The Shadow Of Fallen Gods

by V. R. Cardoso

  Carefully, Eliran stepped forward, as if afraid to set off some trap.

  “These men…” Darpallion whispered, voice shaking, eyes locked on one of the bodies. “They… they’re…”

  Eliran put the words together for him. “They’ve been drained of all their blood.” She knelt and picked up the parchment from the safe, the message upon it written in blood:

  DEATH WAITS FOR NO ONE, LITTLE MAGE.

  COME AND DANCE.

  14

  The Shattering Empire

  “You must be feeling quite happy with yourself.” Varinian sat on the wet floor of his cell, his features barely lit by the dancing flames of the torch in Fadan’s hand.

  “I’m not feeling bad.” The Prince looked around. He had ordered that his cousin be placed in an empty block, to save him from the humiliation of being paraded in front of common thieves and murderers. Probably for this reason, the cell block corridor had no other source of light besides the torch in his hand. Dripping water echoed somewhere beyond the darkness, and there was the sharp tang of urine in the air. “You know, I’ve been stuck in caves just like this place for months, playing politics, trying to rally support from bickering nobles, and achieved exactly nothing. It appears I should’ve come here right away.”

  “Enjoy your victory, cousin. It won’t last.”

  “We’ll see.” Fadan placed the torch in an iron sconce next to the cell door. “I’ve secured your treasury. There’s enough there to raise a handful of Legions. I’ve also initiated a recruitment drive. People are literally lining outside my door.”

  “I thought you were supposed to be the man of the people. Instead, you’re spending all your gold on soldiers… just like your father.”

  Fadan shrugged. “I’m under no illusions. There will be plenty of pain and death before all of this is over. But you’ll find that people are always willing to sacrifice, as long as it serves a worthy purpose.”

  “And you’re the one deciding what’s worthy, right?” Varinian chuckled.

  Fadan smiled. “You remember what happened in the plaza very differently from me. Anyway, I just came to check if you were being well treated. I’ll leave you the torch and I’ll make sure the food is acceptable.” He turned on his heel and stepped away.

  “As I said, enjoy it while you can.” Varinian jumped to his feet, grabbed the bars of his cell, and yelled at Fadan’s back. “You may think the entire city is on your side, but there are those who remain loyal, and you’ll never know who they are or what they are doing to undermine you.”

  Fadan halted and looked over his shoulder.

  Varinian smiled. “By now, they’ll have informed your father. You think Vardrada’s two Legions can save you? The emperor will send a dozen of them, and they’ll be knocking on your door within the month.” His smile vanished, the corners of his mouth twisting with disgust. “Good luck raising your new army before that.”

  * * *

  The ropes came off Doric’s wrists with a quick, expert cut from Debra’s knife. “Thanks, Deb,” he said, getting back on his feet.

  Debra ignored him and grabbed Hagon’s ropes.

  “Can I call you Deb?” Doric asked. “I just feel like we’ve been through a lot, you and I.”

  “Your friend really doesn’t know when to shut up, does he?” she asked Hagon as she cut his ropes.

  “That punch you gave him seemed to work quite well, actually,” he told her.

  Andon signalled his people by circling a finger in the air. “Let’s move out,” he ordered, then turned to Doric and Hagon. “You two are welcome to follow us into the city. But, as I said, there’s no one there to help you.”

  “That’s not entirely accurate,” Doric replied. “I mean, there’s you.”

  “We have our own mission,” Debra told him, sheathing her knife and moving to Andon’s side.

  “We do,” Andon agreed. “The few rebels who weren’t killed in the raid will be hung by the neck tomorrow. We need to break them out of jail, and we don’t have much time.”

  “You’re attempting a jailbreak with the city on lockdown?” Doric asked. “That’s suicide.”

  “You think sailing a ship through the Rivergate is going to be any easier?”

  Doric and Hagon exchanged a look. The man had a point.

  “Should we turn back?” Doric asked Hagon. “There’s always the land route.”

  Hagon exhaled loudly, turning his attention back to Andon. “There has to be something you can help us with.”

