The Shadow Of Fallen Gods

by V. R. Cardoso

  V.R. Cardoso

  The Shadow of Fallen Gods

  Copyright © 2019 by V.R. Cardoso

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  First edition

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

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  To my goddaughter Carlota, who is exactly one month older than this book.

  May your life be full of magic, little one.

  Contents

  Acknowledgement

  Map of Arkhemia

  Prologue - The Dark of Dawn

  The Half-Princes

  The Halls of the Rebellion

  Broken Memories

  What Seeps Through the Cracks

  Exile

  The Prince of Caves

  The Threshold Chalice

  The Wars We Do Not Fight

  The Chase

  The Fights We Cannot Win

  The Old Friend

  The Victories That Do Not Last

  The Heist

  The Shattering Empire

  The Dancing Isle

  The Sacred Fire

  The Threshold

  First Blood

  The Order of Kallax

  Fog of War

  The Survivors

  Fog of War

  Defiance

  The Cages We Call Home

  A Thousand Deaths

  The Enemies We Trust

  Epilogue - The Eye of the Storm

  Can’t wait for the next book in the series?

  Also by V.R. Cardoso

  Acknowledgement

  Jack Llartin - Editor

  Cate Courtright - Editor

  Yin Yumming - Cover Illustrator

  Tad Davis - Map Illustrator

  Alexandre Rito - Graphic Designer

  Map of Arkhemia

  You can find a high resolution version of this map here

  Prologue - The Dark of Dawn

  The first snows had started falling on the day they had crossed the northern fork of the Saffya river. Now, it threatened to bury them.

  The cold crept in through Cassia’s gloves and boots, turning her hands and feet into lifeless stumps. The wind slashed across her face like a thousand daggers whistling as one. Behind her, the column of her legionaries stretched far enough that she rarely saw its end beyond the bends of the snaking road. One hundred steel-clad men and women trudged through the snow without so much as a shiver. That they could keep up with the pace of her horse, despite a pack of equipment that probably weighed as much as a large wardrobe on their backs, was nothing short of amazing, especially considering the snow storm blowing around them.

  “Captain,” Cassia called, the howling wind throwing her words back at her and forcing her to raise her voice. “Captain!”

  Riding slightly ahead of her, Darian turned.

  “How much longer until we leave these goddess damned mountains?” Cassia asked.

  “Not much longer,” Darian replied rather vaguely. This route had been his idea; a long detour through the inhospitable northern mountains in the hopes of avoiding the emperor’s efforts to catch them.

  “You’re assuming he knows where we are,” Venia said. She rode beside Cassia, the hood of her gray cloak covering her pale blond hair.

  “This might not be the most comfortable route, but it is the safest,” Darian assured Cassia, opting to ignore Venia’s gibe.

  “It’s not my comfort I’m worried about,” Cassia said. “Your soldiers can’t keep plowing through knee-deep snow for much longer. At least we have horses.”

  “They’re your soldiers, your Majesty,” Darian replied. “And, with respect, they had horses of their own.”

  “Ooh, someone’s salty…” Venia teased.

  Those two had been on the wrong side of each other since they had met, right outside Augusta, and, for the duration of their flight, had bickered and argued day in and day out. When their money had run out, the empress had decided to sell the soldiers’ horses in order to keep everyone fed, a decision Darian had strongly opposed.

  “Stay out of this,” Cassia told her spy, then returned her attention to Darian. “That had to be done. I stand by my decision.”

  “Apologies, your Majesty,” Darian said. “I don’t get to question your decisions.”

  “That’s quite alright,” Cassia told him. “Your honesty is appreciated.”

  Darian nodded, and silence settled between them once more. They continued their slow march, snow crunching beneath their horses’ hooves. As they turned the bend in the road just ahead of them, all three halted their mounts simultaneously.

  “Well, fire take me and my warmest coat,” Venia said in disbelief.

  “The goddess provides,” Darian said in turn.

  Cassia simply gawked.

  Before them was a vast clearing, in the middle of which stood a three-storied stone building. All the windows were closed tight against the storm, but black smoke billowed invitingly from a wide chimney on the snow-covered roof. Above the front door, shaped like a mug, hung a wooden plaque. Despite the frost and snow partially covering the sign, it read: The Hissing Tankard.

  “Who in their right mind opens an inn in the middle of the goddess forsaken Phermian mountains?” Venia asked of no one in particular.

  “Looks more than large enough to fit all of us,” Darian noted as he dismounted.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” the Empress asked.

  Darian halted. “Majesty, you said it yourself, it’s too cold. The troops haven’t slept beneath a roof for weeks.”

  “Yes, but I’m not allowing you to harass some poor innkeeper.” Cassia studied the inn for a moment, then sighed and dismounted, landing gracefully on the snow-covered road. “I’ll negotiate something.”

  The empress handed Darian the reins of her horse and the captain took them with a nod.

  “I suppose my lady will require her maid,” Venia said, dismounting. She offered Darian her reins as well.

  Instead of taking them, the captain glanced over his shoulder. “Sergeant.”

