Eve of Destruction

by C. E. Stalbaum

  Maltus pressed his lips into a thin line. It wasn’t exactly definitive, but he guessed that meant they probably didn’t have another Vakari. He sent a silent thanks to Edeh before nodding and glancing to each of the magisters in turn.

  “It does,” he admitted. “But the fault for that would lie with her instructors, either at the university or perhaps with her mother.”

  “Or with you,” Wilhelm growled. “You provided her access to advanced weaving techniques without permission from the Council. You know the punishment for such an offense.”

  Maltus waved a hand dismissively. “I did, and I fully admit to it. It was an attempt to test her. But there’s no way a krata could have mastered those techniques on her own in such a short period of time.”

  “Unless, of course, she was the Avenshal,” Wilhelm said.

  Maltus resisted the urge to swear under his breath. In an effort to defend himself, he had walked right into that neat little trap. It wasn’t even particularly clever—he was simply too nervous to think clearly.

  That needed to change. Quickly.

  “It’s possible, which I have never denied,” Maltus replied. “She could also merely be a savant. Her mother was blessed by the Goddess.”

  Talkas snorted. “Certainly you realize how desperate that sounds. Your personal connection to this girl has clouded your judgment.”

  “Of course it has,” Maltus admitted. “And I won’t apologize for feeling compassion for a young girl who has never harmed a roach before today.”

  Veldara smiled tightly. “Nor should you. But I do know you understand how dire the situation here is. We have been waiting for confirmation of the girl’s identity for many years. Now we may finally have it, and we feel we must come to a decision sooner rather than later”

  He drew in a deep breath. “I know. I only beg for this Council to consider all options before making any decisions. Tara’s journal may not hold the answers to all our problems, but Eve might still have some important part to play in this before it is all over. Civil war will soon be upon us whether Eve is involved or not. Perhaps we should not be so hasty as to discard a potential weapon.”

  Wilhelm scoffed. “What are you suggesting, Maltus? That we turn this girl loose on the Dusties? That is exactly what the Prophetess said would happen. First she would eradicate them, and in doing so she would kill the rest of us!”

  “I’m saying we still don’t fully understand the situation. Let me go to her—let me bring her back to Selerius where we can watch and observe. Let us study this journal and all the others we have ignored for so long—”

  “We cannot harbor her,” Organis interrupted. “Once word of this gets out, it will only serve to turn more of the torbos against us. We must take decisive, public action now to prove to them that we do not tolerate such sacrilege.”

  “Forget the screlling torbos,” Wilhelm hissed. “This is about Maltus once again trying to delay us from the proper course of action.” The man’s entire body stiffened and a smug grin drew across his face. “Fortunately, this time the matter has already been settled.”

  A cold tingle rippled down Maltus’s spine. “What do you mean?”

  “A plan is already in motion,” Wilhelm replied, his grin widening. “We knew your faith in this journal was misplaced, and we have long been prepared to take action.”

  Maltus tried to swallow but found his throat had gone dry. “What have you done?”

  “The Avenshal will be dealt with before she becomes an even greater threat. That’s all you need to know.”

  “You contacted Shaedra already?”

  Talkas grunted. “None of us have your faith in that broken Vakari to handle anything. No, another is already in position to take care of it.”

  Maltus forced himself to breathe normally as his fists clenched. He looked straight at the Magistrix. “You don’t have to kill her. Bring her in—detain her as you see fit. But please, don’t kill her.”

  Her eyes softened slightly, but her expression remained firm. “I’m afraid the decision has already been made. And you, my friend, are requested to stay in your home for the time being. I know it will be difficult for you, but it is for the best.”

  “What about Chaval?” Maltus asked. “You’re willing to kill the daughter of the Prophetess but you’ll leave him alone?”

  “Chaval will not be a threat much longer,” Wilhelm said flatly.

  “Simon Chaval will not rule this country, and he will not bring about the end of our order,” Veldara added. “There is nothing else you need to know. Your part in this is over, Magus Maltus. We thank you for your service and ask that you wait peaceably for your next assignment.”