  “We told you. There is no time,” Debra said. “Unless…” She glanced at Andon. “You help us first.”

  Andon shrugged. “We could always use a couple more men.”

  “Nuh-huh.” Doric wagged a finger. “It’s too risky! If we’re caught—and let’s face it, the odds are pretty good we would be—there’ll be no one to rescue Cassia. Not gonna happen.”

  “Rescue who?” Andon asked.

  “My wife. Former wife, actually.”

  “Also, the empress,” Hagon added.

  Debra’s eyebrows climbed up her forehead. “Excuse me?”

  “Wait a moment.” Andon took a step forward. “You’re Doric Auron. The Doric Auron.”

  Doric exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Hagon. “I… didn’t realize I was famous. But yes, I am.”

  “But you said your mission was in Pharyzah,” Andon said, looking confused.

  “Where the empress is being held hostage,” Hagon explained.

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Debra said. “Arch-Duchess Margeth is a member of the Rebellion.”

  “Margeth is a traitor!” Hagon snapped. “She tried to have the prince assassinated and now she intends to use the empress as leverage, somehow.”

  “No…” Debra shook her head. “Margeth has been with us for over a decade.”

  “Which is probably why she believes she owns the Rebellion or something, I don’t know,” Doric said. “The fact is, she has my wife captive, and I’m going to get her.”

  Andon and Debra looked at each other.

  “You believe them?” Debra asked.

  “I don’t know…” Andon looked too taken aback for someone not taking the idea seriously. “So, what, she’s in league with the emperor?”

  There was a moment of silence as they mulled the notion over.

  “Goddess… if that’s true…” Debra mumbled.

  “It would explain how she was the only one to magically survive the raid in Augusta last year.”

  “Not to mention what’s going on in Capra right now,” Debra added. “Merciful mother, how did we not see this? Who else knew about Drusus’ warehouse?”

  “Fire take her!” Andon exploded. “I’m gonna kill her. I’m gonna kill her with my bare hands.”

  “Sounds great to me,” Doric said.

  Andon chewed on his lower lip, anger twisting his features. “Alright, we’re going with you.”

  “Fantastic!” Hagon said.

  “What about our people in the dungeon?” Debra asked.

  “Just the two of us.” Andon inclined his head towards the rest of his crew. “The boys can take care of the rescue.”

  “Okay…” Debra didn’t sound so sure about that. “I guess I can take us to Drusus’ ship. But how are breaking through the Rivergate?”

  Andon spun, striding away. “I’ll think of something.”

  * * *

  The Imperial Governor’s palace of Aparanta was a sumptuous affair. Built for the younger brothers and sisters of emperors throughout the generations as a kind of consolation prize, it was as large and luxurious as the Core Palace of the Citadel itself. Unlike its Augustan counterpart, however, it wasn’t surrounded by a city of empty palaces. Instead, the city proper sprawled in every direction, visible through the tall, wide openings that led to the balconies circling the building. Flowing white curtains danced like flags on almost every wall of the palace, and its marble floor gleamed with the sunlight pouring in from outside. Every room was s
o bright and airy, Fadan thought this should be what it felt like to live among the clouds.

  “In short,” Vardrada concluded, “we’d need at least three more months than what we have.”

  Fadan had gathered his new War Council at the Imperial Governor’s office – his cousin’s office. The General and her officers sat on one side of a long table, facing a handful of bureaucrats the Prince had plucked from Varinian’s administration to help with the transition.

  “But for how long can we hold the Castran Gate?” Flanked by Phaedra and Sabium, the Prince sat at the head of the table in a sculpted chair with a back so tall it resembled a wooden throne.

  “Assuming Intila brings ten Legions? Our two could last…” Vardrada shrugged. “A month. Two if we’re lucky.”

  “I don’t understand,” Fadan said. “Doesn’t the Gate nullify their numerical advantage?”

