Adar doubted he would ever know for certain, and in the end it really didn’t matter. While he preferred to blame the Crell, he had seen enough bitterness and desperation in his forty-six years to know that sometimes even good men made poor decisions. And sometimes those decisions cost lives.
“General.”
The only other person in the room, a hunched but sturdy figure looming over an open window, turned to face him. A thick white beard covered the man’s weathered face and hid most of his scars, but it didn’t conceal the emptiness in his blue eyes. A sword hung at his hip, but it hadn’t seen battle in years. One of his hands cupped a glass of vodka, while the other clenched at the bricks in the windowsill.
“You have him?” Ethan Moore asked.
Adar nodded. “Yes, sir. Two of his men were badly wounded in the attack; we weren’t sure what to do with them.”
“It doesn’t matter. Captain Durech is the one we need. I assume you left the others?”
“We did. Given the Crell’s normal response time I assume that at least one of them will live long enough to report what happened.”
“Dead or alive they’ll create the sympathy we need,” Ethan said. “Durech can play upon that raw emotion to mobilize a squad and take action.
Adar walked forward and shut the door behind them. The bottom floors here were functional as shelter but little else; this room was the only one they had bothered to refurbish when they had created a safe house here, and it was mostly empty. A wooden table with two chairs sat near the window, a small wooden box resting on top of it. Otherwise, the only other furniture was a modified torture rack at the center of the room. It was what the general used periodically when the Resistance needed…agents to send against the Crell. Adar shuddered at the thought, and the old doubts resurfaced in his mind once again.
“I can have Durech brought over at your convenience.”
The older man took a sip of his drink. “The sooner the better. We have two days—maybe less—before Highlord Dracian arrives.”
Adar pursed his lips. “I admit I’ve been thinking a lot about this recently, sir. Are you certain this is the only option?”
Ethan coughed. As always, it was a sickly, sputtering noise. “We’ve been over this, Kyle. You know how it plays out.”
“I know the arguments. I just have doubts.” Adar walked to the nearest window and peered outward. It was the middle of the day, but by all appearances this neighborhood could have been totally abandoned. A few papers and pieces of debris blew in the street, but the only other motion was from farther off on the main roads.
Ethan glanced at his glass as if he meant to take a drink before setting it down on the sill. “Which part concerns you?”
“All of it. Attacking Knights of the Last Dawn, using demons to possess Crell soldiers. If there’s a line here, we’re way past it.”
“You and I both know victory can’t be achieved any other way,” Ethan told him. His voice was flat, but Adar could sense the frustration behind it.
The majority of the Resistance had no idea the general was even alive, let alone running the entire operation. Adar was one of a precious few who knew what was actually going on, and he was the group’s leader in public. It had been almost a year now since the general had approached him about reforming the befallen Hands of Whitestone. A year before that, the Hands had nearly taken Tibel from the Crell, but a betrayal from within had left them shattered and broken. Ethan himself had been presumed dead, and Adar was one of only three surviving members of their original group.
It had taken him months to reorganize and find committed people, and they had completely changed their old tactics. Fighting against an enemy with near infinite resources and superior coordination was enough to make even the most loyal Galvian think twice, and it hadn’t been easy to find new blood. By the time Ethan had arisen from the dead, Adar had almost wanted to just keep his hands on the reins; the rebels weren’t gaining much ground, but at least they were still alive and kicking.
Now they were accomplishing more than he ever thought possible—but the cost may have quite literally been their souls.
“Even without Solarian help, we’ll be in position to take the rest of the city by the end of winter, maybe before. Once we drive out the watch, we can dig in and call for help from—”
“They will burn the city to dust before they let that happen,” Ethan said. “And we both know these ‘estimates’ are very optimistic. We’ll bleed for every block we take, and it will shatter morale. We would be fighting in the streets for months.”
