The Godswar Saga (Omnibus)

by Jennifer Vale

  Just beyond the smoking rubble that used to be a well-fortified front gate, Elade could make out an army of heavy Crell infantry marching towards them. They would enter the breach within a few minutes, at which point they would overrun Garos in a matter of minutes. She needed to organize a real defense, but the Solarian troops clearly had little interest in listening to the commands of a paladin-turned-pariah, let alone a vaeyn.

  Fortunately, she had just the man for the job.

  Belek, she said through their mental bond. I need you to try and organize the Alliance troops. Take the lead—they’ll listen to you.

  What? Talroy stammered. How? We can’t hold—

  Focus, Elade told him. Lives are at stake, and it’s up to us to hold everything together. Remember, you’re a Knight of the Last Dawn. They’ll listen to you.

  She could almost feel him swallow and nod. All right. I’ll try.

  I believe in you. Now get moving.

  Gripping tightly on the reins, Elade spun her horse about and surveyed the current battlefield. The groll were dead, and so far the Crell didn’t seem interested in burning down the fortress outright. If Talroy couldn’t rally the troops, then she would order a retreat out of the eastern gate to save as many lives as possible. Unfortunately, the Crell were known for their ruthlessness when it came to survivors; their manticores could chase the runners long into the night, slaughtering them helplessly as they scattered.

  But it wasn’t going to come to that. Talroy would find a way to hold the line. That left her the simple task of single-handedly dispatching the Crell aerial armada while on horseback.

  Elade grinned despite herself. If Tevek were here, he would remind her that no paladin ever finished a battle without attempting at least one borderline suicidal maneuver. It might as well have been inscribed in the Code.

  “Kuthos rem,” she whispered. “It’s time to get creative.”

  Sheathing her sword, Elade slid out of her saddle and dashed over towards the still-intact staircase at the rear of the Command Tower. She hopped over the blocks of stone littering the stairs, and as she did so her thoughts unwittingly turned to Darius. As much as she wanted to stop and dig for survivors, she knew that would have to wait. Right now, her first priority was protecting the thousands of vulnerable soldiers still fighting for their lives.

  She climbed as high as she could on the tower before sweeping her eyes across the horizon. A second group of dragons had started their attack run over the fortress, more armored crates clutched in their mighty talons. The black-scaled beasts were awkward and cumbersome compared to the smaller manticore, but they excelled at flyby attacks. They would drop off more groll while their riders peppered the city with blasts of fire, and there was virtually nothing she could do to stop them. Even if she’d had a bow, they probably wouldn’t pay attention to a lone archer. No, she was going to have to make herself an even more tempting target.

  Thankfully, that part would be easy.

  Striding atop the rubble, Elade unsheathed her sword and summoned her Aetheric shield to her arm. Her silver-blue cape whipped in the wind, and she struck as threatening a pose as she could manage. If there was one thing in the world that annoyed the Crell more than a Solarian, it was a Knight of the Last Dawn…and one of the dragons immediately caught sight of her. That was good. With luck, she could goad him into swinging by close enough for her to strike…

  A barrage of fireballs almost immediately descended on her position, and Elade crouched down behind her shield. The flames splattered harmlessly away, and she quickly wrapped herself in a mantle of protective energy just in case. At first, the two dragon riders seemed content to fling fiery death at her from a distance, but once they realized they couldn’t penetrate her defenses, one of them steered their mount in for a closer assault. The black dragon roared in anticipation, and the beast dove hard towards the annoyingly resilient paladin…

  Elade knew it was now or never. Mentally crossing her fingers, she summoned a set of translucent wings to her back…and then leapt off the tower.

  Even Tevek had never completely mastered flight, Elade knew, and the Dawn only used this technique to safely descend from a fall—or to intimidate potential enemies. But she did her best to soar steadily forward, her shield positioned in front of her to absorb any incoming attacks. She heard one of the riders scream something in Crell, probably a command, and suddenly the dragon adjusted course and opened its massive jaw in anticipation of an easy meal. Elade waited until the creature drew so close it blotted out the sun…and then she teleported through the shadows directly onto its back.

