The Godswar Saga (Omnibus)

by Jennifer Vale

  Sovan smiled again. “Normally, you would be correct, but our efforts have yielded yet another solution. Come, let me show you…”

  Krystia followed him past the interconnected whelp-filled cubbies and down into the main chamber. Once again she struggled to contain her awe at the raw size of the facility, but the creatures inside were far more impressive. On the left side were three fully-grown, pregnant females.

  On the right was the future of warfare in Torsia.

  “Fives males and three females,” he said with obvious pride as he gestured towards the great beasts. They were arrayed along the wall at more or less equal intervals, and they were already being fitted with armor and saddles. “And as I said, we’ll have many more just like them by the end of the month. By the end of Spring I expect to have over two hundred more, and by the end of summer…” He chuckled. “By the end of summer there won’t be an Imperium left to worry about.”

  “I don’t understand,” Krystia breathed. “How is this possible with so many barren females?”

  “Because there is another step in the process,” Sovan told her. “Remember, shaving a few months off a whelp’s gestation cycle is useful, but it doesn’t help us if the baby must still spend decades growing into maturity. That is our true break-through here: we have accelerated their entire growth cycle from conception to full maturity. Those adolescent wyrmlings you just saw nearing the birthing chambers are only a week old.”

  “A week?”

  “Yes, and in a few more they’ll be fully grown just like their peers here. A whelp can be trained and ready for combat in just over a month.”

  Krystia tried to speak but nothing came out. She wouldn’t have believed it if she weren’t here to see it for herself. No beast of any complexity matured from child to adult in one paltry month, and dragons were every bit as complex as humans and then some…

  She forced herself to breathe and swallow normally. This really would flip the war on its head. Solaria’s borders were breached, its armies were beleaguered, and its Bound were broken…but none of that would matter if they could muster an aerial armada of a hundred dragons. They could swoop down over Drakendaar itself and burn the imperial capital to ashes before the Sovereigns could do anything about it…

  “There must be other side effects,” she whispered as her thoughts once again touched his. “This technique must have a price.”

  “It does, yes,” Sovan admitted. “The mental development of these offspring is…stunted compared to their natural-born peers. But thankfully, we can infuse them with a great deal of knowledge directly via telepathy and the proper use of these crystalline matrices, and so far they have proven perfectly capable of carrying out basic orders in combat. They will require a tighter leash, however, and our riders will need to be made aware of their limitations.”

  Krystia’s stomach twisted. “You don’t find this the least bit disturbing?”

  He turned and cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re crippling their minds just to make them better servants!”

  “I’m aware of that. The impediments are regrettable, but dragons are beasts of burden. Do you care that your horse is a fool? Or your hound?”

  “Horses can’t breathe fire,” Krystia countered. “And dogs can’t swallow a man whole.”

  “As I said, their mental deficiencies have not proven to be a significant obstacle in their training. Besides, a proper Unbound rider—even a Bound rider—should be able to control his mount with telepathy.”

  Krystia’s mouth went dry. She had spent much of her life around animals, from Oren, her majestic white eagle, to Yuar, her glorious steed. The thought of intentionally stunting the mental development of another living creature just to make it grow faster…

  “The Crell have used similar techniques with the groll for nearly a century,” Sovan pointed out. “You never wondered why they were so simple-minded and brutish? Back before the First War, the groll lived in thriving settlements in northern Borden. Do you really think the modern versions could build anything besides a club?”

  “I’ve never thought about it,” she conceded.

  “Considering how quickly the Crell have always been able to breed their black dragons, I wouldn’t be surprised if they adapted a lesser version of this technique decades ago.”

  Krystia clenched her jaw. “Just because our enemies are savages doesn’t mean we should emulate them.”

  Sovan snorted. “Please. These creatures are barely-conscious beasts driven by instinct rather than reason. They are tools of war, no different than an Aether-infused blade.”

  “Swords don’t feel pain. Or is this how you see all of our soldiers?”

