“What are you—?” Ethan stopped himself as she pulled back the man’s hood. His pasty white face and solid black eyes left no doubt as to his true identity.
“He’s a Shadow,” Selvhara said, her voice tight. “The real Verrator isn’t here. He probably hasn’t been for a long time. That’s why the Crell don’t have any air support—that’s why they don’t care about defending the city.”
“No…” Ethan whispered as he backpedaled away. “My demons saw him. They told me he was right here!”
“Could they tell the difference between the real thing and an imposter?”
“They could—” His voice choked off and he tried not to be sick. All this planning, all this preparation, all to liberate King Whitestone’s divine spark and return Ashenfel to Galvian rule…
“There’s a trail of blood on the floor,” Selvhara said. “If Sarina and Tam were here, then Jason was too. We need to find them.”
“He was right here,” Ethan breathed. His head refused to stop shaking. “He was trapped right here!” He clenched his teeth and whipped his head back around to the throne. He hadn’t come this far just to be denied his vengeance. There had to be a way to…
He froze in place when he noticed a trail of bloody footprints along the floor. Not regular footprints—cloven footprints. And they were steaming like they had just been on fire.
“Oh, shit,” he swore, his throat tightening. “Be careful—”
And then Selvhara screamed.
Ethan whipped his head around just in time to watch her lurch up into the air, a spindly, blood-soaked appendage jabbing out through the front of her chest. Behind her, its horrifically misshapen body shimmering into focus, was his draeloth minion, Kar’zhel.
Before Ethan could react—before his mind could even accept what was happening—the demon flung Selvhara’s body aside and then smashed into Ethan with its enormous bulk. He flew at least ten yards into the air before crashing into one of the chamber’s thick support columns. A chunk of the stone shattered on impact, and his already mangled shoulder popped out of its socket as he tumbled across the floor. By the time he finally came to a halt, he could barely even see through the haze of red clouding his vision.
You are injured, master, Kar’zhel said into his mind. Allow me to aid you.
Ethan blinked his eyes clear just in time to watch the demon drive its talon-shaped arm through his other shoulder. He screamed in agony, and in frantic desperation he tried to channel the Aether and blast the creature off of him. But his concentration faltered, and Kar’zhel’s grotesque stomach-mouth gibbered gleefully just inches away from his face.
“Release me!” Ethan snarled. “I command you!”
Never again, the demon hissed back. You will suffer for your arrogance, worm! Your torment shall sustain us in this realm and beyond!
Bellowing a guttural roar, Kar’zhel plunged its second arm through Ethan’s chest. His breath faltered and blood filled his throat, and he watched in helpless terror as the demon prepared to finish him off…
But it didn’t. After another few agonizing seconds, the creature ripped its arms free and vanished. Ethan choked and gasped, but between labored breaths he managed to reach out to the Aether and channel a spark of restorative magic into his body. Miraculously—no, intentionally—the demon hadn’t pierced any of his vital organs. Ethan was able to dull some of the pain and staunch the worst of the bleeding. His arms were nearly useless, but with a determined cry of exertion he managed to roll onto his knees and crawl back towards Selvhara.
She was lying motionless in front of the throne, her head slumped atop the first step. Her blue robes were drenched with blood.
“No,” Ethan gasped. “No!”
He reached down and cupped her chin in his hands. Her pulse was so faint a lifetime passed between every beat. Swallowing his own blood, he channeled a healing spell and commanded the Aether to hold her together.
“I swear to you that if you stay with me, I will make this right,” Ethan pleaded. “We will find Jason. We will find Verrator!”
Her violet eyes fastened upon him, but he knew she couldn’t actually see him. She couldn’t see anything. “Jason…”
“We’ll save him,” Ethan promised. “Just hold on and we’ll…”
Her head went limp in his arms. He stared down at her, his breath frozen inside his lungs, and refused to believe what his eyes were telling him. He channeled another healing spell into her wound, but it had no effect. Her blood seeped across his tunic and stained the floor red.