  Maltus swept his gaze across the Council, but many refused to meet his eyes. He had served with these men and women for decades, and he had even been friends with most of them. But now…

  They had made their decision. They were going to kill Eve, and then they were probably going to start the very war they feared.

  Maltus dismissed the Dreamscape. A few moments later he blinked back into consciousness, and he was once again sitting in the chair in his office.

  Except this time, he wasn’t alone.

  “They sent you before the summons, I assume,” he said into the stillness.

  “Yes,” a male voice replied from the darkness of the adjacent room. Shortly after, a young man stepped from the shadows into the doorway. His face was hard, and he had the rigid, muscular body of a soldier. He wore functional, dark clothing and gloves that made him nearly impossible to see in the flickering candlelight.

  Maltus would recognize a member of the Crimson Eclipse anywhere. He just couldn’t believe the Council had sent one into his home.

  “So they really don’t trust me.”

  The Eclipsean shrugged. “They believe your personal feelings might override your better judgment, and I’m here to make sure you behave for the next few days.”

  “Not the most entertaining job, supervising an old man.”

  “It’s not just you. They know all about your lady friend, and she will be confined in here with you.”

  A knot wrenched in Maltus’s stomach. Jean had been out in town alone for hours, more than enough time for the Enclave’s thugs to get ahold of her. And he was the one who had dragged her into all of this…

  “You needn’t worry about her,” the Eclipsean went on, the faintest trace of amusement in his voice. “We have no desire to harm anyone, let alone a priestess. As long as both of you cooperate, we won’t have a problem.”

  Maltus locked eyes with the younger man. “I’m sure they told you everything about me before sending you on this mission. I wonder if they warned you that I don’t respond well to threats.”

  The man smiled. It was a cold, humorless thing, and Maltus couldn’t help but shiver.

  “I know more about you than your own mother, Magister,” he said. “I know your tendencies, your skills…and your weaknesses.”

  “I guess I should feel honored,” Maltus murmured. “Being worthy of such a professional like yourself, I mean.”

  “I also know that you’re clever and not to be underestimated,” the man replied coolly. “You won’t goad me into letting my guard down.”

  Maltus grunted. “A pity.”

  “Normally you’re the methodical type. You would be patient enough to wait for the slightest gap in my attention before making your move. But right now you’re desperate—you feel you don’t have the time to wait, and that means you’ll test me right away.”

  “Clever boy,” Maltus said, and meant it. “I just wonder if they also told you why I’m a senior member of the Council.”

  “You won’t intimidate me, either. I’ve been trained against the best and brightest since I was a small child. But of course, you know that, and I’m certain the Enclave hoped it would make you see reason.”

  Maltus smiled grimly and shook his head. “My boy, the closest thing I have to a daughter is about to be murdered by your master
s. How rational do you think I am right now?”

  “Not very,” the Eclipsean replied coolly. “And that’s why I don’t intend to give you a chance.”

  He was fast, a tribute to the best martial training in the world. He was young and conditioned, fully capable of dealing with a wide variety of threats, both mundane and magical. With a flick of his wrist he unleashed a barrage of spells, all designed to incapacitate or immobilize his target before Maltus could even move. The air flashed with angry surges of light as the Fane sparked to life, and scintillating strands of energy lunged out towards the older man like a thousand hungry tentacles trying to crush their prey.

  And then Maltus raised a hand, and it all disappeared. The young man’s eyes popped open wide as Maltus stood from his chair.

  “I am a Magister, a senior member of the Enclave and privy to secrets even you don’t know about,” Maltus said stiffly. “I make my own chances.”

  He reached out to the Fane and wove another spell. A low, guttural rumble shook across the room as he used the Fane to tug at the very fabric of time itself. The Eclipsean tried to react, but it was like he was trying to move underwater. The man released another barrage of energy, but Maltus, unburned by the temporal dilation, easily stepped aside before the grasping tentacles ever came near him.