  “If selective breeding offends your sensibilities, Your Majesty, then I’m afraid this war is already over,” he told her. “The Crell are not so squeamish. They will figure out this technique eventually, and when they do their dragons will burn Celenest and every other Solarian city to the ground.”

  She closed her eyes and forced herself to turn away. Now that she’d learned to sort through the minds of the individual whelps, she could also sense their discomfort and their fear. They were lost and confused without their mothers. Instinctively, they knew something was wrong with them, but their underdeveloped brains had no answers…

  “There’s more to your plan,” she managed, taking in a deep breath and closing off her mind. She could never block out everything, of course, not after her Ascension. The voices of her servants were always there whispering in the back of her mind…but she had learned how to mute the world around her. Otherwise she would have already gone mad. “What haven’t you shown me?”

  “More than you can imagine,” Sovan replied. His smile was just as disturbing as ever. “This way, Your Majesty. We should continue our discussion in private.”

  ***

  “The good news,” Major Lennox said as he glanced down over the Amberwood battlements, “is that this fort hasn’t been attacked since its reconstruction over three hundred years ago.”

  “The bad news is that the walls have done a perfectly good job of falling apart on their own ever since,” Darius grumbled. He leaned his gauntlets against the stone wall and repressed a sigh. “At this point, a stiff gale could breach the battlements as easily as a siege weapon, and they’re definitely not going to hold up against a bloody dragon. By Sol, I doubt they’ll hold up against a throng of determined chagari.”

  “It’s not all bad. The inner fortress has been very well-preserved, and if the Crell do manage to reach the courtyard, we could always collapse the bridges across town. It would buy us time to get more reinforcements.”

  What reinforcements? Darius thought to himself. Thankfully, experience had taught him to keep his mouth shut around the other soldiers when he had nothing inspiring to say…as seemed to be the case more and more often these days.

  He and his entourage had arrived in Fort Amberwood for their inspection late this morning, and he could already feel the gravity of the situation weighing heavily upon his shoulders. This fort was, in the nicest possible terms, completely unprepared to repel a serious Crell attack. The walls were crumbling, the defensive towers were half-broken, and the flood of refugees from the southwestern provinces strained their already limited resources. Given the option, he would almost rather launch a full-scale siege upon the walls of Brackengarde…

  But any offensive campaign would be a fool’s errand at this point, and Darius was already tired of sulking. Besides, he had successfully defended far more vulnerable locations in the past. As a young man, he’d stood on the crumbling battlements at Fort Isen and survived a Crell surprise attack, and Amberwood was in far better shape than that withered pile of rock.

  This fort was essentially divided into two separate sections. The larger wall and courtyard sprawled across the river to the south, and over time a small town had been built inside to promote trade with the southern provinces. On the opposite side of the river was the actual castle
and its adjoining towers, and three long, arching bridges connected the “upper” and “lower” sections. Darius had no idea why the fort had been built in such an odd shape, but ultimately it didn’t matter. The point was that this was where they would have to make their stand if the Crell ever decided to push Celenest from the south.

  “Frankly, at this point I’m more concerned about the refugees than the Crell,” Lennox commented. He gestured down to the courtyard and the throng of terrified, displaced peasants crouching around a fire for warmth. “We can’t supply them for much longer. The grain stores are already running low, and without the harvest from the western fields we’ll have enough trouble feeding our soldiers.”

  “The Council is attempting to secure a trade agreement with Solipei,” Darius said. “That should help.”

  “In a few months, maybe. But right now…”

  Darius nodded soberly. Unlike Garos, Amberwood wasn’t a city; it wasn’t designed to support thousands of civilian bodies in addition to the standing garrison. They had no space and even less food. If he were a Crell commander, he probably wouldn’t even bother trying to attack—he would just camp in the wilderness and allow the refugees to tear the fort apart.

  “You’ll want to speak with the priest who arrived from Lanesk a few hours ago,” Lennox said. “This way, General.”

