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The Games that Gods Play	By : Ristul Category: DC Verse Comics > Wonder Woman Views: 16990 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Wonder Woman,nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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You can deny it all you want. But you and I know the truth. You cannot avoid its siren call. You have tasted it your whole life, and now you’re an addict like any other. Exhilarating, isn’t it, the thrill of battle?
-Ares
Long lines of caravans and people clogged the roads around Nexopar. Phillip carefully and quietly made his way into the city, easily slipping past the lax guards at the gates set in the massive city walls.
The city was rich, no doubt about it. But his practiced eye could also see that much of the wealth was gained by leeching off others, the spoils of conquest. Expensive timber of high quality, fabulous alloys using metals that only the Eckians have, porcelain and cutlery seized from the homes of innocents.
There was, however, a sense of unease in the air. The Nepherians had heard of their army’s defeat, and they were stricken with fear that the allied armies might just storm over the borders and occupy their country. Which would happen, but the plan he had worked out with Morgan and Jake was actually more subtle… and infinitely more risky.
He strode down a long thoroughfare, relatively quiet and lined with small shops selling perfumes, clothing, and furniture. He looked like any other pedestrian going about his business. Pity the people around him did not know that he would be pulling down their nice little world built off the blood of others very soon.
He walked up next to a garment shop, and made a sharp turn past the doors.
“Welcome…” The woman standing behind the counter near the door started to speak, but words failed her as she recognized the man before her.
“Veronica…” He couldn’t help the smile that appeared on his lips as he drew the woman into a tight embrace. He could feel her shivering slightly in his grip, the tension of the past few weeks slowly grinding her down. Not knowing when or if Clea’s goons would come for her, whisking her into the agony of the mad goddess’s arenas.
“God, I was so scared.” Cale said moments later, the two of them seated at a small round table at the back of the shop. “After Vanessa and Artemis left, I and the others tried to blend in as much as possible. Then Clea started rounding up folks for her ‘games’.”
“What?”
“The poor, the unwanted. Beggars off the street. She’s offering prizes for people in participate in gladiatorial contests. She’s desperate, Phillip, from the defeat of her army. I remember some of Earth’s history, and she’s trying to distract her people with bread and circuses.”
“Is it working?”
Cale shrugged. “I think so, but it’s hard to tell.”
He tapped the table with his fingertips, thinking hard. “I need to find a way to get close to Clea. What do you know of her security?”
“Tight. She hardly ever appears in public, and when she does, she’s shrouded in a… I’m not sure how to describe it… a cloak of energy. I don’t think anything can get through it.”
Phillip didn’t say anything. Privately, he hoped that his swords could, but fighting past her bodyguards while facing off against the goddess herself was not likely to be easy. He would need an opportunity, something that would allow him to get within striking range of Clea while armed. He would most likely die after that, of course, but Phillip had accepted his own death years ago. It would be a release.
He seized on one of Veronica’s earlier pieces of information. “You said she’s offering prizes for participants in her fights?”
Cale narrowed her eyes. “You’re not thinking of joining, are you? You’ll get killed out there!”
“No, I won’t.” His voice was calm, steady. “I’m not easy to kill. And if that’s the best way to get close to Clea, then I will do so.”
She looked at him worriedly. “What about the rest of us?”
He stood up. “Keep a low profile, and stay safe.”

Mayse steered his horse through the courtyard of the palace, lined by cheering citizens on both sides. Flower petals littered the ground beneath the soles of his horse, while banners fluttered proudly along the top of the walls lining the courtyard. All to celebrate the return of the heroic officer who saved the Nepherian army. Or what remained of it.
Mayse hated it. He hated the idiots cheering him. He hated the sniveling cowards pandering to the Goddess’s whims. He hated being lauded as a hero when the whole thing had been a disaster from the start. And most of all, he hated the self-righteous bitch goddess Clea strutting proudly before her floating throne, with an Amazon slave at her feet. Didn’t she care about the thousands of good men who’d just died?
The Nepherian officer fixed a stony look on his face as he led his bedraggled line of troops, many of them soldiers from the first doomed foray, to the steps leading up to Clea’s throne. He did not need to look back at his men to know that they all wore looks of disgust at the spectacle.
They had lost, and for a cause they no longer believed in.
