The Shadow Age (The Age of Dawn Book 7)

by Everet Martins

  Claw slowly nodded. He opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated.

  “What is it?” she prompted, tone colored by impatience.

  “You know what they’re calling you in Helm’s Reach?” he asked, shaking his head and working his lips.

  “Do I want to know?”

  “The Scourge of Midgaard. Can you believe that? After all you’ve done for this damned forsaken land, they dare to call you that? I’ll kill every last one of them. They have no loyalty, no honor,” he growled, fingering his sword hilt, neck muscles twitching.

  “They can call me whatever they like,” she said weakly. As much as she wanted to pretend the title didn’t faze her, it did. The reason it hurt was because she deserved it. She was the one who sent Greyson to Tigeria. She allowed him to return to Midgaard without being inspected for bites. She let the Shadow Princess out of the Shadow Realm. “It’s all my fault.” Hot tears fell from her eyes and were drawn over her cheeks by a gust. She dashed them away on the back of her sleeve, shame filling her throat with heat. “I deserve it,” she croaked.

  “No. You saved them.” Claw gripped her shoulder and drew her close, warming her side. “Had you not been there to open the return portal from the Shadow Realm, they’d all be in there forever. Senka, Isa… you did what you thought was right at the time, and that’s all we can do. What more can we expect from ourselves? Had anyone been in your position they would’ve done the same. You need to let that go, Ny. And where would the Tower be today without you to lead us? Have to think about what you’ve done right. Your position… I don’t envy it. Few would.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I know I have to be stronger than this. Better than this. I’ve made mistakes, and I must endure the consequences. Have to try to make them right.” Saying the words steeled her resolve, chest rising to stand proud. “Thank you, Claw. The day she escaped… the image replays in my mind in every moment of silence. I’m cursed with its remembrance. The childish part of me wants to collapse into a sobbing heap, screaming how unfair all of it is. But you’re right. We have to march on.”

  “I know. And we do,” he said with a pained sigh.

  A score of Tougeres emitted thundering roars as they were drawn down the gangplank onto the dock. They were led by an equal number of Tigerian’s gripping their reins and giving them soothing pats. They weren’t much different than men leading horses. “Such remarkable creatures,” she muttered, wishing she had the time to study them.

  Claw grinned. “Maybe they’ll let you have one. It’s the least they could do for your hospitality.” His smile fell into a frown. “Do you think they’ll try to eat the horses?”

  “No, they’re far too broad for my legs. And they certainly can’t be kept with the horses.”

  “Can you believe it? Would you ever think you’d live to see Tigerians on the shores of Zoria? The Oracle never mentioned this.” Claw’s eyebrows rose to wrinkle his forehead.

  “I can’t. It was hardly over five years ago when I was home in Breden. I spent my days with my nose buried in books, lazing on a bed in my parent’s house far too small for my growing body, only dreaming of such tales. To live it is, well… nothing short of surreal.”

  “This is it,” Claw swept his arm over the milling men and Tigerians on the docks. “You’re living it.”

  “Am I doing the right thing, Claw?” she blurted. “Executing so many. All those Tigerians. All those lives on my hands. I’m not sure how many more my soul can bear.” She winced as another cart door was locked, Tigerians within shrieking in terrified realization. Apparently, news of their destination had traveled. Arms and legs reached through the bars, grabbing at nothing. Even their own healthier brethren turned a blind eye to the infected ones demise, knowing their eventual outcome.

  She saw Crugen, the Tigerian King among them. He was dressed in soiled emperor’s robes of gold and red that trailed behind his feet. He raised his hands to those in the carriages, shouting what might’ve been consoling words in Tigerian. He went from carriage to carriage, reaching his hands inside to shake the hands of the imprisoned. Some clutched at his arms, tearing at his fur. His guards were forced to use their spears to shove them off.

  “Maybe we could have them lead the defenses against the Shadow, as a sort of living shield,” Claw suggested. “If they’re going to die anyway, maybe they’d want their lives to matter some.”

  “No. We don’t know when she’ll strike or when they’ll change. They could quickly become a problem. We won’t go like Midgaard. I can’t risk it.”

