God Slayer: The Curst Sword, #1

By R.P. Graham

                                                                 

                                                                 A mercenary for hire: cursed to wander, forever hunted.

                                                            His companion: a good natured thief with a talent for inviting trouble.

                                                             The dark shadow of a living God threatens to shatter their world.

Aelred and Broaddus lay low in the quiet, coastal town of Geboltor. Their plans are thwarted by a chance encounter with a secretive warrior, fleeing a fanatical cult. Hired for a rescue mission, the three must venture to the very home of those who pursue them; the dwelling of a God.

Faced against the forces of a deity, they must find faith in one other; each trying to outrun their past as well as their enemies.

Sword and sorcery collide in this pulse pounding, pulp adventure. Will wits, determination and bravery be enough to prevail against divine enmity?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Independent Publishing Network
• Release date: Sep 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781803520773

R.P. Graham

R.P. Graham was born and raised in Southampton. Life took him to Manchester and he now lives in Salford, United Kingdom with his partner and two dogs. He has worked as a secondary school teacher for the past seven years. His subject specialism is computer science, but his passion and enthusiasm for literature meant he could not be held back from also teaching English (much to the consternation of the department head when the meetings’ chocolate rations are heavily depleted). His love for fantasy, science fiction, film and gaming (both digital and table top) has influenced much of his creativity and outlook on life.

Book preview

I

The blade flashed in his hand, his point made clear. It was a cruel looking dagger, mainly used for intimidation; though it had occasionally found itself buried in the bowels of fools who mistook stupidity for bravery.

Kerrod licked his cracked lips; the latest catch of the night, fresh off the boat, lured into his dark alley. He just had to land it.

I didn’t stutter — make over with ya’ goods or I’ll gut ya.

Two of them. One, a lithe, young man with a mess of black hair; beard growth tarnishing his boyish looks. He was the sort the ladies swooned for; he knew it too the way his mouth ran. Kerrod fancied he might kill him anyway – coin or no.

The other was larger, how much so, hard to tell in the shadows; cloaked and hooded, hunched under a large bag. He had said nary a word since they had arrived. It was alright, Payton could take him.

My good sir, said the smaller one, raising his hands, we have little of value for you. As I said at the docks, we have just enough for a bed this night and a tip for your guiding.

I warned you Broaddus. growled the larger, his voice thick with sonorous texture.

Really? This is hardly the time for —

What’s that then? Kerrod’s eyes narrowed, cutting off the bickering. He pointed his dagger at the one called Broaddus, indicating the golden bracelet upon his wrist.

Well, this is just— the idiot’s patter cut short by Payton’s looming presence behind them, blocking retreat.

Payton had been Kerrod’s associate a number of years now; what he lacked in intelligence and conversation, he made up for in muscle and a vicious efficiency at depriving unlucky sods of their coin.

You are making a mistake. The hooded figure spoke once more.

Oh, really? Kerrod smiled his few remaining yellowed teeth, nodding, "Payton, show him how mistaken he is."

Payton lunged his slab-like hand for the hooded one’s throat; blinking in stupefied confusion at grasping only air. His target had ducked aside with a surprising speed and grace; coiled ready, cloak unfurled, bag thudding to the ground.

Kerrod gaped. The man cut an imposing, muscular silhouette swathed in the shadows of the night. His stature was such that it cast Payton as slight and wasting. His sinewy arms were bare and poised. A belt slung across mailed chest, sword at his waist. That this warrior did not reach for it spoke to his confidence and the error that Kerrod had made.

You have three blows, said the man, three opportunities to back down and leave us.

Kerrod warned his friend too late. His associate was too simple, possessing a mind too slow to process the danger; fist too quick to curl and strike. The man sidestepped Payton’s incoming blow.

That’s one, he said.

The warrior weaved in around another, that’s two, and grabbed the forearm on the third strike, an attempted uppercut. He used the momentum to swing Payton face first into the wall, yanking his hair on the rebound before repeatedly slamming his head against those same, cracking bricks. Defiant shouts of rage transitioned to pained screams through staccato blows of flesh and stone. A few seconds later, Payton ceased gurgling, limp, a crimson streak marking his descent to bloodied heap upon the ground.

