Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 37

"What's the use of this... ambience now that you have so thoroughly ruined my mood?"

With a clap of his pale hands, a disgruntled Atruer dispersed the cloud of acrid black smoke billowing ominously behind him. On his command, the plumes of smoke flickered into nothing, and the air cleared up once again.

Hands on his hips, he swung to face them, eyes narrowed on Farren.

"Now, we all know Edis is stupid, so I don't really blame him for not having found this statue-- which looks exactly like his little brother, by the way. So this, I'll let pass," said he, "but there's another unfinished business you and I have left, mortal. And I intend to make you pay for that."

Before she could so much as open her mouth to speak, Xenro stepped in between them, sliding his gleaming sword back out of its scabbard.

"Your ravenous hunger for the pain and suffering of innocent mortals disgusts me," said Xenro. His gaze, colder than the north winds and harsher than frost, was fixed upon Atruer. "One step further, and your fate will be the same as those mortal souls I have cleansed."

His look softened as he glanced at Farren. "Fear not, you are now under my protection. I would overlook your insolence for now," said Xenro, "I always pay my debts."

A mad, wheezing cackle echoed into the night, harsh enough to make flocks of birds take afeard flights from nearby trees. The God of Despair laughed until tears streamed down his sallow cheeks.

"Who grants protection to whom? You, protect this brat, from me?" he said, "listen, O Son of Rhilio, Commander of the Celestial Armies, it is I who needs protection, from that devil of a mortal! A blight on my otherwise peaceful life! The bane of my existence!"

"Quit whining, will you? What on earth happened?" Farren asked in a drawl.

Xenro's forehead creased in a frown as he looked between them. "You two seem acquainted with each other."

"Indeed, I had the misfortune of crossing paths with her, to grant her my generous help and advice, and look where it has landed me. Such dreadful dishonor I have had to face today in the hands of some filthy street thugs!"

"And I'm responsible because--?" prompted Farren, because the God seemed keen on going on about his despair, rather than stating what devastating fate had befallen him.

Atruer's pointed teeth bared in a snarl. "As if you don't know! A bloke almost died from poisoning-- because some wicked witch of Silver Knife told him Wolfsbane wine is a cure for headaches. And then she blamed it on me. I wonder who gave the witch this oddly specific idea?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, my Lord. Apologies."

"Oh, really? Look, all I had was one little boat in the floating market down Ebon street--"

"--for scamming folk into making deals with you," finished Farren for him.

"--for helping distraught mortals in times of misfortune," corrected Atruer. "And this witch directed the Countess's lads to me, saying I was selling Wolfsbane. Then the Countess herself punted me out of my own boat!"

Atruer spun, to reveal a muddy bootprint stamped across his backside.

"So your charming fortune-teller's disguise did not work on the Countess, eh?" Farren clicked her tongue, wishing she were there to witness the spectacle. "Well, some folk are immune to that sort of appeal. Should've done your research, Lord."

Xenro watched, mouth hanging slightly open, looking as though he were questioning the meaning of life at this point, or whether climbing back inside his so-called 'rock prison' was a good idea.