***
The battle continued to rage on the floor below, and Rook could even pick out one of Van’s strained grunts just before the high-pitched ring of clashing steel. Against all odds, the others had somehow managed to find him, and right now they were risking their lives to get him out of here.
And he was powerless to help them. Physically, at least. But his sword had never been his best weapon…
“You can still stop this, General,” Rook said. Down in the plaza below, the prince’s Faceless continued to tear mercilessly through the crowd, and there was no mistaking the shock in Bremen’s eyes. “Call off your men, and we can all go stop him together. You don’t want to be a part of this.”
“Venar demanded justice,” Bremen replied, his voice barely a whisper.
Rook squinted down to the stage and the corpse of Empress Alassa Malivar and her royal guardsman. “Your Empress is dead, and you’re giving your people over to a madman. You know Kastrius isn’t fit to rule. He’s a sick, twisted man who only cares about himself. Do you really think this is what Abalor would want for Darenthi? Slaughtering civilians and diplomats?”
Bremen’s hand clasped weakly against the stone railing. “Only Darenthi blood may sit on the throne. He is chosen by the Gods to rule.”
Rook bit down on his lip. He was running out of time, but he could see the chinks in the man’s armor. His adjutant, Thorne, hadn’t been happy about it either, but he had sent her to help fight off the others. Maybe that was how Rook could finally get through to him. Whatever else he might have thought about Bremen and Thorne, he understood that they were soldiers. He had been one of those once, and he knew what it meant.
“There has to be another way. Look around you, General. This isn’t a military victory you’re watching—it’s a massacre.” Rook took a deep breath. “I hated you after Turesk, you know, but despite all the rage, I couldn’t deny the fact that you could have done a lot worse. There were thousands of civilians inside that fortress, and you didn’t touch them. Why is that, I wonder?”
“Zandrast tells us that only a coward kills those who do not intend to fight,” Bremen replied hoarsely.
“Well, most of those people aren’t trying to fight. They’re running for their lives, and your prince is trying to kill them all.”
Another anguished cry echoed up the stairs, and Rook flinched away. Was that Van? Tiel? Were they all about to die?
He wet his lips and swallowed. “It doesn’t have to be that way, General. The longer this goes on, the more men you lose. Let us help you stop him before this gets any worse!”
Bremen’s eyes narrowed. He stood there in silence for a long moment until a shriek came up the stairs. It was a woman’s voice, and not Rynne’s. Bremen slammed his first into the stone railing.
“Stand down,” he called out. “Stand down!”
His deep voice bellowed throughout the entire tower, and after a few moments the fighting below seemed to halt. Bremen spun about and walked above the staircase.
“Sir?” Thorne’s strained voice called back.
“Let them pass,” Bremen said. “It’s over.”
It took several minutes, but eventually the others cautiously made their way up. Van stood in the lead, his armor battered and stained with blood, but he nevertheless smiled the moment his eyes met Rook’s. The other two were right behind him and weren’t in much better shape.
“Tal Karoth my arse,” the big man muttered. “That was the worst excuse for a plan I’ve ever seen.”
“Give me time, I’m sure I’ll one-up it eventually,” Rook replied dryly.
Rynne, holding her left arm limply at her side, kept her crossbow pointed at Bremen. “Where’s Veltar?”
“Dead,” the general said, nodding to Thorne as she limped up behind the others.
Van grunted as he hacked Rook free from his restraints. “Well, this day’s looking better already.”
Rynne’s eyes remained locked on Bremen. “So what’s going on here? Why the change of heart?”
“The prince must be stopped,” Bremen said, “before he destroys everything.”
“Well, Tryss beat you to it. She’s out there right now.”
“Tryss?” Rook asked, his brow furrowing. “The lost princess? What does—?”
It hit him like a cold bucket of water splashed across his face. It was the last piece of Veltar’s puzzle, and Rook swore under his breath as it neatly slid into place.
“Shakissa’s mercy,” he breathed.
“Right, I forgot you didn’t know about that,” Van said. “Well, it’s a long story, and we don’t really—”
“Princess Tryss is alive?” Bremen gaped. “Veltar…”
“It’s a real kick in the pants, isn’t it?” Van said. “I guess he didn’t bother to tell anyone else?”
Rook stretched out his muscles and shook his head. It all made so much sense, but he still couldn’t really believe it…
He didn’t have time to think about it now. But fate, it seemed, had finally seen fit to drop a miraculous opportunity in his lap, and he didn’t intend to waste it.
“There’s your alternative, General,” Rook said. “You want Darenthi blood on the throne? Well, here you go.”
“Only if we hurry,” Rynne pressed. “She might not be able to stop him by herself.”
Bremen took a deep breath and drew himself up to his full height. A dark fury boiled in his eyes, and Rook suddenly appreciated why he was so widely feared across Esharia.
“Follow me.”
The Last Goddess Page 81