The Shadow Of Fallen Gods

by V. R. Cardoso

  Breathe, she thought. Just breathe.

  But it was useless. This was not something a mortal could control. She looked around and found that Darpallion and other members of Aric’s company had joined her, all looking similarly worried. She could see their mouths move, but their words were a mess of echoes.

  Eliran’s breathing became heavier and she looked at her hands. They were glowing, but not with the usual blue aura that casting magic usually caused. No, instead they were glowing like embers.

  “You need to leave,” she said, heart pounding.

  Around her, everyone took a step back, eyes widened in fear.

  “You need to get away from me,” Eliran urged. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold it.”

  Her entire body was ablaze. Bright lights blinded her.

  “Eliran!” someone shouted.

  She thought she saw Aric’s face. Just a faint glimpse, like the dim reflection of an old copper mirror.

  And then the bright light took over, claiming everything in an all-consuming fury.

  Including her.

  * * *

  It had worked. Whatever spell Eliran had imbued the glowstone dagger with, it had petrified Kallax; stopped the god of death from being revived.

  “Didn’t I tell you there had to be another way?” Aric asked, smiling.

  The mage turned to him, but instead of the relief or excitement Aric expected to find on her features, he saw bewilderment. “I think something’s wrong,” she said flatly.

  Aric’s smile vanished. “What do you mean?”

  She didn’t reply. Instead, her eyes wandered, as if she was trying to figure out where she was. Aric saw her wobble slightly, and then she lost her balance and staggered backwards. In a flash, Aric was there, holding her upright.

  “Eliran, are you alright?”

  She looked at him, but once again did not reply. Her hands clenched on her stomach and she grimaced.

  “Help!” Aric called. “Help us!”

  Darpallion, Lyra, Leth, and the others reached them, panting.

  “What’s wrong?” Darpallion asked.

  “Give me some room!” Lyra demanded, pushing the others aside and inspecting the mage. Eliran’s breathing had become heavier, and her body stiffened in Aric’s arms.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Darpallion insisted.

  “I… don’t know,” Lyra mumbled. She looked at Aric with wide, frightful eyes and showed him Eliran’s hands. They were glowing as if a fire brewed beneath her skin.

  “You need to leave,” Eliran said, urgency entering her voice.

  Around her, everyone exchanged looks of concern.

  “What is she talking about?” Leth asked.

  “Oh no…” Aric muttered.

  “You need to get away from me,” Eliran insisted. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold it.”

  “I think I know what’s happening,” Aric said. “She’s releasing her Runium’s energy. She did this once before, the first time Astoreth captured us.”

  “Alright, everyone stand back,” Leth ordered. “Back! Everyone back!”

  The group obeyed, stepping away. Only Aric remained, holding Eliran’s now trembling body.

  “Aric,” Leth called. “You heard her. Let her go.”

  “She needs help.” Aric adjusted Eliran’s weight in his arms. “She protected me the last time, I’ll be alright.”

  The bright glow in the mage’s hands had spread to her arms and torso, body slowly turning into burning cinder.

  Leth grabbed Aric by the collar. “Does it look like she’s doing this on purpose? She’ll be busy enough protecting herself. You want to help? Drop her!”

  Aric glanced from Eliran to Leth, a hopeless look on his face, after a long, uncertain moment, he nodded.

  Leth did not give him a chance to change his mind. He pulled Aric up by his shirt and ran, dragging his friend behind him. The two ran side by side, the light of a new sun rising behind them.

  The explosion hit them like a wall, sending both flying forwards. They landed face first on the rocky ground, rolling to cushion the fall.

  Aric’s bruised body screamed in pain, but he pushed himself up anyway, grimacing. Before him, a cloud of dust and smoke dimmed the world. What he saw, however, defied reason, and for a couple of breaths, Aric just stood there, blinking.

  The cave entrance had collapsed, and before it, where he’d left Eliran, was now a crater. He rushed to it, and when he reached its edge, looked down the scorched slope.

