The Shadow of War

by Bryan Gifford

  A patrol marched toward them. Before Adriel could raise her bow, the other Vilant rushed up and loosed arrows into the chatting group of Acedens. The arrows spanned the short distance with a whish of feathers and dropped the men to the stones. The Vilant gathered the bodies and patted them down for anything of use before tipping them over the wall. Distant, dull crunches of bone and armor sounded in the quiet.

  Adriel nodded at her Vilant and they gathered to watch the nearby tower. Acedens filed into formation in its archway, conversing as they prepared for a patrol.

  Adriel sighed and flicked her hand. Together, the Vilant drew arrows to cheeks. The men crumpled, their words cut short.

  Adriel sprinted for the tower. A sentry peered out over the tower’s crenels and gave a shout as he saw them approaching. Kari launched an arrow and sent the man dropping over the wall.

  The tower’s door banged open and three men rushed out. Adriel’s broadhead took the first man through the throat and the others fell in a flurry of Vilant blades.

  “We couldn’t have gone unnoticed,” Kari spat as the others stormed the tower.

  The tower’s bell clanged an alarm in confirmation. A scream, and the bell soon fell silent. Adriel and Kari turned to each other, holding their breath.

  A distant bell sounded.

  Adriel called for her Vilant, and they quickly gathered in the archway. “Should we hold here?” one of the men asked.

  “No, we have to keep moving. Maren’s team should be at the gate soon.”

  “Commander!” a woman cried. Adriel turned to see a charging group of Acedens. Two Vilant flung back dead at her side. The others dropped to their knees and loosed a volley of their own, then fell to their stomachs as arrows whizzed overhead. Adriel jumped up and led her Vilant in a charge as the archers reloaded. The two sides clashed in the narrow wall walk.

  Adriel leapt back from a sword swing. She blocked another strike and caught the man’s incoming shield with her cross guard. She twisted her blade and kicked the man back over a crenel before hoisting him up and over the wall.

  She turned to see Kari staggering toward her with her thin sword in hand and a gash in her riding dress. Only one other Vilant remained. He leaned against the wall and gulped down his wine skin, arm against a bloody Aceden propped beside him. Dolan, that was the man’s name.

  Adriel took a swig from her water skin and fought to avoid the gaze of the other two. She couldn’t bear to look at the bodies, she’d led those men and women to their deaths.

  Kari stepped beside her, breathless. “There are more.”

  Adriel turned to see Acedens running toward them. The gatehouse loomed behind, sentries lining its peak with bows aimed at the three Vilant. The tower’s bell sounded furiously, and the camp below stirred with enemies.

  Adriel looked to the others. She raised her bow and led a charge at the incoming Acedens.

  She launched arrows in mid-run, dropping men even as broadheads zipped by. And then she was on them, long sword flashing. She cut a man down and slipped through their group, dodging and ducking weapons as she spun. Kari and Dolan cut through the line of men and joined her as she sprinted for the foot of the gatehouse tower. Dolan lumbered up beside her and swung his slingshot, flinging a small rock up at the sentries. The stone took a man in the face and sent him reeling, his arrow shooting off through the night.

  Adriel made for the door of the gatehouse and kicked, but it refused to budge as if held closed on the other side. Kari and Dolan reached her, and together, the three tackled the door.

  The door burst open and the men on the other side staggered from the blow. Adriel cut down two before a third lunged at her with spear raised. She spun aside, and Kari plunged her sword up through her attacker’s ribs. Dolan hefted his axe about him as he pushed through the Acedens to the opposing stairwell.

  Adriel yanked her blade from a body before waving Kari over to the nearby wall. The winch was here, its chains lancing through a hole to the floor below. The two women flung themselves at the winch. Throwing their weight into each tug on the long, wooden arms, they hoisted the chains with a groan of metal and a grind of gears. Beyond the walls, the creaking of a gate sounded their success.

  Dolan soon reappeared, huffing and puffing, bodies strewn about the tiny room. Adriel waited, listening through the hole in the floor. Shouts. A dull roar grew louder. Weapons clashing. Dying. Had Shara ordered the attack? It was too early!

