The Shadowbearer (aegis of the gods)

by Terry C. Simpson

  A chasm opened less than a hundred feet from where he stood fighting off a few white-faced Erastonians. The rift split the pass from one cliff line to the other. Animals, drays, Setian and Erastonians disappeared into the hole. Screams followed their plunge.

  Dear Ilumni, what have they done. I didn’t give the signal.

  Throes wracked the earth again, but this time the accompanying rumble came from the surrounding slopes several thousand feet ahead. Boulders tumbled, and then the sheer rock faces on each side crumbled. The rubble filled the pass, cutting off Stefan’s sight of the Erastonian army beyond.

  Horns started a serenade behind him. A soft patter of rain began as the clouds above finally broke. He recognized the tune. Whirling, he could not believe what he saw as the horns continued to play.

  Surrounded by several hundred of his Royal Guard and garbed in golden armor, cape flapping, was King Nerian.

  A cheer went up from the remaining soldiers. The Knight Commander’s shoulders slumped even as disbelief, quickly replaced by anger at the sacrifice of his men, swept through him. He turned back to the ragged gash in earth ahead where nothing but silence greeted him. Here and there, his men finished off the few Erastonians left on this side of the barrier of rubble and the chasm.

  If they were lucky, eight to ten thousand of his original forty thousand had survived. Today, they were no longer the Unvanquished.

  CHAPTER 18

  “You sacrificed nearly thirty thousand men,” Stefan said quietly. Rage should have burned inside him, but somehow, it had sputtered out. A hollow formed in the pit of his stomach with the words. “My men. Men who trusted me to bring them home alive. Men I promised peace to, a chance to be with their families. You cost me a friend today.” A growing sense of despair trickled through him. His hands shook.

  At the table in the pavilion, not even bothering to look up from the map of Everland, Nerian shrugged. “The Disciplines warned you against making certain promises, did it not, General Dorn?”

  Knight Commander Dorn, Stefan itched to say, but instead he bit his tongue and nodded. He’d failed to keep the one promise that meant so much to him and his men. The blame fell on his shoulders for his misplaced honor and arrogance in thinking he knew Nerian better than the man did himself.

  “Anyway,” the King continued, “the menders managed to save Garrick. He may yet be able to rejoin us if he recovers fully. It was a necessary sacrifice. The men believe in me now. They trust I will lead them to victory.”

  Stefan squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he pictured the wounds hacked into Garrick’s armor. He no longer recognized his friend when they removed the armor. When the Alzari were attempting to heal him, they said if he managed to live, Garrick would limp for the remainder of his life and have scars across his body and face. “All of those lives wasted for a ploy?” Stefan whispered.

  “No, not wasted, used to attain the men’s belief. They know now that they can rely on Matii to help them win battles the same as the Erastonians. They needed to experience the horror of an Erastonian attack and then see it turned back. You have been naA?ve in this, Stefan, surprisingly so.”

  Eyes narrowing, Stefan said, “You knew how the Erastonians fought along. Why-”

  “Of course I did. They defeated my Scout parties and other incursions.”

  “What? But you said no Scouts reported-.”

  “None did,” Nerian interrupted.

  The King was splitting hairs. “So how did you …”

  “I watched when Renaida and Senden suffered defeat months ago.”

  Stefan frowned. Then you had them killed before they revealed the Erastonian strategy. You are mad, aren’t you? “Why would you withhold that from me and cost us so many men.”

  “They were my men, to be used as I thought best. The same as I used you. Nothing must stand in the way of my triumph.”

  Stefan’s hands clenched and unclenched. “Why? Why did you do this? Do their lives, their families, mean nothing to you?”

  “Victory is everything, Stefan. I will use what I must, even fighting darkness with darkness if I have to.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  A slow smile spread across Nerian’s face. “What pushed you over the edge to fight, to lead these men here, and to decide the Erastonians must be eradicated?”

  Stefan tilted his head to one side, thinking for a moment. No. He doesn’t mean … does he? “The shadeling and Erastonian Matus’ attack in Benez.”

