by Jon Bender
His newly raised army moved against the shades. They fought now without fear or hesitation, taking grievous wounds that easily would have killed them a second time. With the enemy’s concentration divided, the living guards harassed the shades from the rear. Attacked from two sides and with no room to move in the tight space, the shades could only defend. One of the shadowed invaders took a cut across the back while another’s arm was flayed open. A risen impaled by a sword took no notice of the wound, instead exploiting the opening left in the shades’ defenses. With the sword still embedded in its stomach, the dead guard brought its own weapon down on the invader’s shoulder, smashing through the collarbone before finally stopping in the upper chest. The fight was over quickly after that.
It had not taken considerable effort for Jaxom to maintain control over the risen. He kept them animated with a constant flow of energy. That connection would continue even during sleep or until Jaxom cut it. As long as their minds were intact, he could give them simple instructions and letting them carry out his orders using their own memories to guide their actions.
Bleeding from many wounds, the remaining guards eyed their not-so-fallen comrades nervously. The risen had simply stopped once the fighting had ended and awaited further commands. The first to rise had lost both hands, another a leg, and the one who had been impaled now had entrails looping around its feet. He could repair the damage, but it would take time and energy, maybe more than he had. Jaxom directed those of the risen too damaged to fight toward the walls and then withdrew his power, letting them rest once more.
With his three remaining risen in tow, Jaxom passed the guards on his way towards the king’s quarters. One, a middle-aged man with a well-kept beard, placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. A long cut down the right side of his face bled freely. “Thank you, Magus. If you had not come when you did, we would be dead.” Jaxom nodded and moved on, uncertainly. No one had ever thanked him for casting before. Mostly they just avoided him altogether.
As Jaxom neared the king’s chambers, he heard yelling and the clang of steel on steel. In the wide hall housing the royal rooms, he found twenty of King Corin’s personal guard positioned in front of the royal chambers, just barely holding their own against eight shades. Commanding his risen to move forward into the fight, Jaxom was raising his own sword to attack when he heard a woman scream in anger. Swearing to himself, he charged toward the sound. In a sideroom, he found Celia in a nightgown, her back to a wall and a long dagger in her hands. A gash ran down her thigh. Across from her loomed a shadowed figure whose left arm showed a bloody tear in the sleeve. The shade turned to regard him.
“What are you waiting for? Kill him!” Celia yelled.
The invader lunged forward, swinging his sword in a wide arc at Jaxom’s head. Meeting the blow with his own blade, the resulting impact sent a vibration down Jaxom’s arms that nearly cost him his grip. The shade shifted to the left without moving his feet and swung again. Jaxom met the attack once more, parrying and slashing. Back and forth they went. The shade managed to score a long deep cut on Jaxom’s leg, slowing Jaxom considerably. Seeing the advantage, the shade attacked, swinging furiously. Jaxom was forced to give ground until he was backed against a wall. The shade swung his sword to the right, forcing Jaxom to parry, and then rammed his shoulder into Jaxom’s chest. The blow knocked the wind from his lungs as Jaxom collapsed to the floor. Stunned, Jaxom was only vaguely aware of the shade approaching to finish him.
Something flashed behind his intended executioner who spun about to face Celia, still holding the dagger. That was all the time Jaxom needed. He raised his hand, releasing a flow of gray and black twirling smoke that stretched out before slamming into the shade’s back and enveloping him. For the first time since the fight began, Jaxom heard a shade scream. Everywhere the smoke touched, the man began to rot, as if years of decay had come all at once. The end came quickly. His head throbbed from the impact with the wall, and the casting left him drained of energy. Gripping the wall for support, he struggled to stand. Celia helped him, still holding her bloodied dagger. Celia began cutting away strips of her nightgown and binding her leg, then cutting away more to do the same for him. Once, she caught him staring at her exposed leg. He could swear he saw the hint of a smile before she tightened the strip down on his leg a little more roughly than was needed.
“You’re not very good at rescuing ladies in distress, are you?”
“Show me a lady…” Jaxom replied under his breath. Celia punched him in the arm.
While Jaxom caught his breath, Celia grew still, staring at what was left of the shade--a pile of flesh, rotted cloth, and bare bone. “I didn’t know you could do that,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” he replied.
She put a hand on his face, drawing it closer to her own. “Don’t be sorry. You saved my life. I know you think everyone is afraid of you… but I’m not.” She kissed him gently on the cheek and smiled, then glanced toward the door. They could hear the sounds of battle through the heavy wood. “Are you ready?”
Taking a deep breath, he nodded. He hefted his sword and moved to the door, only to have her grab the knob first. He gave the disheveled but still beautiful woman a stern look, which she returned with one of her own.
“He’s my king as well.”
Beyond tying her up and leaving her defenseless in the room, Jaxom doubted that he could keep her from following him. “I go first.”
She nodded, dropping her dagger and recovering the dead shade’s sword. Opening the door, she followed him out into the hall. The king’s personal guard were not faring well. More had arrived to protect the king, but the shades had received reinforcements as well. Of the three risen, only one remained, fighting tirelessly.