He kept his face free from expression, dismounting from his horse when he reached the steps. The high-born noblewomen standing near the throne all fluttered their eyelashes seductively at him, but he paid them no heed. He was just a lowborn, the son of an indentured servant. He had nothing in common with them.
“Welcome, General Mayse!” Clea crowed, opening her arms wide. “My people, here is a man who went through much blood and fire for the glory of our nation.” Her voice dropped a tone. “True, we have lost much, but we would have lost a lot more, if not for the courage of General Mayse and his soldiers.”
No thanks to you. Mayse did not forget that it was Clea who’d tried to get him killed in the first place. He walked up the steps as she continued lauding his accomplishments, though her vanity was such that she could not help but add in praises to herself.
“And so, my people, I give you General Mayse, Hero of Nepheria!” He turned around to face the cheering crowds, and bowed stiffly.
He stood there for a while longer, stoically enduring the cheers.
“Come.” Clea whispered to him. He bowed again, then followed her past her throne into the palace. He noticed the guards dragging along the Amazon slave, who on closer observation still looked defiant and unbroken. The slave was also the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, even more gorgeous than Clea herself.
He was led to Clea’s interior throneroom, lined with expensive silks. The goddess gestured, and her floating throne settled on a dais. She sat on her throne, and smiled at him. The guards dragged the slave next to Clea’s feet, and the woman stared at him with a silent plea for help in her blue eyes.
Clea said, “You have done well, General…”
“Cut the crap.” He allowed the disgust he felt to finally pool in his eyes. “You tried to have me killed.”
The vehemence in his voice made the guards instinctively raise their weapons. Mayse held out his hands, showing that they were empty.
Clea frowned, and tried to explain, “It was for the good of our people…”
“Save your lies for the gullible.” He snapped. The Book of Paths had made a lot of things clear to him. “A hell lot of good men died for your ambition. The other kingdoms were no threat to us, and even if they were, we were too strong. I’ve seen the villages and people in the conquered territories cursing our nation, our soldiers acting like thugs, ravaging and despoiling their lands. And all for what?”
“And what of it?” Her eyes grew cold, and the glow around her seemed to intensify. “Do you seek to depose of me? I can kill you without lifting a finger!”
He shrugged. “I don’t doubt it. But you just made a Hero of the Realm. Killing me right now will definitely raise questions.” He grinned, a wolfish smile that did not reach his eyes. “You can’t get rid of me right now, and I won’t want to leave the army yet. After all, you just made me a General.” He stepped back away from Clea. “And this should be the end of our little interview, don’t you think?”
Clea narrowed her eyes. “You seek to make an enemy out of me? I will crush you.”
“Oh, don’t worry.” Mayse spun and walked out of the room, feeling a grim sense of satisfaction. “I’m sure I can make it interesting.”

Diana stared at the man who had just left. She did not know why, but he gave her the same kind of feeling that Phillip did, even if it was not as intense. A sheer presence in the room, filling it. Deadly, confident, and yet comforting.
Clea seethed with visible anger, snappish for the rest of the day. Wonder Woman understood Clea’s problem, and inwardly reveled in it. She could not get rid of Mayse so quickly, not when he had just become an important rallying point for her military. But leaving him in place could be even worse.
After a dreary lunch, Clea lounged around as usual, ordering her servants to debase themselves in various ways, but seeming to find little pleasure in the activities. Diana found herself taking the brunt of Clea’s attentions, forced despite her best efforts to use her hands and feet to pleasure Clea’s personal guard. Then she was hit again and again by Clea’s energy bolts, in preparation for the evening’s entertainment.
Diana tried to tell herself she was just conserving her strength to throw the fights, but she knew she was just lying to herself. She was close to giving up, and every additional Amazon that succumbed to Clea’s hideous magicks made it difficult to guard her soul from the corruption that had engulfed her sisters and even her beloved mother.
Just an hour before, she had seen her mother, free from chains and bondage, willingly submitting to the perverted desires of Clea’s men. She had wept and screamed for her mother to resist, but the will of the Amazon Queen was so far gone that she did not even heed her daughter, fucking away what was left of her pride and dignity. She humped the men enthusiastically, and Clea even dragged in some uncorrupted Amazons to observe the degradation of their Queen, and their already low spirits hit further depths.
