Stefan’s chest heaved. His ancestors had been involved in every major war in the last several hundred years in Seti. There were few left in the Dorn lineage.
“You can trace our loss in the bloodline of ANY Setian family,” Nerian shouted, voice mired in passion. Then his tone softened. “We lost much … not only lives but also our standing as being foremost in Denestia. Most of all, we lost our freedom as a people. For too many years we have … no I have … subjected us to the Tribunal’s whims under the guidance of their High Ashishin. Their Shin were treated better than our own Alzari.” The King paused as several people shouted that the Alzari deserved better.
“I agree,” Nerian said. “For that I am sorry. I allowed them such a pedestal. But no more. After all, what is the difference between them and us besides the types of elements they can call upon? None. What makes the Shins superior? Nothing.” An expression of regret crossed Nerian’s face. “Sometimes a King must make a choice to see his people survive, no matter how detestable the decision may be.”
Stefan took in the many nods among the spectators. Where doubt and questions once existed, the people now clung to the King’s every word.
“Now …” Nerian shook his head as if in resignation, “months after I told the Tribunal we no longer required the services of their Shins … and that in fact, we wished to stand alone as a people to rebuild Seti and Ostania to its former glory,” he gestured to the Raijin, “they sent their answer. Death to me because I want more for you, for us, as a people.”
This time, the mutters spreading through the amphitheater carried hints of anger.
“Tell me what I should do? Should I return these assassins to their rightful owners, apologize, and inform the Tribunal I will do whatever they want? We hold all of Ostania except for Felan and Harna. Should we now give all we own, all we have paid for in blood to the Tribunal? Should I forgive this act, this attempted assassination? Better yet, do you wish to ignore that they almost killed General Dorn, the man who has brought us victory after victory and ensured most of your loved ones came home safely?”
Resounding echoes of ‘No’ rang through the amphitheater. People screamed their outrage.
“Well, Lord Dorn,” Nerian said without facing Stefan, “What do you say? Fight or not to fight.”
As he took in the expectant faces and the boisterous masses Stefan’s shoulders slumped. Nerian had trapped him. The promise he made to his men echoed in his head as he said, “Fight.”
The people’s jubilant roars drowned out his thoughts.
“So be it,” the King shouted, his voice joining the crescendo. “Deploy the Zar.”
All around the amphitheater, Alzari dressed in their green and gold uniforms appeared at the entrances to the stands. They took places overlooking the arena. Stefan lost count after a hundred.
“Today, I will show you why we have nothing to fear from the Tribunal’s Matii. You will learn that our own are as strong if not stronger.” Nervous rumblings rolled through the crowd at what Nerian said. Some attempted to get as far away as possible from the sides of the arena. “Be brave, my people, the Alzari you see shall keep you from harm.”
Eyes narrowing at the King’s words, Stefan opened his Matersense. He gasped. Although neither he nor any other Dagodin could Forge Mater, Thania had been adamant in teaching him how to read what other Matii were doing with the elements.
Hardened by the Alzari’s strength, which lay in manipulating the essences of earth, a shield made primarily of their weakest essence—air—encircled the arena. The shield rose up to form a dome. To the naked eye, the air was clear, but to any Matii capable of reading Forgings, the Alzari had used earth essences to darken their work. By doing so, they limited the essence the Ashishin were strongest at manipulating—Light.
What fascinated Stefan even more was what the King himself did. Stefan knew Nerian’s power ranked him with at least a High Shin or High Zar, but he’d never noticed any particularly strong Forge done by the King until now.
For several hundred feet around the two Raijin, the King had Warped Mater. The essences within the area were so distorted they would feel like oil sliding through one’s hand. The Raijin would not be able to Forge until the effect ended. Stefan took in the soldier’s corpse at his feet. Now he understood. The man’s act had been twofold. Not only had he sacrificed himself for his King, but his death had given Nerian the necessary essences to draw upon to create the Warping. Essences that could only be garnered when something died.
