The Shadow Of Fallen Gods

by V. R. Cardoso

  Fadan threw his blankets on the floor. “I’ll be right back,” he told Phaedra and followed the soldier out of the room.

  Vardrada had established her command tent just outside the main tower. When the prince walked inside, the General and her staff stood and saluted.

  “At ease,” Fadan bid them, approaching the long table. “You have news?”

  “Indeed.” Vardrada waved a creased sheet of parchment in her hand. “Report from our scouts. They engaged Intila’s light cavalry about twenty miles north of here. The skirmish was quick, and there were no casualties on our side. We’ve also captured an enemy soldier.”

  “That’s fantastic news! Has he talked?”

  “He has bragged.” Vardrada placed the report down on the table. “Their main force is five days away. Eleven Legions. All at full strength.”

  * * *

  Taking a deep breath, Doric rounded the corner, coming to face their pursuer. For a fraction of a moment, he was sure a knife would fly out of nowhere and sink into his heart. It was all he could do to stop himself from grimacing in anticipation.

  When the blade didn’t come, he focused on the person in front of him. She had an amused look as if his uneasiness pleased her. Long silver hair framed what had to be the palest, thinnest face Doric had ever seen.

  “You have a name?” he asked, distantly pleased that his voice came out steady.

  “Venia,” she replied. “You look good. Although to be fair, the last time I saw you, you were rotting in a prison cell.”

  Doric frowned. “I don’t remember seeing you there, but something tells me you weren’t a prisoner like me.”

  “I doubt you remember much from those days. I was keeping an eye on you—as per Cassia’s instructions.”

  “Cassia?” Doric echoed. “You’re on a first name basis with the Empress?”

  The woman grinned. “I guess I am.” She lifted her chin in order to peek over Doric’s shoulders. “Your friends can come out. I’m no threat to any of you.”

  “Maybe not, but you never know who might have followed you here.”

  “I can assure you, I am very much alone. Have been for months, ever since your wife was captured.”

  “You were with her when this happened?”

  “I’ve been by her side for the past five years.”

  “Have you? Well, aren’t you the lucky one. Feel free to explain.”

  She let out a bored sigh. “It’s a long story. What matters is we escaped the Citadel and Tarsus’ Paladins chased us. We fell into a trap in the Phermian Mountains. Margeth’s niece saved us and brought us here.”

  “So Margeth saves you only to arrest you after?” Debra asked incredulously. She’d left her hiding place and stepped next to Doric, dagger glinting in her hand.

  “She did,” Venia replied.

  “You don’t look very arrested, right now,” Doric noted.

  “At first, we were treated as guests. It may have been a ploy from the beginning, or maybe something changed, I don’t know. What I do know is that a week after our arrival, the Arch-Duchess decided to lock us up. I saw it coming. When you’ve been doing what I do for as long as I’ve been doing it, you learn to see the signals. I tried to warn Cassia, but she said I was being paranoid. So, when the guards came, I managed to escape, but not with the empress. I’ve been looking for a way to rescue her since.”

  “I’m guessing you haven’t found one,” Doric said.

  “She’s too well guarded. It’s not a job for a single person. Which is why I was pleasantly surprised to find you, of all people, in the middle of the crowd this morning.”

  “The Goddess provides, huh?”

  “Does that mean you have a plan to get her out?” Debra asked.

  Venia nodded.

  Debra crossed her arms in a way that allowed her to display her dagger. “Well, isn’t that convenient?”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “I believe you are one of Margeth’s spies,” Debra replied. “And I also believe you think we’re stupid.”

  Venia grinned. “Less and less stupid by the moment.” She motioned her chin towards Doric. “I can see you brought the two Seeker necklaces. I was there when Cassia gave hers to the prince. That’s how he found your prison ship and why you’re still alive.”

  Doric brought a hand to his chest, where the small Glowstone crystals bulged under his shirt.