The events for the evening had settled into a predictable pattern. First some slaves forced to battle one another for freedom, followed by prisoners-of-war and deserters facing deadly predator beasts in a grim struggle for survival. Diana wept for the dead as their torn bodies were carted away unceremoniously. The sheer disregard for life tore at her soul in ways just as painful as her defeats and the loss of her sisters.
“And now!” The herald for the day announced grandly to the thousands of spectators packed into the coliseum. “One of the most exciting battles you will ever have the pleasure of witnessing! Twenty of our beautiful kingdom’s most vicious criminals, against five of the bravest fighters who have stepped forward to defend the honour of our laws! If the criminals win, they win their freedom. If the fighters, they win our gratitude, and a small fortune! To the death!”
“To the death! To the death!” The crowd chanted. Diana felt sick at the bloodlust. Such battles were brutal, and the criminals often lived up to their reputation. In fact, the present bunch had about ten ‘veterans’, criminals who had won their freedom, committed yet another heinous crime, and went back to the arena. More often than not, it was the volunteer fighters who got killed.
The five volunteers stepped out, three of them looking painfully young and idealistic, clutching their weapons nervously. Only a grizzled looking old man missing his left ear and a bald man with two swords seemed competent.
Two swords? Diana blinked in surprise. She focused her sight, just as the battle started.
And it was almost immediately apparent to everybody that this time things would go rather differently than in the past.
The bald man swept out with one sword almost casually, cutting the throat of one opponent, before gliding easily to another, his sword punching through the man’s belly. He twisted his hips, and somehow tossed the dying man to one side, who collided with one man just as he was about to deliver the killing blow to a cowering youth on the ground, unbalancing him long enough for the bald man to sever his spine.
The grizzled old man was holding his own against two opponents, but seemed to be tiring fast. The bald man threw caution to the wind, his blades a whirlwind of death about him as he waded into the midst of his enemies, his throat shouting out a hoarse battle cry.
Two villains stabbed forward with their spears, one of them dying as the man flung one sword at his head, splitting it apart like a melon, before grabbing the other spear with his free hand. He whipped the spear up and over his head, just in time to parry a blade thrust at him. He pulled the spear wielder towards him, then flicked the spear tip to one side, surprising two men coming forward, the tip arcing out to whip past the eyes of one of them. The man fell to the ground, screaming as he held his face, blood trickling down between his fingers.
One slashed the bald swordsman, a moderately deep cut across the back, nothing that would hinder him. The culprit paid for his blow a heartbeat later when one sword scooped across his belly, his intestines bubbling out like red jelly.
Two men standing too close to each other died with their throats slit then and there as the bald man spun the purloined spear in one hand, reversing his grip on it such that he now wielded the spear, not the original owner, who had drawn his own sword and advanced fearfully forward. He was spit moments later on the spear, gurgling his last breaths as he died.
The crowd was deadly quiet now, complete silence settling over the stadium, awed and shocked as they waited to see what the swordsman would do next. Diana, meanwhile, had no more doubts as to the identity of the man, even if he was bald and the beard on his chin was a dark brown color. Only one man fought that way, with a mix of recklessness, speed, technique, and terrifying presence that even the gods feared.
Phillip parried one blow, then followed through, the steel of his blade still in contact with his opponent’s sword as the villain tried to pull back, but unable to withdraw his sword all the way because he needed to defend himself. The matter was rendered moot as Phillip somehow twisted his blade past the man’s defense, stabbing him in the chest.
Phillip dropped the spear, letting it settle between his dancing feet while his free hand plucked the dying man’s sword in midair. Three men came at him simultaneously, all from different directions. Phillip’s hands took on a life of their own, his swords parrying the blows. He suddenly shifted his feet, the boots catching the spear on the ground and levering it up and about to smack one of them painfully on his sword arm. Phillip chopped off the arm, and the man stumbled back screaming.
He twisted his feet the other way, and the spear reversed direction rapidly, hitting the man trying to attack his back. The man parried the spear, and that bought Phillip enough time to reverse his grip on one sword and stab backwards into the man’s belly. The remaining man stepped back warily, while Phillip scanned the situation carefully.
The youths and the grizzled old man, working together under his instructions, had managed to take down two more villains, leaving only seven opponents left. The odds were almost even, but the youths were all breathing hard and in shock, obviously unprepared for the rigors of a life-and-death battle. The old man’s face was pale, but he still seemed capable of fighting on a bit longer. But it was obvious to everybody watching that the outcome would hinge on the bald warrior.