  A woman leading the legionary column rushed to Darian’s side and took the reins from Venia’s hand. Grinning, the spy winked at the sergeant and walked away.

  After several loud knocks, the wooden door to the inn opened, its hinges complaining with a screech. On the other side, a short man in his fifties, wearing a tired, old, wool jacket gave them a suspicious look.

  “What do you want?” the man asked, staring down a crooked nose at the two women. Cassia and Venia exchanged a glance.

  “It’s freezing out here,” Cassia said. “Are you not going to invite your prospective guests inside?”

  The man was studying the rather large military force standing in Cassia’s background with furled brows. “What?” he man asked brutishly. “Oh, right. Come in, come in.” He stepped aside, opening the door wider.

  Cassia walked in and glanced around the interior. It was a wide area, encompassing nearly the entirety of the ground floor. A large fireplace crackled at one end, filling the space with the cozy smell of burning pine. Along with a handful of oil lamps, the fireplace lit the room with a dim, orange glow. A long counter separated what was clearly the tavern of the inn from the service area. There were only a couple long tables in sight, occupying less than a third of the tavern, which left the rest of it depressingly empty.

  “Looking for lodgings?” the innkeeper asked in his thick, northe
rn accent. Having been born in Fausta, Cassia was a northerner herself, but the peoples of the Phermian Mountains sometimes sounded as if they spoke a dialect of their own.

  “Yes,” Cassia replied. “And food, maybe some wine.”

  “Just for the two of yous?”

  “I’m sure you saw my escort outside. They’ll be needing shelter as well.”

  “Close that door, you old fool!” a high voice shrieked from somewhere in the back. A woman wearing a grimy apron appeared from behind the counter and limped towards them. “You’re letting all the freeze in.”

  Grumbling, the man complied, and soon both innkeepers were standing side by side. The pair looked awkwardly similar. Same hooked nose, same pink cheeks, same bushy, gray hair.

  “You looking for lodgings?” the woman asked.

  “They already said yes,” the man told her, exasperated.

  “What about them soldiers, outside?”

  The man rolled his eyes. “Graceful mother…”

  “I was wondering if, perhaps, my legionaries could huddle down here,” Cassia offered. “There seems to be enough space, and that way you could offer me a discount. They usually camp outside, but in situations like this, with the blizzard, that just doesn’t seem right. I’m sure you understand.”

  The woman seemed to think on it while the man continued to grumble under his breath. “Alright,” she said after a while. “A silver mark a head and I’ll throw in your room for free.”

  Cassia smiled. “A silver mark for my bedroom, and a copper thaler for each of my troops,” she countered.

  The woman frowned, and after an overlong silence, grunted with a nod. “I’ll show you to your room.” She turned to her husband. “Take care of the horses and show the soldiers inside.”

  With the exact same grunt the woman had given Cassia, the man turned around and went outside.

  “Follow me,” the woman said, moving towards the staircase across from the fireplace. “What did you say you are lady of?”

  “I… didn’t,” Cassia replied, exchanging a glance with Venia.

  “You know,” Venia started, “that’s not really the proper way to—”

  “Oh, don’t mind my manners,” the woman interrupted. “We’re just simple mountain folk, not used to your fancy customs. This way.” They had reached the first-floor landing and the woman directed them across the hallway.

  “That’s quite alright,” Cassia said. “I am Lady Lyssandra Vendrast, but I’m not lady of anything, so to speak. We’re what is called ‘unlanded nobility’.”

  “Unlanded?” The woman had to stop, such was her shock. “What’s with all them soldiers, then?”

  Venia cleared her throat and glared at the innkeeper. “Let’s maybe watch our tone when we speak to our Lady?”

  “It’s okay, Venia,” Cassia said. “The good woman is merely curious.” She turned back to the innkeeper. “I’m Vicereine of the Consular Corps. We’re on a diplomatic mission to Imuria.”

  “Ah,” the woman said, resuming walking—or, rather, limping. “Then it’s good you brought the soldiers. All sorts of trouble been happening beyond the border, they say. Ever since that new High Chief, or High King, or whatever them savages call their leaders was elected. Anyways, this is you.”

  They had stopped at one of the dozen doors lining one of the walls, the opposite one filled with shuttered windows. A lonely lamp lit the corridor, its flickering flame making their shadows dance. The old woman rummaged inside the pockets of the dress beneath her grimy apron and produced a clinking bundle of iron keys. She tried one. It didn’t work, so she moved on to the next.

  “The inn seems rather quiet,” Venia noted, scanning the length of the corridor. “No other patrons?”

  Without even slowing down her process of finding the right key, the woman replied, “Just the two gents on the second floor. It’s always slow this time of year. As soon as the snows start dropping, we only get the occasional traveler.” The lock finally clicked, and the door creaked open. “There ya go.” She motioned them inside. “I’ll bring up some water, so you can wash the road off. There’s cold lamb pie, but I’ll have some shepard’s stew ready in a couple of hours. Best shepard’s stew east of the Black Peak, you can trust that.”

  “Sounds lovely,” Cassia said with a smile.

