“More reason to use every advantage,” Kasimir implored, his dark skin shiny with the sheen of sweat.
Jaw grinding, Stefan glared at Kasimir until the Knight General averted his eyes.
“Fine. I understand not using the shadelings, but falling to the Erastonian horde may be just as bad. Towns littered with dead and slavery or worse for those they don’t kill.”
“At this point, I would take slavery.” Stefan grimaced. “Kas, I need them to listen and come to an agreement. They have as much at stake as we do, because there’s no bargaining with the shade. Our object here is to save as many Setian as possible. Remember that. People are going to die, lose their souls, a great many of them, if Nerian isn’t stopped.”
“Are any less going to die if we don’t stop the Erastonians?”
“Which would you rather, Kasimir?” Stefan arched an eyebrow. “To be mired in the darkness the shade brings or to be under Erastonian rule?”
“Neither.”
“Exactly, but those are our choices right now, unless we do it this way.”
“Surely the Granadian Tribunal won’t allow Nerian’s madness to continue?”
“They haven’t done enough so far,” Stefan said.
“I beg to differ.” High Shin Clarice’s voice came from a few steps behind them. Silver sleeves in stark contrast to the crimson of her robes, the dark–haired woman, rode up on a dartan.
Stefan scowled. “Disagree all you want, but you endorsed Nerian. I remember the boasts of him being the first Ostanian allowed in your ranks in five hundred years. What did it accomplish? He got his hands on the Chronicles.”
“You speak as if you never supported him,” she said, voice calm.
“That ended a long time ago.”
The High Ashishin shrugged. “Not soon enough apparently. People tend to remember the worst of a person. For the Tribunal, it is bringing him among us. For you, the world will recall the wars you fought and won in his name.” She glanced out toward the Erastonians. “And for the ones you lost.”
“My intentions were always pure, High Shin Clarice.” Stefan practically growled the words. “Given a choice to fight or fall to one of the other kingdoms or to the shade, I chose to lead my people’s survival. I hope you never face a similar choice.”
“Survival? Is that what you call it now?” Clarice smiled, showing perfect teeth. “Not once did you revel in the glory of battle? The pride of conquering all before you for his King? I seem to remember a name. Stefan the Steadfast, Stefan the Undefeated, wasn’t it? A man so loyal to Nerian’s ideals he could not be swayed either on or off the field.”
Kasimir shifted uncomfortably in his saddle.
“He’s dead,” Stefan said, making his tone as icy as his expression.
“Good,” Clarice replied, golden flecks flitting across the whites of her eyes. “He must remain so if your men and those you hold dear in Seti are to survive all this.”
“Let me worry about who I am.” Stefan turned from her to peer down at the Erastonians once more. “Are your Ashishin ready?”
“I will be the only one accompanying you.”
Drawing his brows together in a tight frown, Stefan faced her. “Against them? Even after the way they defeated Nerian’s Matii. Why—”
“Exactly. Nerian’s Matii. Not the Tribunal’s. Nerian is no fool. He sent his weakest, many of them not fully trained. He wanted those legions to fail, to die. A ploy so the remaining kingdoms continue to back him against this ‘unstoppable’ force. Sometimes, men only act when they are threatened. Often, others must see you deliver a victory for them to fall in line. Demand they overcome after you prevail.”
“The Disciplines,” Stefan whispered.
“Yes. Almost everyone is dancing to Nerian’s tune, including you.”
“I take it you discovered what he’s after?”
“We have our suspicions, but we’re not sure.”
Stefan barked a laugh. “So many years spent ‘enlightening’ the masses yet you lack answers to what the man does.”
“That is why we are here, why we agreed to help you in this endeavor. The Erastonians seem to know why Nerian turned to the shade and how. One thing is certain. All of Ostania will fall and feed the shade if he is not stopped.”
“Yes, while Granadia hides behind its precious Vallum of Light, protected from the shade’s reach.” Stefan’s lip curled. “Instead of crushing Nerian, his shadelings, and these Erastonians, you bide your time while my people die.”
