The Shadow Of Fallen Gods

by V. R. Cardoso

  “Or else he wouldn’t be attacking already,” Fadan deduced. “If I take out the catapult, can you defend the wall… conventionally?”

  Vardrada shrugged. “We’ve plugged the holes on the wall and the men are still fresh. I believe so, yes.”

  Phaedra turned to Fadan. “How exactly are you going to take out the catapult from this distance? You can’t even see it.”

  “Which is why I’ll have to get closer.”

  * * *

  Under Emrys’ boots, the wooden floorboards creaked. They seemed to be the last portion of the building left. The roof was nowhere to be seen, and not a single wall was still intact, columns of black smoke billowing everywhere.

  The archon was on the ground, head resting on a pile of bricks. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and his breathing was laboured. He blinked once, slowly, as if he was fighting falling asleep.

  “You might not know it, yet, but you’re dead already,” the archon said, wheezing.

  “I’m just like you, then.” Emrys clasped his hands behind his back, his shadow falling over the archon like a dark cloud.

  The archon smiled, revealing a set of bloody teeth. “Difference is, I embrace this.”

  Emrys rolled his eyes. “Of course you do.” He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up.

  Hagon, Venia, Debra, and Andon were walking into the ruin, gawking at the destruction around them. They looked at Emrys, then the dying man at his feet. The mage stretched an arm, there was a blinding flash, and the archon slumped lifelessly to one side.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Emrys said, as if they were a mild irritation.

  “No!” Debra retorted. “You shouldn’t have left us in that basement.”

  “Most people’s feelings would be quite hurt by what you did to us,” Andon added. “Tying us up like cattle, leaving us to die…”

  “Clearly, I didn’t tie you well enough.” Emrys looked around, confused. “Where’s Doric?”

  “He’s gone on ahead,” Hagon explained.

  “Ahead?”

  Hagon produced a thin glowstone necklace. “With Margeth and Cassia. Got himself captured. He’s our human Tracker-Seeker.”

  “Interesting…”

  Venia stepped close enough to the dead archon to nudge the body with the tip of her boot. “Seems like this one’s not getting back up.” She looked at Emrys. “Can we count on you to help us, now?”

  “And can you promise not to throw us into the depths of some dungeon in the process?” Andon asked.

  “I can promise you I’ll free Doric and Cassia,” Emrys replied coolly. “The details of the process are up to me.”

  * * *

  They had been riding for so long Cassia’s thighs were getting sore. They followed through an imperial road heading west, but no one had bothered to tell her where they were going. Not that Cassia expected that sort of courtesy. In any case, she was far too absorbed by the notion that Doric was riding with her, just a few horses up ahead in the column, to care about anything else. What was he doing there? And how had he found her?

  When the sun finally dipped below the horizon, Margeth ordered the column to stop. They laid camp beyond a hill by the side of the road. She was placed in Samyris’ tent, which was certainly better than with some random guard. Cassia certainly hadn’t expected to be given a tent all to herself.

  In the hurry of their escape, Margeth had had no time to gather travelling supplies, so the camp, much like her tent, was mostly barren. Samyris untied her cape from her shoulders and laid it on the ground on the left side of the tent in a makeshift pallet, taking care to brush away any pebbles underneath.

  “This will have to do as your bed,” she said. “I apologize, but there’s really not much more I can offer.”

  “What about you?” Cassia asked, pointing at the naked patch of grass on the other side of the tent.

  “I’ll be okay. Are you hungry? I can get us some food.”

  “Actually, I was wondering if…” Cassia stopped herself, worried she may be sounding too eager. “If maybe…”

  Samyris smiled. “I’ll talk to my aunt. I’m sure she’ll allow it.” With a nod, she went to the tent’s entrance a lifted the flap. “I’ll leave a guard outside. Call if you need anything.”

  Cassia smiled. Probably her first genuine smile in a very long time. “Thank you.”

