The Last Goddess

by C.E. Stalbaum

  ***

   

  The run-down four story building was situated about three blocks from the main drag in the Merchant Ward of Haven, and Andar Bremen had to avoid scowling at it as he approached. Even just a few years ago, he wouldn’t have had to skulk through fetid back alleys to get where he wanted to go, and he certainly wouldn’t have had to use a rotting structure like this as a base of operations. He had commanded the strongest military in the world, and virtually everyone, peasant to noble alike, knew his name and reputation.

  Not anymore.

  Glory was fleeting, Zandrast had wisely said, and it was ultimately pursued only by the foolish. But then, Bremen’s annoyance wasn’t about personal glory. As much as he missed the tens of thousands of soldiers and nearly limitless resources he once commanded, his irritation was directed at much more practical matters—he despised being unable to move freely about his own city without fear of who was watching him and what they might do with that information. He despised not being able to live.

  But in the end even that was just a petty complaint, and he didn’t have time to waste on such things. Whether he had to move about the shadows or not, his task was going to change the course of history. That was his only concern.

  Bremen stepped through the front door into a small foyer, and a tall, armored woman offered him an abrupt salute. She had the calm, measured stride of a career officer and veteran of a dozen major battles. She had served underneath him for fifteen years, ever since she had enlisted at the age of sixteen. Together they had held Kultathi against a brutal two-week siege early on during the last war. They had crushed the Arteris Blitz, the last serious Ebaran offensive, despite being outnumbered three to one. And then five years ago, they had slipped across the border and slaughtered the Ebaran garrison at the fortress of Turesk…

  And that was ultimately why he and Major Natara Thorne were standing here in this run-down shanty instead of preparing their forces for war. The Empress had cast them both aside to appease an enemy that didn’t deserve their mercy, let alone their aid.

  “The prisoners are downstairs, General,” Thorne reported. “Did you have a chance to speak with the prince?”

  “He suggested using a small force to avoid detection.”

  “Truly a tactical genius,” she grumbled. “It still makes me sick taking orders from that wretch.”

  Bremen allowed himself a thin smile. She would never speak that way in front of the others, but in private she rarely made an effort to hide her opinions. He had always appreciated the candor, even in the rare circumstance they disagreed.

  “He is useful for now,” Bremen reminded her. “In any event, he’s largely correct. Fortunately, I doubt we’ll need more than a few troops to get the job done.”

  “Probably not,” she conceded. “I assume you wish to talk to them now and get this over with?”

  “Indeed. Lead the way.”

  They maneuvered through the broken house to the lower level where two of his other men immediately saluted as he approached. He set them at ease with a wave of his hand and studied the three gagged men chained to the wall.

  “Which is their leader, Marek?”

  “This one, sir,” Thorne said, stepping over to the man and tearing off his gag.

  “I told you everything I know,” the man pleaded hoarsely. Other than the restraints, he seemed to be in fine shape. “I sold everything to a man named Rook, Nathan Rook.”

   “I’m sure you did,” Bremen said, stepping forward and eyeing the three prisoners carefully. It wasn’t always obvious what would get a particular man to talk. As one of his former commanders had once told him, breaking a man was easy; breaking a man and getting the truth was hard. “The question remains: where is he?”

  “How am I supposed to know that?” Marek protested. “He owns lots of shops around the city. I’m sure you can find them.”

  “I’m not looking for a shop,” Bremen corrected. “I’m looking for a place where he would hide the most valuable thing in the entire world.”

  The scavenger shook his head. “I don’t know, I told her that before. If I want to speak with him, I just send a message and he picks the place.”

  “I see,” Bremen said, drawing the sword from his belt. “I will be honest with you, Marek, and perhaps in return you’ll be honest with me. I have never been fond of torture. Illyria warns us that it ultimately does as much damage to the torturer as the victim. Zandrast, on the other hand, simply finds it useless. A man will say anything to stop the pain, even if it means lying.”

  Marek eyed the blade carefully and pressed himself against the wall. “I don’t know anything else, I swear.”

  Bremen touched the tip of the sword to the other’s throat. “You don’t deserve torture, but you do deserve punishment. You are a criminal—you have sold what did not belong to you, and for that, Venar demands justice.”

  The bound man shook his head frantically. “What do you want? I already said I’d get you the money!”

  “Venar’s justice is blind, and certainly not susceptible to bribes,” Bremen scolded. “But I will make you an offer. Tell me where Rook is hiding, and you and your men will walk out of here alive.”

  He could feel Major Thorne’s eyes on the side of his head, but she knew better than to protest openly. Bremen simply raised an eyebrow at the scavenger, giving the man an opportunity to ponder what he just said.

  “I have no reason to trust you,” Marek managed.

  “No, though you don’t have much choice in the matter. But if it helps…” Bremen touched the left side of his scalp. “I swear to the Five True Gods that I am not lying to you.”

  Marek eyed him carefully, probably trying to decide if the general was serious. He was an Ebaran, after all, which meant the only real concept he understood was money, not faith. Bremen just wondered why he maintained any loyalty to Rook at all—was this other man so intimidating? Did they have a long history of working together? Or did he really not know the answer to the question and was just stalling?

  “I don’t know for certain,” Marek said after a minute, “but I think he has a base in the docks. It’s underground beneath the houses just up past Treton Street.”

  Bremen cocked an eyebrow at Thorne. She had been here much longer than he had and knew the area pretty well by now.

  “It’s possible,” she mused. “Smuggling groups usually have front houses near the dock area anyway. Of course that also just means he could have made this up on the spot.”

  “I’m not making it up, but I told you I’m not sure,” Marek added. “I don’t know anything else, I swear.”

  Bremen nodded. “Very well. You have earned your freedom.”

  He slid his sword back into its sheath before walking over towards the stairs. When he reached the first step, he stopped and pivoted back to face them as if it were an afterthought. “Cut them down. But first, remove one of his arms. I don’t care which.”

  “What?” Marek screeched as the other two soldiers stepped forward towards the prisoners.

  “I said you would walk out of here alive,” Bremen told him with a shrug. “I also said you must be punished for your crime. And so you shall.”

  Bremen and Thorne had nearly made it out of the building by the time they heard the ringing of steel and the cry of anguish that accompanied it. He was not a sadist, but Venar’s law was quite clear. It was a pity so few others in the city seemed to remember it.

  Fortunately, that mistake would soon be corrected.

  “Assemble a team to investigate,” Bremen told her. “No Faceless for now—we want to keep this discreet.”

  “And if they find something?”

  Bremen smiled. “Then the restoration of our glorious nation can begin.”