The Shadow of War

by Bryan Gifford

  The group slowed to a standstill as the two sides exchanged a flurry of attacks. Acedens and Outriders shied away from the explosions and met each other in a clash of swords. Outnumbered and surrounded, Mithaniel and the other Iscara fought desperately toward the gate but were soon backed into a wall with the full weight of the enemy forces crashing down on them.

  Mithaniel watched the press of enemies close in, their hateful eyes and bloodthirsty grins. He turned to Eritha, and she nodded. Together, they shot out a wave of fire that incinerated dozens of screaming men. Eritha then laid about with her glaive, dropping corpses with a subtle kiss of death before moving on to the next.

  Spurred on by their encroaching deaths, the other Iscara cast aside their convictions and joined in on the killing. Lightning and wind and fire lashed through the enemy army. Destruction carved a swath around them.

  Mithaniel led his soldiers closer toward the gate, but the opposing Iscara held firm. Acedens formed a phalanx amid the clashing explosions and met the Outriders with outstretched spears. Mithaniel and Eritha smashed into the enemy with a clap of light and hacked away at the stumbling men. Bodies heaped about them, but more and more Acedens came, forcing them to a stop. It devolved into a bloodbath, of frantic swinging and blind stabbing.

  They fought back with everything they had, but it wouldn’t be enough. The gate lay tantalizingly close, just out of reach.

  A cruel thought, knowing Mithaniel had gotten so close. He’d failed anyway.

  Cain fought at the head of his army. He cut spears and hacked into shields, smashing the enemy’s every attempt to advance. It was brutal, exhausting work, but he felt invigorated, as if Ceerocai gifted him strength when he needed it most.

  The Alliance had managed to take some of the northern parts of the field and now pushed toward the bridge that spanned the water toward Markadesh. If they could just hold that bridge, then they’d be ready to retreat inside when Mithaniel and Silas opened the gate. So long as his friends survived long enough…

  Even in the heat of battle, he found himself worrying for all his friends. They had fought for so long, endured so much. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing them now.

  Worse, he thought of Adriel. His wife. Cain had finally learned to let go of his pain and to allow himself to love once more. But that made him vulnerable to the pain again. What would happen if he lost her? What would happen to her if she lost him?

  He shook himself of those dark thoughts and focused on the killing at hand. He had his friends. He had love, and the world in his heart.

  That would be enough.

  Cain dove into the Acedens with a powerful swing and continued his push toward the bridge.

  A group of Vilant pulled Adriel into their ranks.

  They’d managed to slow the Acedens and reach her in time, but they’d sustained heavy losses to do so. Adriel’s army was reduced to a slowly dwindling ball of panicked, frightened soldiers. Arrows rained down and boulders decimated their disorganized ranks. Blood and gore stained the air.

  Adriel fought to stay conscious as a group of Vilant fussed over her. They dabbed at her cuts and scrapes and bandaged her more serious wounds. Fortunately, the cut across her stomach hadn’t been as deep as she’d feared, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

  Shara approached with a scowl on her bloodied face. “Damn it, what were you thinking?” she chastised, but fell short at seeing Adriel’s state.

  “I had to do something,” Adriel said, vision blurry and head still spinning. “I couldn’t stand by and watch the Acedens slaughter my people.”

  Shara heaved a sigh. “Those Iscara are putting the hurt on us, not to mention those catapults. This isn’t good.”

  Adriel pressed a fresh bandage to the back of her head, letting her blood-soaked rags fall to her feet. It felt like a hundred knives jammed themselves repeatedly into her skull. “I needed to pull the army away from the swamp… if we can just fight our way back west a little longer…”

  Shara watched their Vilant die around them. “Damn it, I’ve already thought of that, but it’s too dangerous. If we extend ourselves out too far, then we’ll be easy pickings.”

  “Is it any better than staying here waiting to die?”

  “No. It’s not. I’ve already redirected our focus to test the enemy there, I’ll order our soldiers to begin a push.”

