The Shadowbearer (aegis of the gods)

by Terry C. Simpson

  Stefan’s mouth dropped open. Not from surprise that they weren’t his children, but because the King had known all along.

  Nerian chuckled. “Why the charade? I wanted to witness how this would unfold.” His gaze shifted to the children. “If you could tell they were not yours or if they would fool you completely. A good try, Thania. However, when you are as strong as I am in Mater, one can sense the tiny disturbance in the essences that accompanies even the most experienced Sven.”

  With those words, Nerian gave a lazy wave of his hand in Stefan’s direction. Spear-like flames darted from two of the braziers near the King and shot down the room.

  Around Stefan, the ground rumbled and heaved. He lost his balance, stumbling for a moment as he noticed the children step forward. Eyes wide with shock and fear, he could do nothing to help.

  The spears of fire tore through the air. The children stepped to the side and off the carpet. Serene smiles crossed their faces, then abruptly their arms elongated and flowed down to touch the marble floor. Stone and earth flowed up over them. The flames struck with a low boom.

  Stefan threw a hand up against the sudden heat and the small concussion.

  Fire rippled around and down the stoneform figures that were once his children. The flames snuffed out as if sucked away by a deep indrawn breath.

  In place of Anton and Celina stood two ten-foot Sven. Marble and rock covered their bodies. Smoke rose from them. The smell of char trickled through the room. Below them, the ground was torn. As one, they roared at the King.

  “Calm down.” Nerian cocked his head, an amused expression on his face.

  The Sven quieted, but their brown-eyed glares remained on him.

  “So,” Nerian stood, “all the pieces are together. We have the Sven, so I should count the Harnan as well, the Tribunal and their Ashishin, the Felani hiding behind the Vallum of Light waiting for said Tribunal.” He chuckled. “Let’s not forget the Erastonians.”

  “All the more reason for you to give up this madness,” Stefan said, finally finding his voice. He tried his best to ignore the sword vibrating against his leg. It was a constant reminder the shadelings held his wife.

  “Ah, but I hold the advantage.” Nerian’s gauntleted hand gestured toward his right and a small, dark entryway there.

  The door opened. Anton and Celina, eyes fearful, clothing disheveled, shuffled into the room. Kahar glided in after them, his dark cloak and clothing motionless.

  “NOOO!” Thania screamed.

  Stunned, Stefan opened and closed his mouth.

  “Mother,” the children cried, trying to head to her. Kahar cut them off.

  “Not once did you think the Ashishin assisting your escape would belong to me.” Nerian shrugged as if it was obvious to him. “Bring them to me.”

  Every fiber within Stefan’s body urged him to do something. Anything. But what could he do against Nerian, Kahar and the shadelings? Even his wife who was as strong or stronger than any High Ashishin he knew, appeared powerless. Thania had crumpled to the floor, crying.

  The children approached the King, their gazes drifting to Stefan. They gasped. Celina began to wail. Anton mouthed the question, “Father?”

  Heart thumping as he fought down sorrow, Stefan nodded. There had to be some way to help his children. “W-What do you want, Nerian? Please, stop this.”

  “I am almost tempted to say that time has passed,” Nerian said. “Come, children, do not be afraid.” He beckoned them on as they paused a few feet from the dais.

  When they climbed the steps and stood next to him, Nerian glanced from one to the other, his lips curled into a wicked smile. He ruffled Anton’s hair, then strode down the stairs, leaving the throne and the children arrayed at his back.

  “You were like a son to me, Stefan. All I asked was for your help in fighting the Erastonians, to establish the rule of the Setian. In return, you would rule beside me. What do you do instead? You ally with them.”

  Stefan fought down the urge not to gape at Nerian’s revelation. How did he find out?

  “You hide your surprise well, Stefan,” Nerian said. “But there is little I do not know. Man’s greatest flaw is greed. The power of promises and delivering on them.”

  “Dishonorable use is not what the Disciplines were created for.”

