Shadow of the Void

by Nathan Garrison

  Mevon didn’t respond. Draevenus peeled his eyes from the scene below, finally glancing at his companion.

  The man quivered with rage.

  “What?” Draevenus demanded, feeling his own anger spike. Must I deal with your reticence yet again? “Do you want us to march down there now and try to put a stop to this, just the two of us?”

  Mevon remained silent yet tilted his head slightly. Draevenus could almost see the words why not? written across his friend’s mind.

  “No,” Draevenus said. “Even if we could prevail—­which isn’t guaranteed—­there are other packs besides this one. Not to mention the fact that it’s half made of men. Are you willing to put aside your vows for what may amount to a pointless gesture?”

  Mevon shuddered, lowering his eyes.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “But we must do something!”

  “We will. But not here. Not now. Once we find Ruul, we’ll make him answer for everything he’s done, this included. If we stopped to help everyone he’s hurt, we’d just be applying bandages to a bleeding wound, and we’d never have time to actually repair the ruptured vein.”

  Mevon furrowed his brow, returning his gaze towards the sickening scene below. He sighed. “I suppose that makes a kind of sense. Still, I can’t help but feel guilty—­”

  “Yes,” Draevenus interrupted. “You can. Guilt lies with those who caused the injury. No one can be held at fault for another man’s sins.”

  Unhesitant, Mevon nodded.

  Finally, a point we can agree on.

  They crawled backwards away from the ledge, readying to leave and resume following the injured beast. Draevenus forced himself not to look back as the bundle finally crashed into the ground, and the pack’s howls reached a fever pitch, a chorus of savagery accentuated by a single, human scream.

  “The main force is in position,” Daye said. “They’re only awaiting your signal.”

  “Make sure they do,” Jasside said. “If Chase assaults too early, the coalition artillery will tear his army to shreds. Too late, and we’ll be caught inside a very angry city, with fifty thousand enemy soldiers chasing us down.”

  “Sceptrine will do its part. I have absolute faith that you’ll do yours.”

  She and the prince exchanged smiles.

  “Done with the chatter?” Vashodia asked. “Or can we go ahead and capture this highly strategic location?”

  “A city full of helpless ­people, you mean,” Jasside said.

  The mierothi waved the sentiment away. “This is a choke point. All enemy supplies and reinforcements come through here for distribution. Cut this limb off, and the whole beast writhes.”

  “And almost half a million civilians languish under Panisian martial law.”

  “If they actually cared about their freedom, they’d have won it long ago. Are we going to have this same old argument every day?”

  Jasside took a deep breath. “I suppose not.”

  “Good.” Vashodia peered up at Daye. “Be a dear and guard our backs through this?”

  He furrowed his brow. “You want me to come along? I thought you said I would stand out, or worse, be recognized?”

  “Oh, none of us can hope to avoid that. But my apprentice and I don’t know this city half as well as we should. If we run into any trouble, we’d have a hard time finding our way back to our targets. Plus, having a void in tow has certain . . . tactical advantages. You don’t seem to know quite how to use your skills to their fullest advantage. But believe me—­I do.”

  “I see,” Daye said. Jasside could tell he struggled to say even that, much less anything else. Compliments from Vashodia were rare enough to have that effect.

  “Ongshaith awaits liberation,” Jasside said. “I’d say the city has waited long enough, wouldn’t you?”

  No further deliberation seemed imminent. Together, the three of them descended a hillside strewn with thick brush towards the southern wall of Ongshaith.

  Jasside marveled at their success so far. She and Vashodia had stormed three other forts in the last month, and King Chase’s army had dealt critical defeats to the coalition’s westernmost position, which had been relying on aid from the very places she and her mistress had struck.

  As much as it pained her to admit, Ongshaith was every bit as important, strategically, as Vashodia claimed. The whole war could tilt in Sceptre’s favor if they were successful today. And Jasside knew they would be. It was, perhaps, that very confidence that ensured it.