  Adriel nodded, dismissing the general to call out her orders. Kari approached then, slim sword coated in blood. “Kari. We’re going to make a push back west. If we can slip through the enemy, perhaps we can escape through the valley there. When we get through, I need you to lead a team out ahead of us to make sure the Crossing is clear. Understood?” Kari saluted, then ran off to gather her scouts.

  All around, Adriel’s soldiers began to flow toward the west, concentrating their attacks on the smallest portion of the enemy’s army. It would give them a slim chance to escape, but leave their flanks exposed to the surrounding Acedens.

  If they somehow survived the day, it would be bought with the deaths of thousands.

  Colors flashed, and the air popped and burned around Silas as he fought. It was a mad maelstrom of ringing steel and clashing bodies. Fire and lightning sizzled by, burning scores of men beside him. The air reeked of blood and burning flesh.

  He zipped between falling bodies and cut down any foe left in his way. Mithaniel and Eritha caught up to him, hurling webs of lightning at the surrounding Acedens. “I’m making a push for the gate!” he cried.

  “We’ll watch your flanks,” Mithaniel replied as he bashed his shield into a charging soldier.

  Silas nodded, half expecting the man to object. He turned and threw back several Acedens with a powerful swing. He leapt over them and carved a path through the enemy with the two Iscara at his heels.

  All his life, Silas had never really expected to find peace. Sure, he’d hoped for it—what fool wouldn’t? But he’d been realistic. Tarsha had fought Abaddon for four hundred years, what made anyone think it would end?

  And yet, it had ended. They could have had peace if it weren’t for the warmonger, Iscarius. Well, today would end it all. For the first time in Silas’ life, he could finally say that he would have peace.

  He thought of Shara, of the children they might have, of living in a quiet cabin in the woods and drinking brandy till they died of old age. That was what waited for him on the other side of this battle. That was what he fought for.

  With a smile, Silas hacked through the Aceden lines and came out before the gate.

  A blast of wind took him from the side. The attack clipped him and threw him back. He managed to keep his footing and stab Sitare into a spear of light. The bright flash broke around him to reveal an incoming group of Iscara.

  Eritha and Mithaniel met two of them, but the other two charged straight for Silas.

  Silas cursed and spun around a flurry of light. The man batted his weapon away and thrust out his hand. Silas ducked, and the blast of lightning took the other Iscara in the chest, catapulting her backward.

  Silas met the man’s sword and began a quick exchange of attacks. Dodging a blade of shadows, he dove in, Sitare raised for the kill. His foe sidestepped the stab and threw out a palm. Wind hammered into him like a fist and launched him back against the wall of the fortress. He slammed against the stone, breath knocked from his lungs and chest erupting with pain. Silas shook himself and threw his weapon up into the attack.

  The Iscara knocked Sitare aside and cut Silas’ arm off.

  Pain. It was instant, overwhelming. He crumpled as Sitare clanged to the bricks next to his bloody right arm. Silas gripped the stump that ended where his elbow had once been, blood spouting between his fingers. Vision blurred with tears, he looked up to see the Iscara approach with weapon raised.

  A sword took the man through the back of the skull, blade sprouting from his mouth.

  Mithaniel shoved the body aside and knelt beside Silas. Eritha and the other Iscara surrounded them, fending of
f the growing mass of Acedens.

  Everything faded.

  “Come on, Silas,” Mithaniel said, gently slapping his cheek. “Stay with me!” He pulled Silas to his feet, threw his remaining arm over his shoulder, and half-dragged, half-carried him to the gateway.

  “Now, now, now!”

  Eritha and the other Iscara turned with palms raised and the massive doors banged open with a surge of wind and light and earth. Fire and debris tossed in the clap of air.

  The surviving Iscara and Outriders followed after Mithaniel, battling back the advancing enemy. Mithaniel carried Silas down the too long bridge over the lake, cursing and panting as he stumbled again and again.

  Silas fought through the anguish and the looming void. Beyond it, he could see Shara’s grin as she poked fun at him for his new stump. No, he wasn’t dead yet. Not when he had so much to live for now.

