A young cadet entered, carrying a tray heaped with food. What looked to be a roasted pheasant in a thick sauce, slices of bread, a blood orange, and several pink fleshberries. Next to them was a flagon and a cup. Peppery smells drifted from the dish, intermingled with the tantalizing scent of the fleshberries.
“I suggest the fleshberries first, sir,” Ballard said. “They help with the mending process.”
Stefan almost rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to inform the overbearing man this wasn’t his first time being wounded and mended. Instead, he nodded and strode over to the table where the cadet placed the food before bowing, knuckling his forehead to Stefan and leaving.
After he muttered a brief prayer, Stefan pulled out a chair from the table and sat. He poured a cup of wine, popped a few fleshberries into his mouth, and washed them down. The kinai wine only added to the sweetness of the berries. Well distilled kinai at that, fermented in precise amounts. The taste was so familiar Stefan raised his cup, swirling around the contents, his brows drawing together in a lumpy frown. The quality of the drink was impressive. Not many knew the secrets of producing such a near perfect vintage.
The better the kinai wine or juice, the stronger the restorative and energy inducing properties, or so Thania said. Only by picking the fist–sized, red fruit at the right hour, during early dawn or late dusk, could one be assured the essences were absorbed at their most potent. Impressive indeed. The liquor reminded Stefan of his wife’s brew. He sighed and resisted the instinctive urge to reach for his pendant.
“You made this?” Stefan held up the cup to Zar Ballalrd.
“No, General. I brought it in from the capital. I only use this vintage on rare occasions such as this.”
The wine might well be his wife’s after all. Stefan nodded. To put the thoughts of Thania and the children out of his mind, he tore off a leg from the pheasant and chewed. Every time he sipped the kinai, memories flooded him: Thania in the kitchen, preparing lunch, little Anton running around a flowerbed with Celina giving chase.
Will I ever be given another chance to see children of mine grow up? Very few Matii had ever given birth to more than two children in their lifetime. A side effect of Setian longevity many said. In a different world, he would have surrendered his extended life span for a chance. He hoped what he was doing now meant a better life for Anton and Celina. He thought of nothing more horrific than a world overran by the shade, and people losing their souls to its taint.
Stefan tore into another piece of pheasant before pushing the remainder away, his appetite gone. “I dawdled long enough.” He stood. “Is my mount ready?”
“Yes, sir,” the female Alzari said.
“Lead the way then.”
The two Alzari turned as one and headed outside.
Before he took a step to follow, a sudden bout of dizziness swept through him. He borrowed a moment to steady himself. Mouthing a silent prayer that Ballard hadn’t stayed longer to witness his weakness, Stefan headed to the tent’s exit. The Zar might be stupid enough to force the issue of his health and send someone else with a message to Nerian. Events were already on a precipice’s edge, needing only a nudge or some mistake to come crumbling down.
Outside the tent, a dozen mounted Dagodin waited, silver armor gleaming. They snapped to attention at the sight of Stefan.
“An honor escort, sir,” Zar Ballalrd said. “And protection should you have unwanted visitors in the Travelshaft.”
Stefan almost groaned. Taking more men into Benez wasn’t something he relished, but offering a protest wouldn’t sit well. Not for who he used to be, and not with the Svenzar raiding the Travelshafts at their leisure. Head held straight, he stalked by the men.
At the end of the line, his dartan was snuffling at the some meaty carcass. The Dagodin’s horses whinnied. His mount swung its head toward them and mewled. The horses pranced before the Dagodin brought them under control.
“He’s been well fed,” Zar Ballalrd said.
“Thank you.” Stefan braced himself as he mounted, making sure he showed no weakness when he climbed into the saddle. Once he was secure, his shoulders reaching slightly above the front of the shell, he beckoned to the lead Dagodin whose pin and four tiny golden swords on his breast named him Captain. When the man reached him, Stefan said, “Keep your men close. If you see Svenzar, ignore them. We have no goods. I don’t care what is being transported in the minor channels. The last thing I need is to lose men foolishly. Remind your men that they’re safe as long as they stay within the central channel.”
