The Shadow Of Fallen Gods

by V. R. Cardoso

  The steps resumed and Aric looked up just as Sylene came into view on the other side of the bars. She inspected the cell with a disapproving look, as if it didn’t belong in her mountain. A stream of sunlight filtered through a high grate, framing the Guild’s Grand-Master in gold. Long, dark braids tumbled over her shoulders, partially covering a black cuirass with a scorpion etched into the leather of the chest. Aric noticed she wasn’t armed.

  “I was wondering if you’d come,” Aric said.

  “Have they treated you alright?”

  Aric rubbed his wrists where the tight manacles were threatening to scrub his skin raw. “As you’d expect, I suppose. Where were you? Where was everyone?” He didn’t want it to sound like an accusation, but it did anyway.

  “Confined to quarters. They’ve brought a small army.”

  “I’ve seen it.”

  “That was just a small detachment,” Sylene said. She took a breath. “Control of the Guild has been handed to the Paladins. They are now in charge of Lamash.”

  The notion hit Aric like a slap in the face. He could imagine how it must have felt to Sylene.

  “I see,” Aric muttered. “Is it… temporary?”

  Sylene shifted uncomfortably and her eyes flitted towards the guards at the end of the hall. “Who knows.”

  Aric’s shoulders slumped. “Fire take this… What about me? Why in the mother’s name have I been arrested?”

  “You haven’t been told?”

  Aric shook his head.

  Sylene paused, weighing her words. “You are to be taken north. To the capital.”

  “What!?” The question echoed fivefold, falling over the cell-block like a hammer. “You mean to the Citadel?”

  Sylene held his gaze but did not reply.

  “No!” Aric said, standing up. “I’m not going.”

  “There’s nothing I can do.”

  With a step forward, Aric grabbed the bars and squeezed the cold metal until his knuckles went white. “I’m not going back there,” he said, ice in his voice.

  Sylene glanced away, toward the paladin guards. “I don’t think you have a choice.”

  “I’m a dragon hunter. I’ll find a way.”

  “Yes, you are,” Sylene said, a reassuring hand wrapping around one of Aric’s. “I’m sorry.”

  She let go and strode off, her shoulders wide and back straight, the echo of her steps lingering when she disappeared from Aric’s view. He almost shouted after her. Instead, he slumped to the stone floor.

  * * *

  Aric wasn’t sure what was worse. The unbearable heat accumulating inside the prison wagon and threatening to cook him alive, the ceaseless climbing up and down the dunes turning his stomach inside out, or the fact that the whole thing felt so familiar. He could still remember the sense of inevitable doom, of being led to his death, locked alive inside his own coffin. For all he knew, even the prison wagon was the same. The difference was at least the last time he had been getting away from Tarsus, not being dragged back into his clutches.

  No, that wasn’t true. There was another big difference. The last time, he had been just a frightened child. Now, he was a dragon hunter.

  It hadn’t been that long ago, a little over a year and a half now, but so much had changed that the Aric from that memory almost felt like a stranger. If the emperor, or these paladins, thought they could ferry Aric across the whole empire this easily, they were sorely mistaken.

  He stood up, the wagon swaying and sending him scrambling for balance. His hands found the bars of the only window in the compartment, a rectangle barely larger than his head. Aric sucked in the air from outside, not that there was any respite to be found. They were still well within the desert, and the wind blowing outside was hot enough to bake bread.

  “Hey,” one of the Paladins of the escort called. He was talking to one of his comrades. “Have you noticed that thing up there?”

  Aric followed his gaze to the top of a dune not far from them. The shape of a large feline glided across the crest of sand like an acrobat strolling over a high-wire.

  “It’s been following us for hours,” the paladin continued. “Ever since we left the mountain.”

  “And?” the other paladin asked without sparing his friend a glance.

  “Well, what if it’s hungry?”

  Aric inspected the pair atop their horses. The one that had spoken first had a glistening red nose that looked about to explode, while the other was practically drowning in the sweat streaming from beneath his helmet. They were the only members of his escort visible from his window at the back of the prison wagon, but Aric could hear the horse hooves of several other paladins either flanking him or riding ahead.

