The Shadow of War

by Bryan Gifford

  Cain shook his head and leaned against the opposite wall in thought. “Meurig is one of the only entrances to Angeled that we know of. They wouldn’t have given up that advantage unless they had a very good reason.” He looked to the western horizon. “I don’t want to risk Vernell’s army marching up our asses, but we don’t have much of a choice. We’ll set up camp here for a few days and see what we can find; I don’t want to run into Markadesh blind.”

  Mithaniel sank to the ground, legs feeling like jelly. Sylva swooped in to perch beside him. “Maybe the Acedens know something we don’t,” he began, petting the bird as she gave a hungry screech. “Or maybe they didn’t have a large enough force to defend the place, so they pulled back to Markadesh.”

  Cain sat on a pile of rubble and pulled his cloak closer against the cool night. Remnants of buildings poked up around them like splintered bones to block the moonlight. It left them in a cold shadow, jagged rays of pale white refracting overhead.

  “Iscarius knows I’m coming. He’s leading us into a trap.”

  Mithaniel dug in his satchels for the last of their food. A few more days of tack bread and they’d be out of rations. “How can you know that? We’ve been one step ahead of him this whole time.”

  “I just know. We’re never ahead of him; he always knows what we’re doing and what we’ll do next. He knows I’m coming for him. He’s counting on it.”

  Mithaniel hated to agree, but it was the truth. Malecai was far too smart to let himself get cornered so easily. “Maybe that’s why they pulled out of Meurig then, so they can fight you on their terms. Same reason Alanis and Kamael were hesitant to attack at Seraphel—they’re scared of what you can do. No one wants a repeat of Ekran.” He remembered when he’d first heard what had happened there, that their enemy had awoken Ceerocai, and, in a fit of terrible rage, had somehow killed twenty thousand people. That moment had further cemented in his mind that Ceerocai and Abaddon needed to be destroyed. However, after meeting Cain and seeing the innocence in his eyes, he couldn’t help but realize that Malecai’s way could only end in tragedy. Yes, Abaddon and Ceerocai needed to be destroyed, but was Iscarius’ reign of fear and subjugation any better?

  A thought occurred to Mithaniel and he glanced back down into the near-empty ration bag. He’d had his suspicions, but here, alone in darkness at the edge of the world, Mithaniel could not deny where their path was headed. This was a one-way trip.

  “We’re not going to survive this, are we?”

  Cain watched him with those haunting, dark eyes. “No, we won’t.”

  He wanted to say something snarky, something to make himself feel better about the situation, but he had agreed to this suicide mission. Cain knew what he was and the end he had to face. And Mithaniel had to be the one to help him face it. Still, knowing didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

  He watched Cain in the shadows, now delicately scraping away at the piece of wood that he’d been working on for months. The moonlight occasionally caught in his eyes. There was deep pain there, fear, desperation. But also hope.

  At the end of the world, Cain Taran still managed to hope.

  He held up his wooden ring to the moon and smiled.

  Silas strode along, humming to himself as he weaved through the crowd. People bustled about, digging latrines, starting fires, raising tents. The camp was an organized chaos at best, and ‘organized’ was being gracious. Of course, that was to be expected with what was likely the largest war camp since Ivandar’s Old Alliance marched on Andred.

  The camp was a mobile city, practically as large as Morven. One hundred thousand people. It was hard to wrap his mind around. Tents of every color spanned the endless stretch of grass. Hundreds of campfires billowed smoke into the late afternoon sky. The clinking of swords and shouts of officers echoed nearby, and everywhere, the dull hum of conversation threatened to shake the earth apart. It amazed him how anyone could organize so many people, but Adriel and Shara managed the impossible. Sure, it looked like a jumbled mess of tents to him, but the camp was essentially many small camps divided into individual armies. Therefore, each camp was vastly different—some were structured in rows, others in spirals or mazes. But each was broken down further into divisions and battalions, then all the way down to individual squads. This apparently allowed each army to know where they needed to set camp each night.