  The old woman gave Cassia and Venia the key from her bundle before returning downstairs, leaving them to their room. It was small by every possible standard, but not without its charm. The frame of the double bed was intricately carved with low relief flowers and leaves. Thick, colorful woolen blankets covered most of the stone walls, and a brown bear skin bridged the distance between the bed and the tiny fireplace.

  “I’m surprised she took that offer,” Venia said, closing the door behind herself. “She’ll barely make a profit.”

  “Are you kidding?” Cassia asked. “This far away from civilization? I probably offered her more money than she’s seen in a year.”

  “And what’s with the ‘Lady Vendrast’?”

  Cassia shrugged. “Didn’t you teach me to stick to what I know when coming up with a fiction?”

  Shaking her head, Venia knelt by the fireplace and began stacking kindling and wood. “You’re so sentimental…” she muttered. “Hand me that flint.”

  Cassia complied. “It explains the large escort!”

  “You could’ve told her whatever name you wanted to, and she’d buy it.” Venia started striking the flint, sparks flying everywhere. “Why use your mother’s name?” The kindling caught smoke and she blew on it until a tiny flame erupted. “Oh, and your grandmother’s job. I’m not really sure that counts as fiction.”

  “It worked,” Cassia said.

  As her fire came to life, Venia stood up. “Well, at least you didn’t say you are her Duchess.”

  “Actually,” Cassia raised a finger, “that would’ve been a fiction. Tarsus forced me to pass the Duchy to Fadan when he was thirteen.” She stepped to the room’s only window, a tiny rectangle, opened the wooden shutter and stared outside. “He wanted to make sure Aric never inherited any titles.”

  Venia looked at Cassia thoughtfully. “Huh… I had never thought about it like that.”

  Cassia turned. “Like what?”

  “Aric… He could’ve been a Duke.” Venia paused. “You know, if things had been different.”

  “If… A person like me can go crazy on ‘ifs’.”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t think about it.”

  Cassia turned back to the window. “When I can’t help it. It just… comes uninvited. Sometimes I see it as clearly as a good memory. Aric, a grown man, in my father’s office. Which is strange, because Aric hasn’t been there since he was just a little boy. I always picture it the same way. He’s wearing one of Doric’s suits. On the wall, opposite his desk, he hung the banner of his grandfather, Faric, in a glass casing because he doesn’t want anyone to touch it. He writes letters to his brother, the emperor; discusses issues of the Duchy with his vassals.” She fell silent for a moment. “I’m never there, though. When I see it.”

  “Well, you’re watching.”

  “Sure, but not really there.” Cassia shook her head. “Just like the last fifteen years. For most of his life I was right there, but not really. Not the way he needed.”

  Venia didn’t know what to say to that. Luckily, a knock on the door saved her from having to reply. It was the old innkeeper again. She brought a pitcher of water, a brass wash basin, and an iron pot. After informing them the legionaries had settled downstairs, the woman left, closing the door behind her.

  Cassia and Venia poured the water into the pot, then hung it over the fire, which had grown large enough that the empress could finally feel her feet once again. The two of them knelt by the fire, entranced by the dancing flames.

  “This will all be over soon,” Venia said after a stretch of silence. “Arch-Duchess Margeth is almost certainly a member of the rebellion. She’ll take us in, and Tarsus will fin
ally lose our trail. After that, getting to Fadan and Aric is just a matter of time. You’ll see.”

  Cassia smiled but said nothing.

  “Right!” Venia stood up. “I’m going to take a look around. Check on our fellow guests on the second floor.”

  “What for?” Cassia asked, palms stretched towards the flames.

  “You’re the most wanted person in the whole empire. I want to know who’s sharing a roof with us.”

  “Have I ever told you that you can be a little paranoid?” the empress asked.

  “That’s what you don’t pay me for.” Venia opened the door. “Try to get some sleep. The blizzard won’t last until morning, and you know Darian likes to start marching before dawn.”

  Cassia nodded. “I’ll save you some clean water.”

  “Thanks,” Venia said, closing the door behind her.

  The water in the iron pot took little time to start boiling, and Cassia poured a portion into the wash basin, reserving the rest in a corner. Beneath her clothes, Cassia smelled of sweat and dirt. It was her first chance to bathe in weeks. The journey from Augusta to Pharyzah should have taken no more than six or seven days using a direct route through the main imperial roads, but thanks to Darian’s detour, it had now been a month since the day Intila had smuggled her out of the Citadel.

  It was for the best, though. Tarsus would have mobilized his entire empire in search of Cassia. The further away from civilization she got, the safer she would be.

  Thankfully, their journey was finally close to its end. Pharyzah was a mere two days to the south—three if the snow slowed them down too much. There, Arch-Duchess Margeth Abyssaria would grant them refuge, maybe even tell them Fadan’s location, and Tarsus would lose her trace for good. The nightmare was about to end.

  * * *

  Cassia woke with the door slamming against the wall. She sat up with a jolt, keeping the thick blankets tightly around her. Blinking her eyes into focus, she saw Venia’s thin silhouette stride into the room.