  The riders didn’t have a chance. Elade materialized directly between them in the two-person saddle, and with a quick slash she liberated the back rider’s head from his shoulders. Blood splashed across her face as the fresh corpse, still secured tightly to the saddle, wildly flopped back and forth. The front rider glanced back over his shoulder in surprise, but she didn’t give him a chance to react: hacking downward across his saddle’s main buckle, she cut free the only thing keeping the man attached to the great beast. With a shriek of terror, he catapulted off the dragon down to the fortress below.

  The beast itself, of course, couldn’t be dispatched so easily. It roared in frustration and began a steep climb to try and buck her off, but Elade clamped her thighs as tightly as she could around the headless corpse to hold herself in place. She couldn’t keep this up for long, but thankfully she knew she wouldn’t have to. Dismissing her shield, she twirled her blade upside down, clenched it in both hands, and drove it through the remaining saddle and into the dragon’s spine.

  The roar was deafening, and a veritable earthquake shuddered through the beast’s body. Its wings froze in place, and a split second later it was plummeting from the sky. Wrenching her sword free, Elade leapt off the dragon and fanned out her wings in the hopes of slowing her fall. Fate willing, she wouldn’t land on a pack of groll and instantly get torn to shreds…

  She almost made it. As she floated away from the dying creature, its writhing tail smacked hard into her flank. Elade careened to the side in a reckless spin, instinctively bringing up her hands to defend herself—and then suddenly cracked full bore into a stone wall. The impact crushed her left arm, and her sword flipped from her fingers as she continued her frantic plunge. Her consciousness waning against the shock and pain, Elade struggled to maintain the protective barrier that had just saved her life and hopefully would again.

  Closing her eyes, she prepared for impact.

  ***

  Adar pinned himself tightly against the stone column as he slammed a fresh cartridge into his crossbow. His team had nearly reached the Lyebel garrison’s command room by the time their Solarian priest had collapsed. Apparently Ethan’s absurd plan had actually come to fruition after all…and Adar still wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. So far, his squad hadn’t suffered any casualties, but he knew the remaining Crell officers wouldn’t surrender without a fight.

  “We could fall back,” Sir Lavonde suggested as he crouched behind his shimmering shield. Occasionally a bolt would ricochet off it harmlessly. “Find out what’s happened in Solaria.”

  Adar pursed his lips. They were so close—the portcullis at the end of this hall was the only thing standing between his team and control of Lyebel. “No,” he said. “We’ve come this far, and the Crell won’t be able to stop us now—not if your knights are as good as advertised.”

  “I’m not worried about my men,” Lavonde replied. “I’m worried about yours. Without the priests, I can’t guarantee your safety.”

  “There are no guarantees in life, let alone war,” Adar murmured. “We’re pushing on.”

  “As you wish. I’ll organize a concerted charge with other squads, and then we can—”

  The knight cut off when the portcullis at the end of the chamber unexpectedly cranked open. The remaining Crell defenders, already pinned down by fire from the rebels, seemed equally surprised. Adar wondered what the en
emy commander could possibly be thinking when suddenly a squad of black-armored men—imperial soldiers, not mere city watchmen—rushed forward through the now-open gate. The front row hunkered down behind heavy tower shields while their comrades in the back squeezed off shots from their crossbows. Adar’s first instinct was to fall back and regroup in the adjacent chamber, but then he belatedly realized the Crell soldiers weren’t firing at the rebels.

  They were firing at their own troops.

  “What the hell…?” Lavonde stammered.

  The hair on the back of Adar’s neck tingled. The rebels had already thinned the defenders down to maybe ten watchmen, and they never stood a chance against their own troops. After a quick flurry of shots and stabs, it was all over. The other rebels had stopped firing and pressed themselves more firmly behind cover as they tried to figure out what in the bloody void was going on.