Adar bit his lip. “You should at least talk to Dracian first,” he suggested. “I know you and the Highlord didn’t always agree, but he is an old comrade. He will help us if he can.”
Ethan shook his head and took a seat. “You know how this works, Kyle. The knights must believe that Lyebel is infested. Once they do, they’ll be even more willing to help us.”
“And what if Dracian or his allies die?”
“Then they die,” Ethan said flatly. He met Adar’s eyes for a moment and sighed. “But that is very unlikely. One demon and a few city watchmen are no match for two paladins.”
“So what about the demons? There has to come a point where we stop relying upon them. I know you’ve assured me that it will come, but it’s been almost a year now...”
Ethan rubbed at his face for a moment before smiling thinly. “This is why I respect you, Kyle. You always want to do the right thing. I just wish you could trust me.”
“You know I trust you, sir,” Adar assured him.
“Then live off that trust a bit longer,” Ethan said. “The knights will survive, and they will be convinced that the Crell have a serious infestation on their hands. The Highlord will react just like paladins always do: he’ll dispatch dozens of knights to ‘purify’ the city, and shortly afterwards the Solarians will get involved. One way or another, we will get the war we need.”
Adar took a deep breath. In the past year, Ethan’s strategy had quintupled their numbers and resources and allowed them to gain a steady foothold inside Lyebel, the most important city in eastern Galvia. The general knew precisely how Crell commanders thought and how to manipulate them; the effectiveness of his current strategy wasn’t in question. The problem was that very little of it would have been possible without the armada of demons he summoned and controlled…and if he wasn’t concerned about the others finding out the truth, he probably would have summoned even more of the monsters to fight on their behalf.
These were desperate times; there was no denying that. The rebels had no channelers at their disposal. They could obtain weapons and supplies, but without access to telepathic communication, let alone the healing or other numerous resources of a Bound channeler, serious battles against Crell soldiers were a lost cause. So instead they relied on Ethan’s demons to take care of things that none of them could, and in return may have sacrificed any moral high ground they had against their conquerors. If the others learned the truth, the Resistance would crumble almost literally overnight.
But reality was reality, Adar hated to admit. He would rather drive the Crell from their homes using demons than live under their boots without. And, as Ethan liked to point out, it was a temporary solution. Once the brash Solarian girl had taken Areekan’s throne, she would be able to grant Ethan real power again, and even others in the Resistance if they so desired. They would finally have a real army to fight the Crell once again.
“You could order Durech to try and leave the knights alive intentionally, but I suppose that wouldn’t sit well with his men,” Adar said after a minute.
“No, they’ll want revenge against us, and that means blood.”
Adar nodded slowly. “It would be a shame to lose a good man like Highlord Dracian in something like this.”
Ethan grunted but said nothing. Adar knew the general and the Highlord were old allies but also bitter rivals, and not just with their tactical and moral principles. They both loved the same
woman once, and Ethan had lost her and the war. If Adar didn’t know the other man so well, he might think the general wanted to put Dracian in danger just to settle an old score.
But he did know him, and for all his flaws, Ethan Moore was not a man who ever put the mission in jeopardy. His own son still thought he was dead because it was more useful to live in the shadows right now. If he was willing to make that sacrifice, he would be willing to do anything if it let them win this war, no matter the personal cost.
Adar turned to the empty table only a few feet away, and was reminded how glad he was that he wouldn’t have to witness the pending possession. Demons might have been invisible to the naked eye, but they definitely were not gentle.
“I’ll bring Durech by within the hour, General.”
“Good,” Ethan said, turning away. “I’ll be waiting.”
***
“He lacks faith,” Trz’yel said from atop his perch near the table.
“Kyle has plenty of faith,” Ethan replied, daring another sip of vodka despite the coughing spasm it would likely induce. “He is a man of virtue.”
The demon hissed. Ethan wasn’t looking at it, but he knew exactly what face the small creature was making.
“He is not reliable,” it said after a moment. “He may jeopardize our mission.”