Through all the shouts and sounds of battle, he heard a roar come from the other side of the king’s chamber door. “I command you to stand aside!” Within seconds, the double doors swung open, revealing the king and four guardsmen. Brandishing his falcon pommeled short sword and a round shield, he strode forward. The shades surged toward Corin, but their charge was short lived. Corin slammed his shield into the first then tore a bloody furrow down the shade’s chest. The line solidified once again with Corin at its center.
Gathering the power of death, Jaxom looked over his shoulder to ensure Celia was still behind him. She gave him a grim nod and adjusted her double-handed grip on the recovered shade’s sword. Raising his hand, Jaxom channeled his magic to the many dead lying about the large hall. Twenty began to rise, three of which were dead shades. He could feel his strength draining quickly from animating so many at once. Then the room turned to chaos. Jaxom’s newly animated shades led the attack, slashing at their former comrades. One of the risen shades got too close to a living guard and got its arm hacked off with an axe. A risen shade shifted suddenly. Through the strain of maintaining the magic to keep them all fighting, Jaxom was shocked to see that it kept its abilities and the memory of how to use them. It was something to think on if he survived the night.
When a shade rushed toward Jaxom, catching him by surprise, Celia blocked that strike and the next, which quickly followed. Jaxom took direct control of a risen guard nearby and charged the attacking shade, tackling him to ground. The shade swung wildly at the risen’s face and neck. Then Celia appeared, slashing down to cut the enemy’s throat. Releasing his control of the risen guard, Jaxom realized that the enemy was retreating through doors and down adjoining halls.
Ten of his risen remained capable of fighting and stood awaiting further commands. Jaxom released the flow of magic, and they fell to the ground like puppets with their strings cut. Collapsing to a knee himself, he panted from exhaustion. Celia tried to support him, but he did not have the strength to stand. He had never channeled so much in such a short time. Corin came to his other side, pulling Jaxom’s arm over his shoulder and lifting him up. He was vaguely aware of being carried into Corin’s chambers and laid down on one of the couches. Jaxom struggled to keep his eye
s open.
“His leg’s still bleeding,” he heard Celia say. “It’s deeper than I thought.”
“Send to the temple for a priest. Tell them to come at once,” Corin said, probably to one of his men. “Stay with us, Jaxom. I can’t reward you properly if you’re dead.” Jaxom tried to think of something witty in return, but all that came out was an incomprehensible mumble before exhaustion finally overtook him.
Chapter 4
Jaxom woke to find himself in a very large and comfortable bed beneath an ornately decorated ceiling. Light coming in through a large window indicated it was just past mid-morning. His entire body ached, and his head throbbed like a drum. His bloody clothes had been removed and replaced with soft, white cotton pants. On his chest, a long cut he did not remember receiving had been sutured. Touching his leg, he felt the raised skin of a scar that was weeks old but still tender to the touch.
Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he stood slowly. Food and water had been left on a nearby table, and the sight made his stomach growl. Hobbling over to the table, he sat and began to devour the meal of roasted chicken and bread. There was a bottle of wine and a pitcher of water. Within minutes, he had cleaned the plate and a satisfying feeling of fullness enveloped him. As he rose from the chair to look for his clothes, a young man in light blue robes entered. The man was shorter than Jaxom with dark brown eyes that matched his shoulder-length hair. His mouth was upturned in a grin, as if he was privately amused by something.
“Ah! You are awake. I am glad to see you standing. The goddesses granted me the power to heal your wound, but I was unsure how soon you would be able to walk.”
The goddess Sarinsha was widely worshiped throughout the city, but Jaxom had lost the desire to pray to any god when he discovered that he could channel magical energy. Many mages felt the same way. Why pray to a being of great power when you already possess great power yourself? However, none of the mages had the ability to heal. That gift seemed to be reserved for the servants of the gods.
“My name is Da’san,” the priest said, offering his hand. Jaxom shook it with as much strength as he could muster in his weakened state.
“Thank you, Da’san. I guess I owe you my life.”
“You owe your thanks to Sarinsha. She is the one who heard my prayers and gifted me with the power to heal you,” Da’san replied.
Jaxom had never given much thought to the gods, and he also wasn’t sure how he felt about being in debt to one. “I would be more than happy to send a gift to Sarinsha’s temple. To show my appreciation to your goddess.”
“Any donation is appreciated, but what our goddess truly desires is prayer,” Da’san said. “If you wish, I can help lead you in devotion.”
“Thank you, but that will not be necessary. I will just make a contribution.”
The young priest smiled. “Of course, if that is what you feel you owe for your life…” Clearing his throat, Jaxom continued hunting for his clothes. “Your leg may be healed, but with so many wounded last night, I could not expend the goddess’s gift on non-life-threatening injuries.If you would...” Da’san said, gesturing for Jaxom to sit.
Jaxom complied. The priest peered closely at his chest and placed a palm over the closed wound. Da’san then moved behind him to do the same to a wound on his back. “There is no infection,” Da’san proclaimed. “If it has not set in yet, I doubt it will.” Da’san opened the trunk at the foot of the bed. He pulled out clothes and a set of boots and offered them to Jaxom. “The king wishes to see you in the council room.”