But how long could Nerian maintain the Warping? The King’s face bore the answer. His eyes showed strain, and sweat rolled down his forehead.
“Now to introduce our champion,” the King shouted. “Cerny.”
CHAPTER 14
Stefan snapped his head around to where he’d last seen the Knight General, but Cerny was no longer there. A cheer drew his attention back to the arena. The gates slid up, a hole the size and shape of a doorway appeared in the shield, and Cerny stepped through.
At the same moment, Nerian released his Warping. The King took in several heavy breaths.
In the arena, the two Raijin glanced around. The wounded one reached down and twisted his leg into place. A yell escaped his lips. Moments passed as his chest heaved then he stood and flexed his leg.
Stefan expected Cerny to press the advantage, but the Knight General didn’t. A devilish smile on his face, green uniform pristine with its three golden knots standing out chest–high, he strolled toward the Raijin.
A hush fell over the amphitheater.
The two Raijin took in Cerny’s leisurely approach before nodding to each other and splitting apart. The entire scene felt surreal to Stefan as the shield not only prevented anyone from entering or leaving, but it also kept in all sound. In the silence, he heard his and King Nerian’s breathing.
There was a sudden blur of movement as both the assassins thrust their hands in Cerny’s direction. Bars of solid white light bright enough to sear one’s vision shot across the distance. A solid slab of earth grew up from the ground in front of Cerny. The bars of light struck it and sent dirt and rock showering into the air.
The earth within the arena heaved and rolled in a wave toward the Raijin. Both men dived out of its path. It slammed into the edge of the shield with an impact that shook the amphitheater.
The crowd cheered. Stefan blocked them out as he watched.
When the two assassins gained their feet, they looked around frantically then their gazes focused on the sky for a moment. Stefan shook his head as they now realized their plight.
They sprinted, throwing their hands out, streaks of lightning and light bars shooting out from them toward Cerny as they attempted to overwhelm him. Cerny simply stopped. The constant protection of earth rose around him, blocking whatever they did. The Raijin continued firing, their attacks growing from streaking bars and bolts to small balls as their power waned.
Then, the earthen shield broke apart into a thousand pieces. As it did so, several balls of incandescent light shot through. Cerny raised a hand. Something flashed into shape around his arm, almost like armor, and he swatted the balls away.
A breath hissed from Stefan’s lips. He did not recognize any of the essences Cerny had used to block the attack. For a moment, he thought he spotted slight mixes of shade among them.
In the same instant, the pieces of earth, still floating, shot toward the Raijin like a thousand arrows. The men had no time to react. Stone and earth ripped through their bodies. Blood spattered the sides of the dome behind them. In silence, they fell to the ground dead.
Cerny strode from the arena.
“And as simple as that, the Raijin fall,” King Nerian said, a satisfied smile on his face. “Proof they can be defeated.”
The crowd’s jubilation rose to a crescendo.
“Stefan.” Neria
n’s voice dropped several notches. “Now you know one of the reasons Cerny will take your place if you refuse to lead the men.” The King kept his gaze fixed on the people. “He does not hesitate to kill.”
“I would ask what of the Tribunal’s response, but now I understand why you wanted me to be here and why you wanted this as a public display.”
“Oh?” Nerian’s amused expression didn’t change. “I expected nothing less, but go ahead and tell me.”
“The word will get out about what happened here,” Stefan said. “Killing two Rajin this easily will make the Tribunal plan before risking open war. You showed them a strength they didn’t anticipate.”
“Yes,” the King agreed. “I have also given you time to consider the decision before you.” He no longer smiled. “It has been a pleasure spending time with you again, despite all this … but I have kept you long enough. Besides,” the King’s gaze shifted to the steps above them, “the High Council has been clamoring for my attention. The time has come for me to reveal some of my plans to them.”
