The Shadow of War

by Bryan Gifford

  He jumped past an axe swing and ducked into an alley. An arrow clattered against the wall behind him as he spun around the corner. People scattered, darting here and there as Acedens appeared with weapons in hand. Cain worked through the panicked crowd until he turned another corner. The east road.

  He made a mad dash for the end of the street, Acedens charging after him. Scattered bodies stared up at him from puddles. He jumped over a slain Aceden and continued past the last of the buildings. He left the road and crossed the field to a nearby hill.

  Mithaniel stepped out from the cluster of trees atop the hill, stopping to eye the bundle of sticks under Cain’s arm. “You just had to make a dramatic exit, didn’t you?” He glanced over the hilltop to the Acedens gathering in the road.

  “Come on!” Cain panted as he approached. “They won’t stop easily!” He ran across the hilltop and Mithaniel followed at his heels. Together, they left Brandor behind and fled into the hills.

  The soft glow of candle lights slipped through the cracks of shutters and the smells of cooking wafted in the dusk. The occasional woman roamed the street or sat at her porch, watching Adriel and her retinue pass.

  Adriel nodded to each of them. She couldn’t afford this village to think they were Aceden. Or bandits. She had quickly learned that bandits plagued the countryside, looting and burning wherever they went. And worse. With Charun torn between Acedens and resistance groups, some naturally took the sidelines and made advantage of the chaos. The rest of Tarsha was likely festering with outlaws as well.

  Adriel pursed her lips. One problem at a time. She felt like a court jester juggling. She had always been in awe of their skill, having watched them over the years in Ethebriel’s palace. They could juggle near a dozen balls, but add one more, and they would all tumble from the air in a beautiful mess.

  She couldn’t do much about the bandits short of sending all her Vilant hunting across the country. Even then, that would take months, or even years, to cut off that festering flesh. She couldn’t do much about the Acedens either, as much as it angered her. They were organized, they were many, and they were dug in deep. Years of planning had given them the edge. They owned the capital, they owned the king, and they owned every blade of grass. She couldn’t afford a prolonged fight with the enemy now. She had to finish up her duty here and move south fast. That meant giving up the country she had grown up in. Could she do that? Kaanos was her home too. She could at least do something about Kaanos.

  She must have let her face show her frustration. Jundhil and Weslyn had put some distance between them and her, eyeing her warily. Even Isroc watched her with caution. “Are you alright?” he finally asked.

  “As well as I can be.”

  Isroc nodded vaguely and turned to his scan of the wattle and daub homes.

  “What do you think about what that weaver said, back in Dayne?”

  Isroc looked up at the gray sky. The rain had stopped, if likely only for the moment, and the crisp air was damp and cool. “She seemed trustworthy enough. If she spoke true, and the Acedens really did crush the resistance in Aaraciel, then that doesn’t bode well. It may have been a final blow. The resistance is scattered enough as it is.”

  Adriel scowled and a woman watching her dropped her knitting basket to scurry inside her home. “Aaraciel seems to have been their base. The weaver’s information was days old when she had learned it, perhaps the resistance has retaken Aaraciel by now.”

  “It’s possible, but unlikely. The resistance is unorganized. It probably took them all these months since the Acedens rose just to gather in enough numbers at Aaraciel. It will take them many more months to attempt another uprising, if they ever do. There may be some left underground there, but the Acedens will ferret them out eventually.”

  “Well, you’re a shining beacon of hope,” Adriel grunted.

  “Only practical. My father taught me to keep emotions off the battlefield. They only get you filled with holes.”

  Adriel admitted to herself that she did need to work on reining in her emotions if she was to lead. But could she be a stone? No. She cared too much. Was that weakness or strength?

  “The Acedens are moving south. Once we’re gone and the enemy focuses their attention on us in Kaanos, the resistance will be able to rise up and take back Charun.”

  “Perhaps.” He didn’t sound confident.

  “I have to hope, Isroc. I have to.”