  “Your first kiss was in the Moon Garden,” Venia continued. “Cassia was wearing a pink dress. You had combed your hair for the first time in months. You once wrote a song called The Limp, but you never played it in public because she warned you it was not as subtle as you thought, and everyone would be able to tell it was about Intila.” She held Doric’s gaze as her expression turned sullen. “When Tarsus’ men came for her and Aric, she hugged you one last time and whispered in your ear: ‘I will love you forever, nothing can rip you from my heart…’.”

  There was a small moment of silence.

  “‘Remember me with a smile,’” Doric muttered, finishing the sentence. His eyes welled, nose tingling. “She told you all these things?”

  “For the past six months, as I roamed the streets of this wretched city, turning my head around, looking for a way to break her free, I had ample opportunity to review the last few years of my life. I can’t even tell you when exactly I decided to stop spying on her on Tarsus’ behalf. She never paid me a single copper Thaler, never promised me any land or titles. Nothing. And yet, here I am.” Venia spread her arms, motioning towards the decaying buildings around them. “Following her ex-husband into a foul smelling back-alley in the vague hope that we won’t die trying to save her.”

  “Don’t feel bad, that’s what she does,” Doric said. “Draws people in. It’s uncanny.”

  “Wait.” Debra lowered her dagger and grabbed Doric’s shoulder with her free hand. “You trust this woman?”

  “If Cassia trusts her, so do I,” Doric replied.

  “Are you sure?” Debra pointed at Venia. “She could’ve—”

  “I’m sure.”

  Debra seemed like she was going to press the issue, but something in the way Doric looked at her made her change her mind and she exhaled loudly. “Okay, then…” She looked over her shoulder. “It’s clear! You can come out.”

  Emrys, Hagon, and Andon stepped around the corner, suspicious frowns etched upon their faces.

  “Our little group just keeps growing, huh?” Hagon commented, sheathing his sword.

  “Indeed,” Andon muttered.

  “So, what is your plan, exactly?” Doric asked. “Is she being held in the main palace?”

  Venia shook her head. “The summer residence. It’s on a small island in the middle of a lake just outside the city. There’s no bridge to the island, only a tiny ferry, and the residence itself has more guards than the Imperial Citadel. I’m not going to lie, this will be tricky.”

  “That’s actually cute,” Emrys said with a grin. “You’re worried about a lake.”

  “Emrys here is a mage,” Doric explained.

  “That’s the other problem,” Venia said. “Margeth has a mage, too.”

  Emrys’ grin dissolved. “She what?”

  “She has a mage. He was with Margeth’s niece, Samyris, when she rescued us in the Phermian Mountains. I saw him use magic to heal Cassia. It was a mortal wound, but he closed it like a seamstress fixing a rend in a dress.”

  Emrys stepped forward, an intense frown on his face. “You are sure of this?”

  “Saw it with my own eyes,” Venia assured him. “His name is Thayden.”

  “I don’t know any Thayden…” Emrys muttered. “Follow me.”

  He took off, headed for the street they’d come from. Sharing quick looks, the others set off after him.

  “Where are you going?” Doric asked, speeding up to keep pace with the mage.

  Emrys ignored him and turned a corner, leaving the alley. They returned to the busy streets of Pharyzah. This was
nothing compared to the great plaza, but there were still clusters of people here and there, drinking and singing. Emrys stopped at the first door he found and placed a palm over it.

  “Hey, did you hear me?” Doric insisted. “What are you doing?”

  “Be quiet.” The mage closed his eyes and waited for several breaths.

  The others exchanged confused glances again.

  Emrys grunted, reopening his eyes and stepping away from the door. He marched to the next one, once again placing his hand over it and closing his eyes. After a while, he said, “This one.” He made a gesture like he was fanning a fly away and the door swung slowly inward. “In here.”

  Doric looked around, certain that any of the dozens of Pharyzans nearby would notice a group of people breaking into someone’s home. If any of them did, however, they were clearly having too much fun to care.

