The Shadow Of Fallen Gods

by V. R. Cardoso

  “We are what we do,” Doric added. “Everything else is excuses.”

  He turned and stepped into his tent. As the flaps closed behind him, he heard a low croak.

  “I’m sorry…”

  * * *

  Doric startled awake with a hand over his mouth. His eyes went wide, heart hammering in his chest. In the darkness, he saw a shadow leaning over him. He blinked twice and his eyes adjusted, the smudge of darkness resolving itself into a familiar figure.

  Oh, thank the goddess!

  Hagon placed a finger over his own lips in a silent shush. Behind Hagon, Doric saw Venia kneeling over the body of the soldier that had been stationed in his tent. She pulled a knife from the man’s throat, wiped the blood on his cape, and stood. Doric’s stomach turned, but he shook the revulsion away.

  “Do you know where Cassia’s tent is?” Hagon asked lowly, uncovering Doric’s mouth.

  “I do. What in the mother’s name took you so long? Margeth was going to hand us to Tarsus tomorrow.”

  “Tarsus? Why would she do that?”

  “Some nonsense about saving Pharyzah.”

  “Hey!” Venia hissed. “The two of you can chat later.”

  With a nod, Hagon helped Doric up. “Here, this is yours.” He handed Doric his father’s sword, the rubies in the pommel gleaming even in the darkness.

  Doric slung the weapon across his back and they stepped out of the tent. Emrys, Debra, and Andon stood outside, the mage holding his arms up. Around the group, a translucent, spherical-shaped barrier gleamed in the night.

  “Whatever you do, don’t step out of the bubble,” Emrys whispered.

  “It keeps us invisible,” Andon explained, pointing over Doric’s shoulder.

  His eyes followed the direction of Andon’s finger and saw a guard looking right at them as if he was staring off into the horizon. The man scratched his chin, then looked away, releasing a bored sigh.

  “Woah! That is… quite handy.”

  “Quiet,” Venia whispered, leaving the tent. “They can still hear us. Now, where to?”

  “Follow me.”

  There was a total of twelve tents in the camp, all spread out over the top of the hill. There were no neat rows or alleys, and the soldiers standing watch – Doric counted five of them – seemed equally dispersed. A Legionary encampment this was not.

  They stepped slowly and carefully, Emrys’ bubble forcing them to walk in a tight bundle. Doric led them around the outside of the camp, ensuring they didn’t walk past any of the soldiers. Cassia’s tent stood at an edge of the camp, and Doric approached from the rear, looking uncertainly at the pair of guards that stood right outside the tent’s entrance.

  Doric stopped, unsure how to proceed, glancing around at the others. Without a word, Emrys shoved him aside and knelt by the tent. The mage placed a finger at the top of the gray canvas and traced a vertical line down to the ground, the fabric tearing at his touch. When the opening was complete, he signaled for the rest of them to step through.

  Venia went first, followed by Hagon, then Doric. Debra and Andon remained outside with Emrys.

  Two people slept inside; Cassia on their left, and Samyris on their right, both snoring lightly. Venia drew a dagger and stepped to Samyris, but Doric grabbed her arm, stopping her.

  The spy glared at Doric, but he shook his head. They were here to free Cassia. There was no need for unnecessary deaths.

  Ignoring the two of them, Hagon knelt and woke Cassia much like he had Doric, covering her mouth and making a silent shush. Cassia awoke with a shudder, and a frightened moan seeped through Hagon’s hand. The sound had just escaped her when Cassia realized what was happening, already too late to call it back. They all froze, and Doric was sure either the guards outside would come in, Samyris would wake up, or both.

  They waited for a couple of breaths, making absolutely no sound. When nothing happened, Doric breathed out the air trapped in his chest. Carefully, he stepped to Cassia and helped her to her feet, a smile playing on her lips.

  This was it. The moment none of them had ever dared to hope would come.

  He squeezed her hand, pulling her with him as he made for the opening at the rear of the tent—

  “GUARDS!”

  They all turned, startled.

  Samyris was on her feet, sword already in her hand. “Guards!” she called again.