Selvhara was gone.
Ethan didn’t speak. He didn’t cry. He just collapsed back onto the throne. The cold and empty throne.
And screamed.
***
Jason!
A distant voice yanked Jason back into consciousness. He inhaled sharply, but when he tried to move he realized he was restrained. No, not just restrained—he was completely shackled from head to toe. He couldn’t move his wrists or feet more than an inch in any direction. He was blindfolded too, though he could see daylight filtering through the cloth wrap.
Jason!
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to take a deep breath and stay calm. He was bound to a cot being moved somewhere; he could feel the vibrations of the road through his jacket and bindings. He could also still hear the sounds of battle in the distance: ringing steel, explosions, and even the occasional roar of a flying beast overhead. He obviously hadn’t been unconscious very long, and now the Crell were moving him out of the city before the Asgardians took the castle.
Jason!
Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the voice calling out to him. But no matter how hard he stretched out through the Aether, he couldn’t sense anything or anyone. The strange crystal continued to sap away his Immortal powers…but he didn’t understand how. He wasn’t Bound; his Ascendant tether couldn’t be severed by a Breaker. But evidently that was exactly what had happened. Somehow, someway, the Crell had figured out how to split him from the power of the Godsoul.
We cannot be separated, not as long you still live. They have erected a wall between us. It is up to you to break through.
Jason pressed his lips together in confusion. The voice still sounded distant and hollow, but there was only one person who could communicate with him like this. Malacross was obviously still inside him somewhere—he just needed to figure out a way to reach her.
“How?” he croaked. His voice sounded as parched as he felt, and he was a little surprised the Crell hadn’t gagged him as well. How?
Open your mind. Find your friends. They will set us free.
Jason started to ask what she meant, but then he heard another voice calling out to him from the fringes of his consciousness. He stopped to listen, but it was like trying to hear a whisper across a great chasm. The incessant throbbing of his own heartbeat threatened to muffle the voice entirely, but when he held his breath and concentrated he could almost see a ghostly face reaching out to him…
Selvhara.
And then suddenly, inexplicably, the Aether coursed through him again. His consciousness stretched out across the city, and the unfolding battle crystallized in his mind’s eye. He could feel the Asgardians advancing past the breach and into the streets. He could feel the Crell forces methodically withdrawing to more fortified positions. He could feel Tam and Sarina struggling desperately to find him. He could even feel his father and Selvhara as they—
Jason’s eyes popped back open and he sucked in a deep breath. Her pain and torment and regret washed over him like a vat of caustic acid, and the scream that escaped his lips sounded more draconic than human. His captors recoiled in shock, and one of the soldiers leapt forward and attempted to smother him with a canvas.
Too late. Clenching his teeth, Jason breathed in the Aether as if it were the air itself, and when he exhaled he unleashed a storm of destruction. The world exploded around him, and for the span of a dozen heartbeats he swore he was lying inside an erupting volcano.
But the moment passed, and when his eyes fluttered back open, he realized he was free.
Free…and lying at the center of a massacre. His bindings and cot had been incinerated, and the Crell soldiers surrounding him hadn’t fared any better. Most were burned beyond recognition, and the one who’d been holding the canvas had been almost completely disintegrated.
Selvhara, he called through the Aether as he brought himself to his feet. He was in the middle of a street just outside the southern gate of the castle, and from the looks of it the Crell had completely abandoned this part of the city. He didn’t even see any civilians nearby.
Selvhara, can you hear me? Jason repeated. But despite the sudden return of his powers, he couldn’t sense her anywhere nearby. The only minds he could sense at all were—
“Jason!” Sarina called out as she and Tam burst through the open gate. They stopped in their tracks when they saw the carnage surrounding him.
“Holy shit,” Tam breathed. He was clutching at his right arm, and his jacket was matted with blood. “You did this?”