  And where was Maren? Both doors should have been opened at the same time, that was their plan. Two teams, two winches, two gates.

  She couldn’t afford to wait. With a soft curse, she beckoned the two Vilant to follow her toward a side door.

  “Where’s Maren?” Kari asked, voice strained.

  Adriel opened the door, screams echoing louder here in the stairwell. Acedens came around the bend with shields raised.

  The curve of the stairs forced the Acedens into a tight knot and their blades into awkward, panicked jabs. The Vilant bowled over them and threw them back down the steps.

  Adriel climbed over the bodies and chased after the retreating Acedens. She paused at the door and peered around the corner. Chaos met her.

  Acedens filled the gateway, battling against… the people! Men and women in little more than rags pressed around the frantic Acedens, beating at their foes with makeshift weapons—chains, cart handles, bricks, stakes. Bodies piled in the close quarters, but still the slaves came.

  “We have to get to that other gatehouse!” Adriel dove into the fray, cutting down unsuspecting Acedens. Slaves pounced on the men she dropped, beating and kicking and spitting. Adriel shoved through the mob, the churning throngs beating this way and that. Acedens and slaves clashed as far as she could see, a battle that filled the entire camp. Everywhere, slaves were dying.

  Ahead, a mass of slaves tried to force their way into the other gatehouse but the Acedens dammed the entrance with shields and swords, stemming any advance. Bodies collected at the base of the tower.

  Adriel forced a path through the slaves and, using the momentum of their numbers, led a push into the Aceden shields. As the enemy stabbed down at her, she dropped and slipped between their shields. With the weight of the slaves behind her, she shoved past their blockade with weapon swinging. The slaves drove a wedge through the enemy’s weakened line and crashed down on the screaming men.

  Adriel blocked an incoming sword and was nearly swept away by the force of the incoming slaves. A man tackled into her attacker and clawed him to the ground, biting at his face. A woman swept past and rammed a stake through a screaming Aceden’s eye. Slaves bashed skulls with bricks and hacked limbs with rusty saws. Blood sprayed the walls as men died horrible deaths.

  Dolan knocked into Adriel and threw her against the wall. A sword took him through the chest. He pulled the Aceden close and planted his axe in his killer’s skull. The body dropped, and he bellowed at the other Acedens as they leapt over him.

  Adriel took advantage of Dolan’s courageous distraction and shoved past the last few Acedens. She flung herself over the winch and pulled.

  Nothing.

  She wasn’t strong enough! Countless hours of running and fighting had left her drained and feeble. She pulled with the last bit of her strength, planting a foot against the wall for leverage. An incoming Aceden smacked into the wall beside her and Kari grabbed for the winch’s other arm. Together, they pulled. A deep groan sounded outside as the outer gate slowly opened.

  The Acedens turned from the fight to Adriel and Kari.

  Just a little more! The remaining Acedens ran for them, even as slaves pulled their comrades down. The gap between them closed.

  The women put all their weight into the winch.

  The gate banged open. A wave of horses rumbled past the gatehouse and crashed through the battle. Columns of Vilant infantry followed behind, women of every age, gray-haired men and boys barely big enough to hold their swords.

  Thousands of Acedens and Vilant and slaves c
lashed in the roads and trenches, dawn’s pale purple washing over them. Slaves entered the gatehouses, crushing any Aceden in their way as they spilled out onto the wall.

  Adriel stepped from the gatehouse, the cool morning air kissing her sweaty skin. The sky bore enough light now to show the full scope of the battle. Vilant spread throughout the camp, working through the endless rows of tents. Here and there, Acedens launched a counter offensive, but their meager efforts were swept away beneath the sheer weight of Vilant. Fires spread haphazard, consuming overseer towers and barracks and palisades. Distant screams echoed in the crisp air as the Acedens retreated into other camps.

  Adriel returned to the gatehouse and climbed the stairs, Kari at her heels. Corpses littered the steps, bodies from both sides twisted together.

  They found the others out on the wall walk. The Vilant lay in a bloody heap, riddled with arrows like pincushions. Maren lay sprawled here, empty eyes watching the sunrise.

