Because in the end, that’s all she was: a risk. Those who stood too closely to her suffered for it. First Varess had been tortured and killed, and then Tevek had been betrayed and murdered. Even Squire Talroy had been exiled from the Dawn for aiding her.
Elade vowed to do right by them…but she would do it alone. No one else needed to suffer because of what or who she was.
“I will fight this war,” she said, “but I will fight it on my own terms and in my own way.”
Krystia frowned. “You don’t need to be alone anymore. Our people will be united right here, and you can be safe.”
Elade squeezed the woman’s hand briefly then released it. “The Unbound may not ally as easily as you hope, but I wish you all the luck in the world. I simply refuse to place anyone else at risk just because of what I am. It will be easier for you if I’m not here, trust me.”
“Elade…”
“Win this war, Krystia,” she said. “Keep your people strong and tell them the truth about our kind.”
The queen eyed her for a long moment then smiled thinly. “I will. And know that you will always be welcome here.”
Elade nodded, then turned and walked away. The crowds were thick, but they parted before her steady stride and dour glare. Several minutes later, just before she reached the door, the gongs sounded and the room descended into total silence. She glanced back over her shoulder as the hundreds of mourners lowered their heads, and on the balcony above, the queen raised her open palms outward.
“May Our Lord Sol claim this man’s gentle spirit and guide it through the Aether and beyond,” she said. “Rest well, my hero.”
Fire burst forth from her palms and consumed Tevek’s body in a brilliant pyre. The onlookers dropped to a knee almost in unison, but across the way Jason’s eyes met hers. He smiled warmly.
Elade turned to the door and strode outside, her long hair and billowing cloak flowing behind her as the tears streaked down her face.
Epilogue
“By the heart of Anvira, the will of Orias, and the sword of Maeleon, this shattered world shall be restored and renewed. This is our pact. This is our purpose. This is our Triumvirate.”
—The Covenant of the Triumvirate
Highlord Gabriel Alric raised his glass to the empty suit of armor mounted on the wall behind his desk. “To old friends,” he whispered, then downed his whiskey in a single gulp.
He was alone, and it felt as if the entire Citadel was empty. Tevek’s body may have been stolen from them, but Alric had still arranged a tomb within the Hall of Sacrifice. For all his faults, Tevek deserved a proper burial along with his fallen comrades, and one day that travesty would be rectified.
For now, however, Obsidian mourned as one. News of Tevek’s death had reached far and wide across the worlds, and knights stationed in far-flung kingdoms across Calhara and Torsia reported the condolences of prominent figures. No Highlord in recent memory had left such a legacy in so many places. Even disgraced a week before his death, Tevek Dracian was now an invulnerable legend.
Alric winced as his throat burned from his drink. This had been Tevek’s favorite, a simple, cheap Ikaran whiskey they’d first shared some thirty years ago. It reminded Alric how things had once been between them; it reminded him of their pledge to stare evil straight in the eye and defeat it at any cost.
Naiveté was a fragile thing.
The memory burned to ash in Alric’s mind, and his thoughts drifted to the present. If the vaeyn had been Tevek’s only mistake, then the current situation wouldn’t be nearly so tenuous. But as much as he wanted to capture Dame Devarath, she wasn’t nearly as important as the new Solarian queen. If Solaria fell—and it assuredly would, under the leadership of a heretical sorceress—then all of Torsia might wither shortly thereafter. Numen, Talisham, Yamata, even Asgardia…none of them could stand against the might of the Imperium. Alric wondered grimly if he might spend the rest of his life cleaning up his friend’s mess.
A knock rattled at his chamber door, and he turned. “Come in.”
A tall, cloaked man slipped inside. Alric didn’t recognize the figure at first, and his hand instinctively dropped to the pommel of his blade—but then the stranger stepped into the light and pulled back his hood.
“I hear congratulations are in order, Highlord.”
Alric set down his empty glass. “I wondered when you would finally decide to show yourself. The world burns, and yet the Watchers continue to skulk in the shadows.”