  The two soldiers posted outside rushed into the tent, swords drawn. “Intruders!” one of them shouted. “Intruders in the—”

  The man never finished his sentence. The tent disappeared around them, flying into the air as if sucked away by a hurricane.

  “Time to go,” Emrys said with urgency. He had dropped his invisibility bubble and now looked ready for a fight, a blue aura glowing around him.

  The entire camp had been roused at the shouts, twenty soldiers now converging on them. A pair of them got overly ambitious and stepped a bit too close to Emrys. With a wave of his hand, the mage sent them flying backwards, crashing against the trunk of a thick oak.

  “A word of advice,” Emrys said, addressing the remaining soldiers. “Stand. Back. We’re going to leave this camp and none of you are going to follow us.”

  “No one’s going anywhere.” Margeth strode between her troops until she was at their front. She aimed a finger at Doric and Cassia. “Especially you two.”

  “Arch-Duchess,” Emrys warned, “I have no desire to hurt you, but if you come any closer, I promise you’ll regret it.”

  “Go ahead.” Margeth took a defiant step forward. Then another.

  Emrys sighed. “Your choice.” He swung his right hand towards her, finger curled into a hook. Nothing happened, but with each step she took closer, the glow around him faded until it had gone out completely. “No…”

  “Yes.” Margeth reached inside her chest plate and produced a massive glowstone pendant, its blue light almost blinding. She turned and lifted her voice to carry over her soldiers. “This mage is no threat to you. Now kill them all. Spare only the Empress.”

  Doric glanced at Emrys. The mage had gone pale, looking from one hand to the other as if he’d just had both of them chopped off. Around them, Margeth’s soldiers formed a circle, trapping them, outnumbering them four to one. They stood no chance…

  Cassia squeezed Doric’s hand tight. They looked into each other’s eyes. Whatever had they done to offend the goddess so much?

  Clenching his teeth, Doric reached around his back and drew his father’s sword, the blade singing as it left its scabbard.

  “What are you doing?” Cassia asked, glaring back at him.

  “Whatever I can. I’m tired of taking it all lying down.”

  Cassia dropped his hand and stepped away, walking towards Margeth. “Stop!”

  The Arch-Duchess raised a hand. Her soldiers complied, halting their advance.

  Cassia halted halfway between Margeth and rescue party. “I will go peacefully with you if you let them all go.”

  “Cassia!” Doric couldn’t believe it. “You can’t—”

  “Yes, I can,” she interrupted, looking back at him. “I will not allow one more person to die because of me. Especially you. I did not sacrifice myself for fifteen years to keep you alive so that you could kill yourself in a hopeless fight on some forgotten hill in the middle of the woods.” She turned back to Margeth. “Do we have a deal?”

  “We have a deal if you and Doric come with me.”

  Cassia took a step back. “Why? I was always your leverage. He just landed in your lap.”

  “And now he’s leverage, too.”

  “Aunt Margeth…” Samyris muttered.

  “Not now, Samyris.”

  “Yes, now!” Samyris barked.

  The Arch-Duchess swung her gaze to her niece, her brow pinched. “Samyris, you will know your place.”

  “I know my place!” Samyris retorted. “I’m your heir. And you, my Lady, require council. It’s bad enough that we are handing the empress back to that monster
. Must we destroy another life on top of that?”

  Margeth balled her fists until her knuckles shone white. She glanced to Cassia, then Doric, then to her niece. She exhaled loudly. “Very well. They may all go.” She turned to the soldier standing nearest to her. “Get the horses.”

  25

  A Thousand Deaths

  Aric was frozen in place, blinking in disbelief. There was no sign of anyone. No survivors, not even their bodies; only the remnants of their hopeless fight. The muddy ground was smeared with trails as wide as human bodies. Finger marks could be seen where people had fought whoever was dragging them by clawing at the mud.

  Around the cave opening, the rock was scorched—still smoldering in some spots—but that was nothing compared to the devastation beyond the clearing. In the middle of the forest, trees had been torn down and thickets burnt to ash. Low hanging branches and bushes dripped with dark blood as if it had been sprayed in every direction.

  Aric felt, more than heard or saw, the others arrive at the clearing. Just like him, they froze in shock. He turned to them. Leth and Naquad looked horrified. A couple of sailors burst into tears while others covered their mouths in terror. Even Dothea lost her color.