  “That’s no dune lion, you idiot,” the sweaty one said. “It’s too small. Probably just a lynx or something. They don’t attack people.”

  “They attack horses, though,” Aric said with a grin.

  The pair of paladins looked his way but said nothing.

  “You’ll have to stop for the night sooner or later,” Aric continued. “And then one of you will have to walk the rest of the way to Augusta.”

  “Or maybe we make a nice lynx roast,” the red-nosed paladin retorted. “What do you say, Orun? Fancy some hunting?”

  “Would beat the dried stuff we brought,” Orun replied.

  Aric snorted. “I’d love to see you try.”

  “You don’t think we can catch a miserable cat?”

  “I don’t think you could catch sunstroke in this desert,” Aric replied. “On the other hand, that lynx was born in the Mahar. Has been hunting in it all its life. If it’s survived this long without being caught by a dragon, I’m pretty sure he can handle a couple of idiots like you.”

  The sweaty paladin was about to retort but never got the chance.

  “That’s enough,” a third voice said. Aric watched him ride into view, an ugly man almost as wide as his horse. He’d heard the other paladins referring to him as either Volfin or Sergeant, and judging by the way he’d been barking orders left and right since they’d left Lamash, he was obviously leading the escort. “You should sit down,” he told Aric. His voice was rough, like a broken musical instrument that could somehow still produce sound, albeit not a pretty one. “This wagon sways an awful lot. You might get hurt.”

  He drew a knife from his belt and struck out at Aric with the pommel. Aric fell on his back, hitting the floorboards hard. His hand went to his nose, fingers coming back bloody. It hurt so much his vision went blurry. He wanted to scream at the top his lungs, curse them all to the deepest abyss of the underworld, but managed to swallow it back. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

  Slowly, he scooted backwards until he could lean against the wall. With careful fingers, he prodded his nose, a sickening taste of iron in the back of his throat. It was broken, alright.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d broken it, and he doubted it’d be the last. A loose rock on a climb, halfway up to a dragon’s lair had sent him tumbling down nearly fifteen feet, earning him a broken nose, a twisted wrist, and a sore ego. He had still charged the dragon later that evening.

  The second time had been worse. A dragon’s tail, whipping out of nowhere, had struck him across the chest. He had woken up with a start later, a bloodied Leth slapping him. Aric had jumped to clutch Leth’s throat and squeezed it for at least a couple breaths until he finally recognized his second in command, as well as the dragon’s corpse laying behind him.

  The memory made Aric chuckle and he seized the moment to reset the fracture. This time, he did scream, tears flooding his eyes, but at least his nose was back in place. He lay still for a few moments, allowing the pain to fade away with each slow breath.

  Whether it was the blood dripping from his chin or the thumping pain on the bridge of his ruined nose, suddenly it all felt more… real. The jittering motion of the wagon, the rough wooden walls carving into his back; it was as if he was looking at the inside of the cell for the first time.<
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  It was really happening. He was headed back to the Citadel.

  Not a chance, Aric thought. He wasn’t going back to that place. There weren’t enough paladins in the world to force him.

  But where would he go?

  Lamash was obviously out of the question, and finding Fadan or his mother would be next to impossible. If they were hiding from the emperor, how could he possibly hope to find them?

  It didn’t matter. He wasn’t a child anymore. He had to look ahead.

  Anywhere but Augusta would do. He would find work, maybe as a soldier in some nobleman’s household guard. It shouldn’t be too hard for someone with his skills. He would make new friends, find a new home, this time somewhere the emperor couldn’t find him.

  I’ll make up a new name. Start all over again.

  Without even noticing it, Aric sent a hand to the Guild mark on his shoulder. The memory of his first journey to Lamash returned, more vivid this time. It hadn’t been the sense of doom that had scared him so much back then. It had been how lonely it felt inside that swinging, wooden cell.

  * * *

  Aric woke when the wagon halted, its motion across the desert having rocked him to sleep. The poor light coming through the window told him the sun was finally setting. The paladins must have found a place to camp.

