Shields in Shadow

by Andy Peloquin

  Relief filled him as they reached the wagon road and turned toward Bjornstadt. However, the relief was short-lived. With every hour, the sun dipped closer to the western horizon. It wouldn't fully set until the eighth or ninth hour after noon, but the thick forest bordering the path would plunge them into shadows earlier.

  Exhaustion dragged at Aravon by the time he dismounted at their chosen campsite. His legs felt leaden as he dropped to the ground, and a dull ache thrummed in his knees. The others of his company seemed equally tired. The last four days of travel had begun to take a toll on all of them.

  Noll and Colborn had selected a spot a few hundred yards from the wagon track, in the middle of a dense patch of thornbush. It did little to keep back the wind, but at least they were concealed from anyone passing on the road.

  They sat in silence, munching their cold dinner of hard tack and ground, spiced lentil paste, listening to the sounds of the forest. Fehl had its own wild nature, so foreign to the men who lived in the settled, cultivated Princelands. The trees towered taller than those north of the Chain, the vegetation somehow a deeper, more vivid green. The musty scent of decaying leaves hung thick in the air, accented by the edge of chill on the wind. Foxes, moose, and massive deer Zaharis called “reindeer” moved through the forest with only passing curiosity for the strange two-legged intruders. In the distance, the howling of grey wolves melded into a savage harmony with the much nearer growling of brown bears.

  Aravon drew the second watch with Syvup. He didn't bother trying to rest—this deep in Fehlan territory, he doubted he'd sleep a wink. His eyes roved the forest for any sign of threat. He found himself twitching at the shadows of the branches shaking in the wind or the sound of rustling leaves.

  A loud crack behind him sent his heart leaping to his throat. He whirled, spear held in a low crouch. He pulled up the weapon as he found himself face to face with Duke Dyrund.

  “Easy, Aravon,” the Duke said. “It's just me.”

  “Your Grace.” Aravon nodded. “Can't sleep?”

  Duke Dyrund gave him a wry grin. “The hardships of age. The older I get, the harder it is to sleep. Perhaps it's the thought that every day brings me one day closer to my death. Or, perhaps, it's just my body telling me there are more important things to do than sleep.”

  Aravon didn't respond. The Duke's tone made it clear he was simply thinking aloud.

  “This is important, Aravon.” Duke Dyrund settled into the hollow of a tree a few feet away. “What we're doing here. Meeting Ailmaer.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  “I know you'd rather be off getting vengeance for the Sixth. I want those Blodhundr bastards dead, too.” The Duke met Aravon's eyes. “But this meeting could decide our future on Fehl. At least, it's the first step in the right direction.” He leaned back against the tree trunk and sighed. “One day—perhaps not too far in the future—we could see peace on Fehl. No more Legions, no more Eirdkilrs. Just Princelanders and Fehlans living in harmony.”

  Aravon kept his voice carefully neutral. “A noble dream, Your Grace.”

  Duke Dyrund chuckled. “You think me a fool, Aravon?”

  “Duke?” Aravon raised an eyebrow.

  “Only a fool speaks of peace in the middle of a war.” The Duke shook his head. “But I seek to bring an end to the war. Oh, I know many in Icespire think me too idealistic, an old man dreaming an impossible dream.” He gave Aravon a little smile. “Your father is one of them, you know. He actually told me so to my face.”

  Aravon held his tongue. General Traighan had long ago lost his ability to see anything beyond the practice of war.

  “But the Prince understands,” Duke Dyrund continued. “He sees the same as I do. It's why he sent me to the Deid to make peace, and the Vidr and Smida as well. With the Eyrr, we have nearly the entire northern half of Fehl willing to put an end to the war. With them, we will be able to hold the line against the Eirdkilrs.”

  “That would be a major victory,” Aravon said.

  “But that can't be the end of it.” Duke Dyrund raised a clenched fist. “If the Eirdkilrs refuse to speak of peace, we must drive them out of Fehl once and for all. And the only way to do that is if all the clans join us. The key, my boy, is the Hilmir.”

  Aravon's eyebrows rose. “Eirik Throrsson, chief of the Fjall?”