  The man in question was haggard in the extreme—the remnants of his uniform and armor were spackled with blood and dirt, and his face bore the deep creases and sunken eyes of someone who hadn’t slept in far too long. But despite having his Ascendant bond severed, the priest had somehow survived…and he’d managed to lead several hundred villagers all the way from Lanesk.

  “General,” he said with a bow and a cough. “Lieutenant Hayden Gammel, formerly of the—”

  “I know who you are, Lieutenant,” Darius interrupted as he reached out to shake the man’s hand. “I hear we have you to thank for keeping all these people alive.”

  Gammel’s cheek twitched. “Not really, sir. I should be dead, and these people should be toiling under an imperial boot.”

  Darius frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “It was the vaeyn, sir—the paladin who has been prowling the countryside. She appeared out of the shadows and killed the Breaker right in front of me. I still have trouble believing it really happened…”

  Major Lennox gestured back towards one of the nearby towers. “Why don’t we all have a seat, and you can tell us all about it.”

  He did. Darius listened carefully to the explanation, though by now he had heard the same story many times over. Just when the Crell seemed to have taken full control of the village, Elade had miraculously appeared to slaughter the Breaker and his Imperator goons. She’d only stayed long enough to make sure the villagers were safe, at which point she had vanished into the darkness as quickly as she had appeared.

  Darius was obviously appreciative of her efforts, but eventually her luck was going to run out. And he needed to figure out a way to contact her before that happened…

  “I still don’t know why she did it,” Gammel whispered, “but if I were a Crell, I’d be shitting my trousers knowing she’s out there.”

  “Before your unit was attacked, did your scouts learn anything interesting about nearby troop movements?” Lennox asked. “Something that you never had a chance to relay through Her Majesty, I mean.”

  “No. They caught us completely by surprise. As far as I know, they could have a battalion in the area.”

  “Our griffons haven’t spotted anything,” Darius said, “though they didn’t know Lanesk was going to be hit, either. Their strategy seems to revolve around splitting up into dozens of smaller units and fanning out across the western front. They can’t hit anything large, but we also can’t pin them down or predict their movements.”

  Lennox nodded thoughtfully. “It does mean they’re unlikely to hit Amberwood anytime soon. That’s something, at least.”

  “Well, we’re all thankful you survived, Lieutenant,” Darius said, clapping the priest on the arm. “And you did the right thing bringing these people here. I’m not sure how yet, but we’ll figure out a way to take care of them.”

  “Thank you, General,” Gammel replied. “The vaeyn said you would find a way.”

  Darius forced a tight smile. “You should head to the barracks and get some sleep. Tomorrow morning I’ll send you to Celenest with the supply caravan. I’m sure Her Majesty will wish to restore your bond and get you back into the fight.”

  “Yes, sir,” the man replied, though his enthusiasm was clearly forced. Darius had no personal experience at being bonded to an Ascendant, obviously, but from every description he’d heard the “breaking” process was incredibly traumatic. None of the priests who’d been broken and had their bonds reforged were ever quite the same afterwards.

  “There is one more thing, General,” Gammel added just as he reached the door. “Before we left, we found one of the Crell conscripts cowering in the village—an Izarian peasant girl, probably sixteen or seventeen. The vaeyn sent the rest of the Crell running back to Brackengarde, but she wanted us to take the girl with us to Amberwood.”

  “I see,” Darius replied with a frown. The Imperium had always been fond of conscripting colonials into their auxiliary forces, especially orphaned children who were old enough and strong enough to lift a sword or draw a bow. But he wasn’t sure why Elade would have insisted that one be brought here. “Did she know anything useful about the enemy’s plans?”

  “A little, but I barely had the chance to speak with her,” Gammel said. “It wasn’t long after we’d set out that I realized she’d disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?” Lennox asked. “So in other words, she ran off.”

