***
General Bremen took a deep breath and let the incense fill his nostrils. It was meant to cleanse both body and soul, and he always appreciated its ability to sharpen his wits. True varium crystal was rare and expensive, but on special occasions he saw fit to draw from his personal supply and let its power wash over him.
And today was certainly special—or it would be, at least, before it was over. Only minutes before he had felt the Kirshal’s presence once again, the subtle thrum of her power echoing through the Fane like a voice carried down from a mountaintop. The gods had indeed seen fit to reveal her presence, and for that the least he could do was offer them an evening’s prayer.
He opened his eyes and glanced down to the candles laid out in front of him. There were five in total, one for each of the True Gods, all spread across the sathra—the ceremonial towel. Each carried a slightly different scent, from the sweet lilac bloom of Shakissa to the pungent whey of Zandrast. Crowned at their center was Abalor, his candle sprinkled with a pinch of ash.
Bremen had considered performing the entire ceremony tonight. He had in his roll the appropriate black candle for Edeh the Betrayer, which would normally be ritually consumed by flame, but for now he decided to forgo it. He could already hear Major Thorne approaching, and realistically they both needed to get some sleep before daybreak.
“Sir,” she said, flipping open his tent. “Camp is secured. The scouts report nothing unusual.”
“Excellent.”
“Have you received any more…insights?” she asked carefully.
Bremen allowed his eyes to lose their focus in the flickering lights and he smiled. She still wasn’t comfortable relying upon his visions to lead them. “Yes, in fact. The Kirshal is close—closer than I thought. Perhaps fifteen or twenty miles south just inside the edge of the Banek Wood.”
Thorne’s armor clanked as she shuffled. “We could overtake them tonight if we made haste.”
“Doubtful, and I would rather have our men be fresh,” he said. “We’ll overtake them before they reach the Wall.”
“As you wish, sir.”
His smile widened. “Have faith, Major. The gods have provided us a path, and we should be content to walk it.”
“I will be content when we find them and deal with these smugglers,” she told him. “They have much to answer for.”
“And they will,” he assured her. “For now, we should rest. Have you prepared your tent?”
“Not yet.”
“Then perhaps it is unnecessary.”
He could feel her eyes on the back of his head. It had been a long time since they had honored Shakissa by joining their bodies together, and she was probably trying to decide if he was serious.
“Perhaps not, sir,” she said softly.
Bremen stood and turned as she worked at removing her armor. Hardened and scarred by years of war, Thorne—Natara—had never been a beautiful woman, but then he’d never had much use for beauty. Shakissa herself said there were far more important things than physical appearances, and Zandrast made clear the absolute importance of loyalty. In the end, that’s what this was about.
They honored Shakissa twice before dawn broke across the camp and his soldiers scurried into action. It made him wistful for the days when he would wake amidst thousands of their brethren, all focused upon the singular goal of victory. But other than the numbers, not much had changed. These men and women were still loyal, and they would serve him until the bitter end.
And in Abalor’s name, they would find victory. The Kirshal would be theirs.
The Last Goddess Page 27