The Last Goddess

by C.E. Stalbaum

  ***

   

  It was probably impossible not to flinch in the face of the man who had ruined your entire life, even if you had never seen him in person before. For months after Turesk, Rook had envisioned coming this close to General Andar Bremen and choking the life from him. All during the war he had heard the name spoken over and over again amongst his fellow officers. He had seen paintings and sketches and even magic projections of the man. His commanders had respected Bremen for his tactical skill but feared him for his determination. Despite being one of the most visible faces of the enemy, he had even been considered an honorable military man.

  Then came Turesk. It had taken Rook years to be able to find some measure of objectivity when he looked back at that day, and then he’d realized that despite the barbarism of an unprovoked sneak attack, it had at least been directed at a military outpost. And once the Ebaran garrison had been crushed, Bremen had pulled his men out. He hadn’t attacked any of the civilians, and few, if any, had been hurt in the attack.

  Except Lurien. The very Kirshal he was now obsessed with.

  A flood of emotions washed over Rook the moment he finally laid eyes on the broad, towering man and his now-legendary scalp tattoos, but he managed to steel himself with thoughts of the others who were depending on him. If he couldn’t pull this off—if he couldn’t get Bremen to withdraw his forces and give up pursuit—then they were all going to suffer. And instead of just taking one woman from Rook’s life, Bremen would have taken two.

  “You have gall, Mr. Rook,” the general said eventually. “I will grant you that.”

  “I’ll turn myself in and do whatever you like, but you have to call off your men,” Rook told him. “Let the survivors go. You don’t need them anyway.”

  “And if I don’t, you kill yourself right here, is that the idea?”

  Rook nodded fractionally, holding the knife tightly. “And you lose your one and only real chance to see the Kirshal’s power.”

  Bremen grunted. “You don’t strike me as the suicidal type.”

  “I admit it’s not exactly the death I had planned, but it beats the alternative.”

  “You realize, of course, there’s a good chance my magic could save you before you bled out. Or I could order one of my men to shoot you in the leg right now.”

  “True, but that’s no guarantee,” Rook replied coolly. “And you don’t strike me as the type who takes unnecessary risks.”

  Bremen stared at him for a long moment before smiling again. His first grin had been merely patronizing, but now he was genuinely amused. Bale, on the other hand, was decidedly not.

  “You don’t know what you’re doing,” the old man whispered, “you should have run. You shouldn’t be here!”

  Before Rook could respond, the sound of numerous booted footsteps echoed from around the corner. A few seconds later an armored woman led a small group of soldiers into the room. She tilted up her visor, and it was obvious from her expression that she wasn’t amused, either.

  “General,” she said, taking in Rook’s presence with a cool glance.

  “Where is she?” Bremen asked sharply.

  “I believe she fled with him,” the woman reported, nodding to Rook. “The rest of my unit is searching the western wing, but I wanted to let you know. Other than her, we’ve faced minimal resistance.”

  A shadow fell across Bremen’s face. “I can sense her with you right now…”

  The woman frowned. “Sir?”

  The general glanced to the others, his cheeks flushing in anger. “It must be some trick, some spell to hide her presence.”

  “I…don’t know, sir,” she replied cautiously. She reached down to her belt and pulled out a pouch. “We grabbed anything that looked like it might be important. We found a crystalline ring laced with varium. I assumed it was magic.”

  She withdrew the navel ring Selaste had been buried with. The one she had taken off and left on the dresser…

  Bremen grabbed it in his hand, his eyes smoldering with rage. “Impossible…”

  A cold, bitter laugh came from their side, and they all turned to face Bale. He still stood with the other monks, but his wrinkled face had twisted into a dark grin.

  “You’ve been used, general,” the man sneered. “Lead around on a leash. Like a dog.”

  Bremen turned sharply, and for a moment Rook thought he might lash out and kill the Kirshane Master right there. But somehow he tempered his fury and turned back to Rook.

  “You knew about this?”

  “If I had known that thing was letting you follow us, I would have destroyed it,” Rook told him. “But now that I do, a few things are starting to make sense.”

  “I don’t understand,” the female officer said, glancing between them. “What is going on, sir?”

  “The general is fulfilling his part in the restoration of Our Lord Abalor,” a voice came from around the corner. A moment later a middle-aged, white-robed man with a holy symbol of Abalor on his neck emerged from around the corner with several other soldiers. “You have found the Kirshane, general, and now we are one step closer to total victory.”

  “Faedan…” Bale breathed. Clearly he recognized this Balorite priest; his face went even whiter and he shook his head. “By the Goddess, what have you done?”

  “What you weren’t willing to,” the priest replied. “Embracing the power and destiny Abalor has promised us.”

  Bremen glared at the priest, his hand shaking as it held the ring. “This is your master’s doing, isn’t it? Veltar has betrayed us…”

   “He has done nothing of the sort,” Faedan insisted. “He has merely laid out the same path for you that Abalor laid out for him. Because of you, we are now witnessing the end of the Kirshane—and the birth of a new era.”

  “You knew,” Bremen murmured. “You knew she was an imposter—and Veltar did too, didn’t he? This entire time while he feigned interest, he knew exactly what was going on. He wanted me to follow her here.”

  The priest shrugged almost casually. “A regrettable but necessary deception. The Kirshane possess the knowledge we need to win this war, General. We had to flush them out.”

  “What knowledge?” the female officer snapped. Her hand was hovering just above her sword.

