***
“It’s definitely the right place,” the lieutenant said, his eyes alight with the fervor of a man on his first real assignment. “Shall I begin the assault, sir?”
General Bremen withheld a smile. As a rule, he had always liked working with young soldiers. Their passion for battle was inspiring, and enthusiasm, he had long believed, was often just as vital as experience. Unlike their Ebaran neighbors, the Darenthi didn’t rely on the conscription of terrified and sickly peasants to fill their ranks. The Republic army was entirely volunteer; these men and women wanted to kill their enemies, not flee from them. The Faceless more than made up for any manpower gaps they encountered.
“How can you be certain?” Bremen asked.
“The area is perfectly capable of supporting a large underground complex,” the soldier replied. “Several of the locals insist the house gets more traffic than it should, and of course my own spells filled in the gaps.”
“Impressive, Lieutenant,” Bremen said. “I appreciate resourcefulness in my men.”
The young man beamed. “Thank you, sir.”
“Now get your squad ready; you move out at nightfall. I want as few casualties as possible.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bremen grabbed the mage’s arm before he could leave. “I mean that. You will be explaining every corpse to me personally. Is that clear?”
The man’s face twitched. There was an important distinction between enthusiasm and reckless zeal, and it was vital his people learned the difference. The Faceless would butcher everything they came across unless instructed otherwise, so it was even more important to have level-headed troops along with them. Bremen was not going to let this become a bloodbath—not here, not with so much on the line.
“Perfectly, sir,” the mage replied.
Bremen stared into the other man’s eyes for a long moment before relaxing his grip. “Then go, and may Abalor reward your service.”
The general clasped his hands behind his back as he watched the small squad assemble and then head off. Right now they were all dressed as civilians, and their Faceless escorts were hidden inside a building a few blocks away. They wouldn’t suit up and leave until night fell across the city, which at this point wasn’t long—dusk was fast approaching.
“I still think it’s a mistake to send him alone,” Major Thorne commented from beside him. Even without her armor, she was perhaps the least convincing civilian he had ever seen. Straight-backed and rigid, she looked about as uncomfortable as a Sylethi huntress in an evening gown.
“He’s hardly alone,” Bremen said. “A mage, six soldiers, and two Faceless could take a small fort.”
She tilted her dark eyes towards him. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant, but the Empress’s eyes rarely leave me. No need to make her job any easier.”
Thorne’s gaze shifted back to the street. “You could have sent me.”
“She watches you almost as closely,” he pointed out. “You have been in Haven for months, in case you forgot.”
She sighed softly, and Bremen allowed himself a thin smile. He sympathized with her frustration. They were surrounded by their enemies, and yet they hadn’t seen action in months. She was a soldier, and that meant she wanted to tackle their problems head-on, not wait on the politicians to sort things out.
His smile faded. If the Empress had her way, that’s all that would be left of their once great country. Politicians, diplomats, apologists, and anyone else who was willing to ignore the lessons of history—they would be the only ones to revel in this “glorious” new future. They would never understand that Darenthi freedom only existed because of people like he and Thorne: men and women willing to get the job done, no matter the cost. Men and women willing to fight, kill, and die to protect the legacy of the greatest nation in the world.
“Once we have the Kirshal, everything will be different,” he murmured as much to himself as her.
“You put a lot of faith in a young prince,” she said. “And in legends of this Kirshal.”
Bremen swept his gaze across the docks. They stood at the edge of the pier, and no one was within a hundred feet of them at the moment. The air had begun to cool for the evening, and he wiped sweat from his bald forehead with the back of his hand.
“She is real. You needn’t concern yourself about that.”
Thorne folded her hands behind her back but said nothing. He knew she didn’t agree, but that was all right. Despite her many strengths, her faith in the gods had always been…limited. She revered their teachings as much as any loyal Darenthi, but he knew that when push came to shove, she preferred to place her trust in her own abilities and those of her comrades—and, of course, her commander.
“As for the prince,” Bremen went on, “we both know he is a temporary ally at best. Veltar needs him to secure the throne.”
“A prince, a politician, and a sleeping messiah,” she grunted. “Not much to rest our hopes on.”
His smile returned. “Come, let’s get off the streets. With luck, we can lead away the Empress’s eyes and give our men some cover.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, falling into step behind him.
She didn’t believe yet, but that was all right. Victory would ultimately inspire the confidence that faith could not. Soon the Kirshal would be theirs, and the lies of Edeh would be revealed to everyone in Esharia. The gods would return, and the Fane would once again be open to all who pledged themselves to Abalor’s name. The Restoration would finally be upon them.
And anyone who stood against them would be calmly swept away.
The Last Goddess Page 13