  “Exactly,” Nerian confirmed.

  “She wasn’t an Erastonian, was she?”

  “No, of course not.” Nerian chuckled. “She was one of our own Alzari.”

  Stefan understood, now. For me to commit, you gave me something I feared more than anything … a threat to my family from the supposed enemy. But that also means … “The shadelings were yours.” He gave an incredulous stare.

  “Like I said, sometimes you must fight darkness with darkness.”

  “What have you done?” Stefan’s words came out in a hoarse whisper.

  “What I needed to ensure the Setian rise above the Tribunal to rule all of Granadia as we should,” Nerian said.

  Something else dawned on Stefan. He made an involuntary reach for his sword. Nerian’s smug expression stopped him.

  “Do not bother. I’m aware of the sword, but according to Kahar, it bonded to you. I can do nothing but wait to see if you possess the strength it needs. Afterward, you can pass its power onto me once you learn how to do so.”

  An onset of weakness almost overcame Stefan. If there was a chair nearby, he would have found a seat. “Power to do what?”

  “Defeat the Tribunal. Undo whatever imprisons the shadelings within the Great Divide.”

  A gasp escaped Stefan’s lips. “You would release their plague onto the world?”

  Nerian smiled crookedly. “With their power and numbers added to mine, none can stop me.”

  “Who would stop them?”

  “Why, me, of course.”

  “You really are mad,” Stefan said, voice quaking.

  “No. I simply understand what most do not. The wealth of information and power hidden within the Great Divide is there for the taking. Your sword, and the shade … no … Mater itself, are the keys. I simply need to unravel the process to control them all.” A feverish gleam shone deep within Nerian’s eyes. “Don’t you understand? Remember the dreams we shared of making Ostania whole? We can achieve them together and so much more. Denestia will be mine with you as monarch under me. With this power I will become a god. It has already been written.”

  Stefan’s insides writhed at what the words meant. All along, the King was already aware of the parts of the Chronicles Galiana thought she kept secret. He’d allowed her to deliver the sword. He deceived them all. ‘A good leader is adept in the art of deception.’ The words from the Disciplines grated at Stefan.

  Still, why didn’t Nerian kill him and take the weapon? Unless he couldn’t. Stefan thought back to the day he received the divya from Galiana. He added that to Nerian’s mention of a bond. The tingling sensation that passed through him had not been his imagination nor how the divya felt as if he’d wielded it for centuries. Did the sword reject Nerian and now the only way left to gain its use was to have the bond voluntarily passed from another? He had to play this out correctly, use Nerian’s own madness against him.

  “What would you have me do?” Stefan asked in resignation.

  A grin plastered on his face, Nerian strode over with his arms spread wide. Stefan allowed the King to hug him as if he were a long lost son returning to the fold. His expression a mask to hide his revulsion, Stefan returned the sentiment with a squeeze of his own.

  “I knew you would understand eventually,” Nerian said. He backed off and looked down into Stefan’s face. “All I need is for you to help me defeat the Erastonians. Lead the men. After that, the Great Divide will be ours to gain its secrets. From there, the Tribunal will fall.”

 
“What about those slaughtered by the shade?” Stefan looked away, unable to hold Nerian’s gaze with the weight of the horror to come on his chest. “Those of our people who die during this campaign?”

  “Sacrifices happen in war, Stefan. Their deaths shall pave the way for ultimate victory. Let today be the first day the Setian are remembered for all eternity, a day when a legend is born.”

  Yes, Stefan thought, remembered in infamy and reviled for the cataclysm you will spawn upon the world. Thinking back, he wished he’d accepted the Svenzar’s offer. Now, it was too late. One thing remained without a doubt.

  Nerian had to die.

  CHAPTER 19

  The return to Benez weighed on Stefan. He didn’t deserve the outpouring of jubilation around him. The Setian were doomed, and he blamed himself.

