The Shadow Age (The Age of Dawn Book 7)

by Everet Martins

  She worked the powers together in a spell she discovered to project her voice with the power of a gong. “Quiet!” Her voice thundered from the walls, all eyes snapping to her, a few people dropping to the ground in terror.

  “Please,” she added, lowering her voice. “Remember your training, what and who you are. We are wizards of the Silver Tower. We are the bastion of light in this world. We’ve stopped the Shadow once, and we’ll do it again.” She swallowed, voice dry as sand, setting a hard gaze around the room. “We must prepare for war. Soon, our lands will again run with blood. Go to your families, settle what needs to be settled. I won’t tell false truths. Gather weapons and prepare your last wishes because some of you will die.”

  More than some.

  A roar of voices exploded with that, and she again had to use the voice projection spell to be heard. “But the Shadow will be stomped out once and for all! This…” she smashed her hand into her palm, producing a shower of sparks, “I promise!

  “It’s all your fault the Shadow’s even here!” a voice in the crowd shouted.

  She nodded in the direction of the voice, trying to find the source a useless endeavor. “Yes, it was my fault she escaped.” A tightness in her chest threatened to prevent her from speaking, but she plowed onward. “The Shadow Princess might’ve remained in the Shadow realm, tormenting us all in the afterlife. I’d dare say it’s better that she’s here. Now there’s an opportunity to eliminate her once and for all. The Shadow Realm is pure and safe, I assure you. But such things come with a price. We’ve crushed the Shadow before, and we’ll do it again!” she yelled, raising her fist, a sword of fire materializing in her grip.

  The crowd roared with whoops and cheers and shouts for blood. “Death to the Shadow!” someone called.

  “We’ll burn them all!” another voice added.

  Nyset released a heavy sigh, peering back to find Senka biting her nails and Isa’s lips twitching in a murderous smile. Claw started working to usher the crowd from the chamber as a torrent of questions assailed her, none of them discernible in the tumult.

  “Crugen,” she called, and he slowly raised his head and stood. “I apologize for my rude behavior, but we clearly have an important matter to attend. Vesla, have baths drawn and meals prepared for our travel-worn guests.”

  “Of course.” Vesla deeply nodded, scrawling a fury of notes in her book.

  “Grim, gather some of your Armsman to help the Tigerians make camp in the northern clearings,” Nyset said, giving him an affirmative nod.

  “Will do.” He bowed and started for the door behind the dais.

  “Before you go.” She swiveled her gaze to Scab, chuckling at the roaring crowd. Dragon fire roiled in her veins. “Put Scab in the dungeons.”

  “What? Me? Why!” Scab shouted, eyes wild. A pair of guards seized him by the arms and started dragging him away from the dais. “Is this how you repay an old friend? You’re going to use me for your damned vile experiments, aren’t you? It’s true! I know it is.”

  It was her turn to laugh. Crugen cleared his throat, drawing her eyes. “Arch Wizard, might I suggest our forces ally in the fight against the Shadow, rather than placing us far from where we might be needed. We are travel-worn, but we can help. We are well trained in the combative arts.”

  “Oh…” she tilted her head, “you’ll fight, but on my terms and certainly not behind the Tower’s walls. Do you take me for a dullard? You failed to take Midgaard, but you will not take the Tower while our attention is occupied.”

  “I… do not know this slang.” Crugen’s whiskers bristled. One of his guards hissed in his ear, and he shook his head. “No, Arch Wizard, you mistake my meaning. We will serve in whatever way you like.” He bowed deeply, one lip twitching in what might’ve been a sneer.

  “Good.” She nodded. “Claw, you’re the Arch Wizard until I return. I’m visiting Midgaard.”

  Claw gaped, cheeks flushed. “What? No, I can’t, and you can’t. Gaidal needs you. Let me go with you.”

  “Duty, Claw. I know you understand,” she said, curling and uncurling her fists. “I won’t be gone longer than a few hours. If I’m gone for longer, then…. well, you know what to do. Please, stay here.”

  Claw closed his mouth, a frown pulling at his wizened eyes. “Of course, Mistress.”