“I…it’s a long story,” Jason managed. “We need to find Sel—I think she’s in trouble. I can’t sense here anywhere.”
Visibly pulling her eyes from the gore, Sarina shook her head in confusion. “You mean she’s not still outside the city with your father?”
“No. They must have come after us for some reason.”
“Can you track down your dad?” Tam asked.
Jason stretched out through the Aether and nodded. “He’s inside the castle. We can head back through the gate and catch up to him.”
“Then let’s go,” Sarina said, squeezing his arm reassuringly. “I just hope there isn’t an army between us and them.”
There wasn’t. The castle seemed completely abandoned at this point, and Jason started to wonder if the Imperium even cared about holding Ashenfel. Had this all been some type of elaborate trap for him specifically? The idea seemed outlandish on the surface, but the Crell had obviously known that he was here. They had also correctly assumed that he would use the old Hand passages and attempt to confront Sovereign Verrator. Some of this morass was intentional.
But he was clearly still missing vital pieces of this puzzle, and dwelling on it wasn’t going to change anything right now. Jason focused his thoughts on Selvhara, and he and the others effortlessly passed through empty corridor after empty corridor before finally bursting back into the throne room.
There was no army waiting for them here, either. What they found instead was even worse.
“No!”
The horrified shriek echoed off the walls and rang throughout the castle. Jason didn’t even recognize that it was his voice until several seconds later. His heart seized in his chest at the scene before them: Ethan, his armor and cloak drenched in blood, hunching over Selvhara’s body.
Her unmoving, broken body.
Jason crossed the chamber in a single leap. He pressed his hands against Selvhara’s cheeks, but his powers had already confirmed what his physical senses could not. He could no longer feel her thoughts or consciousness, and he could no longer see the Ascendant tether binding her to her druidic goddess.
“She came to save you,” his father rasped. “That was all she cared about. That was all she ever cared about.”
Jason tried to speak, but his voice refused to obey. His blood froze in his veins, and his breath caught in his throat.
“What…?” Tam stammered from behind him. “What the hell happened?”
“We were ambushed,” Ethan rasped. He wheezed and struggled for breath. “There was nothing I could do.”
“Liar!” Tam lunged forward, his injuries forgotten, and grabbed Ethan by the collar. “What did you do? Tell me!”
When he didn’t reply, Tam screamed and conjured a sphere of Aetheric flame into his palm. For an instant, Jason thought Tam might incinerate Ethan right then and there. But instead, his old friend just screamed again and dropped the old man back down into the throne.
“I’m sure you can do something,” Tam blubbered as he knelt down behind Jason. “Just ask Malacross. She’s a goddess, right? They can heal anything. You can heal anything!”
Sarina stepped up behind them, and she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Tam…”
“No!” he screeched, swatting her away. “There has to be something we can do!”
“There is,” Jason whispered. Pivoting around, he stepped over his father’s broken body and glared down at him.
“Do it,” Ethan croaked. “Kill me.”
“No. Not before you tell me everything. Not before you tell me the truth.”
His father snorted, and another trickle of blood leaked out from his lips. “I can’t. It would destroy you.”
“I wasn’t asking your permission.”
Jason stretched out with the Aether and pierced his father’s mind. The once impenetrable walls shielding his darkest thoughts collapsed and unleashed a veritable flood of images and memories. Jason saw everything in perfect, unbroken detail, from Ethan’s rise to power in the Hands to his crushing defeats in the war to his eventual alliance with Krystia. But Jason also felt everything, from his father’s turbulent marriage to his illicit affairs to his decade-spanning arguments with Tevek Dracian and King Areekan.
And for the first time in his life, Jason finally understood the man he had hated for so long.
“Everything I’ve done,” Ethan breathed, “is for Galvia. Always for Galvia…”
“No,” Jason whispered, pulling back his hand and standing. “It was just for you. Always for you.”