  The sight of them seemed to wake Aric from his daze. Feeling a cold hand rummaging inside his chest, he went to work.

  “Everyone spread out!” he barked. “There might be survivors hidden in the woods.”

  There was a beat where no one moved, as if they hadn’t really heard Aric, but, eventually, the group obeyed, dispersing through the forest one by one. Aric was almost surprised that no one complained about his order, not even Naquad.

  Then again, it was more than an order. He had just offered them hope that there might still be someone left to save, so what was there to refuse?

  Being careful not to brush against any of the bloodied leaves, Aric entered the forest, following one of the thinner trails. It had clearly been carved by someone small, so obviously not Nahir. Little Lyra? Maybe Clea? There were scratch marks at the bottoms of tree trunks along the length of the trail. Whoever it was, they had been alive while being dragged away, and had fought desperately. Could that mean they were still alive?

  “I got one!” a voice echoed nearby. “Over here!”

  Aric raced after the voice, cutting branches down with his sword.

  “Over here!” the voice repeated.

  Racing through the vegetation, feet skidding on the mud, Aric finally found the source of the shouts. One of Naquad’s sailors was holding the legs of a man who had been nailed to a wide tree by two lances driven through his shoulders. Despite his bruised and bloodied face, Aric recognized him immediately: Orisius.

  “Quick, help me,” the sailor begged, straining with Orisius’s weight.

  Aric rushed to the man’s side, lending his help. There was no sign of life from Orisius, his head hanging limply to one side.

  Footsteps sloshed behind them and Aric turned. “Dothea,” he said, recognizing his huntress. “Quick—”

  Like a cat, she sprung forward and dislodged the lances from Orisius’s shoulders with a grunt. Released from the lances, Orisius tumbled forward, falling over Aric’s shoulders with a gasp.

  With a pang of relief at the sound, Aric laid his hunter down on the ground as gently as he could. Others poured from the forest around them, curiously seeking the survivor.

  “Captain…” Orisius mumbled, a trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth.

  “Easy there,” Aric said, adjusting his head. “Try not to move.” He turned to the others. “We need water and clean cloth. And keep searching! There might be others.”

  “There aren’t any others,” Orisius croaked. “They’re all gone.”

  “What happened?” Naquad demanded.

  “Easy!” Aric snapped, sending the first-mate an angry look.

  “In my jacket,” Orisius said. “She left something for you, Captain.”

  “She? Who, Astoreth?”

  Orisius made to reach into his jacket, but Aric stopped him and reached for whatever it was himself. Caked with mud and blood, the leather jacket stuck to the linen shirt beneath. With a quick probe, Aric’s fingers found a cold, metallic object and retrieved it.

  “A mirror?”

  Orisius grinned, revealing a set of bloodied teeth. “She was so pissed, cap. You pissed her off good.” He chuckled but immediately choked. The laughter turned into a violent cough, red spittle flying from his mouth.

  Kneeling next to Orisius, opposite Aric, Leth laid a soothing hand on Orisius’s shoulder. “Easy, now,” he said. “Just breathe.”

  Slowly, Orisius caught his breath. Dothea brought a waterskin to his cracked lips. Meanwhile, Aric turned the mirror in his hands. It was about the size of a dinner plate, large enough to fit the reflection of a face. Its bronze, oval frame was carved with the shapes of flames as if the object itself was on fire.

  As Aric searched the mirror’s surface for any detail of interest, his own reflection began to ripple, the glass changing like the surface of a pond after the dropping of a pebble.

  “It’s enchanted,” Aric muttered, standing up.

  As the image became dimmer, Aric’s reflection changed, and he watched in disgust as Astoreth’s pale, cracked face appeared, the complete blackness of her eyes staring back at him like a pair of bottomless wells.

  “Dragon hunter,” she said, her voice muffled as it reached his ears. “I see you found my messenger.”

  “What did you do to our people?” Aric seethed.