  “Come,” Adriel whispered to Kari and the surrounding slaves. “Let’s finish this.”

  The door gave a shudder. Silas lifted on the balls of his feet and shrugged to work his arms into a less painful position behind him. How long had he been in this cell? Five days, six? The Acedens were coming for him again. To torture. To burn him, to bleed him. Well, he may be chained like a dog, but he wouldn’t go without a fight. He eyed the door as it gave another shudder.

  The door banged open and women dispersed through the tiny, rush-littered room with weapons ready. Adriel followed in after them and her big blue eyes grew bigger. “Silas!”

  Silas blinked against the sudden flare of bright light and gave a hoarse laugh. “It’s not every day beautiful women are fighting to break down my door.”

  The other women tittered, and he thought one gave him a coy smile. Adriel shook her head but grinned. A flick of her hand and two Vilant swung their heavy axes at his chains. They snapped, and another careful blow broke his cuffs. He stood and massaged feeling into his sore shoulders and wrists.

  “We’ll get those cuffs off you soon enough,” her lips pursed in that way of hers as she watched him.

  He struggled to smile back. He’d been painfully close to giving up everything. Best not to think about how dark his thoughts had gone. He was free now; that’s all that mattered. “You leave us and come back the chieftess of the maidens? You’ve been busy.” More laughs and another coquettish grin.

  “More than you know. How did you get here, how long have you been here? Is Isroc with you?”

  Silas’ gaze fell. “He’s around here, I’m sure. I don’t know where we are. I don’t think we’ve been here for more than a few days though. Adriel, we failed. We lost the West Riders.”

  “All of them?” Her face paled.

  He gave a nod. ‘The Acedens kept us alive, said we would help them to find Cain.”

  “You said you were going back for him. He wasn’t at Seraphel?” Her voice took on a tight edge. She turned and waved her Vilant out of the cell.

  “No… I don’t know where he is…” Silas sagged against the wall as his pain surged up through his weariness. He could still feel the hot steel of burning knives digging into his flesh. The Acedens had been quite surgical in their torture; patching him up before he bled out and couldn’t reveal Cain’s whereabouts.

  Adriel threw her arms around him. Silas blinked, unsure of what to say. So, he patted her on the back.

  “They hurt you,” she whispered. “They hurt you just to try and get at Cain.”

  “He’s my captain. And my friend.” The hot trail of a tear cut down his cheek.

  Adriel pulled from the embrace and wedged her body under his arm. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.” She spared a glance at the dark, blood-stained cell, then helped him out into the hallway.

  Silas stumbled along beside her with legs screaming in protest. They walked down the cramped hallway, men and women breaking into the doors that lined the walls. The snapping of chains was a constant clinking of metal on metal. They pulled men from the tiny cells, poor wretches in rags even dirtier than his own. Some were wide eyed and exultant. Too many kept their dark eyes downcast or stared off into nothing.

  “Thank you for everything,” Silas whispered. “I doubted you once. Never again.”

  Adriel looked up at him with a small smile but said nothing. She led him to the last door in the dungeon where a group of Vilant waited. At her nod, they burst into the cell.

  A pile of rags lay discarded in the corner of the room. Silas swallowed and put on the most cheerful face he could muster. He approached and kicked the mound. Isroc rose with a grunt, suspended in an awkward crouch by chains. Two women cut him from the wall and he dumped over the rushes with a groan.

  “Come on, mate,” Silas urged as his friend huddled in a shivering mess. “We’re here for you. We have to go.”

  “Go where?” Isroc replied, voice breaking. “I failed them, Silas. I failed them…”

  “It’s not over yet.”

  Isroc’s arms and legs were covered in fresh scars and holes. Blood soaked his rags. “What are we doing?” His eyes were red rimmed, his lips cracked, face haggard. “They’ve taken everything from us. It’s no use trying to fight anymore.”

