The Shadow of War
Page 11
“They have not taken everything, my king. Many villages and cities remain. Our scouts have heard reports that Harlon still withstands the Acedens. Many of our troops have apparently fled to the Gold Coast to hold out as well. And you are still alive, as well as the queen and the princesses. We are far from corpses.”
“Yes, I’m thankful I at least had the sense to send away my wife and daughters. Yshara, Kuri, and Takara will be safe in Sudachan.” Cradoc breathed a shuddering breath, hoping his words would be enough to convince himself. “If there is indeed anywhere untouched by this damnable war.”
“A wise course, my king. You have preserved your family’s lives, ensuring the succession.”
“Many might deem it a coward’s course. But I must set my sight to the future. We need to make for Kaanos. That is where I’m meant to be. It’s where the war will lead, and where it will end.”
“If I may speak frankly, many would call you a coward if you left Meres; they would see you as abandoning them. If we leave them to the sword, then Meres will indeed be a corpse.”
“You have always given me wise counsel, but on this I am alone. I must do it. The Acedens will move on Kaanos if they have not already. Erias and Inveira have fallen. The South must have our support if we are to win against this rebellion.”
“What of our country? Of our people?”
Cradoc paused as they reached the broad side of a dune, facing east over the sea of sand. A faint speck of violet spread from the black, clawing through the ink-black sky.
“I have sent reinforcements to each of the trade cities on the Gold Coast. I have sent troops to the Yellow Dunes of the Yasu and to Harlon and the border of Nimithy Valley. Our country is in their hands now. We may win and lose battles, but we must win this war. I have fought for Meres since I could carry a sword. Now, it is time I fight for Tarsha.”
A Second Chance
Jiran whistled as he walked down the debris and rock-strewn road. He drew a long inhale from his pipe and followed the trails of dried blood toward the dismal city.
Caethiwed’s high timber buildings rolled over the hills. Snow capped their steep roofs and drifts of white piled around their walls. Trails of smoke floated from chimneys and the smell of roasted meats wafted in the cold breeze.
“Hold!” a voice split the still afternoon. An Aceden sentry peeked over a rooftop with a crossbow trained on Jiran. Following his lead, dozens of other sentries appeared from nearby rooftops, bolts glinting in the sunlight.
“Who are you?” the Aceden called. “What business do you have here?” Jiran simply puffed on his pipe. “Speak, or we’ll drop you where you stand!”
The Vilant smiled from behind a plume of smoke. “I should ask the same of you. You were once an Eriasan soldier, but now you wear Aceden black. Who are you? What business do you have here?”
The man grunted and glanced at his fellows. He turned back to Jiran, aiming down his crossbow. “We’re not playing word games. Who are you?”
Jiran dumped his pipe in the blood. “I am Jiran Morell, son of Siphus, leader of the Vilant. I have come to reclaim my people.”
Adriel burst from the grass beside him and buried an arrow through the sentry’s face.
Isroc dug his heels into his horse’s sides. His courser galloped like mad through the trees, blazing a path for the hundreds of West Riders that followed.
Hargus hurried to his side. “This better work, Isroc!”
“Have a little faith in me, friend!”
The path split ahead and the West Riders turned right to head deeper into the mountains. The valley’s rough face masked the evening sun, plunging the cavalry in shadows.
They rode into a thunder, a thunder of hooves and boots that rumbled in the high rock walls. They turned the bend, and there, in the shadow of the valley, were the Acedens. Hundreds of soldiers and chariots.
Their rear guard heard the West Riders approach and swung about with spears raised. The Aceden columns slowly turned like a great snake coiling on itself as drums and horns sounded the alarm. Caught between the narrow valley walls and pressed tightly together, they could do little to defend themselves.
Isroc smirked and jabbed his spear forward. A volley of arrows spit from the peaks above and dropped stunned and screaming soldiers. Silas and Moran led their formations down the steep slopes and smashed into the unsuspecting Acedens like a landslide. Isroc gave a battle cry and plunged his spear down on a man.