  “Theoretically, yes. But in practice, things are much different. Larger numbers will allow the High-Marshal to mount a continuous assault. Persistent fighting will gradually decrease our combat effectiveness. Even without casualties, the number of our fighting personnel will slowly dwindle due to fatigue, injuries, and gear damage. Then there’s the logistical issues. Can we maintain a steady supply of food? Will we run out of arrows? Or raw iron for repairs?”

  “Or ale,” one of Vardrada’s officers added.

  The General nodded, then gave the Prince a professorial look. “The ale is important for morale.”

  “Yes, yes, General, I get it.”

  “You’re not without reinforcements, Vardrada,” Arch-Mage Persea said. She was floating inside the mirror-like surface of a tall hypervisor at the other end of the table and had been listening skeptically so far. “Duke Nyssander is rallying his troops as we speak.”

  “What about the rest of the Rebellion?” the General asked. “All the other landed Lords and Ladies? Are they mobilizing their forces as well?”

  Fadan and Persea exchanged a glance.

  “I’m doing the best I can,” the Arch-Mage replied. “The politics of the Rebellion are… complicated.”

  “But…” one of the bureaucrats mumbled. “I thought that the Prince… That we were with the Rebellion now.”

  “The situation is complex,” Fadan explained. “Besides, Duke Nyssander is the only noble with the Rebellion on the right side of the Castran Gate. Even if the others eventually decide to join the fight, they can’t send their troops to us.”

  “But they could create other frontlines,” one of Vardrada’s officers noted. “Force the emperor to split his forces.”

  “My father has plenty of troops in reserve. I doubt his attack on the Castran Gate would be affected.”

  “What about Intila?” Persea asked. “Are we sure he can’t be persuaded to our side? Most of the Legions would follow him if he did.”

  “They would,” Vardrada replied, “but the High Marshall has a very strict interpretation of his duties. He will not change his allegiance.”

  “You did,” Persea said matter-of-factly.

  Vardrada stiffened. “Yes, I did. And I’m not cowering in some cave in Thepia. You do not get to question—”

  “Peace, General,” the Arch-Mage interrupted, raising a hand. “It wasn’t a provocation. I was merely trying to understand what makes Intila so different. As for my cowardice, let’s just say we have our own, very strict, interpretation of our duties. Mages do not fight the wars of kings. We’ll help the cause as much as we can, but we will not join you at the battlefront.”

  “That’s all very good,” Vardrada said, shifting anxiously in her seat. “But if we’re defeated and the Castran Gate falls, the Emperor will march on Ragara. Will you still not fight the wars of kings then?”

  “Let us hope it won’t come to that,” Persea said after an overlong pause.

  Fadan glanced from the Arch-Mage to the General, wondering why he seemed to only surround himself with exceedingly stubborn advisors. “Well,” he finally said, “I obviously agree with the General, but I know better than to argue with you, Arch-Mage. Whatever help the Academy can provide will be greatly appreciated, and let’s leave it at that.

  “Now, let’s focus on what can be done. Lord Doric Auron seemed convinced my mother would be able to persuade High-Marshal Intila to our cause. Considering Doric and Intila grew up in the same house, I would say he’s in a good position to judge. Now, General, you say you can give us two months…”

  “If we’re lucky,” Vardrada interjected.

  “If we’re lucky,” Fadan conceded. “Hopefully, it’ll be long enough. We will move what troops we have to the Castran Gate and begin training of new forces immediately. All we have to do is hold out long enough for my mother to join us.”

  One of the bureaucrats raised his arm timidly, asking permission to speak. “Forgive me, but does that mean the Prince knows the whereabouts of the Empress?”

  “There are, um… search and rescue operations being carried out in the locations where the Empress is most likely to be, according to our intelligence,” Fadan replied tactfully. “On that front, I have the Rebellion’s complete cooperation, isn’t that right, Arch-Mage?”

  Persea nodded solemnly. “That is correct, Your Majesty.”

  “Excellent!” Fadan stood. “That will be all, then. And don’t worry. I’m sure my mother’s rescue party has everything under control.”

  * * *

  The Legionary straightened up and reached for his sword the moment he saw Doric.

