Jiran looked to one of the Vilant. The woman shook her blood and sweat soaked hair. “Shit. Time to call in the others before this gets any worse.” He cursed again and jerked an arrow wrapped in bright red rags from his hip quiver. He drew his bowstring to his cheek and propelled the red arrow over the city and into the morning sun.
He then brandished his bloodied sword, and with a nod, led the group onto the main road and into the fray.
Mithaniel rested his head against the cold rock of Seraphel’s cave. Fingers of water dribbled down the stone, soaking his hair and the nape of his neck. He watched drops of water fall from the unseen roof into a pool beside him. They plopped with a kind of rhythm, almost echoing in the quiet cavern.
The songs of death reverberated in the walls. The thudding of boots and the beating of shields vibrated the rocks behind him. Explosions shook the ground.
Mithaniel had long questioned his existence. He’d been placed into this world to carry out the Forgotten’s will, and he’d dutifully followed Abaddon for hundreds of years. But that didn’t ease the doubt in the back of his mind. How could a god create humanity only to seek its destruction? Why must he be the one to clean up after the Creator’s mistakes?
Mithaniel wanted peace. Even knowing it was the Creator’s will, he’d never wanted to spill blood. That was why he’d followed Malecai and betrayed Abaddon in the first place. Malecai wanted peace, or at least he used to. Mithaniel had long questioned his friend’s methods, but only these last few months had truly opened his eyes. He’d seen firsthand his friend’s ruthlessness and brutality. His sheer, indomitable will. Was Malecai’s peace worth all this blood? Men and Iscara still died at each other’s hands. Abaddon was dead, and yet the world was no closer to peace.
Mithaniel didn’t know what to think anymore. But he did know one thing; he’d finally picked a side.
“Oi!” a voice called, breaking the cacophony of battle. Mithaniel turned to a group of soldiers watching him. “I’m talking to you Iscara.” A Kaanosi soldier waved his sword at him. “What are you plotting?”
“I’m thinking about how thoroughly I am interned.” He shook his arms and legs, both bound stiff with rope.
The Kaanosi cocked his head, no doubt trying to decipher Mithaniel’s exorbitant vocabulary. “If it were up to me I would’ve thrown your traitorous ass over the mountainside,” he said with a grin, clearly pleased with the idea.
“Who’s going to stop us?” a second Kaanosi replied. “I say we do it. Taran will thank us for taking this one off his hands.”
“There is a battle at our doorstep,” a Meresi said with that song-like accent. “In case you forgot. We can’t risk it.”
An Inveiran stepped toward Mithaniel. “If we win, the rat bastard may live, but if we lose, then he’ll just crawl back to his friends. I don’t like those chances.”
The other men nodded in agreement and stepped toward Mithaniel with weapons raised. Mithaniel sighed and closed his eyes. “I don’t have time for your games. Just let me go.”
The men paused as an explosion rocked the cave. Now was his chance. Mithaniel leapt from the ground, rope snapping from his body like twine. He slammed a hand into a Kaanosi’s face and smashed his head against the cave wall. The soldier crumpled to the snow, blood streaking the cracked rock.
He turned, palms raised to the remaining soldiers. They gaped at him, weapons shaking. “My sword and shield. Please.”
The Meresi walked over to a pile of rucksacks, wary eyes locked on Mithaniel. He tossed him the sword and shield, and Mithaniel caught them with a gracious nod.
Mithaniel slipped an arm through his shield’s straps and drew his sword, then turned his back on the soldiers. He thought he heard their sighs of relief as he stepped toward the light.
He’d made his choice. He could only hope it was the right one.
The Iscara leader and ten of his Knights stopped before Cain to form a wide arc with long swords raised. A cold wind tossed their dark cloaks and long braids. Around him, men and Iscara died, their pained cries echoing in Cain’s ears. His heart somehow thumped louder. How could he hope to fight eleven Iscara?
Their leader stepped forward. “I want you to see me, Cain Taran, and know me. Mine will be the last face you will see.” He yanked his great helm free and let it thump to the snow at his feet.