Da’san turned away while Jaxom dressed. Mindful of his sutures, he pulled the white shirt over his head. Once dressed, he realized his sword was missing, and a small thread of panic crept into him. As if reading his mind, Da’san once again reached into the trunk and retrieved the coveted blade. Holding the blade horizontally, the priest drew the sword a few inches from the scabbard and examined the shining metal. “It is a marvelous piece of work. I can feel the power within it, but I cannot discern the nature of the enchantment.” Taking the blade, Jaxom buckled the belt around his waist. The added weight on his injured leg would not be comfortable, but he had no intention of leaving the sword behind for the priest to examine further. Jaxom thanked the priest again, and the young man gave a slight bow in recognition.
Once in the hall, Jaxom realized he had been placed in a room close to Corin’s own, perhaps due to the severity of his injuries. The large hall bore no trace of the bloodshed and death of only hours before. The castle staff had obviously been hard at work. As Jaxom passed a pair of Corin’s personal guards, one whose arm was wrapped in bandages, the men brought their right hands to the center of their chests in salute. The gesture of respect gave Jaxom pause. Unsure how to respond, Jaxom took a page out of Corin’s book, giving them a firm nod in recognition, which seemed to satisfy them.
The council room was thankfully not far. The two guards outside the doors saluted him as well. Inside, Corin and Celia were standing on opposite sides of the large map table. They appeared to be in a staring contest. The large square table painted with a map of Ale’adaria held blocks showing friendly and enemy positions. From what he could discern, much of their army was still gathering while none of the invading forces had yet crossed their borders. Around the room, men of the Guard and the army, including General Blackburn, all seemed to be looking anywhere but at the king and his cousin.
Three mages were also present. The oldest among them was Serin Valsch, a fire mage and leader of the hundred or so mages loyal to Corin. The mages themselves resided not in the castle but in their own, smaller castle within the city. Jaxom had never been inside as most of the mages chose to ignore his very existence. Even now, one of the younger mages gave Jaxom a look of disgust. Breaking the stony, awkward silence, Jaxom spoke: “I can come back later if this is a bad time, Your Majesty.”
Breaking her glare, Celia lifted her chin slightly as if to indicate she had won by taking the higher road. “Jaxom, I am so glad that you are awake. You had us worried for most of the night.” “Yes, I am feeling much better now. I have you to thank for that, Your Majesty,” Jaxom addressed Corin. The king finally shifted his gaze away from Celia, and his glare softened into his usual stern demeanor. “If you had not called for the priest, I doubt I would be here right now.”
“What a shame that would have been,” muttered the younger mage. Serin glared at the younger man.
“I could not very well let my savior die after such a valiant effort,” Corin said, a small smile creeping onto his face.
“And my Savior as well,” Celia said. Walking over to him, she gave him a small kiss on the cheek. Two kisses in as many days, the guards saluting him, Corin calling him his savior. Had the world gone mad?
Clearing his throat, Jaxom tried to shake off the uncomfortable attention. “You wished to see me about something, Majesty?”
“Magus Serin here,” Corin said, indicating the man, “wished a more complete analysis of the shadow men’s abilities. Since you were the only mage present at the time, an oversight we have just corrected, I thought you would be better able to explain their castings.”
“Of course, Your Majesty, but I do not believe the shades were actually casting.”
“Shades?” Corin asked.
“Yes, that is what I thought to call them.”
“I guess that is a bit better than shadow men,” he said.
“Why do you think they were not casting?” Serin asked, regarding Jaxom with serious intensity in his light brown eyes. The man was considerably older than Jaxom with a full head of white hair and leathery skin. His tall, thin frame gave him a skeletal appearance.
“I never actually saw them cast. Their abilities seemed to be innate, like any man can jump or swing a sword.”
“I can agree with that Serin,” Corin said, dropping the honorary title. It was known that the two men had a dislike for each other, and Jaxom feared that his lack of acceptance among the mages may have been at t
he root of that dislike. “I did not see any of them cast as I have seen it done, though their abilities were uncanny.”
“What do you think it was then, Magus Jaxom?” Serin said, boldly ignoring the king’s statement.
Jaxom placed a hand on his sword, thinking, and something clicked in his mind. “An enchantment of some sort.”
Serin gaped in disbelief. No one in written history had ever been successful at enchanting a man or any living creature. The ramifications of such a concept were staggering. If men could be enchanted, what else could be done? The young mage scoffed loudly, earning himself another glare from Serin.
“We will need to examine the bodies of these… shades,” Serin said.
That was exactly what Jaxom had been planning. He thought he might be able to delve into the mind of one and perhaps discover who had sent them.
“I ordered the remains to be stored until they can be taken out and burned,” Corin said. “Jaxom, you may examine them when you feel ready,” he continued, looking Jaxom directly in the eye as if to communicate that he had been thinking along the same lines.
“If you wish, you may have a look now, Magus Serin,” the king said, returning his attention back to the older mage.