  “Ava mother…” he breathed and raced down into the hollow.

  A dark, smoldering bundle was curled at the very bottom. Aric knelt beside it. Carefully, he wiped singed hairs from Eliran’s burnt face. As his fingers brushed against her skin, Eliran twitched, a light gasp escaping her bloody lips.

  Aric exhaled loudly, laying his forehead on the ground. For the first time since he’d arrived on this island, he felt like he could breathe.

  * * *

  The ship swayed as if it was trying to rock him to sleep, the hull’s wood creaking soothingly. Aric sat down on a small stool beside the bed and his muscles complained. He began massaging his thighs, searching for some momentary relief. After all this rest, he somehow still felt as tired as if he had just returned from a desert patrol.

  Beside him, on a small desk nailed to the wall, a bowl of soup steamed, filling the cabin with the hearty smell of stewed meat.

  “My food goblin has returned.”

  Aric turned to the bed and smiled. “You’re awake.”

  Eliran nodded faintly. “Somewhat.”

  Her face was still bandaged, only her eyes and mouth showing. Aric suspected the same was true for the rest of her body, considering the state he’d found her in, but he hadn’t witnessed Lyra’s hours and hours of treatment.

  “I’m surprised you’re even alive,” Aric admitted. “There was a crater the size of a dragon where we found you.”

  “I’m surprised you backed off like I told you to,” Eliran replied.

  Aric shrugged. “Leth kind of insisted. You know, with his fists.”

  Eliran chuckled softly. “I’m glad he did.”

  “Me too.” A small moment of silence passed between them. There was an awkwardness to it, but he was far too happy right now just to see her there to be bothered by anything in the world. “You want to eat?”

  “No, thank you. But leave it there, I might get hungry later.”

  Aric smiled widely. “Sure.”

  Eliran’s head tilted slightly upward, and she looked towards the tiny window of her cabin. “How long have I been out?”

  “Four days. Wind has been good. Naquad says we should reach the continent in two days tops.”

  Closing her eyes, Eliran snuggled back into her pillow. “Good,” she mumbled weakly.

  Assuming she’d fallen back asleep, Aric made to stand up.

  “I still remember our deal,” Eliran said.

  “Deal?” Aric asked, sitting back down.

  “To take you to your brother in Ragara.”

  Once again, Aric smiled. “That will make me very happy, thank you.”

  She nodded and mumbled something inaudibly.

  “Good to see you recovering,” Aric said. “I’ll let you rest.”

  This time, there was no reply. Eliran had fallen asleep, culled by exhaustion.

  Without making a sound, Aric left the cabin. He took the stairs up to the main deck. The cold sea wind greeted him and he took a deep breath, salt filling his nostrils. A small number of sailors manned the rigging while Naquad stood at the helm. Winds had been good ever since they’d left the island. Soon they would all be back home.

  Except Jullion and Orisius, Aric thought grimly.

  Irenya still hadn’t recovered. Several times over the last four days, Aric had found her crying in one of the ship’s dark corners by herself. He had tried comforting her, but she had pretended everything was alright, so Aric had left her alone.

&
nbsp; Fortunately, the others looked far better. They were all recovering well from their injuries and seemed proud of what they had achieved together. After all, how many people in the history of Arkhemia had stopped the return of an evil god—twice?

  Aric sauntered to the foredeck and leaned over the railing, watching the horizon. Somewhere in the distance was Akham. They would land soon, and then he was free to find his brother.

  Would he look any different? He had probably changed as much Aric had. After all, he was the leader of the rebellion now, taking the fight to the emperor himself, to his own father. Aric could only imagine the kind of bravery it took to make that decision.

  Good on you, little brother. Good on you.

  “How’s Eliran?”

  Aric looked over his shoulder and saw Leth stepping to meet him. “Great, actually. She was even awake for a bit this time.”

  “Good, good.” Leth nodded, joining Aric by the railing. “That’s good.”