  Thania, at her usual position above the gates with Anton and Celina beside her, was the one thing remotely normal about the day. Seeing them made him smile for a moment, and he touched the pendant around his neck before melancholy crept in. Defeat occupied his mind, but the people still cheered. Along the roadside, out of their windows, perched on roofs, they waved handkerchiefs, tossed flowers, and screamed and yelled more than at any other victory celebration. Don’t they realize the Unvanquished have fallen? That thousands of men who defended their country died at Nerian’s hands?

  The majority of his surviving men, especially the veterans, marched with their heads down, expressions grim. The newer recruits chattered excitedly among themselves. Others stared absently, forlorn expressions etched onto their faces.

  A procession of wagons followed their group, carrying those who had lost limbs. Interspersed among his men were King Nerian’s Dagodin and Alzari. At their head, surrounded by his Royal Guard, rode the King, broad shoulders appearing even more so in his armor, his figure an imposing one upon his huge warhorse.

  “Hail King Nerian,” someone shouted above the din of the crowds along the cobbled streets. “Savior of the Unvanquished!”

  Stefan started. So that’s what they were calling the man?

  To Stefan’s left Kasimir shook his head. “Been quite a few of those today.”

  As he listened closely, Stefan picked the names out: Nerian the Lightbearer, Nerian the Savior. The second title grated his insides more than any other. Carried by countless mouths, the name travelled along the avenue in a ripple with a power of its own. Eyes gleamed with fervor as they regarded the King. More than one person bowed their head in reverence as he rode by.

  I lost thirty thousand men, Garrick still lies within death’s grasp, and he makes them believe this was a victory. Stefan stared at Nerian’s back, fingers caressing his sword hilt.

  “There’s nothing you can do,” Kasimir said.

  “Listen to your friend.”

  Stefan whirled at the soft-spoken voice at his other side. Next to him trotted Kahar. Stefan shivered as he gazed into the bodyguard’s blank, silver-flecked eyes. Without another word, Kahar spurred his horse and rode toward the King.

  Once they reached the Upper City, Stefan said to Kasimir, “Let the King know I won’t be attending the feast. My family needs me.”

  “You sure?” Kasimir asked.

  “Yes. He should understand. If he doesn’t …” Stefan shrugged. He nudged his horse through the crowd, onto one of the side lanes, and headed for home.

  As expected, Thania had dismissed the servants for the day. She and the children were upstairs playing when Stefan made his way down to the training room.

  “I wasn’t expecting you to be here,” he said to the form lingering in the shadows by the doorway across the room.

  “Why is that?” Galiana stepped into a pool of lamplight.

  “Because Nerian knows you gave me the sword, which means he knows about the parts of the Chronicles you kept from him.”

  “Yes. That is why I risked coming. To warn you. Nerian sent the shadelings. The Matus we thought to be an Erastonian was actually one of his Alzari.”

  Stefan nodded. “He revealed as much to me after our defeat.”

  “You lost?” Galiana’s brow wrinkled. “All the reports we received said you won.”

  “Nerian did maybe, but the Erastonians defeated the Unvanquished.”

  “How?”

  Stefan told her how the battle transpired.

  Galiana’s frown grew deeper. “Why would he send you into a battle without the information you needed?”

  “It was something so simple it was genius.” Stefan said. “By having the forces loyal to me destroyed, he got rid of his greatest possible threat. The best part is he never needed to raise a finger in attack. At the same time, he swayed any doubters to his side. Have you heard what they’re calling him?”

  Galiana shook her head.

  “King Nerian the Savior.” Stefan spat. “Please tell me you have better news from the Tribunal.”

  “Yes and no.”

  Stefan cocked his head expectantly.

  “At first they refused to become involved, but after I translated more of the Chronicles, I had no choice but to take what I found to their Exalted.”

  A whistle escaped Stefan’s lips. The Exalted ranked above even a High Ashishin in power. Rumored to be at least a millennium in age, they were supposedly the highest authority within the Tribunal, commanding from the shadows. They were legends whose existence Galiana’s words confirmed. “What did you find?”