A seemingly heated debate was taking place between several members of the Council. Normally it was Stefan who handled such issues before presenting the Council’s concerns to the King, but because he’d kept himself apart since returning and with his absence on the campaigns, the role apparently now belonged to Cerny. The Knight General stood to one side having a conversation with Renaida and Senden. By their gestures and faces, neither of the older men were pleased. Every so often, they peered toward the King and Stefan.
“Send my well wishes to Thania and the children,” the King said. “I look forward to hearing from you soon. Now, go spend some quality time with your family.”
“I will and you shall. Until then, sire.” Stefan bowed from the waist and left.
As he strode through the throngs in the amphitheater, the day’s events nagged at him. He couldn’t blame Nerian for his decision, not after the assassination attempt, but the Tribunal’s potential reaction still worried him. The King was gambling with lives. If they decided to retaliate, he was uncertain whether Seti could handle an immediate attack. At the same time, he knew Nerian for the shrewd, calculating King he was. The King wouldn’t have made this move unless he thought his armies were ready. That, in itself, bothered Stefan the most. How did Nerian plan to deal with the Alzari’s instability? The few High Alzari they used to monitor their own Matii would not be enough. Stefan nodded absently. The King knows everything you do and more. He’s thought of this already. But no matter how he tried, he couldn’t shake his doubts.
Stefan sniffed and stopped. What was that awful smell?
The thud of marching boots echoed from nearby. Without realizing, he’d made his way below the amphitheater where they kept the prisoners in addition to a barracks. Several thousand soldiers were in process of forming up. Stefan frowned. The men were preparing to leave.
The Knight Commander strode over to a man who stood a few feet away from them. The single golden knot on his breast identified him as a Knight Captain, or he would have been one if not for the King changing the titles within the ranks. “Captain.” Stefan made certain to use the King’s new titles. “These men have been reassigned?”
The soldier took one look at Stefan and immediately straightened his posture. “Yes, sir.”
“By whom and to where?”
“Lieutenant Cerny’s orders, sir. We are being sent with Lieutenants Senden and Renaida as part of an advanced party to gather information on the Erastonians.”
“Ah,” Stefan said. “Carry on.” He strode away.
So Cerny is effectively doing away with ones who voiced opposition to the King’s plans. Stefan nodded. Despite his dislike for the man, he appreciated his cleverness.
Several mewls broke Stefan from his thoughts. Over to one side was a dartan pen. His musings had drawn him in so much he’d automatically found his way downstairs for something else that had caught his attention and niggled at the back of his mind. The pungent odor from earlier returned stronger than ever. It was from dartan shit and old rotting meat within the pens.
Dressed in silks, Merchant Vencel was poring over a ledger of some sort and writing information down as he inspected the animals. The beast with the saddle carved into the shell stood alone in another enclosure.
“Merchant Vencel,” Stefan called as he took in the docile way in which Vencel’s strange mount eyed him. “Just the man I wanted to see.” Now, all he needed to do was find the Banai.
CHAPTER 15
Eyes shifting from side to side, Stefan studied the seven men who circled him in the training room. Nine months had gone by since he returned to Benez. Every day since that fateful night, he practiced the sword and spent time with his children. Sweat beaded his forehead, but he resisted the temptation to wipe it away. Instead, he kept his focus trained on Knight Carim and his friends. Shirtless, Stefan pivoted from foot to foot, ears straining for the telltale scuff of a boot, the kiss of a breeze where there should be none, the reflection in an opponent’s eye, or the twitch of an eyelid. Any such move would reveal a threat.
A scuff. Stefan spun, bringing his sword up to parry the attack from his left. His foot snaked out to the trip the man. As the attacker fell, the Knight Commander followed through, the hilt of his sword connecting with a jaw and driving his attacker into the ground.
The faint whistle of a blade slicing air. With a slight shift of his head, Stefan dodged the blow. The attacker’s arm flew by him. He gripped it and yanked. Already off–balance, the second man’s body shot forward as Stefan twisted and brought his knee up into his assailant’s unprotected stomach. The man crumpled with a grunt.
