The Shadow Of Fallen Gods

by V. R. Cardoso

His first instinct was to rush for the knife that he’d dropped in the fall. He picked it up and only then did he look at his horse. The long pole of a spear was sticking out from one of its hind legs, and the poor animal was squirming in pain, panicked. Aric knelt next to beast’s neck and took it from its misery with a clean cut.

  As the horse took its dying breath, five paladins caught up with them, surrounding Aric. He met them with his blade.

  “Give up, hunter,” a paladin said. When Aric kept his guarded stance, he thrust his spear forward.

  Aric dodged the attack, grabbed the spear, and pulled the man from his saddle. Using his own momentum, Aric swung, hitting the chest of a paladin standing behind him with the pole of the spear and knocking him to the ground. He finished the spin with a kick to the first Paladin’s head.

  “I can keep this up all night!” he roared, but even he noticed how heavily he was panting. A thick sweat was breaking out over his brow, and his whole body ached from the beating he had taken, as well as the fall from the horse.

  More paladins kept pouring into the circle around him, most on foot, but some on horseback. Aric spun, knife in one hand, spear in the other.

  So, he thought, this is how it feels to be the dragon…

  “You’re gonna pay for this,” Volfin growled, a hand rubbing at the back of his head.

  “I knew I should’ve killed you,” Aric snarled back at him.

  “Yeah, you should have.” Volfin let go of the back of his head and calmly drew a sword. “Alright, boys. We need to deliver him alive, but severely wounded is just fine.”

  He attacked.

  Aric parried, then shoved Volfin back with a high kick to the chest. He caught movement in the corner of his eye and spun, the pole of his spear catching the blade of a sword aimed at his head. The paladin brought his sword back for another strike, but when his blade came down, instead of parrying, Aric shifted back, allowing the sword to cut through the air. Seeing his attacker gone completely off-balance, Aric tripped him, sending him face first to the ground.

  The movement sent Aric into a spin, and he saw two more swords coming for him, one on each of his sides. He focused on the one on the left, knowing he couldn’t blindly parry the other one as well, even if he did have two weapons. Gritting his teeth, Aric waited for the other blade to strike him. Instead, a shadow flew by him and screams erupted from the mob of paladins.

  Aric turned. A paladin was on the ground, a giant cat gnawing at his arm.

  Geric!

  “Kill that thing!” Volfin barked.

  “No! No, I surrender!”

  The blade of a sword glinted as it came downward at Geric’s neck, a jet of black sprayed across the ground, and Aric howled in anguish.

  Something hard struck the back of Aric’s head, then his gut, and then his cheek. The world began to spin, everything merging into a dark, grey mess until he blacked out.

  * * *

  A punch woke him up, but it took Aric a while to get his bearings. Night had fallen, and he was on his knees, his hands tied to his ankles behind him. In front of him, a fire crackled. Across from it, Geric’s lifeless body hung from an improvised gallows, the lynx’s fur covered in dark, dried blood.

  “You up, hunter?” Volfin asked, a mocking grin twisting up the corner of his lips. His knuckles were bloody.

  “I’m gonna kill you all,” Aric croaked. His lips felt swollen, his voice rasping out of him. He tried to swallow and tasted the iron tang of blood.

  “You hear that, boys?” Volfin asked the crowd around him. “Should we start running?”

  The circle of paladins laughed and Volfin returned his attention to Aric, taking a bite from an apple.

  “You hungry?” He threw a punch at Aric’s jaw. “Thirsty?” Another punch.

  Feeling blood pooling in his mouth, Aric spat, slowly and deliberately, between Volfin’s feet. “My spit’s too good for you,” he said. “I could have killed you already. And a few of your boys if I wanted. That’s exactly what I’ll do next time.”

  “There won’t be a next time,” Volfin sneered, taking another bite from his apple, juice dripping down his chin. “I’m going to teach you a lesson.” He motioned for one of his men to come closer. “You see, I have orders to deliver you to the Citadel alive, but…” the man he’d summoned brandished an axe, “I’m pretty sure the emperor won’t mind if a piece of you is missing.”