  A quick inspection out the barred window told him just where he was. The Quazzar Valley, an ancient dragon nesting ground the Guild had cleaned out centuries ago. It had an underground aquifer that could be accessed from a handful of caves, making it a focal point for caravans crossing the Mahar.

  It was also crawling with all sorts of nocturnal predators. If these idiots didn’t know how to take care of their horses, there wouldn’t be a single one left alive by dawn. However, that presented all sorts of possibilities for Aric’s escape. If they didn’t have enough horses to pull the prison wagon, would they attempt to escort him on foot?

  Unlikely. They would probably just hunker down and send a party up ahead for new ones.

  But… that also meant fewer paladins guarding him.

  No. This was just wishful thinking. At least a couple of horses were bound to survive the night, and after such a loss, the paladins would become much more alert.

  For now, they seemed relaxed, confident that their task was an easy one. The time to escape would be now, as night fell. After all, Aric knew this valley well. The paladins didn’t. Losing them in the labyrinth of caves and ridges shouldn’t be too difficult.

  Aric got up and pressed his forehead against the bars on the window. Outside, his guards were setting up camp. He counted twenty of them, all reasonably well armed, but none looked like much. Still, twenty was too many for him to handle on his own.

  “Hey,” Aric called as one of the paladins strolled by. “Hey, listen.”

  It was the one called Orun. Sweat seemed to have finally stopped dripping from his hair. The man stopped and looked at Aric, but his expression soured. “Shut your trap,” he snapped. “Sergeant doesn’t want us talking to you.”

  “I know, but I need to relieve myself.”

  “What?”

  “I need to take a crap,” Aric said, whispering the last word as if embarrassed by it.

  “So? Do it in the corner or something,” Orun suggested. “There’s plenty of room in there.”

  “Are you kidding me? That’s disgusting. I’m not going to cross the whole empire locked in a cell with my own crap.”

  Orun shrugged and walked away. “What do I care?”

  “Hey!” Aric kicked the door so hard Orun jumped. “I’m sure you’re used to sleeping in your own filth, but I’m no animal! Not like you lot.”

  The paladin turned, a cold look in his eyes. “Getting your nose caved in wasn’t enough, huh?” Calmly, he walked to a pile of weapons near a supply wagon and picked up a spear. “I’ll show you who’s the animal, you miserable rat!” He shoved the spear through the prison wagon’s window.

  With a hop, Aric stepped aside, grabbing the spear as it glided into his cell. Realizing he had missed his target, Orun pulled the spear back. When it didn’t budge, he glared, his mistake dawning on him.

  “Thank you,” Aric said with a grin, the spear firmly in hand. He pushed down with all his weight, the pole bending against the windowsill until it snapped with a loud crack, half in Aric’s hand, half in Orun’s.

  “Fire take you, you brainless idiot!” Sergeant Volfin stormed towards the prison wagon and smacked the back of Orun’s head. “Didn’t I tell you to keep away from the prisoner?” Orun was going to justify himself, but Volfin ignored him, facing Aric through the window. “You’re going to get yourself in a heap of trouble, boy.”

  Aric spread his arms in a pacifying way. “All I want is to take a crap behind some rock. No need for trouble.”

  Volfin studied Aric, a frown creasing his forehead. “Alright then,” he said after a while. “Throw that spear through the window and I’ll let you out.”

  Aric chuckled. “You think I’m stupid? No. No, you let me out, and then I’ll hand you the weapon.”

  Volfin thought about it for a moment. “Very well. Step to the back of the cell.”

  Aric obeyed, the spear half firmly in his hand. Volfin made a circling motion with a finger and, behind him, the paladin contingent scrambled. Aric heard more than saw Volfin fiddle with the lock, and after a couple of clicks, the door slid open.

  “Now, very slowly, walk to the door. But don’t step out.”

  Aric ambled forward until only the tips of his toes were outside the prison wagon. Sunlight was all but gone, a thin sliver of orange clinging to the valley’s mountain tops.

