The Godswar Saga (Omnibus)

by Jennifer Vale

  “They think you abandoned them,” Sarina said. “Kyle, Ria…all of them. To be honest, I’m not sure they’ll even want to help you.”

  He turned back to her, but this time there was fire in his eyes. That was good; she had almost wondered if he’d lost it. “I am not their general,” Jason insisted. “My father is dead. They’ll have to learn to live with that.”

  “Trust me: they’ve learned,” she assured him. “They use different tactics now, and they’ve rebuilt from nothing. Adar thought they’d have a good chance of taking the whole city by winter.”

  “So you know how to get in contact with them, then,” Tam said.

  Sarina nodded. “Talking to them will be the easy part. Getting them to risk everything to help you...I’m not sure how they’ll respond.”

  “They will help,” Selvhara said, breaking her silence. “Darond will be able to tell us about the cube, too. Assuming he is still alive.”

  “He is, thankfully,” Sarina said, studying the elysian out of the corner of her eye. Her species aged a fraction of the speed of humans, but Sarina still swore the other woman looked older anyway. “They might listen to you, but maybe not. I think most of them expected you to stick around after the war, too.”

  “They will help,” Selvhara repeated quietly.

  After a few more minutes of silence, Tam plopped down on his bedroll and stretched out. “You know, Angry Cat Man made a good point earlier. Why didn’t that guy just kill the two of you and steal the cube.”

  “Jason was asleep,” Sarina said. “The Shadow was just going to take it and leave; they don’t kill unless they have to.”

  “So what, you jumped through the window and shot him?”

  “I shot at him, but he was mind fucking us the whole time, apparently.” She shrugged and dropping down at the base of a tree. “He made it seem like we’d killed him, but we hadn’t.”

  “Well, my point is that after he failed being stealthy, he still could have just killed both of you and moved on, but he didn’t. Shadows might not like to leave a mess, but I doubt they risk compromising their missions by being overly careful, either. Something doesn’t add up to me.”

  Sarina nodded distantly. “I’ve been thinking about this since we left the city. We should have had Crell soldiers breathing down our necks in minutes. The Zarul Sovereign would know the instant his Shadow died, and he could have easily contacted Sovereign Verrator and had him mobilize the local guard. But he didn’t—why?”

  “The Zarul must want to keep the whole thing quiet,” Jason reasoned. “For some reason they don’t even want the local Sovereign involved.”

  “So what does that mean?” Tam asked. “Some type of conspiracy? The Zarul want the cube, but don’t want anyone else to know about it?”

  “This conjecture is truly fascinating,” Gor grumbled. “Perhaps you should remind me why I should care.”

  Sarina turned and glared at the chagari. She had missed Jason, Sel, and occasionally even Tam over the last two years, but a part of her had hoped that they had finally come to their senses and dumped Gor in a deep cave somewhere.

  “Knowing what your enemy wants helps you predict his next move,” she spat. “I would think that even your tiny little brain could figure that part out.”

  He growled under his breath and yanked a bundle of supplies from off one of the horses. “If you want to go to Lyebel and hide with your outlaw friends, fine. If they can tell us what this cube is so that we can sell it, fine. But speculating about the inner workings of Crell politics is a waste of time.”

  “It’s a starting point,” Jason said. “We’ll know more soon enough.” He paused and pursed his lips in thought. “In the meantime, we should really get some sleep. Even if the Zarul is trying to keep this quiet, I’d still prefer to head out at first light and stay off the main path.”

  “I can get us there in three days even off the roads if we push it,” Sarina told him. “And once we reach the city, I can head inside and find my contact. He should be able to set us up with a clean entrance straight to the others.”

  “Assuming we survive the night,” Gor grunted.

  She turned and glared at him again. “I’ll take first watch.”

  “It’s too dark for a human to see anything, even one who fancies herself a great huntress. I will keep watch.”

  “You’re grouchy enough without staying up all night,” Tam said with a stupid grin. “Cats are supposed to sleep a lot, remember?”