A cry a street over, raised by the violent disturbance; calls for the town guard.

Terror seized Kerrod; engendered by the rapid, overwhelming display of violence that had overpowered Payton with such ease. He stood as a statue, open-mouthed, clutched dagger still pointed forwards. His bladder emptied, the warm rivers pooling at his feet doing little to thaw his frozen stance. He could not move from the advancing warrior, who towered over him, icy blue eyes aflame.

Torchlight shone upon one end of the alley carried by voices with mailed footsteps.

Aelred, called Broaddus, the giant halted, perhaps it best we leave now. After all, you have been the one advocating for a low profile.

The man called Aelred merely growled in response. He retrieved the bag and pressed onwards. Broaddus sidled towards the still stunned Kerrod, I did say we had little of value. There was no response, save the occasional blinking to break the distant stare. I’ll just be taking that, Broaddus added, prising white-knuckled fingers from the hilt. He wrenched Kerrod’s dagger free and slid it into his belt.

Come Broaddus, the growl called from the end of the alley. Giving an overly flourished bow, Broaddus followed his companion. The two disappeared into the gloom of night, Kerrod’s legs buckled. Falling to his knees, his puddle of fear splashed the cobblestones and himself.

Well, that was thoroughly unpleasant. Broaddus joined his friend back on the main street,

Over that way good sirs, I heard a frightful commotion back there, he called to the two town guardsmen hurrying towards them; Broaddus bowed to their thanks and gave a wave, no problem at all, just doing my part.

He whispered to his mountainous companion, I think we got away with it.

A barely audible grunt his reply. They walked the winding cobblestone street upwards, Broaddus having to take three steps for each one of Aelred’s.

He did say he knew the place to stay was at the top of the hill, Broaddus continued.

A raised eyebrow.

I mean, of course, he was not honest in his intentions, seeing as he just tried to rob us back there, but perhaps there was a seed of truth in the story he told to get us to follow him.

Broaddus scratched his sea salt-stiffened beard to fill the awkward silence, I need a shave, that cramped ship did not lend itself well to tending to oneself. I shall look forward to a bath too, I think.

He peered under his companion’s hood, You could also shave, it would take years off, maybe even improve your odds with the fairer — hey, wait.

Aelred increased his stride, nearly knocking over a trader locking his shop, in his haste to escape the younger man’s ceaseless prattling.

Hey, watch where you— The shop keep’s bristling moustache quivered upon seeing the giant of the man who had bumped into him, hum, just be more careful. He scurried away, precluding any response.

With Broaddus puffing a few steps behind, the pair came to a ramshackle building with pretensions of grandeur. Dilapidated veranda, balconies and shutters hanging off hinges spoke of former opulence; faded, choked in weeds and coated in the mud and filth of time. The structure bathed in the stink of the attached pig pen; the creatures wallowing by stacked hay bales grunted in greeting at the new arrivals.

Is this it? Asked Broaddus, it must be.

He pointed to the sign, swinging with a rusted wheeze, above the door: a chipped and faded painting of purple grapes and a bottle. The door flew open, light, and shouts of laughter spilt out into the street, followed by a drunk, having been tossed out by his own.

The man rolled to a stop before the pair and picked himself up, wiping his bloody nose and beaming them a drooling smile,

Good evenin’ shirs... ‘cor blemmy, ye be a biggun’

He patted his bloodied hand across Aelred’s muscled biceps. Aelred glared down at the crimson smear, then to the swaying man.

The drunk mumbled and slurred an apology through bloody lips. In his haste to back away, he tripped over the fencing, landing in the pigpen, splattering mud and eliciting startled squeals from the animals.

Good sir, are you alright? enquired Broaddus.

A deep snoring sound was the only response, joined by the snuffling of the pigs, curious about their new bedfellow.

Broaddus merely shrugged at his companion’s askance look, gesturing to the door with a flourish, shall we?

He pushed the door open to a wall of sound, bodies and the stench of a busy tavern.

Broaddus beamed, eyes alit with excitement and shouted so that he could be heard over the din, See, he did not steer us too far wrong. You find us a table; I shall get the drinks and food.