Two down.
Frustrated glares met Stefan’s smile. He waggled his weapon at Carim. A good taunt often drove youngsters to attack callously. Not Carim though. The youth had learned his lesson the hard way.
Marveling at his seemingly endless energy, Stefan allowed his chest to heave as if he’d exhausted himself in the brief exchange. The first session when he’d used his sword, he thought it was his imagination that he was faster, stronger, lighter on his feet. Now, he knew it did have such an effect brandishing the divya. Out of curiosity, he allowed Kasimir to wield it a few times. His friend said he felt nothing unusual.
Carim’s eyes flickered. Motion from behind reflected in the silversteel surface of the Stefan’s blade. They were attacking as one.
Immediately, he drifted into the Shunyata—the deep place inside the mind Matii used when they touched Mater or when they fought—for stability and control. Whereas, when he first received his divya, he thought it felt as if he and the sword were one, when inside the Shunyata, they became one. The weapon was an extension of his will.
He spun, caught the attack of the man from behind on his blade, and turned it aside. Without trying to counter, he ducked Carim’s stroke and rolled. The move brought him in close to the next attacker, and Stefan kicked out, forcing him to leap away.
Back now to a wall, Stefan struck a pose in one of the Stances based on the formlessness of the Flows of Mater. Within the Shunyata he no longer needed to wait for them to attack. The initiative was his. He discerned their patterns, their intentions, as clear as a cloudless sky at noon. They were his partners at a ball, their movements a simple two step dance, an obvious synchronization. His was a glide into a saltation of Styles and Stances to music only he could hear.
Stefan charged.
Into their midst he flew. His sword flashed up, down, left, right, and diagonal in Aeoli’s Hand, The God’s Way, imitating the thirty–two directions of the wind. Like the god of air, he was a storm of movement, unending, unrelenting.
A thud of the flat of his blade to the back of a head. The quick lick of a slice against flesh. A groan, a moan, an anguished cry. The breeze of a blow missing him by a hair. Parrying a cut, the impact more like a fe
athery touch than steel on steel. The clink of metal and the imperceptible squeal of edge striking edge. Foot lashing out to a groin, spin, then drop. The Knight Commander flipped up from his back as the next attack missed him. The series was surreal, a dream. His sword clashed with the last man standing in a steel on steel embrace.
Carim.
Stefan flicked the young Knight’s sword aside. With his next step, his weapon rested an inch from Carim’s neck. Stefan smiled. “Yield?”
“A draw I’d say.”
Frowning, Stefan looked down at the tap against his ribs. A dagger in Carim’s hand beat time on the Knight Commander’s sweaty skin.
“You always teach overconfidence can be the downfall of the best swordsman,” Carim said, perspiration trickling down his lips onto his chin as he smiled.
Stefan nodded and sheathed his sword. “A draw indeed. You’re right about overconfidence too. I guess even us Knight Commanders tend to forget what we teach sometimes.”
“General, you mean?”
“Or that,” Stefan shrugged, “but I would rather Knight Commander when you’re in the confines of my home.” A man must maintain some semblance of control even when certain events are out of his hands.
The other Knights struggled to their feet amid moans and gritted teeth.
“Take your men to the menders, Carim. Good fight. Pay each of them a gold eagle.” Stefan smiled at the open mouths and grins from his soldiers. The reward was enough money to keep them going for several weeks of drink and women. They deserved it; their time here in Benez was almost at an end.
Stefan waved to Kasimir and Garrick to join him as the young Knights shuffled off with the help of their counterparts. Both with the new pins and stripes of their rank on display, the two Knight Generals arrived at his side by the time he pulled his tunic on and buttoned up his shirt.
“Aren’t you supposed to get slower with age, Stefan?” Kasimir asked.
Aegis of The Gods: Book 00 - The Shadowbearer Page 12