  The magister called to the Fane again, this time pulling at the invisible and omnipresent hand of gravity. Even as the Eclipsean’s eyes slowly tracked towards his target, he suddenly fell—straight up to the ceiling.

  His training allowed him to take the fall more gracefully than most under the circumstances, but he still impacted against the wooden ceiling with a resounding thwack. He recovered quickly and started to weave his own spell to counter the shift in gravity, but Maltus did it for him—and the Eclipsean fell once more, this time the normal direction.

  “Stay down,” Maltus warned, his voice sounding odd through the temporal distortion. The Eclipsean’s movements were so slow, so staggered, even a child could avoid him at this point. Nonetheless, he produced a pistol from inside his jacket as he sluggishly rolled into a combat crouch. And even with his artificially heightened reflexes, Maltus wasn’t sure he could dodge a bullet.

  He waved his hand again, this time shaping the Fane into a fine silver mist. It sprayed from his palm and blew across the weapon, dissolving it like a stiff gale crumbling a mound of sand. The Eclipsean stared down at his hand, mouth agape.

  “I’ll let them know you put up a good fight,” Maltus said. “Though they might want to add a training regimen for controlling hubris.”

  A surge of energy flashed from the Magister’s hands, and the Eclipsean shrieked as his entire body was riddled with convulsions. After a few seconds he crumpled to the floor in a ball, unconscious.

  Maltus bit down on his lip as a spike of pain shot through his chest and numbed his limbs. He growled in annoyance. He didn’t have time to sit here and recover from the Flensing. Jean was in trouble, and he needed to get to her before—

  The front door opened, and he immediately threw himself forward and pressed against the wall. He forced himself to take a deep breath and ignore the pain. If it was another Eclipsean, he needed to be prepared and take the man by surprise if at all possible.

  “Glenn?”

  Maltus frowned. “Jean? Are you all right?”

  “More or less,” she said. A loud thump followed a second later, and she let out a sigh. “I brought you a present.”

  He spun around the corner. She was standing there in the doorway, eyebrow cocked, the body of another young man crumpled on the floor to her right and several shopping bags piled at her left.

  “What…?” he breathed.

  “He came after me when I got near the house,” she explained. “Pretty young thing, bit of an attitude problem, though.”

  Maltus blinked. “You…?”

  Jean snorted. “What, you don’t think I was ready for your friends to turn on us? That’s what they do, Glenn.”

  He shook his head as he looked down at the body. It was clearly another Eclipsean.

  She smiled wryly when she saw his confusion. “You know, I may not be a big, bad Magistrix or anything, but I’m not exactly helpless. I am a priestess of Edeh, and I like to think I’m on Her good side.”

  Maltus smiled back. She really hadn’t changed much in all this time…

  Then he remembered what was at stake, and the smile vanished. “They’re going after Eve. I need to warn Shaedra, and we need to get out of here.”

  Jean nodded. “What about these two? They’ll wake up eventually.”

  “Leave them,” he told her as he moved back to the office and tapped the sending stone. As it hummed faintly, he swept his eyes across his house. In all likelihood, it was the last time he would ever see it. The Enclave would make it impossible for him to return. They would make it difficult for him to go anywhere, especially out east…

  But it didn’t matter. Right now, the only thing he needed to worry about was Eve. Once she was safe, then he could worry about picking up the pieces of his shattered life.

  And surviving the war they all knew was coming.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “You should be dead,” the cold, hollow voice said. “Again.”

  Shaedra’s eyes slowly fluttered open. Alex sat on a tree stump just to her left, and he looked upon her with just as much disgust as ever.

  “Disappointed?” she croaked. It had been a long time since she’d lost consciousness, and she’d forgotten how jarring it could be to both mind and body.

  “A little,” he replied. “But at least it proves me right: you really are a coward.”

