The Shadow of War

by Bryan Gifford

  “Still, Murken could have organized these men better.”

  Cain found himself nodding in agreement. Sure, the man had rallied the survivors of Morven, but he wanted to give them all over to the enemy at the first sign of trouble. Cain found it hard to trust a coward. “Do you know this man? What can you tell me about him?”

  Isroc grunted. “Not much to tell. His name is Daod Murken. He was one of King Darius’ advisers; he’s a high lord, one of Darius’ distant cousins or some such nonsense. Murken wormed his way out of military service somehow and spent his life in the shadow of the palace earning the king’s favor. Don’t ask me how, he’s an idiot. My father despised the man. He claimed the only thing bigger than that man’s stomach was his ass hole. He won’t take kindly to you trying to usurp his authority here.”

  “I don’t care, we don’t have time for petty games. His soldiers are under my orders so long as they stay here. We’ll gather every man’s provisions; hopefully we can fill one of these rooms. If they can’t ration it themselves, then we’ll do it for them.”

  Isroc set his scroll atop a crate. He gazed out a broken window, listening to the sounds of their men as they set to work repairing the barracks. “How long are you planning on staying here, Cain? The men are tired and broken. Their living conditions are bleak at best, not to mention winter is well on its way. Their hope already hangs by a thread. And most of them don’t even seem to care that their food will soon run out.”

  “We have to stay, Isroc. More men may come. We must gather our armies if we’re to continue fighting. I know this isn’t the ideal place to holdout but it’s all we have left. If we leave now then one skirmish may finish us, and we will lose the war. I won’t risk that. We must wait here. For now.”

  “Until we realize no one is coming? Or we run out of food or the enemy finds us? We must act first before fate chooses for us.”

  Cain returned Isroc’s stern gaze. “We stay.”

  “Then this will be the death of us.” He shoved past Cain and exited the storehouse. Cain passed a hand through his hair and sighed. He hoped this was the right course. But there was no sense in doubting himself any longer.

  The mountain of crates stirred again, and Silas sprang free from their clutches. “Look what I found!” He dangled the flattened corpse of a rat at him. Cain frowned at him. “Oh, come on. Lighten up!” Cain shook his head and exited the storeroom. Silas shrugged, tossing the rat before returning to his expedition.

  Fires leapt from the barrack’s hearth with an exuberance that sent sparks shooting at Cain’s face. He poked at the fire again, prodding fresh logs that popped and sizzled. He leaned back and stared into the twisting flames, the firelight a soothing hand against his face.

  A faint, disingenuous cough broke him from his contemplation. He turned to see Adriel standing behind him. She sat down close at his side and the two remained quiet for a time, lost in their own thoughts.

  “I hear you plan on staying here,” Adriel said after the fire had begun to dwindle.

  “I do.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a fortified position. Difficult to reach and hard to besiege. We can hold against a force ten times the size here. Not to mention that more troops may show with more supplies.”

  “And how long can we hold with so few provisions? How long until the entire Aceden army surrounds us here?”

  “What other choice to do we have?”

  “We could go to Braygon.”

  “And we’d last no longer out there than we would here. Winter is coming. We’re low on supplies and men. Not to mention hundreds of open miles filled with enemy soldiers. Staying here is our only option.”

  Adriel brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, lips pursed. She opened her mouth to speak but shut it. Eventually, she answered, “I know that. But I don’t care. I must do something, I can’t sit here knowing that thousands of innocent people are out there suffering under the Acedens. I’ve seen how they treat those who can’t defend themselves.”

  Cain smiled at her. The woman had such a soft heart. It helped to remind him that it was compassion that most often impacted the world, not the callous swing of a sword.

  “I understand you want to help people,” Cain said, “but right now we have to watch out for ourselves. We’re no use to them if we’re dead. We stay here.”

  Adriel said nothing.

  “I guess I’m alone on this, then.” He sighed, then stirred the fire. “I don’t know what else to do, Adriel. I know we must do something… but we just can’t. Not yet, anyway. I’m trying to do the right thing, please believe me.”

