The Godswar Saga (Omnibus)

by Jennifer Vale

  “The demon is dead,” she told him. “Two of the Crell soldiers are still alive.”

  “Good,” Tevek said, glancing down to the beaten men in front of him. “Your local commander needs to know what happened here. Tell him or her that you have a demonic infestation. Do you understand?”

  The Imperator nodded. “I will inform the Sovereign directly.”

  “Good. Then get out of here.”

  The two men slowly and cautiously made their way out of the building. Had Tevek been alone, he wouldn’t have been able to trust them, but the way their eyes were fixated upon his partner’s face—the face of a vaeyn—he knew they wouldn’t dare cross her. At least, not until they returned to their senses later.

  “Letting them go might have been a mistake,” Elade whispered once they were gone. “Now they’ll know there are two paladins in the city.”

  “They already knew that or they wouldn’t have ambushed us,” Tevek pointed out. “And that man was an Imperator, presumably under Sovereign Verrator. He will know everything that happened here and hopefully react accordingly.” He winced as the rush of combat faded and a fresh spike of pain lanced through his shoulder. “Besides, we don’t kill unless we have to. You know this.”

  “Mm,” she muttered, turning to the room’s corner. Huddled behind an overturned desk was Olson, the Resistance contact who had led them here in the first place. “So glad you could help.”

  “We need to get to Adar,” Tevek said gravely. “The situation may be even worse than we feared.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “The most powerful illusions are the lies we tell ourselves.”

  -Solipean Proverb

  Krystia Tharule pulled the cold washcloth from her face and gave herself a once-over in the mirror. She hadn’t been sleeping well lately, and it was starting to show. Faint black circles had started to form beneath her eyes, and her cheeks looked especially pale. The hard reality was that she’d been pushing herself too hard lately; she spent all day working in the temple and then all night trudging through Headmaster Velle’s records on the Unbound Asylum.

  Still, at least she’d finally made some progress. She had sifted through the entire “student” roster and selected several fascinating candidates, and one in particular stood out above the rest. She desperately wanted to speak with this man, but of course that wouldn’t be quite as easy as writing him a letter or even just visiting the Asylum again. She needed a plan.

  Unfortunately, she was running out of time. Tevek and Elade had just arrived in Lyebel and fought off Ethan’s demons, which meant that the Lord’s Council would be getting their report about an infestation soon. King Areekan would be forced to act, and her duties in the temple would undoubtedly ramp up as the specter of war loomed larger and larger on the horizon. She needed to finish up her personal business before the situation spiraled completely out-of-hand.

  With a tired sigh, Krystia finished freshening up and then returned to the main room of her chambers. As expected, Arven was there waiting for her.

  “I’ve brought everything you requested,” the older woman said as she held out a wooden scroll case.

  “Ah, thank you,” Krystia replied, taking the case and setting it down on her desk. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

  “It wasn’t.” Arven’s face tightened. “Do you mind if I ask why you’re interested in these?”

  Krystia raised an eyebrow. “I told you before: a man named Sovan Lor came in here a few days ago with a particularly interesting sickness. I wanted to see if we had any records of him or his family in the Archives.”

  Arven saw through the lie; that much was obvious from the change in her expression. Krystia couldn’t help but be surprised. Her friend was a kind, trusting soul, and she shouldn’t have hesitated for an instant to help a friend out with a relatively simple request. The two had spoken at length about the silly restrictions protecting the temple archive; access was based almost entirely upon seniority rather than aptitude or accomplishment, which meant that Krystia had no ability to pull records on her own.

  “Sovan couldn’t have come in here, Krystia,” Arven said quietly. “He’s been studying at the Academy of Aether Studies since he was ten.”

  Studying. She made it sound like the man had a choice in the matter. Sovan, like everyone else in the Academy—no, the Asylum—had been dragged away before he had been able to develop his powers on his own. Despite that imprisonment, however, he had grown into a powerful channeler, capable of many techniques Krystia hadn’t even been aware of. But before she figured out exactly how she was going to meet him, she had wanted to learn more about his past and lineage. Headmaster Velle’s records suggested she could find more information in the official temple archives.

  “That’s strange,” Krystia whispered, shaking her head in confusion. She took the opportunity to reach out to the Aether and subtly probe her friend’s thoughts. Arven’s concern was obvious, but thankfully it hadn’t quite evolved into outright suspicion—yet. She was still willing to believe that her friend had simply made a mistake about the name, and most importantly she hadn’t informed King Areekan about any of this yet.

  “Maybe you got the name wrong?” Arven suggested. “If you want I can take the scrolls back and see if I can find any similar names.”

  “That seems like a lot of extra work for you,” Krystia replied, smiling.

  Arven smiled back, though it was clearly forced. “It’s no trouble.”

  She had already checked the records, of course; she was just setting a trap to see how far Krystia was willing to go. She was also trying to figure out exactly why a few scrolls were worth lying about in the first place. Arven had no idea that Krystia was Unbound, but she wasn’t stupid: she had obviously noticed that her friend always seemed to learn new techniques faster than any of the other priests, and now Krystia was suddenly interested in the prisoners at the Asylum. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

  Krystia closed her eyes and sighed. She had always known this might happen, but once again she had underestimated the people around her. It was becoming a tiresome habit, and she needed to get her act together before it became a serious problem.