  She snorted and tried to lift herself up, then immediately decided it was a mistake. Her shoulder still throbbed, and her left arm was entirely useless. Danev had put together a sling—a screlling sling—and she glared down at the bandages coddling her arm. She hadn’t slept for probably ten years, but she hadn’t been lame in centuries. And she wasn’t sure this wound would ever heal.

  “Coming from you,” she said dryly, “that means almost nothing.”

  “I died defending my beliefs,” he reminded her. “You murdered thousands in an attempt to defend yours. I wonder: which is more heroic in the end?”

  Shaedra glanced daggers at him. “I’m really not in the mood. Don’t you have a cemetery to haunt or something?”

  “It all just seems so…familiar,” Alex said wistfully. “How many times did I warn you about the magic you were trying to manipulate? And yet you always ignored me—you ignored everyone. You sat in your tower day after day as Vakar continued to burn. Then one day you emerged with a spell you thought would destroy the Lesseks. And instead, you—”

  “You think that’s why I’m sympathetic towards Eve?” she growled. “You think that’s why I want to help her?”

  He snorted. “No. I know you’re not the type to seek penance for your sins. You wouldn’t delude yourself into thinking that by helping this girl, you can somehow be pardoned for your crimes.”

  “So what, then? What’s your brilliant conclusion?”

  “It’s simple,” he said. “You enjoy playing with fire.”

  She laughed. It was probably loud enough that the others in the makeshift camp a few hundred meters away would hear, but she didn’t really care. They were too busy trying to figure out what to do next now that they were lost out here in the middle of nowhere. They might think she was crazy, but they probably thought that anyway. And it’s not like they were wrong.

  “I can’t wait to hear this,” she said. “Come on, let me have it.”

  He wasn’t smiling. He was just glaring right at her with his cold, ghostly eyes. “You had a dozen chances to convince the king to surrender our forces, to work out at peace treaty that would have saved thousands of lives. But no, instead you insisted that we had to fight, that our very identity as a people was at stake.”

  “Zandrast himself said it is better for a people to die on their feet than
live on their knees.”

  “Yes, the words of our great warrior god,” Alex muttered. “And where is he now? Who still speaks his name?” He grunted derisively and took another step forward. “Where was he to save us during that war? Why did he not bolster our soldiers against the Lessek’s axes? You bought into that silly myth like a varium-addled torbo, and instead of seeing the truth for what it was—the truth that we were grievously outmatched—you took the entire war upon yourself. You promised the king a weapon to wipe the Lesseks from history, and in the months you spent trying to craft it our people bled and died.”

  “While you sat comfortably with your Enclave friends hundreds of kilometers away,” she growled. “Doing nothing.”

  “I knew it was pointless to try and reason with you. But you know what, I underestimated you, Shaedra. I never thought you’d actually cross that line. I never thought you’d be willing to Defile.”

  She pressed her eyelids together, the memory of the final days of Vakar searing into her mind. All the death, all the suffering…

  “I had no choice,” she insisted. “The war was almost over, and there was no one left but me. If the Enclave had given me even a few magi I would have had the power to complete the ritual. I could have destroyed every last Lessek in Vakar.”

  “So instead you Defiled,” he whispered. “And you killed everyone.”

  Shaedra had never been one for tears, not even when she’d been human. The Vakari were a proud people, and they didn’t like to show weakness amongst anyone, not even their own. But now the tears burned in her eyes like acid, and she clawed at them to try and stem the flow.

  “You understood the danger of our power,” Alex said. “You witnessed the destruction the Balorites wrought in their attempt to destroy the Kirshal. You should have known better, but instead you made even the worst of their Defilers look like common thugs by comparison.”

  He leaned down so close to her that she could almost feel the icy chill of his ghostly breath on her face. “How many did you kill, do you think? Thousands? Tens of thousands? And you were still just a single mage—a powerful one, to be sure, but nothing compared to what that girl over there is capable of. If she really is the Avenshal—if she really is corrupted by Abalor’s power—do you understand what she will be capable of? Forget Vakar, Shaedra. Forget Kalavan. We’re talking about the end of the Fane—the end of life itself.”