The Last Stand (The Eleven Years War: Book One)
Chapter Forty-Five

Eza sat in the church pew, holding asmall rosary in her hand as she stared up at the massive statue in front of her.Though she wasn’t overly religious, she still found herself going to the smallKurzhian cathedral in the international district when she was about to dosomething that she knew she probably wouldn’t come back from, or if she had abig decision she needed to make. She’d always found a measure of peace in thesmall building, with its alcoves dedicated to different saints and its airfilled with sweet smelling incense. Like many Kurzhian churches built withinthe last few years, this one had taken Mitrius of Kurzh as its patron, meaningthat his large statue stood proudly at the front of the church, with a tablecovered with various offerings at his feet. Even though Eza had grown up withher father speaking of Mitrius in hushed, reverent tones, she still couldn’tsee him as one of the most revered saints of Kurzh; he was just Mitrius to her, the big brother she’dnever had

Ezalooked down at her rosary. Mitrius was had given it to her for her seventhbirthday, a week after the Gisken invasion started. Just like her, it managedto survive in places where it shouldn’t have been able to, though it wascertainly worse for wear: the varnish had worn away a long time ago, and thethread holding it together was frayed at the edges. It, along with her name,was the only link she had left with her previous life, a life she spent underMitrius’ protection. To think, the man who’d saved her life on so manyoccasions could be dead in a few weeks. She couldn’t let that happen, even ifit meant getting herself killed.

Footstepsrang out against the stone floor of the cathedral. When Eza looked over hershoulder, she saw that Silas had managed to track her down. He walked over toher, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Ithought I would replace you here,” Silas said as he took a seat next to her. Theseat groaned quietly underneath him. “I ama little surprised, though; you don’t strike me as a religious type.”

“I’mnot,” Eza said. “This is just a good place to think, is all.” For a fewseconds, the two sat in silence as Silas took in the sights around him. Heacted like he’d never been in a church before, not that Eza was surprised;Mirinians didn’t really believe in organized religion. Kurzhian churches also tendedto be quite different from Caithian ones, as she learned when she broughtOlrick there a few years back; he was pretty devout in the Caithian religion,and even he gawked at everything around him.

“Okay,kid, what’s eating at you?” Silas asked. “You’ve been pretty stoic as of late,even more than usual. I know that the Rayal Mountains force is a whole lotbigger than we thought it would be, but-“

Ezalooked over at him, confused. “What are you talking about? Did they come outfrom the pass or something?”

Silas’cheeks began to burn red with embarrassment. “Nobody told you about that?” Helooked forward, again. “Looks like we’ve got two things we need to talk about, then.”

Ezalooked up at the ceiling and sighed. Gods, she was getting damned sick of thiswhole invasion thing. And to think, she thought it was pretty awful to be acivilian in a country that was being invaded; being a commander of a defendingforce was an absolute nightmare.

“So,if that isn’t what’s bothering you, then what is?” Silas asked. Eza looked backdown at her rosary.

“Raulgot an intelligence report from Kurzh the other night, when Elise got caught,”Eza said. “Mitrius was arrested a few days ago. They’re going to execute him.”Silas cursed as he looked at Mitrius’ statue in front of them.

“Somuch for being the only living saint,” he muttered. He looked back at Eza.“You’re going to try and do something about it, aren’t you?”

“Why,are you going to try and stop me?” Eza asked.

Silasshook his head as he looked forward, again. “No; you’re your own woman. I justthink it’s interesting that you want to go back after how big of a pain in theass it was to get you back. You nearly dieddoing it, for the gods’ sakes!”

“Iknow,” Eza said. “I just can’t stand by and wait to hear news about hisexecution, not after everything he’s done for me. It’s about time that Ifinally returned the favor.”

“Youwon’t be leaving us until after the battle, will you?” Silas asked.

“Iwasn’t planning to,” Eza said. “Things will be chaotic enough after the battlethat they’ll probably let me on a boat heading over there.” Silas sighed inrelief.

“Thankthe gods,” he said, running both hands through his hair. “Do you have any ideahow desperate for troops we are? I walked past the diplomatic service buildingcoming here, and I saw a few officers trying to teach them proper swordtechnique.”

Ezagroaned, putting her face in her palm. May the saints help them if they weredesperate enough to try and get those prissy dimwits at the diplomatic serviceto fight. The only way she could see that working was if they began discussingphilosophy with the Giskens, or maybe politics; they could probably manage tobore them to death.

“You’rekidding, right?” she asked. “Why couldn’t they just enlist all those people inthe messenger core? They know how to use a sword.”

“Theyalready have,” Silas said. “Even after we got them involved, we were stilloutmatched three to one, and since we already don’t have enough doctors in themedical core, the diplomatic service was the only other option.” For a fewseconds, the two of them were quiet.

