The Shadow of War

by Bryan Gifford

  Ekran. Twenty thousand Acedens had surrounded the Alliance as they tried to flee Inveira. A battle had ensued. All Cain remembered after that was waking up on the deck of a transport surrounded by hundreds of horrified Alliance soldiers who had wanted to kill him.

  And the fearful gaze of his friends. That had stung the worst.

  He’d done something reprehensible at Ekran. Though he could remember little more than the raking of a cold fire and the crushing emptiness of loss, the weeks spent in the ship’s dark hold had given him ample time to delve into his memories. More of that night slowly returned to him, and what did, terrified him.

  The sounds of clashing swords proved a welcome distraction from the battle in his mind. How long had that been going on? He’d ignored the noises at first, thinking them for more unpleasant memories. He strained to listen, the struggle muffled by the hull’s thick planks.

  A metallic clang echoed in the dark, prompting him to rise shakily to his feet. The banging continued, and threads of light speared down at him from above.

  The hold’s hatch burst open in a spray of timber.

  Cain blinked against the sudden, explosive brightness. The sunlight stabbed at his eyes and left an afterimage of two figures in his vision.

  Slim hands shook him, and he forced his eyes open. There, outlined in a ray of red sunlight, was Adriel. Her golden hair seemed to glow in the light. Her big, bright eyes worried over him, but she managed a smile.

  Cain found himself smiling back.

  Adriel threw her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. Cain embraced her, wanting to say something, but his words came out a ragged breath. Instead, he simply held her, letting her warmth wash over his cold bones.

  Adriel hesitantly pulled away and Cain took her hands in his.

  She looked to the side where flies swarmed a pile of trays and moldy bread. She frowned to herself, no doubt wondering if their soldiers had been taking care of him.

  “They were scared of me. Things could have gone much worse. This was the best way, trust me.” Cain leaned back against the wall with a groan. “Where are we? I hear fighting.”

  “Morven… the Acedens have it. Can you stand?”

  Cain accepted her hand and slowly stood. Weeks of being stuck inside the small, dark hold had left him weak. He’d spent most of each day running through training exercises he’d learned while young, but the lack of food had still left him lethargic. He felt at his ribs and arms. He’d lost some flesh, his bones seemed to poke back at him.

  Adriel shook her head at the sight of him standing there in the beam of sunlight. “What they did was wrong. They’ll pay for what they did to you.”

  “No, Adriel. They did what they had to do. Being down here has given me time to think. I remember a little of that night at Ekran. If they really saw me do those things, then they are right to fear me.”

  He blinked away the flashes of memory. So much horrible death.

  Adriel wiped a tear from her face. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.” She offered an arm and helped him across the hold and up the stairs. Cain stepped out onto the deck, shielding his eyes against the setting sun.

  The cool air brushed across his skin, the evening sun faintly warm against his cheeks. The sky—streaked with pink and bands of red—was a welcoming sight after long weeks of darkness. He felt peace in that moment. A quiet nothingness. He opened his eyes, purpose burning in his heart.

  And saw the destruction.

  Cain knew Iscarius would eventually attack the rest of Tarsha. But seeing it still hurt. The world’s grandest city was dying, and there was nothing they could do about it.

  “As you can see,” Silas said, “we have a little bit of a problem on our hands.”

  Cain scanned the chaos. “Where’s Ceerocai?”

  Adriel stepped aside, revealing the sword of Abaddon abandoned on the deck. She scooped it up and threw it to him.

  Cain caught the weapon, his fingers wrapping around its familiar handle. He peered into the ruby at the blade’s core, and it seemed to gaze back at him with its fiery eye. A warmth and vigor crawled through his feeble hands, urging him into motion. He twirled the great blade, reveling in the strength that washed over him.

  Cain nodded to his friends and led them down the gangplank and into the fray. He smashed Ceerocai into an Aceden, snapping the man’s sword in half before caving in his breastplate.