  Gor swiveled, his orange eyes blazing. “Have a care, little mageling. I am not a cat—”

  “I will watch for the night,” Selvhara interjected. “The rest of you sleep.”

  Everyone looked down at the druid to protest, but again they all thought the better of it and shut up. Eventually Selvhara stood and walked around the edges of camp to set brush traps and other wards just in case. She probably felt guilty for having been disarmed so easily by the Shadow, and Sarina could empathize. All the time spent tracking, all that patience waiting for him to strike, and she had still been caught completely flat-footed when the moment finally came. She should have been dead.

  But she wasn’t. Whatever the hell this cube was, it was obviously dangerous. She just hoped the Zarul weren’t already assembling their agents in Lyebel. The Resistance still didn’t completely trust her, and dragging a bunch of Shadows down on top of them would only get a bunch of good people killed. Their current leader, a tough war veteran named Kyle Adar, had enough on his plate already.

  Pushing the thought aside, Sarina set to preparing her own bedroll in the hopes of catching a few hours of sleep before dawn.

  ***

  The room was well-lit and comfortably heated, which instantly sent tingles of suspicion down Admiral Onar Tenel’s spine—or had, at least, for the first few days he had worked in here. For some reason, he had always assumed Zarul headquarters would be rife with dark, foreboding rooms, dying candles, and cold drafts. He had probably just listened to too many bards as a young man. Their tales were always fraught with evil warlords and dark sorcerers scheming to destroy the good, honest folk of the world. Reality, of course, tended to be much more nuanced and banal than fiction, as he had found out time and time again after joining the military.

  Still, while Tenel had gotten used to the comfortable accommodations, he remained baffled by many of the reports he sifted through on a daily basis. He had always assumed that an agency filled with telepathic operatives would have very little paperwork, but again he should have known differently based on his own experiences. Bound were common throughout all levels of the military, but the vast majority of soldiers were just normal men and women who had to write things down in order to communicate with each other over vast distances, especially for situations that weren’t time-sensitive. Here was no different: while Sovereign Damir obviously had an extensive network of her own telepathic Bound to report back to her, the Zarul did employ a large number of standard “Sightless” operatives as well. These agents could relay important information indirectly through a Bound contact sometimes, but very often they had to submit reports like anyone else. And now Tenel was sitting in a room with thousands of those submissions, sifting through piles of them in order to add his “unique perspective” to the mix.

  A perspective that, so far, just seemed radically out-of-touch. He had been here for less than a week, and every day he was still shocked—and occasionally appalled—by things he read. Scuttlebutt had always implied that the Zarul was everywhere; soldiers were often hesitant to joke about their superiors even in the company of their peers for fear that the Green Coats would smash in the door and drag them away. Tenel had never personally placed much faith in such rumors, but many of these reports had already challenged his preconceptions. Damir really did have people everywhere, across all ranks in the military and in civilian life. What was almost more surprising was how little action they typically took despite their seeming omniscience. Looking through some of the names in these reports,
Tenel remembered joking around in private with many of them. He had always considered it harmless banter between drunk men, like how much they disliked a superior officer or how annoyed they were with their spouse.

  Perhaps the rumors about the Zarul were untrue in the way he didn’t expect: the Green Coats really did have people everywhere, but they weren’t so paranoid that they arrested otherwise good people over idle comments. Still, Tenel made a mental note to remember these names so that he could avoid private conversations with them in the future.

  Not that it was likely to matter. When this assignment was over, he could retire to be with his family. Damir insisted that his service here would be far shorter and more lucrative than his post as a high-ranking officer. Chalandra wouldn’t see it that way, of course. Right now she was still thinking he was off on the Perilous and not expecting him to return home for another month. Hopefully he would still get that stint of shore leave so he could tell her about this assignment—and to see the faces of the children he recognized less and less with each visit home.

