The Shadow of War

by Bryan Gifford

  Copyright © 2019 by Bryan Gifford

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Cover art by Amalia Chitulescu

  Map art by Frank Walls

  Edited by Raven Van Dijk

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Visit the author’s website at www.bryangifford.com

  Also available in paperback

  Contents

  Prologue

  The Fall

  Seraphel

  A Final Hope

  What Must Be Done

  Destruction

  Among the Flames

  Answers

  A Second Chance

  The Weight of Chains

  A Gift of Light

  From a Spark

  Lonely Roads

  Contents

  At Death’s Gate

  Call of the Nighthawk

  One Right Thing

  To Drive Out the Rats

  Fated to the Sword

  A Traitor’s Crown

  Home

  Ashes

  We March

  To Be Whole

  The Shadow of War

  Atonement

  Appendix

  The

  Shadow of War

  “What we do for ourselves dies with us. What we do for others and the world remains and is immortal.”

  —Albert Pine

  Prologue

  The howls of wolves heralded the end.

  Ethebriel Marthen, King of Kaanos, stood in his throne room. He found himself drawn to one of the many tapestries that lined the ancient oak walls. It depicted two soldiers in pitched battle, one with spear raised to smite the other. The tapestry told the tale of the brothers Sarma and Agris, who, after defeating their many enemies, turned on each other. The stories differed on the reason, whether for control over the lands they conquered, for glory, or for love. But the reason didn’t matter. The point was that both died in the end.

  Ethebriel sighed and turned to his attendants who were busy strapping on his armor. The captain of his honor guard, Darian, stepped forward and clamped on his pauldrons. Ethebriel lowered his arms, tugging on straps and inspecting clasps. He nodded his approval and let himself be led out of the throne room by a retinue of his guards.

  A flurry of activity bustled around him as his attendants rattled off their reports. He walked on, listening to them with half an ear. He knew what he had to do. He knew what lay ahead.

  His palace doors swung open, and he stepped out into chaos.

  A mass of soldiers filled the palace staging area. Men jogged by in formation, others filing into columns. The air stirred with a cacophony of noises: men barking orders, curses, the clanking of armor, the nickering of horses.

  It was there, buried deeply beneath the discipline and orderly chaos, that tension before a battle. He saw the looks in their eyes—fear, horror. It was probably in his own too.

  A young stable hand ran up with a bow and handed him the reins to his dun destrier. Ethebriel swung himself into the saddle and guided his mount down the road. His honor guard trotted along in a wedge formation, shouting for men to make way for their king. The flow of soldiers pressed thick through the narrow road, but soon Ethebriel and his guards came to the front of the city. They worked their way through the winding roads and formations of men and stopped before Dun Ara’s main gate.

  Armeth, his friend and advisor, approached with a salute. Ethebriel dismounted and handed his reins to a soldier.

  “This is it,” Armeth said.

  “It is.” Ethebriel sighed. “Let us hope we prepared well enough for this day.”

  “All of our troops are in place. We pulled as many men as we could from nearby towns and posts; forty-five thousand in all. It still won’t be enough.”

  “We will hold them back as long as we can. You know what to do if we fail here, if I’m captured?”

  Armeth nodded grimly. “I still don’t like it though.”

  “You will do it. This isn’t the time to argue.”

  Armeth gave a stiff bow and said nothing.

  Ethebriel moved toward the stairway that led to the wall walk. His honor guard and Armeth followed him out onto the city’s outer wall. Thousands of men lined the battlements, their brown and red armor glinting in the setting sun.

  The distant wolves howled again, gathering for their hunt. Wolves were rare this far south, but reports said that they were growing in numbers, growing bolder every season. Their cries echoed across the plains, carried far by the chill of an early autumn breeze.

  The line of soldiers split for their king as he stepped up to the battlements. He paused, then clapped the shoulder of the man beside him. The soldier’s tension seemed to ease somewhat, his frown replaced by a look of budding confidence. Ethebriel looked out over the plains of Kaanos.

  Tens of thousands of Acedens surrounded Dun Ara. An infinite sea of black armor swallowed the golden fields, stretching off toward the horizon. Their banners flapped in the wind, that strange sigil of Iscarius swathed in stark white against the black. They formed massive ranks around the city, enclosing it from well out of bow range. Men dug trenches and sharpened poles while others raised tents and prepared for patrols. The Acedens had likely marched all day; they’d set defensive formations and attack in a few days, perhaps weeks. Or perhaps they’d elect to play it safe and simply starve the Kaanosi into surrender. Either way, the Acedens wouldn’t be in a hurry. They knew they’d take Dun Ara eventually.

  Ethebriel didn’t intend to let them take it easily. He’d bleed them all for their betrayals. The Acedens shattered alliances, burned innocence. They’d killed kings, conquered countries, brought the world to its knees. If the rumors were true, then they had even killed Abaddon. The world could have had peace. Instead, it kicked and bled in its death throes.

  And no one even knew why.

