The Shadow Of Fallen Gods

by V. R. Cardoso

Then, her heart stopped.

  She caught it out the corner of her eye. Someone by the tavern’s entrance hurled something; a small object no bigger than a jar.

  Except it was on fire.

  It felt as if time had stopped, and a scream of panic got trapped in her throat. She watched the object twirl in the air until it finally crashed in the middle of the legionaries. Her legionaries.

  A dozen soldiers caught fire immediately, their horrific screams filling the tavern. In their panic, the burning men took off in random directions, arms waving around madly, stumbling on their fellow soldiers. Two more projectiles fell, and, quickly, about a third of the maniple was engulfed in the blaze.

  Cassia rushed forward, hoping to somehow help those poor souls, but Darian blocked her way.

  “No, your Majesty, stand back!”

  The captain pushed the empress back into the kitchen, yelling for a full retreat. Those able to do so followed their captain, more out of despair than discipline. Sergeant Clareana was the last inside, trying to keep a modicum of order in the retreat.

  “Block the entrance!” Darian ordered. “You, you, get those shelves. You three, get that table. Everyone get busy!”

  Under their steel helms, the legionaries’ eyes were wide with fear, all of them sweating and panting heavily. Still, they obeyed. Every object inside the kitchen large enough to make a difference was thrown at the archway, and soon there was a barricade separating them from the tavern area.

  Silence set in, only the chilling screams of their burning comrades outside interrupting it.

  “I… I’m sorry, your Majesty,” Darian said, panting. “I failed you…”

  The poor man. He and his men were dying because of her, and he was apologizing? Cassia placed a hand on his arm and was going to say something when Venia burst in through the pantry.

  “Everyone look alive! We’re getting away from here!”

  The empress’ eyes lit up. “It’s a tunnel?”

  “It’s a wine cellar,” Venia replied. “But it has a ventilation shaft wide enough to fit a person. I doubt there’ll be anyone waiting on the other side. If they knew about it, they would’ve used it by now.”

  Cassia exhaled loudly in relief. “Oh, thank the goddess!”

  “An escape route?” Darian asked.

  “Yes,” Cassia confirmed. “We’re getting out of here, captain.”

  Darian nodded absently, then glanced around his soldiers. “Very well. Sergeant, choose ten legionaries and go with the empress. The rest of us will hold here for as long as we can.”

  “What?” Cassia asked. “What are you talking about? We’re all going.”

  “We can’t,” Darian told her. There was no stubbornness in his voice, no fight. Just the practicality of a soldier who knew what needed to be done. “This barricade won’t hold them for long. We either buy you enough time to disappear into those woods, or they’ll be able to chase you.”

  “I… We can’t…” the empress mumbled in protest.

  “Cassia, he’s right,” Venia said.

  Darian shuddered. Despite it all, the poor man could still find it in himself to be bothered by the spy’s manners.

  “There will be no pardon for anyone in here,” Venia added. “It’s either some of us or none of us.”

  “Listen to your friend,” Darian said.

  The empress felt a lump grow in her throat and had a hard time swallowing through it. She nodded. “Very well. Thank you.” She looked around at the remaining soldiers. Little over half of the maniple still stood, sweaty and bloodied. “Thank you all. May the goddess watch over you.”

  The legionaries slammed their foot on the ground twice.

  “Let’s go!” Venia grabbed her arm and Cassia finally followed.

  Darian and Clareana clasped each other’s forearms in a silent goodbye. The sergeant quickly picked her ten soldiers and joined the empress as Venia began her climb down.

  The wine cellar had a moldy, damp smell to it. It was nearly pitch black, with nothing but the light seeping through the trapdoor to guide them forward. Venia led them to a corner behind a pile of wooden barrels, each larger than a pig. A stream of moonlight shone through a rectangle in the ceiling, thick roots dangling from it. Venia placed one of the barrels directly beneath the shaft, stepped on top of it, and grabbed the roots, using them as a climbing rope.

  “All clear,” Venia said from above.

  “Go,” Clareana told the empress. “You first.”