  Faedan turned as if noticing her for the first time. “The secret to defeating the Flensing, of course. The secret to Consecrating the Fane.”

  “No…” Bale whispered, his head shaking in disbelief. “You know better than that. You understand the devastation you will unleash.”

  “What I understand is that you are a tired old fool who wasted a gift from the gods themselves,” Faedan growled. “To think, you had the audacity to let the Kirshal slip through your fingers and marry this…disgrace.”

  “You can’t do this, Faedan,” Bale pleaded. “You and Kord know better than anyone the consequences if this leaves Jehalai—”

  “The consequence is that our thousand year war against the Edehans will finally come to an end,” Faedan cut in. “The Betrayer’s Fane will be cleansed, and its power will be unleashed for all those strong enough to wield it!”

  Rook swallowed heavily as everything suddenly clicked into place. When they had first found Selaste, he had speculated that she was a fake—namely, a ploy to gain political favor by exploiting the discovery of the Messiah. But as it turned out, it wasn’t even that complicated—it was merely another chapter in the endless Holy War between the Balorites and the Edehans.

  He knew Senator Kord Veltar well; the man had been the face of the Balorites in the Darenthi Senate and Haven Assembly for several years now. Apparently Bale knew him too, and there was only one obvious explanation: Veltar and Faedan must have been among the Kirshane that left the order after Lurien had died. Now they had concocted an elaborate trap to force their old allies out of hiding, and Rook and the others had been caught right in the middle of it.

  It was almost too much to take in at once, and his thoughts
immediately turned to Selaste. How did she fit into this, exactly? Who was she before they wiped her memories and dangled her in front of the Kirshane?

  But as much as he wanted to know, right now it didn’t matter. He knew this might be his one and only chance to get out of this. The Balorites had apparently deceived Bremen right along with the rest of them, and the general was clearly not a man who appreciated being used. All Rook needed to do was give this pot of bubbling animosity a good stir…

  “I don’t care about Jehalai’s secrets,” Bremen said through clenched teeth after a long moment of silence. “What I care about is the Kirshal!”

  Faedan glanced back to him. “Unfortunately, as Master Bale has probably already told you, she is dead. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity squandered because of him.”

  Rook grunted. “So that’s what this is really all about. You’re not on some righteous religious crusade—you’re out for petty vengeance against your former master. And you were willing to betray your own people to get it.”

  The priest scowled. “We have betrayed no one, and everything we have done is for Abalor’s glory. And you, fool, are of no further use to us.”

  His hand exploded with Fane energy as he gestured to Rook—

  And General Bremen caught his arm and wrenched it to the side. The blast of energy fired wide and scorched a section of the ceiling.

  “I am in command here, Father,” Bremen growled, holding the ring in his hand. “Now tell me, what is this thing, and why I could sense it so easily?”

  For an instant it appeared the priest might protest, but the fire in his eyes quickly faded as he pulled from the general’s grip. “One of the many ceremonial insignia stripped from you after your exile, I believe. Melted down and reshaped, of course. Veltar would know the details.”

  The general’s hand clamped around it. “And who is the woman if not the Kirshal?”

  “A volunteer from among the faithful. It doesn’t matter, anyway—my men have already been ordered to kill her on sight. Her purpose here is finished.”

  Bremen’s eyes smoldered with cold fury, and Rook knew it was time to press the issue.

  “If she gets hurt, you lose your only chance at this, General,” Rook said. “Call off your men, and I will come with you. You still get what you want.”

  Faedan scoffed. “What possible use could he have for you?”

  “More than I have for a traitor,” Bremen hissed.

  The general moved with a speed that belied his large frame, clutching the priest around the throat and sweeping him from the ground in a single motion. Faedan gasped, his eyes widened in horror as he tried to shake his head—

  And then with a nauseating crunch, he stopped moving altogether.

  “I am in command here,” Bremen repeated coldly as he threw the corpse to the ground. He swept his gaze around to the other soldiers just to see if they would protest. Finally his eyes settled on his female adjutant. “Get a message to the other squads. Order then back here immediately, and tell them to release any surviving prisoners.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied, and quickly moved off. 

  Bremen swiveled his blazing eyes back to Rook. “You may be lying, and if you are, you will suffer for it. But I’m not willing to take that chance. We will return to Haven…and I will be getting some answers.” He glanced to Bale and the other monks. “You are free to leave.”

  Bale shook his head. “I will not allow you to pillage this monastery.”

  “I’m giving you the chance to leave with your life, Master Bale, but my sympathy for Edehan dogs is limited. Leave now, or die.”

  “Get out of here,” Rook pleaded to the old man. “Find the others. They’ll help you.”

  “You don’t understand,” Bale said softly. “No matter how I tried to tell you, you wouldn’t listen. You shouldn’t be here. You have no idea what darkness is coming!”

  “Just go,” Rook pleaded. “Please.”

  Bale stared at him for a long moment then gestured to the others with him. The monks quickly ran past the soldiers and out the gaping hole in the wall. Bale, on the other hand, stayed right where he was.

  “Goddess forgive me,” Bale whispered, “but Her soul must be protected…even if it means destroying it.”

  His body crackled with magic, and Rook barely had time to flinch before a barrage of blue-white light exploded in his chest. Pain seared through his entire body, and he knew he was writhing on the ground, helpless and dying. Through the blood-red haze of impending death, he caught sight of Bale collapsing beneath an assault of steel and magic, and he wondered dimly if Bremen would keep his word and let the others leave.

  And then the darkness claimed him.