  “They are fine, for now.” The image in the mirror trembled and Astoreth’s features turned into a group of people tied to wooden poles. Aric recognized Irenya, Clea, and Nahir, along with a couple of Naquad’s sailors, all looking equally bruised and bloodied. “Even the mage.” Again, the image changed, this time showing Eliran hanging limply from a wooden pole, either dead or unconscious.

  “Is that Eliran?” Darpallion tried to snatch the mirror from Aric’s hands.

  Pushing the bard away, Aric looked back into the mirror’s surface. Astoreth’s face had returned.

  “I admit to being impressed,” the Head-Archon continued. “You have come much further than I had expected. Your Goddess will be pleased.”

  “I’m not doing this for any Goddess. Yours or mine,” Aric retorted.

  Astoreth grinned, the cracks along her cheeks splitting wider. “It doesn’t matter why we do things, hunter. We all walk in the shadow of the gods.” She sent a quick glance over her shoulder. “Even the fallen ones. I’m giving you a chance to save your people. Call it a token of respect for your grit. But, rest assured, this is your last chance to leave this island alive.

  “Find the stone path that climbs the tallest mountain on the island. Halfway up to the peak, where the lowest clouds hang, there is a cave whose entrance is lined with dark statues taller than any man. The stone path will lead you there, and it is there you shall find your friends. Bring the chalice, and you are all free to leave the island. Do not, and I will make them live through a thousand deaths.”

  The image in the mirror faded and Aric once again found himself looking at his own reflection.

  “Captain…” Dothea muttered.

  Aric looked at her. She was kneeling by Orisius’s head, two fingers on his neck, taking a pulse. Slowly, she retracted her hand and stood, looked into Aric’s eyes, and shook her head.

  Some of the sailors shifted nervously, the shuffling of their feet highlighting everyone’s silence.

  “CRAP!” Aric exploded, his face red and the veins on his neck bulging. He threw the mirror to the ground and it smashed into pieces. Then, he reached into the burlap sack around his shoulder and retrieved the Cup of Kallax.

  “Aric…” Leth held a hand out in a plea, his voice shaky. “You can’t do this. You can’t give her the chalice.”

  Aric just kept staring at the artifact. It was Dothea who replied. “She has our people… including Clea.”

 
“You don’t think I know that?” Leth snapped, a tear running down his cheek. “Aric—”

  “We don’t give her the chalice,” Aric interrupted, “but we can still try to save our people.”

  “How?” Leth asked. “There are dozens of them, you said so yourself. All spell throwers. What chance do we have?”

  “Exactly!” Darpallion agreed. “We have no chance to win a fight against them, which is why we have to do the trade.”

  “What? Never!” Leth faced Aric. “I won’t allow that.”

  “I agree with the singer,” Naquad chimed in.

  “Because you’re an idiot,” Aric retorted. “You think Astoreth will simply allow us to peacefully go on our way even if we do?”

  “We’ll negotiate,” Darpallion argued. “Make sure the trade happens on our terms. I’ll go and talk to her.”

  Aric shook his head. “No. The chalice is not even getting near Astoreth. We’ll hide it and mount a rescue.”

  “So we can all end up dead?” Darpallion protested. “The chalice is our leverage. We need to use it.”

  “I’m sorry, but no,” Aric said flatly.

  Darpallion clenched his teeth. “Then I am sorry to do this.”

  He drew a knife and spun. Before anyone could even register his movement, he was behind Aric with a blade to his throat. Leth and Dothea drew their own blades, prompting Naquad and the rest of the sailors to do the same.

  “Give me the chalice,” Darpallion demanded.

  Aric didn’t move, didn’t make a sound.

  “Drop that knife!” Leth seethed. “Or Goddess help me I’ll chop you into tiny pieces, Darpallion!”

  “No!” Naquad barked. “Enough of this! Enough of you dragon hunters telling us what to do!” He aimed his sword at Leth’s ribs and suddenly there were at least five more blades aimed at both him and Dothea. “There’s ten of us and only three of you. Drop your weapons, or I finish this now.”

  Nostrils flaring, Aric scanned his surroundings, taking note of everyone’s position. He calculated the initial blows, who would attack who and what should likely follow.

  “Say the word, cap,” Dothea said, two swords aimed at the back of her neck, three more at her gut and chest.