“It has been a long time. Though not long enough for your tastes, I imagine.”
“Or yours.”
The man smiled. “Our fates are intertwined. We’ve always known this day would come.”
“I suppose so,” Alric murmured. “What do you want, Dathiel?”
“We have a serious problem on our hands, old friend—more serious than any threat of the past age.”
“An Unbound paladin on the loose, an Unbound queen upon the Solarian throne, and a powerful warlock wandering about Torsia causing chaos in his wake.” The Highlord grunted. “And of course, the Crell war machine is already on the march. “
“You and I are beyond Torsian politics,” Dathiel said mildly, “but the situation is worse than you know.”
“Really,” Alric whispered. He had never cared for any of the Watchers, the servants of the Immortal Orias, but Dathiel had always been particularly insufferable. Still, they could be a powerful tool—something else Tevek had never properly understood. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”
Dathiel pulled back his hood and stepped into the light. His head was cleanly shaven, but his face was framed by a neatly-trimmed beard. Like most Taurosians living along the coast of the Rivani Basin here in Calhara, his skin and eyes were a similar shade of light brown. Unlike most Taurosians—or any other humans, for that matter—the man hadn’t aged a day since Alric had first met him nearly three decades ago.
“I’m referring to the new leader of the Imperium,” Dathiel said. “She is the eye of this great storm, and the one we much watch very carefully.
“New leader?” Alric asked, frowning. “What happened to Thelonius?”
Dathiel grunted. “I see you are behind the times, as always.”
“Highlord Dracian never properly appreciated the value of information,” Alric said, not bothering to conceal his disgust. “He believed that the Knights of the Last Dawn had no business lurking in the shadows.”
“Then we are all better off for his passing.”
Alric’s eyes narrowed. “I would choose your words more carefully within Maeleon’s Citadel, Watcher. For all his failings, Tevek Dracian was still our Highlord. Without him, even your precious Orias would find the world too dark for his comfort.”
“I meant no offense, of course.” Dathiel’s eyes flicked over to the suit of armor on the wall. “The new High Sovereign leads the Zarul. From the shadows, she has developed many new channeling techniques, including the means by which to sever an Ascendant bond.”
“That we know first-hand,” Alric replied gravely. “We lost nearly a dozen knights during the invasion thanks to these ‘Breakers.’”
“Yes. We must develop a counter quickly before more of our agents are compromised.”
“What else do you know about this Sovereign?”
“A great deal, all of which I plan to share with you in time,” Dathiel said. “In the immediate future, however, we must remain focused upon the heretics within Solaria. They threaten everything.”
Alric nodded and rubbed at his chin. He wasn’t surprised by the other man’s concern. While the Dawn dealt primarily with Void-spawned demons and corrupt mortal leaders, the Watchers dealt directly with renegade Unbound. Frankly, the true surprise was that they hadn’t gotten involved until now, especially since they had undoubtedly learned the truth of Dame Devarath’s heritage some time ago.
“I’m also concerned about the son of General Moore,” Dathiel went on. “We don’t know enough about his…condition.
”
“I have agents keeping an eye on him,” Alric said. “And other than some of his dubious relationships, he seems to be a man of reasonable conscience.”
“So was his father once,” the Watcher countered. “Misplaced morals only make power more dangerous.”
Alric snorted and grinned. “It’s good to know that we can still count on the Watchers to find the single ray of hope amidst the stormy sky.”
“Tevek shut me out, Gabriel,” Dathiel said, his voice cooling. “He refused to listen to me on several occasions, and each time his choice cost lives. But you, thankfully, are a man of reason rather than blind fanaticism. You understand the danger here nearly as well as we do.”
“High praise indeed,” Alric murmured. “What do you want from me, exactly?”
“I need your help. The Watchers need your help. The heretics are a threat to the entire world, both your species…and what remains of mine.”
Alric poured himself another glass and twirled it in his fingers. “You don’t have to convince me of that.”