  * * *

  The winches of the portcullis creaked as the gate was slowly raised. The fortress’ entrance formed a tunnel of sorts, and since no one in the cavalry battalion was carrying a torch, the only sources of light were the thin strips of moonlight dripping through the murder-holes overhead.

  Fadan’s horse fidgeted nervously beneath him and he patted the animal’s neck, trying to calm it down. He could hear his own heavy breathing echoing within the tight confines of his helmet, and his heart was beating so hard he feared it would start ringing in his cuirass like a bell. He shifted position in his saddle. Had his armor always felt this heavy?

  He looked over his shoulder. First-Spear Captain Andreaus and Phaedra sat atop their horses behind him, motionless as statues. Behind them, the battalion stretched out of the inner portcullis and onto the courtyard. Nearly three hundred heavily-armored cavalrymen stood ready to sally forth.

  “Listen up,” Fadan said, lifting his voice to address the whole battalion. “Our objective is the catapult in the enemy camp. There’s an entire Legion marching on our wall, so we will have to go through them to reach our objective. We do not stop. I don’t care if you see an opening for a flanking maneuver or a vulnerable commanding officer. We. Do. Not. Stop. Understood?”

  The reply came as three hundred fists smashed against their breastplates and Fadan nodded, satisfied.

  The gate screeched to a halt, revealing the wide field before the wall. Jumbled, faint echoes of commands and horns reached Fadan’s ears, and he could see the line of enemy Legionaries marching towards them, steel armor plate gleaming in the moonlight.

  He unsheathed his sword, the blade scraping against the metal rim of the scabbard. “Battalion, move out!”

  As one, the horses launched into a trot. As soon as the last horseman was out of the portcullis, the gate slid down, shutting with a loud crunch.

  “Wedge formation!” Captain Andraeus shouted.

  The battalion obeyed, forming into a triangle with Fadan at its tip. As a response, the fast approaching line of Legionaries halted. The soldiers shifted, their tight formation opening corridors between each column wide enough for a man to walk through. From their rear, an entire maniple poured through the newly opened pathways. These new Legionaries carried no shield or sword that Fadan could see. Instead, they held spears that had to be at least four feet long with both hands. They closed ranks in a five-men deep formation, lowering their weapons to create a wall of pikes, exactly the kind of thing that would stop a cavalry charge.

  But it wouldn’t stop them.

  Fadan stood on his stirrups, sword aimed forward. “CHARGE!”

  The cavalry battalion broke into a gallop, releasing a war cry, and the horses devoured the distance to the awaiting line of spearmen.

  Reaching into his runium reserve, Fadan muttered an incantation, focusing on the center of the spearmen formation. He released his power and an orange ball of fire exploded in the middle of the Legionaries, wreaking havoc among the tight bloc of soldiers. A few managed to regain their feet, spears in position, but without the cohesion of the entire unit, the cavalry charge broke through them like a gust of wind brushing off a pile of autumn leaves.

  Fadan’s horse ran over several soldiers, and he saw two of them trampled beneath his horses’ hooves. It felt wrong, like cutting into his own skin, but he was long past such considerations.

  He cleared the spearmen formation, coming to face with the line of regular infantry. The Legionaries were caught by surprise and hurried to form a shield wall.

  “Keep going!” Fadan shouted at his troops. �
��Do not stop! CHARGE!”

  They had suffered practically no casualties but had lost their momentum, the impact with the enemy having sapped their speed. The perfect shape of their wedge formation had also been lost, but it didn’t matter. Regular infantry soldiers were no match for heavy cavalry.

  “Charge!” Captain Andraeus echoed. “Charge!”

  This time, they did not break through the enemy formation in a swift gallop, the thick ranks of Legionaries bogging them down. The sounds of battle filled Fadan’s ears, a cacophony of shouts and screams mixed with the ringing clangs of dozens of swords.

  He saw a Legionary step up to him from his right, sword aimed at his flank, and he turned, cutting down with his sword. The man fell backward, a trail of blood flying from where Fadan had struck his throat. Another soldier came at him from the left and he rushed to parry the blow but was too slow. The enemy’s blade aimed high and was inches from his shoulder when a flash of light momentarily blinded Fadan. When his vision returned, the soldier was lying on the mud beneath his horses’ hooves, a smoldering hole in his chest.

