We Kill the Traitor God

By Michael Nwanolue

Sala is the god of the sun, the gentle Heir to the Ursha throne of iron and steel.

Khat and Seth are the Mawia Heirs, Moon and Sea to Sala's blazing Sun.

A truce has halted the ancient rivalries, but the tenacious peace is threatened when the Heirs discover a shocking secret.

And so it comes that the three must make a difficult choice.

For what is one life against the fate of many?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Nwanolue
• Release date: Jan 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005431891

Michael Nwanolue

Michael is a Nigerian fantasy writer often found lurking on YouTube or Netflix. His interests include programming and other science-y stuff, myths and legends as well as dark, unspeakable rites.He can be found on Twitter or Instagram shouting into the void about his next planned books. It's probably for the best you do not attempt to summon him.

Book preview

We Kill the Traitor God

We Kill the Traitor God

Michael Nwanolue

Title Page

Contents

Verse 1

Chapter 1

Verse 2

Chapter 2

Verse 3

Chapter 3

Excerpt from Amobi and the Door Beyond Time

Author’s Note

About the Author

Also by Michael Nwanolue

To the mortals and immortals of the Magicae Scholarium.

I’m more than a little in love with y’all.

Once upon a time, two pantheons went to war.

It did not end well.

Chapter One

The fires burning on the scones barely wavered as Jwahir-Malada, the Tyrant In White, Elder Ris of the Sky and King of the Ursha gods beat a servant half to death. An iron tray and the oranges that it once held lay scattered about the feet of the weeping girl; further victims of his wrath. The other servants hung back at the edges of the war chambers, fearful of attracting the Elder God’s attention. Something Sala thought was a wise choice. After all, immortality did not mean invulnerable. Malada stalked after the servant, great wings spread out and a chilling expression on his light brown face.

You dare to challenge me?

I meant no ill, Your Majesty, the girl replied, trembling. Black blood leaked from a gash on her blue skin. I would never. It’s just… things are getting harder each day. The war—trade with the other tribes have dwindled and prices have skyrocketed.

Sala closed his eyes and leaned back into his chair, wishing he could shut the Duru girl up. Couldn’t she see that she was making things worse?

Is that a fact? Malada asked, his voice dangerously low. Things are getting harder. And I suppose it’s my fault?

Yes.

No, Your Majesty! We… we just want a small raise.

A raise, he repeated. It was impressive, the amount of malice he managed to pack into that single word. "Do you know how many people, how many humans, would give their right arm to be in your position? To constantly be in my presence. To proudly serve the greatest of all the Ris. Out of all the Duru, I picked you up from the gutter. I feed you. I clothe you. I help you take care of your wretched family. I even keep you ageless. And now you ask for a raise?"

Please Your Majesty…

Shards! he thundered and the Elite of the White Army materialized at once, seven in all. They bent the knee and paused; their featureless helms turned upwards as they waited for a command. Sala had to suppress a shudder. A tingling chill always travelled up his spine whenever he saw what were arguably his father’s greatest creations.

"Take