“Did we not help you ally with the Harnan and bring you a victory? Until your Councils agree to our requests, our help ended there.”
Kasimir growled under his breath, his dark face growing darker. He opened his mouth to speak.
A look from Stefan stopped him. Inhaling deeply, Stefan deliberately moved his own hand away from his sword hilt. “You’ll change your mind if whatever shadelings Nerian musters break through the Vallum.”
“That,” Clarice said with an air of finality, “will never happen. It will take more than shadelings to breach the Vallum.”
“For your sake, I hope they don’t. Come, Kasimir.” Stefan flapped his reins, sending his dartan down the hill.
Stefan didn’t want to admit it to himself, but Clarice was right. He could think of no way for the King to breach the Vallum of Light. On the other end, the Erastonians were steadily gobbling up Ostanian lands. Nerian was fighting a battle on two fronts and losing badly. So why do I feel like there’s something I’m not seeing?
He touched the hilt of his sword for a sense of comfort. Except for that night in Benez, the divya had done nothing more over the years than grant him its speed and strength. Was it really the key to what Nerian wanted to achieve?
Gritting his teeth, Stefan urged his dartan on, the beast flitting across the faded brown grasses and empty fields in a gait so smooth it felt as if he flew. If not for the thoughts swirling through his mind, he would have thrown his head back and enjoyed the cooling breeze.
Ahead, the Erastonians shifted, three of them separating from the smaller force, black armor glinting in the meager sunlight struggling through the thunderheads above. The silence accompanying them was more disconcerting than if the drums and horns continued to beat and bray.
Stefan slowed, allowing Kasimir and High Shin Clarice to draw abreast of him. Kasimir simply nodded, while Clarice’s eyes blazed. Stefan smirked. High Ashishin had a habit of thinking they decided who should move and when. While that held true most of the time, he intended to deny the woman any satisfaction. He needed her angry enough to do her part.
A High Ashishin’s power was something to fear, but it was no different to facing a skilled swordsman in battle. He was wise to be afraid of either, but he could never let the emotion show. Showing fear, not fear itself, is a weakness. Fragility leads to death. He had no immediate plans to die. Not even on a full stomach.
As they drew closer to the three Erastonians, Stefan frowned.
The men no longer wore their oversized helmets. Their pale, almost corpse–white faces contrasted immensely with their armor. Black, wooly locks wrapped their heads. Matching beards coiled beneath their chins. One stood ahead of the others, the large spaulder on one shoulder carved in the shape of a lion’s head marking him as their King.
Behind him was Guban. Guban’s gaze shifted from the King to one of the other men. Not once did he meet Stefan’s eyes.
Something wasn’t quite right. “You may get to prove how strong High Shin are after all, Clarice.” Stefan eased his hand toward his sword.
Black leather rippling around his wide form, the King took a step back. The Erastonian soldier on his left strode forward, drew a short sword, and promptly slit his own throat. Blood spurted to the ground as he dropped to his knees, bent his back, and bowed in supplication facing the
Setian.
A moment later, High Shin Clarice hissed. “I’m afraid I will be of little help. That one sacrificed himself so he could Warp the Mater around us. He has prevented me from Forging.”
CHAPTER 25
Stefan hauled on his reins, bringing the dartan to a halt, its neck tossing and turning at the scent of blood. Beside him, Kasimir brandished his sword.
“They can’t Forge either, correct?” Stefan kept his eyes trained on the two remaining Erastonians.
“Yes,” Clarice said, her voice strained.
“Put away your weapon.” Stefan didn’t look, but the rasp of metal on leather confirmed Kasimir obeyed the order. “Stay here you two. Wait for my signal before you come to me. High Shin Clarice, at no time should you let them know you speak their tongue.” He expected her to protest being ordered, but she rolled her eyes and nodded instead. A yank on his reins sent his dartan walking forward.