Dawn’s blue light crawled from the distant mountains. It revealed a world of tranquil white, of glittering snow and icy stone.
Cain stood on Seraphel’s battlements, cloak snapping in the bitter gusts.
Iscarius’ Knights gathered below. They hung like a shadow in their black armor, a stain on the otherwise flawless white. Both Iscarius’ Knights and Abaddon’s loyalists wanted Ceerocai for themselves, and he had to hope both sides wanted it bad enough to turn against their former brethren. Of course, that meant his Alliance would still have to fight both forces at once, and worse, face the victor. Things weren’t looking so good.
He turned to his men lined along the wall and gathered in the court. Every man waited with bated breath, their eyes dark. He knew that look well. The look a man gave before his death.
Iscarius’ Knights moved in formation toward the fortress. Their leader—Kamael, Mithaniel had named—walked ahead of them, her long golden braid flicking in the wind, snow and ice swirling around her in streams of blue light.
“Shields!” Cain bellowed. “Shields!” He cantered down the stairs, his soldiers close behind. Together, the Alliance formed an arc in the middle of the court.
The men watched their deaths approach. They drew their weapons and screamed at the Iscara.
Cain watched the Iscara’s leader raise a hand and tap the space before her with a finger. The air around her pulsed and snow lifted from the ground, then exploded outward in a shockwave that launched men over the buildings.
Cain gaped as bodies flew overhead. He waved his sword and hundreds of soldiers rushed from the surrounding roads to crash into the unsuspecting Iscara. They managed to drop a few of the Knights before their attack was broken. Bodies tossed through the air, wind and fire and lightning lashing at their ranks.
Abaddon’s Iscara poured through the gateway. This was what he’d been hoping for. They smashed into the other Iscara with claps of light, and black-armored bodies dropped.
The Knights attacked indiscriminately. Fire and lightning flashed and struck enemies on all sides. Both groups of Iscara beat at each other but that did little to save Cain’s troops. They were helpless, like insects caught in a wildfire.
The Knights tore at each other to make for Cain. Men and Iscara blasted around Cain as he swung Ceerocai in desperate, warding arcs. Wind and light bounced away from him and shot back into their ranks.
Cain swung Ceerocai into a massive fireball, searing heat deflecting around him to scorch snow and rock. He peered through the embers to see the leader of Abaddon’s loyalists approach. He could kill the man. He could end all of this now, stop any more of his men from dying.
He cursed and ordered the retreat. The Alliance broke from the fighting and fled in every direction. The Knights scrambled after them, attacking everyone and everything in sight.
Cain ducked around a building. Debris showered him as light struck the wall above. He ducked through the pelting stones and ran down the road.
Light and lightning flashed to drop men around him. He turned in mid run and smacked away a ball of shadows. Lightning cracked past his face to strike a soldier ahead of him. Another man dodged a blade of light, jumping up with a wide-eyed grin. Lightning took him through the face.
Cain weaved through falling debris, exploding earth, and bodies. Ahead, the road ended, and a line of soldiers waved him on. Fire and wind shot past him as he dove.
The soldiers leapt forward and yanked ropes from the snow. A wall of spears and sharpened stakes burst from the snow and drove the chargi
ng Iscara. Their Andred-forged armor was tough, managing to deflect most of the stakes, but a few found purchase in guts or legs or necks. Screams echoed across the fortress as soldiers raised palisades along every road.
Cain lifted Ceerocai overhead. “They die the same as any other man!”
Alliance appeared from the side roads and crashed into the small, flustered group of Iscara. The Knights—unable to effectively wield their strange powers in the narrow street—were quickly cut down by the sudden assault.
More Iscara appeared from the other end of the road, a mass of red swords and roiling fire. Bodies shot across the street and smashed into buildings, colorful lights bursting in the chaos.