“Yes sir, General Dorn.” He snapped his reins and returned to his men, addressing each one personally. When the Captain finished, he nodded to Stefan.
They set off at a trot, padding along a worn path toward Karsten’s western outskirts. The backdrop of the town’s stone edifices stood more than four stories high, poking above the surrounding walls. Guards dotted the bulwark and the occasional square tower. Outside town, Setian forces in tents occupied most of what had been farmland. Many of the soldiers watched as they rode by, some saluting to Stefan and the Captain, while others practiced formations, or lounged about as they awaited orders.
As Stefan expected, the central road itself was empty. Laborers and soldiers spread along the edge for the spectacle. Stefan waited for the Dagodin to draw next to him, six per side. He nodded and flapped his reins.
Head down, the dartan bounded forward. In moments, its speed surpassed any creature Stefan used before. Then it went faster still. His stomach lurched, threatening to spew its contents, but he fought down on the sensation.
The speed grew until those watching from the roadside melded with each other. In turn, the spectators became one with the tents and other fortifications. His clothes felt as if they wanted to rip from his body where they flapped, while in other places the cloth plastered itself to his skin. He huddled into the saddle as everything blurred into one unrecognizable stream.
CHAPTER 28
After the second rush of speed within the Travelshaft, Stefan cast a glance over his shoulder. The Dagodin were all with him, each appearing unaffected by their surroundings. He gave a satisfied nod toward the Captain.
Less than an hour into the trip, Stefan frowned. By now, there should have been travelers heading the opposite way on channel to his left. At least four or five caravans or nobles with their retinue. Not only the armies used the shafts, but also dignitaries, craftsmen, and other service providers like the menders or apothecaries. Anyone who could afford them and had the tiniest spark of Matersense took advantage of the Travelshafts. Wealthy merchants willing to pay the high price for quick delivery of goods for which they themselves charged a premium were among the most common facilitators. Their absence didn’t bode well.
The answer to the mystery arrived in the clash of steel, cries of men, whinny of horses, and several great rumbles. A monstrous roar followed.
Eyes straining ahead, he tried to pick out the battle’s participants. Slowly, the ethereal glow resolved into heavily armored, lance–wielding Setian infantrymen. They spread in a wedge formation with their backs to several wagons and coaches. On the ground, behind them and ahead of them, lay numerous wounded and dead men. A woman in rich clothing cradled a man’s head in her lap. A wail ripped from her throat.
Standing over twenty–feet tall, a full–grown Svenzar was tearing into half a dozen wagons ahead of the retreating soldiers and fighting the remnants of the Setian cohort. If a mountain could lumber and had eyes, arms and legs, that would be the Svenzar.
Alongside the stoneform creature were at least a dozen Sven half its size. The Svenzar’s young twins smashed into any soldiers who got close enough to be a threat. Among them skittered, the Svenzar’s crab–like minions, the gerde. Steel flashed and stone thumped, the vibrations rocking the cavern as men and monsters battled.
Gerde dart
ed back and forth on eight splayed legs, bodies to the ground, and carapaces often hardening to defend the strikes from soldiers. Their stony exteriors seemed to be a mixture of sediment. Maws wide and snarling, bodies the size of small ponies, they charged head first into what remained of the Setian ranks.
Men screamed and died. The smell of dirt and blood hung thick.
Twisted at inhuman angles, limbs missing, soldiers’ bodies littered the ground. Half again as many gerde lay amongst them along with abandoned pieces of broken armor and cracked stone shells. Blood stained the earth red.
For the moment, the Setian held the enemy at bay thanks to two Alzari. Huge boulders ripped from the earth to slam into the gerde not engaged with any soldiers. Intermittent bolts of light stuck others, shearing rock from skin to expose pink flesh beneath. Gerde howled and screeched.
