The Gods Are Bastards: A High Fantasy Western

by D. D. Webb

The Church and the empire have both been involved in this, but I don’t trust either to investigate their own butts using both hands and a mirror, especially not when they begin tripping each other up.

Glad as she was to be off the caravan, Trissiny stepped into a scene of such chaos that she froze, struggling to take it all in.

Juniper looked like the kind of woman dreamed up by lonely men, then drawn and printed on the covers of the sort of tawdry magazines Trissiny wasn’t supposed to know existed.

“What have I told you, Alaric?!” she shouted. “How many times? If you hear knocking and screaming in here, I am either amidst a delicate experiment or masturbating, and your assistance IS NOT REQUIRED.”

Sharidan has been annoyingly careful about security since the vodka elemental incident.” “Still think that was funny?” “More so every year.

Tellwyrn heaved a melodramatic sigh. “I remember when we used to have fun, Alaric.” “The necessary cleanup after you’ve had fun just isn’t in the budget,” he said wryly.

“Sir, I believe I have spoken to you about throwing logic around when I’m being melodramatic.”

Herbalism is a required freshman course rather than an elective, and could be more correctly called ‘How Not to Have an Embarrassing Plant-Related Death.’

You will each have on my desk by tomorrow night a two-page paper, detailing in brief a general tactical analysis of each of your classmates, including strengths and weaknesses, and how you personally expect to be of assistance to them.”

I'm convinced this assignment is a typo. The rest of the narrative reads like the assignment is "how to defeat them" instead of how to best help them.

The day this government begins to exist for its own sake instead of the benefit of its people is the day it needs to fall.” “General,” said the Hand quietly, “you’ve picked a strange audience to give voice to borderline treason.” “Go tell the emperor, then. It’s nothing I’ve not said to his face. I’m fairly confident, in fact, that he agrees with me.

“Zaruda Punaji, you lose the right to be irrationally stubborn the moment you fall into a healer’s care. Now hold still.”

“As you go through life,” Tellwyrn intoned, “you’ll find that doing what you’re told by authority figures is a path to mediocrity. Opposing authority figures in a knee-jerk fashion leads to a swift and brutal end. It is necessary to find a middle ground—and

part 1 of 2...

finding that means understanding the forces that move both individuals and groups, and how you can manipulate those forces to your advantage. Ironically, this is an art that hinges heavily on the elucidation of your own principles, the philosophical framework of your life that you must uphold to protect your identity as a coherent being.

... part 2 of 2

Fortunately, as a college professor, my life is full of examples of bullshit in essay form.

“I know you chafe under my orders. You are the first in the line of my Hands in eight millennia to be sent to an institution of learning instead of straight into battle. You question the value of this.”

This supposed chafing should have been mentioned MUCH earlier than the 3/4 mark of the book.

“She who cannot bear to be questioned ought not be obeyed. You may ask for explanations, Trissiny, and you should. Orders must be followed, but they can be followed better if understood.

“Ahh,” he nodded, smiling, “now I see. If I were to go chasing after the Wreath, they wouldn’t know against whom to retaliate. Very clever. Quite elegant, really.” “I’m glad you think so.” “Of course, I’m absolutely not going to do it, but I do appreciate the merits of the idea.”

The Wreath, the gods, Elilial, Tellwyrn, the Church, the cults within the Church . . . all swirled around and within the empire, nipping at it from all directions. And, he now realized, the empire, or at least its empress, believed it was losing. Interesting.

“Of course, a smart man would do some research on dryads before sticking anything of his into one, but that is clearly none of my business.” “I do believe, Trissiny my dear, that the overall lesson of the last few days is that I am not a smart man.” “We agree.”

“That was the point of this . . . whole assignment? You want me to be nice?” “Nice is a starting point,” she said mildly. “Frankly, it won’t get you far. Being useful would be better. There are a thousand ways to go about it, but in the end, you just need to matter to people. Build connections, create an identity as someone the world is better off having, with people willing to vouch for that.

Amen