  “Oh? So, you wrote them?” A smirk played across the King’s face. “Like anything else, they are a tool. In this case, one that teaches you how to get the best out of your men in whatever endeavor. For example, the Erastonians invaded Seti, already destroyed several towns and cities, massacred hundreds of thousands, and enslaved even more. They managed to defeat the greatest General Seti has ever known. Our armies and our Alzari will fight like never before. Right now, they are slaughtering your precious Erastonians.”

  This time, Stefan did gape.

  “Thank you for bringing them together in one location for me to crush. You served your purpose better than if you hadn’t betrayed me.” Nerian slowly shook his head from side to side. “And to think, I gave you everything.”

  “No.” A sudden rage boiled in Stefan as he thought about all the dead, all the lives and families shattered over countless years of war. All wasted because he was blind to Nerian’s plans all those years. “I earned what I had. Many times over. What you asked was for me to go against what I believed in. All you have taught me. The Disciplines, honor, respect for life, and a man’s need for family. What happened to you, Nerian?” Stefan gestured to the shadelings. “To make it worse you turned to them, the very thing that has tried to destroy the world for years.”

  “Nothing happened. I am who I am.”

  “Lies!” Stefan shouted. “You were an honorable man. A man many admired-even worshipped-as if you were one of the gods. Now, look at yourself, look at your people, look at the filth and darkness that has become of Benez. You’re nothing more than a madman deluded by dreams and prophecies of the dead.”

  Nerian scowled. Then, he shrugged. “Mad, maybe. Deluded? No. There are things beyond your understanding at work here. The world will be covered in the shade’s darkness. Nothing will stop that. No one is prepared. I will be victorious. But, in order to do so, there is something I need. Your sword. Release its bond to me or I will kill your children.”

  Stefan stared, not believing the heinous words Nerian uttered. He closed his eyes, a hand sliding to his head to massage where his skull ached. To kill during a war was one thing, but to threaten to murder the children was beyond Stefan’s comprehension. Nerian was worse than a lunatic. He was a rabid animal that needed to be destroyed.

  However, such a thing was easier thought than accomplished. The King faced the two Sven, Thania, whatever power Anton and Celina could muster, and yet appeared unconcerned. If Nerian wanted, he could probably kill everyone within the room. Not that Stefan was discounting himself, but for him to have any hope, he needed to get closer to the King.

  “I served you faithfully all these years,” Stefan said, his voice a hair above a whisper. “Giving all I had, helping to build a kingdom, protecting the people and your rule. Not once before did I question your need for glory and conquest. I embraced it, took in what you taught me, and made your wishes a part of myself. All I ever asked was a chance to enjoy the fruit of the blood we spilled if the gods should ever bless me to live that long.” He stared longingly at his children. “Now I have that chance, and you not only deprived me of raising my children, but you would take them away from me? Kill them?” The seething inside him bubbled to the surface in a red-hot cauldron. “For a sword?”

  “No. Not only a sword,” Nerian said from where he stood at the bottom of the dais. “The power within it.”

  “So for a chance at power you would ask me to choose between the weapon and my blood?”

  “I was not asking.” Nerian flicked a hand.

  Celina made a choking sound. Kicking and thrashing, she rose slowly until she floated several feet above the throne. Her eyes bulged.

  “Ce
l!” Anton yelled, hand outstretched toward his sister. Then he spun on Nerian, his face a mottled mask. Before Anton made another move, he went flying into the throne.

  Something tugged at Stefan’s feet. Marble slid up to his ankle then hardened. Any attempt he made to shift was futile.

  “Nerian,” Thania yelled.

  Stefan snapped his attention back to his wife

  Brow bunched together, she stared down the King, hands clenched into fists. Expression strained, Cerny stepped toward her, fist upraised.

  One of the wraithwolves next to Thania exploded. Great gouts of blood and flesh splashed not only its counterparts but on her as well, painting the floor and nearby wall crimson.

  Cerny’s arm shook. Whatever Forging they were using, they battled mightily against each other.

  A second later, Thania’s shoulders sagged and her expression changed to one of shock. She sunk to the floor.

  With two mighty roars, the Sven pounded their fists into the floor. Marble and stone boiled up around them. The piled debris shot forward and sent flagstones in a rippling wave toward the King. At the same time, the two Sven leaped.

