Shadow of the Void

by Nathan Garrison

  She graciously bowed her head.

  The minister cleared his throat. “Well. Now that that’s settled, there’s still the issue of your supposed ‘ser­vice’ to the crown.”

  “Tior,” Arivana said, “please—­”

  “My queen, I must insist. I have no problem giving Tassariel status as a guest, with full privileges, including freedom to wander as she chooses throughout your tower. But granting her an advisor position—­above even me, no less—­is something the council cannot in good conscience allow.”

  Tassariel stood at last. The guards at her side flinched, reaching for their swords, but Tior halted them with an upraised hand. He raised an inquisitive brow towards her.

  “It need not be so formal as that, your majesty,” Tassariel said. “I simply wish to help. Any way I can. My faith demands it.”

  “Faith?” Tior huffed. “I’ve seen men do despicable things for faith. Far worse, even, than for any other cause.”

  “And I’ve seen wonders, Minister. Miracles. Compassion to make even the most cynical person shed tears in awe. All only possible by the power of faith. What’s your point?”

  She averted her eyes from Tior and missed whatever reaction might have shown on his face. She didn’t care what he thought. The speech hadn’t been directed at him anyway.

  Elos, however, began to squirm, ice and lava mixing together in a chaotic stew. Tassariel wasn’t sure if she should smile or sob. Let him chew on that for a while.

  Soft feet approached, and Tassariel looked up. The queen stood less than a pace away. The guards quivered, looking ready to pounce at the slightest questionable gesture.

  “I already said I would be honored by your ser­vice,” Arivana said. “And I’d be remiss to take back my own word.”

  Tassariel gasped, looking down to realize that the queen had taken hold of her hands.

  “Please,” Arivana continued, “coordinate your efforts through Minister Pashams. I look forward to seeing what your help may bring.”

  Tassariel bowed her head, squeezing the queen’s fingers gently. “As do I, your majesty.”

  The party left her room without another word. Tassariel smiled, sat down, then unfolded the note the queen had passed to her.

  Tassariel,

  If you are serious about helping me, you must do so in secret. Meet me tomorrow at noon in the royal gardens, between the fourth and fifth hedgerows on the north side, just past the tulips. I will explain everything I can, and, hopefully, you can do the same.

  With utmost secrecy,

  Arivana

  “Well, now,” she said. “Perhaps we’re in the right place after all.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Draevenus stumbled through the woods, losing his grip on a bundle of sickly-­looking berries. He stopped, wheezing as he bent to retrieve them. They weren’t much, but it was the best he’d found in a day and half of searching. Mevon needed something to eat. Desperately. Still, it took all of his willpower not to gobble them down himself.

  He reached a familiar place on the path and knew he was close. Cutting through another thicket, Draevenus came in sight of a low overhang, leafy branches leaning over the entrance. He contemplated calling out, but thought better of it. Though he’d seen no other threats in the area—­neither beast nor beast-­like man—­he’d occasionally heard cries that sounded all too close for comfort.

  Instead, he paused outside the concealing brush, and whispered, “Mevon? You awake? It’s me.”

  All he got in reply was a feeble groan.

  Draevenus carefully lifted and set aside a few branches with his free hand, revealing a shadowed alcove behind. Sagging to his knees, then his side, he slithered into the cramped, redolent space.

  “Find anything?” Mevon asked, barely above a whisper though not by choice.

  Draevenus rolled onto his back, panting, and reached his hand out. “Here.”

  Mevon grabbed the berries. Draevenus didn’t even notice when their fingers touched, having no more energy to siphon, it seemed.

  He tried not to be jealous as his companion inhaled the meager meal.

  It seemed less than a beat before Mevon sighed. “Not enough. Thank you, my friend, but it’s not nearly enough.”

  “I know. I’m . . . sorry.”

  For a time, they lay at each other’s sides, in silence except for their labored breathing and the all-­too-­audible rumble of their stomachs.

  “Funny, isn’t it?” Draevenus said.

  “What is?”

  “My sister once called us the two most dangerous men on the planet. Can you help but laugh that we’re going to be done in by nothing more than hunger?”

  “Indeed I would laugh,” Mevon said, “if only I had the strength.”

  “Me too.”

  Another passage of time. Another long silence. Draevenus wasn’t sure, but he might have lost consciousness once or twice. His head throbbed, and his limbs quivered. His belly begged for bread. The pain was a good thing, though. If it stopped, he knew then he’d be in real trouble.

  Taking a deep breath—­which sounded more like a whimper—­Draevenus rolled onto his hands and knees and began shuffling out of their shelter.

  “Where are you going?” Mevon asked.

  “To find more food, of course. There must be something around here we can eat.”

  “There is. And close by, too.”

  “Wait, what? Where? How long have you known about this!”

  “Since before our little skirmish had even ended.”

  “You can’t mean . . . ?”

  “Yes. I do. But I didn’t want to bring it up except as a last resort.”

  Draevenus swallowed hard. “You think it might kill us.”

  “Aye. But we don’t have much choice now, I think. It’s take a chance or die.”

  “I know.” Draevenus sighed. “Abyss take me, I know.”