“Alanis!” Cain growled. How was this possible? He’d defeated Alanis in the battle for Morven, he’d watched the man sink beneath the Alar. Abaddon’s beast had killed him, hadn’t it?
Well, it might as well have. Alanis’ flesh looked like molten wax, swirled with black and red and pink, split in places to hang in gruesome folds. A few wiry tufts were all that remained of his once long gray hair. His unnaturally bright eye seemed even brighter, perhaps contrasted by the black socket where his right eye was missing.
“You have condemned me to a world of pain and suffering,” Alanis spat from broken lips. “I will destroy you, I will break every bone from your miserable body, feed your flesh to the ravens. I will make you suffer a thousand-fold for every moment I have lived like this. I will end your worthless life and take Ceerocai back to its rightful owner. Abaddon will return, and you, Cain Taran, will be his harbinger!”
Alanis shot out a hand with a bellow. Wind erupted, and the ground between them exploded toward Cain.
Cain threw Ceerocai up and braced himself for the blow. Snow and ice lashed about him. Earth shattered. Light splintered, leaving white spots in his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned against the battery of wind. At last, he dared to open his eyes.
Through the swirling vapors and snow, Mithaniel approached.
The Iscara stood with hands outstretched toward Cain. He sagged, and the wind died around Cain, dropping drifts of snow and earth back to the ground.
Mithaniel staggered back to his feet. “You have to go now!”
Cain blinked at the Knight. The man was a traitor. He’d been corresponding with Iscarius. He’d led these Iscara right to them. Why was he helping Cain?
Mithaniel cursed and grabbed him by an arm. “Go, you idiot!” He tossed Cain aside and turned to face Alanis.
Cain glanced at the battle behind them. The Alliance still fought fiercely among themselves but Murken’s supporters were clearly dwindling. The Iscara, after their deadly in-fighting, were now only a few dozen, and yet still fought among themselves. The four sides clashed, a confusing eddy that churned through the snow and rubble.
Cain turned his attention back to Alanis and his men. If he could kill the man, then perhaps they’d have a chance at survival. It was a small hope, but he’d take what he could get.
He stepped up beside Mithaniel. The Iscara groaned at him but said nothing. Instead, he simply raised his shield and beckoned Alanis to attack. Cain readied Ceerocai, and the Knights charged. Most of the time, Cain wasn’t sure if it was bravery or stupidity that spurred him on.
They were beginning to feel like the same thing.
Cain swung Ceerocai into a surge of fire. Heat ripped at his skin to melt the snow around him. Smoke curled from his blade as he cut through and swung at an incoming Iscara. Their blades met, and Cain spun to knock a blast of wind away.
Mithaniel rushed past him and smacked a spear of light with his shield to leap over another Iscara. Men surrounded him, and he spun, frantically swatting away light and wind and fire.
Cain jabbed his pommel into his foe’s face and swung at an incoming Knight. He spun around the man and smashed Ceerocai into his back.
Lightning cracked past Cain as he yanked his sword free and dove aside. He leapt to his feet and met another blast of lightning. The force knocked him back and he laid about with his sword, beating back the volley as he struggled to keep his footing.
Alanis shoved a man aside and hurled a wave of shadows at Cain. Something knocked the feet from under Cain and threw him to the ground. The shadows struck a nearby Iscara and his body slid to a stop in the snow, skin broken and black.
He hammered the man back with a series of heavy blows before blocking a blade of light. The earth lifted from under his feet and pelted him with rock and rubble as a rift fractured out. Alanis raised an arm and clenched his fist. The debris hovered for a moment, then shot down.
Cain jumped back to the ground and rolled, rock and earth stabbing down around him. He deflected a man’s sword and kicked out, knocking his attacker to the ground. He swung to a knee, blocked a strike from an incoming Iscara, a stab from another, and leapt back. Swords swept past as he rolled away and slit the downed Iscara’s throat.
Light blasted into him as he shot to his feet. Ceerocai parted the attacks like an oar through water, a kind of indifferent ease that seemed so contrary to the weapon’s sheer, intimidating mass.
Alanis approached and flicked his hand. A statue shot by his shoulder. Cain charged and dodged it at the last moment.