He brushed aside Aelred’s annoyed grunt with a pat on the arm and pushed his way through to the bar; stepping over feet, legs and uneven floorboards that shifted and wobbled in their settings.

Having ordered, Broaddus rested upon the bar, drinking in the scene, thrilled once again to be on land and amongst crowds of people enjoying themselves. This was perfect for relaxation, entertainment and for sourcing work the pair so desperately needed. Work was a regrettable necessity of living, or so Broaddus found, yet he felt himself fortunate. His line of work allowed the deep mixing of business and pleasure. Yes, there was no better place than a good tavern; a beacon of warmth, food, drink, gambling and licentiousness.

Grabbing the no doubt watered down ale placed before him, he smiled his thanks, chuckling with amusement at the sight of a mug arcing through the air, sailing over the heads of the crowd. 

Exploding against the wall, the tankard's demise showered patrons in shards and ale, signalling the start of another brawl. Broaddus weaved his way through the animated throng, clutching his own drinks close. Without breaking his stride, he ducked the leaping target of the missile and sidestepped the resultant, rolling scuffle.

Jostling against the eager tide of rogues, vagrants, vagabonds and all manner of ne’er-do-wells, Broaddus scanned for his companion. His eyes stung from the heady mix of stale sweat, ale and smoke; the many faces cast in gloom by scant candlelight and tobacco haze.

The reports of bludgeoning fist upon wet meat and bone and the occasional yelping followed his search through crowds of baying onlookers. Some hanging from beams, others stood upon tables and chairs.

He sighted his quarry at a table in the far corner, unperturbed by the evening’s entertainment. Well Aelred, the tavern is most incommodious, the innkeeper a cantankerous wretch, but I am assured the rooms are comfortable. Something sorely needed after days at sea and that unfortunate incident earlier. Planting the tankards on the table, Broaddus took a seat and clapped Aelred’s large shoulder.

Here my friend, drink and be merry. He led by example, taking a large swig. Over the brim of his mug he eyed the unconscious loser of the fight tossed out the door by his fellow patrons.

Silently, Aelred’s immense hand enveloped the mug, making it look as a child’s cup, and brought it to his lips. His skin, kissed as it was by the sun, made his flaxen hair radiate all the more golden. Swept back into a ponytail, it cascaded over his midnight blue cloak. All save for a braid, laced in silver charms, dangling from temple to chin, as was the Birtonic custom.

Broaddus had always a desire to visit Birtonnica, curious as he was about distant lands, though had recently been reflecting that were the inhabitants as severe as his companion, he should consider himself suitably dissuaded.

Anyway, he began, trying to make conversation, if we cannot enjoy the fruits of our labour, we should at least consider our next steps. I fear my purse shall soon run empty — Geboltor seems a fine town to ply our trade from what I have witnessed so far.

Were you not so frivolous you would have plenty. As I recall, you did very little to earn the pay on our last job, growled Aelred.

"Telwetha, he speaks, cried Broaddus in mock surprise, pleased as I am that you maintain the ability to talk, I am hurt, hurt I say, that you would talk to me, your friend in such a manner. We all have our own strengths; some of us the drivers, others the oxen that pulls the cart with muscle. What a mighty fine oxen you are. In fact, I recall that I am the one that got us that bit of work..."

Aelred grunted through another sip, pausing to smack his lips, ale trickling down his beard, Call to whatever God you wish. I would not doubt they have given up on you. For friend, you overreach. Had I not pulled you out that cell three years ago, you would still rot there. You’ve been a burden ever since.

It was but a minor misunderstanding, I’m sure in time it would have been straightened—

It was a minor misunderstanding? That you and the Sultan’s personal—

I am but flesh and blood, hands raised in submission, Broaddus flashed his grin. An asset that often loaned weal, but on occasion, woe collected with interest.

For the first time that night, a smile crossed Aelred’s careworn, patrician features; he chuckled. Broaddus joined in the laughter and the two men clanked their mugs before taking another hearty swig.

A comfortable silence fell between the pair, oblivious to the din of the room; an unspoken acknowledgement of friendship and the rare pause in their travails. For now, it was only this night and them.

Food arrived, and they eagerly broke their fast with crusty, stale bread and stew of questionable meat. Compared to the hardtack they had been subsisting on the past week, it may as well have been a sumptuous court feast.