  As Cassia climbed up and out, she took stock of her surroundings. They were in the middle of the woods at the back of the inn. What in the wine cellar had appeared to be moonlight, was, in fact, the lazy light of early dawn, painting the world in a blueish tint. Old, tall pine trees stretched in every direction, and a layer of snow carpeted the forest floor. As they waited for Clareana and the ten legionaries to make their climb, a wolf’s howl echoed from somewhere close by.

  “We need to hurry,” Venia urged as the last soldier stepped out.

  “Where to?” Cassia asked.

  “Just follow me.” The spy took off, penetrating into the woods, and the group followed, boots sinking into the deep snow.

  “Won’t they be able to follow our footprints?” one of the legionaries asked his sergeant.

  “We’ll worry about it once we’re far enough from here,” Clareana replied. “It’ll take them some time before they get past our men and women in that kitchen.”

  Another howl wound around them, and Cassia hugged herself. She hadn’t even gotten her coat and furs. How was she going to survive in this cold?

  “What was that?” Venia asked, halting suddenly.

  The group stopped around the spy, looking at her questioningly.

  “What do you mean?” Cassia asked.

  “That sound. That was…” Venia went gray.

  Once again, there was a howl. Except…

  “Goddess help us all!” Cassia said, realizing what Venia meant.

  Those weren’t howls, it was the barking of dogs. There was another, and another.

  “Hounds!” Venia spat. “Quick, we need to split up. Create multiple trails. Hopefully, it’ll throw them off.”

  “We can’t keep splitting up, leaving people behind,” Cassia protested. “Soon there will be none of us left.”

  “I don’t have a better idea, your Majesty,” Clareana admitted.

  Venia looked at Cassia. “I’m sorry. At this point, bad ideas are all we have left.”

  The barking was getting closer, and the empress glanced over her shoulder in its direction. “Alright,” she conceded and looked at Clareana. “Split your soldiers into pairs. You’re with me and Venia.” She turned to the legionaries. “We’ll regroup on the road south, headed to Pharyzah.”

  The soldiers nodded determinedly, and Clareana quickly divided them into pairs, assigning each a random direction and leaving north by northwest for the three of them.

  As they took off, Cassia saw the last remnants of her maniple disappear between the pine trees. The empress’ own, disbanded almost as quickly as they had been formed.

  “We left Augusta with a hundred legionaries,” the empress muttered. Their path sloped steeply, and the cold burned her hands and feet. “All gone. How did this happen?”

  “We’re not out of this yet,” Venia said. “We can wonder about that later.”

  They walked for what felt like half an hour, and the sound of the hounds seemed to fade further and further. With each step, Cassia’s feet became number and number. She stumbled and fell, her hands and face sinking into the snow. When she tried to get back up, her legs failed her.

  “Come on,” Venia said, helping her up. “We can’t slow down.”

  Dogs barked close by—five hundred feet away, at most.

  “No!” Cassia said in utter despair.

  “Fire take them all!” Venia spat.

  Clareana drew her sword, cursing. “Go on, your Majesty. I’ll stall them.”

  “No.�
� Cassia shook her head. “Enough!”

  Venia squeezed the empress’ arm. “We have to keep going. Let her do her job.”

  Cassia looked into her friend’s eyes. “Enough people have died because of me today.” Her fingers brushed Venia’s cheeks. “No more.”

  “You think they’ll spare us if they capture you?” Venia asked.

  Cassia smiled; the smile of a doomed woman. “They won’t capture me.” She drew the dagger Venia had handed her earlier. “Not alive, at least.”

  “Majesty!” Clareana yelped.

  “What do think you’re doing?” Venia demanded, glaring wildly.

  “It’s over,” Cassia said. “I’ve had enough.” She glided away from her friend, her arm slipping through Venia’s fingers like vanishing smoke. “I’m not going back to Augusta. I’m not going back to him.”

  “You won’t… you… we…” Venia stammered. “Think of your sons!”

  A tear ran down Cassia’s cheeks. “He can’t touch them now. They’re free.” She broke into a sob.

  The barks grew frantic, and the shapes of dozens of paladins appeared between the trees. They were surrounded.

  “Put down your weapons!” The paladin’s command echoed between the trees, their circle tightening.