  But Silas noticed an added effect of the camps’ organization. Soldiers were forced to spend more time with their comrades. Units were required to spend their days marching together, and at night, shared the same tents and the same meals. And, after weeks spent on the march, many soldiers had developed close bonds with their sword mates. They worked together, sang together, told stories around the campfire. Despite the sheer size of the camp, it reminded Silas of his time as an Outrider—of the many nights spent under the stars with his brothers-in-arms. He renewed his humming and continued toward the heart of the camp.

  He eventually entered the ring of tents that made up the Vilant officer quarters. The camp was as large as Andaurel! He passed rows of supply wagons and strolled up to Shara who stood directing the work flow with a group of officers.

  He stopped to admire the woman as she listened to her officers’ questions and concerns. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful—which she was, with her piercing eyes and flowing dark hair and practical leather armor molded to her curves. She was more than that, something stable and real. Her hands rough from years of swinging an ax. Her often snappy tone as she pretended to lose patience with him. Her coppery skin glistening with sweat from a long day’s march.

  Oh, and her impressive alcohol tolerance.

  “Are you going to come over here?” Shara waved at him, taking a pull of her wineskin. “Or are you just going to stand there gawking?”

  Silas grinned as he approached. “It’s your fault. If you weren’t so beautiful then I wouldn’t have to gawk.”

  “That was equally embarrassing as it was painful. Impressive.” The women around her suppressed their giggles. “You’re in a decidedly chipper mood today, aren’t you? What can I do to wipe that idiotic grin from your face?”

  “I’m afraid it’s permanent, my dear.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Noted.” He held up a bottle. “I bought an old Charunite vintage from one of the merchants. Care to try it with me?”

  Shara placed her fists on her hips, as she seemed to have a habit of doing around him. “As you may have observed, I am in the middle of something. And shouldn’t you be training the recruits?”

  “I let them go early. They’ve spent weeks marching and drilling, let them have some time to themselves for once.”

  “We’re a day’s march from Meurig. We can’t afford free time on the verge of battle.”

  The surrounding officers saluted, and she let them go with an irritable nod.

  “You scared my officers off,” Shara said with that clipped tone of hers. “Again. I don’t enjoy the rumors being spread about us. I already look like a hypocrite when I condemn fraternizing among my soldiers.”

  “I say let them. It’s the end of the world, after all. Besides, everyone needs to unwind sometimes.”

  Shara frowned. “Using my own words against me, huh? Fine, give me that.” She snatched the bottle from him and popped the cork, taking a long drink. She wiped the purple wine from her mouth and sighed. “I suppose this is some ploy to get me undressed?”

  “Depends. Is it working?”

  She took another gulp. “You’ll need another bottle.”

  “That can be remedied. Come, I want to show you something.”

  Shara sighed again but followed him back through the camp. Vilant stood straight and saluted as she passed, growing silent as they made a path for her. She seemed to straighten a little more, her gait even more confident.

  Silas smiled to himself. The angry soldier had become a beloved general.

  “Why are you so happy today?” Shara asked as they wal
ked. “I’ve grown fond of your surliness; I’d hate for this to be permanent.”

  Silas smiled, realizing he’d been humming again. “I’m just happy that we are finally close. We’re finally doing what needs to be done.”

  “I’ve rarely seen someone excited to be facing battle.”

  “Ever since I became a Warrior, I felt like I was never headed in the right direction. I lost Joshua, Aren, so many other people. And for what? To help kings who would eventually betray us? To forge an alliance that would die not months later?

  “Now… now I’m fighting for what truly matters, for what’s right. We’re going to save my country and take Tarsha back. We’re going to have peace.”

  Shara smiled at this and fell quiet.

  They soon stopped at the edge of the camp, the rolling fields stretched out before them. “Grass,” Shara commented, handing the bottle of wine to Silas. “Lovely.”

  Silas shook the bottle, eyeing the few drops in the bottom. He’d spent good money on it and hadn’t even gotten to try it yet. A rumbling sounded across the grass. “Form up!” he cried.