  Just as the initial slaughter concluded, another armored man emerged from within the command room. His armor was indistinguishable from the others, but he was sheathed in a glimmering mantle of Aetheric energy. He didn’t even bother to take cover from the rebels…and he was about to pay for it.

  “Fire!” Adar called out, and he whipped around the corner and pulled the trigger. Bolts splattered harmlessly off the man’s barrier, though his comrades at least had the good sense to duck down behind their shields. Adar swore and glanced back to Lavonde. “That one is yours.”

  The paladin’s brow creased. “The other squads are reporting similar incidents. Why would the Crell turn against their own men?”

  Adar glanced to his left to see Ria nuzzled against another stone column. She met his eyes and shrugged before firing off a few more shots. Whatever the Crell were up to, they obviously still considered the rebels their enemies, and ultimately that was what mattered. Adar counted a dozen soldiers at most, which didn’t drastically change their previous odds or available strategies. The rebels could either stay here, pinned down, hoping to slowly thin the Crell out before they ran out of ammo, or they could charge and engage them in close combat. Without the support of the priest, the latter option was much less appealing.

  “Hold your positions!” he ordered, sliding in another cartridge. His men obliged, but apparently the Crell had other plans.

  They charged. Adar spun and fired, lodging his first two bolts in a soldier’s shield but catching him in the leg with the third. Three of the Crell front-liners dropped by the time they had made it half way across the corridor. The rebels continued to fire, but then the Imperator stepped forward, and with a single flick of his wrist he changed the course of the battle.

  A rumbling whoosh rippled through the air as a wave of invisible force smashed into the column Adar was using for cover. The stone instantly buckled beneath the assault, and soon the entire pillar collapsed. Adar rolled away and slid his sword from its sheath. By the time the dust cleared, the enemy was upon them.

  He engaged one of the Crell with a scything, two-handed slash. The soldier caught the blow on his shield, but he lost his balance and tripped backwards. The moment he was exposed a bolt lodged into his breastplate, and Adar pounced forward and finished the job with a quick thrust of his own. He ripped his blade free and glanced around as the chamber descended into a chaotic melee.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Adar saw Lavonde charge at the Imperator, his shield leveled forward and his sword clutched tightly behind him. For an instant, it looked like the paladin might reach the channeler before he could respond…but then the Imperator casually flicked open his palm. Lavonde’s shield abruptly vanished, and he gasped and stumbled as if he had been shot. His momentum carried him forward, however, and the Imperator calmly stepped forward, lifted his blade, and cut the paladin down in a single swipe.

  Adar’s stomach sank. This man wasn’t just an Imperator—he was a Breaker. And that meant they were all dead.

  The battle played out before Adar’s eyes as if it were in slow motion. His men fought gallantly; they held their own against the Crell soldiers, and given time they might have even proven victorious. But without a paladin to protect them, they were completely helpless against a channeler.

  Blast after blast of flame and death leapt from the man’s fingertips, and a veil of choking smoke soon filled the chamber. Other battles across the fortress were undoubtedly playing out in the same manner. Adar didn’t understand why or how, but something had just happened here—something that would soon shake the foundations of Torsia and perhaps all of Obsidian. Adar could have fought to hold off the attack; he could have forced the others to wait until after Ethan’s coup. But he had wanted so desperately to turn the tide of this war…

  Or perhaps he had known something like this would happen all along. Perhaps he simply hadn’t cared. Perhaps this was just an easy escape from all the mistakes he had made, all the rationalizations that had kept him following Ethan down darker and darker paths straight into the Void. Perhaps he was just a coward who wanted nothing more than to die like the hero he wished he could be.

  “Kyle, move!” Ria screamed from his left, but he could barely hear here. The Breaker had turned towards him, and he felt her body slam into his side and knock him down as the Imperator let loose another stream of flame. Adar turned and watched Ria Magran’s flesh melt off her body as she shrieked and died a horrific death.

  His eyes remained fixed on her blackened, smoldering skeleton until the flames cast down upon him, stripping away his guilt in a pyre of final judgment.