  “Throw it down,” Volfin ordered. “On the ground.” He pointed at a spot halfway between himself and Aric.

  Instead of throwing the spear, Aric extended his arm and opened his hand, the broken weapon falling almost directly beneath him.

  Sergeant Volfin didn’t acknowledge his insolence. “Orun, pick that up.”

  The paladin sent his sergeant a nervous glance, but obeyed, scurrying to the spear, his eyes locked on Aric’s mocking grin.

  “There,” Aric said when Orun had snatched the spear half and retreated to a safe distance. “I kept my end of the agreement. Your turn.”

  “Fair enough,” Volfin replied coolly. “You can step out.”

  Aric landed on the rocky ground without a sound. He inspected his captors. All twenty of them had gathered around him in a semi-circle, weapons at the ready.

  “Good to see you’re all on hand,” Aric commented idly. “One would think I have an army in that cell.”

  Volfin stepped up to Aric. “No,” he croaked. “But I have an army out here.”

  The first punch hit Aric in the jaw and nearly sent him spinning. A second punch to the stomach made Aric double over, and a third one hit him in the temple, sending him to his knees.

  Aric spit out blood, blinking to bring the world back into focus. Boy, did Volfin know how to hit. His fists felt like logs.

  Fingers snarled in Aric’s hair and he was jerked upward, Volfin’s blurry face coming into view.

  “You sure know how to take a beating, kid. I’ll give you that. But I’m afraid that means I’ll have to double my efforts.”

  Volfin pulled a leg back and kicked Aric’s stomach so hard all air left his chest. As he tried to breath back in, he threw up, the jet of bile splashing the sergeant’s trousers.

  “Fire take you, you miserable…” Volfin let go of Aric’s hair and turned to his men. “Someone fetch me a canteen and some rags.”

  Aric was still steadying his breathing, his vision a mess from the punches and tears, but in moments like these, a dragon hunter was supposed to function regardless of their injuries.

  Aric got up with a jump, one arm locking around Volfin’s neck, the other snatching the paladin’s knife from his belt and bringing it to his throat. A symphony of blades sang as the paladins unsheathed swords, drew knives, and fetched spears.

>   “Rule number one,” Aric whispered into Volfin’s ears. “If you punch a dragon hunter, don’t turn your back on him.” He skidded sideways until his back was to the side of the prison wagon. “Now, tell your boys to back off.”

  “Back off,” the sergeant muttered.

  Aric pressed the blade harder against Volfin’s neck.

  “Everyone back!” he yelled, lifting his voice. “Back, I said.”

  The paladins obeyed, though not very eagerly.

  “Now, here’s what’s going to happen,” Aric hissed in Volfin’s ear. “I’m taking one of your horses and riding until you can’t possibly follow my tracks. As a gesture of goodwill, I’m not going to kill you, but…” He paused for effect. “Any of you follow me, and this blade will skewer every last one of your men. Nod if you understand.”

  Volfin nodded.

  “Good. Sweet dreams.” Aric brought his arm up and struck the back of Volfin’s head with the pommel of the knife. As the paladin sergeant slumped to the ground, Aric darted to one of the horses, jumped onto its back, and kicked it to a gallop.

  The horse wasn’t saddled, and Aric was forced to wind his fingers into its mane so as not to fall. He glanced back, sure he’d find some pursuers, but he was surprised nonetheless. Volfin was standing back up, yelling orders and mounting a horse. Most men would’ve been knocked out cold by that blow. The bastard sure was tough.

  No matter. He could still outrun them, lose them in the labyrinth of caves and ridges of the valley. A couple of arrows whirred by, their sharp heads skewering the ground not far from him, and Aric kicked the horse’s haunches, urging it to go faster. Instead, it was as if the ground disappeared from beneath him.

  It didn’t, but the horse certainly did.

  Aric hit the ground hard and rolled to minimize the impact, but he still felt the skin from his hands, arms, knees, and forehead being scraped off as he glided across the gravel. When he finally came to a stop, even bending his elbows made his arms burn.