  The wave of earth came to a jarring halt as if slamming into an invisible wall. Before they reached the apex of their jumps, the Sven froze. The air within the throne room grew so cold Stefan’s teeth chattered. Frost, then ice, rippled across the Svens’ giant forms. A moment later, they shattered. A shower of flesh, dirt, and stone fell with their deaths.

  Transfixed, Stefan stared in disbelief. To do all he’d accomplished, Nerian would have had to Forge air to lift and bind Celina and create the wall, use light to kill the wraithwolf and Warp the Mater around Thania, reconstitute earth around Stefan’s leg, and use water and ice to destroy the Sven. To be a High Matii, one had to be able to wield two of the three elements. But to Forge essences from all three? Simultaneously? Impossible.

  The rattle of Celina as she wheezed and coughed, and Thania’s low keening moan broke him from his thoughts. The smell of fresh blood and the rot of wraithwolf filled the room. As his mind registered the devastation Nerian wrought, Stefan tried to work out a solution. Even if he got close enough, the King would kill him before he could blink.

  One possible course remained to ensure his family survived. He decided to take it.

  “I–I will release the sword’s bond to you,” Stefan said. “J-Just don’t hurt them anymore.”

  “I knew you would come around.” Nerian smiled, but he didn’t venture closer.

  In the King’s icy, emerald eyes Stefan saw the truth. When he handed over the sword’s bond, Nerian intended to kill them all.

  Stefan took in the tear-streaked faces of his children. Then he looked at his wife, her tattered clothing and bruised body. He opened his Matersense. All around her, Cerny, and the shadelings, the elements were Warped. Tentacles of shade spread from Cerny to the shadelings and to the King.

  My wife, my children, the only ones I might ever have, taken from me, denied lives of their own. With the thought came heaviness in his heart. As sudden as the grief rose, a mounting anger joined it. The heat of his emotions roiled through him. Another, different burning sensation followed.

  “Give me the divya.”

  Nerian’s words sounded far away. All Stefan felt was the inferno now throbbing within him. Scouring his insides, it emanated from his anger and one other point. He closed his eyes and threw his head back as the sensation engulfed him.

  The second source of fire, of energy, was the sword. The weapon seemed to beckon to his emotions.

  When Stefan opened his eyes, Nerian had taken several steps down the colonnade. The King’s lips moved but Stefan heard nothing. He strained to make out the words against the roar of the power in his ears.

  “With the power your sword holds, the world will be mine.” Nerian’s eyes had the mad gleam again as he stared lustily at the divya.

  In desperation, Stefan gave in to the pull. He added the heat of his rage to the energy emanating from the weapon.

  “Do not be afraid,” Nerian coaxed. “All will be well.”

  Calm rolled through Stefan as the two blazes joined. “Yes, it will,” he answered. He locked gazes with the King. The Svenzar’s words of forcing Nerian to create an opening came back to him.

  Eyes narrowing, Nerian paused.

  A tiny concussion from the sword shot up Stefan’s arm. The same as it did the first night in Benez. He recognized how to direct the burst of power now. With a flick of his hand, he sent the energy running through him into the sword and into Nerian’s Forging. Marble melted from around his feet. He raised his leg to step toward the King. In the same instant, he spun and leapt the fifty feet separating him and Cerny.

  Time took on a miniscule flow. Cerny’s eyes widened.

  Stefan landed next to the General. He plunged his sword hilt deep into the smaller man’s gut and ripped up. Blood spurted, a few drops spattering Stefan’s face. Entrails spilled out along with the stench of fecal matter.

  “You wanted to replace me,” the Knight Commander said with a sense of satisfaction. “Well here, take my sword and unhand my wife.” He caught Thania by one arm.

  The world sped back up. Cerny crumpled to the floor, blood seeping from his torn torso. The sword protruded from his back, bits of flesh and pulp hanging from its edge.

  “What have you-”

  The wails from the shadelings cut off Nerian’s words. Stefan made to tear his weapon from Cerny’s corpse, but the wraithwolves and the darkwraiths dashed toward the King.

  A loud crash echoed through the room. Stefan spun to the source of the sound at the throne room’s main entrance.

