, eponymously titled SleazysTavern, swilling ale and chowing down on the special stew, trying tofigure out what the slimy grey lumps of surprise meat actually were,when somebody kicked open the door and hurled in a lantern. It explodedagainst the wall, flaming oil showering drinkers and setting the rushfloor-mats ablaze. People screamed, tearing at burning clothes and hair.Wood that had soaked up untold years of spilt alcohol eagerly tooklight, black smoke billowing through the tavern.

Coughing and spluttering, smoke stinging my eyes and burning my throat,I snatched up my pack and shoved a dirt-smeared miner out of my way as Ibolted for the door. I got out a split-second before the panicked andheaving mob behind me blocked the only exit to the street in a franticattempt to claw their way out of the inferno all at the same time. Thoseat the back would die choking if they were lucky, burning if not.

I sensed the attack a moment before blackened steel came swingingthrough the smoke towards my face. I ducked and an axe crunched throughthe skull of the unlucky sap behind me. A bearded Skallgrim raider inchain and furs, his shaven head tattooed with angular runes, snarled andyanked at the weapon embedded in the corpse blocking the doorway. Headstill down, I charged, ramming my shoulder into his belly. He lost gripof his weapon and stumbled, falling to one knee. I wasnt a greatfighter, but even I knew that only fools gave their foes time to think.I booted his raised knee and it crunched inwards. He fell onto all foursand I stamped on his weapon-hand, grinding down. He howled in pain assmall bones popped beneath my heel.

I thought he was done and tried to make my escape, but he had otherideas. He grabbed hold of my belt with his uninjured hand and hauled mecloser. I tried to pull away but the press of bodies behind me made thatimpossible. He launched himself forward, jaw clamping down on my crotch.Shitshitshitshit it wasnt the first time somebody had swung anaxe at my face, but nobody had tried to bite my cock off before! Indrunken panic a trickle of magic squirted through my flesh,strengthening muscles. I smashed my fist into the raiders face and histeeth lost their grip. My knee snapped up to break his nose with acrunch of bone and cartilage. He went down hard, shaved head crackingoff the cobbles. The protective runes inked into his scalp didnt seemto help much as my boot rammed into his face, once, twice, then againfor good measure, leaving it a toothless cavern that biting bastardwas finished now.