  “The very same.” Duke Dyrund folded his arms across his chest. “If the Fjall join us, we will have enough swords to turn around the war and drive the Eirdkilrs back across the Sawtooth Mountains. With their help, we can rebuild Snowpass Keep and keep the Myrr and Bein clans in line.”

  “And will the Hilmir listen? Will he consider peace?”

  The corners of Duke Dyrund's mouth turned down. “Perhaps. Perhaps, if he sees that the other Fehlan clans are willing to work with us, he will consider it. And, if we can repel the Eirdkilrs here, he will see that the war can be won.” He raised a clenched fist. “That is why our mission here is so important. We must drive the Eirdkilrs from Anvil Garrison, and we must convince the Eyrr to join us.”

  A long moment of silence passed between them. Aravon studied the Duke of Eastfall. He'd known the man—his father's best friend—for as long as he could remember. Age had left its mark on the Duke—the lines of his face, the grey in his hair, even the slight hunch in his shoulders—but hadn't dimmed his tenacity and iron convictions. If anyone could bring about this impossible peace in a realm consumed by violence, it was Duke Dyrund.

  “Get some rest, Your Grace,” he told the Duke. “Tomorrow, you achieve what no man has done before. Tomorrow, you take the first step toward the end of the war.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Eyes sharp,” Aravon signed to his team. “This is friendly land, but enemies may hide anywhere.”

  Skathi adjusted her grip on her short horse bow and nodded. “Understood, Captain.”

  Noll, on the opposite side of the camp from the Agrotora, signaled his understanding. Belthar and Draian did likewise.

  Aravon glanced around the camp. “Where are Zaharis and Colborn?” He saw no sign of the Secret Keeper or the half-Fehlan Lieutenant; they hadn't been there when he awoke, and they hadn't returned throughout their meager breakfast.

  Belthar thrust a finger toward the south. “Off that way together.” His big hands still struggled with the sign language.

  A ball of ice formed in Aravon's stomach. He forced himself to remain calm. Between them, Colborn and Zaharis could face anything. After a moment, he couldn't shrug off the worry any longer.

  “Noll, with me,” he signed.

  With a nod, the little scout scooped up his weapons and hurried toward Aravon.

  The Duke shot him a questioning glance.

  “Back soon,” Aravon signed. “We're missing two.”

  Duke Dyrund surveyed the camp and nodded. “Hurry. We can't be late.”

  “Yes, sir.” He turned to Noll. “Find them.”

  Noll slipped through the forest like a wisp. Even after all of Colborn's lessons, Aravon struggled to keep up. The little scout ducked beneath branches and twisted through narrow gaps in the trees with ease. Aravon's height and broad shoulders made the going harder. His training with Colborn had taken place in marshland with thick bogs and muddy marshes but sparse trees. Gritting his teeth, he fought down the sinking feeling in his gut and did his best to follow Noll.

  Noll stopped him with a raised fist, and they both dropped low. Aravon walked in the crouch to where Noll waited.

  “What is it?” he signed.

  Noll pointed. “Colborn.”

  Aravon followed the scout's finger toward a patch of spruce trees thirty yards away. He squinted but could see no sign of the Lieutenant. He turned to Noll with a questioning glance.

  “Look up,” Noll replied. “Ten feet off the ground.”

  Aravon scanned the lower branches. He thought he caught a hint of movement, but it could have just been a trick of his eyes. He shrugged. “I see nothing.”

  No
ll nodded. “He's good.”

  The little scout slipped toward the stand of trees he'd pointed at, Aravon at his heels. When they reached it, Aravon glanced up. Colborn sat on a branch about ten feet off the ground. At their approach, he tucked the throwing dagger back into its sheath and dropped quietly to the forest floor.

  “Camouflage seems to work,” the Lieutenant signed. “I barely saw you moving through the trees.”

  “Noll saw you. I didn't.” He glanced around. “Zaharis?”

  Colborn jerked a thumb over his shoulders. “Busy. I tried to disturb him, but that just made him angry. I figured it's better to leave him alone until he's done.”

  Aravon arched an eyebrow, forgetting his mask hid his expression. “What's he doing?”

  “See for yourself,” Colborn replied.

