God of War Page 5

  As he fell, he reflected that the Rage of Poseidon had turned out to be more useful than he’d anticipated. He tumbled down beside the splintered wreck of the mainmast. The flick of one wrist sent a blade out to chop into the mast, catch, and let him reverse his direction in one long, smooth swing. The great beast saw him coming, and it arched its neck and opened wide a maw that could have bitten the ship in half.

  Having determined to his own satisfaction that the giant master head was not filled with an equally giant brain, Kratos swiveled himself up to what was now the top of the mainmast-a porcupine slant of needle-sharp slivers-then swirled the blades around his head to capture the monster’s attention.

  He waited until the master head struck downward like a falling moon, engulfing him and several yards of mast. Even before it had been damaged, the wood of the mainmast had been in no way as tough as the Hydra’s secondary necks. Kratos knew the Hydra could sever it in one swift chomp. So, once more inside the slime-dripping cave of the monster’s mouth, Kratos released again the furnace of fury that always burned within him.

  The master head convulsed as Poseidon’s Rage blasted the rear of its mouth to bloody shreds. Kratos hurled a blade upward, toward the back of the Hydra’s sinus cavities, then hauled himself up through an incalculable volume of salty slime until he reached the underside of the Hydra’s brainpan. Before the creature even stopped thrashing about, Kratos had chopped his way inside its skull. Three or four deft strokes of the blades slashed the Hydra’s brain into foul-smelling mush.

  He swung back down into the Hydra’s throat. It still twisted and spasmed a bit, as the rest of the Hydra’s vast body gradually got the message that its brain was dead. Kratos picked his way down over the ridges of cartilage until the light from the beast’s open mouth began to fade-and he heard a thin voice, sobbing faintly, “Please… please, someone… Poseidon, please…”

  Kratos embedded one of the blades into a long, striated cord of muscle and used the chain to walk himself backward into the slippery gloom. There, just below the last of the light, Kratos made out a darker shape. He drew the other blade and spun it to ignite some of its fire, and in the light of the blade he saw the captain.

  “Oh, bless you! Poseidon bless you and all your journeys,” the captain gasped. “May all the gods of Olympus smile on you forever…”

  The captain clung desperately to one ring of cartilage. His feet dangled over what appeared to be a bottomless drop into the Hydra’s stomach. And a thin leather thong around his neck held a key of gleaming gold.

  Kratos let out a little more chain, stretching down with one enormous hand. Tears streamed from the captain’s eyes. “Bless you,” he kept saying. “Bless you for coming back for me!”

  Kratos’s hand closed on the leather thong. “I didn’t come back for you,” he said, and gave the thong a sharp yank that snapped it in two-and broke the captain’s grip on the cartilage. His screams as he fell ended abruptly when he splashed into the Hydra’s churning stomach.

  When Kratos walked back out of the dead Hydra’s mouth with the key in his hand, he could still hear the captain being digested. Kratos paused by the base of the mast on which the master head was impaled; a few strokes of the Blades of Chaos snapped the mainmast off at the root, and the great beast slid back over the rail and sank forever from the sight of men.

  Kratos weighed the key in his hand. This had been a lot of work just to open a door. The fight had better be worth the reward.

  FOUR

  “YOU GAVE KRATOS a sliver of your own rage!” Ares’s fist clutched the hilt of his sword. The muscles corded on his forearm as he fought to control his towering rage. “To help a mortal-against your own family?”

  “If ever again you think to befoul my realm with any of your Typhon-spawned monsters, they will be destroyed.” Poseidon’s voice was as cold and dark as his seas’ uttermost depths. “And you, nephew, are not immune from retribution. My brother forbids murder among the gods, yes-but do not tempt my anger, or you will wish I had killed you. Do you understand?”

  Ares loosened his blade in his scabbard. “Words are no armor against the edge of a sword.”

  “Remember this, God of War: I am sovereign over the seas. Any who enter my domain must do honor to me. Even gods.”

  The two gods glowered at each other upon Egypt’s Mediterranean shore. Invisible to mortal eyes, they both stood tall enough that they could have leaned upon the Lighthouse of Pharos as if it were a walking stick.