  He raised Ceerocai and carved a path through the enemy ranks. His arms were weak, his feet heavy and mind sluggish, but that didn’t matter with Ceerocai in his hands. The weapon almost fought with a mind of its own, guiding him with swift killing strokes. It spurred him on, the two of them a singular force of destruction. In another time, it might have made Cain sick with how easily he killed, but now, he barely gave it a thought. These men betrayed their countries, betrayed humanity. They turned their backs on peace. For that, they deserved to die.

  Cain stood, panting, sword dripping in a puddle at his feet. Bodies stacked about him. He looked around the docks to the Aceden corpses. The remaining Alliance soldiers formed a shield wall around him, peering into the surrounding smoke. More than a few glanced back at him, hate burning in their eyes.

  “They still don’t trust you, mate,” Silas said. “I say we beat a retreat while we can, let them fend for themselves.”

  Cain gripped him by his cuirass. “We will do no such thing; they are still our brothers. They have spilt blood for us and we will do the same for them. We abandon no one.”

  Isroc approached, a toothy grin splitting his face. “There’s the bastard!” He embraced Cain with a hug. “Glad to see you finally decided to join us.”

  Cain smiled, looking over the small Alliance force. “If you men want to get out of here alive, then follow me. We will survive this day.” He stepped forward into the smoke. Whispers sounded behind him, and eventually, boots thudded after him. He led the Alliance through the smoke and away from the docks.

  Cain turned to his friends, each of their faces blood-flecked and smiling back at him. He waved them forward and the Alliance followed close behind, shields raised and ready for the killing.

  Smoke and ash swirled in the breeze and filled Cain’s lungs with the charry stench of burning wood and stone. Many of the homes in this area were untouched by flame, their doors open to reveal civilians dead in their beds or at their tables. Vultures gorged themselves on the corpses strewn in the streets.

  Cain led the Alliance through the death. Behind him, soldiers cursed and cried. A few men dropped from the formation, sobbing and clutching the bodies of friends or family. Cain kept his eyes forward; he couldn’t let himself be distracted. The Acedens would pay for their crimes soon enough.

  He climbed over a still-smoldering mound of debris and stopped amid a row of buildings. He peered between two houses to the city’s main market. “Something’s not right,” he whispered to Isroc.

  He waved a hand overhead and the soldiers dispersed to hide in the houses. Cain and Isroc left the group and crept down the road.

  They soon lost sight of their men as they inched deeper into the market, smoke still curling about them. The crunch of their boots in soot seemed to echo as they left the market road and stepped into the entrance court.

  The smoke diminished in this open expanse, allowing the two to clearly see the path before them. Here, the fighting had been thick. Bodies of Eriasan and Aceden soldiers lay locked in death, twisted and broken. Cain and Isroc looked to each other. Where were the rest of the Acedens? Where were—

  An arrow hissed past Cain’s ear. He grabbed Isroc and dove for the ground as broadheads whipped overhead. They bolted and ran for their men, calling for help. Behind them charged a wave of Acedens.

  The Alliance leapt from the rubble and crashed head on with the Aceden force. Their surprise attack threw the enemy back with a grinding crunch of steel.

  “Keep pushing! We’ve got this!” Cain cried, swinging his sword at a soldier’s tower shield. He ca
ught the vicious hook of his weapon behind the lip of the shield and tossed it aside before bringing it down on the man’s throat.

  A volley of bolts shot from the side and punched through the Alliance soldiers beside him. Bodies dropped, opening gaps for bolts to rip into their formation.

  Screams filled Cain’s ears. He shoved through the shields and looked over his sweaty, wide-eyed men. Where had that shouting come from?

  Dozens of Eriasan soldiers trampled over the bodies of the Aceden crossbowmen, joining the fray. Cain’s men cheered and fought alongside the newcomers.

  Cain pulled his weapon from a body in time to face an incoming foe. A sword took the man through the spine and his body dropped to reveal another Aceden. The Aceden stepped over the body and swung his shield into another of his fellows, dropping the man with a well-aimed swing.

  The soldier walked up to Cain and propped his bloodied sword on his pauldron. He gave a crooked smirk and bowed his head of snow-white hair. A scarlet serpent adorned his black breastplate. This man wasn’t an Aceden.

  He was an Iscara.