  Fadan looked over his shoulder and met Phaedra’s intense gaze. He nodded at her, then turned his horse towards their objective, the enemy’s rear. “Keep pushing!” he shouted. “Don’t stop! Keep pushing!”

  He could see the outline of the catapult about two hundred yards from their position, tents and supply wagons scattered around it. They were almost there. Just one more push.

  Fadan kicked his horse’s haunches, launching it into a gallop. Two enemy Legionaries stepped out of his way, fearing being run over by his horse, but a third tried to grab his arm and pull him from the saddle. Fadan answered with steel, his sword carving into the man’s inner elbow.

  He finally broke through the last row of enemy Legionaries, reaching open terrain.

  “Follow the Prince!” Andraeus commanded from behind. “Do not stop to engage! Follow the Prince!”

  With a quick glance over his shoulder, Fadan was relieved to see the battalion breaking through the enemy troops and fast on his heels. Intila’s entire assault seemed to have been halted on their behalf, and adjacent units were being turned around to pursue them.

  We don’t have much time.

  Ahead of him, the enemy camp grew closer. Horns blew frantically, rousing soldiers left in reserve to answer the oncoming attack. They were rushing out of their tents, most wearing nothing but simple tunics. The catapult itself was now less than a hundred yards away, a handful of Legionaries gathering around it. Intila had been overconfident by his numerical advantage and had not bothered to build a wooden palisade around his camp. Now he would pay for that mistake.

  Torches burned here and there, hanging from poles stuck in the ground. Thanks to their light, Fadan could easily see the mass of tents before him, as well as the soldiers pouring forth. He calculated the fastest route to the catapult. He had no intention of being slowed down by a melee. His horsemen would have to take care of those Legionaries while he completed the mission.

  He looked over his shoulder once more, making sure the battalion was following him. The reassuring sight of that mass of heavy cavalry pounding the mud as they galloped at full speed brought a smile to his lips. This was going to work.

  Then, there was a powerful yank, and his horse disappeared from underneath him. His mind had trouble processing the sudden feeling of weightlessness, and just before it could, he crashed, face first, against the ground, as if a wall had jumped out of nowhere to meet him.

  * * *

  Cassia sat on Samyris’ cloak, alone in the tent, wringing her hands. She had been waiting for Samyris for what felt like an hour. What was taking so long? Could this mean Margeth wouldn’t allow her to see Doric?

  She jumped to her feet when she heard steps outside, followed by someone’s voice addressing the guards posted at her tent.

  Finally…

  An arm pierced through the entrance flaps, parting them, and Cassia forgot to breathe. Margeth stepped through with a sullen look. She still wore her golden suit of armor, hair tied in a bundle above her head. Cassia waited expectantly, looking over Margeth’s shoulder, but when no one else stepped in after her, she deflated.

  The Arch-Duchess inspected the tent, or at least pretended to, considering there was nothing inside to inspect. She cleared her throat. “I thought it was about time I came to see you. I probably should’ve come earlier, but… I’m sure you had no desire to see me after what I did.” She started pacing along the length of the tent.

  Cassia followed her with her eyes. “Why did you do it?”

  “I realize the situation isn’t ideal.” Margeth halted, her back to Cassia. “But I have made sure you were treated with dignity. I made sure of it.” She turned to face Cassia “You probably hate me. In your place, I would, too.”

  “Hate is a strong word,” Cassia said. “I can’t say I’m very fond of the fact that you have taken me prisoner, but I wouldn’t say that’s reason enough to hate you.” She paused. “It does make me wonder, though… Why would you choose that word yourself? Where are you taking me, Margeth?”

  The Arch-Duchess straightened up, licking her lips and betraying her nerves. “I hope my next gesture proves to you that none of this is personal. In an ideal world, I like to think that we would’ve been friends. Alas, we must all carry the weight of our titles. And the title of Empress is indeed a heavy one. As is my own.”