  Nyset bit her lower lip and nodded, drawing on the Phoenix’s strength. A line of bluish-white light cut the air, the endpoints turning in clockwise directions to cut an oval-shaped Phoenix portal. The edges misted with wisps of white light, the air humming. The other side showed the marbled stone of the topmost room of The Lair in Midgaard.

  She fixed the place firmly in her mind, remembering the times she and Walter spent there shortly after arriving in the city. She found the more crystallized the image was in her thoughts, the better she felt when exiting long range portals. Nyset was a veteran at portal use now, able to weave them over long ranges such that even nausea didn’t touch her after using the spell.

  The wizard’s tower was Walter’s once, and it was now hers. They named it The Lair together. It was a gift bestowed upon him by King Ezra for helping them to oust Malek, a member of Asebor’s Wretched. It felt like an age ago. They were only children then, she mused with the ghost of a smile. She stepped through, and the portal snapped closed behind her with a crackle.

  Shrieks of pain carried up from the streets of Midgaard. A wave of ice passed over Nyset’s arms as more screams tore at her heart. She swallowed, hands clammy as she made her way over to the ornamented balustrade. She peered over the balcony of The Lair’s upper floor to view the streets below. Disorder and chaos were the gods of Midgaard now.

  Hot wind traversed over the cityscape, flapping at her robes. Wizard’s towers stood above the blocky buildings like proud trees, stones shimmering in bleeding pinks of the rising sun. The streets were well organized, a series of perfect squares where most of the residents dwelled before the land ascended and the roads converged toward the Noble’s quarters, and finally, the palace at the hill’s peak. A half mile off was the Market Square, men a swirling mass of ants at this distance. A dark line trailed under the Blood Gates, a mass exodus from this den of horrors.

  Along the streets, men, women, the sick, and the dying tumbled over one another, fleeing in all directions, pursued by children of the Shadow. Swathes of blood could be spotted between the sprawling bodies, upturned carts, and spilled hay. The sound was crushing, her eyes quaking in her head as she struggled to take it all in. Tears fell from her eyes, streaking down her cheeks.

  She watched as soldier’s boots pounded over a child’s chest in a desperate attempt at fleeing, Shadow snakes clinging to his arm and throat. The soldier stumbled over a pile of debris, more snakes pouring over him and snatching away bits of flesh like wolves to a felled bull. She saw then that the child was already dead, a trail of red streaks spilling around him.

  She saw a woman dashing down an alley, hemmed in by either side by veritable waves of Shadow snakes. “No,” she whispered, tone pained. The woman pressed herself flat against a wall, gritting her teeth, eyes screwed shut as she waited for the end. Nyset thought to save her, a dozen fireballs at the tip of her thoughts. But then thought better of it. She’d become a target and then she’d be forced to leave this place. She was here to observe, not to fight, she reminded herself. She had to know what the Tower would be up against.

  Something caught her eye, stealing her gaze. A shape soared around the spires of the palace. It was a humanoid creature she glimpsed for hardly a second, but it was enough to stop her heart in her chest. It had a woman’s body with broad leathery wings, skin the color of red wine in the light of the newborn sun. She folded her wings against her back, dashing through a broad window and into the castle.

  The Shadow Princess had indeed returned to Zoria.

  Frozen fingers tickled her neck and shame burned in her cheeks. She greatly desired to go to the streets to fight but knew that would only mean death. She did
n’t have the right to throw her life away. There were far too many who depended on her. It wasn’t just the lives of Midgaard’s denizens, but the lives of future generations. The world would not be reduced to this under her watch.

  She turned her back on the dying. A Phoenix portal snapped open, and she returned to the Tower.

  THIRTEEN

  Preparations

  “Defense must be prepared before the arrows rain. We must make discomfort our ally.” - The Diaries of Nyset Camfield

  “What are you doing?” Nyset asked of apprentice Elina, a lanky woman with a Northern accent. She straightened after launching a dart of fire against a target dummy, the missile going wide and softly hissing from a wall laced with Milvorian steel. Elina tugged on her belt, cheeks pinking as she turned to face Nyset. She offered a weak smile and summoned another dart, floating above her head.

  “The dart of flame, Mistress,” she said with a bow. “My master in Helm’s Reach assured me that it can best and blind the fiercest of enemies.”

  “Your master in Helm’s Reach told you this?” Nyset asked, nodding and pressing two fingers to her lips.