  A third paladin cut the ropes binding Aric’s hands and planted his right hand on the cold, flat surface of a rock right next to him.

  Realizing what Volfin meant, Aric’s eyes widened, his heart hammering in his chest. All his muscles cried out for him to kick and shove, scream and curse. It took everything he had to keep himself still. Only his nostrils betrayed him, flaring as he began to breathe heavier and heavier, his teeth clenched. He saw the orange hue of the fire reflected on the axe’s blade as the paladin brought it over his head, ready to strike.

  Something whistled by, quick as the blink of an eye. The axe went still, as if the man holding it had been turned into stone. It took Aric a moment to process, but then he noticed it. An arrow had pierced the axe man’s throat, its ends sticking out on either side.

  A laugh broke out uncontrollably from Aric’s throat. Lots of creatures hunted in the Mahar, but only one used Glowstone-tipped arrows.

  Volfin had been right all along. Aric would never get the chance to kill them. They wouldn’t last long enough.

  It was as brutal as it was fast. The hunters came as shadows, handing out death as if they were spirits from the underworld. The paladins barely put up a fight. By the time it was over, Aric’s laughter had died, replaced by a hole in his chest.

  Cringing, Aric stood up, picking up a sword from a paladin’s dead fingers. He cut Geric down and kneeled, cradling his body.

  Leth stepped beside Aric, blood dripping from his sword. “What happened?”

  Gently, Aric laid his cat on the ground. “I tried to escape. Geric tried to help.”

  Leth sighed. “You couldn’t have waited one night?”

  “I didn’t think you’d come.” Aric stood. The tears took him by surprise, coming out of nowhere. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

  “Oh, you bloody idiot,” Leth sighed, dropping his sword and taking Aric in his arms. “What the heck else were we going to do?”

  Aric sobbed until he was out of breath. No one else said a word. When he finally managed to calm himself, and there was no other sound besides the crackling flames of the camp’s fire, Aric wiped the tears from his cheeks and sent Geric a blank stare.

  Nahir knelt next to the lynx. “I’ll take care of him,” he offered. Aric nodded and Nahir got back up with Geric in his arms. “Athan, if you don’t mind.”

  “You guys should head back,” Aric said. “Before they notice you’re gone.”

  “We’re not going back, silly,” Trissa replied.

  “What?”

  “We can’t go back,” Leth explained. “We’re your Company. Obviously, we’ll be the ones blamed for your escape.”

  Aric scanned the group, his mouth gaping. “You knew this and you came anyway?”

  “Of course!” Clea said. She sounded almost offended.

  Aric looked at Tharius. “What were you thinking? Hunting dragons was your dream!”

  Tharius shrugged. “Couldn’t let them take you, Cap.”

  “What about you?” Aric asked, indicating Ashur. “You hate my guts.”

  “Hate is a really strong word,” Ashur replied. He bent and picked up an apple from the ground. Volfin’s body was laying nearby. “To be honest, leaving this stinking desert isn’t exactly a sacrifice for me. Besides, now you owe me.” He brushed the sand from the apple’s skin and took a bite. “Big time.”

  Aric could hardly believe it. Did they truly understand what they had just sacrificed for him?

  “Every paladin in the empire will be looking for me,” Aric added. “And now for you as well. Tarsus will mobilize the Legio
ns if he has to. Where will we even go?”

  “Well, Grand-Master Sylene had an idea,” Clea said. She took a rolled parchment from her shirt and handed it to Aric.

  “What’s this?” Aric asked, taking the parchment. The seal held the Guild’s insignia.

  “A letter. To your brother. Regretfully informing him that the Guild will no longer be able to continue supplying the Rebellion with Runium.”

  Aric blinked. “I don’t understand. We’re supposed to deliver this?”

  “Well she couldn’t exactly use the imperial courier service, could she?” Clea asked. “Of course we’re supposed to deliver it!”

  “How?” Aric demanded, dumbfounded. “It’s the Rebellion. They don’t have a sign nailed over their door.”

  “Oh, that’s the easy part,” Leth cut in. “We go to Radir and talk to Sylene’s contact in the Rebellion. She told us how to find him.”