  They reached the end of the village, Cresil. Her scouts had reported that her destination was perhaps a mile outside the village proper, a large farm of horses and sheep and goats. She already had her Vilant in a perimeter around the village and farmhouse. She didn’t want to scare the man by walking up to his farm with fifty armed men and women.

  It had taken three more days to reach this point. Deryn’s trail was not exactly a straight arrow. They made for Dayne first to find the weaver. She had given them little save for another longer list of people they should find. That led them to several other tiny villages, each bearing little to no fruit. However, they eventually pieced together the tales. Vanthe had likely wanted to get as far away from the capital as possible. But that was his mistake, for the farther east he went, the closer he got to Adriel. Some of her confidants had said they’d sighted Royal Guards, with their flashy cloaks and superior gaits. He likely wanted an army of Guardsmen around him, and that helped narrow his location even further. He was close, Adriel could feel it. She’d find Vanthe soon.

  Overall, they’d uncovered a mine of information. They had learned about Aaraciel and other cities and towns where the resistance was ousted. They learned about Aceden skirmishes with bandits and resistance forces. And they learned about more slaves moving south.

  The slaves. She had rescued tens of thousands of them. And yet there were always more. Slavery seemed completely foreign to her—it was repulsive, inhuman. No one had worn chains in a thousand years, and even then, slavery had been almost exclusively practiced by the desert tribes before Meres had been united.

  Why then was it here? Iscarius—Malecai—couldn’t be that evil. Could he? He hadn’t seemed so when she walked at his side and broke bread with him. Of course, his friendship had only been a mask. Who knew what he was or what he was capable of?

  Even if he condoned slavery, how could anyone else? The people, the Acedens, even the kings? Vanthe was truly a monster, but could he be so truly horrible as to give his people over to the chains? Maybe he’d been strong-armed into following Iscarius like Branim. No! She couldn’t think like that. Not if she was going to take his head. Most likely, her uncle had traded his country for a gold mark.

  They learned about Harin Salforn. All roads seemed to point to him. A retired soldier from the elite Hammer Hand, he lived his remaining days sealed away on his farm. Or so most people thought.

  They finally came to the timber fence that marked the border of Harin’s property. Adriel led the others over the closed gate and followed the muddy mire of a road through the gently undulating hills. Horses roamed here and there, chestnuts and roans and duns grazing in the thick spring grass. Adriel didn’t know a great deal about horses, but she knew fine stock when she saw it. These had defined muscles, fine lines, and long gaits. Strange that an infantryman would deal in horses.

  They approached a large farmhouse atop a hill. Adriel waved for her Vilant to stay here and beckoned Isroc and Jundhil to follow her. Goats spattered the slope, watching them pass with their beady eyes.

  A stonework fence formed a ring around the back of the farmhouse and wooden pens filled most of the fenced area. Fluffy black and white sheep churned in the cramped area as they pushed into the pens. A handful of boys and men in dull woolens prodded the occasional sheep this way and that with a crook. One man stood at the main gate where boys herded the sheep inside. He plucked a small stone from a table and cast one into a wooden bucket with each sheep that passed.

  His back to her, Adriel couldn’t know for certain, but perhaps it was the way he stoo
d, with his swordsman’s grace and poise. “Harin Salforn?” she called over the noise of bleating sheep and tramping hooves.

  The man turned slowly, hand twitching for his belt. The men and boys jumped, many reaching in their cloaks or raising crooks.

  “I mean no harm.” She raised a pacifying hand. “I am Adriel Ivanne, Commander of the Vilant. I have a few questions if you can spare a moment.”

  The man spat. A soldier alright. “Damn you, woman, now I’ll have to redo the count!” He dumped out his bucket, sending stones clattering across the table. He stabbed a finger at a nearby boy. “Fetch the others, have them muck the stables! If we’re going to be up late, they might as well be too!”

  The boy jumped and bolted for another nearby house. The others began herding the sheep out of the pens and out onto the hilltop. Wait, where had the men gone? Only the boys remained.