Guban stepped in front of his King, his gaze sliding from Kasimir to Clarice and back to Stefan. One hand rested on the hasp of the axe at his hip.
When Stefan came within six feet of the Erastonians, he made a spectacle of slowly raising his fist above his head. As he lowered his arm, he unfolded his index finger and pointed at Guban. In a sudden move, he brought his hand down across his body and up, imitating a quick slash.
A foot taller and heavier than Stefan by far, Guban flew to the side as if the wind snatched him up and flung him several feet. He hit the ground in a jumbled heap, dirt kicking up where he landed among the ploughed furrows of the field.
The Erastonian King’s eyes widened then narrowed. His hand snaked down to the sword at his hip. He said something in his native tongue—a series of rolling yet harsh words. When he appeared to realize Stefan didn’t understand or care, the King took two steps back and made to turn.
Stefan pointed at the King before clenching his fist and acting as if he lifted a heavy weight.
Caught in mid step, the King froze. He rose a foot off the ground and hung suspended.
Guban stumbled to his feet. “P–Peace, Lord Dorn.”
“Now you beg for peace?” Stefan clenched his teeth against the urge to slay the commander.
“We meant no harm in what we did,” Guban wheezed, blood dribbling from the corner of his lips, marring the white paint on his face. “King Jelani fears those such as she, as all the last of Everland’s Dosteri do.” He nodded toward Clarice. “We have seen the destruction when the madness takes their kind. In our land they are used up and disposed of quickly.”
The name Dosteri sparked some familiarity in Stefan, but he pushed it from his mind. “Not in our land. Here you will treat them with respect.”
“The King wanted to make sure she was no threat.” Guban regained some measure of himself. His gaze darted from the King to Stefan’s outstretched hand.
Words issued in a low growl from Jelani.
Guban started.
“What did he say?”
“The King …” Guban eyes shifted uneasily. “The King apologizes for his misstep and begs for you to release him. He will make amends in any way you deem necessary.”
Stefan sneered. He eyed Clarice who shook her head. Whatever the King actually said, maybe it was better he didn’t know. Stefan needed to keep them off balance and fearful, thinking he Forged within a Warped area. He still had one last revelation to convince the King. “Tell him to signal the others hidden among the brush to the east. I came here in good faith, so should you. Didn’t we prove ourselves against the shadelings?”
Guban translated, his words coming out in the harsh, guttural tongue of the Erastonians. The conversation went back and forth for a few moments before King Jelani nodded.
Out across the field to their east, several Erastonians, their garb a lighter brown to match their surroundings, stood and loped the way they’d come. They had split from the secondary force when the legion disappeared below the hill’s crest. The slight change in numbers had been Stefan’s clue.
Stefan waved then dropped his hand to his side.
The King crumpled to his knees. Guban hurried over to his liege and helped the man to his feet.
With a dip of his head, Stefan signaled for Kasimir and Clarice to approach. By the time they arrived, Jelani and Guban were standing straight. Guban’s eyes were wary, but King Jelani’s glittered angrily.
“High Shin Clarice, Knight General Kasimir, meet King Jelani and Commander Guban,” Stefan said, resting his hand on his sword hilt.
Clarice and Kasimir nodded while Guban translated.
The King’s lips curled at the mention of Clarice’s title, and he asked a question.
“The King asks why they will not dismount.”
“Well, in case you planned something else, they will return to our army before either of you can stop them. Warping doesn’t affect us as you thought. So, in that case, we’ll see if your horde can stand against a real Setian army.” Stefan let his teeth show in a mirthless grin as he patted his dartan.
Guban passed the message on. The King blinked several times before responding.
“We bargain in good faith. Shall we begin?”
Stefan nodded.
After removing a parchment from a pouch at his waist, Guban squatted. He unrolled it to reveal a map of Ostania and placed a stone on each corner.
“In exchange for our help ridding you of your King, this Nerian, and saving your people, we will require a portion of your lands. We also want the people that inhabit them to do with as we will.” Guban looked up.