  In a strange moment of clarity, he heard an explosion. He turned back to see bodies blast through the air. Eritha crawled to her feet, gripping a bleeding side. She climbed over the corpses of the Outriders and Iscara and chased after them with a terrified scream.

  Iscarius stepped out from Markadesh, fire and light coiling about him, cloak shifting in shadows. Behind him marched his army of Acedens.

  Cain heard an explosion. He turned from the fight at hand to see Mithaniel and Eritha carrying a bleeding and unconscious Silas between them. He started toward them to help his friend but paused at what came after them. A solid mass of black armored Acedens marched across the bridge.

  But he had eyes only for one man. Iscarius.

  Cain turned to Isroc who still fought at the front lines. He watched his friend stab away at the enemy ranks, elegant destruction in blood and steel. Isroc turned and met Cain’s gaze. He nodded and returned to the killing. Cain worked his way through the army’s reserve troops and stepped out into the field.

  The open air was inviting after so many hours and days locked in the stifling mess of battle. A cold breeze kissed his sweaty skin and gently tossed his hair as he walked.

  The Alliance still managed to hold the bridge head where they were waiting to assault Markadesh, but that left them open to Iscarius and his Acedens. The enemy now surrounded them on three sides, pinning them against the mountains behind.

  Isroc must have passed orders along, however, because the Alliance withdrew from the bridge, pulling Mithaniel and Silas into the fold. They gathered in a shield wall with spears facing toward Markadesh. They knew better than to rush Iscarius and instead waited for him to begin their slaughter. Instead, the man turned and walked across the field. Alliance soldiers wilted beneath him, compressing their ranks so he could walk by untouched. Behind him, his soldiers charged off the bridge and met the Alliance.

  Iscarius stopped a few dozen yards from Cain. The two faced each other, wind rippling the grass between them.

  Cain turned and ran.

  Lightning cracked behind him, blasting into the ground and spraying dirt in the air. Iscarius gave chase.

  Cain wouldn’t fight Iscarius here, not where his people would be caught in the crossfire. He had to fight Iscarius on his own terms, on ground of his choosing. And so, he’d had scouts find a path for him up into the mountains behind their army. If he could make his way up the steep mountainside, then he could face Iscarius in the open, well away from any innocent bystanders.

  He made a mad sprint for the mountains, weaving as wind and lightning clapped around him. Iscarius must have known what he was doing, for the man soon stopped his attacks to conserve his energy and let Cain lead him to where they would fight.

  That didn’t stop Iscarius from taking a shot if the opportunity presented itself. They reached the trees and began the laborious climb up the mountainside, Iscarius hurling lightning toward Cain if he slowed or ran in the open for too long. He seemed content to simply let Cain wear himself out. Well, Cain wouldn’t give him that. He gripped Ceerocai tighter, renewing his strength in its comforting warmth.

  Wind and fire and lightning whipped about. The earth shook beneath him. Stones yanked themselves from the mountainside to crash down around him. Cain ducked and weaved through the attacks, boulders rolling past. They continued in this way for some time, Cain narrowly evading attacks, Iscarius toying with him.

  At last, Cain reached the mountaintop. He ran out into the open expanse of black stones and black earth. This high up, the wind cut frigid cold. He shook off the memories of the last time he’d fought Iscarius. Falling, falling, watching the ground come up to meet him.

  Iscarius appeared on the edge of the mountaintop. He floated across the stones like a swirling shadow, his bright, almost glowing eyes meeting Cain’s gaze. The man stopped and drew his massive sword. Nearly six feet in length and fashioned from black cerebreum, the slim blade caught the red of the setting sun in its perse veins.

  He raised his sword, then charged.

  Their weapons met with a resounding clash.

  Adriel slipped in the blood as she climbed over the corpses. So many dead. She stumbled along with a guiding hand from Kari and Shara, shouting orders to her officers. She was no longer in any shape to fight, and so she could do little more than watch her people die around her.