  “Another passage referring to the future,” Galiana answered. “It read:

  From Ostania’s ashes and Erastonian blood, the Dosteri rise,

  Granadia will fall,

  Devout and all,

  As it was before

  So shall it be again

  World without end

  War without end

  When comes the appointed hour,

  Under the rule of the one with Etchings of Power,

  Stone will crumble,

  The void shall rumble,

  Clouds will grow,

  Water shall flow,

  Light and shade as one,

  Fire and ice as one,

  Denestia shall bend to its knee,

  Until the elements exist in harmony.”

  The words made little sense to Stefan. His expression must have said the same to Galiana because she didn’t wait for him to ask.

  “It predicts the end of Ostania and Granadia,” Galiana said softly. “A force or a race rising from the destruction of the Erastonians. The Dosteri, they are called. More than that, the passage tells of the release of essences and their combining, even light and shade, under the rule of one man.”

  “Nerian?”

  Galiana nodded. “I–I think that’s his intention. I thought convincing the Exalted of my translation would be near impossible, but they already knew. They expected something of this nature. They said if Nerian continues on this course, shadelings will be the least of our worries.”

  Something worse than shadelings? Stefan refused to believe his ears. He wracked his mind to come up with any possibilities but failed. “Did they say what?”

  Galiana hesitated before she answered. “No, but the information must be in the Chronicles somewhere. Regardless, they are willing to help by giving us a piece of land for those we can manage to save. They say the worst of what is to come may still be avoided if we can stop Nerian.”

  Her hesitation bothered Stefan, but he pushed it from his mind. The possibility gave him new hope. “What did they want in exchange? The sword?”

  “No,” Galiana said. “Actually, they gave you permission to keep it.”

  “They did? Why?”

  Galiana shrugged. “They did not say, but they insisted that it was yours to keep. As for their price, they had several. The Alzari and Dagodin we do manage to save will be placed in schooling towns within Granadia. Mysteras, they called them. Their jobs will be to teach those who are born from any Matus bloodlines. Also, we will not be allowed to have all the survivors in one place. They must be divided and spread ac
ross Granadia.”

  “Makes sense,” Stefan said. “Use our Matii to gain knowledge of Alzari Forges, while at the same time keeping us separated in case we consider betraying them.” He frowned. “You’re not finished, are you?”

  “No,” Galiana said. “Their other requirement was far worse.” She took a deep breath. “They wish for the Alzari High Council to turn over the secret we have held for several thousand years. I … I … still do not know how I can tell them …”

  Brows drawing together even tighter, Stefan waited.

  “They want the secret of our Forging that decreases aging among the Setian Matii.”

  Stefan’s mind churned. The Exalted already outlived most or so he thought. “Why?”

  “The Exalted are ancient withered things,” Galiana said with a sigh. “Apparently, whatever Forge they themselves used to increase their life spans did not halt the aging process. It also involved killing many in order to use the dying person’s essences to increase their own life. I have learned that the kingdom skirmishes in Granadia are fashioned by the Tribunal for this reason. It is partially why they involved themselves in our conflicts … to gain access to essences from the dying.”

  “No, that can’t be true.”

  “It is. The Exalted take lives to lengthen theirs.”

  Stefan felt a weakness in his legs. He had thought he was doing the right thing; instead, he was leading his people from one monster to another. But what choice did he have? If the Chronicles were true, and he did not follow through with the plan, the Setian as a people would be no more. When he met Galiana’s gaze, an overwhelming sadness reflected in her expression. “Is there something else?” he whispered, voice hoarse.

  “Nothing.” Galiana gave a slow shake of her head. She averted her eyes. “I–I will tell the Exalted we accept.”

  Somehow, he didn’t believe her. She was keeping some other news hidden from him. At this point though, what they would be forced to do seemed terrible enough. If indeed there was more, he hoped Galiana told him eventually. He prayed she did so before time ran out. Reluctantly, he nodded.