The loyalists’ leader stepped from this madness, bear fur cloak flapping in the wind. He grabbed a soldier’s swinging sword with a gauntlet and rammed his own blade through the man. He turned to sidestep an attack and bash his palm into the soldier’s face with a clap of wind and light. The body shot over the palisade in a red mist.
The Knight raised a hand. The spike wall covered with the dead uprooted itself and hovered for a moment, then spun and plunged itself through a dozen men.
Cain stumbled from the bodies and shouted for another retreat. He soon stood alone, Ceerocai in hand.
Kamael leapt from a side road, cutting through two Iscara before charging her foe. At the last second, the other yanked his sword from his victim and turned to block the woman’s powerful swing. He shot a ball of wind out and the Iscara ducked, her long braid whipping behind her.
Kamael came up with a fist of light. Her opponent slapped it away and swung his sword. Their blades met with a clash of steel.
Cain tore his gaze from their fight and retreated down the road. Fire and lightning licked at his heels as he ran and snow and earth sprayed about him. Instead of blocking any of the attacks, he simply ran, sprinting as fast as he could toward the end of the road.
Light struck the ground nearby and threw him through the air. He landed with a painful roll. Iscara filled the road, but instead of attacking him, they fought amongst themselves. Earth shattered, buildings collapsed, explosions tore at their ranks. Cain clambered to his feet and fled as Iscara died behind him.
At last, he came to the field. The sun crested the mountain and its bright yellow light stabbed down on the expanse of snow and rubble. Here, his Alliance was gathered, and here, they killed each other. Cain slid to a stop, eyes wide in shock. What was going on? The blood of friends and brothers and countrymen stained the snow.
Murken and a small group of Eriasans pushed through the struggle toward him. A grin split the fat man’s face. “This was your doing!” Cain cried. “Why? What could you possibly gain from turning on us?” He knew he should’ve done something about Murken. How could he have let this happen?
Murken stabbed his axe out. “You come here, take my men from me, act like you’re some big hero.” Cain should have defended himself, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. How could he bring his sword against men he’d fought beside? “You’ll get us all killed, fool boy. Instead of surrendering to these creatures, you thought you could beat them. Bah! I’ll give them your damn head. It’s you they want, not us. I’ll—”
Wind smashed into Murken and hurled him screaming over the mountainside. Cain spun, Ceerocai raised against the charging Kamael. The woman raised her sword, a cry on her lips.
She dropped to the ground, feet from Cain. Smoke smoldered from her back. “He’s mine, Kamael!” The other Iscara leader stood at the mouth of the road, palm raised.
Cain glanced down at the woman. He should kill her while he had the chance. He stepped forward but paused as she climbed shakily to her feet. Kamael growled at him before turning to stagger off toward her opponent. The two exchanged blows on the edge of the field, their Iscara clashing around them.
Cain turned to see his own men still fighting among themselves. Iscara had begun trickling in from the other roads as well, battling each other and the two groups of Alliance. The Alliance—their flank exposed and confused by the sudden insurrection—broke under their attack, lightning ripping at their ranks. Men still battled, shedding the blood of their fellows even as Iscara dropped friend and foe about them. It was a chaotic mess, four sides tearing at each other’s throats.
Cain had failed them. He’d sentenced them to death by leading them into this mess. They’d die at each other’s hands or the Iscara’s, but either way, they were dead.
Cain turned to the two leaders as they clashed. He refused to die here. Not before he had the chance to face Iscarius. He stepped toward them with Ceerocai before him.
The two Iscara leaders still fought, bursts of fire and lightning flashing so bright and hot that they seared Cain’s face even at this distance. Kamael fell back beneath a barrage of fierce blows, stumbling under each attack. She knocked a swing aside and jumped forward.
Her opponent smacked her blade away with a fist of light and swung his sword across her throat. The woman staggered forward and slumped into her foe’s hands, blood spilling over the snow. She gazed up at him with wide eyes as blood trickled from her lips. Her foe sneered, grabbed her face with both hands, and gave a cry.
