Three (The Godslayer Cycle Book 3) by Ron Glick Page B

was not intolerably cold, but for some reason sitting in the presence of this man made her feel chilled.
    Avery inclined his head toward the lady, doing his level best to effect someone of royal bearing. Brea knew even without seeing his stiff, uncomfortable movements that he was faking.  Eve without the brand upon his wrist which told her he was little more than a heretic who had fallen into good fortune, he simply lacked the simple grace someone born and raised in wealth attained.  Perhaps she might have been convinced that he may have one day before his fall been someone of importance, if only he had practiced at the deception.  But there was no fooling someone who had spent years moving from one lord's table to another in the service of the Goddess Imery.
    Of course, it was also a tremendous help that Brea possessed the true sight of her now deceased Goddess.  No matter how good Avery might one day become at deceit, she would always be able to see directly through it.
    “I expect only to travel with you, as equals,” said the smallish man.  “Goodsmith has Two , which makes him one of the Nine's chosen.  That makes he and I brothers, of a sort.  And I would set aside all animosity between us, if I may.”
    “The Nine?” laughed Brea.  “That is what you are calling the swords?”
    Avery shrugged.  “It is what they call themselves.”
    Brea scrunched her brow and drew her cloak tighter.  “You're mad,” she said plainly.
    “Enlightened men are often called mad.”
    “Mad men often consider themselves enlightened,” countered the former priestess.
    Avery's face shifted, plainly trying to maintain some kind of composure as he struggled with what to say next.  Brea chose to save him the struggle.
    “Look, you found me.  You think I can be some kind of envoy to Nathan, but I assure you, I have absolutely no influence over him.”
    “You are here with him, are you not?”
    “I am here.  He is here.  That is about the best I can say.  We have had...  problems.”  Brea raised an eyebrow.  “I don't suppose you would know anything about that, would you?”
    Avery sat back, guarded.  “How would I?”
    “So you don't know anyone who has one of the swords - one of your Nine - that can play with people's minds?  Not someone named Martin?”
    Avery visibly jumped at the name, if not the first part of Brea's query.  Imery's talent for seeing and knowing was not needed when her mark was so transparent.  But Avery was ever doing the unexpected, just as he did now.
    “I don't know Martin,” confessed the self-professed God of Vengeance.  “I've met him though.  And he said he knew me.  He was the one who told me about Levitz and the second of the Nine.  I would have to guess he's the same one you're talking about?”
    Brea had genuinely not expected such a forthright answer, and it set her back.  She hid her surprise by looking about herself, at the ruins of Bracken's tavern in the distance, and then pivoting to look at the rough dwelling that she now called home.  Bracken's home might have been within the walls of his business at one time, but he had other properties around town, one of which had been this rundown storage shed for holding what he called his more volatile mixtures.  It had been converted into shelter for Bracken, Nathan and herself readily enough, with a new lean-to constructed to cover the large barrels that had previously filled the interior.
    Upon returning to Oaken Wood, rebuilding the tavern itself was made impossible by the winter, and now by the massive influx of pilgrims camping in every conceivable empty space they could find.  Bracken had expressed no end of frustration at these impositions, but there was nothing to be done for it.  The best he could accomplish was to drive campers from the ruins of the Wyrm's Fang Tavern - beyond that, he had no choice but to wait for the crowds to either leave or withdraw to more permanent homes.  Only then could he hope to