“Good. We have a lot of work to do, but I did bring you more than information on just the war.” He reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out a piece of rolled parchment. “I thought you might want to know more about the vaeyn you banished.”
Alric reached out and took the scroll. “Compared to other problems, she seems almost insignificant.”
“She is Unbound—her threat to the world will never be insignificant,” Dathiel said. “Your predecessor believed in redemption. He believed it so certainly that he allowed two vipers to slither into his heart. But after you read that, I’m sure we will both agree that some sins cannot be redeemed.”
Alric swallowed the lump of bile rising in his throat. “How accurate is this?”
“Perfectly.”
“The Conclave knew she was a shadow knight. We all understood that she had crawled out of a depraved world, but we never knew precisely why she’d been exiled from Maz’Belar.
Some of us assumed it might have been something with the woman she left with, but this…”
Dathiel nodded. “Your vaeyn didn’t elope with a woman, Gabriel. She eloped with a demon.”
***
The lock on the outside of the door clicked, and the desperate whispers outside swirled into a coherent male voice.
“Sovan, are you awake?”
“Of course, Headmaster.”
“Good. I…I don’t want to frighten you, but there has been a…problem. I need everyone to stay inside their rooms for a little while, possibly a few days.”
“That sounds serious.”
“We’re not sure yet, actually, but don’t worry yourself over it. I’m certain everything will be fine.”
“I’ve no doubt it will, Headmaster. But you should realize by now that lying to me is a waste of time.”
A blast of energy ripped the door from its hinges, and Sovan Lor stood from his bed. The Aether coursed through his veins and electricity arced between his fingertips. All around him the desperate whispers of the priests transformed into screams…and then fell silent as if they had never been there at all.
To Be Continued
Book Three
Reckoning
Prologue
A bitter gust of late winter wind whipped through the inner courtyard and sprayed a fine white mist across the seemingly endless rows of tombstones. Despite everything else that had been ransacked during the fall of Galvia, even the Crell weren’t so monstrous as to dig up or destroy the royal cemetery. A dozen generations of the Hands of Whitestone and their families were buried here in this ancient graveyard, and thus far the Imperium’s provincial governor, Sovereign Verrator, had ordered his men to leave it alone. That didn’t mean the citizens of Ashenfel were actually allowed to visit the graves, of course, nor were they permitted to add any new plots. But Ethan Moore hadn’t come here to bury any more of his friends.
He had come here to say goodbye. Possibly for the last time.
“I always apologize when I visit,” he whispered as he knelt down next to the tombstone. “But I think all I really ever wanted was your approval. I wanted you to understand that everything I’d done, everything I’d sacrificed, had been for Galvia….and for you.”
Ethan sniffed at the bundle of chrysanthemums in his hand. “Today is different. I’m not here seeking forgiveness. I betrayed you—I betrayed our son—and I don’t deserve another chance. My crimes are great, and by the time I’m finished they will be greater still. Not even the Void is a soulless enough prison for a man like me.”
Another gust of wind scalped the top layer off the tightly-packed snow, and in the distance Ethan heard the unmistakable ring of the bell tower striking the top of the hour. Dusk was fast approaching, and he wanted to be out of the city before nightfall.
“They’re all dead now, you know, just like you warned. Aidan, Kyle, Ria….the Crell killed them all. I killed them all. I’m the last of the Hands, and no one besides our son even knows I’m alive. He’s searching for me—he has been ever since he learned the truth. One day he’ll find me, and we will have our reckoning. But not yet.” Ethan grunted softly. “I don’t expect you to understand what I’ve done, and I certainly don’t expect you to condone it. But know this: the Crell will pay for their crimes. I will drive them from our home, and I will go to the Void knowing that you and all the others have been avenged.”
With a tired sigh, he laid the flowers atop the tombstone and then stood. “I never deserved you, Elissa,” he whispered. “I still don’t. But I do love you…and I always have.”