Cain leapt back, and his foe’s great sword howled past his face. He deflected a ball of light, and a second, and a third. He barely blocked a surprise swing and staggered back against a barrage of wind.
An Iscara charged from behind. A shield took the man by surprise, snapping his neck, and Mithaniel appeared. He flung his hand out and tendrils of wind snatched the shield out of the air before slinging it around him to strike another man. He caught his shield in midair, crashed down on the Iscara, and smashed in the man’s face with a crunch.
Cain rushed his distracted opponent but another Iscara came up from behind. He turned and knocked back a ball of wind in time to meet the man’s blade. He sidestepped a surge of light and slammed Ceerocai into his foe’s chest, caving in the heavy breastplate.
Cain barely turned in time to see Alanis throw out a hand. Rubble and earth shot toward him. Cain rolled over a column, debris flying overhead and striking against the statues behind him.
He rose and jumped off the column, sword splitting the wind. He beat back a surge of lightning and plunged his sword down on a man.
Two Iscara charged, and Cain swung Ceerocai like a sledgehammer, snapping the sword of one of the Knights. He rammed his blade through the stunned man’s chest and the second Iscara dropped beside him, Mithaniel’s sword in his back.
Alanis. The Iscara leader watched them, his face twisted in a horrible rictus. Wind tugged at his bear fur cloak, snow and ice clinging to his bloodstained armor.
Mithaniel wiped his bastard sword on a dead man’s cloak. “Alanis is angry,” he whispered. “Use that. Let him tire himself out, that’s the only way we’ll defeat him.”
Cain nodded and looked down his blade at Alanis. The man’s shoulders heaved. His hands trembled. That single eye seemed afire.
The three charged.
Fire. Cain swept Ceerocai out, leaving a swathe of melted snow and scorched earth. Lightning. Cain slammed his sword into the crackling tendrils and sent them shooting off in every direction. Wind. He split the powerful gusts and descended on his foe.
Alanis swung his great sword out in wide cuts, knocking both of their attacks back. He rounded his blade for a backswing but Mithaniel took the blow with his shield and leapt forward. Alanis slapped his weapon aside with a fist of light and thrust at Mithaniel’s chest. Mithaniel barely brought his shield up, the force of the attack launching him back.
Cain deflected a hasty ball of wind and swung into Alanis’ overhead strike. Their swords crashed, the shock jolting up Cain’s arms. The man jumped back and Ceerocai scraped his breastplate. He swung down on Cain’s exposed back, but Cain spun away, only to be struck with a fist of wind.
He shot past Mithaniel and skidded to a stop. Mithaniel ducked beneath a shooting statue and met Alanis with a clap of light. Cain rushed into the fray.
Alanis deflected each blow, lithe feet dancing between them. With a graceful balance between power and speed, the man beat back their every advance. Earth shot up in a wave before him, ice and snow gushing with a searing blast of heat.
Cain fell to a knee beneath the onslaught of wind and earth and debris. Frigid ice and scorching heat clashed against his skin. It kept coming, flogging him, plucking skin from his bones.
The wind yanked him from his feet. He crashed through the side of a building, the old bricks crumbling and smashing around him. He struck the opposing wall and collapsed.
A sharp pain stabbed through his chest. He gasped, gripping his ribs. Slowly, he managed to crawl over the rubble to the collapsed wall. Every movement sent fresh agony through his body. He couldn’t worry about the pain now, Mithaniel needed his help.
Mithaniel walked across the field toward Alanis. The Iscara leader shot out a surge of black lightning. His opponent sidestepped this. Alanis launched another, and Mithaniel feigned past.
Alanis bellowed and swung his sword down. Mithaniel knocked back an upswing, a downswing, a stab. He countered another thrust and drove his shield into his foe. Alanis regained his footing and blocked a swing before throwing out a blade of light. The light shattered against Mithaniel’s shield, and Alanis redirected the shards, sending them stabbing down.
They clattered against the shield but cut at Mithaniel’s exposed legs, dropping him to the snow as blood trickled from the joints in his armor. Alanis slammed his sword down on Mithaniel’s shield, hammering him again and again.
“Why would you betray your kind, Mithaniel?” Alanis cried, angry and wild. “Why would you turn your back on the Forgotten?”
