The Last Goddess

by C.E. Stalbaum

  Chapter Two

   

  For nearly a thousand years Sandratha had been the seat of power in Esharia, originally for the Darenthi Empire and now for the Republic that followed it. A few sections of the city even pre-dated the first imperial settlements, while others had been destroyed and rebuilt a dozen times. A decade earlier, its splendor had been blinding, from the trio of crystalline towers at its center to the enormity of the Royal Palace on its southern bank.

  All of those structures were still in place today, but they felt…tarnished somehow. As the Empress became more and more of an apologist and less of a leader, entropy had begun to mar the majesty of the forgotten capital. It was a slow and subtle thing, manifesting only in a few chipped walls and unkempt streets off the main path, but its presence was unmistakable nonetheless.

  And it was growing. Prince Kastrius Malivar could feel it, and if he didn’t take action quickly, his mother was going to let the greatest city in the world—and the republic that sustained it—crumble to dust. All to appease a continent full of agnostics and heretics who couldn’t see the truth even though it was right in front of them.

  He grimaced at the thought as he stared out at the gray sky and light rain drizzling over the city. Entropy wasn’t the only thing he could feel right now. The other was just as powerful and far more annoying: boredom.

  There was precious little for him to do other than wait for reports from his agents or listen to the court nobles blather on about whatever idiocy was currently holding their attention. He hadn’t even been able to find a whore worth a damn in the past month. If that wasn’t a sign of Sandratha’s decay, nothing was.

  Kastrius walked over to the liquor cabinet on the far wall and poured himself a glass of Sunoan wine. He made sure to grab the 998—drinking out of boredom wasn’t worth one of the more precious vintages. But it was sweet enough, and it soothed his nerves as he watched the impending thunderstorm gather in the distance.

  He had slipped completely into reverie by the time booted footfalls approached outside his door. With luck it would be something important and not one of his annoying servants with yet another petty problem to bring to his attention…

  “My prince,” a deep voice called from outside the door. “I have news.”

  “Enter.”

  The door opened, and two men strode inside. The first was short and overweight, with only a few strands of gray hair peppering his wide scalp. He was Senator Kord Veltar, leader of the Balorite opposition in the Senate and one of the most influential people in the Republic.

  His juxtaposition with the second man couldn’t have been more striking. General Andar Bremen was broad and tall, and his thick silver armor shone as if it had just been polished despite the myriad dents and scratches on its surface. His head was shaven bald and tattooed with the holy symbols of each of the Five True Gods—Illyria, Shakissa, Venar, Zandrast, and, of course, Abalor. He looked at once menacing and professional, just like a man of his military legacy should be.

  “Gentlemen,” Kastrius welcomed, setting down his glass. “You spoke of news.”

  “I have a report from your missing expedition team near Haven,” Bremen said, the annoyance in his voice obvious. “We have a problem.”

  Kastrius closed his eyes and resisted the urge to swear. “They betrayed me.”

  Senator Veltar snorted. “You act surprised. This is what you get for hiring dregs off the street.”

  “As opposed to using my own men and having my mother watch their every move?” Kastrius countered. He shook his head and looked at Bremen. “What happened?”

  “Their leader insists they found ‘nothing of value’ and asks for your forgiveness,” Bremen replied.

  The prince slammed a fist on the table. “So he found another buyer.”

  “Or he’s looking for one,” Bremen agreed. “Either way, he may not realize what he’s getting into. If word of this leaks out, every faction in Haven will be coming after him.”

  “Only those that believe in this nonsense,” Veltar said dismissively.

  “Whether or not you believe doesn’t really matter, Senator,” Bremen said coolly. “Dozens of factions will try to exploit this opportunity. They’ll parade her around and gather support all across Esharia. You know the Edehans in particular will consider it a resounding victory for their cause.”

  Veltar sighed and rubbed at his temples. “I told you this was a waste of time. We should be directing our efforts on tangible matters. The Unity Day celebration is two weeks away, and the Empress has all the support she needs to ratify the alliance with Ebara. Defeating that treaty must be our primary focus.”

  Kastrius glared at the man. They might have been political allies—at least for the time being—but that didn’t mean they had to get along. Unfortunately, the simple truth was that right now they needed each other. Veltar controlled the Balorite political faction and their considerable resources, but Kastrius had royal blood. The Senate might have been the real power in the Republic, but the people still looked to leadership from the royal family. No matter what political coup Veltar thought he might pull off, it didn’t have a prayer without true Darenthi blood on the throne.

  Still, working with the man was an exercise in patience. He was nothing if not single-minded in his opposition to the Edehans in general and the Empress in particular. He couldn’t even appreciate the boon the Kirshal represented to their cause. Bremen, on the other hand, understood it well—probably too well. While all three of them worshipped Abalor in their own way, both the prince and the senator’s interests were primarily political. Bremen, however, was a “True Believer.” Religious zealots had always made Kastrius uncomfortable, even if they did occasionally have their uses.

  “Our focus hasn’t changed, but we can’t afford to let her escape,” the prince said. “Do your people have any leads?”

  Bremen nodded. “My adjutant reports the expedition leader—Marek, I believe—met with a local merchant before he sent the missive. It was around the same time as yesterday’s attack on Assemblyman Naen, incidentally.”

  “Yes, that,” Kastrius nearly spat as he glared at Veltar. “You’re not going to wane my mother’s support by attacking civilians in the center of the Haven bazaar.”