Phillip put down his swords, and removed a chain and sickle from his belt. He begun to spin the chain, a heavy weight attached at the other end. The seven remaining villains looked at one another, conferring silently, then charged forward in a single wave.
The chain whipped out, crossing the shrinking distance in a flash, the weight smashing right into the nose of the closest criminal, crushing bone and flesh into the brain, killing the man instantly. Phillip yanked the weight back, before hurling it out at the leg of one opponent, and pulling on it. The man stumbled, crashing into the man beside him.
The Lion countercharged, one hand on the sickle. He slid behind one man, looping the chain around his neck, then used his body as a shield, while he eviscerated one of the men who had stumbled. The other villains proved that there was no honor amongst thieves as they stabbed into the living shield, but Phillip had already danced away, the chain pulling away from the dead man’s neck.
The weight flung out again, but one of the men was quick enough to get his sword up, letting the weight loop around it. He was wholly unprepared when Phillip gave the chain a hard yank, pulling the sword out of his hands. Phillip grabbed the weapon as it came to him, and promptly returned it to the man. In his throat. Three enemies left. The youths came up beside him and charged.
And then it was all over. There was silence through the arena and beyond. Not even the sound of swords clashing, nor the cheering of the crowds, stupefied by what they had seen. Only the low, deep panting breaths of the survivors as they surveyed the scene of their victory. The other four fighters seemed incredulous at their survival. Diana also knew that Phillip expected no less of himself. His eyes were cold, focused, and the thin line of his mouth as he stared up at the grandstand where she and Clea were told her what he was there for.
Diana found herself hoping that he would not do anything silly, but at the same time irrationally hoping that he would, to save her and the Amazons.
The sound of clapping broke the reverie. Clea applauded warmly as she said, “Bravo, bravo! Truly magnificent. I have never seen such skillful combat before.” She pointed to Phillip. “Tell me your name, warrior.”

Phillip bowed, “I am Eigen.” He gauged the distance to the goddess. Too far for him to cover. He could use his distance strike, but he was doubtful it could pierce her shield. Furthermore, the swords with him were ordinary blades, not the deadly enchanted alien alloys of Infamy and Glory. No, this was just a chance to observe the situation.
He had already noted the arrangement of her guards, the number of people in the stadium, possible hiding spots, and more importantly, every exit and entrance out of the place. He ignored the groans of his erstwhile comrades as they nursed their wounds while waiting for further instructions.
Clea looked down imperiously at him, “Eigen, it is clear you are a superior fighter. Your talents will be much needed. Henceforth, you and your companions will serve as the arbiters of justice. Criminals who wish to gain their freedom will have to face you.”
He bowed again, accepting her offer because there simply was no other choice. It was also a brilliant move on her part, since the public had been restless with the defeat of the Nepherian armies and the rising crime rates. Placing him as a formidable obstacle to their gaining freedom would buy her quite a bit of favor from her people, as well as providing entertainment.
He allowed himself to be led to a reserved section of the coliseum to view the next fight. Meanwhile, a few healers had quickly gathered around him and his impromptu band with bandages and poultices, cleaning and binding up their wounds with brisk efficiency.
They did not have to wait long for the next event, which was to be Wonder Woman’s routine battle with two or more of Clea’s champions for the freedom or eternal servitude of her sisters. Phillip realized immediately that something was wrong the moment Diana stepped out onto the arena ground. Her customary confidence was absent, and the way she held her body spoke of deep hidden fear. She moved hesitantly, not with the smooth flowing grace he remembered, and often dreamed of at night.
What has Clea done to her? He never imagined that the amazon princess could be tortured so severely as to diminish her pride this way. It was as if everything that made her Wonder Woman inside, more than even her gods-given powers, her very soul itself, had been torn out of her.
Two of Clea’s champions landed roughly, about ten meters away from her. They were brutal men, much like those he had killed back on the battlefields. All power and strength and no finesse, he noted critically. Of course, that applied even to Diana to some extent. For him, it had been different, especially when most of his enemies had been either faster, bigger, or stronger than him, and sometimes all three.
One of the brutes lunged forward, catching the Amazon in a crushing hug. Phillip was stunned at Wonder Woman’s slow response speed. She grunted as she was driven backwards, her small fists pounding ineffectually at her opponent’s back, even as the air was slowly squeezed out of her lungs.