  “Excuse me, is this the way to the library?” Doric asked.

  The blade of the soldier’s sword sang as he unsheathed it. “What are you doing outside at this hour, citizen?”

  “I seem to be a little lost,” Doric replied. He spun, looking around as if he’d dropped a Silver Mark somewhere. “I mean, I could swear the library was this way…” The sheer lunacy of what he’d just said dawned on him as he remembered this was the river docks (not to mention how late it was), but Doric was making it up as he went.

  “The library? The city is under martial law, citizen! Breaking curfew is punishable by death!”

  “Yes, of course, but if you could just point me in the direction of the library, I would be much obliged.”

  The soldier grabbed Doric by the collar of his shirt and aimed the sword at his neck. Doric’s legs turned to mush, and he heard himself blabber something incoherent. He was used to improvising. In fact, playing by ear was kind of his specialty. As it turned out, this was much easier to do on a mandolin than on, well, a Legionary.

  A shadow moved behind the soldier and there was a metallic pang, followed by the soldier’s body sagging to the ground.

  “What took you so long?” Doric protested.

  Debra sniggered. “To be honest, I was just enjoying watching you flounder. Quick, help me hide him.”

  The two dragged the Legionary behind a line of barrels, covering him with a bundle of fishing nets lying alongside them.

  “Is he dead?” Doric asked.

  “Lower your voice, you idiot!” Debra hissed, finishing tucking the soldier under the nets. “And no. But he will wake up with a nasty headache. Why do you care, anyway? Just another of the emperor’s hounds.”

  Doric looked straight into her eyes. “This man’s not to blame for Tarsus’s crimes.”

  Debra seemed taken aback, almost embarrassed by his response. “He was going to kill you!” she finally shot back.

  “He’s following orders. It wasn’t personal.”

  “Well, neither was this.” Debra brandished the club she had used to knock the Legionary down. “Come on. The others are waiting.”

  They headed toward the waterfront. The river docks of Capra were a series of artificial canals feeding the mouth of the Saffya, which in turn led to the ocean docks on the western end of the city. All kinds of riverboats stood lined across the waterfront, tied either to narrow wooden piers or simple poles sticking out from the water.

  “Okay, there it is,”
Debra said, kneeling next to a crate that smelled of smoked meat. She aimed a finger at a small river barge just in front of them.

  “That’s Drusus’ ship? I was expecting something… I don’t know, better.”

  “It’ll take us to Pharyzah. Now, follow me, and do as I say.”

  Debra slipped out from their hiding place and Doric followed, racing to the river barge. There were two ropes tying the barge to the shore, and each took care of one them, tossing them onboard as the knots came loose. The barge swayed when they jumped inside, and Debra grabbed hold of a large oar at the back of the ship.

  “Alright, now hide under that tarp.”

  Doric complied and felt the ship being propelled into motion. Moments later, Debra joined him beneath the canvas.

  “Wait a moment,” Doric whispered, frowning. “Who’s going to steer the ship?”

  Debra gasped overdramatically. “Oh no! I didn’t think about that. What are we going to do?”

  Doric gave her a bored look. “You know, if I was teaching you to play the harp, I wouldn’t be making fun of you for asking questions.”

  “If I ever try to learn the harp, I most definitely deserve to be made fun of.” She shifted, trying to find a comfortable position over the wooden boards of the barge’s hull. “We got lucky. The tide is lowering, which means the current will take us right to the Rivergate. If any guard spots us, they’ll just assume a ship got loose and went adrift.”

  “Ah, interesting. And when we reach the gate? What then?”

  “Then, Hagon and Andon jump aboard, and we sail right through the gate. Assuming they did their part of the plan, of course.”

  * * *

  “This is not what we planned!” Hagon snapped over his shoulder as he bolted through the street.

  “No plan survives contact with the Legion,” Andon replied. Behind him, a pair of Legionaries lumbered around a corner, chasing them far too quickly considering how much armour they were wearing. “Isn’t that what you Augustans always say?”