  “I had nothing to do with it,” the senator insisted. “Some extremist group, most likely.”

  Kastrius grunted. “You know as well I do the Edehans will exploit the opportunity and claim that all Balorites are twisted killers.”

  “And we will do the same the next time one of their fanatics attacks us,” Veltar replied calmly. “It’s called politics, my prince.”

   “Yes, thank you, I’m familiar with the concept,” Kastrius growled. He glared at the man for a moment longer before turning back to Bremen. “Did your adjutant get a name for this merchant?”

  “Yes,” Bremen told him. “An Ebaran named Nathan Rook.”

  Veltar hissed between his teeth. “Rook is no merchant.”

  The prince cocked an eyebrow. “You know him?”

  “He fancies himself an ‘information broker’ and sells dirty little secrets to the highest bidder. He owns a dozen front shops in the city and has an impressive network of contacts.”

  Kastrius pressed his lips into a thin line. “Sounds exactly like a man who would recognize the value of a religious icon.”

  “I doubt he’d put much faith in a legend,” Veltar muttered.

  “But he assuredly understands her value to those who would,” Bremen pointed out. “He has a reputation as a calculating, methodical man. He’ll probably be making discreet inquiries for a while before unloading her. It should give us some time.”

  “Some,” Kastrius whispered, his eyes narrowing in thought. He turned back to his window and suddenly wished he hadn’t finished that last glass of wine. “Find out where he’s holding her.”

  “It could be dangerous. Your mother keeps a close eye on my people.”

  “We don’t really hav
e a choice. Just make sure they don’t do anything especially stupid.”

  “As you wish,” Bremen said. “If I may be so bold, my prince, I would prefer to go to Haven and handle this myself.”

  Kastrius spun back around to face him. “Risky. Mother will definitely be watching you.”

  The general smiled thinly. “I can use that to my advantage. If I leave now and press hard I can arrive within two days. We can’t afford to waste time.”

  “Agreed,” Kastrius said. “Good luck, then, General. Let me know when you get there.”

  “Of course, my prince,” Bremen replied with a curt nod. He glanced briefly to Veltar, then turned on a heel and left the room.

  “Now that we’ve dealt with that nonsense, perhaps we can focus on important matters,” Veltar said tartly. “We’re two weeks from a confrontation with the Empress, and you remain vulnerable. I think you’ve put off dealing with your Siphon long enough.”

  The prince sighed and folded his arms across his chest. “I wondered when you would bring that up.”

  “The threat is real and you know it. If your mother or any of her sympathizers manages to escape, they could kill your Siphon and—”

  “I know how it works,” Kastrius muttered, pacing off to the side. The senator was right about this, but that didn’t make it any less of a nuisance. Like most Darenthi magi, the prince could tap into the Fane by drawing upon a convicted prisoner called a Siphon. It was a brilliant workaround to the Flensing, the goddess Edeh’s lasting curse upon mortals who wished to weave her Fane. Normally a mage had to feed upon his own body to power his magic, and he could literally kill himself if he pushed too hard. The Edehans insisted that it was the natural price of power, an eternal reminder from their patron that all life was connected. A Siphon, however, allowed a mage to use another’s life energy in his stead, so to speak.

  But Siphons did have their drawbacks—namely, that if either party was slain, the other would quickly follow. Fortunately, they were kept safely comatose and incarcerated inside a huge prison fortress just outside Sandratha. Under normal circumstances, the Siphons gave Darenthi commanders a very effective leash over their magi. If one of them became reckless or went rogue, the Siphon could easily be killed to eliminate the threat.

  In Kastrius’s case, however, it meant his mother also had the power to kill him should he step too far out-of-line. She claimed to abhor the use of Siphons and had been gradually weaning the Republic off their use, but so far she had rather conveniently failed to remove those from her son or many of her less-than-loyal associates. As far as he knew, only the Empress herself and his sister, Tryss, had ever severed their bonds.

  “It’s best we waited until now so mother didn’t sniff us out,” Kastrius said softly. “But you’re right: I do need your help to get into the prison. At least two magi who know the breaking ritual, a stash of varium crystals, bribes for the guards…”

  “Leave the details to me,” Veltar told him. “I just needed to know if you were ready.”

  The prince sighed. It was a high price to pay, to be sure. The Siphon granted him extreme flexibility and endurance with his power. But then, it wasn’t like he had much use for magic while exiled inside this damned tower.

  “I’m ready,” he murmured.

  “Good. Then I will leave you to your preparations. I’ll be departing for Haven in the morning as well—my men will contact you shortly about your Siphon.”

  “Fine,” Kastrius said. “I’ll let you know if Bremen finds anything.”

  The senator grunted derisively. “Perhaps he’ll discover a pot of gold while he’s at it.”

  With that, the man strode out of the room and shut the door behind him. Kastrius gazed vacantly at the wall for a few long moments before reaching down to his desk and pouring himself another glass of wine.

  In reality, he had very few preparations of his own to make. It was one of the more disconcerting elements in their little arrangement. The balance of power was not in his favor—both Bremen and Veltar had far more resources to call upon than he did. And soon his magical might would be depleted as well. His only lingering value would be the Darenthi blood in his veins. For now, at least.

  But that would change. Soon the Empress and her followers would suffer for their insolence, and he would have the full power of the Kirshal at his disposal. No one in Esharia, let alone the Republic, would be able to stand against him.

  Kastrius sat down in his chair and took a long sip of wine, content to dream about the future and his glorious role within it.