The Shadow of War

by Bryan Gifford

  Another thought surfaced. “What do you know of this place?”

  “Little more than you, I’m sure.”

  Was that sarcasm again? “Well, I spoke to an arzec, back after the attack on Abraxas. I assume you know some of them can talk? Anyways, it said some strange things, but I pushed it out of my mind at the time. It said that it used to be someone, once. What does that mean?”

  Mithaniel sighed and gently pulled the chain to stop Cain. “You know the truth, deep down. The arzecs, the andreds… were people. How else do you think Abaddon could keep his war going for four hundred years?”

  Cain swallowed his disgust. The thought had been in the back of his mind for some time but hearing it didn’t make it any easier.

  Mithaniel continued. “Abaddon took the dead or dying and twisted them to his will. The more he killed, the more his army grew. The more humans fought back, the faster he’d win his genocide.”

  “But Abaddon is dead. What happened to the arzecs, then? We haven’t seen any signs of them.”

  Mithaniel glanced around them. “Oh, believe me, they are here. The andreds returned to corpses after their master’s death, but the arzecs—who were still living when they were transformed—returned to Amon Karash.”

  “So, if they’re people, or were, couldn’t they change back now that he’s dead?”

  “The change cannot be undone. They are cursed forever, forsaken to wander this place until Abaddon returns and gives them purpose anew.”

  Cain suppressed a shiver. “How can we fight them? If Abaddon is dead, surely that means there won’t be any new ones. We can march on Amon Karash, find them all and end their suffering.”

  “Perhaps. Unless Abaddon returns.” Mithaniel’s bright eyes studied him for a moment. “Still, the only way to be sure is to burn the bodies of your dead. Why do you think Tarsha has cremated its fallen since the start of the war? It’s the only way to stop Abaddon’s hand from reaching out and taking everything.”

  Cain turned and continued down the path, mind racing. Would they ever see an end to the fighting? Even if they defeat Iscarius, they would still have to deal with Abaddon’s arzecs. How long would they stay in Amon Karash before they got hungry?

  “Why did you come here?” Mithaniel asked after a time. “There would have been sunlight in Heiven Sul, at the least. Or we could have made for Nimithy Valley, avoided both, and the Faeran. You wouldn’t have needed any chains to get me to go—”

  “No,” Cain snapped. “It had to be Amon Karash.” He jerked the chain and pulled Mithaniel toward the end of the ravine. “The Acedens will be looking for me. I had to throw them off my trail; this was the last place they would have looked, the last place any sane person would go. We cross this, cross the Faeran, and we’re safe in Charun.”

  “Do you really think Charun will be any different from the rest of Tarsha?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know as well as I do that Iscarius won’t stop at Inveira and Erias.”

  “Nowhere is safe. But we don’t have a choice, this is our only option.”

  “What of your friends? Did you not think they’d return to Seraphel?”

  “It’s not my friends Iscarius means to kill. It’s me. It’s always been just me. I know that now. So long as I am alone and the Acedens are hunting me, then my friends will be safe.”

  “So… that’s why you let them go, why you stayed at Seraphel. Well, your friends will never be safe. Iscarius raised a new throne over Tarsha, a seat of flames. He will not stop until the world is ash. What makes you think he will stop just because you are dead?”

  Cain paused, but a sound cut him short.

  The crash of cascading rocks thundered in the emptiness.

  “That can’t be good,” Mithaniel groaned.

  Silas’ head thumped against the iron bars. He groaned and pried his eyes open from a restless sleep. He was fortunate he had a hard head, he’d probably been hitting those bars for hours.

  He sat up, his body protesting every movement. Sunlight leaked through the linen tarp that covered his cage. The caged wagon was little more than a box of iron and wood, barely tall enough for him to crouch. Still, he supposed he should be thankful as it kept away the bite of the winter winds. Since he was at it, he might as well be thankful for the straw in the wagon’s bottom; it made for a warm bed, even if he woke up itchy and covered in bug bites. He had a bucket of dusty water, bowls of some sort of partially edible mush, and another bucket to piss in. Still, it could have been worse. For once in a very long time, he didn’t feel angry.