The other man had circled around them, to behind Diana. He cracked his knuckles with relish, and started unleashing powerful punches into Wonder Woman’s muscular back. She jerked with each blow, grunts of pain escaping her lips despite her best efforts.
After a minute of this, she was released from the hug. Diana remained unsteadily on her feet, but her glazed eyes and lack of determination told of her sheer helplessness in the face of her enemies, to Phillip’s sheer disbelief. Her arms hung loosely by her sides, and it was with obvious reluctance that she raised them in a weak semblance of a defensive stance, as though recognizing that she was already defeated and more resistance will only prolong the agony and humiliation.
One of the men grinned evilly, and smashed one beefy fist across her face, snapping her head back. She barely parried the next blow, also aimed at her head, but before she could capitalize on it, the other man kicked her in the stomach.
The force of the blow sent her hurtling against the wall of the arena, on Phillip’s side. She slumped against the wall, one hand leaning against it for support as she tiredly rose to her feet. She looked up, and at that moment, their gazes locked onto each other.
Clea’s champions saw them loking at each other, but Phillip at that point in time did not care. Fight! Fight with all you have, even if it ends in defeat, he tried to tell her through his eyes. For a moment he thought he had failed, when her head fell, her eyes looking down. Then she lifted her head up, and he could see the familiar glow return to her eyes. It was hope. Even if she failed this time, at least she knew that she was not alone, that help was on the way.
One of the men flew over, only to be stopped with a well-placed kick to his face. He stumbled back clutching his face. Diana cried out an Amazon war cry, and leapt to the attack. Her Amazon pride had been momentarily regained. She was the Champion of the Amazons, the chosen of the gods! She would not fall so easily!
She fought hard, but the outcome was never in doubt. When it became clear that the Amazon Princess had regained her fighting spirit, an alarmed Clea had waved another champion into the arena. Diana was eventually beaten down, though her fire did not quench even when three more of her sisters were lustfully raped by the hulking champions.
Phillip turned away from the sight, his erection threatening to tear through his pants. He noted the three young men of his band looking as though they wanted to join in the festivities around them as the crowd lost itself in an orgy of sexual activity. The grizzled veteran simply sat where he was, his face pale, his eyes unfocused, wanting very much to leave.
“Let’s go.” Phillip said roughly, pulling one of the young men up. “We have things to do.”
“But… look at those girls over there!”
Phillip turned on the boy, his eyes glinting with danger. “You do as I say now, or you won’t be doing anything for the rest of your life.”
They gulped in fear, and followed him out of the stadium. He had seen enough.

The next week only had one more ‘entertainment day’, as they called it. The outcome was the same as before, although the intensive drills he was putting the three jokers through were slowly paying off. But turning lackadaisical noblemen into hard-bitten veterans took months, if not years, of training and hard fighting.
They were rich kids, born with silver spoons and with nothing to do except go around chasing ladies and being bored out of their minds. Then one day one of them, Ageban, had the crazy notion of signing up as fighters, and they signed the documents while almost dead drunk. They were desperately thinking of ways to get out of the arrangement Clea had imposed on them, but Phillip had gleefully told them that it was unlikely to happen. So they had no other option but to follow his instructions to the letter if they wanted to survive in the brutal arena.
In contrast, the grizzled old man Rohat seemed genuinely grateful. An ex-sergeant in the Nepherian army, he had joined up in order to get the funds to save his dying granddaughter from a deadly illness. Even if he had died, the consolation money would have been good enough to buy the medicine that would save her life. He never expected to survive, and the first thing he did on leaving the stadium was to swear allegiance to ‘Eigen’. Phillip was uncomfortable with that, but he didn’t say anything.
For his part, Phillip continued playing his role, knowing that the longer he stayed at it, the more likely he would be exposed as the Black Lion, leader of the armies that had defeated Nepheria. He also saw Mayse in the city, now a general, and carefully avoided him. Rumors abounded of Mayse recklessly undermining Clea’s authority. Phillip hoped Mayse wouldn’t do anything stupid.
He also saw several men spying on Veronica Cale’s garment shop, and removed them though carefully arranged incidents. With the borders sealed, and movement in and out of the city and its nearby environs highly restricted, he spent several days agonizing over a way to keep them safe.
Then he remembered Baron Ofursti.

