God's War

God's War

The Hidden Game, Book 2

Marie Brown

Smashwords Edition

©2013

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Table of Contents

Chapter 0: Prologue

Chapter 1: Prime

Chapter 2: Southern Migration

Chapter 3: Assault

Chapter 4: Triage

Chapter 5: Diminished

Chapter 6: Wounded

Chapter 7: Hounded

Chapter 8: Confessions In the Night

Chapter 9: The Morning After

Chapter 10: Father

Chapter 11: In the Maelstrom

Chapter 12: Damnation

Chapter 13: A Cluster of Divinity

Chapter 14: Michael

Chapter 15: God's Return

Chapter 16: Out of This World

Chapter 17: Sacrifice

Chapter 18: Un-magery

Chapter 19: Reward

Chapter 20: It Ain't Over Till It's Over

Chapter 21: From Old To New

*shameless self-promotion*

Prologue

The Divine sat on the very edge of the world, looking down, fuming. The little prick had done it again, pulled off the impossible feat, come out of the shit smelling like roses. How? No way, there was just no way he could possibly counter that assault like he had. And this business of telling those foolish little men he'd hand-picked as his special pawns. . . Pah. No respect for the rules.

Rofocale smiled nastily. Now there was an angle he just might be able to work. The rules. Because just as obviously as the little snot glowed golden in a dark room, he'd gone and blown the rules straight to hell.

Which, of course, put the ball solidly in his court. More than one dimension referred to him as the Lord of Hell, after all, although those pathetic beings would shit themselves if they saw the true Hell. He'd been there, more than once, and it wasn't a sight for the faint of heart.

Now those thoughts he'd better put far, far from his mind. If his Father caught wind of what he'd done. . . but that wouldn't happen. The Creator had been distracted for hundreds of years now, ever since that debacle with Nocturnis. No reason he'd suddenly start paying attention to the things Rofocale did in his spare time. He'd just go tell Father what a rat his brother had been and let things take their natural course from there. Father hated rulebreakers.

He transitioned smoothly from the edge of his brother's world into the Creator's realm, before he could think twice about this ludicrously risky idea.

A formless entity comprised of pure consciousness filled the entire realm with a faint golden haze of light. Unlimited by physical form, the Creator consisted of unfathomable thoughts and creative energies that made the vast powers of the Divines seem like pale, guttering candles in comparison. A concentration of light, like the central bulge of a galaxy, coalesced in a single location, around a viewport into another realm.

What brings you here, My most contentious son?

Rofocale felt a faint tremble of fear inside at the sound of his Father's voice. Although many people on many worlds mistook the Divines for the Creator, well, they just weren't. The Divines themselves had been created, by this nameless being whose very existence defined the Universe and all it contained, even the countless and infinite variations of the Universe. Each and every reality, any instance of thought finite or infinite, any microscopic speck of dust only existed because of the incomprehensible being surrounding Rofocale at this very moment. A drop of rain, thunder rolling through a mountain valley, even Rofocale himself in all his infinite glory existed only because the Creator willed it.

Greetings, Father. Just get this over with. The quicker, the better. Speed meant less opportunity to let the Creator detect his secrets. I am here for an unfortunate reason. As you are no doubt aware, my people built mechanized warriors that have gone rogue and found a way to travel dimensions, searching for resources. They broke through to brother Godrick's territory and started stripping it, all without my direction or interference. I merely watched, to see what Godrick would do.

Yes? And what did My youngest, most rash offspring do this time?

Godrick broke the rules, Father. Rofocale felt pleased at the even, reasonable tone of his words. He sounded mature and adult, not like a whiny child. As well he should, after all the eons of his existence. But Godrick and his Father both brought out the worst in him. He picked out two of his folk and gave them the power to combat the rogues, which is fine. But then he also took them aside into the Astral Mirage and spoke to them clearly, telling the two chosen ones about us in detail, and giving them knowledge none of us are allowed to share with our followers. This seems a bit unfair.

The Creator turned its full attention from its deep contemplation of something and focused completely on Rofocale for an eternal instant, checking for the truth of his words. Rofocale felt pinned, like a tiny creature under the gaze of a hungry predator. But his report held only pure truth, this time, and his Father didn't look for any other details. Perhaps not even the Creator wanted to know what lurked in the heart of Rofocale Ephialtes.

Very well, My son. The precedent is clear. You may do with Godrick as you choose. But any penalty you impose will end as soon as Godrick recognizes his folly and corrects his ways. Will this serve?

Certainly, Father. Rofocale bowed, keeping his spike of discontent securely to himself. He hoped. He hadn't really expected any different, but he'd entertained the amusing notion that maybe this time, a punishment would stick on the arrogant young twit.