  Cain looked the Iscara over for a moment. His peculiar, bright green eyes. The long hair bound partially back into a plait as every Iscara Cain had seen, and slain.

  Cain moved to raise his sword.

  The man cut him off. “We don’t have time for questions, we need to get all of you out of here. Follow me.” He turned and dove into the fight.

  Cain gave a signal to Isroc and he relayed this message to the men. Soon their forces pulled away and retreated into the smoke, following their strange new ally and his retinue of Eriasan soldiers. They clambered over the rubble and onto the neighboring road, the Aceden force close behind.

  Stretched along the road were the corpses of Eriasan soldiers, freshly bled and warm. The surviving Alliance’s boots squelched in the blood and viscera.

  They crossed mounds of ashes and piles of corpses to a road littered in rubble. Men battled along every inch of this great waste of stone.

  Over the rippling mass of black armor, a small group of Eriasans fought for their lives, their backs against the city wall. The Iscara pointed to them and charged into the Acedens.

  The Alliance drove into the enemy, splitting a wedge through their formations. They pushed on, battling for every inch forward. But as they made their way through the press of bodies, the enemy moved in to surround them. Acedens appeared from over the ruins, attacking the Alliance from every side.

  The Iscara looked around to the hundreds of Acedens that encircled them. He turned to Cain in mid struggle with an Aceden. The Iscara raised his open palm. Cain’s eyes lit up and he threw his weapon up.

  Blades of light shot around him and smashed into a group of Acedens. Screaming, broken men sailed past Cain. He nodded at the Iscara and turned back to the fighting.

  The Iscara sent out waves of wind from his palm, throwing men through the air like leaves on the wind. The Alliance pressed in behind him, and together, they beat back the enemy and reached the small group of Eriasans. They joined the men on a patch of rubble where a home once stood, beating back the waves of black.

  The Iscara wrenched his blade from a body and gestured at a nearby soldier. The man nodded his fiery head of hair before turning to plant his war hammer in the helm of an Aceden. He pried the spike from the man’s skull and called for a retreat.

  The Eriasans bound up the stairway that led to the top of the wall far above. More and more soldiers followed the retreat up the stairs, leaving the Warriors and a dwindling knot of soldiers to fend off the murderous masses.

  The Iscara jumped up beside Cain and threw out an arm. Arrows crashed into an unseen force before him and a flash of blue light sent Acedens reeling.

  He pushed Cain back and pointed his sword at the staircase. Cain nodded and gathered his friends and surviving soldiers. Behind them, the Iscara raised an arm and flung it out. A fierce gale of wind whipped up around him and blasted out, throwing men high into the air. Bodies crashed down among their fellows, and the Acedens ground to a stop with shields and spears held warily before them.

  The Iscara scanned the crowd for any brave eyes. Finding none, he turned and followed the Warriors up the stairs.

  Cain waited for the man atop the wall walk, watching his soldiers retreat over the ruined battlements and down the length of a massive, broken statue. He dropped down onto the statue—once a proud guardian of the city’s gate—and picked his way down, its marble armor forming solid footholds. It was dizzying this high up—the wind tugged at his clothes, his fingers slick with blood and numb from scraping and sliding. He kept his gaze down, and eventually reached solid ground. He joined the Iscara and his friends, and together, they sprinted across the field of bodies toward their men in the distance.

  Crossbowmen appeared on the wall behind them and Bolts whizzed about them as they crossed the wide-open fields. They entered the tree line as the moon broke free from its clouds. It cast its light through the twilight, a strange beauty amid the chaos.

  Cain hunched over to catch his breath. His exhaustion crept up from within, once smothered and now set free in all its wrath. He forced himself to stand and looked across the field to what remained of Morven.

  At the entrance of the once mighty city lay the ruins of the kingly effigies. A statue’s head capped the destruction, crowned now in the pale, deathly light of the moon.

  A falcon spread her snowy wings and floated higher on the pillars of smoke rising below. The bird dove through the embers and landed on a man’s outstretched arm. The hooded man untied a scrap of parchment from the falcon’s leg and scanned the note. He slipped it into his cloak and stepped across the courtyard.