  He was just happy to be alive. Or at least that’s what he kept telling himself.

  He kicked at the mass of hay and rags across from him. Isroc stirred and rolled to his side. His hands tied behind his back made for an awkward position as he curled around to face Silas.

  Silas wrapped his hands around a bar to feel the vibrations as the wagon bucked and bounced along. “I think we’ve come to a road.” Isroc grunted in response. “They stopped yesterday in a town—Arkon, from what I could overhear. It sounded like they were going to pick up more prisoners or something. But the garrison was wiped out.” He attempted a frail smile. “Adriel’s out there, Isroc.” His friend said nothing.

  Silas watched the occasional faint shadow of a tree cross the canvas. Men chatted softly beyond the tarp, their boots scraping against brick. “We’re heading east. The way the light hits this cover, I’d say we’ve been going east for a few days now.”

  He paused as a group of horsemen rode by. “If I remember the map Adriel had, we’re probably on Raedan’s Road. If we keep east, we’ll hit Aurel’s Crown. From there, maybe—”

  Isroc rolled over and faced the other side of the cage. Silas swallowed his despair. He hadn’t gotten a word out of the man since they’d been taken prisoner. Two weeks, and Isroc was still a broken, moping wretch. Still, Silas couldn’t blame him.

  Silas slumped back and twisted in his bindings. He tried to be optimistic, tried to see good in this shit situation. But it was no use. The panic, the hopelessness, threatened to surge up again. To ravage and consume. Breathe. Just breathe. The cramped quarters, the scratchy hay, the darkness, it was easy to get a little crazy. He had to close his eyes, breathe, and listen.

  He heard the conversations of marching Acedens, their laughter and songs. The clopping of horses’ hooves. The rustle of trees. The occasional bird’s call.

  He seemed to smell even more. Despite his own sweat and the reek from the bucket nearby, he smelled the mustiness of the hay, the sour stink of Isroc and himself. Beneath it all, he thought he could smell the pressing winter air, crisp and chilling. The occasional draft under the tarp was refreshing in the suppressive staleness of the cage.

  But it was always there. The staleness. The emptiness. The chains and bars. He felt like a caged animal. A caged animal ready to break. He had to get out of here! He had to…

  “Isroc,” he muttered. His friend said nothing, of course. “Isroc.” He kicked at him across the short span. Isroc shrugged him off and dug his face deeper into the straw.

  Silas sank back against the bars, choking back that familiar sting of tears. “What are we going to do?”

  Cain slid down a rocky hillside, pausing to listen in the dark. A cloud of dirt kicked up as Mithaniel skidded to a stop beside him.

  “Hear anything?”

  Cain shook his head. “Not in a few hours, anyways. They’ve been on our tail for days now. What are they waiting for?”

  “They prefer to hunt in packs,” Mithaniel whispered.

  So, the arzecs were gathering in numbers. Great. “Come on.” He tugged on the chain and led Mithaniel into a gulley.

  Three days had passed since they’d first heard the arzecs. Three days of running and hiding. Growls and hisses trailed their steps. Leathery feet scuffed against stone. Three days without seeing a single creature. Only their constant, ravening cries.

  They’d spent the days aimlessly windi
ng through mazes of gullies and hills, and their nights cowering in damp holes like rabbits tossed into a wolf’s den.

  Cain shuffled along, eyes red and weighty with lack of sleep. His heart thumped against his ribs. Every rustling shrub and falling pebble sent the hair on his neck straight up.

  “How do you know where you’re going?” Mithaniel whispered after a time. “For all you know they could be chasing us in circles.”

  “And I suppose you know your way around?”

  “I think I could find the way if you’d just give me the chance.” The man watched him as they went, his green eyes almost glowing in the dark. “You have to trust me.”

  “And why would I do that?” Cain whispered back.

  “Damn it, man! You can’t keep me chained like this. There’s arzecs around every corner and you’re dangling me behind you like a nice, juicy steak.”