“My mission,” Ethan corrected, turning to face the monster. Most demons were completely imperceptible to human senses; only channelers could detect them, and then only those who had discovered the proper techniques. He wasn’t truly a channeler anymore, of course, but the pacts he had made allowed him to see the creatures of the Void easily enough—and to command them as he wished. “Your mission is to do exactly as I say, nothing more.”
“Of course, master,” Trz’yel muttered. “I would never think otherwise.”
Ethan smiled. “If I were you, I’d be more concerned with having to face off against a pair of paladins.”
The creature’s lip twisted. Small and gangly, it was shaped like a miniature human with long limbs. Its feet and hands ended in sharp claws, and its entire body was composed of black ash. The demon’s only real color came from the beady red eyes darting across the room.
“I can nearly taste them…”
Ethan grunted and finished his glass, closing his eyes and allowing the liquid to burn its way down his throat. He despised hard liquor, but it did have a way of warming the blood and reminding him of younger days. There was a time when Crell vodka was an expensive import in Galvia, shared only by the top officers at holiday parties or war celebrations. Now they were nearly drowning in this drek.
He sat in silent contemplation staring at the empty glass for what had to be the better part of an hour, with Trz’yel making occasional conversation he ignored. Disciplining the creature was easy enough, but he wanted the demon in good health for the coming possession. It would need all of its skills and guile to pull this one off.
Finally, Kyle and one of his men returned carrying a comatose Crell soldier, still covered in the black and red armor of the Imperium military. He was probably in his late 20s, with a hard-edged face and black hair common to most natives. Ethan had selected this man specifically, and he was about to see if it would pay off.
It took only a minute or so to strap Captain Durech into the table, and Kyle paused before he took his leave.
“Good luck, sir,” he said.
Ethan patted the younger man’s shoulder. “This is one of the last steps we’ll have to take, old friend,” he soothed. “Now go and have dinner with the others. I’ll contact you later tonight.”
Kyle smiled, though it was obviously forced. He had a cherubic face despite being middle aged, and his dirty blonde beard made him look more unkempt than it did dignified. Still, Ethan swore the last year had aged Kyle more than it should have; the lines on his face were tightly drawn, and he seemed to have permanent shadows beneath his eyes.
“General,” he said, then turned on a heel and closed the door behind him.
Ethan’s gaze lingered on the door for a minute or so before he turned and drew in a deep breath. Trz’yel was already crawling over the unconscious man’s body, a twisted smile on its hideous face. He let the creature prowl long enough to be sure Kyle was gone.
“Wake him.”
The demon hissed, placing its hands on either side of Durech’s head. The man convulsed once as if he had taken a painful electric shock, his eyes darting open. He blurted out something incomprehensible.
“Calm down, Captain,” Ethan said, standing above the man. “I wanted to chat a bit before we begin.”
The soldier blinked several times, straining against the buckles holding him in place, and hastily surveyed his surroundings. It took a few seconds before any semblance of recognition flashed in his eyes. He started babbling in the Crell tongue, to which Ethan didn’t respond. He spoke his enemy’s language perfectly well, of course, but he wasn’t about to let a captive dictate the conversation.
“Who are you?” Durech finally asked with only a mild accent.
“A ghost, and little more,” Ethan murmured. “You were captured on your patrol today, but the rest of your men are dead.”
Durech’s face twisted. Like most military men, he had been conditioned to turn his fear into anger. “Aufher,” he spat.
“That’s right,” Ethan said, smiling. “We’re a little rebellion you’ve yet to crush. We seem to be quite popular these days…and you are going to help us.”
Durech moved to spit at the older man, but Trz’yel pinned him, digging sharp claws into the sides of his head. The man screamed and smashed against his restraints as thin lines of blood traced their way down his forehead.