  She reached the wall ahead of the others and energized. Gesturing forward, she rearranged the particles in front of them, spreading them apart just enough to allow them passage through. They couldn’t risk the gates, and this small use of energy would go unnoticed this far away from the military-­controlled zones. They slipped through the gap and continued on. Vashodia gave Daye the lead.

  They slunk through the winding streets of the city, turning to avoid dead ends and paths too choked with civilians or coalition soldiers. The prince instinctively avoided crowds, a decision Jasside could find no fault in. Though they’d likely be able to blend in better, any confrontation would mean increased collateral damage. And more dead Sceptrines would defeat the purpose of their coming here.

  Several times, they were forced to duck behind market stalls or into doorways as enemy patrols passed by. Jasside watched, horrified yet enthralled, every time they did. The coalition soldiers marched in a close knot, surrounded by Sceptrine citizens who were chained hand, foot, and neck. A wall of humanity between them and the rest of the populace. It would make any dissidents think twice about assaulting them, for they’d have to carve down their own ­people first.

  The brutal practicality of it sickened her. Though, not quite as literally as it did Prince Daye, who vomited after seeing it for the first time.

  By all reports, the enemy held positions in a cluster at the very center of the city. As they drew nearer to the heart, signs of the occupation grew in frequency. And intensity.

  Houses, and sometimes even entire blocks, lay in burnt-­out ruins. Screams erupted with regularity as whips fell over those pressed into forced labor. Raucous male laughter and soft female whimpers leaked out of second-­story windows. Fewer ­people who weren’t also in chains roamed the streets.

  Avoiding patrols became nearly impossible on the main streets, so they stuck to the alleys, carefully sneaking from shadow to shadow. After what seemed an eternity, they at last drew near to the place occupied by the Panisian military. Daye paused at a corner, peeking around.

  “Five men,” he whispered back to her and Vashodia. “One of them is a caster. An entrance to the main compound is just behind them. What should we do?”

  “We can’t do any casting,” Jasside said. “Not this close. That will alert them to our presence too early. We need to know the layout before we make any overt strikes.”

  Daye turned to Vashodia. “Please tell me you have an idea?”

  “Perhaps. But I doubt you’ll like it.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  Vashodia flipped up her hood, gesturing for Jasside to do the same. Once both of their faces were properly concealed, the mierothi did the last thing she expected.

  She reached out and grabbed Jasside’s hand.

  “Come, ‘mother,’ ” Vashodia said. “Let’s go on a little trip to the market, shall we?”

  Too stunned to disagree, Jasside and her “daughter” waltzed past an equally surprised Daye out in the open space of the alley.

  The coalition squad noticed them immediately.

  “What have we here?” one of them said.

  “A ­couple of lost souls, I’d wager,” said another.

  “Best show them the way home, then,” said the first.

  Jasside spied two of them rushing their way and began dragging Vashodia as fast as she c
ould. They reached the opposite corner with only ten paces separating them from the approaching men.

  Vashodia dropped her hand and spun, eying Daye behind them and pointing down the adjacent alley. He nodded.

  “Ready your dagger,” the mierothi said.

  Jasside flattened herself against the wall, pulling the small blade from her waist. “A little warning next time?”

  Vashodia shrugged, lifting her claws. “That would only give you time to start thinking. You’re no good at killing when you think too much.”

  Jasside opened her mouth to retort but lost the opportunity. The guards came around the corner with vicious smiles on their lips.

  She pounced.

  Vashodia had been right. It was easier with no time to think.

  Jasside pulled her dagger free from the man’s neck, then stepped back as he fell to the ground, gurgling. She looked over to see her mistress wiping her claws clean. A spatter of blood painted the wall next to her victim. She heard a noise from the alley.

  Daye!

  She spun towards him, but he was already gone from his spot opposite them. Jasside dashed around the corner.

  She found him, chest heaving, as he stood over three corpses. Enemy blood dripped from his blade. His eyes seemed far away.