  Adriel stood. “I do believe in you, Cain. But you’re wrong. We need to do something. Now. I won’t sit by and wait to die.” She stood and left him alone in the small glow of the fire.

  What Must Be Done

  Isroc watched the clouds. It was a rare sunny day, but a storm was coming. The winds were often still before the chaos of an Eriasan snowstorm. His father had taught him all he knew about reading the patterns of the wind, but all his training couldn’t prepare him for this storm. His country in enemy hands. The Alliance vastly outnumbered and surrounded. They were hanging on the edge by a finger. If Cain wasn’t going to pull them up, then he would.

  “Pick it up!” Mithaniel screamed. A soldier dove for his sword in time to block a downward cut from his attacker. His opponent deflected his counter cut and lunged to punch him in the face.

  “Did everyone see that?” Mithaniel asked. The group of soldiers crammed around the fighting cheered in response. “He should have cut for the wrists, not blocked!”

  Kaelin stepped up beside Mithaniel. “Pay up!” He raised a helmet and a unified grumble rose from the crowd. Coppers passed through the crowd as soldiers lost their bets. Coins clattered into Kaelin’s helmet and he rattled them fondly before distributing them to the winners.

  “Who’s next?” Kaelin probed the crowd. An Eriasan and Inveiran soldier stepped forward and drew their swords. The men charged at each other and their shields bashed together with a crunch.

  The Inveiran soldier kicked the other’s shield aside and swung his sword full-force into his opponent’s panicked block. “Get ready to pay up!” Silas chuckled as he elbowed Isroc in the ribs.

  Isroc grinned. “Yours has a bad leg.”

  Silas turned to the duelers. The Inveiran dropped to a knee and blocked a strike with his shield.

  “He does not!”

  The Eriasan jumped forward as his opponent stood. He drove his shield into his foe and kicked at the man’s ankle. The Inveiran’s leg swept out from under him and he dropped to the ground with the Eriasan’s sword at his throat.

  The crowd roared at this. The Inveirans booed as they opened their coin purses.

  “Pay up,” Isroc winked at Silas. His friend cursed and passed him a coin. “Better luck next time!”

  Silas grimaced, turning to Kaelin. Kaelin handed off his helmet and raised his war hammer. He checked his footing and slid his boots in the snow to space his feet shoulder’s width apart. He brushed his mess of red hair aside and eyed his opponent.

  Mithaniel bounced his bastard sword in a hand, giving a few testing cuts. The two men paced around the small ring of cheering soldiers. Kaelin charged with war hammer roaring. Mithaniel stepped past his opponent’s swing, swatted it aside like a pesky fly, and aimed his sword at Kaelin’s neck. Kaelin grumbled with disgust as Mithaniel raised his weapon to the uproar of the crowd.

  “I don’t trust him,” Silas mumbled.

  Isroc chuckled. “Is it because he won’t fight you?”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Silas stammered. “No. He’s an Iscara.”

  Isroc watched Mithaniel for a moment. He didn’t trust the man either. Why would an Iscara fight for them? They apparently betrayed and killed Abaddon to join Iscarius in his conquest of Tarsha. Why would an Iscara betray his fellow traitors? And the man had apparently arrived at Morven with the Aceden army, slipped away, and im
mediately set to killing his former comrades: an expedient way to ensure no one doubted his loyalty or questioned his intentions. That reeked of a scheme, and Isroc hated schemes. “There’s something going on here,” he agreed. “I say we ask him what that something is.”

  Shouts echoed across the mountaintop. Brick thudded, planks clanked, and hammers pounded. Soldiers covered every barrack roof and lined their walls inside and out, repairing the many holes with what little materials they could gather. Men tore down countless unusable buildings brick by brick to mend towers and walls. The buildings of Seraphel slowly took on new life.

  Isroc weaved through the throngs of workers, hauling a bundle of rotted wood on his shoulder. He discarded his burden on a mound of refuse and wiped his sweaty brow.

  He looked to the toiling men around him. Idle hands made for dangerous hands, and Cain knew this well. He’d set his men to work, trusting that hard labor would keep their minds off their dire situation. They’d made good progress in only a few short days and seemed optimistic despite their growing hunger.