  “You said you could break out of those chains as if they were twine.”

  Mithaniel sighed. “Has anyone ever told you how irritating you are?”

  “All the time.” They passed between two large boulders, roots and limbs dangling overhead.

  “Wait!” Mithaniel slowed to a stop, eyes gazing up at the boulders. “We’ve been here before…”

  “What? How do you know?”

  “Those boulders. We passed them yesterday.”

  “Are you saying we’re lost?”

  “I’m saying I don’t know where we are.”

  Cain groaned. “Maybe we can backtrack and find a different trail.”

  “Not with those arzecs out there somewhere.”

  Cain suppressed a curse and scanned the dark. It was difficult to tell, but the black stones seemed smashed together, almost fused into one great piece of art. They looked painfully familiar.

  He knew he wouldn’t be able to see anything out there, but he knew the valley peaks were somewhere above. He thought he could almost feel the arzecs up there. Waiting, plotting.

  He saw the fangs before he heard the roar. A weight crashed into him and dragged him to the dirt. Yellow fangs bared for his face, a horrible cry rattling from a black throat.

  Cain wrenched his head to the side and the arzec recoiled back from the dirt and hissed, lashing its forked tongue. He freed an arm from under the creature and clutched its leathery wrist. He twisted and jerked the thing off him, reaching for Ceerocai.

  The breath shot from his lungs. His head struck a boulder. He blinked away the pain to see Mithaniel twirling his chain about him like a whip, fending off clawing shadows. “My sword! My shield!”

  Cain rose from the dirt and grabbed for the bastard sword at his belt. An arzec rushed at him from the dark, its eyeless face locked on him. Cain managed to draw the sword from its scabbard and drove it through the creature’s ribs as it leapt for him. It died with a shudder.

  An arzec crashed into him and slammed him back against the gulley wall. Cain barely managed to punch its slab-like face as he shook the spots from his vision. The creature bit and clawed but Cain held back its flailing arms and caught a claw. He yanked the beast away enough to roll aside, but the creature scrabbled across the wall, screeching as it slammed him to the ground. The arzec bellowed into his face—hot breath stinging and slaver slimy. Cain threw out an arm in defense and the arzec bit down, ripping flesh. Cain freed his dagger from his belt and plunged it through the beast’s neck.

  He scrambled from under the body and staggered toward the sword abandoned in a body.

  An arzec leapt at him from behind, but not before he’d unbuckled the shield at his back. He spun and slammed the shield into the creature, sending it back into the darkness. He recovered the sword and tossed it to Mithaniel.

  The Iscara caught it and sliced open his attacker in one clean motion. He then pulled on his chain wrapped around an arzec, breaking its neck. He snapped the links like twine and snatched his shield from the air.

  Cain drew Ceerocai with a hum of metal. “How many more of them are there?” Arzecs crept out of the shadows, tongues flicking to taste their prey.

  Mithaniel waved his sword out in frantic, warding arcs. Arzecs hesitantly approached, hissing and snapping at him. “I don’t know! All of Amon Karash could be descending upon us and we wouldn’t know until they were at our throats.”

  “We’ll fight them here.” He cut down an attacking arzec. The others backed away. “I will not be the prey.”

  Mithaniel moved back to his side and the two faced out over the growing horde.

  Cain gave a few testing strikes, scaring the creatures back for a moment. They looked like any he had fought and killed before—twisted humanoid forms with black or gray flesh drawn taught like leather, serpentine tongues hanging from massive maws that filled half their eyeless faces. However, many of these bore no weapons or armor. He’d never seen the creatures without their Andred-forged iron. They looked pitiable. Almost.

  They were little more than walking skeletons, ghouls haunting the shadows. Their bones made sharp shapes against their membranous skin. Their ribs protruded against caved chests. Their feet—or talons—were worn raw and bloody. It was hard to imagine that these things could have once been humans.

  Distant howls pulled him from his thoughts. He clenched his head and stumbled after Mithaniel who cut a path through the surrounding creatures.