  “Now, what do you want?” the man grumbled as the last of the sheep gathered outside. He collected his stones and waved a hand to the boys. Sheep flowed past him again, and rocks thumped in the bottom of his bucket.

  Adriel followed the fence until she stepped beside him. This close, she knew for certain this was Harin. He had a soldier’s face, hardened by years and the horrors that filled them. He had the look of a stone, cracked and well worn, but that only gave the stone character.

  “I have spent a long time looking for information; everyone that I’ve talked to points to you.”

  He scratched his bushy white beard in thought. “I don’t know whatever it is you think I know, I’m only a soldier. Or was.”

  “I’m not Aceden, Harin.”

  “Whether you’re Aceden or not makes no difference to me. I’m only a farmer now, and like any of the good folk here, I only care about how many sheep I can keep from those damned wolves.”

  “You have men here.” She thought she saw Harin pause before casting a stone in the bucket. “I saw them. Now they’re gone. I suspect your order to that boy had something to do with that. If I were Aceden, I’d fix that. I understand that you’re being careful, Harin, but I don’t have time for this, and neither do you, I suspect.”

  Harin smirked at her. “Finally, a straight-talking woman. You’ll make some man very happy, I reckon. You said you were Vilant? I’ve heard of you folks. You took that blasted wall, didn’t you? Well, what do you want?”

  Adriel pursed her lips. Some man? She did not go about seeking men and their approval! “I will straight talk then. I am looking for Vanthe. He must pay for his betrayal.”

  Harin threw a stone in his bucket and chuckled. “Even if I knew where the king was, why would I tell you? So you and your fifty Vilant can go and get your heads whacked off for treason? I served the king for many years. I may not have liked him, but I love my country.”

  How could he possibly have known that she had fifty Vilant? She had most of her people surrounding the place!

  “I would gladly take the headsman’s axe for a chance at Vanthe. And so would any of my people. We love our country just as much as you, and we won’t stand by and let Vanthe get away with his crimes.”

  Harin glanced at her, his sharp eyes scanning, as if measuring her. Whatever he saw, he nodded. “My boys here report having seen Royal Guards many times. They seem to be gathering nearby, they come from the south and west but none of my contacts have seen them in the east. If I had to guess, it seems your prize is north, in Alara.”

  Adriel stifled a curse. She should have known he would be in Alara. Her childhood home. Vanthe knew the horrors she’d endured there, and he knew she would never return willingly. So, he had been worried about her wrath.

  Adriel wanted to run, run away as fast as she could. But just as great a part of her wanted to run toward Alara. Toward her nightmares.

  She made herself stay where she was. “Thank you, Harin. One more thing, before we go.” Harin conceded and threw the last rock into the bucket. “If you and your men truly resist the Acedens and you’d like to do more than count sheep, gather your arms and make for the Gray Lands. I have fifty thousand Vilant in wait there.”

  Kari appeared and whispered to Adriel who turned to Harin with a smile. “You have thirty men, those that Kari here could see at least, before they went into hiding. Thirty men can’t do as much as fifty thousand.”

  Harin gave a gruff chuckle. “Forty. The rest are out there watching us. I wanted to live my life in peace, but I seem fated to the sword. People clung to me after the Acedens took over. Claim it was my reputation, but I think it’s just they’ve never seen a man survive to an old age. Now I’ve got twelve boys and forty men, all wanting to do their part.”

  “I think you do as well or you would have cast them all away.”

  Harin spat and crossed his burly arms. “I suppose so. This old soldier wasn’t meant to die in a warm bed, it seems.”

  “I can give you an honorable death. Come, fight with us, and we will cull the Acedens from our home.”

  Harin nodded, chewing on her words. “Give me a good death then, Adriel Ivanne. I will be disappointed if I live through this war too.”

  Silas stared up at the roof of his tent, an undoubtedly stupid grin on his face. He didn’t care. For this one tiny moment, he was happy. The problems of the world didn’t seem to matter.

  She smelled of brandy and sweat, a touch of perfume. Her body pressed warm against his skin to keep away the night’s cold.