Her head exploded with a sickening pop. Gore sprayed the air and splattered across the man’s breastplate.
Cain slid to a stop, suddenly feeling sick. He turned from the mangled corpse to see the man and ten of his Iscara approach.
Cain looked down his blade at the man. “Let us end this.”
The Knight nodded and stretched out his great sword, its point gleaming in the morning sun.
Arrows arced over the city of Caethiwed, falling like the morning sun’s rays.
A hundred Vilant rose from the grass and hills around them. Together, Jiran, Adriel, and their Vilant stormed the city. The Vilant splintered into groups and busted into the nearby buildings.
Adriel and Jiran stopped as they reached the first of the houses. Jiran nodded to their group of Vilant and kicked in the door. An Aceden looked up from a bowl of soup and spat as they swept into the room with bows raised. He tried for the sword at his belt, only to be pinned against the wall by a quiver of broadheads.
The Vilant exited the building and burst into the next. They scanned the small ruin of a house, averting their gaze from the dark stains that splotched the walls and floor. Broken pottery, shards of glass, and old spoils of food crunched beneath their boots as they made for the opposing door.
The group funneled out into an intersection of dirt road and huddled into a tight formation with bows tensed on all sides. A Vilant dropped beside Adriel, an arrow burrowed through his skull.
Adriel leapt through an open door as projectiles pelted down around her. A crossbow bolt punched through the door and came to a stop by her face. She ripped her strands of hair free and launched an arrow at a crossbowman atop a nearby roof. Dozens of Acedens appeared in the intersection ahead as the body fell to the ground beside them with a crunch.
Adriel ducked back into the house, arrows thudding into the timber.
“Where do we go?” she cried to Jiran.
“Anywhere but here!” he answered, jumping to his feet. He ran across the room and exited out the back door.
Several Acedens met them there on the road, cutting down the unsuspecting Vilant as they left the house.
More enemy archers appeared on the rooftops overhead and dropped several of the men around Adriel. Arrows plinked about her as she dove into the ruined husk of a nearby home.
She rose up over the rubble and loosed a broadhead. She dropped another man, and a second, before turning back into the house, her back to the wall. Arrows pounded against the wall behind her. She loaded her bow and launched another projectile before waving to Jiran. The man shouted an order and led the remaining Vilant into the house, Adriel covering their retreat with a hasty barrage.
“About damn time, woman!” Jiran greeted as he slipped his long sword from a pursuing Aceden and tossed the body aside.
“We’re well behind the main force, we’ll have some catching up to do. Let’s go.”
The group gathered into formation and followed Jiran around the corner to a long row of homes. The clashing of blades and the cries of men echoed in the nearby streets.
Jiran cursed. “This day is really starting to go to shit. Tiergan, Maren, Kari, and Adriel with me. I want the rest of you to take the other row of houses. We need to flush out every last one of the bastards!”
He then gathered his group around a building and raised his bow. He kicked in the door and they swept through the house. Empty. They regrouped and stormed the next house. Empty.
They continued down the row of homes, breaking open the doors and clearing every room. It was a slow, tedious process, dozens upon dozens of homes.
They came to the last house on the row. Jiran placed an ear on the door and nodded to the others. He kicked in the door, and they rushed past him.
Tiergan was met with an axe to the chest. He fell back in a spray of blood as the Aceden hacked at his body again. Jiran launched an arrow through the man’s throat.
Adriel yanked her sword from a body. The wall shook behind her and she turned to see an Aceden slammed against the wall, Jiran’s sword rammed through him to pin him against the wood. The man gave a ragged sigh before sinking at his killer’s feet, leaving a smear of blood on the wall.
Jiran flashed a glance at Tiergan’s body by the door. “I couldn’t help you, boy. You’ve earned your peace.” He scowled and waved for them to follow him out of the house and back onto the street.
The din of death was louder now. The four formed a circle with bows raised to the outlying streets. Moments later, two Vilant appeared from a nearby house, bloodied and out of breath.