  “Yes, Mistress. Sage Noora told me this is one of her best spells. She spent most of her life studying the ways of the Dragon…” Elina trailed off, the pink on her cheeks spreading as Nyset released her own hold on the Dragon, the fire in her eyes fading to show their usual almond brown.

  Nyset stepped a few paces before Elina, spreading her arms. “Show me how it works.” The line of a dozen or so apprentices who had been training with Elina stopped casting spells as all attention was drawn to the Arch Wizard. Each apprentice stood before a practice dummy set twenty yards away, the practice grounds walled in by about fifty feet of towering stones.

  Rea, House Master of the Dragon, crossed her arms over an ample chest. Everything about her was squat and well-muscled, even her defined jawline looked as hard as stone. Half of her head was shaved down to the skin on one side, the other half long and tied back.

  Elina cast uncertain glances among her classmates and Rea before finally settling back on Nyset. “Mistress?” The fire left her eyes, and the flaming dart puffed into a lone wisp of smoke.

  Nyset drew a long breath through her nose. She started to pace down the line of apprentices. They weren’t ready, and they would never be ready in time. “Pretend I am your enemy, a snarling, growling creature of Shadow. I know you’ve seen them in the books and the sculptures.” She stopped in front of Elina, facing her. “I am bearing down on you, and if you do not stop me, I will tear your limbs from your body one by one, like a child with an insect. Then I will gut you while you live, and possibly use your guts to choke you. Do you understand?”

  “Y-yes, Mistress,” she stammered.

  “Cut me down with your dart of flame,” Nyset demanded, hunkering into a low fighting stance.

  Elina hesitated a moment before embracing the Dragon, her eyes flashing alight, the dart hovering above her shoulder. She gave a limp raise of her hand, and Nyset bladed her body. The dart went wide, bounced, and spun from the wall before crashing into the sand covering the grounds, gently hissing and producing a line of smoke.

  Nyset snorted, shaking her head. “Try again! Kill me, damn you! Remember… if you fail, I will rip you apart, Elina.” She stole a glance at Rea, who was giving her an approving nod.

  Elina twisted her lips in an angry snarl, face fully flushed. Her dart burst alight, zooming for Nyset, whose Phoenix shield flashed to reflect it into the sky. Drawing on the Dragon, Nyset countered with a gust of air, sending the girl tumbling backwards with a yelp and into a series of rolls. Using the Phoenix, she hauled the girl to her feet, sand shaking from her robes. She hovered five feet above the ground. Elina frantically pawed at the air, seeking something to grip, her expression stricken with terror.

  “We are not here to play games. Your House Master is teaching you how to fight. You must learn to respect your instructors and do as they ask,” Nyset told Elina, using the Phoenix to slowly turn her in the air for all of her classmates to see. She wasn’t trying to hurt her, but only to humiliate. “In the middle of combat, there will be no room for finesse or conserving your power. Use the Dragon for what it was meant, pure and utter destruction. Scorch the flesh from the bones of your enemies. Spare no quarter, no mercy. You must ruin them, don’t give them a chance to fight back. Then once it’s done, you do it again until you can do it no more. Then once you are so fully drained that you don’t have enough of the Dragon’s strength remaining to light a candle, you draw your sword.”

  Nyset set Elina to the ground with the same care she would’ve used for Gaidal. Elina made a great effort at brushing herself off, eyes brimming with wet as she stared at the sand. Nyset drew up close to her, so close she could smell the floral fragrance of her soap. She raised Elina’s chin with a finger. “Raise your head, child, and tell me then, what do you do, Elina?” Nyset said, bringing a softness to her voice.

  “I don’t know, Mistress,” Elina breathed, body shaking.

  “You draw your sword,” Nyset said, raising her voice, and marching down the line of apprentices. Her Breden stamped short sword rasped from its scabbard, clutched tightly in one fist and held at her side. “Then you use it for what it is, a sharpened bit of steel designed for killing. Slash, stab, and hack your enemy until its head is split in two and its arms are severed. Chop until there’s nothing left alive to chop. And when your foe falls, you find a new enemy to stab. If your sword shatters on bone, use what remains of it as a knife. And if you lose that and can find no other weapon, you have your fists, feet, elbows, knees, and teeth to savage your enemies,” Nyset spat, the rage and terror of the oncoming war blanketing her nerves with an electric energy. She let out a heavy breath, her stiffened back collapsing under the weight of the future.