  Ahead, her army fought toward the valley mouth. The Aceden force had caught on to their plan and now moved in from the north and east to try and block their escape. Among them, Iscara carved destruction in horrible, bloody swaths. The Alliance had managed to down a few of the Knights, but not before they’d killed hundreds. Arrows pelted down on them as they fought, but the enemy catapults had ceased fire to avoid hitting their own in the increasingly shrinking battleground.

  That let the Alliance cling to what little life remained. Hope, peace, all that drove them before paled in comparison to the sheer animalistic need for survival. It was a horrible sight, watching her once proud and hopeful people resort to panicked brutality. Men crushed skulls, women disemboweled their foes, bones snapped, and bodies broke. Fearful, desperate screams echoed in Adriel’s ears.

  Through it all, Adriel fought to keep them together.

  She summoned the rest of her pikes to the west to aid in their push and fend off the chariots. She sent an extra group of light infantry to bolster their rear defenses. Archers she had focus on the front to pick off Acedens and allow her soldiers to surround the Iscara. Elsewhere, she directed her heavy infantry to place barricades as they moved, slowing down the enemy’s attempts to crush them against the mountains.

  It was a heartbreakingly slow process, one that left half of her force dead in short work. But when her army finally punched through the enemy’s defenses, it felt like a breath of life-giving air. Her people trampled over the slain Iscara and Acedens and dashed for the relative safety of the valley. Adriel hobbled after her soldiers as they escaped into the mountains’ hold.

  Behind, thousands of Acedens flowed into the valley to give chase to the broken and beleaguered Alliance.

  Adriel peered into the heart of the mountains. She didn’t know the state of the rest of the Alliance or if they’d been ambushed as she had. Or if they were even still alive.

  But somewhere out there, Cain was likely fighting for his life. She could only hope she had enough time to save him.

  Ahead, hundreds of Acedens appeared in the depths of the canyon. They were surrounded once more.

  Adriel shoved away from Kari and bit off the subsequent surge of pain. She refused to die here. She ordered a phalanx and raised her sword, then followed her soldiers into the valley and into the spears of their enemies.

  The cerebreum blade tore past Cain’s face. He sidestepped and slammed Ceerocai into Iscarius’ attack. The two began an exchange of testing blows and weaving footwork, stabbing and cutting to find an opening in their foe’s defenses.

  They sped up. Quick, sharp strikes. Metal clanged and pealed.

  Faster. Their attacks grew momentum, wide arcs and pounding blows.

  The two men moved with fluid grace, ste
pping forward and back, side to side. Each attack was met with power and precision, swords ringing in a flurry of swings.

  Cain blocked a thrust and swiped the weapon away. A bolt of lightning met him. His training with Mithaniel had prepared him, for he back cut into the attack and sent it reeling off with an earsplitting crack.

  Cain sidestepped his foe’s sword and cut up, lunging within reach of his target. Iscarius twisted past his stab and slammed an open palm into his temple. A surge of wind smacked him in the face and launched him aside. He rolled to a stop and regained his footing in time to deflect a spear of light. He brought Ceerocai into a wave of shadows and braced himself against the incoming blows.

  The attacks came from everywhere. A swing from the side, the other side, a stab, a pounding from above. Each sent him back inch by inch, the rocks sliding beneath his boots.

  Cain gritted his teeth against the assault. He couldn’t keep this up. He had to fight differently, be unpredictable. Hundreds of years of training and killing honed incredible power and skill into the man. But it also cemented weakness. Subtle errors gone uncorrected or unnoticed over decades.

  The way he attacked too often from the right. Cain ducked under a swing.

  The way his backhanded swings held less power. Cain blocked the corrected attack.

  There it was. The way Iscarius held his sword in both hands, yet often twisted or lifted his right hand to launch a surprise blast of wind. His foe thrust out his palm, and Cain knocked the ball of air aside, moving in for a strike.

  Earth thrust up in spears before him to separate him from his opponent. Cain cut the projections and leapt out onto the other side, beating Iscarius across the field. His opponent sent out a rapid series of wind and light, pelting into Cain’s sword and forcing him back on the defensive.

  They danced across the mountaintop, weapons a blur.