  “Of course. Just a thought.” Claw shrugged uncomfortably. “Another idea… what if we posted the wounded Tigerians across the bridge, the first to fight the Shadow assuming she comes this way.”

  “They may soon be her allies, Claw. This is a chance to eliminate some of her forces without spilling blood on our side.” She felt her tone rising in anger and inwardly berated herself for it. How could he miss something so obvious? Maybe he was tired.

  Claw nodded, thick white brows drawn down. She could see his tongue probing at his inner cheeks.

  “Is something wrong, Claw?”

  “No. Ah, well. It’s just that I’m not sure how well my body is going to hold up when it’s time for blood again. Body hasn’t been the same since the Shadow War, despite the Phoenix’s healing. The Phoenix helps, of course, but it can only do so much in the face of time. We all go down that spiral,” he said with a wince. He curled an uncurled his fingers, knuckles distended and swollen. He saw her glancing at his hands and snickered. “Too many years gripping the blade, Ny. Too many battles in the North.”

  “I see.” Nyset pursed her lips and released a contemplative sigh. “When she comes, and the fighting starts… I want you to stay with Gaidal in my spire. He’ll need you. You can protect and comfort him.”

  “So that’s it then? Just shove me off like that?” he balked.

  “Then why did you bring it up?” she said with an angry sigh.

  “Are you sure? Won’t you…” He grunted in agitation.

  “I’m sure,” she said with a quick nod, meeting his eyes. “There’s no one else I’d trust more. My place will be on the front lines, on the ramparts. They’ll need me to lead them through this. And my abilities with the powers will be needed.”

  A long moment of silence passed between them, gulls squawking. She felt as if a line of tension was drawn between them, going ever tighter until one of them was forced to speak.

  “And if…” Claw trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.

  “And if I die,” she said more forcefully than she intended, wind taking her words.

  Claw’s nostrils flared. “Don’t speak such nonsense, Mistress. A thing not to worry about now.”

  She raised her voice. “If I die, Senka Graves will be my successor. I’ve already taken care of the paperwork with Vesla and the council.”

  Claw’s shoulders slumped. “Senka? The Tower needs a wizard as its figurehead. I think she’d make a fine leader, but has she been touched by the gods?”

  She paused. “I think so. I can feel the Dragon in her, opening like a Spring flower. Don’t you feel it when you’re around her?”

  Claw regarded her with a sniff. “Only feel the Phoenix, when it rises up in lads.”

  “Of course, naturally.” She smiled with a slight head shake. Maybe she was tired too. The sun danced on the Far Sea, glinting like diamonds. She narrowed her eyes at the brightness. A Tigerian yowled. “If the Tower falls again, you’ll flee to the Far Islands. You must protect him,” she said, turning to face him and grasp his shoulders. She couldn’t help but notice how much muscle mass he’d lost in the passing years. “Gaidal would then be the last dual-wielder. The only light in the dark. I’ll have a boat ready for you behind the practice yard. Follow the hidden path, you know the one. It will be there among the twin boulders. If we fail, you can’t hesitate. Promise me you won’t.”

  “I…” Claw closed his eyes, turned himsel
f out of her grasp to rub his temples. She watched him struggle with her orders, the reality of aging warring with his duty to what he knew must be done. “Very well, Mistress. I promise I will care for him, if the worst were to befall us.”

  “Thank you, Claw,” she said, nodding and pressing her lips into a hard line. The wind played at her hair, pulling golden wisps across her face.

  He grunted with a series of nods, finally setting his gaze down below at the milling catfolk. “Mm. Speaking of the boy, have you seen Gaidal today? He hasn’t been feeling well. I asked Vesla to tend to him while we oversaw the Tigerians.”

  “I haven’t. Not with everything, with so much going on. I will though. Thank you for the reminder.”

  “Wha-what is that?” Claw squinted to the North toward the Tower. Beyond the city of New Breden curved the Tower bridge, under it a great canyon where tributaries from Lich’s Falls met the Far Sea. The bridge was a smooth arc of cream-colored stone, balusters decorated with polished statues of the Phoenix and the Dragon. There appeared to be a gathering crowd at the bridge’s mouth, above the throng dots of red. She guessed correctly that the bits of red she saw were plumes the Midgaard Falcon soldiers wore atop their helms.