“He has gone to Ofursti?” Clea asked her spy. He was a careful one, and he had to be. After all, two of his predecessors tailing the gladiator known as ‘Eigen’ met with fatal accidents that Clea was sure were anything but. The man was not what he seemed to be, she knew from the beginning. When Wonder Woman somehow regained her fire after seeing him, Clea was even more convinced.
And then reports had come in of the Black Lion’s fighting style… two swords wielded with a whirling, vicious technique. But the Black Lion, by all accounts, was blond and had a full head of hair. Eigen was bald and had a brown beard. Clea had her suspicions, but she would only act on them when she was sure.
“Aye. I was unable to find out why, but remember I’m only relying on reports from passerbys. I’m not crazy enough to tail him on my own. Could get meself killed.”
“What about Ofursti? Does he know about Eigen?”
“Not sure ‘bout that. But General Mayse has gone to visit Ofursti too. If he meets Eigen, I reckon nothing good outta it.”
Mayse was becoming a thorn in her side, and so was Ofursti, with his quiet calls for sanity and reason to return to the Empire. She vaguely remembered that Mayse’ sponsor was actually Ofursti, which meant that he probably sympathized with the old man. In fact, her nobles had explained to her that Mayse’s father was one of Ofursti’s retainers, and died in his service. Ofursti raised Mayse alongside his own son, who was now about to graduate from the military academy, and even sponsored his entry into the military. It had been a bit of a scandal then, even if Mayse had proved his loyalty and worth beyond all doubt.
Clea pursed her lips. Ofursti has a son in the academy. There is an opportunity here…

“Stubborn old fool!” Garan shouted at his father. “The goddess offers our family honor by raising me to be one of her champions, and you would denigrate her gift?”
“Honor?” Ofursti snapped back. “I have seen her games. Women being raped and beaten by her champions, which is what you’ll be doing? And you call it honor!”
“An honor to be chosen, yes!” Garan shouted back defiantly.
Mayse sat in the background, unable to say anything. Garan, a year younger than him, was like a younger brother, but he was hot-headed and impetuous, no matter how much effort Ofursti tried to teach him otherwise. Father and son had never really gotten along, and Mayse held his own theories on that, starting with Garan’s mother’s death while giving birth to him. In many ways, Ofursti never forgave Garan, even if it wasn’t his fault.
Garan wore the uniform of an academy graduate, complete with the rank epaulets that indicated that he was a lieutenant. Ofursti, in contrast, was clad in the attire of a well-to-do farmer, which he was after being dismissed from the military. His estates were large and rich, producing some of the best wines in the region.
The heated quarrel did not seem to be abating any time soon. “Chosen? I don’t see how you could have been chosen by the goddess? What great deeds have you accomplished?” Ofursti asked.
“Well, at least I didn’t kill off our own garrison soldiers!” Garan retorted. “I earned the goddess’s favor by topping my class. I earned it!”
“You have earned nothing! The battlefield is not the same as the classroom. Doing well there means nothing!”
“Why do you insist on denigrating my deeds?” Garan protested. “Why is it you’re satisfied with me? I try so hard to make you proud of me, but no matter what I do, it’s never fucking good enough!” He ended his words by walking out of the door and slamming it behind him.
“Pffffff…” Ofursti sank into the nearest chair, while Mayse shook his head. “That did not go well.”
“An understatement, sir.” Mayse walked over with a glass of water. “Why are you so hard on him? All he wanted was to make you proud of him. The goddess Clea wants to make him one of her champions, and he thought it was a great honor.”
“You tell me Mayse, what do you think of Clea’s ‘honor’?” Ofursti asked wryly.
He replied honestly, “I think it’s a load of dung.”
“Then why do you suppose she wants to do that?”
Mayse furrowed his brow, thinking hard. “She wants him close by…” Then it dawned on him. “A hostage.”
“Yes, a hostage.” Ofursti rubbed his eyes tiredly. “A guarantee of our good behavior. I have been poking around places I should not be.”
“Then why didn’t you tell him?”
“You think he’ll have believed me?”
Mayse sighed. “You want me to talk to him?”
“No. You have your own problems to worry about.”
Mayse nodded, and headed for the door. As he was about to walk out, he felt a strange sensation on the back of his neck. He looked back at the room, but could not find anything amiss. He left.

“You may come out now.” Ofursti said to the empty air.