  Morven’s once radiant palace was bathed in fire. Silk tapestries drifted away in bright bursts of embers and gold and silver and a thousand other metals flowed like tears down the white marble stones. Tendrils of smoke curled from the windows, the stained-glass bubbling and bleeding. The gilded doors hung crooked on their hinges, red-hot fire spewing from the building like the maw of a furnace. Acedens stumbled from the fires, carrying fine fixtures and furniture and jewelry. Groups of men pawed at serving girls, tearing at their clothes and beating them. Others laughed and drank, lounging among the bodies of Palace Guards and servants.

  The last of Morven’s defenders had died here, valiantly holding their country’s crown citadel to the last man. Far below, pockets of resistance fighters died in the city streets, their screams falling silent in the whipping wind.

  Talk and laughter died in a trail behind him as the hooded man walked. Every Aceden watched him, whispering and bowing. He stopped before the dying palace. Men dropped their loot and women and skirted around him to join the growing crowd.

  The man lowered his hood, letting the frigid wind lash against his face. The fires were hot here, but the mix of hot and cold felt good. It was fitting for a day filled with so much loss. But there was hope here too, victory would be won soon.

  Iscarius gazed up through the fires to the winged statues that framed the staircase. King Darius swung from a rope by his neck, suspended from one of the statue’s swords. His wife and son dangled from the other. The king’s body swayed in the wind, his bulging eyes staring out over his fallen city.

  Iscarius handed off the falcon to a nearby officer and turned to an approaching soldier. The towering giant of a man knelt in the ashes, his blood red armor glinting in the firelight. Malleus Taraus stood, fist to his chest and bald head looming high over the crowd.

  “Lord Iscarius,” he began. “We have reports of Vilant movement out of Kersch and Unda and the Three Fingers. There have been attacks on Arkon, Caethiwed, Dyrnel, and on caravans in the Nimithy Valley.”

  Iscarius nodded. “Then they will converge at their headquarters in Ilross. Send word to gather at Caethiwed, we march on Ilross at the month’s end.”

  “Yes, my lord. Who will have the honor of routing the vermin?”

  “That will be Commander Demorne. He is a f
ine tactician, and he has new weapons he is eager to test. I have decided what to do with you, General Taraus. You will travel south with the caravans.”

  “What? I am to travel with him?” Malleus glanced at a nearby man, his white wolf fur cloak stark against the black armor of the Acedens. Iscarius nodded.

  “Yes, my lord,” the giant of a man grunted before turning away.

  “Malleus.” The general turned and bowed again. “Who let this happen?” He inclined his head toward the hanged king.

  Malleus shook his head. “No one has claimed responsibility. The boys had their orders, they were to capture the city, not destroy it. They got carried away with the spoils after the fight.”

  “Are you suggesting that I am losing control over my soldiers?”

  Malleus’ pale eyes widened. “No, my lord. They are only bloodthirsty. And rightfully so.”

  Iscarius stepped closer. “I am losing control, Malleus. My men, their officers, need more discipline. I cannot afford a mistake like this to happen again. We have a mission to complete; we cannot afford to be distracted.”

  Malleus glanced at the onlooking Acedens. “Is it wise to discuss this here?”

  Iscarius sighed. “You disappoint me yet again, General Taraus. See that this does not happen a second time. You will not get another chance.”

  Malleus nodded but paused as Iscarius drew his sword. The long cerebreum blade caught the fires in its dark veins. He turned to the dozens of surrounding Acedens, every man stepping back, uncertain. “All of you have defied my will. You are weak and lack discipline, but it is not your fault.” He paused to scan the crowd. “Your officers allowed this to happen, therefore, they must face the consequences.” He raised his sword to a group of nearby captains. ‘Throw them to the fires.”

  The Acedens cast nervous glances to each other as the captains fell to their knees. “Do it!” Iscarius commanded.

  Several of the soldiers leapt forward and pulled the pleading men to their feet. They bound their hands and half-dragged, half-shoved the captains up the stairs. The men who refused to walk were wrestled into submission and thrown into the palace. The doors slammed shut behind them, and their muffled screams fell quiet beneath the roar of their pyre.