  At this, the nearby lounging Vilant scrambled for their weapons and ran out into the field. Others ran off and soon appeared with wooden barricades. They formed a blockade around the Vilant, sharpened staves facing out. The soldiers gathered into a tight knot of shields and raised their long pikes to the hills.

  A line of horsemen appeared, weapons extended and shouting a unified battle cry. Isroc rode at the tip of the formation, his spear leveled against the ball of Vilant. At this, both sides drew their weapons back, and the horsemen parted around the Vilant. A second group of Vilant then rushed the riders with pikes from the sides, and both forces slowed to a stop, inches apart.

  “I told them that I may be attempting a maneuver this evening, but they didn’t know what,” Silas explained. “As you can tell, they were caught by surprise, but they snapped into formation quickly. I couldn’t ask for better recruits.” He shouted a few words of praise and dismissed them with a wave.

  “Isroc is confident that the enemy will have a large cavalry force,” Silas continued. “From the preliminary scout reports, we can gather that a large portion of Angeled is valleys and ravines. If we can negate the enemy’s cavalry in those narrow passes, then we may be able to come out on top.”

  Shara nodded and downed the last of the bottle. Wait, when had she grabbed it? “Those weapons there—those long spears—look like they could stop a cavalry rush.”

  “Aye, that’s what I’m counting on. We haven’t had to fight enemy cavalry in over four hundred years, so I’m just going off what little knowledge I’ve gathered from the histories.”

  “Histories?” Shara perked a brow at him. “Since when were you so well-read?”

  Silas coughed in a hand. He had to thank Aren for what little he knew.

  “Anyway,” he continued as the soldiers dismounted and shook hands with the Vilant. “I’ve taken a few precautions beside the pikes and barricades. Like that second group, their job is to bolster the forward force and engage the enemy cavalry if they somehow break through. The horses will lose momentum, and…” he smacked his hands together. “They’ll get a face full of pikes.”

  Shara nodded, a smile starting to pull at her lips. “You’ve done well.”

  “It’s not me. Your Vilant are quick learners. They’ve gone from never having held a sword to running these complex maneuvers in a matter of a few short months. I’m proud of them.”

  “As am I.”

  Isroc reined his horse up to them and dismounted, petting the red mare with an idle hand. With sweat beading down his face and panting, the man seemed as if the weight had dropped from his shoulders. Indeed, he smiled for what seemed the first time in a very long time. “The Vilant are doing well. They’ll make a fine cavalry.”

  Shara watched her soldiers, still clapping each other on the backs and laughing. “Are we ready for battle?”

  “No one can truly be prepared to kill,” Isroc replied, his usual somberness returning. “They are green, and few among them have ever had to raise a sword against their fellow man. They will be facing a far larger army, many of whom have been killing for decades.”

  “Our time is up,” Shara said, growing pensive. “We’ve beaten and tempered. Now I have to trust that they’re strong enough.”

  Silas looked out over the Vilant. In the weeks and months that he’d spent training them, he’d grown to care for them. He thought it must be a little like how a new father must feel. He really was proud of them. “These people were forged in a life of chaos and strife. They protected their herds, tended their crops, and defended their villages while war raged around them. They bled and suffered and lost, but still they carved out a living in a dead and broken world. They are the real Alliance. They always have been.”

  He turned east toward the falling sun. Beyond was where they’d fight. There, they would win their peace. “We are ready.”

  Cain inspected the last of their rations; a few crumbling biscuits and a single shriveled piece of jerky. That would last them the few days to Markadesh, which was marked on their map in the heart of an intricate network of valleys. It would be poor fodder for their stamina, but that didn’t matter now. There would be no turning back.

  He finished packing his rucksack and slung it over a shoulder. They’d spent the last week scouting the area, watching for any signs of the enemy. They had found nothing but endless, vacant valleys and jagged mountain peaks. They couldn’t wait any longer. Ahead was the last leg of their journey.