  Ares finally broke the silent battle of wills. “We need not feud in this fashion.”

  “Your Hydra-”

  “My Hydra, yes,” Ares said. “But troubling your seas? I did not set the Hydra upon your realm.”

  Poseidon blinked. “Is this truth?”

  “Tell me this, my lord uncle. Who brought you news of this Hydra? That scheming bitch Athena, I wager.”

  “Why… yes,” Poseidon admitted. “But-”

  “And did you know of its presence before she scuttled up to trick you into giving your power to her pet?”

  “Trick me-”

  “You know I no longer frequent Olympus, not as long as my father continues to indulge every petty fancy of my sister. Being so far away, I sometimes cannot counter her lies before they fall upon trusting ears.” The God of War leaned close to his uncle, so close that the flames of his hair drew steam from the sea god’s beard. “Ask yourself, my lord uncle, ask yourself only this. Why?”

  The sea god did not respond, but a thoughtful cloud gathered upon his brow.

  “Why would I offend your sovereignty? Why would I befoul your seas? What could I possibly hope to gain?”

  “To kill this Kratos. That’s what Athena said.”

  “And if I had commanded this Hydra to do so, why would I direct it to lurk at the Grave of Ships? Did I merely hope that Kratos might someday find his way there?” Ares snorted. “I hardly need summon a Hydra to dispose of Kratos. He is less than a worm. When I want Kratos dead, I will crush him as a mortal might snuff a burned-out taper. He still lives only because his suffering amuses me.”

  “But… if it was not you who inflicted the Hydra upon my kingdom

  …”

  “I do not presume to accuse,” Ares said. “But who has gained from this encounter? Who has made you turn your majestic face from me? Who has defrauded you of power simply to flatter some mortal maggot?”

  Poseidon backed off a little and eyed his warlike nephew. “I cannot take back the rage given to Kratos.”

  “This I know too well,” said the God of War. “A god with your sense of honor would never take what was given. But I am not asking this of you. I am here, my lord uncle, only out of respect for you. I know that you still have a certain… affection for the city of Athens.”

  “That place.” The sea god snorted.

  “Zeus forbids direct battle between gods-but as you so lately warned me, there are other forms of retribution. My armies march on Athens at this very hour.”

  “Why come to me?”

  “As a courtesy, Uncle. I know that once you thought to have that city as your own. Should it be your will, I will leave Athens standing without so much as a scratch. If, indeed, you decide that all Athena has spoken is truth and all I have spoken is lies, I will not protest. I am not, as every Olympian knows, remotely so good a liar as my sister.”

  Poseidon took a breath, so deep that it changed the Mediterranean’s currents as far north as Crete. Finally he said, “I do not know which of you is deceiving me-or if you both are. But… that city is no concern of mine. Burn it to the ground and salt the earth, for all I care.” And with a gale’s roar, he was gone.

  Ares’s cruel lips bent toward a smile behind his beard of flame. “I will, Uncle. I will do exactly that,” said the God of War, and he rode the winds toward Athens.

  IN HER CHAMBERS upon faraway Olympus, Athena dashed her hand into the scrying pool she’d been using to spy upon her brother. She slapped at the ambrosia-tinctured l
iquid as though she could reach through it and strike Ares and Poseidon both. And when she stopped and paused to listen, she could hear the faint cries of her worshippers, far below in Athens, supplicating for her mercy and support as Ares’s monstrous legions drew in over the horizon and the God of War himself strode among them, ordering them to battle.

  And with Ares upon the field, the Word of Zeus prevented her from meeting this peril personally.

  Her lips thinned to a line as her anger rose. Poseidon had no cause to turn on her this way. At least her uncle did not actively support Ares. Perhaps…

  Yes. She might still turn this to her advantage.

  Without the interference of Poseidon, Kratos could sail to her beleaguered city in mere days. To again put Kratos in the position to frustrate Ares’s plans seemed like an equitable solution-but the days his travel would require might well be days her city could not spare. How Ares would make her worshippers suffer!