  They followed Emrys inside and he quickly found the stairs leading down to the residence’s basement. A thin strip of light fell obliquely into the room, revealing a thick spray of dust kicked up by passing feet floating in the air. The space was mostly empty, save for some broken chairs lurking in a corner, a couple overturned buckets in another, and a tall bundle of sailing rope next to them. Once the party had all descended, Emrys reached inside his dark robe and produced a hand-mirror. It was clearly a magical artefact if the Glowstone gems lining its silver frame had anything to say about it. Emrys released the mirror and it suspended itself in the air, the crystals coming to life with a powerful internal glow. An instant later, the face of a young woman appeared in its surface. Doric recognized her immediately: Arch-Mage Persea.

  “Mistress,” Emrys greeted her, his head bowing slightly.

  “Emrys,” Persea replied, her aged voice betraying the rejuvenating spells covering her features. “Have you completed your mission?”

  “There has been a development.” The mage signalled Venia to approach. “This woman is a spy in the employ of the Empress. She was with her when Arch-Duchess Margeth captured the Empress.” He turned to Venia. “Please, tell the Arch-Mage what you’ve told us.”

  Venia cleared her throat. “Well, Margeth has a mage of her own.”

  Persea’s expression turned deadpan, and there was a long moment of silence. “What kind of mage?”

  “There’s more than one?” Venia asked.

  Persea returned her attention to her mage. “Emrys, this… changes things.”

  Emrys nodded. “Indeed.”

  “Your mission has changed. You are to capture and interrogate this… mage. This is your absolute priority. Everything else is secondary.”

  “Wait, what?” Doric asked.

  “What about them?” Emrys nudged his head towards the group behind him.

  “I’m afraid this is sensitive information,” Persea replied. “You are to deal with this alone.”

  “Understood, mistress.” Emrys bowed his head, then waved a hand through the air. The Arch-Mage’s image disappeared from the magical device and it flew back into Emrys’ robes like a well-trained pet answering its owners beckoning.

  “What was she talking about?” Doric pressed. “What about Cassia?”

  “What did she mean you are to deal with this alone?” Debra demanded.

  Slowly, Emrys turned towards them. “She meant exactly that. My apologies.”

  Before anyone could do or say anything further, a blue aura burst into being around Emrys. He swung his arms in a wide, sweeping arc, and Doric, Hagon, Debra, Andon, and Venia were sent flying across the room. They crashed against each other in a heap over the dusty floor, their arms and legs tied together by some invisible force.

  “What in the mother’s name are you doing?” Doric protested.

  “You bastard!” Andon cursed, spittle flying off his mouth.

  Emrys ignored them. He turned around and extended an arm towards the lump of rope in the corner of the room. It came to life, snaking its way to the helpless group. With a few more sweeping gestures, Emrys wove the rope around his prisoners until they were firmly tied together in a tight circle.

  “Relax,” the mage said. “I will not harm you. I just need you to stay here.”

  “Emrys, you can’t do this to us,” Doric insisted. “Please. We need to save Cassia.”

  “I’ll do what I can, but you heard the Arch-Mage. My mission has changed. I wish I could make you understand.” He turned and made for the stairs.

  “Emrys!” Doric shouted after him.

  “I’ll come back for you once my mission is complete,” Emrys said over his shoulder.

  “EMRYS!”

  * * *

  Waiting for the enemy to arrive. They didn’t teach one how to deal with that in military theory. At least, not in Intila’s classes.

  Fadan had once heard a Samehrian saying: The only true master is he who is surpassed by his student. Had Intila taught him well enough? Thinking back to those endless afternoons at the Green Tower, trying not to fall asleep as Intila droned on about the campaigns of some long forgotten General, Fadan had his doubts. Still, he had placed his Lagaht pieces on the board. Now it was time to play them.

  Luckily for him, he was the only one holding spell cards in his hand.

  He looked to his right. Phaedra stood next to him, purple robes flapping in the wind. She was staring into the distance, not blinking even once. Fadan knew she was using a spell that allowed to see a great distance away and wondered what exactly had caught her attention.

