Of Gods and Men

by Stephen Aryan

Genres: Fantasy

Synopsis

The gruff and mysterious warrior known as Vargus has meant many things to many people over the course of his long life. But when he hears of a village suffering strange attacks in the dead of night, he must take up the role of the Gath - the people's protector - once again, before any more children go missing.

Exclusive to ebook and audiobook, Of Gods and Men is an original epic fantasy novella by Stephen Aryan focusing on a fan-favourite character from the Age of Dread trilogy. Story takes place before the events of Battlemage.

Release date: February 6, 2018

Publisher: Orbit

Print pages: 75

Sample

Vargus spared the dying mercenary only a brief glance as the killer gasped his final breath. He was more concerned with cleaning his sword and checking it for nicks. There were one or two which he carefully set about fixing, keening the edge of his blade with a whetstone until it was razor-sharp. By the time he was finished, the building was silent and he was the only person still alive.

Moving from room to room, stepping over the staring bodies, he collected up all the food and money he could find, plus their weapons, which he wrapped in a blanket. Breaking open the oil lamps, he trickled the contents across the floor in every room. Next he stacked up all of the clothes, sheets and firewood in the centre of the main room and splashed the pile with any remaining oil. Lighting it was easy and he didn’t have to wait long before flames were starting to lick around the edge of the door-frame. Collecting up the six horses, he tied their reins together and then set off at a slow pace down the narrow, rocky track.

The remote mountain cottage had been a secret hideaway for many seeking to escape the King’s justice. It had taken a particularly dim group of mercenaries to lead him straight to the front door. Vargus had been searching for the cottage for years without any luck. At least he had the mercenaries to thank for one thing. The next time some murderer made the long and difficult trek up the mountain, expecting to find a nice cosy place to hide, all they’d find was a pile of blackened timbers and an icy death. That thought warmed Vargus even as he contemplated the long journey back home.

It took him two days to come down the mountain and two more before he reached the village of Elmsbrooke. The damage the mercenaries had inflicted was limited to a bit of horse theft and one or two broken bones. Thankfully it wouldn’t leave a permanent mark, unlike some of the other places the group had passed through.

The Elder, a severe man with a haggard face, was waiting for Vargus when he reached the village green. None of the villagers, apart from the Elder, knew Vargus’s name. To them he was just the Gath. A figure from legend who turned up to solve difficult problems and punish those who escaped justice.

Some people were watching from inside their houses, peering at him through windows. A few more were lurking in doorways, pretending they were busy and not eavesdropping. The Elder looked past Vargus’s shoulder and counted the horses, before grunting in satisfaction.

“Gath,” he said.

“Reuben.”

“Any problems?”

“Not really.” Vargus got down from his horse and stretched his legs out before handing the reins of the horses to a young lad who had been lurking nearby.

“See that they’re all well fed. Don’t be stingy now,” Reuben warned the boy. The lad nodded vigorously before leading the horses away.

Vargus followed the Elder into his house, a modest but tidy home identical to those around it. Reuben had no airs and graces like some who thought they were entitled to more because of their position.

“Any news while I was up there?” asked Vargus, accepting the offered seat.

“Some.” Reuben took a long green bottle down from a high shelf before pouring two short measures. He set one glass down in front of Vargus and nursed the other with both hands, staring into the tawny liquid.

“That bad.”

“Confusing, mostly.”

Vargus sipped at the rye whisky, savouring the rich flavour before the warmth seeped into his stomach and then his extremities. He wondered how many years it had been aging in the barrel before Reuben had finally decided it was ready to drink. For a little while, it was pleasant to just sit quietly and rest. He was also giving the Elder time to find the right words to explain what was bothering him so much.

“I got word from Maire Tallerman in Washburn. I think you should pay her a visit before going home.”

Vargus’s good mood turned sour. Even without hearing the details, he could predict some of what had happened. Reuben wasn’t struggling to find the right words. He was genuinely scared. It was something the man didn’t understand and couldn’t fit into his practical view of the world.

“Who else knows?”

“No one here. Just the folk in Washburn.”

“I’ll deal with it, but I’d appreciate it if the story didn’t go any further.”

“Of course,” promised Reuben, finally downing his whisky in one big gulp. “It would only raise more questions. Nothing good comes of gossip.”

That was the kind of talk that led to whispers in dark corners which spread like wildfire. It was also the kind of talk that ended with people being drowned, hung or burned at the stake.

“I’ll be on my way in the morning, if that’s all right with you,” said Vargus.

“Sounds fine. Sonja’s got you a room in the Frog and Crown. I’ll have the boy draw a bath.”

“Very kind.”

Vargus finished the last of his whisky, raised his glass and made a noise of appreciation. Just as he was heading for the door, Reuben asked the questions that must have been lurking in the back of his mind for the last fifteen years.

In all the time they’d known each other, the Elder had never asked. Not once. He was a quiet man who never pried into other people’s affairs. As long as they weren’t hurting themselves or anyone else, he wouldn’t interfere. His job as Elder was to protect the people, not criticise them for their bad decisions. Curiosity had finally burned away all his remaining caution and now the words came tumbling out of the normally taciturn man.

“How old are you? I wouldn’t ask, but stories about the Gath have been around for a long time. Since before I was a boy. So it can’t be you. You’re at least ten younger than me. Was there someone who used the name before you? Was it your father? Your grandfather?”

Vargus paused at the door with his hand resting on the handle. Many in the village were a little intimidated by Reuben, but they all knew him to be fair and dependable. That was just one of the reasons he’d been the village Elder for the better part of twenty years. Also he didn’t scare easily, but now Vargus could hear the fear in his voice.

“It’s probably better that you don’t know. You’ll sleep a lot easier at night.”

“I suspect you’re right,” said Reuben.

In the morning, while Vargus’s farewells from the villagers weren’t unfriendly, it definitely felt chillier than normal. Most had no idea and Vargus knew the Elder would keep his word. Even so, he doubted he would ever come back to Elmsbrooke. He took one last look around the village, shook a few hands and got back onto his horse. Reuben shook his hand and managed to smile, pretending that nothing was amiss. He promised that he’d send word the next time they needed the Gath, but they both knew he wouldn’t. Vargus turned his horse and rode away without looking back.

Two days later, Vargus arrived in Washburn and was met with a tense silence and icy stares. The people were trying their best not to show it, but they were more than a little afraid. There w. . .