Helmold Brecht laid his plans and carried them out, but he failed to account for something.

There was a little bird watching him.

The little bird followed him on the night he smuggled Aric Morholt out of the castle. From a distance the Magister wouldn’t have been able to see, if he had the presence of mind to check high places for anything watching him in the first place. He did not. Helmold seemed like he was barely holding it together.

The bird observed all this impassively. It had merely been ordered to watch. And so it followed Helmold all the way to the rendezvous point with Aerin Morholt.

Then Helmold left his Faction, which called Redmane’s attention right to him.

Helmold Brecht has left your Faction

Redmane’s eyes widened.

“One moment,” he said to Dobrogost.

He closed his eyes, and his mind traveled toward his spawn at lightning speed. A moment later they peered through the eyes of a bird perched upon the limb of a tree. There was Helmold, with Aric Morholt sitting in the back of his horse drawn cart, half covered in hay, looking sullen. The cart was surrounded by a group of warriors on horseback. Redmane presumed they were knights, by the way they carried themselves.

Their leader and spokesman was Aerin Morholt.

He remembered that face.

If there existed a person he’d like to turn inside out over a long period of time, it was Aerin. Even moreso than Aric. Aerin Morholt was the oldest of the brood, and the most like his father. He was the one who trained all his brothers, even his bastard half brother, in the art of recreational cruelty.

Now, in adulthood, he looked like a respectable knight. Redmane felt a pang of disappointment that he hadn’t become a beast with the rest of his family.

No matter. This was a kill he was sure to enjoy.

Aric may even enjoy watching it.

“Fortunately, there exists a solution. The weapon which vanquished him the last time.”

It was Helmold speaking. There was an uncharacteristic firmness in his voice.

“I assume you speak of the Sicarius weapons you recovered,” said Aerin.

Helmold shook his head no. “I’m afraid the story stretches much farther than the coming of Numantia. It goes back to before the coming of the Stahlmen, in fact. To the ancient world. The original civilization of Volos, and its sovereign.”

He paused for effect, looking pleased with himself. Aerin stared at him flatly.

Helmold’s ears turned red and he continued. “It’s called the God Breaker. It’s an interesting story, truly.”

“Let us make haste to Stonehurst. You can explain everything there, and we can chart a course to the recovery of this weapon and the restoration of House Morholt to its proper state. When it is done, you shall be duly rewarded for your service to us.”

The way Aerin said it made it sound like a gaol sentence rather than a promise of remuneration. Helmold appeared to feel the same way, because he smiled uneasily and gave Aerin a stiff nod. “Of course, my lord.”

The knights turned their horses and spurred them lightly, setting them off in a southron direction. Helmold snapped the reins of his horse to follow them, and the wheels of his cart began to clunk down the road. The jostling made some of the hay fall off Aric’s shoulders. His mood did not appear to be improved by his newfound freedom.

Redmane opened his real eyes.

His gaze shifted to Dobrogost. “What is a God Breaker.”

Dobrogost smirked at him. “You of all people should know the answer to that.”

Redmane silently stared at the Warlock.

The old man’s eyebrow rose. “You don’t… Interesting. So your memories are sealed along with your power. Well let’s see what I have…”

He set down his teacup and stood, crossing the room to peruse one of his bookcases. He squinted, looking high and low, stooping down to examine the spines of the tomes on the bottom shelf. “Aha,” he said, finding what he was looking for down there and pulling it out.

Dobrogost returned to the table, swept aside some of the clutter and set the heavy book down, opening it and flipping through until he located the pages he was looking for.

“Here we are,” he said, and he turned the book so that Redmane could see.

There was text on the pages. But the centerpiece was an illustration he’d seen before. Recently. It was the engraving on the wall of the Deepwell Monastery. At the bottom, where the Abyssal Well lay.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

It was an image of a ruler holding a hammer in one hand and two chained figures in the other.

“Recognize yourself?” asked Dobrogost, with a bit of mirth in his voice.

Redmane glanced at him, confused. “I am depicted here?”

Dobrogost nodded. For a moment he thought the Warlock was going to point at the figure of the ruler. But instead his finger tapped the chained beast at the ruler’s side.

“The Lord of Hunger,” said the old man.

Then he tapped the woman in chains next to him. “And the Lady of Plenty.”

Then Dobrogost put his finger on the ruler’s giant hammer. “And the God Breaker.”

Redmane nodded at the image of the ruler. “Then who is that?”

“Your son, Vos.”

His eyes grew wide.

He had a son?

Dobrogost chuckled at the look on Redmane’s face. “What a fine day. A God comes to my home for tea, and I get to tell him his own story.”

The old man eased back into his chair, took his tea and sipped on it. “I suppose it makes sense. Perhaps those memories aren’t sealed but fully gone. I know not what it feels like to be struck by the God Breaker not once but twice.”

“Twice?” said Redmane.