  Aric looked around, at his Company. They all looked as relaxed as if they’d just finished a patrol. He felt a gentle hand on his back and glanced over his shoulder.

  “Captain,” Nahir said. “The pyre is ready.”

  Aric nodded, then glanced around at the group. “You’re all insane,” he said. “Now come on. We just lost a hunter. Let’s send Geric across the veil.”

  “Fire take him!” his hunters replied in unison.

  6

  The Prince of Caves

  Apprehending Turmond had been easy. The boy had been working on one of his projects in the artifacts department when Phaedra arrived flanked by two soldiers. The panicked look on the boy’s face had sealed away any remaining doubts that he was, in fact, a mole. There had been no struggle, not even a single complaint. Turmond simply cried his way to the dungeons.

  The echo of Turmond’s sniffs and whimpers came through the cell door’s iron grate. There were no other prisoners along this particular corridor of the dungeon, which meant Persea had something special planned for the poor kid. As much as Phaedra despised traitors, this knowledge still unsettled her quite significantly.

  “That’s him?” the Prince asked, peeking through the narrow window of the cell door. Fadan seemed to have recovered significantly from his injuries. Either that or some healer’s enchantments were allowing him to walk with the aid of a cane.

  “That’s the traitor,” Persea affirmed, her calm hands crossed at her waist. “His name is Turmond. He went to the magic school of Fausta and disappeared after the Purge, as many other survivors did. We… found him about six months ago. Shortly after your arrival here. Obviously, no coincidence.”

  “He’s just a kid,” Fadan commented.

  “He’s fourteen,” the Arch-Mage rectified. “Old enough to fight in your armies.”

  What armies? Phaedra thought, choosing to keep the comment to herself.

  The Prince turned to the Arch-Mage. “Has he said anything of value?”

  “He’s been uncooperative so far,” Persea replied.

  Fadan glanced back into the cell, then shook his head. “Has he at least explained why he wanted me dead?”

  “Says he doesn’t, actually.” It was Phaedra who replied this time. She stood a couple of paces behind the Prince and her mistress, but still had a good enough view to Turmond’s dangling body within the cell. “In fact, he claims he had no idea there would be an assassination attempt.”

  “Do you believe him?” Fadan asked.

  Phaedra shrugged.

  “That’s irrelevant,” Persea chimed in, taking a step towards the cell door and sending a look of contempt towards the prisoner inside. “Besides, we will soon find out the truth.”

  Fadan looked at the Arch-Mage. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means we have our ways of getting the information we need.”

  Fadan straightened up as if he no longer needed the support of his cane. “Arch-Mage, I might not be able to read minds—yet—but I know how it works. I know accessing thoughts not volunteered has a price, and that the damage inflicted can be permanent.”

  “The traitor has been given a choice,” Persea retorted, her voice rising. “We need to find out who is behind this assassination attempt. Preferably before they make another attempt and succeed.”

  “I don’t care if he knows the way to the embrace of the Goddess herself,” Fadan argued. “You are not torturing a child!”

  Phaedra’s eyebrows jumped, and she hoped to all that was good that she had not just gasped out loud. Before her, Persea seemed to grow taller. This was not a woman used to hearing the word “no”. In fact, Phaedra was quite certain it was the first time she had ever witnessed something of the sort.

  “He is no child,” Persea said calmly. Too calmly. “Besides, he is an apprentice of the Academy. You have no authority—”

  The Prince cut her off. “I have all the authority. I might have a single loyal vassal in all the empire, but Duke Nyssander owns the city above us and these tunnels beneath it, so these are my tunnels, my dungeon,” he aimed a finger at Turmond, “and my prisoner. You will not lay a finger on him. Understood?”

  This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Phaedra thought, fighting with every fiber of her being to keep herself from smiling or even giggling out loud.

  For a moment, time stood still as Prince and Arch-Mage faced each other, a storm brewing between them. In the end, the Prince gave Persea the courtesy of not forcing her to acknowledge his order out loud and turned around to leave. The clacking of Fadan’s cane on the stone slabs of the dungeon floor faded slowly as he disappeared into the adjacent corridor, leaving Phaedra alone with her fuming mistress.