  Fingers squeezing around the hilt of her dagger, Cassia wiped the tears off her face. “I made my own son a prisoner…” She placed the edge of the blade against her wrist. “If I’m gone, Aric and Doric won’t have to worry about Tarsus anymore.”

  “That’s not true.” Venia raised her arms in a plea, palms held out to stay Cassia’s hand. “They would rather have you alive. You know that.”

  “Put down your weapons!” the paladin insisted.

  Clareana aimed her sword at the man, seemingly ready to fight them all by herself. “Stand back!”

  “Please don’t do this!” Venia begged.

  “Thank you for everything.” The blade cut deep, a flood of red bursting from Cassia’s wrist.

  “NO!”

  Venia embraced Cassia and her weight as she fell pulled them both to the ground.

  “No, what did you do?!” Venia sobbed.

  “You had your warning,” the paladin said. “Men, seize the fugitive!”

  The paladins marched forward, closing on Clareana, Venia, and Cassia, and as they did, a war horn wailed, echoing all around them.

  Venia felt the ground tremble and she looked as the thunder of a thousand galloping horses filled her ears. Through the tears in her eyes, she saw a tide of horsemen surging from the west and breaking through the line of paladins like a tide flattening small mounds of sand.

  Stunned, Venia tightened her hold on Cassia, a red stain spreading in the snow beneath them. All around them, it was a massacre. The horsemen cut the paladins down one by one, taking care to avoid Clareana, who circled herself speechlessly.

  One of the riders trotted over to Venia, scaled armor glistening. “Is that the empress?” she asked, long black hair spilling from beneath her helmet.

  “Who are you?” Venia asked, dumbfounded.

  “Merciful mother!” the woman let out, noticing the growing pool of blood. She dismounted with an agile jump. “Thayden!” she called. “Thayden!”

  A dark-robed man elbowed his way to the woman’s side, his thick brows carving a deep frown on his forehead. Without a word, he stretched an arm and Venia lost her grip on the empress and went flying until she crashed into a tree. Desperately, the spy clambered to her feet and tried to stagger back to her empress, but two of the strange soldiers restrained her. She struggled, kicking and screaming, and then she froze.

  The dark-robed man, clearly a mage, had his fingers curled a few inches above Cassia’s wound, a blue light glowing around him. In a couple blinks of an eye, the bleeding stopped, and Cassia’s pink flesh knitted itself back together.

  Venia felt a long-held breath leave her chest and would probably have fallen to the ground if not for the men restraining her as her legs seemed to give up beneath her.

  “Majesty,” the warrior woman said, kneeling and removing her helmet. She had olive skin and long, sharp features. “I am Samyris Abyssaria. Niece and heir to Arch-Duchess Margeth Abyssaria. I have orders to escort you to Pharyzah.”

  1

  The Half-Princes

  “Another one,” Aric said, motioning to his glass.

  The barkeep obeyed, collecting the coin Aric had placed on the counter. He was a young man. Aric could tell from the way he moved, picked up the bottles, washed the cups, that he had been working here since childhood. He had probably inherited the stall from his father.

  Aric took a sip of his burning water, its comfortable warmth spreading through his chest. He wondered what his father’s villa looked like, the one he should have inherited one day if things had been… normal.

  Wouldn’t have been for me, he thought, staring through the translucent drink in his glass. He wasn’t an artist like his father. Or a businessman. Certainly not a farmer. What use did he have for a villa?

  He took another sip, throwing the thought away, and glanced over his shoulder. The aisle extended on both his sides, a merciless assault on the senses. Merchants yelled incessantly, repeating their sales pitches in simple rhymes that unwelcomingly dug themselves into Aric’s skull. Every stall was packed full. There were pyramids of fruit, jars brimming with pickled vegetables, nuts, and jams, even the skinned, still bodies of the days’ freshly slaughtered fare. Thin columns of steam and smoke from boiling tagines and sizzling grills danced into the sky, filling the market with a battery of competing smells. After so much time spent in the desert, this level of abundance was almost insulting.

  “You know, I’ve never had a dragon hunter before,” purred a girl leaning on the counter next to Aric. She had been there for a while now, quietly watching Aric with hungry eyes. Aric took another sip and looked sideways at her. Her jet-black hair reached down to her waist and did a better job of hiding the bronze curves of her body than her outfit.