“We’rescrewed, aren’t we?” Eza asked. Silas snorted and folded his arms over hischest.

“Don’tbe such a pessimist,” Silas said. “By the gods, between you and Elise, you’llbring the whole army down with depression.”

“Thefact that she’s not feeling great about our chances just shows how depressingthey are,” Eza said. “Really, Silas, three to one odds aren’t exactly thatgreat, especially when the larger army also happens to be the better trainedone. It’ll be a massacre.”

“That’snot what the odds are anymore,” he said. “They’re two to one, now that we’vegot the guys from the diplomatic service with us.”

“Thoseare still three to one odds, Silas.” He nodded.

“Goodpoint,” Silas said. “I guess things are pretty dismal, aren’t they?” He pulledout a flask of ale from under his shirt, but put it back when he saw a fewchurchgoers giving him angry glares. “Look on the bright side: maybe theGiskens will save us for executions.”

Marionsat on the bench in the garden, staring at the two graves in front of her. Shecame there to visit them more often than she liked to admit; everyone thoughtthat she’d moved on from her parents’ deaths after nearly ten years, but shejust couldn’t, not with the monster that killed them still alive and well. Thewords on the stones were familiar enough that she might as well had themmemorized, now, but she still red them over and over, again: In memory of King Thias Matisse V, killed inLügenburg in conference with General Raul Fleischer. In memory of Queen Delia Sinacco, dead from the grief of losing herhusband.

Deadfrom grief. Even after all these years, those words still managed to piss heroff. Her mother didn’t die from grief; Polain just couldn’t bear to put thatshe killed herself on her tombstone.

“Olricktold me you’d be here.” Marion looked over her shoulder to see Polain standingthere, holding something wrapped in thick cloth in his hand. “I’m not used toseeing you here when it’s not the anniversary.”

Marionlooked back at her parents’ graves. “That’s because that’s the only time you ever come.” Polain sat next toMarion and rested the object in his hand on his lap.

“Youstill haven’t been able to move on from this, have you?” he asked. She shookher head.

“Istill have dreams about her,” Marion said quietly. Just thinking about it, shestarted to remember the last time she saw her mother: hanging from the ropethat took her life, her head tilted at a grotesque angle.

Marionfound herself trying to banish the image from her head. The sight of seeing hermother dead had haunted her in her dreams for ten years, now; she couldn’t letit take her sanity while she was awake, too.

“Shehaunts me, too,” Polain said. “I still wonder if there was something I couldhave done to stop it.” For a few seconds, neither of them spoke as they staredat the tombstones, remembering the people who lay below them: the kind, alwayssmiling King Thias; the quiet, loving Queen Delia. Marion wished she couldremember them a lot better than she did. All she could remember from her fatherwas the last time she saw him as he got on the boat to head for Gishk, how he’dpromised to bring her something from the faraway country, and when she tried toremember her mother… well, she tried to keep herself from thinking about hertoo much

Polainhanded her the object in his hand. “Your father wanted me to give this to youif he didn’t live to do it, himself. He told me that it’s been handed downthrough the Matisse family for the past few hundred years.”

Marionbegan to unwrap the gift.

Herheart just about froze when she saw what it was. It was a sword, the same oneher father would wear on his hip during balls. The grip was wrapped in asupple, brown leather that was warped from the fingers of the hundreds of kingsand queens who’d wielded it, with a cross guard and a pommel plated with gold.The blade was made from steel, with what looked to be vines etched into it andmade to look as if they were crawling up the blade, just as they did on thecastle’s outer wall. The scabbard was made out of fine leather, with the samevine pattern on it as the sword blade had, and was ringed in gold where thestraps that held it to belts attached to it. The sword was a very familiarobject to her, but to be holding it in her hands, knowing that it was now hers…well, that was something else.

Marionstood up and drew the sword from its scabbard. The blade was polished to such abrilliant sheen, she could see her reflection in it.

Shelooked over her shoulder at Polain. “Why are you giving this to me, now?”

“BecauseI’ve decided to let you fight against the Giskens,” Polain said. “You’ll wantto thank Olrick for this; he’s the one that convinced me to do it.”

Marionput the sword back in her scabbard, shocked. Polain had seemed so sure aboutkeeping her from fighting; she’d never thought he would budge on the issue.Now, to hear that he’d stepped away from the issue entirely, she wasn’t surewhat to think, let alone, what tosay.

“Thankyou,” she finally said. Though she said it calmly, on the inside, she was ecstatic.She was going to have the opportunity to kill Raul, the man responsible for thedeaths of her parents. Finally, that Gisken bastard was going to get what wascoming to him.

Shelooked back at her parents’ graves. After the Gisken general was finally dead,Marion’s parents would be able to truly rest in peace.