One of the Alzari focused on the Sven and Svenzar, but whatever he did proved ineffectual. Whether it was a light bolt or a rolling wave of earth and debris, the monolith of a creature flicked a hand, and instantly a wall of earth shot up to block the attacks. More often than not, the Sevnzar absorbed any rock or dirt that found a way through its defenses. Alzari strength resided in Forging essences of earth and wood, but in that, the Svenzar were stronger. When the Alzari switched to his meager skill in light or fire, his attacks failed.
Nearby, the Sven continued to defend against the last few soldiers who’d managed to sneak through. Stefan knew now they must be Dagodin. Whenever the Setian’s blades or spears struck true, a Sven crumpled to a stony mound. Only divya produced such an effect.
Abruptly, one of the soldiers among the group turned and made an inhuman leap toward the closest Alzari. The Forger must have seen the movement from the corner of his eyes, because his hands swept toward the man. A huge fireball roiled to life in front of him before streaking up and catching the leaping soldier in the chest. The impact blew the man backward. When he landed with a smoking hole in his torso, a transformation began.
In the place of the Setian soldier was a dead Sven.
The Alzari spun to face the other Setian. He peered at them, hands outstretched, and then as if seeing whatever he sought, he turned back to the rock–armored gerde and began his attacks anew.
As Stefan watched, the boulders striking the gerde grew smaller and decreased in frequency. So did the bolts of light. The creatures began to ignore the bolts altogether, some not even bothering to screech when they were struck. Legs clicking on the metal and stone of the channel, they easily shifted from the path of incoming debris or slapped them to one side. One after another, the soldiers fell to the beasts until only six remained with the two Alzari.
The attacks on the Svenzar ceased altogether as the second Alzari now assisted his counterpart with his attempts to keep the gerde away. The Svenzar and Sven finished their demolition of the wagons and supplies and turned to the cohort’s remnants.
Commotion near the wagons drew Stefan’s attention. The doors to one of the coaches opened, and four children, two boys and two girls, ran over to the grieving woman. When they saw the man, they too burst into tears, falling to the ground, clawing at the man’s tattered clothing and bloody face.
A roar echoed from the direction of the battle.
There, a glow suffusing his body, one of the Alzari raised his hands. The last of the Setian and the other Zar fled. The gerde closed in.
Luminescent sheets arched from the man’s body like a hundred tiny, forked lightning bolts. They shot into the gerde, blowing limbs from bodies. Stone armor shattered as the blasts lifted the beasts off their feet and slammed them into the nearby wall. When the burst dissipated, the Alzari crumpled, his body a smoking ruin.
The last few gerde and the Sven and Svenzar advanced.
Despite the apparent hopelessness of the situation and ignoring his own warning, Stefan spurred his dartan the remainder of the distance. He could not sit by and allow these innocents, this woman and her children, to die like this. He glided across the central channel, through the luminescence separating it from the others and onto the same tracks as the retreating men.
“NO!” a voice screamed in a tone like a high–pitched musical note.
The word rocked Stefan to his core. It came from the Svenzar. Something about the voice seemed familiar, but he shook the sense off.
A massive arm stretched toward Stefan. All across the creature’s body, almost the same color as its stone exterior, tattoo–like drawings writhed. Shaking off his surprise, Stefan whipped his reins and drew up next to the Alzari and his six fellows. He turned to the oncoming Svenzar.
His sword vibrated.
By pure instinct, Stefan snatched his weapon and whirled to face the Setian.
A howl echoed.
His escorts had no time to react before several wraithwolves tore from the body of the soldiers and leapt on their backs, jaws snapping and snarling. The lone Alzari’s lips curled into a venomous smile, his eyes glittering as he regarded Stefan. Behind him, the same transformations were taking place not only among the other soldiers, but also from the woman herself and the four children.
The world slowed as the Alzari raised his hand.
The ground rumbled and shook. The earth heaved, causing his dartan to stumble to one side. A massive undulating lump roiled past Stefan. Yanking on his reins, he retreated.
The Alzari’s mouth fell open as the mound pushed up from the earth, forming a head bigger than the size of a wagon. The form continued to pour up from the ground, stone and dirt spilling away as neck, shoulders, then torso and arms grew. Intricate tattoos covered the Svenzar’s surface. They writhed around its body as if they wanted to tear from the creature’s skin.