  “Then you know it has to be me that tries it first. Just in case it turns . . . sour.”

  Draevenus didn’t have the strength to argue against his companion’s brutal, practical logic. He crawled back out into the open without another word.

  He staggered down the shallow hillside, falling only once, before entering the site of their ambush. Dark bodies lay about in various deathly poses, yet he was surprised to find only the faintest odors of rotting flesh. Whether that was a good sign or not, he took it as one anyway; they couldn’t afford another setback.

  He sank his claws into the smallest one he could find, unable to trust that his grip could hold, and dragged it back the way he had come. Stopping just outside the alcove again, he cut a few thin slices from what had once been a rabbit and cradled them in a palm before entering.

  Mevon propped up a dagger. “Here,” he said.

  Draevenus selected the top morsel and impaled it on the blade’s tip. Calling upon what dredges of dark energy he could find, Draevenus conjured the barest spark of flame and held it up to the meat.

  The sizzle set his mouth to watering.

  Mevon pulled the now-­cooked bite towards his lips. “Here goes.”

  Draevenus heard the grinding of teeth, slow at first, but quickly picking up speed. The swallow a moment later seemed as loud as thunder.

  They waited.

  “Feel anything?” Draevenus dared at last.

  “Yes,” Mevon said, lips twitching into a barely perceptible smile. “I feel like . . . seconds.”

  Draevenus cooked the next piece right off the end of his claw. Reluctantly, he pushed it towards his friend.

  “No,” Mevon said. “If you’re to keep up with those flames, you’ll need your strength as well. This one is yours.”

  Smoke still curled around the charred meat as Draevenus stuffed it down his throat. It was chewy, and a little bitter, but he didn’t mind at all.

/>   He’d attended royal feasts less satisfying than this.

  Chase rolled the map out onto the table inside the command tent. King Chase, now, Jasside reminded herself. She pulled her attention away from the noises outside the tent. Men shuffling about, metal clanking on metal or sliding across leather, fires crackling, the constant mutter of a thousand voices, each indistinct, yet adding up to a whole that could not be misplaced.

  An army on the march.

  It brought back memories of her time with the revolution. With Yandumar and Mevon and Gilshamed and the rest. She’d had a purpose then, clear and definite. Personal. She wondered if this current endeavor would be able to match that. If anything ever could.

  Chase pulled a slim dagger from his belt and pointed at the map. “This is us now,” he said.

  Jasside leaned over the table, crowded on one side by Vashodia and the other by Prince Daye. The metal point rested just outside a crooked red line. Scrawled next it were the words Enemy-­held territory. The area beyond it encompassed more than half of Sceptre.

  “And this”—­Chase moved the dagger tip over the red line, east and a little north—­“is where they’re holding the bulk of our ­people.”

  “What ­people?” Jasside asked.

  “Sceptrine citizens. Innocents. Why?”

  “Are they soldiers?” Vashodia asked.

  Daye grunted. “Sceptrine soldiers are not taken prisoner. We win or die fighting. Surrender isn’t in our vocabulary.”

  Vashodia gestured dismissively. “They’re useless then.”

  “Useless?” Chase said. “Our ­people are made to slave away in mines and fields, which were stolen from us by the Panisians. They suffer daily under foreign whips, aiding our enemy directly by their pain. I don’t care if you think they’re useless. They must be freed.”

  Vashodia sighed, shaking her head. “Do you want to win this war or not?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then listen to your elders. I do have a few centuries on you, or have you forgotten?”

  “But our ­people—­!”

  “Will still be there tomorrow. We may very well end up rescuing them as a matter of course, but not as our first move. That must be here.”

  Jasside followed Vashodia’s finger, which rested at the very edge of Sceptre’s southern border, on the symbol of a castle. Deep inside the red line.

  “Impossible,” Daye said. “We’ve brought fifty thousand men on this expedition. We’d lose half just making it there, and the other half taking it. I don’t see—­”

  Chase held up a hand, silencing his brother. His eyes stayed locked on Vashodia. “We’ve a fortress there that controls the pass into Fasheshe. It was the first place taken over when the Panisians invaded. But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

  Vashodia giggled. “Catching on at last? It’s about time.”

  “We control that, we control their supply of troops and resources,” Chase continued. “But my brother is right. We won’t be able to march our army in there unscathed.”

  Jasside smiled, realizing the only possible option. “Then I guess our army will have to do.”

  “That’s too dangerous,” Chase said. “You haven’t seen what their war machines can do. Enormous catapults that lob magic-­wrought projectiles, each one capable of obliterating a hundred men in an eyeblink. Bows held by a single man whose arrows explode in a burst of fire. Lances that spit lightning. The two of you going in alone is suicide.”

  Jasside shrugged. “It sounds like a reasonable risk. I’d almost say sending both of us is a waste of resources.”

  “Truly?” Chase said.

  “My apprentice never exaggerates,” Vashodia said. “It’s one of her better qualities. Still, I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to go alone. We don’t know the terrain, after all. And we’ll need someone capable of guarding our backs.”