Phillip emerged out from behind a pillar. “Mayse is very good. He almost sensed me.”
Ofursti laughed softly. “What are you doing here, my friend? And in such a ridiculous getup!” He gestured to the beard.
Phillip rubbed one hand across the beard. “Disguise. Clea will send her entire army after me if she knows who I am. And she is beginning to suspect.”
“No fool, that one.” Ofursti agreed. “You heard our… discussion?”
Phillip stiffened. “Not my place to judge the affairs between parents and their children. But you’re right, Clea wants young Garan as a hostage. And somehow, I think she finds superb irony by pitting son against father.”
Ofursti took a moment to answer. “And you’ll be right. Still, I cannot let her go unchecked. Our country is sliding into ruin by the day.”
“No thanks to me?” Phillip offered.
“No thanks to you,” Ofursti agreed, “but it was sooner or later, and you made it sooner rather than a later date when our garrisons are bled dry and slaves rising up in mass revolt. And the fact that you’re here tells me you seek an alternative to the bloodshed if a foreign army wishes to depose of Clea through an invasion.”
“A dagger to the back would be best, yes. Saves a lot of lives. Saves a lot of useless blustering too.”
Ofursti stared at him, trying to decide if he was serious. “You’re really going to do that.”
“Of course.” Phillip said. “But before I do that, I need your help.”
“To get near Clea?”
He shook his head. “No. I have some friends who’ll need protection. I hope you can extend to them the same hospitality you promised me.”
“And I will. But are you sure you don’t need help?”
“Unless you have a way to remove Clea’s divinity from her.”
Ofursti smiled. “As a matter of fact, yes, I have.” Phillip raised an eyebrow in surprise. He continued. “Clea’s godhood was the result of her collecting sufficient amounts of magical artifacts and channeling power and belief into certain crystals imbued with her presence. She can be weakened by destroying those crystals.”
Phillip mused. “How reliable is the information?”
Ofursti said, “It’s from a friend of mine, who was a priest…”
“Don’t tell me.” Phillip smiled. “Do you know where to find those crystals?”
“No, but my informant does.”
“Good. Because I have idle hands lying about that require something to keep them busy before they get into trouble.”
Ofursti didn’t understand what he was talking about, and looked at him as though he was crazy.
Which, in a sense, he always was.

“Gee, we’re finally here, and we haven’t a frikkin clue to where he is?” Ramon complained loudly.
“Let’s find a place to stay in first.” Lance Tiller said, looking around curiously at the crowds jamming up the streets of Nexopar.
It had taken them a long time to follow Phillip’s trail. Even Jimmy Twofeathers, who’d been raised as a tracker by his Native American folks before he joined the army, had been stumped many times by the lack of signs left by the Black Lion. Sneaking into Nexopar and its surroundings had been comparatively easier.
They had split into three groups entering the city, not even knowing what Phillip looked like, especially after Lance had deduced that any man with blond hair and carrying two swords would probably be killed on sight. He would probably in a disguise.
They were on a fools’ errand. But they persisted. There was just something that told them to keep going, some inner intuition that guided them to Nexopar, made them decide to stay in the city, as though there was some higher purpose for their being there. Ramon hoped it didn’t lead them to their deaths.
They wandered around, looking for a place to stay, before settling for a modest inn with delicious smells of food emanating from its dining area. Ramon and Lance led the others in, seating themselves around two tables.
After placing their orders for food and rooms with a waiter, they were about to start discussing their next step when a doddering old man suddenly stumbled onto their table, half drunk and clearly off balance.
“Hey!” Ramon quickly got up from his seat to help the old man up. “Are you all right?”
The old man promptly threw up over the youth and seemed to fall asleep.
With the help of the inn’s staff, they quickly manhandled the drunk up the stairs and into one of the rooms before he scared off the other customers. The inn’s owner wanted to throw the old man out, but Lance took pity on him.
They plopped the old man onto one of the beds, and filed out of the room to get back to waiting for their dinner. Lance was the last one out, and he was about to close the door when instinct made him look back at the old man, who was not drunk anymore, and sitting alertly on the bed.
“Nice job of faking it, eh?” The old man smiled. “I know who you are.” He held up his hands. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to turn you in or anything. I need your help, and a friend of yours recommended you.”
Lance was even more confused than ever, though that confusion faded after the old man told him what he wanted him to do.
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The Games that Gods Play