  “I think the good King Ezra has finally found his way back to us. Stay here. I’ll tend to the king. I’ll send Senka. I asked her to sit on my throne while I was here, to get her used to the idea.”

  “Is it working? Her getting used to the idea?” Claw asked, crossing his arms.

  “Not yet. She doesn’t have a choice now. I’ll not leave the Tower without a successor like Bezda Lightwalker did. Order is what we need to manage chaos.” Nyset flicked her index finger in a circular motion, and a Phoenix portal snapped open to show a slightly closer version of the New Breden cityscape. She stepped through.

  Nyset wove a series of short distance portals to make her way to the Tower bridge, each materializing upon rooftops to avoid injuring anyone with their deadly edges. The city of New Breden was a remarkable testament to the aspirations of the local architects and builders. The city took on a life of its own as it expanded, working to swallow the surrounding uncultivated land. Closely packed slums lined the outskirts, recently separated from the more privileged areas with tree-lined and cobbled streets. The trees were brought in from the northern forests, a long thin-leafed variety that could withstand the ravages of the salt and sea wind.

  The nicer streets seemed to have widened over the years, providing room for two carriages to easily pass. An ordinance had been enacted to keep the merchant’s carts off the wealthier streets, now relegated to the market quarters and the slums. It was another issue she had yet to address. The divide between the rich and poor was ever growing in tandem with the street’s width.

  The buildings near the Market quarters were taller than the rest, all having narrow windows and low angled roofs to repel the wind-driven elements of the Far Sea. As she traveled, she selected her rooftops carefully, watching where her portals opened before stepping through. The shingles were slate and slicked with moss on the southern sides. She kept a second portal at the forefront of her mind to catch her were she to have a misstep and fall.

  For most of New Breden’s denizens, it was just another day. Maybe if they just acted like things were normal, they somehow would be. The allure of adding a few more coins to one’s stash was impossible for all but the most paranoid to ignore. She stole glimpses down at the alleys and plazas as she traveled, taking in the city. Men haggled for cheaper wares. The butcher’s knife came down on the throats of ignorant hens. Carts containing barrels of Scarlet Berry wine and elixir beans trundled to and fro, their drivers shouting for the unaware to move lest they be crushed under hoof and wheel.

  There was a part of her that envied them. They could stick their heads in the dirt, only to look up as the last wave was upon them. They had no apparent anxiety leading up to it. No worries clawing at their guts and throats. Her every decision was second, third, and fifth guessed. Alas, she didn’t have much time for self-pity as duty always called.

  Her last portal opened near the cliff side edge that flanked the bridge, a spot well away from potential bystanders. She stepped through, and the roar of the falls thundered in her ears. The falls crashed against the jagged rocks below, lifting her eyes as she heard some onlookers murmuring her name. The falls birthed plumes of mist around the bridge, dampening clothing and glossing cheeks.

  The king and his retinue of at least a hundred guards marched across the bridge, exhaustion cutting deep into their postures. It seems the entirety of the realm will soon be living in the Silver Tower, she thought with a smirk. She made her way down the bridge, apprentice and veteran wizards giving her some distance as she passed.

  “The Arch Wizard!” a Black Guard shouted, his voice carrying down the line until it presumably reached the king. They were all on horseback, some doubled up on the same horse. The Black Guards were haggard, some clutching at bandaged wounds, a few with missing limbs and brandishing soiled blades. Trails of blood marked their passage over the bridge. She noted how their blades weren’t soiled in the rusted brown of regular blood, but in a deep purplish color. Shadow snake blood.

  The group parted to reveal the king hunched low over his horse, eyes bright with irritation, cape torn at the bottom. His jeweled crown sat centered over his liver-spotted pate. Nyset stopped about ten feet away. She gave him a deep bow out of respect for the dead and those touched by the Shadow, the soon to be dead. “King Ezra, welcome back to the Tower. I didn’t expect you so soon,” she said in jest, though her attempt at humor fell on hardening scowls.