  Athena hurried from her chambers to the Hall of Eternity, down which she strode crisply until she reached the branch she sought. Along this corridor she walked more cautiously, treading softly as the marble gave way to finely trimmed grasses. Fawns nibbled at ivy at the edge of her vision, and soon she stepped out into an airy glade locked in perpetual summer. Athena stood perfectly still, waiting to be acknowledged.

  Artemis did not like to be startled, and that bow of hers never missed.

  Soon a rustling of leaves came from a myrtle bush nearby. The goddess Artemis stepped forth, suddenly visible as though she had materialized on the spot. With her bow slung over her shoulder and a quiver at her waist, she looked every bit the Huntress of the Gods.

  Athena lowered her head formally. “Greetings, Artemis, my sister.”

  The huntress only looked her over curiously. She had never been much for formality. “I expected my twin.”

  “Is Apollo near? I would welcome his arrival. Matters are grave, and the wisdom of the God of Enlightenment would be welcome.”

  Artemis maintained that curiously expressionless stare, as though Athena might be a hart to which the goddess was judging the range. “Even my creatures know of our brother’s war upon your city.”

  “Ares brings an army of underworld creatures to the fight. Undead legionnaires and archers take their toll, but the citizens of Athens can withstand their onslaught. The other creatures-the true monsters-are beyond mere mortals’ power to defeat.”

  Artemis walked around a full circle, studying the other goddess from every direction. “In the hunt,” she said slowly, “we know who is hunter and who is prey. In that simplicity lies truth. Between you and Ares, nothing is simple.”

  “I am not asking you to judge between my brother and myself. I am not asking you anything at all, my sister. I am here only to deliver melancholy news.”

  “Do you care for anything in that city beyond the name it bears?”

  Athena’s face went cold as stone. She had forgotten that Artemis’s words could strike as sharply as her arrows. “Of course I care for my mortals,” she said. “I must find what concerns you.”

  “Ares is no friend. His legions ravage my forests, but I cannot oppose him in the field. Zeus prohibits that.” Artemis’s hand clutched her bow, swung it to hand, nocked an arrow, and fired. The arrow sang through the air and embedded itself in the bole of a tree. “Would that I could aim my hunter’s arrow at him!”

  “Your forests,” Athena said softly. “Your beasts-all are prey for our brother’s legion.”

  “Your city dwellers,” Artemis said, an edge in her voice. “Those in Athens scavenge my forests too.”

  “They husband the forests and beasts,” Athena countered. “Ares destroys. His undead do not eat to survive or to worship us. They leave only destruction in their wake.”

  “An abomination,” Artemis agreed.

  “My city can celebrate the wilderness-if it survives,” Athena said. “My worshippers admire and respect you. Only last year,” Athena plowed on, “the prize at the Festival of Dionysus was taken by a play exalting you: The Tragedy of Actaeon the Hunter.”

  “Tragedy?” Artemis said. “I seek to celebrate life.”

  Athena had always thought turning Actaeon into a stag and having him torn apart by his own hounds was a bit excessive for only a glimpse of the goddess as she bathed-but this private thought would stay private; Athena could see no profit in dredging that up. “It is a pity,” Athena said carefully, “that my feud with Ares cannot be settled with, uh, a similarly elegant solution.”

  “And why bring this matter to me? Ares is as immune to my arrows as he is to your blade.”

  “Zeus would never permit even an arrow shot in anger,” Athena agreed. “However, Ares’s army marches through your sacred groves outside Athens. The foul creatures he commands lay waste to even the most inoffensive of your animals.”

  Athena held her hands in front of her, palms together. She parted them slightly and turned them upward as a vivid scene formed in the air between her and Artemis.

  “Such slaughter…” A tear rolled down Artemis’s cheek at the sight of the wanton destruction.

  Athena parted her hands wider, and the floating scene grew in size. “The stream is befouled with blood-blood of your animals. Ares does not hunt, does not stalk for either food or pleasure. Death is only a passing satisfaction for him. There is no skill, no grace, only endless slaughter. This stream runs red with the blood of your fawns, elk, rabbits, even the birds of the air.”