  She raised her eyes from her sword, realizing she’d been staring at it as she spoke. Every woman’s bulging eyes were upon her, mouths pressed into white lines. “What you will see when that day comes is far worse than you can imagine. I was standing before a shrieking Cerumal before I had ever arrived at the Tower. Know that you’re lucky to have a wizard as fine as Rea leading your training,” she said wistfully, smiling at the woman, who grinned back.

  Nyset rubbed the back of her neck. “It might be days, maybe months, but we are going to fight the forces of the Shadow soon. If you thought this little demonstration was frightful, well, that was a mere scuffle compared to what you’ll face against the Shadow. The new apprentices will be looking to you as an example of courage and leadership. You’re all third-year apprentices now, veterans soon. Time to start acting like it.”

  Nyset looked to Elina, who was brushing sand from her cheek. Their eyes met, and Nyset gave her an encouraging nod. “Summon weapons of flame and approach your targets,” Nyset ordered the apprentices. “Let’s see if your melee abilities are better than your ranged attacks, not that they were particularly bad. It’s important that you do what Rea tells you. Use fireballs rather than darts. Not only for respecting your House Master’s orders but for smiting your enemy. Does everyone understand?”

  “Yes, Mistress,” the women resounded, voices steeled.

  After watching them hacking at the practice dummies with swords, axes, and maces of flame, she concluded that their renewed enthusiasm might make up for their lack of experience. A few of the women became monsters, sweat flying from their brows as they tore into the armored targets as if their lives depended on it. It seemed her message made it deep into some hearts. Elina was particularly savage, a pair of flaming hunting daggers in each hand, streaks of fire following her every cut. She growled with each strike, carving dents into the Milvorian alloy on the dummy.

  “Very good.” Nyset clapped as an apprenticed hacked the head clean from a dummy, helm thumping into the sand. “I see Rea’s been drilling you hard in hand-to-hand combat. Nicely done, House Master,” Nyset said, giving the stone wall of a woman an approving nod.

  R
ea’s cheeks flushed. “Thank you, Mistress. Given how many men and women we lost during the Shadow War from lack of close quarters expertise, I have been putting a great focus to remedy that fault upon your recommendation. It gladdens me to see their hard work paying off.”

  “Excellent work.” Nyset joined her at her side and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Stay the course. I want you to know I’m not faulting you. I just want the girls to know I’m here with them and that I care.”

  “I know, and they do too.” Rea nodded, eyes going distant.

  “Swords and blades are vitally important,” Nyset said, fingers falling to rest on the Breden guardsman’s shortsword Hassan gave her years ago. “If the enemy were to ever have Equalizers again, we must be prepared.”

  “Of course, Mistress.”

  A wet breath rattled in Greyson’s throat. He turned onto his side, choking and coughing out a slick mix of blood and mucus. He dragged his mouth across his sleeve, smearing it in a few shades of red. He tried to open his eyes, but something was gluing them shut. He pawed them, dragging away gobs of pus and blood and flicking it from his fingers with a disgusted moan. He tried to will his eyes to focus, finding nothing but a world of grays punctuated by a few amber orbs that must’ve been torches.

  “Dead. Must be,” he muttered as the tiles beneath his legs came into focus. No, that wasn’t right. He remembered this place. Some time ago, he placed himself here to rest. He was outside his bedroom. He remembered that there had been shouts of terror and bells of alarm, and it all came rushing back with a crushing wave of dread. “No, not dead. But why?” he whispered.

  He peered down at his belly, surprised to find his grisly wound had healed and folded in upon itself. The skin where his wound had been was now a mountain range of puckered flesh. “What is this?” He breathed, eyes flickering in disbelief as his fingers traced over it. He tried to move his legs to rise, but they wouldn’t respond. A tremor pulsed through his thighs, and panic lashed through his mind. “Damn you, get up! Get up! I have to do… something. Have to warn the others, tell the Arch Wizard. By the gods, what have I done? What have I done?” His breath hitched in his throat. He started hammering his thighs with his fists, relieved at feeling the pain of his blows.