  Silas knelt before his friend. He closed his eyes at the sight of his tears. It hurt to see Isroc—once so strong and confident—so utterly broken. He forced a smile. “Did I ever tell you why I became a Warrior?” Isroc said nothing. “The truth is, I don’t know why. Joshua believed in the Alliance, believed that we could change things. I wanted to have that same faith, but I never really felt it. Not until after he died. Not until now. We have a purpose, Isroc, and that purpose isn’t rotting away in some damn cell.”

  “What purpose is that, then?”

  “We’re still breathing, aren’t we? We are Warriors. We fight. And we die fighting.”

  A nod from Adriel and her Vilant returned to the hallway. “This place is a wall that the Acedens were building, they call it the Gray Land. It’s heavily contested, apparently Eriasan and Charunite soldiers have been attacking it for weeks now. The wall nearly stretches the entire border with Erias, maybe even farther. Thousands of people have been brought here to build this wall—many were Eriasans that we tracked from Ilross. My Vilant are freeing them as we speak. No more chains, no more whips, no more…” she swallowed, sighing. “They are why we keep going, Isroc. Now, get on your damn feet, pick up a sword, and fight for the people.”

  Isroc rose weakly and returned her gaze. “I can’t fight a war in rags.”

  Adriel gave a smile. “We’ll find your armor and weapons. Yours too, Silas. And find both of you a bath,” She finished with a scrunch of her nose.

  The Vilant passed around blankets and clothes to the freed prisoners along with handfuls of bread and dried meats and wineskins. They smiled and laughed despite the melancholy stares of the prisoners. The Vilant cared for people and believed in what they fought for. For the first time in a very long time, Silas felt that same passion. He’d lost sight of why he’d fought all these years. He had people to protect.

  A gray-haired woman approached and handed Silas and Isroc a tray of food and a wineskin. He hoped it was Charunite brandy; he’d developed a fondness for the stiff drink after his brief stint at Abraxas. Silas popped the stopper and sniffed. Only wine. And watered down at that. Still, he drank—intending to sip—but soon gulped down half the skin. He offered some to Isroc, but the man only walked in silence, tray forgotten in his hands.

  The three ascended the narrow stairs at the end of the hall and came out into a small circular room of sterile stone and furnishings. A group of Vilant approached and formed a ring around the three Warriors before leading them through the halls.

  The passageways were a maze of dark stones with little more than brickwork to ease the eye. The occasional rough plank door broke the patterns, some halls lined with doors, others without. Tapestries hung here and there, weaves of bright colors that stood star
k against the gray walls. The banners of battalions famed and forgotten, new and old. Red crossed axes, black spear on white, silver bow on green fields, three black arrows on checkered black and white.

  Banners Silas recognized. The mountain pierced through by a sword, both in white on a cobalt field, the standard of Erias. The formless red eagle of Meres. The white stone and black sword of Inveira. The three silver stars of Kaanos. A red-haired woman on a horse—an Outrider banner, though not his company’s, of course. What were all these banners doing here?

  Instead of taking them outside, Adriel led the group up a winding stairway, down more decorated halls and up another stair. Vilant roamed the fortress. They left with armloads of coins and jewelry and anything shiny. Others left with more practical things: lamps and oil, food and drinks, rope, clothing, weapons. They escorted Acedens alone or in groups, all in various stages of dress. The men went along willingly enough, though more than a handful fought back with weapons or fists.

  “What are you going to do with the Acedens?” Silas asked Adriel, watching Vilant wrestle a screaming man to the ground.

  “It will take us time to go through the rest of this fortress. And the rest of the wall for that matter. There are several other camps and keeps along the wall, but I think anyone holding out will surrender or retreat when they learn of our numbers.” She watched a nearby woman thrash in her bindings and curse at her Vilant captors. “There may be hundreds, if not thousands of captured Acedens by the time we’re done here. I will take them with us, as prisoners. There’s no sense executing them all if I don’t have to.”

  “They certainly wouldn’t extend the same courtesy to us.”

  “We are not them. And I need to know some things, like where they are sending the rest of their slaves. We’ve freed over twenty thousand people so far, but there are far more out there somewhere.”

  “You think your uncle—” a sharp glance over her shoulder cut him short. “Why do you think Vanthe would do this?”

  “I intend to ask him.” Her voice held an unfamiliar poison.