  Tenel sighed and rubbed at his temple. He had been at this all night, and his mind was starting to wander. He needed his pipe, a shot of vodka, and maybe a bit of fresh air. Sleep wouldn’t hurt, either. He needed something to get his mind back off the family he barely knew but was spending his life to protect.

  Almost on cue, the door behind him opened and Damir walked inside. “Admiral.”

  “Your Eminence.”

  She slipped inside with the grace of a living shadow, and she glanced down at the piles of paper all around Tenel’s table. “I apologize for interrupting you, but there is an urgent matter requiring your attention.”

  “Of course,” he said, setting down a piece of parchment and swiveling to face her.

  “It isn’t mentioned in any of those reports, but it was something I wanted to bring to your attention,” Damir explained. “It’s a mission of considerable importance we were hoping would end quietly, but unfortunately that isn’t looking likely. It would probably be best to have it explained first hand.”

  Damir turned to the door on the other side of the room, and a moment later two burly men with dark green jackets stepped through. Between them they hauled forth a middle-aged man adorned in nice clothing—clothing that was now mottled with blood and grime. He was unconscious, and he flopped about limply as the two Green Coats dumped him into a chair opposite and then sat him upright. Damir dismissed her servants with a nod, and they left the way they had come.

  “His name is Jacob Slaan, a professor at the Cergar Historical Academy,” Damir said. “A few weeks ago, Mr. Slaan provided one of my agents with information about a set of buried ruins roughly two hundred miles south of Lyebel. He actually tried to bribe my agent into helping him uncover it. But I will allow him to describe the situation for you in greater detail.”

  Slaan’s eyes shot open. For a moment they darted around in what could only be described as unmitigated terror, but suddenly his posture went rigid. Tenel looked at the Sovereign, but Damir’s face was expressionless.

  Suddenly Slaan relaxed and smiled pleasantly. “What is it you wish to know?”

  “I would like you to explain to my associate here about the ruins you located,” Damir told him.

  “Of course.”

  His voice was calm, and his body language was similarly relaxed, as if he’d casually strolled in here of his own accord in order to chat with a few colleagues. It was a chilling transition, to say the least, and Tenel forced himself to swallow and remain calm.

  The telepathic abilities of the Ascendants were well-known, but this…Tenel had never seen anything like it in person. Perhaps the most disconcerting thing of all were Slaan’s eyes—his pupils trembled visibly, almost like they were trying to escape from his body.

  “Almost a decade ago, myself and a colleague of mine became very interested in ancient Hassian ruins scattered across Galvia,” Slaan continued. “The early Hassian tribes played an integral part in the foundation of modern culture in central Torsia, from basic linguistic phrases to art styles and everything in between. In fact, nearly all Crell and Galvian dialects can be traced back to a single tribe lead by a woman known as Queen Malacross the Dreamwalker. She lead her people to a number of important discoveries, both culturally and—”

  “We don’t need the full history lesson,” Damir said. She hadn’t exactly cut the man off; Slaan had simply stopped talking mid-word. “Just the relevant portions. Specifically, some of the people involved. What was the name of your colleague, Mr. Slaan?”

  “Ah, of course,” the man went on as if nothing had happened. “His name was Jason Moore. He was quite a brilliant man in his own right, if a bit absent-minded at times. He was really more of a student than a colleague, technically, considering—”

  He cut off awkwardly again, and Damir glanced down to Tenel. “Jason is the son of the late Galvian General, Ethan Moore.”

  “I know him well,” Tenel rasped. General Ethan Moore, also known as the Butcher of Geriskhad, the man whose unprovoked attack had killed thousands of innocent Crell citizens, including the admiral’s own son. Tenel knew that Moore had a son of his own, but he had never followed up on it. Apparently this Jason had not only survived the war, but he had been privileged enough to study something as esoteric as archaeology.

  “Please continue, Mr. Slaan,” Damir prompted.