  “Can I help you?” Aric asked.

  “Maybe,” she replied. “Maybe I can help you.”

  “Doubt it.”

  “Oh, but I can.” She glided across the counter, closer to Aric. “Can you guess what it is I do?”

  “Judging by the way you’ve been staring at my purse? Sure.” Aric took another sip of his drink. A large one this time. He grimaced. “You’re a fortune teller. And you’re new at it too. Your master taught you some pretty outdated stuff, though. Dragon hunters aren’t rich anymore. Haven’t been for years. I don’t have any gold for you.”

  The girl smirked and reached for the hunter’s mark proudly displayed on Aric’s shoulder. She traced a finger along the four triangles beneath the V shaped symbol of the Guild. “Four dragons, huh?”

  “Five actually. Just haven’t had the time to mark the last one.”

  The girl’s smirk widened into a grin. “And you’re carrying the blood of the fifth dragon back to your fortress, aren’t you?” Aric didn’t reply but she obviously didn’t need confirmation. “It’s not your gold I want, hunter.”

  “Seriously?” Aric looked around at the crowd in the market. “Like this? In public?”

  She laid her right arm on the counter, palm facing upward, a green eye tattooed on it. “Paladins don’t worry about my kind.”

  Aric grabbed her hand and inspected the tattoo. “Ah, I’ve heard of you people. The Cyrinian Order of the Seekers.” He dropped her hand. “Nothing but a bunch of untrained mages.”

  The girl’s smile vanished. “You have the simple mind of a northerner! You speak of what you do not understand!”

  Aric chuckled. “Sure.”

  “Seekers have immense power,” the girl said, fuming. “We can see the past, the present, and the future.” When Aric kept chuckling, she added, “I can tell you about your family.”

  Aric’s drink froze halfway to his open mouth. “What did you just say?”

  The girl’s grin reemerged, t
riumphant. “Your mother is in the east,” she said.

  Aric downed the rest of his drink and smacked the glass so hard on the counter it made the barkeep jump. “This conversation is over,” he said lowly, stepping away from the stall.

  “She’s being held against her will,” the girl pressed.

  Like lightening, Aric drew one of the myriad of knives from his vest, the blade singing. “Open your mouth again.”

  The Seeker straightened up in a jolt, her instincts of self-preservation obviously fighting her bruised dignity. She swallowed. “All I want is a tiny flask of dragon blood.” The words came out softly, almost like a whisper. “In return, I can answer all your questions.”

  Slowly, Aric returned the knife to its sheath. “I don’t have any questions.” He walked away, noticing nearly the whole market was staring at him. No one was ever too distracted when a dragon hunter was in their midst, especially when they decided to draw one of their weapons.

  Aric left the market, people willingly stepping back to clear a path. Leth was standing at the end of the aisle, a hand resting on the pommel of a sword.

  “What was that?”

  “Just a hack,” Aric replied. “Trying to score some dragon blood.”

  “Ah. Careful. Paladins are getting smarter these days.” The two of them set off, headed for the town’s exit. “Everard of the fourteenth got collared a couple of months back. Ratted out by some girl he met in a pleasure house.”

  “I heard. You got the supplies?”

  “Yeah.” Leth handed Aric a pouch. “At a considerable discount.”

  Aric felt the weight of the remaining coins. “Brilliant.”

  “I am. It’s a well-known fact.”

  They jumped over a gully, leaving the last cluster of houses behind. Their camp stood just outside of town, snugged in the recess of a rocky hill. Tharius stood watch at the entrance, a whetstone whistling as he sharpened his sword. Next to him, tied at the top of a three-foot lance, waved their banner. A broken silver crown in a field of red with the number twenty-three and the words The Half-Princes.

  “Captain, Lieutenant,” Tharius greeted.

  Aric and Leth offered him a nod and ambled into camp, the familiar sounds of the company welcoming them. Irenya and Lyra giggled happily as they prepared a fire for the evening meal. Orisius and Dothea practiced with the bow, throwing challenges at each other. Athan lead a small prayer, joined by Trissa, Jullion, and Nahir. The rest of the Company was practicing the sword, dueling in pairs.