  Intila’s troops had arrived that morning—a day later than Vardrada had expected (which was still several weeks earlier than they had hoped for). By some miracle, the three gaping holes on the wall of the Castran Gate had been sealed. The sappers had finished work just that morning, using wooden scaffolding and copious amounts of soil dug from the field before the wall, the resulting holes now serving as traps for the enemy troops.

  “What are they waiting for?” Phaedra muttered, her unblinking eyes still focused on something far away.

  “Nightfall,” Fadan replied. The sun had already dipped behind the mountains to the west, an orange halo crowning the snow-covered peaks.

  Phaedra blinked repeatedly, grimacing, then looked at Fadan. “Why?”

  “Intila knows our troops have been hard at work repairing the fortress, and even though his own troops have been marching, ours are bound to be far more exhausted. The later it gets, the more tired our soldiers will be. You know, theoretically. See anything interesting?”

  “I did. Intila.”

  Fadan raised his eyebrows. “You’ve met Intila?”

  “No, but everyone seemed to be taking orders from him.” She paused, and her fingers played with a dagger on her belt. “You know, I could just slip into their camp. No one would see me.”

  This time, Fadan frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, come on. I may be playing the bodyguard right now, but you know what it is I do.”

  “You want to assassinate Intila?”

  “It’s not like he’s an innocent civilian. Besides, if his death could stop this battle, how many lives would we be saving?”

  “It wouldn’t.” Fadan turned to face her fully. “If there is even a small chance that my mother can persuade Intila to our side, we need him alive. This is our best chance, right here. We hold this fortress. We hold it for as long as we possibly can. Hopefully, it’ll be long enough for Hagon and Doric to bring my mother.”

  The wail of a horn echoed in the distance, sending a chill down Fadan’s spine. The horn sounded again, and then again. From the small sea of white tents beyond the tree line, Legionaries began to pour forward, forming themselves into a march of perfectly shaped rectangles deployed in a chequered formation.

  “I think they heard you.”

  If the continued blowing had stopped, Fadan had no idea. The sound of his heart hammering in his chest seemed to silence everything else. Instinctively, he reached for his helmet on top of the battlement before him and shoved it down onto his head.r />
  “You ready?” Phaedra asked.

  He heard her, but it took a couple of breaths for the question to register. He nodded quickly. “Of course.”

  19

  The Order of Kallax

  Aric woke with the sound of dripping water echoing in the chamber. Rusty, iron manacles affixed to the ceiling through chains bit into his writs, forcing him to keep his arms straight above his head. Tiny glowstone shards cast a pale blue light over his cellmates, Astoreth and Eliran, both shackled just like him. They had been left in the uncomfortable standing position for hours. That he had fallen asleep like this was a tribute to how exhausted he’d been. To think that he’d washed ashore after surviving a shipwreck just that morning… or had that been yesterday?

  Eliran must have noticed him waking. She turned to him, her chains clinking as she did. Her burnt skin was beginning to scab and Aric tried not to think how much it had to hurt.

  “Did I miss something?” Aric asked, his voice hoarse.

  Eliran tried to smile. “Our captors are still mysteriously silent.” She looked about to collapse, her head resting on an upright arm and her legs limp beneath her.

  Aric nodded, making sure he concealed his worry, and turned to Astoreth. “You brought us here,” he said. “Any idea who these people are?”

  The Head-Archon looked at him. She looked surprisingly well, all things considered. The hideous wound on her face was still there along with her corpse-like complexion, but she was standing solidly, as if her muscles weren’t strained in the least. Aric, on the other hand, kept shifting his weight from one side to the other, uselessly trying to give his legs some respite.

  “What, are we friends, now?” Astoreth croaked.

  “Oh, there’s not much risk of that,” Aric murmured. He looked around at the dripping walls of their cell as though he’d find some crack in the stone to slip through. How in the mother’s name are we getting out of here?

  Astoreth stared at him. Or slightly to his side. It was hard to tell with those completely black eyes. “Did you honestly expect you could sneak into my camp and steal the chalice?”