  ***

  Bolts of coruscating power arced between Krystia and Areekan, and the king’s chamber flashed and crackled like a cloud at the center of a thunderstorm. The king had fully withdrawn from his followers in order to pool his Ascendant powers against her, and his defenses were far stronger than she had anticipated. Krystia struck on two fronts. Physically, she battered against his protective Aetheric mantle with blast after blast of energy; mentally, she struck with even more force, thrusting over and over against his telepathic shields in an effort to break through. She was making slow but steady progress, and she had no doubt that she would eventually defeat him.

  The problem was that she was out of time.

  The chamber would be flooded with reinforcements any minute now, and Krystia knew that even she couldn’t stop all of them while simultaneously fending off an Ascendant. Her only hope was to slip past his defenses before they arrived…but at this point, she was completely out of ideas. She thought back to all the lessons she had learned from Sovan, all the secrets she had gleaned from Malacross, but there was no simple answer, no unexpected trick she could use to deceive an ancient man of formidable power. This was a raw battle of two minds, pure and simple, and she needed something to push hers over-the-top.

  Krystia’s thoughts shifted to Tevek. He was dead, slain by a savage brute she had all but released herself. She had assumed that Tevek would stay out of the way during the battle, especially since he’d lost his powers, but of course she should have known better. If she had known he would be here, she might have called off the entire attack. Nothing in this world could have convinced her to kill him, directly or otherwise…but she had killed him, hadn’t she? She had arranged to send Tevek to Lyebel in the first place; she was the reason his powers had been stolen and his knighthood had been stripped. Tevek wouldn’t just be alive if not for her—he would probably still be Highlord!

  Still, Krystia wasn’t the one who had denied him his powers at the Citadel. She wasn’t the one who had sequestered him here in this city when he should have been at the front of the battle, leading the Dawn against the Crell invasion forces. With him standing alongside their troops at Garos or Brackengarde or Aman-Dapor, the Alliance armies might have been able to pull off a victory even without the priests.

  Krystia also wasn’t responsible for the plight of her people. Hundreds, probably thousands of innocents were going to die in the next few days, all because of an ancient lie that had culminated in two thousand years of systematic bigotry
and oppression—a lie that men like Alric and Areekan embraced whole-heartedly. Krystia may have set free the man who killed Tevek, but it was the cowardice and ignorance of other men that had endangered him in the first place. If Areekan was strong enough to do what was right—if he was strong enough to set her people free and give them the help they needed to live normal, fulfilling lives—then she wouldn’t even be here. She would gladly be serving as his priestess. She would be fighting against the Crell instead of her own people.

  If anything, Krystia was the victim here, not the villain. They had forced her hand, and in doing so they had killed Tevek Dracian. Now it was up to her to set things right.

  Krystia screamed in anger, her voice barely audible above the thundering discharge of magic. Her rage stabbed into Areekan’s mind like red-hot steel sliding through naked flesh. His defenses withered, and he released a final, tormented shriek as her magic pierced his protective mantle and burned him to cinders.

  But in that brief instant before he died, Areekan’s mind opened to her…and she greedily drank in his knowledge and power. Just like with Malacross and Jason, the images and thoughts and secrets flooded into her mind. Centuries of memories from dozens of rulers—some of which Areekan himself hadn’t been fully aware of—poured into her mind. She saw each of their faces and each of their lives, all the way back to a mysterious Unbound man who had taken the name Sol almost two millennia earlier. Then came the most important secret of all, the one that had transformed a young acolyte named Tyrius Areekan into one of the world’s most powerful men.

  Ascendancy.

  Krystia sucked in a staggered breath as the energy storm surrounding her finally dissipated. Areekan was gone, and the room fell disturbingly silent. But inside her mind she could sense the terrified thoughts of the king’s Bound fading away, thousands of invisible psychic tendrils breaking and withdrawing. She tried to grab onto them, to somehow hold on to those connections, but one by one they kept slipping away. She focused all her efforts on the last few before they vanished forever, grasping for all of them at once, and this time her grip seemed to hold. Squeezing tightly, she pulled the bonds into herself—