  “Did their caster get off a spell?” she asked.

  He peered down at the sword in his hand. “I did it,” he said, ignoring her question. “I found my courage again.”

  Jasside froze. She hadn’t realized this had even been an issue for him. Looking back, however, she didn’t know how she could have missed it. She had been too wrapped up in herself, in the mission, to notice even the simplest truths and needs about the ­people around her.

  “You did well,” she said, slowly edging closer. “But keep your blade ready, prince. There are more enemies ahead.”

  He nodded.

  “Done with the emotion session?” Vashodia snapped, coming round the corner. “Or can we get on with our business?”

  “Yes,” the prince said. “Finally.”

  Jasside drew near to him and gently laid a hand on his arm. She gave him a smile. “Lead on, prince.”

  He marched forward without another word, and Jasside noticed something in his stride that hadn’t been there before. Confidence. A sense of purpose. Pride. It almost seemed a new man was there before her. Or, perhaps, it was the old one rising once more. Either way, she was glad of the change.

  The prince pushed open the door mounted on the recently erected wall ahead of them, which served as a barricade for the coalition forces at the center of Ongshaith. He bounded through alone. Jasside heard a short struggle ensue and came inside to find two more fresh bodies at his feet.

  The warrior in him had indeed returned. And not a moment too soon, by the looks of it. Four more enemy soldiers converged, and they were still out of sight of the main yard. She still couldn’t risk a casting.

  Daye charged in among them, slashing high. One man ducked the swing, but another caught steel in his throat and spun to the ground, dead.

  The one who’d dodged staggered towards her, then turned towards Daye. Jasside lunged at him and sank her dagger in the back of his head. The body fell, bringing her with it. By the time she managed to untangle herself, one of the remaining enemy soldiers was on his back, clutching a bleeding leg, and the other was skewered on Daye’s sword.

  Vashodia strolled in behind her and stepped on the downed man’s leg. He screamed. She leaned down, putting the tips of two claws a scant breath away from his eyeballs.

  That shut him up quick enough.

  “Numbers and disposition,” Vashodia said. “Answer true and fast, and I’ll make sure—­”

  “You live to see another day,” Jasside interrupted. “You have my word.” Vashodia rolled her eyes at her apprentice, but Jasside ignored it. “Fail to satisfy, however, and I’ll leave you to her.”

  The man made a choking sound and began shaking. Jasside took that for consent.

  “A little space for our guest?” she said.

  Vashodia sighed but withdrew her claws.

  The man swallowed hard. “Please, I’ll tell you anything. Just spare my countrymen.”

  Jasside inspected the beaded armor dangling from his chest and guessed him to be among those soldiers hailing from Phelupar, some island nation beyond even Panisahldron itself.

  “Why so afraid?” Vashodia asked. “What harm can we two little girls do?”

  “I know who you are,” the man said. “Word’s gotten round about some witches knocking over every fortress in their path. If you aren’t part of that group, I’m a blind man.”

  “What other words have been going around about us?”

  “That you kill without mercy. That you take no prisoners except those you keep around to eat later. That you made deals with devils from beyond the abyss, and that’s where you got your powers from.”

  “ ‘Devils from beyond the abyss?’ ” Vashodia giggled, that trill familiar sound Jasside had come to know so well. Jasside almost couldn’t help snickering herself. “My, my, that is a new one. Yet, ironically, dangerously close to the truth.”

  Jasside felt her jaw drop. “What?”

  “Why should we spare your countrymen?” Vashodia asked, ignoring her.

  “We’re all conscripts, my lady. None of us wants to be here, but the coalition treaties demanded troop tributes. Nearly all the men of age from every village back home are taken. We’ve no stake in the war. No purpose. We don’t want to die for nothing.”

  “What about the other nations?” Jasside asked. “Are they all as innocent as you?”

  The man shrugged. “Fasheshe has been skirmishing with Sceptre for centuries. I’m sure they’ve no qualms about this invasion. Can’t speak for the others.”

