“Who would stop them?”
“Why, me, of course.”
“You really are mad,” Stefan said, voice quaking.
“No. I simply understand what most do not. The wealth of information and power hidden within the Great Divide is there for the taking. Your sword, and the shade … no … Mater itself, are the keys. I simply need to unravel the process to control them all.” A feverish gleam shone deep within Nerian’s eyes. “Don’t you understand? Remember the dreams we shared of making Ostania whole? We can achieve them together and so much more. Denestia will be mine with you as monarch under me. With this power I will become a god. It has already been written.”
Stefan’s insides writhed at what the words meant. All along, the King was already aware of the parts of the Chronicles Galiana thought she kept secret. He’d allowed her to deliver the sword. He deceived them all. ‘A good leader is adept in the art of deception.’ The words from the Disciplines grated at Stefan.
Still, why didn’t Nerian kill him and take the weapon? Unless he couldn’t. Stefan thought back to the day he received the divya from Galiana. He added that to Nerian’s mention of a bond. The tingling sensation that passed through him had not been his imagination nor how the divya felt as if he’d wielded it for centuries. Did the sword reject Nerian and now the only way left to gain its use was to have the bond voluntarily passed from another? He had to play this out correctly, use Nerian’s own madness against him.
“What would you have me do?” Stefan asked in resignation.
A grin plastered on his face, Nerian strode over with his arms spread wide. Stefan allowed the King to hug him as if he were a long lost son returning to the fold. His expression a mask to hide his revulsion, Stefan returned the sentiment with a squeeze of his own.
“I knew you would understand eventually,” Nerian said. He backed off and looked down into Stefan’s face. “All I need is for you to help me defeat the Erastonians. Lead the men. After that, the Great Divide will be ours to gain its secrets. From there, the Tribunal will fall.”
“What about those slaughtered by the shade?” Stefan looked away, unable to hold Nerian’s gaze with the weight of the horror to come on his chest. “Those of our people who die during this campaign?”
“Sacrifices happen in war, Stefan. Their deaths shall pave the way for ultimate victory. Let today be the first day the Setian are remembered for all eternity, a day when a legend is born.”
Yes, Stefan thought, remembered in infamy and reviled for the cataclysm you will spawn upon the world. Thinking back, he wished he’d accepted the Svenzar’s offer. Now, it was too late. One thing remained without a doubt.
Nerian had to die.
CHAPTER 19
The return to Benez weighed on Stefan. He didn’t deserve the outpouring of jubilation around him. The Setian were doomed, and he blamed himself.
Thania, at her usual position above the gates with Anton and Celina beside her, was the one thing remotely normal about the day. Seeing them made him smile for a moment, and he touched the pendant around his neck before melancholy crept in. Defeat occupied his mind, but the people still cheered. Along the roadside, out of their windows, perched on roofs, they waved handkerchiefs, tossed flowers, and screamed and yelled more than at any other victory celebration. Don’t they realize the Unvanquished have fallen? That thousands of men who defended their country died at Nerian’s hands?
The majority of his surviving men, especially the veterans, marched with their heads down, expressions grim. The newer recruits chattered excitedly among themselves. Others stared absently, forlorn expressions etched onto their faces.
A procession of wagons followed their group, carrying those who had lost limbs. Interspersed among his men were King Nerian’s Dagodin and Alzari. At their head, surrounded by his Royal Guard, rode the King, broad shoulders appearing even more so in his armor, his figure an imposing one upon his huge warhorse.
“Hail King Nerian,” someone shouted above the din of the crowds along the cobbled streets. “Savior of the Unvanquished!”
Stefan started. So that’s what they were calling the man?
To Stefan’s left Kasimir shook his head. “Been quite a few of those today.”
As he listened closely, Stefan picked the names out: Nerian the Lightbearer, Nerian the Savior. The second title grated his insides more than any other. Carried by countless mouths, the name travelled along the avenue in a ripple with a power of its own. Eyes gleamed with fervor as they regarded the King. More than one person bowed their head in reverence as he rode by.
I lost thirty thousand men, Garrick still lies within death’s grasp, and he makes them believe this was a victory. Stefan stared at Nerian’s back, fingers caressing his sword hilt.
“There’s nothing you can do,” Kasimir said.
“Listen to your friend.”
Stefan whirled at the soft-spoken voice at his other side. Next to him trotted Kahar. Stefan shivered as he gazed into the bodyguard’s blank, silver-flecked eyes. Without another word, Kahar spurred his horse and rode toward the King.
Once they reached the Upper City, Stefan said to Kasimir, “Let the King know I won’t be attending the feast. My family needs me.”
“You sure?” Kasimir asked.
“Yes. He should understand. If he doesn’t …” Stefan shrugged. He nudged his horse through the crowd, onto one of the side lanes, and headed for home.
As expected, Thania had dismissed the servants for the day. She and the children were upstairs playing when Stefan made his way down to the training room.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be here,” he said to the form lingering in the shadows by the doorway across the room.
“Why is that?” Galiana stepped into a pool of lamplight.
“Because Nerian knows you gave me the sword, which means he knows about the parts of the Chronicles you kept from him.”
“Yes. That is why I risked coming. To warn you. Nerian sent the shadelings. The Matus we thought to be an Erastonian was actually one of his Alzari.”
Stefan nodded. “He revealed as much to me after our defeat.”
“You lost?” Galiana’s brow wrinkled. “All the reports we received said you won.”
“Nerian did maybe, but the Erastonians defeated the Unvanquished.”
“How?”
Stefan told her how the battle transpired.
Galiana’s frown grew deeper. “Why would he send you into a battle without the information you needed?”
“It was something so simple it was genius.” Stefan said. “By having the forces loyal to me destroyed, he got rid of his greatest possible threat. The best part is he never needed to raise a finger in attack. At the same time, he swayed any doubters to his side. Have you heard what they’re calling him?”
Galiana shook her head.
“King Nerian the Savior.” Stefan spat. “Please tell me you have better news from the Tribunal.”
“Yes and no.”
Stefan cocked his head expectantly.
“At first they refused to become involved, but after I translated more of the Chronicles, I had no choice but to take what I found to their Exalted.”
A whistle escaped Stefan’s lips. The Exalted ranked above even a High Ashishin in power. Rumored to be at least a millennium in age, they were supposedly the highest authority within the Tribunal, commanding from the shadows. They were legends whose existence Galiana’s words confirmed. “What did you find?”
“Another passage referring to the future,” Galiana answered. “It read:
From Ostania’s ashes and Erastonian blood, the Dosteri rise,
Granadia will fall,
Devout and all,