  He drew his sword with a long rasp of steel. The nearby men stopped whispering, and soon, all eyes were on him. They watched him anxiously, as if waiting for him to say something. There wasn’t anything he could say that would save them. No, now was not the time for words. It was a time for swords.

  Ethebriel Marthen, King of Kaanos, thrust his sword in the air with a fierce bellow. Dun Ara exploded with the roars of men ready to meet their end. Catapults and ballistae clanked into action and sent their munitions hurtling over the enemy encampments. The Acedens scrambled to action, clearly surprised by the sudden attack. Soon, munitions of their own sailed over the city and their armies charged across the empty field.

  Ethebriel smiled into the face of his demise.

  The Fall

  Shadows stretched long over the Alar River. The evening sun kissed the treetops, its deep red light seeping through the limbs like drops of blood.

  A fleet of transports followed the Alar’s lazed current and sailed deeper into the hills. Soldiers huddled together on the decks against autumn’s bitter bite. The river’s surface trembled with each passing gust, sending trees rattling and sails snapping. It was the kind of crisp cold that made a person feel awake. Alive.

  Adriel Ivanne didn’t feel so alive.

  She stood at the bow of the lead transport, staring over the hills to the white-capped mountains beyond. Her wild yellow hair tossed in the breeze, and she tucked a lock behind her ear with a sigh. She felt lost. Confused. Helpless.

  She and the other Warriors had gone to Inveira to help the country against its supposed and
red invaders, only to fall into the hands of a rebellion led by their former friend, Malecai. They’d lost Inveira to the rebels, these Acedens, and had nearly been destroyed in their escape. If it hadn’t been for Cain… no. She couldn’t afford to worry over him again.

  Boots clicked against the planking behind her, stirring her from her thoughts. She turned to see Isroc approach. He bowed his graying head. “Thoughts troubling you again?”

  “It’s Cain…” Adriel gripped the railing of the bow. “I hope he’s alright. If they’d just let me see him.”

  Isroc stroked his beard in thought. The lines on his forehead grew even more pronounced. “He’s a strong man and a fine soldier. He’s alright, I know he is.”

  “I can’t help but worry for him.” Her eyes fell on the hold’s hatch doors

  “Maybe when we arrive at Morven all this can be sorted out. They’re scared of him.” He looked over his shoulder to the soldiers dotted across the deck. “After seeing what he did at Ekran, I can’t blame them. But it’s not his fault. It’s not his choice. It’s that damned sword.”

  The two turned to Ceerocai. The weapon lay abandoned where Cain had discarded it weeks prior. No one had touched it since. A barrier seemed to surround it, and the bravest of soldiers skirted a yard around it. Most crowded the stern to stay as far away from it as possible. Its presence seemed to somehow loom menacingly in the middle of the ship. A dark substance caked its surface. Blood.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Adriel said, tearing her gaze from the horrible weapon. “It’s not right. He’s sacrificed so much and in return they lock him away like an animal.”

  A cry broke the silence and the two turned to see a crowd gathering. Every head looked up to see a man suspended by the ankle from the sail. The riggings dangled him yards over the deck and spun him about as he thrashed and cursed like a madman.

  Adriel and Isroc rushed to him, pushing through the soldiers. Isroc laughed when he saw who it was. “Silas, should I ask what you’re doing up there?”

  Their friend ceased his thrashing for a moment and glowered down at him. “You know, just inspecting the rigging. Will someone get me down now?” He continued his flailing to the laughs of those below.

  “Isroc, mate! You’ll get me down, won’t you?”

  Isroc scratched his head. “Now, why would I do that? You make a good flag up there, wouldn’t you agree, boys?” Every soldier shouted their approval.

  “You’re a sodding bastard, you know that?”

  Isroc knelt and picked a sheath and dagger off the deck. “Is this yours by chance?”

  Silas stopped his squirming. “Aye, I dropped it. Now give it here!”

  Isroc smirked and tossed it up to his friend. Silas somehow managed to catch the knife and brought it to his bindings. As he nearly sawed through the rope, however, it snapped, and sent him tumbling to the deck. He landed in a stack of crates, the impact sending sacks and barrels flying. He groaned and rolled from the pile as his fellow soldiers howled with laughter.

  Silas shuffled over to his friends, gripping his back. He clenched a fist at Isroc. “I should deck you where you stand! And you, Adriel, I can’t believe you just stood by and watched!”

  Adriel hid a laugh behind a hand.

  “What were you doing up there, anyway?” Isroc asked.

  Silas shook his shaven head at a group of men standing nearby. “They bet me half their whiskey that I couldn’t climb up there.” He turned to hobble off and collect his reward but stopped in his tracks. He looked back at his friends, his eyes wide with a foreign gravity.

  Adriel’s heart sank. “What is it?”

  “I saw smoke.”

  Adriel and Isroc exchanged glances.

  “It was hard to tell with the clouds up ahead.” Silas frowned. “I thought it was just chimneys at first. But…”

  Adriel knew what it meant. “Morven.”