  “For what it’s worth,” she told the older woman, “I’m sorry I have to do this.”

  Krystia stabbed into Arven’s mind. The woman’s mental barriers collapsed even easier than she’d anticipated; temple priests were taught several basic techniques to resist mental intrusion, but Arven obviously hadn’t been expecting an attack. Within seconds her mind and body were completely under Krystia’s control, and the woman’s mouth dropped and her limbs began twitching in place.

  “Don’t resist,” Krystia soothed. “I really don’t want to hurt you…”

  With the Aether coursing through her, Krystia probed through Arven’s mind until she located the nexus of her memories for the past several hours. The task wasn’t trivial; it was like tiptoeing across a single strand of a vast spider web. If Krystia wasn’t careful, she could inadvertently destroy Arven’s other memories or perhaps even kill her…but thankfully Krystia had always excelled at this type of delicate work. More than any other channeling technique, even healing, telepathy had always come naturally to her. It only took her a few moments to isolate the memory threads in question and then snip them off from the rest.

  In their place, Krystia wove a new pattern: Arven had gone straight home after her shift in the temple and taken a nap. She had come to ask Krystia for a bottle of brandy, knowing her friend’s acute tastes in such things. And now, after a mostly uneventful day, she found herself here.

  “Do you know what vintage you want?” Krystia asked.

  Arven blinked as her body returned to her own control. “Um…what?”

  Krystia frowned. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes…yes, I’m fine,” Arven replied, shaking her head. “I must still be a little groggy from my nap. I actually wasn’t sure what vintage; I figured I’d let you pick
.”

  “Well, you owe me,” Krystia replied, opening her cabinet and grabbing one of her 1508s. “Tell me that you’re at least going to share this with a man.”

  The older woman smiled. “No, I just wanted something to go with dinner.”

  “Well, if you’re eating alone, you’re definitely only getting a 1508.”

  “I’m sure that’s fine.”

  Krystia smiled dryly. “It’s drinkable. Personally, I think you should talk to one of those rich businessmen who just came in from Ikara. Two of them came by my quarters earlier—they both looked…thirsty.”

  Arven rolled her eyes and turned on a heel. “You’re incorrigible.”

  Krystia shrugged. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

  Arven slipped out the door quietly, and Krystia’s smile vanished. Over the last month, she had been relying on her powers to get what she wanted more and more, and it was getting easier to do each time. First she had dealt with Headmaster Velle, a powerful man in his own right, and he hadn’t proven much of a challenge for her. Now, with Arven, it had been even easier. The truth of the matter was there was little anyone here could do to stop her, and Krystia had finally started to realize that.

  The prospect was liberating and disturbing at the same time. It validated the reasons Ascendants feared Unbound; she had no tangible checks on her power. But at the same time, being aware of her potential opened doors she previously thought closed. If she couldn’t garner support for her plans normally, couldn’t she just manufacture it instead?

  No, that was underestimating the people around her again. Velle had seen through her first illusion when she had thought that impossible, and now Arven’s natural suspicions had nearly ruined everything. Krystia might have been powerful, but she wasn’t invincible. She really did have limits, and she needed to acknowledge them. Their minds were open to her, but she wasn’t going to solve this problem with brute force. She needed to use a light touch, and it would still be better if she avoided manipulating people whenever possible.

  With another long sigh, she cracked open the scroll case and unfolded the parchment inside. Distantly, she wondered how the experiences of these Asylum prisoners differed from her own. She doubted they ever got away with using their powers like this…but did that suffocate them? Did it hold their development back? She may have been getting a little careless here at times, but she had never felt as comfortable with her own powers as she did now, and it felt…good. Like she was finally controlling her own destiny, no matter what anyone else tried to tell her.

  “Soon, you’ll be in control of yours as well,” she said to the parchment. “All of you will.”

  ***

  “You also have eight other correspondences here that haven’t been answered in two weeks, sir. I realize they may not be top priority, but you have said yourself the people need to be assured—”

  “I promise I will get to them today,” Darius Iouna said as he tried to rub the strain from his eyes. “Just leave them there and get me a drink, would you?”

  His chief adjutant, Lieutenant Selwin, stirred audibly. “Yes, sir. The usual?”

  “Just coffee. Black.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  Darius only opened his eyes after the man’s footfalls turned the corner outside his office. He sat looking out the window on the third floor of the military command building in Avantar, the largest city of the Solarian province of Citula. It was one of his many homes these days, from his actual house in a sleepy farming village forty miles away to his regal quarters at the King’s Tower in Celenest. The interesting part was that he could reach Celenest far faster than his own house despite it being four-hundred miles to the south; this city had a portal leading right into the heart of the nation’s capital.