Stefan recognized the Svenzar. It was Kalvor.
Light lanced out from the Alzari, striking Kalvor’s body, but not once did the Svenzar react.
“You helped save the Harnan,” Kalvor said. “For that, we are in your debt. We can help your people but you must make Nerian create an opening.”
“What are you—”
“Nerian is like a child, not knowing what he is doing, touching powers that lay dormant for years. One is holding him back. Your King must begin the process to unleash all he is. Only you and your weapon can provide what he needs.”
“How?”
“Use your sense when the time comes.”
Confused, Stefan opened his mouth to speak.
GO! NOW!” Kalvor commanded, towering into the cavern, his back to Stefan. “You will understand when you meet him.”
A face grew on the Svenzar’s back.
Stefan gasped. It was as if he was looking into a mirror at his own reflection, but several times bigger.
“Remember to trust what you feel, not what you see,” the face said. “Begone.”
Without waiting for another invitation, Stefan pulled on the reins and dashed to the central lane. A quick look over his shoulder revealed several wraithwolves trying to leap across. The ground shook again, but this time, Sven rippled up from the earth to block the creatures.
Turning his focus ahead, Stefan sped away from the clamor of battle.
CHAPTER 29
Hours later, Stefan arrived at the Travelshaft’s exit. Not much of what happened made sense. Why would the Svenzar defend him? Not only that, he could have sworn it seemed as if Kalvor expected him to be there. The same as the time when the Svenzar met him in Astoca. He frowned as he tried to understand what Kalvor meant by the sword providing Nerian with what he needed. One thing was certain. He was not giving the divya to the King.
His mind drifted to the shadelings, and he considered if Nerian sent them. But that didn’t make sense. Why not wait for him to come home? Unless Nerian assumed he was fleeing. He shook the thought off. Nerian knew he wouldn’t abandon his family.
Head spinning, Stefan co
ntinued to ponder his dilemma. What if someone else was acting on their own accord? Cerny maybe? If he made the wrong choice, not only his family’s lives, but those of the other men and women who now relied on him would be forfeit. With the thought, a hollow formed in his chest where the pendant of Thania rested. Whatever he decided, he had to proceed with the utmost care. One mistake and all would be lost.
A warning gong echoed. Ahead, the exit’s white glow came into view. Self–mastery, he reminded himself. He spurred his dartan toward the light.
When he exited, the air here deep in Seti was much cooler than he’d experienced at the Crescent Hills or even Karsten. The weather carried the chilly nip of autumn. Lit up by the orange glow of late evening sun, the peaks of the Cogal Drin Mountains loomed, soaring sentinels guarding the valley in which Benez nestled beyond the hill ahead. The clamor of an army on the march and clinking armor greeted him along with the trundle of wagons and shouted orders. Soldiers accompanied by Alzari massed on other roads leading to the shaft. The smell of man, metal, pack animals, and mounts rode heavy on the air. Several people pointed or stared at his dartan. The beast eyed them, mewling its displeasure.
On the main causeway where the road to the Travelshaft ended, ten mounted Dagodin in red and blue waited—the King’s Guard—their horses as stiff as the men themselves. General Cerny led them. Back straight and chest puffed out in his uniform with its crimson scrollwork running down the sleeves, the man was all smiles. A prickle ran through Stefan.
“Good to see you’re safe. We had reports of an encounter with Svenzar within the Travelshafts,” Cerny said as Stefan drew up in front of them. His horse whinnied and shied away from Stefan’s dartan. With a deft move of his legs, Cerny brought his mount under control and threw Stefan a fur–lined cloak. A curious expression crossed his face as he took in Stefan’s dartan.
“Thank you. Glad to be safe.” Stefan attempted to sound as genuine as possible as he caught the garment and slung it over his shoulders. “The Svenzar were preoccupied with their raid. I was able to sneak by.” He nodded toward the guards. The men did not acknowledge him. “I gather the King received word from Karsten?”
Aegis of The Gods: Book 00 - The Shadowbearer Page 21