Ethan closed his eyes and allowed the flittering flurries to freeze against his face. He didn’t cry; he wasn’t even sure he could cry at this point. But somehow his eyes stung all the same.
He stood there for several long minutes before he heard boots sloshing through the snow behind him. “By order of Sovereign Verrator, this cemetery is off-limits to the public,” a gruff voice said in a thick Crell accent. “Turn around and raise your hands!”
Ethan slowly pivoted on a heel. “You wouldn’t deny an old man the comfort of saying goodbye to his wife, would you?”
Two lightly-armored men trudged up towards him. One had his hand cupped menacingly over the pommel of his sword, while the other had already drawn his crossbow. They were clearly city watchmen rather than actual soldiers; over the last few weeks, the Crell had pulled but a token force out of Galvia.
“How in the bloody void did you get in here, old man?” the crossbowman asked. “The gate has been sealed for months.”
“The locks must have frozen,” Ethan said with a shrug. “I walked right in and no one said a word.”
“The locks work just fine,” the swordsman said. He shifted his grip to the blade’s handle and unsheathed it an inch. “You obviously didn’t climb the walls, so someone must have let you in. Give me a name and I promise the magistrate will be merciful.”
Ethan snorted. “Ah, yes, the legendary Crell ‘mercy.’ Tell me: were your leaders demonstrating their mercy when they massacred every man, woman, and child at Durindel during the war? Was your glorious Sovereign offering a gentle hand when he ordered the execution of a hundred surrendered soldiers at Kiersale?”
The watchmen frowned and glanced at each other in confusion, and Ethan coughed out a bitter chuckle.
“You don’t even know what I’m talking about, do you? You were still milking cows on your family farm while Crell soldiers were raping their way across the continent. I wonder—were you both conscripted…or did you willingly volunteer?”
“That’s enough, old man,” the crossbowman said as he lifted up his weapon. “Tell us who let you in or you’ll spend the rest of your days rotting in the dungeon.”
“Wait a minute,” the other guard whispered, his eyes narrowing at the fresh chrysanthemums sitting atop Elissa’s tombstone. “You said you were here to see your wife?”
Ethan nodded, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of hi
s mouth. “That’s right.”
“Then you must be…” the guard trailed off and unsheathed his sword. “On your knees, old man! Now!”
“No.”
“Get on the ground or I will cut you down where you stand!”
“Galvia will never kneel before the Crell,” Ethan said. “And neither will I.”
The Aether surged through his body, and a crackling bolt of greenish energy exploded from his palm and struck the crossbowman squarely in the torso. The man managed a single, choked-off shriek before his flesh disintegrated into a pile of dust…and a second later his empty helmet and armor flopped down into the snow.
The swordsman leapt backwards, his eyes gaping wide in terror, and for a moment Ethan wondered if the boy might toss down his weapon and grovel for mercy. But then he abruptly gurgled and went stiff as a spindly, hook-shaped limb pierced through his back and erupted from his chest. Blood splattered across the snow, and the watchman twitched in place for several long, agonizing seconds before finally flopping face-first to the ground.
“More will come soon,” Ethan said.
Why not kill them all now? a dark, raspy voice said directly into his mind. They cannot stop me. They cannot stop us.
“Stay your hunger. I promise that you will all be sated soon.”
The creature hissed audibly even though its hideous demonic visage was invisible to the naked eye. Its tracks, however, were not—the snow had melted away beneath its cloven feet. The other watchmen would undoubtedly stumble upon the fresh prints, and for an instant Ethan was tempted to use his magic to cover the trail. But the Crell already knew that he and his demons were lurking about the city, and a little fear amongst the lowly city watch could go a long way towards Ashenfel’s inevitable surrender.
The Asgardian envoy has reached Lyebel, the demon said. The Solarians are attempting to convince the barbarians to join the war.
“They will fail,” Ethan said. “High King Zharrs is weak; he is too scared of his rival clan-lords to commit his forces in a foreign war.”
The Godswar Saga (Omnibus) Page 88