  Aravon slipped through the dense trees, squinting in an effort to find the Secret Keeper. He caught a flash of movement a short distance away. Zaharis sat perched on a rock, his eyes darting between the book in his hands and a patch of purple flowers growing around the base of a towering oak tree.

  “Zaharis,” Aravon said. His mask garbled his words, but the sound snapped the Secret Keeper's head around. “What are you doing?” he signed.

  “Busy,” Zaharis replied, with a dismissive gesture.

  Aravon spoke again. “Zaharis.”

  Irritation flashed in the Secret Keeper's eyes as he looked up. “What?” His movements were sharp, angry.

  “We need to move. We can't arrive late to…” He fumbled through the awkward spelling of Bjornstadt.

  “I'm almost done,” Zaharis signed. “I need to do this.”

  Aravon planted himself between the Secret Keeper and the flowers he was studying. “We have to go now.” He exaggerated the last gesture for emphasis.

  Zaharis stood, and Aravon was surprised by the menace in his posture and the hard lines of his face. “Captain, we have a mission, but this no less important. You saw what the Elixir of Creation can do. And that's just the beginning. The knowledge I'm gathering could change not just the war with Eirdkilrs, but the history of mankind as we know it. My orders were clear. Our departure can wait a few minutes.” He leaned forward. Even though he was shorter than Aravon, the breadth of his shoulders and the strength in his grey eyes made him somehow loom. “Knowledge like this can save lives.”

  Aravon narrowed his eyes. “How?”

  Zaharis' fingers flashed almost too fast for Aravon to follow. “Herbs heal the sick or drive away fever. Poultices heal wounds.” He thrust a finger at Aravon's left arm. “Potions repair broken bones. Every new discovery benefits all of us. Our mission could save Fehl today; my mission may save our entire world tomorrow.”

  He reached down and plucked one of the purple flowers. “Look at this Flaming Tansy. It looks like a simple flower, but a few drops of its oil extract can burn with the power of a bonfire. And that's just the beginning. There's so much more yet to discover.” He emphasized this by plucking the rest of the patch and stuffing them into his satchel. “The more I study, the more uses I find.”

  Aravon nodded. “I understand.” He took a step back to defuse the tension between them. “Your mission is important. We will help you when we can. But we need to leave soon.”

  “I'm almost finished,” Zaharis said. With a few final notations to his book, he stowed the charcoal stick in his pocket. “Let's go.”

  Colborn shot him a questioning glance as they returned together, but Aravon gave a little shake of his head. Shrugging, the Lieutenant fell into step beside them. Noll took the lead.

  “All is well?” Duke Dyrund asked as they emerged from the forest.

  Aravon glanced at Zaharis and nodded. “Ready to move.”

  “Excellent.” Duke Dyrund climbed into his saddle. His men were already on horseback, as were Belthar, Skathi, and Draian. Aravon and the remaining three mounted.

  The Duke motioned for him to ride a few paces ahead. “I'd hoped we'd have a chance to visit the mine at Silver Break, but I fear we won't have the time.”

  The Duke's words surprised Aravon. He had no idea such a mine existed.

  The mainlanders had first come to Fehl in response to the raiders attacking their ships. The discovery of vast deposits of gold, silver, and precious stones on the new land had led to the establishment of a colony—what was now Icespire, the largest city on Fehl. More and more Einari had come to seek their fortunes or work the mines, leading to rapid expansion further into the south of Fehl. The native clans had resisted, prompting the Einari to bring over their Legion forces. The conquest of Fehl had taken just twenty years—the ancient Fehlans lacked quality steel, and their military tactics proved no match for the Legionnaires.

  Two hundred years later, the Eirdkilrs had appeared from beyond the Sawtooth Mountains south and driven the Einari—now known as Princelanders—out of most of Fehl, all the way back to the Chain. What most knew as the Eirdkilr Wars had another name: the Plunder Wars. Many whispered that Praamis, Voramis, Malandria, and the other cities of Einan only continued to send men across the Frozen Sea for the sake of keeping up the steady stream of valuable metals and gemstones.