  “Should I… follow him?” Phaedra asked after a moment. “You know, as his bodyguard?”

  The Arch-Mage took off in a quick stride, calling over her shoulder, “Just make the kid talk… somehow.”

  * * *

  The cell door closed with a shriek of hinges badly in need of lubricant. Over her shoulder, Phaedra noticed Turmond shuddering at the sound. Slowly, she turned around to face him.

  The boy stood in the middle of the cell, arms suspended above his head, tied to the ceiling with invisible, magical ropes. His head dangled, chin against his chest, streaks of dark, sweaty hair obscuring his features. The only source of light was that of the torch outside, filtering in through the metal grate of the cell door.

  “How much of that did you hear?” Phaedra asked.

  Turmond raised his head slightly but did not answer.

  “Enough, I’m sure.” Phaedra stepped forward, the sound echoing in the darkness. “You know, I have no idea what I would’ve done in his position. Sure, torture is distasteful, but…” she shrugged, “you did try to have him killed.”

  “I didn’t!” Turmond replied, head jolting up. “I just recharged the spy’s hypervisor. I didn’t listen to their communications.”

  “Alright, I believe you.” Phaedra began circling the boy. There were tears on his light blue, apprentice robes. Clearly, one of the guards had gotten needlessly rough with him. “You didn’t know they wanted to murder the Prince before. You know now, and yet you still choose to protect them, whoever they are.”

  “You don’t understand,” Turmond said, his voice trembling. He tried but failed to follow Phaedra with his eyes as she moved behind him. “I owe them everything. They saved my life during the Purge, took me in.”

  “So you keep saying. I wonder who you’re really trying to convince—me or yourself?”

  Turmond frowned, confused.

  “Tell me, Turmond, didn’t the Prince just save your life, too?” Phaedra stopped in front of the boy. “In fact, he did more than that, didn’t he? He just sacrificed himself so you weren’t tortured. Goddess knows Persea would’ve done it, and I sure as all that’s sacred couldn’t have stopped her, even if I wanted. But the Prince just did, even though every moment we spend without knowing who these traitors are is a risk to his life. He can barely even walk without the help of the most powerful healing spells I’ve e
ver witnessed, and there he is, worrying about you, someone he’s never met. Someone who contributed to an attempt on his life. Let me ask you something—what kind of people would try to murder someone like him?”

  Turmond’s unsettled eyes looked away from Phaedra and she saw him try to swallow.

  “I… They…” the boy stammered. “They’re good people.”

  “Really?” Phaedra feigned surprise. “We must have different definitions of good. Did you know Prince Fadan faced an entire cadre of Paladins, all on his own, to save about a hundred rebels sentenced to death? Most of them mages, like you and me. Sailed into the broken sea like a mad man, boarded the ship they were being transported on, and brought them all safely here. Ask anyone.”

  A tear ran down Turmond’s left cheek. “Oh, goddess…”

  “You can’t keep claiming ignorance, Turmond. Not anymore. Now you know all of it, so you will share the blame. What will it be, Turmond? Do you want to be responsible for saving the Prince’s life? Or do you want to be responsible for his death?”

  “I… I don’t…”

  “Choose, Turmond!”

  The boy choked on a sob and closed his eyes, a few more tears squeezing down his cheeks. “It’s Lady Margeth Abyssaria, Arch-Duchess of Pharyzah.”

  A chill ran down Phaedra’s spine. She felt herself straighten up, but she was unsure what had shocked her more: the revelation, or the fact her interrogation had worked. After all, it was the first time she’d attempted such a friendly approach. Her usual captives tended to be more of the evil Archon variety.

  “Thank you, Turmond,” she said. Then, as if remembering something, she snapped her fingers. The invisible magical ropes tying Turmond to the ceiling vanished, the boy sagging to the floor.

  “I will… speak to the Prince,” Phaedra added. “I’m sure I can convince him to pardon you.”

  She wasn’t sure. Not even a little. It just seemed the right thing to say at the moment.

  Fearing she might say something else she could regret, Phaedra turned and stepped towards the cell door.