  They laid atop his desk, papers and trays and clothes scattered about them. Silas fished under their woolen blanket for another flask. He raised it to his lips, but Shara snatched it. She shook it, then swished around the last few drops at the bottom. Shrugging, she tipped it and dripped the last of the brandy onto her chest.

  Silas licked the drops from between her breasts and kissed her.

  “You look happy,” she noted.

  “It’s been a while, if I’m honest. Been rather busy trying to save the world and all that.”

  “I could tell.”

  “Hey, now, that’s not fair!”

  Shara chuckled, and the two fell quiet for a moment. “Well,” Silas started, “I mean, it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

  She simply laughed again.

  Silas groaned, suddenly wishing he’d had more brandy lying around. “Women…”

  Shara wrapped the blanket around her and raised on an elbow to look at him. “Everyone needs to unwind a little sometimes. Especially now after so many bad things have happened, with the fate of the world on our shoulders.”

  “But the war is out there. Iscarius is still out there. I can’t afford to sit around and let him burn it all down.”

  “And what are you going to do? Run to Dun Ara, storm the city, run Sitare through Iscarius’ heart?”

  “Well, no but…”

  Shara frowned. “I felt very much the same, once. The arzecs destroyed my home when I was a child. I watched them rip my parents apart while they still screamed. I wanted to fight ever since, but I couldn’t—Erias forbids women from fighting. So, I joined Jiran’s Vilant. I dedicated my life to the cause, and I got so carried away with finding my vengeance that I… well, let’s just say Jiran helped me see the truth. Adriel too, as much as I hate to admit it. They both taught me that there are other, nobler reasons to fight. They helped me find a reason to fight.”

  Shara brushed a hand along Silas’ exposed chest, feeling the curves in his muscles with a gentle finger. “Vengeance is hollow. Find a better reason.”

  Silas peered into her dark eyes, just barely visible in the pitch black of the tent. How could she know what he’d been fighting for? How could she know how he felt? After so many horrible things, his anger felt watered down. He hadn’t even been able to bring himself to kill Joshua’s murderer. He just felt… hollow. Could his love for his friends and his fallen brother be enough to keep him fighting?

  He opened his mouth to reply but a bell toll cut him short. He and Shara raised up, listening for the second and third notes. They came.

&nbs
p; “The Acedens!” Shara cried, scrambling from the blanket.

  Silas cursed, head swimming from Shara’s musky scent as much as from the alcohol. The two quickly donned their clothes and Silas grabbed Sitare from his cot before following her out into the chaotic crowd. Men and women darted every which way, strapping on armor and weapons and shouting in the confusion.

  “My scouts reported enemy troops gathering in the south, but I didn’t think they’d actually be dumb enough to attack.” Shara cursed, throwing men aside as she screamed for them to make way. “We’re prepared for an attack. Let them come!”

  She led Silas through the camp to the south wall and up the stairway to the wall walk. The two shoved their way through the gathering formations, shouting orders to prepare defenses. They stopped at the battlements and peered out over the wall to the hills of Charun. It was late into the night now, and shadows played in the hills and valleys from the drifting clouds above.

  The bells sounded again, a clangor in the dark. Silas turned to look out over the camp with its thousands of tents and torch-lined roads and palisades.

  There they were, on the wrong side. Thousands charged the north wall with swords shining and torches blazing.

  The Acedens.

  A Traitor’s Crown

  Adriel reined her mount to a stop. There it was. Alara.

  Her childhood home. More nightmare than anything else, but it had still been home. Alara was a small village, cozy wattle and daub homes dotted about the picturesque hills. Farms and vineyards. Cattle and sheep and horses. Boys and girls busy about their work.

  Atop the highest hill was her old home. A mansion of white stone with elegant windows and colorful tile roofs. Vines weaved between the numerous balconies and verandas. Tall trees lined the stone paths that webbed over and around the hill. There were gardens too—three of them—each with fountains and colorful plants and pruned shrubs.