Read Online The Dawn of a Desperate War (The Godlanders War) by Aaron Pogue - Free Book Online
Authors: Aaron Pogue
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Giovanni’s side of the hall, bowed his head in greeting, then dropped the glamour and slit the bastard’s throat.
The princes’ soldiers were some of the best, but they had never anticipated an assault on a Vestossi within Ephitel’s temple by one of his own priests. They froze in shock for a heartbeat, maybe two, and that was all the time that Corin needed.
The pirate turned and stretched his arm, flipping his knife end over end across the room. The blade flew true, but one of Piero’s retainers dove to save his master. The poor man took Corin’s knife below his shoulder before collapsing to the marble floor.
Corin had never trusted that one blade to do the job. He dashed toward his second victim, drawing the long-bladed dagger at his side even as the attendant fell. From two paces away he lunged, driving hard, and speared Piero beneath the collarbone. It was not a killing blow, but it was enough to draw a scream from the cold soldier.
Corin grinned at that. Something deep inside him ached to make this man suffer all that Aemilia had suffered—all that Ephitel’s countless victims through the ages had suffered—but more than that, he wanted to draw Ephitel to himself. And live to face him.
So Corin withdrew the blade and struck again, this time for the heart. Piero shrank away in terror, and his wife behind him hauled him back, so Corin’s blow fell false. Instead of piercing the man’s heart, he cut deep into his belly. Black blood flowed. It was still a killing blow, but a slower one. Fitting in its way.
And that was all the time Corin could spare. Already he could hear the hue and cry from the piazza, and half a dozen guards were rushing on him now, recovered from their brief surprise.
Too late. Too late by far. They charged at Corin, but he plunged a hand into an inner pocket and drew out a small paper packet Ben Strunk had procured for him months ago.
Even outside the cathedral and across the wide piazza, Ben would likely get to see the effects of his handiwork. Corin ripped the packet into two and hurled its powdered contents into the air; then he flung himself to the ground. He hid beneath the heavy black cloth of his cloak, and still his eyes seared at the flash of silver light.
Then came the screams. Too much had happened and too quickly for most of those in the princes’ retinues to truly comprehend, but at the blinding flash they finally responded. A hundred voices cried out in anger, pain, and grief. Corin dropped his cloak to see the soldiers still charging blindly ahead, arms outstretched before them, roaring as they came like angry bulls.
He dodged them easily, tripping up the first as he went by, then nudging the second just enough that he fell across the first. The rest were farther back, and Corin didn’t wait to tangle with them. He wasn’t here to kill the hired hands. He’d done what needed doing. The world was less two rich Vestossis; the seed wa s sown.
But now he had to watch and wait. He had to survive. He sprinted up the aisle, past all the wailing courtiers still in their seats, and straight toward the daylight. There would be chaos already down in the piazza, but chaos favored Corin. He would slip away and hide in his alley, where he’d wait for the vengeful god to come in answer.
A dozen paces from the door, he caught sight of the welcome waiting on the outer stairs. If there was chaos, it waited on the other side of a regiment of halberdiers. Faster than a lightning strike, faster than even Ephitel should have been able to do so, the hapless city guard had somehow caught him in the act.
They’d brought an army, and Corin only had his knives.
He charged them anyway.
C orin saw the soldiers’ eyes widen in surprise, then narrow as they lowered their halberds. They made a fancy formation out there on the marbled stairs, and he knew there was no way he could slip past the long reach of those deadly blades. Instead, he caught the open door in his right hand as he
The princes’ soldiers were some of the best, but they had never anticipated an assault on a Vestossi within Ephitel’s temple by one of his own priests. They froze in shock for a heartbeat, maybe two, and that was all the time that Corin needed.
The pirate turned and stretched his arm, flipping his knife end over end across the room. The blade flew true, but one of Piero’s retainers dove to save his master. The poor man took Corin’s knife below his shoulder before collapsing to the marble floor.
Corin had never trusted that one blade to do the job. He dashed toward his second victim, drawing the long-bladed dagger at his side even as the attendant fell. From two paces away he lunged, driving hard, and speared Piero beneath the collarbone. It was not a killing blow, but it was enough to draw a scream from the cold soldier.
Corin grinned at that. Something deep inside him ached to make this man suffer all that Aemilia had suffered—all that Ephitel’s countless victims through the ages had suffered—but more than that, he wanted to draw Ephitel to himself. And live to face him.
So Corin withdrew the blade and struck again, this time for the heart. Piero shrank away in terror, and his wife behind him hauled him back, so Corin’s blow fell false. Instead of piercing the man’s heart, he cut deep into his belly. Black blood flowed. It was still a killing blow, but a slower one. Fitting in its way.
And that was all the time Corin could spare. Already he could hear the hue and cry from the piazza, and half a dozen guards were rushing on him now, recovered from their brief surprise.
Too late. Too late by far. They charged at Corin, but he plunged a hand into an inner pocket and drew out a small paper packet Ben Strunk had procured for him months ago.
Even outside the cathedral and across the wide piazza, Ben would likely get to see the effects of his handiwork. Corin ripped the packet into two and hurled its powdered contents into the air; then he flung himself to the ground. He hid beneath the heavy black cloth of his cloak, and still his eyes seared at the flash of silver light.
Then came the screams. Too much had happened and too quickly for most of those in the princes’ retinues to truly comprehend, but at the blinding flash they finally responded. A hundred voices cried out in anger, pain, and grief. Corin dropped his cloak to see the soldiers still charging blindly ahead, arms outstretched before them, roaring as they came like angry bulls.
He dodged them easily, tripping up the first as he went by, then nudging the second just enough that he fell across the first. The rest were farther back, and Corin didn’t wait to tangle with them. He wasn’t here to kill the hired hands. He’d done what needed doing. The world was less two rich Vestossis; the seed wa s sown.
But now he had to watch and wait. He had to survive. He sprinted up the aisle, past all the wailing courtiers still in their seats, and straight toward the daylight. There would be chaos already down in the piazza, but chaos favored Corin. He would slip away and hide in his alley, where he’d wait for the vengeful god to come in answer.
A dozen paces from the door, he caught sight of the welcome waiting on the outer stairs. If there was chaos, it waited on the other side of a regiment of halberdiers. Faster than a lightning strike, faster than even Ephitel should have been able to do so, the hapless city guard had somehow caught him in the act.
They’d brought an army, and Corin only had his knives.
He charged them anyway.
C orin saw the soldiers’ eyes widen in surprise, then narrow as they lowered their halberds. They made a fancy formation out there on the marbled stairs, and he knew there was no way he could slip past the long reach of those deadly blades. Instead, he caught the open door in his right hand as he
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