“No matter how I do this, it’s going to be unpleasant,” Ethan said. “The distinction is whether or not you’ll beg for death during the process. I’m not a sadist, Captain; I have no desire to watch you suffer for the pure enjoyment of it. So I suggest you bury your Crell pride and answer a few simple questions for me.”
Durech’s eyes widened as his shield of anger threatened to buckle, but he still remained silent.
“I need to know what kind of man you are, Captain,” Ethan went on. “One’s service record only reveals so much. Tell me: what was your final assignment during the last war?”
Durech’s brow furrowed in confusion. Ethan already knew the answer to the question, of course, but he wanted to judge the man’s reactions.”
“I’m not telling you anything, Galvian wretch.”
Ethan coughed. He managed to control the spasm, then waited a moment to steady himself before continuing. “I think you misunderstand my intentions. All I want from you is a basic description of your assignment. Feel free to spare the details, if you wish. I only need to know if you are going to lie to me.”
Durech grunted and managed a sarcastic smile. “Your people are getting desperate if they’re choosing old, sickly cowards as the interrogators.”
“I’m not an interrogator, Captain,” Ethan said coolly. “I’m a judge, and you have been convicted. Now is your chance to ask for mercy in your sentence.”
The smile faded. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” Ethan shrugged. “But you still haven’t answered my question: what was your final assignment in the last war?”
They locked gazes for a long moment. The man finally grunted. “I was here in Lyebel when the Solarians destroyed the city. I barely survived the blast.”
Ethan smiled. “That’s all I wanted to know.” He stood and walked over to the nearby table to retrieve the small box. He could hear Durech twitching behind him.
“Why do you care, old man? I was a conscript going where I was sent.”
Ethan opened the lock and pulled out a tarnished golden amulet. At the center of the neckpiece was a misty red jewel that seemed to pulse angrily, and he stared into it long enough for his eyes to lose their focus. The gem was a demonic bloodstone, and he could almost see the thin wisps of Aether wafting off it like smok
e. That’s all demons themselves were, of course; they were malevolent apparitions of pure Aether given form by mortal terror. They were echoes of the fallen Immortals from the Godswar, incapable of taking form in this world without mortal assistance. In their own realm, the Void, they picked over the scraps of dead Immortals like pack animals, but when given substance in Obsidian, they could take many forms ranging from small impish creatures like Trz’yel to much larger and more horrifying beasts the size of groll. But regardless of form, they were deadly and dangerous. They fed on strong emotions of all kinds, be it hate, fear, lust, or even love.
Only a warlock could control them, and the process was not easy. It had taken Ethan months to find a cultist capable of imbuing him this power, and then weeks of painful indoctrination after that. He had bled for this ability, and every time he summoned forth another demon, his physical body waned. It would kill him eventually, perhaps even soon.
But not before he got his vengeance. Not before the Crell suffered for what they had done.
“You were a conscript,” Ethan said into the silence, “that much is true. You were pushed into service at sixteen years old. You fought in a few battles on the eastern front before arriving in Lyebel, where you were given a special assignment.”
Durech eyes were wide as he stared at the jewel. Perhaps he recognized it for what it was.
Ethan took a step forward towards him. “You and the other members of your squad were told to find several Galvian families still entrenched on the western side of the city. Once you rooted them out, you were told to execute them as traitors. After all, they hadn’t accepted their new rulers, and you wanted to make an example of them.”
Durech’s mouth twitched, and his eyes were paralyzed with fear. Hovering mere breaths away from the man’s skull, Trz’yel face twisted into a dark smile.
“Your orders were simple, but you and your squad mates decided to make it more entertaining for yourselves.” Ethan clutched the jewel tightly in his right hand. “At sword point, you forced husbands to rape their wives and children. You then took it upon yourself to rape a fourteen year old girl while your men butchered her parents. But before you could finish her off, the city was consumed by a great blast. You managed to survive even though your men did not, but you never found that little girl.”
The Godswar Saga (Omnibus) Page 25