  The howls sounded again, this time not so distant. Others picked up the call. Behind, ahead, up, down. They were everywhere, their cries echoing in the infernal blackness.

  At Death’s Gate

  Impossible. That was the only word she could make herself think. It was impossible. King Vanthe was a pitiless, selfish man, but he would never do something like this. And yet…

  Adriel ground her teeth so fiercely that the men and women riding nearby cast her worried glances. She flicked her reins and sent her gray mare into a faster trot. She was a fine horse, with broad withers and strong legs to match any courser, once likely to have carried an Aceden officer. Those strong legs now carried Adriel over the rugged hills of Nimithy Valley.

  A dozen Vilant trailed behind her, their eyes locked on the south horizon with its shades of reds and golds. There was anger in their eyes, but also fear.

  She couldn’t blame them. Their people, no—their brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers—herded like animals. Worked like animals. Butchered like animals. It was enough to make the bravest fool cower in a corner. To know that kind of horror existed in the world…

  “We’re almost there,” a voice said, stirring her from her dark thoughts. She turned to a woman trotting beside her. “Over the next few hills.”

  “And you’re sure you weren’t spotted, Maren?”

  The woman made a cross face but recovered quickly. Some of them still had to get used to her being their leader, Adriel figured. “I wouldn’t have made it back to you if I had been. The Acedens seem to think they own the world already, they wouldn’t notice an arzec eating their bowels for breakfast.” She chuckled, the sharp edges of her face softening for a moment.

  “I would not laugh, Maren,” a woman on the scout’s other side said. “They may not be the fools you think them to be. They conquered Tarsha after all.”

  With her big green eyes, her fine black braid, and her smooth porcelain skin, Kari seemed a frail thing atop her massive courser, yet she commanded her mount with effortless nudges and her chin in the air. Dresses were fine and all, but Adriel still didn’t understand why the woman insisted on wearing one, even if it was stained and tattered.

  “They couldn’t conquer your bed, Kari, and that’s saying something.” Maren squinted at the other woman and Kari’s big eyes widened, scandalized. She looked on the verge of replying, but Adriel cut her short.

  “You’re here with me because you have proven to be our finest fighters. Act like it. Whatever lies over those hills, keep your blades at hand.”

  That seemed to do the trick. The banter stopped and the fearful looks abated for a time. They continued in silence, up and down the
hills, the sky overhead deepening to a bloody red.

  Maren’s voice cracked the silence. “There.” She yanked her reins and steered her horse away from the column. The others followed her up the slope of a hill and into a cluster of live oaks, their rippling green leaves a welcome sight in the dead and brown lands.

  Vilant moved through the trees toward them, their patchwork leathers and linens rustling in the quiet.

  Adriel slowed her horse to a stop and swung out of her saddle, handing the reins to one of her men. The company’s leader approached with a genteel bow, his scale armor creaking.

  “I must see it for myself, Espen,” Adriel said as he opened his mouth. He frowned behind his pointed beard.

  “Of course, right away, Commander Ivanne.”

  Maren jogged up beside her and scrubbed a hand over her short, dark hair. She flashed a nervous look at Kari and waved for the woman to follow. The three crossed the hilltop, veiled by the thick clustering of trees.

  Adriel could see it between the trees. It was possible after all.

  What was once green hills and rolling fields was now a blemish of gray stone, a colossal wall that bound the horizons together. Catapults and ballista lined its great length of battlements, all pointed north over the hills toward Nimithy Valley. Distant dots crisscrossed the top of the wall, sentries and soldiers and workers.

  The hills before the mighty wall paled in comparison, looking little more than anthills at its feet. They were well-trampled by wagons, boots, and hooves, muddied and pitted by fresh rainfall. Stumps dotted the span, a mile of felled woods that nearly reached their hill. A brick road led from the nearby mouth of the valley and collected with two more from the west and east to meet at the wall’s barbican. Its gates were a gaping thing, spanning nearly to the peak of the crenels, of thick paneled wood and plated and studded with iron.