  “Certainly. You are probably asking yourselves why Jason and I cared about something as obscure as a dead Hassian’s tomb. Well, Jason was convinced that Malacross would have quite a massive collection of rare and valuable curios buried with her, given the traditions of the time. Based on our most conservative guesses, the riches would have been enough to sustain a family for generations.”

  “So you’re grave robbers, then,” Tenel said, not bothering to hide his disgust.

  “Oh no, you misunderstand,” Slaan assured him. “Profit is always secondary in our line of work.”

  Tenel grunted. “I’m sure.”

  “The most important twist came recently when I discovered new information,” Slaan went on as if he hadn’t heard the comment. “I located a set of mostly-intact journals documenting the deeds of Queen Malacross—and they were written from first-hand sources inside the tribe! They spoke at length of her ability to ‘walk in the nightmares of their enemies, terrifying them before a great battle.’ She could also speak to her own people through dreams, even those who lived far away and never saw her directly.”

  “That certainly befits her name. But weren’t almost all ancient tribes of that era superstitious in some way or another?”

  “Well yes, stories like this were common in the ancient world, from drug-induced hallucinations to odd spiritual beliefs about ‘souls’ and ‘spirits.’ But this one had so much corroborating evidence I started to suspect that this was different. You see, I believe that Queen Malacross may have been an Immortal.”

  Tenel frowned. He was hardly a student of ancient history, but all Crell children were taught certain basic facts about their national heritage as well as a few tidbits about world history. From what he remembered, the Immortals had all died off when they had turned on each other during the Godswar. Their divine blood had transformed into the Aether, and with their dying breaths they had created the Ascendants as their lasting legacy in the world.

  “Is this discovery historically significant in some way?” he asked, glancing between Damir and Slaan. “I’m still not sure why this concerns us.”

  “Oh, this is hardly just an academic matter,” Slaan assured him. “If Malacross was indeed an Immortal, it likely means one of two things happened. First, she could have faked her death and returned to her own realm along with the other gods. Or she could have been slain, in which case—”

  “She would have left a divine spark,” Tenel reasoned, nodding. Suddenly Damir’s interest made far more sense. As legend had it, when one of the gods was killed, their memories and experiences were passed on to their kil
ler. Scholars believed the process gave their race a nearly flawless history, with one generation fully understanding the previous one. But during the Godswar, as mortals finally learned to channel Aether, they discovered that they too could steal the memories of the gods themselves—it simply required them to kill an Immortal. From that discovery had emerged the Ascendants, and the world was forever changed in its wake.

  Of course, this nexus of memories and power—typically called a “divine spark”—was often lethal to those who attempted to absorb its power. History was filled with tales of mortals who attempted to control a spark and were completely destroyed by it; the raw power shattered their minds and left them an empty shell. Even in the modern day when Ascendant rulers passed on their gifts to a new generation, the prospective hosts didn’t always survive the process.

  Tenel shook his head. The entire process had always seemed convoluted to him, but then again, all magic seemed that way to him. What he knew for certain was that the Ascendants had god-like power, and that was enough. But if that power could be harnessed, if the younger Moore had found an actual divine spark just sitting around inside an old tomb…

  “I always thought the idea of a spark was metaphorical,” Tenel whispered after a moment. “You’re saying it’s a tangible object?”

  “Oh, yes. It would probably appear similar to a ball of light—brilliant and powerful, but seemingly useless to anyone who didn’t understand it. Remember, the Aether as we know it wouldn’t have even existed during this period—the Hassian tribes would have been utterly clueless as to what to do with the leader’s essence.”

  “I trust you understand our predicament, Admiral,” Damir said.

  Tenel nodded distantly. “If someone could learn how to use this spark, he or she could Ascend right on the spot.”

  “And become a massive threat to the Imperium’s security.”

  “Not just the Imperium,” Slaan added. “Before they died and disappeared, the gods only left behind a handful of sparks. The number of Ascendants in the world has barely changed in the past two thousand years. It has actually gotten smaller as some of the more powerful ones destroyed and ‘feasted’ upon the weaker ones.”