  “Arch Wizard.” He nodded, lips curling down into a pained frown. “I presume you’ve heard the news of Midgaard,” he said softly, every onlooker hanging on their words. A Black Guard cleared his throat, then readjusted his grip on his blade.

  “Yes. Sad to say I’ve been there. I’m sorry. Tell your men there’s nothing to fear here. You’re safe, for now,” she said with an expectant nod.

  The king gave a limp gesture and blades whispered into sheaths, spears rising to point at the sky. More than a few men breathed sighs of relief.

  A guard dismounted from his horse, shuffling to the edge of the bridge to peer into the distance. “What’s with all the ships? Do my eyes deceive me or are those Tigerian fucking ships at your port, Arch Wizard?” he asked in bewilderment.

  King Ezra growled, shifting to regard the man. “Remember your place, Thenzo.” Despite the king’s rebuke, a few others joined him at the balustrade to gape at the scene unfolding at the port.

  “Thenzo’s right,” a tall Black Guard muttered.

  “Fucking Tigerians. Here at a time like this,” another man said shaking his head.

  The king regarded her with a weak shrug. He let his head hang, gaze regarding his jeweled fingers. He started to dismount when a guard offered a hand, only to be angrily shooed away. “I’m not utterly helpless yet,” he grumbled, managing to find the ground with a secure footing. He seemed shorter than she remembered. There was a time when she was intimidated by his presence. Now he was just an old man with a crushed spirit and a body that was slowly failing.

  “Midgaard, it’s hard to believe. I’m sorry for your losses,” she said sincerely. She gestured toward the Tower, its shadow looming over them from the other side of the bridge. “You’re welcome to stay here, despite our differences. I, of course, can’t guarantee your safety.” A long breath escaped her lips. “It’s safer than the plains and Helm’s Reach, I’d bet.”

  Some of the men grunted and shoulders suddenly shifted. “No…” she breathed, tilting her head. “Helm’s Reach too? I should’ve known.” She swept her gaze across the Far Sea, biting her lip.

  He draped an arm over his dark mare’s flank. “Aye, Helm’s Reach too,” King Ezra said, pale face going almost transparent. “Only by the Dragon’s own luck did we manage to skirt around the city undetected. We were pursued by a gaggle of her gods-be-damned snakes on our way
here. Fortunately, my men were able to fend them off.”

  The world swam below her feet. “The New Tower?” she stammered, trudging over to the rail to steady herself and gripping it with both hands. The Black Guards shuffled away from her. She peered down at the falls among the gaping guards, waiting for an answer she already knew. She blinked as the world came back into focus.

  “I’m afraid it has been razed. We didn’t come upon any survivors,” the king said solemnly. For the first time, he sounded genuine, the masks of arrogance and pride falling away. “I fear this is a dark time for the realm.”

  Nyset wanted to laugh, but she only nodded her recognition of his words. Helm’s Reach. The New Tower. All gone. A flood of memories swept over her then, drowning out the king’s words as he prattled on with what sounded like empty platitudes.

  She remembered when they first built the New Tower on the outskirts of the city. She thought of all the apprentices she trained there, and those who’d elected to stay after the Silver Tower had been reclaimed from Asebor. Fat tears fell from her eyes, swirling down into the yawning crevasse to be swept out into the Far Sea. Her forearms trembled, fingers curling to drive her nails under the rail. How much more blood would be spilled upon her hands? She imagined herself covered in gallons of it, her clothing soddened as if she’d been plunged into the corrupted Shadow Realm’s blood lake. A tremble passed through her lips, and she had to squeeze them closed to get them under control.

  “Not sure how much more of this I can take,” she whispered, air coming in quick gulps. “Should’ve called for an evacuation, but where could they have gone… so many people, no place for them here. Couldn’t have saved them all, right?” Her chest heaved. She scrunched her face and swallowed hard. The only choice she had was to control what she could. It was done. She wondered then if the histories would remember her for inflicting the most devastating of stains to the title of Arch Wizard. Breathe. She just had to breathe, she told herself. She turned about to face the king, sharing tearful glances and hard nods.