  Isroc found who he was looking for. Mithaniel knelt atop a barrack, pounding planks over a large gap in the roof. He worked for a time before dropping down onto the road and approaching a bucket of water.

  Isroc spotted Silas nearby who was busy refilling a crate with bricks. Silas nodded, and the two men approached the Iscara, hands on weapons.

  Mithaniel paused, cup raised halfway to his lips. “I know what this is.” He unbuckled his sword from his belt and tossed it in the snow.

  “Then speak, Iscara,” Silas spat.

  Mithaniel looked around to the laboring soldiers. “Not here.”

  Silas and Isroc escorted the Knight away from the barracks and down the main road where several men were lashing stakes for something. The three turned down a side road and continued through the fortress until they reached a stretch of open rock and snow. They crossed the field, arches and columns and statues jutting up from the snow. Ahead, the mountain’s top towered high over the fortress.

  The two Warriors led Mithaniel along the base of the cliff toward a cave hewn deep into the rock.

  Cain stepped from the cave mouth. He leaned against the remains of a robed statue, Ceerocai at his back like always.

  “You told Cain?” Silas asked.

  “Yes, he needs to hear this man’s words as well.” Isroc waved his sword. “Speak, Iscara.”

  Mithaniel rested a hand on the cliff’s rough rock. “This place was once an ancient temple to the Forgotten, did you know that? Legends say the heavens speak atop this mountain, where men can find the answers to their heart’s desires. Those brave enough or foolish enough to climb it. I guess the rest die trying.”

  “We don’t need your stories,” Silas snapped.

  “You said speak, so I spoke. Is your trust in me so thin that every time I open my mouth you feel the need to shove a…?” He gestured at Sitare. “Whatever that is in my face?”

  “Why should I trust you?”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Why are you here?” Isroc asked. This was going nowhere fast. “Tell us the truth.”

  The Knight chuckled. “How will you determine what I say is truth? If I were telling the truth and you thought me a liar, is that any different than me lying and you thinking I spoke the truth? Either way, I am here because I can provide you information on the enemy.”

  “Bullshit.” Silas crossed his arms.

  “I was a Knight of Iscara. The things I know are beyond your greatest libraries.”

  Cain raised a brow at the man. “What can you tell us then?”

  Silas cursed. “You’re not really thinking of listening to him, are you? What about the last Iscara we trusted?” He looked to Cain and Isroc and threw up his hands.

  “May we talk as civilized men?” Mithaniel gestured to their weapons. Isroc shrugged and sheathed his messer. Silas snorted and thrust Sitare into the snow.

  “We Iscara are born into the brotherhood,” Mithaniel began. “We are chosen by Abaddon from the womb. Or by the Forgotten, I don’t really know. I never had a say in the matter, anyway. So, I would appreciate it if you stopped trying to burn a hole in my back.” Silas blinked away his glare and turned away.

  Mithaniel faced Cain. “Do you want to know why Malecai truly fights?” Cain’s eyes lit up. “That’s what I thought.”

  The Knight paused. “Malecai was an Iscara. He was the strongest of us, though some argue that title belonged to Alanis. Malecai was the wisest, the most just. The most righteous in his fury. Some say he was the first Iscara, the first born with the Forgotten’s blessing.

  “But he began to question Abaddon, his genocide, his purpose. Malecai began to dream of his own ideas of peace. However, his ideas were quickly spat upon. The others viewed them as defying the Forgotten, as not following the natural order of things.”

  “So, you Iscara do want to kill us all,” Silas said darkly.

  “Yes, Abaddon’s war is a genocide,” Mithaniel whispered. “And he will never stop. Why do you think I am here?”

  “Why would you fight for that?” Isroc asked. “Why would anyone want to wipe out the entire human race?”

  “You could never hope to understand.” Mithaniel sighed. “It is not our will, it’s the Forgotten’s. We are simply his servants. We never had a choice.”

  Silas snatched up Sitare and started forward. “I’ve heard enough. This man doesn’t deserve to live.”