  Most of the mines were either in the Princelands—primarily the Princelands, Eastfall, and Oldcrest, which had led to their being the wealthiest provinces—and northwestern Fehl. The Jokull, the clan immediately to the south of the eastern end of the Chain, had refused to let the Princelanders mine their gold and silver-rich mountains. This, of course, had led to tension and the occasional bout of open hostility with the clan. However, the Vidr and Smida clans welcomed the presence of the miners. Their alliance with the Prince included thirty percent of the gold, silver, and gemstones produced by their mines.

  To public knowledge, the Eyrr had never struck similar deals with the Prince. Aravon had suspected that provided additional motivation for their visit to Bjornstadt.

  Aravon signed. “I didn't know we had any mines in Eyrr territory.”

  The Duke shook his head. “Only a handful outside the Prince's Council knows of Silver Break's existence. The Eyrr discovered it just two years ago. They lacked the tools and manpower, so they brought us in to work it.” He gave Aravon an incredulous look. “It's the richest silver mine discovered in more than a century.”

  “Why keep it a secret?” Aravon asked.

  Distaste twisted the Duke's expression. “The Voramians and Praamians threatened to raise the cost of sending their Legions. The Prince convinced them not to, but barely.”

  “And if they find out the Prince has access to an enormous amount of silver…”

  “They'll find a way to dig their greedy fingers into it,” the Duke responded with a nod. “The operation is too new for any serious amount of silver and gold to flow into the Prince's coffers, but once it does…” He shook his head. “The Prince asked me to look in on the mine's progress if I had the chance. I fear we can't afford the detour.”

  “Perhaps after your meeting with the Eyrr chief,” Aravon replied.

  The Duke nodded. “For now, this stays between us, understood?”

  Aravon cocked his head. “My men—”

  “Will find out when they need to know.” The Duke's face was hard, his expression firm.

  “Understood,” Aravon signed.

  With a nod, the Duke turned his horse to face the rest of the group. “We'll have to push hard, but we should be able to reach Oldrsjot within the next couple of hours. From there, it's a few more hours of riding to reach Bjornstadt.” The Duke squinted up at the sun. “We must arrive before the second hour after noon.”

  “Why?” Aravon signed.

  “Fehlan custom. Or superstition,” the Duke replied. “They believe it's bad luck to begin negotiations after the sun has begun its descent. Something about tempting the spirits of darkness.”

  Aravon glanced at Colborn, who nodded.

  “Plus, Ailmaer is a deeply religious man. He insisted on holding the meeting today, on the first day of the week-long ce
lebration of Nuius, god of the Eyrr. If we do not arrive in time, he will delay the meeting until the festivities are finished.”

  A week? The Eirdkilrs could attack the Legion at Gallows Garrison today—they didn't have a week.

  “Understood,” he replied. “We ride.”

  At his nod, Colborn took the lead. The Lieutenant rode point, with the Duke, Aravon, Draian, Zaharis, and three of his men forming the middle of the column. Noll and Rendar trailed a short distance behind them. Skathi and Belthar would bring up the rear, far enough back that they would hear any ambush to the front line before they were spotted. Skathi's accuracy made her the perfect support. Belthar's crossbow and the sheer weight of his charge would smash through anyone attempting to surround their party.

  As they rode, Aravon felt the muscles of his spine tightening. His head moved on a swivel, his eyes ceaseless in scanning the forest for any sign of the Eirdkilrs. Sweat soaked into his tunic and turned his palms clammy. His jaw soon ached from gritting his teeth.

  Something felt…off. He couldn’t explain what. His eyes saw nothing but forest, his ears detecting nothing but the typical sounds of the forest. Yet try as he might to push away the sense of wrongness, it refused to leave him.

  He’d heard stories of men suffering from “battle fear” long after the fight ended. Men who saw enemies in every shadow, who jumped at every sound, who spent the rest of their lives trapped in the hell of their memories and imagination. Would he be one of those men? Had the Eirdkilr ambush on the Eastmarch and the slaughter of the Sixth Company shattered his courage, his strength of will? Was he, too, seeing dangers where none existed, his mind warped by fears real and perceived?

  Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to draw in a deep, calming breath through his nose, then another. His eyes flew wide. He hadn’t been imagining it. Beneath the scents of wildlife and dew-covered leaves, he caught a hint of smoke, faint yet unmistakable.