The Creator returned its attention to whatever incomprehensible thoughts occupied its time. Go now, My son. I must watch the Adversary. It is plotting something new, I can feel it. Its thoughts are shifting, changing, and I need to discover its plans before it can draw any more realms into Chaos.

Rofocale transitioned from his Father's plane as rapidly as he could without causing himself pain. Best be far, far away when his Father thought about the Adversary. Wouldn't want him getting too terribly interested in any traces of the Chaos Realms which might still cling to Rofocale himself. Now, with permission to do as he chose, he merely had to wait for the best time. Oh, this would be a thing of great pleasure! He'd wanted to stomp that arrogant golden twit into the ground for a long, long time now.

Prime

What is that? Telion asked, gazing at the sprawling spectacle rising before them. Behind the Princes, their ragged band of refugees straggled to a halt.

Prime, Farven grinned. Pride colored his voice.

The city resembled a collection of huge mushrooms. At the top of a hill, there rose a clearly fortified stone and wood structure that Telion recognized as a castle. But everywhere else, rounded, multi-colored domes sprouted from the snow, none with smoke curling from their roofs.

People quit building houses shaped like your traditional style pointy-roofed boxes centuries ago. Farven smiled at his spouse's amazement. These do better in the snow. No one's ever had a dome collapse in the middle of the night, no matter how nasty the weather is.

Houses collapse?

They used to. A good blizzard can dump more snow than you've ever seen in a matter of hours, and snow's heavy. Put enough of it on top of a wooden building, and pretty soon you've got a pancake, not a shelter. And building the Palace out of the Vinge used up practically all the stone in the entire Northlands.

How? I can see it's big, but. . . Stone's everywhere.

Not up here. Not the kind you can build with, anyway. We have lots of little rocks, of course, and some great big monsters laying around here and there, but the only quarry ever made played out shortly after rebuilding the fort and the Church. So people got creative. Most of the trees up here are pretty short, so they're not much good for building. There are a couple of really good forests, and we've been pretty damn careful about using them. They almost ran out at one point, when people were less careful, and built everything out of wood. Then my ancestors realized they were being stupid and offered a huge prize of land and a title to whoever came up with the best solution to the wood problem. And that's how we came up with the round houses. They're made of mud and straw, baked into bricks, and they hold tons of heat inside.

Good. Telion clutched at his cloak as a stray breeze tried to work its way inside. It's fucking cold up here. I never thought I'd experience such cold.

Soft Southlander, Farven teased. Let's go, then. Enough staring at the city. We can get you a nice, close-up view, and get inside where it's warm.

The near-frozen band of refugees moved on, following their leaders. As they approached Prime, small signs of wrongness began to resolve in the scene. Some of the mushroom buildings looked scorched, others showed signs of other damage, and the streets were littered with bits of wreckage.

When they reached the first of the domes, Farven stopped on the edge of the street, its strange, even, brick red surface completely clear of snow. It started, or maybe ended, abruptly, after connecting to the front doors of little domes on either side of it. Telion wondered what it was made of, what magic kept it clean of snow, then forgot about paving material in favor of listening to his husband.

From just a casual look around, I'd say we're too late, Farven said, voice tightly controlled. I don't know who did this, human or Un, but I know where to look for any survivors. Nestra? Find some place secure to set up our people. Feel free to use the intact domes, if you want. If their owners survived, I'll make it right with them. Telion and I are going to go to the Vinge. Don't expect us back for some time, it takes a while to get to the Vaults, but send someone to look for us if we don't return by sunset. I'll leave Lola with you. She'll find us easily if need be.

Certainly, Prince Farven, Nestra nodded, then started issuing orders in a calm voice. Telion wondered if anything ever rattled the dignity of the Annointed. Would he want to see the situation that shook her bottomless calm? No, probably not.

Farven set off towards the central building, perched solidly on its hill. Telion followed, uncertain what to say in this situation. When the Un destroyed his manor and surrounding lands, along with all his tenant farmers and villagers, and their animals and crops and everything else as well, he'd not wanted to hear anything anyone wanted to say. The memory of the devastation that used to be his home away from Court reared up in his mind's eye. Empty, stripped down to mud in many cases, more than devastated enough to make him marry a man in an attempt to end the Un menace. He'd be willing to bet it had been a more mundane, human enemy that destroyed Prime, but that didn't make the place any less destroyed.

I'm sorry, he said eventually.

Farven didn't reply, just found his hand and gave it a grateful squeeze.

The Vinge itself was a massive, blocky, utterly solid complex, at least on the outside. Inside, the labyrinthine rooms and corridors bore scars from flames and looting. Telion looked at the