Loath as he was to break these happy minutes, Broaddus could contain himself no longer at the sight of Aelred’s constant vigilance and returning sour mood.

You cannot always be so concerned; a lifetime looking over your shoulder means stumbling into the grave without having seen the journey. I know you are still angry, I am sorry that my mistakes caused our most recent departure, but the Gods are good. We escaped and are none the worse for it.

Aelred sneered, Words of the young and foolish, always in the moment. No thought to consequence. You know I am hunted and must stay alert; would that you could take that onboard. The Gods do not favour me.

Broaddus reflexively fondled his bracelet; thumb caressing the dangling, golden charm of three eyes stacked one upon another.

I never understood why some hold their trinkets offer protection. As if a God’s favour can be bought with elaborate jewellery, Aelred scoffed.

Broaddus pointed to the charms lacing Aelred’s braid, like these?

These are different, they are symbols of family and station; a reminder of duty.

Broaddus released the hold on his charm, It is not that I believe I have power, or are blessed by this, he jangled his wrist, it is a symbol that I do have faith. Not just in Gods, but in myself and my friends - a sign of duty too. Sometimes just the reminder you have faith in something is powerful enough.

Aelred harrumphed a noisy slurp from his tankard.

Broaddus sought to rejoinder, but his attention caught, replied simply, the entertainment is here.

So too the crowd noticed, the talking and laughter hushed. Upon the stage, men sat cross-legged ready with a variety of instruments. They began to play, the beats and melody upon the air charming the five women before them to action. Swaying to strings, thrusting to pounding percussion, they weaved a captivating tapestry.

They dressed in a fashion aping Icanthian veils and silks; save this was with torn skirts and shirts. Rags rippled and dripped from their undulating bodies, waving and enticing the patrons to gaze upon their almost naked forms.

These were handsome women, certainly not the prettiest maidens Broaddus had seen, nor the most graceful. Yet, this was enough to satisfy all but the most discerning in this backwater; the illusion of an exotic pleasure palace.

Their dance carried them down the steps, heel to painted toe. Two bald, bare-chested men, much alike, swaggered from the wings to pace in front. The crowd, whooping and cheering, obligingly parted at their presence. The message was obvious: to look but not touch.

In drunken lust, one man paid no heed to warning, reaching for a ragged strip. With great alacrity, the closest escort snapped the man’s wrist, exposing bone. His screams cut short by the other fist bludgeoning his face. The unconscious body flew, slamming against a pillar; spatters marking his bloody passage.

The display met with appreciative roars; the dancers continued their performance unfazed.

The procession grew closer to the pair and two women peeled off before placing themselves in the laps of Aelred and Broaddus. Their bare legs wrapped around, they continued to wave and flow with the music; hands tousling the men’s hair, traversing the contours of their face, neck and across their chests.

I thought I would treat us — I asked the innkeeper, a bit extra, but worth it. said Broaddus, his eyes locked upon the breasts that heaved to and from his face.

This was you? Without waiting for a response, Aelred carefully placed the girl on the floor, her dainty form liable to snap in his large grip. He retrieved his sword and bags, and stalked to the stairs, easily parting the crowd with his presence.

The girl, attempting to not look put out, quickly joined her partner on Broaddus’ lap.

More for me then! he called after his departing companion, before drowning in a flood of kisses and fragrant perfume.

A DISHEVELLED BROADDUS staggered up the stairs, wine bottle in hand. Crashing through the door, he blinked through drunken fog, scanning the darkened, swaying room. He finally found his friend brooding on the balcony of their room.

The tavern, located as it was on the hill, viewed the streets and alleys below. The densely packed buildings, haphazardly placed, clung for purchase a mile down to the Midean sea.

Night had cast its pall upon the town, bejewelled in diamond stars, framing the yawning moon hanging lazily over the bay.

A cool breeze swept away the muggy heat of day, carrying the waves and ships to port. The musical symphony of cicadas echoed around the mostly empty streets.

I misspoke earlier, said Aelred, slowly without turning, In this short time, you have become as a brother to me. What we have been through — when will you understand? You have almost seen twenty-three summers. Is it not time to grow up?

Broaddus placed the