  “I had over two hundred villagers to keep track of all on my own, including three pregnant women and a dozen toddlers,” Gammel replied defensively. “If I’d still had the Aether, I might have able to do something, but—”

  “It’s all right,” Darius interrupted, lifting a hand. “You had a lot to worry about. Honestly, it’s a miracle you evacuated the whole village.”

  Gammel nodded, obviously relieved he wasn’t going to be blamed. “Yes, sir. And I can’t imagine that one little girl is going to cause any problems. She probably just got scared and ran off.”

  “And will likely pay the price for it,” Lennox said. “The countryside is a dangerous place, as you well know.”

  “Is there anything else you need to add, Lieutenant?” Darius asked.

  “No, sir, that’s all. And thank you again.”

  He left the tower and headed towards the barracks. Once the door shut behind him, Lennox turned and grunted.

  “Sooner or later, your vaeyn friend is going to get herself killed,” he commented. “But in the meantime, she’s racking up quite the body count.”

  “I want to arrange a griffon scouting patrol in the area north of Lanesk,” Darius said. “They’re to report any signs of movement.”

  Lennox cocked an eyebrow. “The odds of them spotting a lone figure determined to hide her tracks is incredibly low. And how do you even know which direction she’s gone?”

  “I don’t, but she wiped out that other unit south of us just a few days ago. It’s likely she’ll continue heading north.”

  “If you say so, General. Personally, I don’t think we’re ever going to find her unless she wants to be found.”

  “Probably not,” Darius conceded. “But I’m sure as hell going to try.”

  Chapter Eight

  “The true power of a paladin is the hope she inspires in others. But having a sharp sword doesn’t hurt.”

  —Tevek Dracian, 2012 A.G.

  Nearly a hundred fifty years ago, well before the rise of the Imperium or its domineering Sovereigns, a civil war had carved a bloody swath across the Crell heartland. With the aid of a small cabal of Unbound sorcerers, a horde of starving peasants had eventually overthrown the old monarchy and executed the entire royal famil
y. King Vretiak’s death had led to the Ascension of a new ruler, Alexander Govall, and he’d wasted precious little time in securing the loyalty of every land-owning noble in the country. Just five short years after seizing power, he’d rebuilt the army and invaded the neighboring country of Borden…and just two years after that, the Crell Imperium had officially been born.

  In a roundabout way, the Crell revolution had started here in the Lirisfal Fjord. The various Solarian provinces had yet to unite under a single banner at the time, and the ruler of this particular land had been sympathetic towards the plight of the estranged Crell farmers. He had funneled weapons and supplies from this river down to the Kurden Pass, and without that early assistance it was unlikely that Govall would have ever gained a foothold. What had begun as an act of mercy had evolved into the rise of the most powerful empire in Torsian history, and Elade Devarath couldn’t help but wonder how many other charitable acts throughout the ages had culminated in wanton conquest and destruction.

  Acts like rescuing a broken vaeyn shadow knight whose mere presence had nearly destroyed the most revered organization in the world…

  Gritting her teeth in annoyance, she raised a hand to shield her sensitive eyes against the waning sunset. The western sky was a brilliant orange smear, and the glare from the nearby river had made it almost impossible for her to see anything for the past hour. She was perched atop one of the highest rocks along the cliff-face, and she’d been searching for any signs of Crell troop activity for most of the afternoon. She was hardly an expert tracker—following trails in the vast, winding caverns of her underground homeland was far different than anything on the surface—but she had learned the basics from Tevek over the years. Thus far, she hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. If the Crell did have a secret camp here, they were doing a bloody good job of hiding it.

  Elade sighed and leaned back against the rock. At this point, she decided, she might as well eat something and wait until nightfall. So far her keen night vision and shadow knight channeling techniques had given her a tremendous advantage over the Crell, and she continued to travel after dark as often as possible. She could almost hear Highlord Alric’s mental voice chastising her for employing such a “cowardly” tactic. Paladins met their enemies head-on; they didn’t slink through the shadows and strike from the darkness.