Dobrogost laughed again. “Allow me to elucidate. Modern folk would call all this myth and legend. But it isn’t. The true history of the time when this world was new begins with you and your consort. The Omeni don’t eat meat, did you know that? They do not kill because they believe that humans, beasts and plants are all one family. This belief goes back to your time. The time before the Stahlmen. Long before the Numantians. When the parents of all the world’s living things dwelt together in harmony.”

“The Lord of Hunger and the Lady of Plenty?” asked Redmane.

Dobrogost shook his head. “No. That’s what Vos made you.”

Redmane’s eyebrow rose. “Do continue.”

The old man sipped, nodded. “In time, the king of the animals and the queen of the plants desired direct progeny. They bore children, the first humans, to be the stewards of their creation. The eldest of these was called Vos, and he looked upon his parents’ world with disdain. He saw that the rules of nature were harsh and unforgiving, for nature is a place of chaos, violence, and ruthless competition.

“Vos conceived of a new world. A world of order and cooperation. Vos and his brothers and sisters, the first humans, devised tools, crafts, and sciences. They looked upon nature with the eye of reason, found new ways to shape it to conform to their design. They developed rituals by formula and rote, to bend the flow of primal magic to their wills. This did not sit well with their siblings. Nature would not conform to order. And so Vos resorted to violence.

“He crafted a weapon, the God Breaker. And with it he took the battle to everyone. Even his own parents. But the God Breaker did not kill you, few things can truly kill a god, nor did Vos desire the death of his own parents. Merely their submission to his world. His order.

“And so you and your consort were transfigured, beaten into new shapes. Forms that served the world of men. The Lord of Hunger and the Lady of Plenty. The unnecessary parts were broken off of you, as if he were a sculptor and the God Breaker were his chisel.

“Many centuries later this weapon would be used upon you again. By the Five Heroes, who took up arms against the thing they called Kraal the Devourer. Nasty business, that was. Nasiene’s revenge on the Stahlmen. She got her own people eaten up as well, but I think she was too far gone into grief and madness to have cared at that point.”

Redmane stared down at the illustration for a while.

He digested this information slowly.

The story was longer than he thought it had been.

He wished he could remember more than being a mere prisoner, a wretch chained to a wall in a cell.

Pietr, he said, in his mind.

Yes, my lord?

I have a task for you.

His eyes shifted to Dobrogost. “One moment please.”

And then he stood from the table and went outside.

Spawn

Spawn

Spawn

Spawn

Corpus: 4600

He made four more little birds. Fast ones. These would be more intelligent than the last batch, if the updated description of Spawn was any indication. And then he made a special form for Pietr. The same crow body he used last time, with some added features.

Spawn

Skills Bestowed:

Hunter’s Mark

Spawn

Stalk

Corpus: 4000

Gnosis: 781

You can mark things as Prey, which will help you keep track of where they are if you should lose sight of them. I don’t think you can create Spawn of your own. But giving you the Skill may give you the power to see through their eyes, as I do. Try it.

Pietr flapped up to Redmane’s shoulder and perched on it. The crow closed its eyes, its head tilting to the side curiously.

I can! said Pietr.

Good. Travel to the bird following Helmold Brecht. I want you and these birds to watch him as a team. Report anything of significance to me. Their conversations. Their movements. Their discoveries. I need to know everything.

At once, my lord. I won’t let you down.

Vang watched this with folded arms and a raised eyebrow.

“What’s happenin,” said Vang.

“We have another hunt to attend to, but far away. Sending scouts to keep track our prey for us until we can make our way there.”

The four demi-humans turned to watch Pietr and the little birds take flight, and quickly disappear into the sky. Vang had a fierce grin on his face. It was a look that said, ‘Life with this Chief is gonna be fun,’ without having to say it.

Redmane noted the look, smirked, and turned to go back into the cottage.

He found Dobrogost sitting where he’d left him, holding his teacup, smiling absently. He turned his smile to Redmane when he came back through the door. “A most interesting interruption,” he said. “But what were we discussing before?”

Redmane gave him an appraising look.

The old man was relaxed. And if one were to go on his words by themselves, he appeared to be resigned to his fate. But Dobrogost’s eyes told a different story. There was vitality in them. Conviction.

“I asked what you would do, if you had more time left,” said Redmane.

Dobrogost grinned and nodded slowly. “Ah, yes. To smash the System, or seize its reins. Fairytale wishes. An old man should know better.” He chuckled and sipped his tea.

“Do you believe there is a way?”

“There’s a way to do anything,” said Dobrogost. “The trouble’s in figuring it out.”

“So it’s a question of time.”

“Partly. Time, energy, access to certain resources.”

“If I gave you these things, would you serve me?” asked Redmane.

The old man grinned, and the wrinkles around his glittering eyes tightened as he did so. He gave Redmane a long, steady look. A look that suggested he was taking Redmane’s measure, as intently as Redmane himself had done so a moment earlier. Weighing his desires and principles. Imagining a future which could or could not be made real, in order to decide if it was worth the risks. If it was worth the costs.

Dobrogost had another small sip of tea, and set the cup down.

“I was thinking, just the other day, that I wasn’t ready to die quite yet.”