  “I’ll go,” Daye said. Chase opened his mouth, but Daye trudged forward. “Hear me out, brother. They need me. And you’ll need someone across enemy lines whom you can trust. I’ll take a caster with me and send messages regularly, so you can be kept abreast of the situation. I know what these two are capable of. Just seeing how they helped the refugees left me in awe. Imagine that level of power translated to combat. Panisahldron doesn’t have a dozen casters combined on the war front who can match either one of them. This is an opportunity we can’t afford to pass up.”

  Chase chuckled. “You had me at ‘I’ll go.’ ”

  The brothers clasped forearms over the table, each grinning ear to ear.

  Jasside smiled along with them. It would be good to have the prince along. Spending too much time alone with Vashodia could be hazardous to her health. And besides, Daye was . . . nice.

  She peered down at the map again, as much to clear her head of distraction as anything else. “So much red to erase,” she said, snatching a peek at her mistress. “We’ve got our work cut out for us.”

  “Six months,” Vashodia said.

  “Until what?” Chase asked.

  “Until the coalition forces are in full retreat. Provided, of course, that you follow my instructions to the letter.”

  Chase grunted. “If it drives those bastards back to their own lands, I’m willing to try almost anything.”

  “Good. Now, split your army and send them northeast and southwest of our current position. Probe the enemy positions, raiding when you can, but do not let yourself be drawn into a pitched battle. You’re here as distraction, for now.”

  Chase nodded. “Understood. We keep their attention while you drive a spike into their back. It will unbalance the whole line. We can pick them apart, little by little, and they’ll have no reinforcements to come to their aid.”

  Vashodia nodded. “Very good. Once the fortress falls, you’ll be able to collapse their western front with ease. Sweep in and occupy the pass. In the meantime, Mierothi territory is not far away. I’ll call in some daeloth to reinforce the position and guard against sorcerous counterattacks.”

  “Where will you be after that?”

  Vashodia dragged a claw across the map, scratching the red line along its length. “Knocking down every stronghold they have.”

  Jasside could not help but feel a surge of elation at the announcement, a feeling she knew both brothers shared in by their exuberant faces. If they could actually pull this off, it would go down in the chronicles as the greatest military upset in history. And she and Vashodia would be solely responsible. Her whole body shook in excitement as she pondered the possibilities.

  The whole world will know our greatness.

  But her eye was drawn to a lonely spot on the map, a slight depression still visible from where the king had laid his dagger.

  The place the prisoners were being kept.

  Compassion, as ever, played second fiddle to practicality. The ­people would have to suffer a while longer. Why is it that greatness so often precludes the possibility of goodness?

  Jasside wished she had an answer. She only hoped that, sometime during this campaign, she would have the opportunity to find one.

  Arivana stared at the bloodstained stones, completely forgetting how to breathe.

  “Are you all right?” Flumere asked.

  Arivana barely heard her. Heartbeats thumped inside her skull, drowning out sound and thought. Her mouth went dry. Every inch of her skin tingled and shook. She hadn’t been back to the gardens since the . . . incident. She’d tried not to think about it at all.

  “It was a mistake coming here,” she said. “I’m not ready to face this. Not yet.”

  She spun, but Flumere grabbed her by the shoulders, turning her back around again. “Easy there,” the woman said. “You called this meeting, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but—­”

  “And wouldn’t it be rude to miss an appointment
you arranged yourself?”

  Arivana sighed. “I suppose.”

  “Good. Now relax. You’ll scare the poor woman off if you approach her so rigidly.”

  “If she even shows.”

  “She will.” Flumere began kneading her hands into Arivana’s shoulders. “I’m sure of it.”

  The queen groaned as the woman’s strong hands seemed to leach the very tension from her muscles. After a mark of this, her whole body began going slack. She jerked upright, blinking away her exhaustion and sucking in a puddle of saliva that had found its way to her outer lip.

  “Come on,” Arivana said. “The meeting place is just ahead.”

  She made sure to keep her eyes averted from the ambush site as they strolled past and into the hedgerows. The towering shrubs blocked off the world beyond, helping her focus her thoughts and prepare for the meeting ahead. This was no time for distractions.

  They came, at last, to the agreed-­upon location, a secluded spot well away from prying eyes and ears. Though they had arrived early, the valynkar woman was already there. She pivoted to face them, looking just as surprised as Arivana felt.

  “Greetings, your majesty,” Tassariel said. Her eyes flicked to Flumere but snapped back without lingering. “I’m sorry for getting here early. I wasn’t sure if you would actually come.”

  Arivana let out a burst of laughter. Then immediately covered her mouth in embarrassment. So much for a good impression.

  Tassariel smiled. “You were thinking the same thing, weren’t you?”

  “Yes.” Arivana sighed, and it seemed the tension that had been gripping her since she had slipped the note into Tassariel’s hand evaporated like dew before the morning sun. She gestured at a nearby bench. “Come, sit. I’m dying to hear what brought you all the way out here.”

  After arranging themselves, Arivana allowed herself a good study of the woman’s face. This close, she seemed younger than her previous estimate. Perhaps only a few years beyond herself. But the eyes seemed positively ancient, glittering with the weight of ages. The disparity seemed . . . strange.