  He had been sitting here trying to catch up on paperwork for nearly three days now, and he was getting tired of it. Back when he’d still been a low-ranking officer, he had always assumed that the life of a general meant spending days surrounded by tactical reports and playing out war game simulations. He did those things today, of course, but the vast majority of his time was spent dealing with more mundane logistical concerns—or, even worse, corresponding with wealthy and important families all across the Alliance who expected much more direct and expedient communications with their military leaders than common folk.

  In other words, politics.

  Still, Darius had known it would be like this after serving as an adjutant under General Tavorus shortly after the war. The difference was that Tavorus had made sifting through the bullshit seem easy. The man might not have been a particularly brilliant strategist, but he was an excellent statesman. When Tavorus spoke before the Council, they hung on his every word; with Darius, they seemed either apathetic or irreverent. He could still get them to do what he wanted off and on, but sometimes he questioned if it was worth the effort.

  “General?”

  Darius turned. Standing in the doorway was a heavyset man with a thick moustache and the standard white fabric and gold trim of a Solarian officer’s uniform.

  “Hal,” Darius said, hopping to his feet and offering the man a hand. It wasn’t exactly the most formal response, but the Legion Generals didn’t often stand on tradition when speaking with each other.

  General Hal Wystan walked into the room and shook his hand firmly. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you know I was coming, but I was in a bit of a rush.”

  “No trouble at all,” Darius assured him. “Please, sit down. I’ve actually been hoping we could speak face-to-face soon. Belyise, too; it’s been weeks since I’ve seen her.”

  Wystan took a seat across the desk. “That’s why I’m here. I have the latest scouting reports, and I knew you’d want to see them as quickly as possible.”

  “I do, thank you. His Majesty will be expecting word from Dracian soon, and I’ll need to be there to handle whatever report the Highlord relays through his knights.”

  “We’re all certainly wondering about that,” Wystan said with a nod. “Personally, I’m hoping it might clear up these reports.”

  Darius frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Take a look.” Wystan handed him a burlap case filled with dozens of rolled up pieces of parchment. “The Crell buildup at every key location along the border has stopped.”

  “Stopped?” Darius cracked open the satchel and sifted through the scrolls on top. “How certain are we?”

  “Reasonably. As a rule, stopping this type of buildup generally means one of two things: either the movement really was a purely defensive measure, or the Sovereigns think they’ve been caught and now they’re pretending it was the former.”

  “Hmm,” Darius muttered. “They haven’t started advancing?”

  “Not in the slightest. But if you look at the numbers, there’s another issue: the Crell are still outnumbered on every front. This can’t be an invasion force, not unless the Sovereigns forgot how to count.”

  “Or have a secret weapon.”

  Wystan snorted. “I thought about that, but even if they have a hundred dragon riders in reserve, it wouldn’t make a difference. Eight thousand light infantry, one thousand chagari/groll heavy infantry, five hundred manticore riders…”

  “If they try to push Isen or Garos with that, they’ll be slaughtered,” Darius agreed.

  “The same is true in the southwest. We still hold nearly a two-to-one edge at Brackengarde if they decided to push through the Kurden pass.”

  “So they’re defensive soldiers. They could reinforce Lyebel with this and hold it for months if we attacked, but it’s nowhere near enough for an invasion.”

  “That’s the obvious conclusion,” Wystan said. “I’m as surprised as you are. The initial buildup came so quickly we all just assumed it would keep going. The Sovereigns have been diverting forces from the western front for months.”

  “So then where are they? Did our scouts just lose track of them?”

  “It would seem so. A month ago I was expecting to see
four times this many troops with more on the way. Maybe they got lost.”

  “Or they’re up to something else we don’t know about,” Darius said. “Crell soldiers don’t just disappear.”

  “It’s possible we were just wrong,” Wystan replied mildly. “I hate to admit it as much as anyone—just ask my wife—but even we can make mistakes.” He paused and ran a finger along his moustache. “You know what the Council will do with this information.”

  “We’ll lose our support,” Darius said. “All of it, just like that.”

  The other man grunted. “You know, something about sitting here wishing your enemy had a larger force on your border just seems wrong.”

  Wincing, Darius skimmed through the reports, but they all said the same thing. “We both know it’s only a matter of time before they attack again,” he said quietly. “If the Sovereigns are playing defense, it’s only because they’re trying to buy themselves time.”

  “You and I might think that,” Wystan told him gravely. “But you know the others won’t see it that way.”

  “We have to hold off on showing this to the Council, at least for a day or two. We need to see what the Highlord learns in Lyebel.”

  Wystan frowned. “What difference is that going to make?”

  “These numbers will bias the Council’s perceptions,” Darius explained. “We need their minds open, then we’ll give them what we know—or at least, what they need to know. If we get confirmation of a demonic infestation, these reports won’t matter. They’ll have to authorize a response anyway.”

  “I hope you’re not suggesting keeping this from them outright. There’s no way to keep something like this a secret forever.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of hiding anything from the illustrious Council. But I also wouldn’t want to waste their time with extraneous information.”

  “That’s a dangerous road to travel, son, and you know it.”

  “I’m not your son,” Darius muttered. “And we can’t afford to lose our momentum. Not now, not when we’re so close.” He pursed his lips. “Look, we all know that now is the time to strike. Politics can’t get in the way.”