  “So,” Vashodia said, “we’re to spare your ­people, kill the Panisians and the Fasheshish, and ignore all the rest, hoping they’ll do the same to us. Is that all?”

  “Shouldn’t be too hard if the rumors about you are true. Besides, they’re all laid out neatly for you.” He gestured deeper into the compound. “Bad ones to the left. Everyone else to the right.”

  Jasside nodded, turning to Daye. “Mind guarding him?”

  “For how long?” Daye asked.

  “Until stealth is no longer a factor.”

  “How will I—­?”

  “You’ll know soon enough.”

  He nodded. “Be careful in there.”

  “I will. And thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For being concerned. It’s been awhile since anyone has cared what happened to me. It’s comforting.” She swallowed. “Especially coming from you.”

  Jasside brushed past him, chin held high, without waiting for his response. She wasn’t sure she was ready to hear it yet. Vashodia was right on her heels.

  They came free of the alley into an open space that looked to have once been a park of some kind. It had since been repurposed and was now the staging ground for the main enemy force occupying Ongshaith. At least three dozen of the massive, magically charged artillery pieces rested in two long rows, pointing tubes in all directions so that they could rain down destruction within or without the city walls.

  They would have to be destroyed first.

  Jasside began energizing, then stepped to the right.

  Vashodia grabbed her elbow. “This is war, girl. No time for playing nice. I won’t lose my most promising apprentice in ages because she died from a fit of conscience. Understand?”

  “I’ll be careful,” Jasside said. “But I only kill those who deserve it. You’ll do well to remember that.”

  “Throwing my own words back at me?” Vashodia laughed, not her normal high-­pitched giggle but something throaty and unnervingly adult. “So be it. Your fate is your own. Don�
��t come crying to me when your own foolishness comes back to bite you in the ass.”

  Vashodia released her and stomped off to the left, energizing. Jasside finished filling up her own reserves, then began eying her targets. The double row of artillery pieces gave her a perfect opportunity for surgical obliteration.

  Head down, she strode quickly between the two nearest tubes. It wouldn’t be long, anyway, until the enemy casters felt their presence. Might as well make the best use of the surprise she could.

  Thrusting her hands to each side, Jasside released some of her dark energy. The four nearest artillery pieces erupted into molten flames.

  She ran forward, not bothering with a shield. The massive weapons themselves provided a barricade between her and whatever lay beyond. The enemy would have to get extremely lucky to hit her with either arrow or spell. At her tenth stride, she reached outwards again, setting another group of artillery pieces alight with blue fire.

  A crewman stumbled into her path. Without thinking, Jasside elbowed him in the gut, then shadow-­dashed past. She landed in perfect position to destroy a third group of the huge weapons. Running, she now realized, made her an easier, more predictable target. Dashing worked better, and faster. And she had plenty of energy to spare.

  Inhale.

  She shadow-­dashed forward again. Pulsed destruction outwards at the malign weapons placements. Dashed again.

  Exhale.

  It took less than a mark to vanquish the last of the artillery pieces on her half of the compound. The signal had gone up with the very first, the flames themselves a beacon to her allies outside city. King Chase and his army should begin their assault any moment, and the coalition would find itself lacking the most potent tool in its arsenal.

  A job well done, Jasside, she told herself. You should be proud.

  The moment she emerged past the last flaming ruin, arrows and spells began streaking towards her.

  Jasside threw up a shield, barely warding off the first blows. Soldiers converged on her position. She sent a pulse outwards, flinging them all to the ground. It bought her a moment. She closed her eyes, sensing for the enemy casters. Two, four, ten, a score. Now, a lot more. It didn’t matter. Vashodia had been right about one thing. This was war. Jasside wasn’t sure the morality of killing mattered when ­people were doing their best to tear you to shreds. Never mind that she was the one who had initiated things here—­Panisahldron had started it all when they chose to cast blame in the face of Sceptre’s denial. Undoing that great wrong was the whole reason she was here.