  There was a long moment of silence.

  “Listen…” Aric finally said. “About what happened. I was never going to hurt…”

  Leth raised a hand, cutting him. “That’s okay. We were both doing what we felt was right in a really bad situation. There’s nothing to apologize.”

  Aric nodded, smiling. “Thanks. I agree.”

  Silence returned, this time far more comfortable, until Leth straightened, facing Aric as if challenging him. “Do you know the history of my House?”

  Aric raised an eyebrow. “I know you were Akhami nobility even before the annexation.”

  Leth nodded. “High nobility, yes. Members of the Jassarian Council. When Geric Auron conquered Saggad, my family was there, too, defending the city. While your ancestor was taking the capital of Akham for his emperor, my ancestors were evacuating the Ultrarch and his family.

  “Adishar IX refused to surrender even after losing his capital. He went north and moved the capital to Engadi. He gathered the Jassarian Council and ordered them to come up with a plan to retake Saggad and expel the Arreline invader, but our military was in tatters. There was nothing to be done. House Ranraik proposed a defensive war of attrition, focused on eroding the enemy supply lines. The rest of the Council, however, had a different idea.

  “They wrote a letter to Maginus II offering him Akham and Adishar’s head, provided they could keep their lands and titles. Only my family opposed this. They were arrested, their heads delivered to the Arreline emperor beside Adishar’s. Only the children of House Ranraik were spared. The Jassarian Council intended to go after them later, but never got the chance.” Leth grinned. “Maginus killed them all. Placed their heads on spikes and spread them out all across Akham with an inscription: This is the prize for treason in Arrel. Then, Maginus II found the Ranraik children and gave them the richest region of Akham to rule in his stead: the Grand-Duchy of Nalwar, city of Saggad included. He called them ‘the worthy among the great’. Those have been our words ever since.”

  Leth stopped, looking out over the horizon.

  “Why are you telling me this?” Aric asked. But he already knew the answer.

  “Aric, I hope you find your brother, but I need to find mine.”

  It took some time before Aric found his words. “I… I’ll go with you. We’ll—”

  Leth placed a hand on Aric’s shoulder, interrupting him. “Don’t. Your family needs you. As mine needs me. This time, we’ll fight apart.”

  26

  The Enemies We Trust

  A cold wind blew from the north, sending Intila’s Imperial blue flags into a wild dance. From atop Ragara’s battlements, Fadan counted the Legions setting up camp. Eight, all seemingly at full strength, which meant Intila had allowed himself the luxury of leaving three of them behind. Fadan knew exactly where they were, too. The answer was in his hand, a message from a Lieutenant of the small garrison he’d left in Aparanta.

  The city had fallen. Varinian had been reinstated as Governor, and Sabium was presumed dead.

  Fadan crumpled the parchment in his hand and tossed it over the wall. Intila was three Legions down and still looked unbeatable. What in the mother’s name was he going to do?

  “So, do I have your permission?” Nyssander asked.

  Fadan had practically forgotten he was standing there with him. “Yes. Yes, of course. A militia is a good idea. Accept anyone who volunteers.”

  Duke Nyssander bowed, turned on his heel, and walked away.

  A militia was a terrible idea. Ordinary citizens with no training, barely any armament, and terrible discipline would be more trouble than help. But at this point, Fadan had to consider the overall morale, and increasing their numbers, even if artificially, would at least help with that.

  Once more, Fadan looked over the army assembling to take over the last remaining city of his short-lived Rebellion. He could already see the scaffolding where catapults and ballistae would soon be built.

  “Lord Nyssander,” he called.

  The Duke was already halfway down the stone staircase of the wall, but he turned to look up at the Prince.

  “Send word to every carpenter and mason in the city that their services are required to help with the defence of the city. They’re to report to the palace as soon as possible. We need to start building our own siege equipment.”