  Isroc spat a curse and shouted for their soldiers to prepare for battle. Adriel peered out over the long stretch of river, breath caught in her throat. Soldiers gathered around her, all gazing east in silent unease.

  The breath tore from Adriel in a gasp.

  Morven was in ruins.

  Smoke spilled from its remains into the red sky. Sickly, ashen clouds hovered low over the once great citadel. The city’s towering silver walls were battered and broken. Buildings lay crumbled and towers splintered. Morven’s two mountains bled ash, fire and smoke trailing from their cragged crowns. The Alar was black with soot, stirred into a slurry of blood and debris. There, atop the city walls, flapped the banners of Iscarius.

  Adriel turned to see Isroc barking orders as men ducked into various hiding places. “What are you doing? We need to turn around.”

  Isroc glanced at the nearby city wall. “There’s nowhere to run. If the Acedens really have taken Morven, then they’ll be all over Erias too. We need to get into that city and see what we can see.”

  “What good will that do?”

  “Well, beside get us killed, probably not much. But we need to do something. I won’t sit by and watch these bastards take my country. We’ll slip in and see if we can gather any intelligence or find any survivors, and then we’ll fight our way out.”

  “What? That’s crazy! We still have time to turn around.”

  “We’re on Aceden ships, remember? They’re probably expecting reinforcements. If we turn around and run, they’ll come after us. There’s miles of open fields and hills… we’ll be easy prey for them to track down. We get in there and we fight. Just trust me on this, Adriel.” His normally hard voice strained. “Please.”

  Adriel found herself nodding. This was his country, his people. Most of their men were Eriasan as well. They deserved the chance to save what they could.

  Together, Adriel, Isroc, and Silas watched the approaching wall. Its shadow fell over them, the distant Aceden banners perched like ravens atop a bloodied corpse.

  Fortunately, the sluice gate was already open, and the small fleet of transports sailed into the city.

  The air here was thick with death, ash and smoke swirling in the occasional breath of wind. Aceden soldiers roamed the wreckage, their black armor blending with the piles of smoldering ash. The insides of homes spilled like the guts of a kill for all to see, some with furniture still in place and food on kitchen tables.

  Adriel ducked behind the ship’s railing and peeked out over the destruction. Corpses littered the streets and rubble. Bloated bodies floated in the Alar, civilian and soldier alike drifting about in the sanguine waves.

  The transports knocked the dead aside and pulled alongside the docks where scores of other ships were moored. A group of Aceden sentries gathered around as the ships dropped their gangplanks.

  “About time!” one of the soldiers called. “We could use some reinforcements! The sons of bitches are still refusing to let go of this shit hole—”

  Adriel stood, bow raised. Her arrow took that smug grin off his face. Archers rushed to the edges of the ships and unleashed a volley over the panicked sentries, dropping them instantly.

  Adriel, Isroc, and Silas sprinted down the gangplank with Alliance soldiers charging at their backs.

  Adriel weaved past an Aceden’s spear and rammed her sword through his gut. She wrenched her weapon free and sliced it across another man’s face. She stepped around the body and knocked a sword away, driving her blade through her opponent’s neck. Adriel slammed the man down to the ground and watched their soldiers swell around the small enemy force.

  Isroc stepped up beside her, waving his spear overhead. “We don’t know what’s out there waiting for us. We need to—”

  “You think we’re going to listen to you anymore?” a soldier snapped. He adjusted his leather cap as if satisfied with himself. “We’re on our own now! We’re through with taking orders from you, or any of you damned Warriors for that matter. You’ve brought us nothing but death!” Many of the surrounding Alliance bobbed their heads in agreement.

  Isro
c stepped forward and stabbed a finger at the man. “Listen here, now’s not the time to—” an arrow exploded through the back of the man’s skull, splattering blood across Isroc’s face.

  Acedens appeared through the smoke. They attacked from everywhere, launching arrows into the confused Alliance.

  The Alliance crumpled back into a ball of shields, bodies piling at their feet. Adriel ducked behind a man’s shield, the sound of arrows thudding in her ears. She pushed free of the shields in time to see the Acedens charging at them from every direction.

  She stepped over a body and dropped an incoming Aceden. She blocked another man’s sword and spared a glance over her shoulder. “Silas, we have to go!”

  Silas cut down Adriel’s attacker and swung Sitare, carving a swath through the ranks of Acedens. “I’m not leaving him.”

  “I know. Let’s go.” The two Warriors pushed through the assault and climbed onto their ship. Adriel fell to her knees and hacked at the hold’s lock. Her sword reverberated against the thick chain, each swing sending jolts up her arm.

  Silas pulled her to her feet and then slammed his weapon’s four-pronged blades into the hatch. The doors smashed in with a shower of splinters.

  A few more swings and the broken doors let a ray of sunlight into the dark hold.

  Black fire. Ashes. Screams.

  Cain sat in the deep shadows of the ship’s hold, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to piece together the memories of a night that now felt so long ago. The memories washed up like waves on the shores of his consciousness, each day bringing a little more clarity before ebbing away again.