  Gouts of fire and light shot down the colonnade. The wind rose in a howl. Through the door stormed at least a dozen High Ashishin. At their head, the air a blur around her fists was Galiana.

  “You DARE!” Nerian bellowed. The shield protecting him melted away. He raised his hands.

  Stefan prayed he had done enough.

  The ground rumbled and the room itself shook. Paintings fell from the walls. Dust, bricks, and mortar dropped from the ceiling.

  Between the King and everyone else, the carpeted floor split. Like splintered ice, the crack traveled, as it opened wider until the ground was rent in two. A huge stone hand, covered in tattoos, reached up and grabbed the lip of the chasm. A head followed. Kalvor’s head.

  The Svenzar pulled himself out of the hole. Six Sven followed, leaping to the lip of the chasm. The earth closed.

  Spanning twenty feet, body covered in his tapestry of writhing tattoos, Kalvor almost reached the ceiling. The creature pointed a massive sword at the King, its shiny surface highlighted by glyphs and runes. “The time has come for your madness to end, Nerian. Our kind was not made to bring suffering but to save the world.”

  A confused expression spread across Nerian’s face. He threw both hands up toward the creature. Other than the King’s cloak billowing behind him, nothing happened. His face darkened. “You know nothing, Svenzar,” he yelled. “You shall fall. All of you will. Kahar, kill the children.”

  “NO!” Stefan screamed. “I rel-” His words cut off. Something filled his mouth.

  Beside him, Galiana appeared.

  Nerian roared and the world became a blinding white.

  Heat scalded Stefan’s skin. A hand pushed him in the chest. Everything went from white to a stark black. A sensation, as if he fell backwards from a cliff into unfathomable depths, swallowed him.

  As he spiraled, his gaze was riveted on Kahar. The bodyguard was standing over Anton with his sword in hand. Blood dripped from its edge.

  CHAPTER 32

  Stefan lurched to a stop. Warm air, too warm for Seti, bright light, and the smell of grass, greeted him. Frowning, he peered around.

  A wall rose behind him, spanning several hundred feet into the air. Steel, feldspar, and white alabaster shone with an ethereal glow that lit up the surrounding landscape as if it were daytime instead of night. The Vallum
of Light.

  Then, like a bucket of freezing water splashed over a man while he slept, the shock of what happened hit him. “No, no … what did you do?” Tears streamed down his face.

  “I did what I had to,” Galiana’s voice said from a few steps to his right.

  “T-the children … I … I was going to save them.” Unable to hold back, he broke into sobs. “Thania, Celina, Anton … dear Ilumni, why? Why? WHY?” Before he realized, he was on his knees, pounding the ground with his fists.

  “I tried,” Galiana said, “but we couldn’t breach his barrier once he erected it again. We only managed to save you and Thania.”

  “What?”

  “Your wife is over there.”

  Stefan’s gaze followed to where she pointed. An Ashishin fussed over his wife, trying to get her into a gold robe. Her bruised face was already mended. He stood on shaky feet and stumbled toward her.

  “Thania, love,” he said as she glanced up when he approached.

  She scrubbed at her cheeks, her eyes puffy and red. She broke into a wail. “Stefan … the children … they’re …” Thania clutched at the pendant around her neck.

  “No, you’re wrong,” Stefan said.

  Even as he said the words, he remembered Kahar and his sword dripping with blood. The pendant told the story too. The metal felt incomplete, almost as if a part of him, a part of his soul was missing.

  His children were dead.

  He took his wife into his arms. Together, they cried.

  Several days later, Stefan stood upon the battlements of one of the two Bastions of Light. The tower and its twin looked out over the lone passage through the Vallum here in Felan. His heart ached in ways he never dreamt possible, but his need for revenge was a salve for his pain. Below him, a massive army gathered. The Lightstorm banners flew in too many places to count. A cool wind ruffled his cloak and brought him the scent of perfume.

  “If he knew you lived, he would come after you,” Galiana said from behind him.

  Stefan didn’t bother to turn. He couldn’t bear to look at her face. “You knew all along he intended to kill them. Why didn’t you get them away from Seti?”