  Cain grabbed him by the tunic. “Silas, that’s enough!” He shoved his friend back and Silas stomped off to the cave’s mouth.

  Cain turned to the Iscara. “What was Malecai’s plan for peace?”

  “To stop the fighting.”

  Silas spun about. “Liar!”

  Mithaniel aimed an open palm at the Warrior. “I grow weary of you!”

  Isroc gestured for Silas to sheath his weapon, desperate to ease the tension before things devolved into stabbing each other. Silas glared at the Iscara for a moment, then sheathed Sitare with a curse.

  Isroc turned with a sigh. “You say you never had a choice, yet you betrayed and killed Abaddon anyways. It looks to me like you’ve always been capable of making your own choices.”

  Mithaniel shrugged. “Perhaps you are right.”

  “You mentioned that the other Iscara refused Malecai’s ideals at first,” Isroc continued. “What changed?”

  “Centuries of watching people suffer and die tends to change your perspective on things. Most of us simply couldn’t stomach it anymore. If you make a kill, you don’t let the animal die slowly and painfully, you make a quick, clean shot. End its misery then and there.

  ‘If the Forgotten wanted his creations destroyed so badly, then he should have just ended humanity in that moment, not let you bleed out over centuries. It’s either incompetence, cruelty, or weakness. Or maybe a chance for you to redeem yourselves, I don’t know. Anyway, the point is that we couldn’t be the weapons of a cruel god any longer. We wanted peace, and Iscarius was the answer.”

  “Peace?” Isroc said. “You mean bloodshed.”

  “Iscarius killed Abaddon, did he not?”

  “How do you know all of this?” Cain asked.

  “I know all of this because I was there. I was the one spilling blood for his cause. Because I betrayed Abaddon, I betrayed the Creator, for him. He was my friend, but he began to sway from his principles. He needed soldiers so the men he couldn’t sway with words he swayed in other ways, feeding their iniquities. He bought out generals and armies and kings. He put people in chains, condoned pillaging, rape, and murder. And then he did what he said he’d never do… he killed people with his own hands. Innocent people. I knew I had to leave after that. I joined my enemy, and I do not regret my decision.”

  Something about Mithaniel’s words bothered Isroc. He spoke of men, of humanity, as if being separate from himself. “You’re not human, are you?”

  Mithaniel blinked his pallid eyes. They almost seemed to g
low. “We are not like you. You are born and then you die. Simple.”

  Isroc opened his mouth, but no words came. What did he mean by that? How could he be so human and yet… not?

  “What am I? Trust me, I’d like to know that myself.”

  “What of Malecai then?” Cain eventually asked.

  “He will not stop until he has conquered every country and every man and woman bends to his will. Only then will his idea of peace be won.” Mithaniel stepped forward. “And that peace will be a thousand years of blood.”

  The Iscara placed a hand on Cain’s arm. “Malecai is more dangerous than you can possibly imagine. You must gather your armies now, Cain Taran. You are in for the fight of your life.”

  A horn echoed in the quiet afternoon.

  Seraphel burst into life as every man dropped their work and bustled toward the wall, clambering for their weapons and armor.

  Isroc worked his way through the crowd and joined the other Warriors on the causeway. Murken lurked nearby, sharing a fat-cheeked scowl between the Warriors and the edge of the mountain where a small army had appeared. Isroc held his breath, squinting into the sun to see their banners. Three black swords on white fields of silk. Where had he seen that sigil before?

  Murken called out as they neared the stronghold. “Halt!” The army soon stopped, and a man stepped from their ranks. He raised a horn to his lips and blasted a long note before grinning up at the Warriors, ignoring Murken.

  Isroc glared down at the man. Moran Regulus, general in the Inveiran Cavalry. What was he doing here? The last time he saw Moran, the man had wanted to give Iscarius Cain’s head. “What brings you here, Moran?” he asked.

  A yellow grin split Moran’s bushy beard. “General Regulus to you!”

  “If it’s sanctuary you seek, I can’t give it to you,” Cain replied. “You abandoned us to the enemy.”

  “I did, I will not deny that. But I did what I believed was best for my country. You would have done the same.”