No surprise there. Stefan nodded. He would agree for now, but no matter how long it took, he would eventually drive the Erastonians back into Everland. “What land do you require?”
Guban translated.
The King said a few words.
Guban drew a line with his finger starting from the Nevermore Heights in the north where they bordered Everland. The line continued south through Astocan and Cardian lands, all the way to the coast, cutting Ostania in half. “Everything to the east of this line.”
A gasp escaped Kasimir. Clarice made a choking sound.
“You’ll never get the Harnan out of the Nevermore,” Stefan said. “Not with the Svenzar to support them. To fight them you must take on the mountains themselves.”
“That is where you come in. You and your Ashishin will help us take the Nevermore.”
“No.” Expression stern, Clarice stepped forward. “We will partake in a battle to free the Setian from Nerian, but we will not help you take any other Ostanian lands.”
“Then we have no deal.”
“The Ashishin and the Tribunal might be hated in Ostania,” Stefan said, “but if they offer to help free the land from both you and Nerian, all of Granadia will be at their disposal. With what Nerian has done, allying with shadelings, I’m certain more Ostanian kingdoms will side with the Tribunal. The Felani already have. The Harnan are with us, which means we also have the Svenzar. You suffered one defeat already by a small portion of our might. It’s your choice.”
“By refusing, Ostania will fall to the shade,” Guban said, after translating.
Stefan gave the man a grim look. “Yes, and the Tribunal’s armies will simply return across the Vallum of Light, leaving you to battle the shade on your own. When you have been weakened …” He closed his fist.
Guban winced then relayed the words to the King who openly stared at High Shin Clarice. She shrugged.
“Here’s what I propose.” Stefan squatted, facing Guban. He drew a line south of the Nevermore Heights, starting below the Mondros Forest. “You can keep whatever you already claimed since you left Everland.”
“Bah. This is nothing but deserts and mountains near the Everlast Mountains.”
“Setian land nonetheless,” Stefan countered.
“We can help you claim these lands from the Astocans and Cardians. However, that will end at the southern coast, here.” He indicated the Misted Cliffs. “We will never beat their combined might at sea where their strength lies.” Stefan stood.
A long conversation ensued between Guban and Jelani. The King shook his head furiously several times and indicated the Nevermore Heights. Whatever it was, the man wanted something there in earnest. There was no way he would get what he coveted. Even if Stefan wanted to help, the Svenzar and the equally hardy Harnan were simply too strong when within the mountains. Finally, the King growled under his breath and gave a reluctant nod.
“The King asks what of this land to the east.” Guban indicated Bana.
“No,” Stefan said. “We owe the Banai much. If he presses the issue we can call this off now.”
The two Erastonians spoke for a bit longer then Guban said, “We agree. He asks how do we know you will not turn on us after we deliver your city back to you.”
“Faith,” Stefan said folding his hand into a fist then releasing.
A slight flinch from the King brought a smile onto Stefan’s lips. Stefan met the King’s gaze, exaggerating his confidence in reminding the Erastonians of the power they feared he possessed.
After Guban translated, the King huffed and gave a slow nod.
As Stefan turned away from the two men, he held in a relieved sigh and mounted. Behind him, The King said a few words.
“We shall do our part and supply enough of our dead to keep up appearances of a deadly battle,” Guban said. “The King asks how you will keep what happened here secret among your men.”
“Tell him not to worry,” Stefan said from atop his dartan. “All will be in place. A week from now you’ll be able to strike Benez and help me free my people. High Shin Clarice will arrive when the attack is to commence.”
A pained expression, quickly masked, fluttered across King Jelani’s face before he nodded hesitantly.
“Until then, peace be with you, and may Ilumni guide you.”
Guban started, before translating to the King, who frowned, then clasped his hands, and gave a slight bow of reverence.
Aegis of The Gods: Book 00 - The Shadowbearer Page 19