Mithaniel hunkered behind his shield, speaking between blows. “For centuries, I thought our war was the only way. The Creator is wrong, humans do not deserve their fate. Yes, they are weak and selfish, but they can also be good.”
Cain cursed. He had to do something. He climbed to his feet and staggered toward the fight. His sword almost seemed to hum, its familiar warmth surging up his arm. Just a little further, then he could finally end this.
Alanis gave a final blow against Mithaniel’s shield and hurled him back with a fist of wind. Mithaniel regained his footing and beat back another ball of wind with his shield. “I have seen them at their best and at their worst, they are not yet lost like the Forgotten believes.” He swatted away another wave of wind. “They feel and love and dream; they are capable of beautiful things. We must end this cycle of destruction. They deserve a second chance.” Another surge of wind nearly knocked him from his shaking feet. Alanis walked forward, hurling wind with every step. “I have seen humanity’s sheer will when backed into a corner, Cain Taran and his Alliance has shown me that here. Long have I questioned my place in the Forgotten’s genocide. Well, no more! I will no longer stand for the slaughter of innocents!”
The ground cracked and furled, parting in a fissure that smashed down on Mithaniel with claws of earth and ice.
“Our powers are our strength,” Mithaniel continued beneath the ceaseless barrage. “But they are also our curse. Drawing upon the Forgotten weakens us, dulls our senses. Leaves us ripe for the slaughter.” Alanis hurled another mighty blast of wind. “For all your power, I always thought it strange how you never paid that much thought.”
Mithaniel beat the wind aside and struck, launching across the snow. He crashed down on Alanis and swung. His opponent barely blocked the attack, and Mithaniel beat down again, each blow knocking his foe back. He swept his shield out and sent Alanis’ blade from his hand. His opponent stumbled back, eyes wide. The man moved to raise his hands, but Mithaniel beat him back again with his shield and lashed out.
The sword ripped across Alanis’ gut. The man gave out a pained gasp, clutching at his stomach as blood splashed onto the snow. Another swing tore his throat. Alanis collapsed to his knees, clawing at his killer’s arms. He gazed up at Mithaniel with that bright, hate-filled eye.
Mithaniel took his head with one clean swing. T
he charred and wretched lump fell to the snow with a soft plop, and Alanis’ body crumpled in a pool of blood.
Nearby, shouts of battle turned to victory cries as the few remaining Iscara turned from the fighting. The Alliance gathered in the bloody field, screaming and cursing at their heels. Both factions of Iscara defeated, and Murken’s insurrection beaten, the Alliance had prevailed.
Cain fell to his hands and knees. They’d won! They’d actually won! Mithaniel stumbled toward Cain and slapped him on the back with a laugh. Despite Cain’s shock, he found himself laughing as well.
The fire beat hot against Iscarius’ face. It was a constant flux and flow between stinging cold air and blistering heat, but he barely noticed it in his state.
He knelt in the snow, armor and cloak and tunic laid out around him. Hair drawn up in the ceremonial tail and eyes closed to the glow of the fire, he muttered in time with its rhythm. It ebbed and waned, surged and crackled.
The flesh of a hare sizzled in the flames. He hoped this animal would be worthy enough; game was hard to come by in Erias’ winters. He reached out and felt what was once the animal’s life force, small and frenzied. Vaporous, in the scheme of things.
And there it was, the touch. The Forgotten’s hand reaching down for him. A tiny fragment of the whole. It scoured like a thousand mighty fires, cleansed like a driving rain, as pure as the fresh falling snow. Iscarius bathed in its intensity as his mind scrambled to make sense of the chaotic forces that ravaged through him.
The Forgotten had begun speaking to him less frequently now, but Iscarius still reached out every day, relishing these too few moments. He’d attempted to explain his defection from the Iscara with every chance he’d had, but the Forgotten was still furious. His righteous anger branded Iscarius’ heart.
Malecai refused to apologize for his defection. If that damned him, then so be it. He was the first, the strongest, the most loved of the Forgotten’s warriors, but he refused to let any of that stand in the way of what needed to be done.
The Shadow of War Page 12