  He should feel… well, something grander than what he felt now. He just felt empty, like he was leaving a piece of himself behind. He’d spent the past months knowing how it all would end, what would be required of him if the world was to have peace. He should feel at ease knowing he could serve Tarsha a final time. Instead, he couldn’t even get his feet to move.

  Nearby, Mithaniel said goodbye to Sylva. He brought the gyrfalcon close for a kiss on the head, then tossed his arm. The bird flapped her great white wings and arced high into the air. With a final screech, she flew into the setting sun.

  Mithaniel turned to say something but paused. He must have seen the look on his face, for the stoic Iscara frowned. “It’s time.” He placed a hand on Cain’s shoulder. “We need to get moving if we’re going to make any progress tonight.” The man knew what they would soon face, yet still chose to bear the burden with him. Cain was glad he’d decided to trust the man. Despite his determination to do this alone, he was glad to have someone with him.

  Cain sighed and looked to the long shadows that stretched into the east. He took a step forward.

  And then he heard it.

  It came as a rumble first. Cain exchanged a glance with Mithaniel, then the two turned and rushed up the hill. A massive cloud of dust billowed into the evening sun. An army!

  Cain hesitated for a moment, wondering if Vernell had finally caught up with them. No, this army was far too large, and grew as the distance closed.

  Cain’s breath caught in his throat. Could this be real? He took off at a jog, Mithaniel at his heels. They then ran, grass blurring by as they spanned the field. The earth thundered with the boots of thousands of people. Dust obscured them at first, then parted as they reached the last few hills.

  The Alliance crested a hill. It was a magnificent sight, tens of thousands of people armed and armored, banners flapping. But he had eyes only for one person.

  Adriel rode at the very front of the army, swathed in brilliant whites that made her stand out like a single star in the deep of night. Even at this distance he could feel her grace and power. Outlined by the oranges and reds of the setting sun, she was radiant.

  He dropped his pack and sword as he sprinted for all he was worth. Here was the piece he’d been missing.

  Adriel spotted him in the shadows below and threw her horse into a fierce gallop. She left her army behind, a white dash over the plains. And then she leapt from her s
addle, running the final feet to Cain.

  They embraced with a kiss.

  With Adriel pressed against his body and warm against his heart, that one precious moment seemed to last a lifetime.

  They pulled apart after a long embrace to the cheers of their army. Cain looked down into her teary eyes, so brilliant and full of life. Then she slapped him.

  Cain blinked away the sudden pain.

  “That’s for leaving me,” she noted softly.

  He grinned and pulled her in for another kiss. “I love you, Adriel Ivanne.”

  “And I love you, you wool-headed fool.”

  They stood there, holding each other close as Silas, Isroc, and Mithaniel approached.

  “It’s about bloody time!” Silas whooped, clapping Cain on the back. They all came together with a hug.

  They separated, and Isroc paused with a glance at Cain. “Cain, I’m sorry. I should have been more trusting, I—”

  “No, it’s I who should be sorry. I left all of you. I should not have been so rash… I couldn’t do this alone.”

  The two men smiled and clasped hands.

  Shara Dralmond approached, fists on hips. “Well, this is cute. I suppose we’re camping here for the night then? Have you seen any signs of the enemy, Cain?”

  Cain shook his head, trying to process the emotions that exploded inside him. “It’s just us. We’ve spent the last few days scouting for the Acedens, but the way into Angeled seems clear. There was an enemy force chasing us for a time, but we haven’t seen any signs of them for weeks. Still, it’s best to be careful.”

  “General,” Adriel called after Shara. “I want a wide perimeter around the camp tonight and triple the watch and patrols. I won’t chance the enemy sneaking up on us.”

  “I’ll make sure you’re left alone tonight,” Shara said with a wink. “The reports can wait till the morning.” She then saluted and returned up the slope, shouting orders to her scurrying officers.

  Cain looked down at the blushing woman in his arms. He noticed the crown set there atop her golden head; he’d completely overlooked it with the way those eyes shone up at him. “I see you’ve been busy.”