Chapter 87: Re-commitment to life

My people are my motivation. I live to serve them. And I will live as long as is necessary to secure for them a peaceful and prosperous future.

-Athanaric

Athanaric suppressed a scream of frustration as the draegon lifted off the ground. He was so close. Just a few surges of Flux and Thew away.

And now Naresh blocked his path.

He couldn't ignore the Godslayer. He'd made a mistake only a few moments before, in ignoring the girl, and now his right eye bled and his vision blurred. It made running difficult, but he didn't have enough Thew to heal it right away; he needed everything he had to catch up with and kill his traitorous son.

The boy had mangled Calla. He'd killed Teirn. He'd betrayed all Athanaric had raised him for. He had to die.

“Give up!” the Godslayer said.

He stood atop a rock, his arms folded across his chest as if he had the right to command a god despite the rips and stains marring his clothing.

Athanaric didn't respond. The man bore no weapon or means of defense beyond his Ichor. And since Athanaric had the size advantage, this would be fast. If not easy.

Hopefully.

He took a step and applied a surge of Flux to the center of his body, so his speed increased. He intended to simply collide with the man, grab him, and crush him in a deadly grip. But Naresh blurred into motion, dodging to the side—fast enough that Athanaric completely missed. In fact, he flew past where Naresh had stood, over the ground where the draegon had taken off from only a few seconds before.

The beast flew straight toward the end of the plateau, not high off of the ground. It couldn't go far. Draegons couldn't fly for miles and miles like a bird. They had to land frequently. And if this draegon wanted to reach anywhere safe, it would need to touch down on the plateau at least once, then take a few steps before it lifted off again.

Athanaric looked back to see Naresh land and hurtle after him. He increased his own surge of Flux, harvesting it as it emanated from his body. He had a fair amount of Flux. He could afford to go faster even if doing so would deplete the Ichor much quicker than he could harvest it. That would probably cause him to run out, but it seemed like his only chance to catch Wrend.

It seemed like the best course of action.

He landed. The rock beneath him cracked under his weight and momentum. He took one step and jumped again, pushing with everything he had toward the draegon.

The skin of his face seemed to flatten. He could feel it. His body cried out in objection to the thrust; a dull pain coursed through his every muscle and bone. He couldn't harvest the Ichor as fast as he depleted it, and his store began to diminish. He didn't care, though. He gained on the draegon ten feet a second.

The draegon touched down at the cliff's edge, took several steps, and soared out over the brink, its wings flapping. It headed toward the opposite butte, about half a mile across the gap. The girl crouched low against the draegon's neck, but Wrend sat up straight, with his arms spread wide and his head tilted back, as if he were trying to fly. It looked like he might fall.

Athanaric touched down on the edge of the cliff and jumped out into the open air. He didn't even consider not doing it, even despite the rate at which his Flux drained out of him.

Below, his army marched through the gap, toward the Hasuken army. In moments they would clash. They looked like little bugs with banners, scrambling along the red ground.

Athanaric soared toward the draegon. Closer and closer. He came within sixty feet of the draegon. Fifty. Forty. The wind in his face blew so strong that he nearly couldn't breathe. His soul felt deflated as the Flux flowed out of him. It wouldn’t last much longer, let alone long enough for him to reach the opposite side of the gap. Leenda turned around on the draegon, clutching at Wrend and shaking him. Wrend had his head tilted back as if to drink in the wind, and laughed. He laughed, laughed, laughed. Like a madman.

Thirty feet.

Athanaric had nearly used all of his Flux.

Twenty feet.

He reached out, almost able to grab the draegon's tail. Leenda's eyes, wide in horror at her failure, met his.

Ten feet.

Something struck him in the back, throwing him off balance. His hand, extended to grab onto the draegon's tail, closed over empty air. The weight on his back pulled him down, and he began to spin.

“Yet another god loses,” Naresh said into his ear, and the weight was gone.

And so was Athanaric’s Flux.

He spun and rotated as he plunged, so that one moment he saw the ground coming closer, the next the draegon in the sky. He caught a glimpse of Naresh landing on the draegon's back, above, and of his paladins meeting the Hasuken, below.

He couldn’t suppress a roar of anger.

He'd failed. He had failed. The Godslayer had bested him. A favored son—one who might have inherited his godhood—was dead. His other choice son had betrayed him. He had no heir, no oasis against the despair of his years.

And he was falling.

But he still was moving, and so he still created Flux. It emanated from him in waves of white. He could harvest that Ichor and slow his fall enough to survive the impact.

Yet, he could also let himself fall and fall and strike the ground like a star descended from heaven, and die. He could end it all and no one would think he'd done it on purpose. He could do it, and end his agony at life—so much the greater without the promise of an heir to relieve him of his duty.

No. He had a people to lead and love. They depended on him, and they would need him to protect them from the other gods, who ruled not with generosity and kindness, but with fists of steel. His people still needed him.

And the country of Hasuke needed taming. It needed to pay for what it had done to his little ones and wives through its alliance with the apostates. He had vengeance to levy on his enemies.

Especially Naresh and Wrend.

And so he harvested the Flux, bound it to his body, and applied it upward. He would hit the ground hard, but hopefully he could slow his descent enough that it wouldn't kill him.

He would live to protect his people. He would live to mete out justice.