  The scene expanded to encompass a large section of the woods a few miles from the Long Walls protecting Athens. The carcasses of mutilated deer and foxes stretched to the limit of the view. A Cyclops lumbered forward, swinging a heavy club carelessly. To the left and right, it smashed the skulls of the fallen animals, although they lay already dead. In the wake of the Cyclops came hundreds of cursed legionnaires, and behind them trooped undead archers.

  “None shows respect for the wood or its inhabitants.” Athena paused dramatically. “Its former inhabitants. They leave behind only death as they march to Athens, a city that honors you as it does me.

  “There Ares’s army will do the same to the mortals,” Athena continued. “The coming fight will be between Ares’s minions and mine-but you see the result of that conflict. I would preserve your woods and ensure their sanctity.”

  “Ares would never do so. He did not ask permission to cross my meadows and forests.”

  “He is focused only on killing,” Athena said. “It matters naught to him what his army destroys.” She let the scene expand once more to show other elements of Ares’s army marching through other woods Artemis claimed as her sylvan domain. Only when she saw the expression change subtly on Artemis’s face, going from despair to anger, did Athena continue. “Neither of us can fight Ares, by our father’s decree. That does not stop our brother from destroying those who worship us.”

  “You swear an oath that my woods will be sacrosanct?”

  “Turn your creatures of the forest against Ares’s minions and my oath is made. I will see that all of Athens honors your bucolic temple,” Athena said, passion tingeing her words. “We must not allow him to trample the shrine you hold most sacred: the woods filled with creatures of hoof and wing.”

  Artemis turned, drew another arrow from her quiver, and brought it to her string. She drew the bow back until it quivered with the strain. She loosed the arrow and it sang away, arching high into the air where it exploded with the fury of a new sun, rivaling anything her twin brother might place in the sky. The second sun rained down scintillant sparks.

  Artemis said solemnly, “The army of Ares will find it impossible to pass through any forest where those under my protection roam.” With that, the Goddess of the Hunt spun and disappeared into the forest. In seconds the leaves had stopped quivering from her passage. She had become one with her domain again.

  Athena counted this a partial victory. She had gained a potentally, but Athens-and, for that matter, Olympus itself-would ne
ver be safe while Ares lived. It was time to begin the next phase of her plan. Kratos must be trained. He must be tested. And most of all He must be properly armed.

  FIVE

  AS KRATOS TURNED the key he had struggled for so long to get, the mystical seal evaporated-and a soul-piercing scream came from the captain’s cabin. He kicked open the door, expecting to find what commanded such potent protections. In this, he was not disappointed. Kratos found treasure beyond turquoise and gold.

  The three girls were as lovely as any he had ever seen. Or perhaps they simply looked lovely by comparison to the blackened, rotting faces of the undead that ripped at them with taloned hands.

  Kratos froze for an instant, paralyzed by incomprehension. How had the undead gotten in here? Through the locked door? The only answer that made sense was his own culpability. By opening the door he had released more than the locking spell. He had also released the undead magically sealed in this room to protect against intruders. The captain must have known how to prevent their release. Kratos had blundered in and put the women in jeopardy.

  In an instant, his confusion whirled away like leaves before a gale. Such imponderables were the stuff of idle hours. Right now he was still in a fight, as two of the rotting legionnaires rushed him, swinging wickedly hooked swords. Kratos reached back over his shoulder, and the same motion that drew the Blades of Chaos also bisected each undead from crown to crotch. He moved into the room and with his next swing severed the legs of an undead strangling one of the slave girls. The creature fell, dragging the girl with it to the floor, and went on strangling her as though Kratos had not mutilated its legs.

  Kratos hacked off its arms and crushed its skull-but the severed hands only tightened, throttling the life from the woman. Snarling, he bent to rip away the clenched talons, but the girl’s head tilted at a crazy angle. Her neck had been snapped like a twig.

  Another undead held a struggling woman in the air between itself and Kratos, making her a human shield.