God of War by Matthew Stover & Robert E. Vardeman

Author:Matthew Stover & Robert E. Vardeman [Stover, Matthew & Vardeman, Robert E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780345508676
Publisher: Random House Digital, Inc.
Published: 2010-05-25T07:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

INSPIRATION FROM THE GODDESS did not appear to be forthcoming. Kratos would have to come up with a plan of his own. As usual.

He peered through the smoldering gap in the temple ceiling, trying to catch sight of the harpies and the Oracle. No luck.

He ran outside and circled the temple, thinking furiously. How could he rescue the holy woman if he did find her aloft? Zeus’s Thunderbolt would fry the Oracle along with the harpies. Medusa’s Gaze might work, but using it would involve being in a position to catch the Oracle as she fell. The probability that she might be falling attached to a pair of solid stone harpies—or that she might be turned to stone herself—did not increase the plan’s attraction. To use Poseidon’s Rage, he’d have to practically catch the fleeing she-raptors with his own hands—and if he got his hands on them, he’d hardly need magic to do what needed to be done.

A bow, he thought, wistfully remembering the fine strong bow he’d been given by the dying Athenian at the gap in the Long Wall. A bow and two arrows.

Two would be all he’d need, to injure, to weaken, to shoot from the sky.

Desperately searching the sky, he was slow to register a scraping sound at the side of the temple. Kratos rounded the side of the building and saw a freshly dug grave. He drew back as a flurry of dirt sailed from the hole. He advanced cautiously, unsure what was happening. When a hand appeared over the rocky edge, Kratos spun and drew the Blades of Chaos, instantly ready for a fight. Grunting, mumbling to himself, an elderly man in ragged, filthy clothing dragged his withered carcass up to the grave’s edge. He blinked at Kratos with age-dimmed eyes, then tossed a shovel onto the ground near the pile of dirt and placed his hands flat, trying to pull himself out. He failed.

“You gonna help an old man or just stand there gawking?”

Kratos could only stare. How could any mortal—let alone an ancient man—have dug a grave in such rocky ground?

“Come on,” the old man snapped. “What, the Ghost of Sparta is afraid of me? Can’t you see I’m older than the dust from a Titan’s beard?”

Kratos released the blades and took the man’s hand. The old fellow seemed not to weigh anything at all. “You know me?”

“Of course I do. You have the blades, the skin as pale as the moon! You are the one, indeed. Perhaps Athens will survive, at that!” The gravedigger laughed. “But be careful. Don’t want you dying before I’m done with this grave.”

“A grave, in the middle of a battle? Who will occupy it, old man?”

“You will, my son!” The gravedigger looked Kratos over, from his sandals to the top of his shaved head. “Oh, I’ve got a lot of digging to do, indeed. All will be revealed in good time. And when all appears to be lost, Kratos, I will be there to help.”

“The Oracle,” Kratos said.

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