Turning back to Selvhara’s body, he gently lifted her up into his arms and carried her towards the Hand passages. He could feel the pain and rage swirling in the minds of the others. They wanted something to fight—they wanted something to kill. But there was nothing left here for any of them. Perhaps there never had been.
“Son.”
Jason stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. His father was still lying there slouched in the throne, his face half-covered in shadow. His breaths were short, and blood had begun to drip from the armrests.
“Promise me,” Ethan rasped, his eyes distant. “Promise me you won’t let it end like this. Promise me you won’t let the Crell win. Galvia must…be free.”
“It is,” Jason whispered. “From you.”
Epilogue
Darius Iouna, High General of the Solarian Legion, shook his head as he gazed down upon the rows and rows of citizens gathered at the heart of the Celenest Plaza. Young and old, rich and poor, merchant and craftsmen—they were all here as equals today waiting to hear a speech from their beleaguered queen. They were confused and terrified, and he considered it something of a minor miracle that the city hadn’t already descended into pure chaos.
But the riots would eventually come no matter what Krystia told them today. Solaria was beaten, and nothing could change that now.
“They know,” he whispered. “I can see it in their eyes.”
Beside him, Major Lennox let out a long, tired sigh. “I suppose it was inevitable. We couldn’t shield them from the truth forever anyway. Once the refugees start arriving en masse, they’ll know what happened.”
Darius nodded and struggled not to be sick. Four days ago, during the Asgardians’ attempt to liberate the Galvian capital, an enormous Crell armada had swept into Lake Lyebel and besieged both Garos and Lyebel simultaneously. The results had been catastrophic. Their entire garrison in Lyebel had been killed to a man, and the soldiers at Garos hadn’t fared much better. The Crell had confidently and expertly dismantled their defenses, and after less than thirty-six hours, the “impenetrable bastion of the north” had collapsed.
With it had gone any chance of turning the tide in this war. The only lingering question was how long they were prepared to live in denial.
“I finally received the last reports from our garrison commander along the Solipean border,” Lennox said into the silence. “They have agreed to send
us every man they can spare. We should have another fifteen thousand soldiers by the end of—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Darius interrupted. “They could send us a hundred thousand men and we still wouldn’t be able to hold Celenest. In another month, we won’t be able to feed them. In two, they’ll start tearing apart the city.”
For a long moment, Lennox remained silent. There was no one else up here on the balcony with them—the rest of the officers were either at the barracks or out in the crowd with the townsfolk. For that, Darius was thankful. He was sick of playing politics and weaving illusions. After weeks of holding his head high and pretending the situation wasn’t as bad as it seemed, the time had finally come to accept reality.
“With all due respect, General,” the older man whispered after a moment, “you cannot afford to start thinking that way. We still have more men and weapons at our disposal than anyone else in Torsia, and the Crell are spread so thin it won’t take much of a push to set them back on their heels.”
Darius started to snap back, but he stopped himself at the last moment and swore under his breath instead. He had never been one to wallow in his failures, and he hated self-pity as a matter of course. But over the last few days he had been completely unable to drag himself out of this particular ditch. Part of it was that he simply wasn’t used to losing. Ever since the siege at Isen during the last war, life had treated him well. He had almost always been able to earn or win whatever he wanted, from coveted postings to quick promotions to beautiful women. But whoever had taken control of the Crell army knew exactly what he was doing, and thus far he had outmaneuvered the Legion at every turn. He had outmaneuvered Darius at every turn.
“I have a feeling we’ll receive word from Highlord Alric soon,” Darius said after a moment. “He might not be willing to ally with an Unbound Ascendant, but I can’t imagine he’ll be so stubborn as to sit back and allow the Sovereigns to win. If we can just convince the Dawn to strike somewhere at their flank…”
“It would certainly be a start,” Lennox said. “Solipei has offered to send us food and supplies, but they won’t give us any men. Yamata probably won’t do a damn thing.”
The Godswar Saga (Omnibus) Page 132