  Without another word, Margeth strode out of the tent, and a moment later, Doric stepped in, iron shackles locked around his wrists and ankles. Cassia’s heart skipped a beat, and the two of them stared at each other in silence.

  “Hi,” Doric said at last.

  Cassia smiled. “Hi.”

  The awkward silence returned. She could barely believe he was standing right there, this close to her. He looked the same. Well, almost. His golden curls had faded into a light brown, and there were wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes that she didn’t recognize. He was also thinner than she remembered, his skin wrapping tightly around his jawline and cheekbones. His eyes, however, remained the same deep blue as always. Aric’s eyes.

  He must have sensed she was inspecting him, because he shifted his weight uncomfortably, his shackles clinking. “I haven’t bathed in weeks. You’re a hard girl to find.” He chuckled weakly.

  “You always liked that about me.”

  “I always liked everything about you.”

  Her cheeks grew warm. All these years, and he was still the only man in the world who could do this to her.

  “You probably think I’m an idiot,” he said, taking a step towards her. “But I promise you, I know what I’m doing. I’m getting you out of here.”

  She nodded, still smiling. Fifteen years… It was such a long time. By now, Doric should’ve started anew; remarried, gotten himself a new family. Goddess knows Cassia wouldn’t have blamed him, even if it would’ve hurt like crazy.

  “We have a plan, I promise,” he continued, taking another step towards her. “I’m not alone. There are some good people with me. Tough people. Real fighters. Your cousin Hagon, for starters.”

  “Doric,” Cassia called softly.

  “Oh, and we found your spy. She was—”

  “Doric.” That finally got his attention. “Will you just shut up and kiss me, already?”

  * * *

  Pain shot through Fadan’s arm and he rolled onto his back. A cacophony of screams and high whinnies filled his ears, but he couldn’t see a thing through his helmet. Grimacing, he raised his visor.

  He was in a ditch almost as deep as he was tall. His horse lay before him, impaled by a wooden spike thicker than his arm. He saw several of his soldiers meeting the same fate as him, falling down the tiger-hole with hideous screams. Out of his sight, however, he also heard sounds of battle. Clearly, not all of his cavalry was dead, and they were engaging the enemy.

  I have to get out of here.

  He tried getting on his feet, but a jolt of pain sho
t through his arm and he fell on his back. He screamed, the pain so intense his eyes watered.

  It was broken. His goddess damned arm was broken.

  He made another effort to get up, this time making sure he didn’t touch or move his left arm in the process, but It still hurt like a dragon was gnawing at his elbow joint.

  With a quick scan of the bottom of the ditch, he found his sword and picked it up. Then, he placed a foot on one of the wooden spikes, using it as a ladder, and climbed out of the ditch. As he did, his broken arm scraped along the dirt. The jolt of pain nearly made him puke.

  He reached the top, falling to his knees, taking deep breaths as the pain subsided to a barely tolerable level. He took stock of his surroundings. The battle raged everywhere. There were no frontlines, just a mess of soldiers, horses, screams, and the clanging of steel. Some torches had tumbled over tents, setting fire to the canvas. Beyond the fighting, behind a cluster of tents, the great catapult stood like the wooden skeleton of a massive building.

  An enemy soldier charged at him, and he rose to his feet, bringing his sword up to parry the blow. The blades clanged, and Fadan felt the impact ripple through his whole body, his arm screaming in agony. He grimaced, trying to recover in time for the next attack, absolutely sure his movements were far too sluggish.

  One of his horsemen galloped past him, blade slashing through the throat of the soldier who was attacking him. The man fell lifelessly in the mud and Fadan exhaled, relieved, fighting an urge to fall back to his knees.

  “There you are!”

  Fadan looked towards the voice.

  Oh, thank you, goddess!

  Phaedra dismounted with a hop, landing next to him. “What happened?”

  “Fell through a tiger-hole. My arm is broken. Can you fix it?”