  * * *

  Augusta’s bustling crowd moved up and down the street, like a convoy that never ended. This wasn’t even one of the larger streets, and it still made Doric feel nauseous. In Pharyzah, the streets had been packed full, but people had been happy there. Singing and dancing and smiling. Here, everyone was in a hurry to get somewhere, and no one looked particularly excited about their destinations.

  The street stretched for a few more yards in front of Doric before beginning the steep climb up mount capitol, the Imperial Citadel sitting at the top. And once again, Cassia was in there.

  He exhaled loudly. We’re right back where we started…

  “Doric!” Venia called. She stood at a corner leading to a narrow boulevard and motioned with her head for him to follow.

  The rest of the group was waiting beyond the corner. Venia led them to the only stone building in the slim alleyway. Stopping at the front door, she slid two fingers into the back of her hair and produced a small pin, which she used in the lock, her head swivelling around to make sure no one beyond their group was watching.

  The lock clicked and the door opened with a soft whine. A thick layer of dust coated the floor, which lifted in small puffs as they walked inside. Venia found an oil lamp on a table by the entrance, asked Emrys to light it with his magic, then closed the front door once everyone was inside.

  She led them to what looked like the house’s main living area. The space was fully furnished. Pot and pans lined shelves and cabinets along one wall, and a round, wooden table with seating for four people occupied the centre of the floor. There were even some portraits hanging on the wall.

  “It’s not much, but we can rest here,” Venia said.

  “So… is this your place?” Debra asked.

  Venia shook her head. “It’s a Scriptorium safe-house, from an old operation I was involved in. The kind that stays off the books, which is why I knew it’d be empty. Technically, the house belongs to a Nostan woman named Justinia.”

  “And in reality?” Hagon asked.

  “In reality, Justinia is a product of my imagination,” Venia replied.

  “That’s all very interesting, but what are we doing here, exactly?” Doric asked. “How are we going to get into the Citadel?”

  “Relax,” Venia told him. “I have a plan. I know a way into the Core Palace. Learned it from Prince Fadan, actually.”

  “What way?” Andon asked suspiciously.

  “Through the sewers. It’s a tricky route. Easy to get lost down there, but I would never forget such useful information.”

  “And then what?” Debra asked. “We use Emrys’ invisibility spell?”

  The mage raised his head as
if the mention of his name had woken him from some reverie. He’d been quiet since his confrontation with Margeth. “That’s too risky,” he replied. “We might run into another Syphon.”

  “In the Citadel, there’s a better kind of invisibility,” Venia said with a grin. “Servant’s clothing.” She turned around and stepped to a cabinet, opening a drawer and retrieving a small pouch. “Fear not, ladies and gentlemen. We’re in my territory now.” She tossed the pouch in the air and caught it mid-flight, the coins inside clinking. “Let’s go shopping.”

  * * *

  The sewer tunnels smelled of rotten eggs, month old cabbage, and spoiled meat, all rolled into one overpowering nostril bomb. The worst part, however, was the damp, moss covered stones underfoot where Doric kept slipping. He was entirely sure he would end up falling into the river of sludge coursing past before the day was over.

  “Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Hagon asked. They had been walking for what felt like an hour, the sewage tunnels all looking the same.

  “Positive,” Venia replied.

  “Ouch!” Andon complained. “Will you be careful?”

  “You try walking in these,” Debra retorted, fingers fidgeting and pulling and stretching at her maid dress like the thing was trying to crawl inside of her.

  “It’s a skirt,” Andon said. “It can’t be tighter than pants.”

  “It’s a nightmare, is what it is.”

  “Will you two be quiet?” Venia hissed. She aimed a finger upward, where thin strips of light leaked through the slots of a manhole cover.

  “Is this it?” Doric asked.

  “If I’m not mistaken, we’ll come out at the rear of the Core Palace. We’ll go in through the kitchens.”

  The little group each nodded their ascent, and Venia grabbed the iron rungs of the ladder, climbing up to the manhole. Once up there, she pushed against the cover, lifting it just enough to peek out at their surroundings.