The Shadow of War

by Bryan Gifford

  “Not yet,” Adriel muttered. Ada gazed up at her. “Where is King Vanthe?”

  Ada blinked up at her. “I heard the Acedens took Abraxas after days of hard fighting; apparently, Vanthe fled sometime after that. I believe that the king has sought safety somewhere behind secure walls. His rule is tentative at best with the resistance fighters still holding out and the Acedens no longer supporting him after his disappearance. He was likely counting on Iscarius for more support, but now he’s isolated and surrounded by enemies. He’s broken and hiding from the people he betrayed. And surely you. Word of you and your Vilant are everywhere now.”

  Adriel scowled, that look of pure loathing foreign and frightening on her usually demure face. “While his country burns down around him. That rotten, evil bastard.”

  Silas stepped up beside her. “You’re not thinking of going after him, are you?”

  “Yes, I am. And I will.” She gave him a toxic grin. “He is running from me as much as his people. He will be cowering in one of his palaces. Probably not one that I am familiar with, maybe even a newly built one.” She looked at Ada, considering. “You put me in a difficult position. I can’t take you prisoner; the people will tear you apart the moment you step through that gate. What to do with you?”

  “That’s an easy one,” Silas replied. “Give him what he wants. Kill him.”

  Adriel thought on this. “We could. But it would have to be here, otherwise that mob will do it for us.”

  ‘Then let’s get on with it.”

  “It could be a trap,” Isroc spoke up. He scanned the distant hills, half expecting to see an army of Acedens lying in wait. “They could be out there, waiting for us to try.”

  Adriel shook her head. “I don’t think they’d risk the Black Arrow like that.” She turned to Ada. “But how can you expect me to believe anything you’ve said? You killed two of my friends. This could just be a ruse to feed us false information.”

  “Would a man so hated as me come to you broken and weaponless if he didn’t intend to die? A few lies would be a poor trade for my head.”

  Adriel met the assassin’s gaze. “I will not kill you.”

  Silas’ fist gripped white around Sitare. He glared at the assassin until the man bowed his head once more. Isroc simply stood there, stunned. Why wasn’t he angry? Why couldn’t he feel anything?

  Adriel folded her arms beneath her breasts. “If you really defected from Iscarius, then you will need to prove your worth. You are supposedly Tarsha’s greatest assassin. You will come with me to find Vanthe.”

  “No!” Ada snapped, then shrank down even further. “No, please, you must kill me. How else can I hope to atone?”

  “That is the coward’s way out,” she said softly. “I think you have been falling for so long that you’ve begun to enjoy feeling the wind beneath you. No, I will not let you die, not until you have repaid back every life you have taken.”

  Ada stood, head still bowed. “Perhaps you are right. I am a coward, and I sought a coward’s end. I don’t know if there’s much good in me anymore, but I can try. Thank you, Adriel Ivanne. Thank you for this chance.” He gave a bow. “But I must beg of you, let me start with Malleus Taraus. The man is sick. Twisted. A lover of all things violent and base. A lover of—”

  “I know what he is. What he is capable of.”

  “Then let me kill him. Only then will I kill Iscarius.”

  Adriel’s eyes darkened, and she nodded slowly. “Go. Find Malleus Taraus. Kill him.”

  Ada gave another deep bow before turning away. He stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “Thank you, Warriors. You’ve helped me find a piece of myself again.” With that, he slipped over the hilltop.

  Silas watched him go, fists clenched and visibly shaking.

  Adriel shook her head. “I know what you’re both thinking. I’m sorry I took your revenge from you, but nothing good comes from that, trust me. He’ll be more use to us alive. He’ll find Malleus.”

  Isroc simply stared out over the hilltop. Could he ever forgive the man who had killed his father?

  Adriel waved for him to follow. She strode past Silas, who stood there staring daggers at Ada’s back. “Come, we have our own man who needs killing.”

  Iscarius watched the flames dance in his hand. Its hues of bright sapphire and deep indigo clashed with a brilliant intensity, his icy eyes sparkling in its glow. Oh, how he yearned to release his long-subdued power. Cain Taran would come to rue the day he cheated death.

  He snuffed the tiny fire out with a fist and sighed to himself. “Thank you for your insightful monologue, Commander Pontin.”

  The portly commander cut off mid-sentence and gave an awkward half-bow in his seat across the long table.

  “Commander Demorne,” Iscarius continued, “tell me… how goes the efforts in the Gray Lands?”

  Demorne sat rigid backed, arms out formally before him. He eyed the other leaders before answering. “We’ve lost the Gray Lands. A few of the camps managed to hold for a time, but the Vilant numbers are vast and growing every day. Many of the former slaves are taking up arms against us.”

  Iscarius nodded. “Do not underestimate a man’s passion when his freedom is at stake.”

  “Perhaps we can release a few slaves as a gesture of goodwill. That might buy us some time while we continue with our plans.”

  “We have come too far to have a change of heart. Besides, we need them if we are to complete our defenses on schedule.” Many of his men hated the idea of slavery, and hated themselves for allowing it, but they understood their usefulness. Iscarius’ promise that all slaves would be freed after the war had quieted their complaints.

  He had once hated the idea of slavery as well, but it had eventually become an easy choice. Take prisoners of war, or risk losing hundreds of years of progress. The means mattered not when the end was at stake.

  “I trust that you will mount an offensive, soon?”

  Demorne nodded. “Yes, my lord, I have men moving into position and awaiting my orders. But we may not have a large enough force to take back all our lost territory. With most of our army moving east, we are in danger of losing any footing we’ve gained.”

  “The Alliance will crumble once Cain Taran is out of the way. They are too divided and weak to stand against us. So long as you keep your boot on their necks, they will not be able to stand.”

  “Yes, my lord. But as such, we are spread thin. Dangerously so. Our garrisons in Inveira and Erias are but a skeleton force. Our armies in Charun and Meres face rebellion from within. Even here in Kaanos, we are facing constant rebel attacks. If—”

  “And you are going to ask if I will provide you with more men. Again, my answer is no. You know that they have a purpose elsewhere. I will not jeopardize our plans so that you can recover from your ineptitude. You are generally a smart man, Commander Demorne. I trust you will devise a way to handle the rebels.”

  Demorne cleared his throat, again sparing a glance for the other leaders. “Your will be done, my lord.”

  Iscarius waved a hand. “You question me. That is good. Everyone else at this table lacks the spine. Now, what of our errant king?”

  “We are still unable to find King Vanthe. He has no power now that both sides want him dead; it is only a matter of time before his own people kill him. He has outlived his usefulness.”

  Iscarius thought on this. He’d had Vanthe under his thumb for years. To think the man finally grew a heart and squirmed out from under him… it was troubling. First Mithaniel, then Ada Arillius, now Vanthe. Not to mention hundreds of defected Acedens. It was beginning to set a very troubling precedent.

  “Friends,” he addressed to everyone in the palace’s council chamber. “It is clear to me that we must pursue our final plan now more than ever. We must consolidate our forces and prepare for the end.” He stood and held out his arms.

  “Cain Taran will come to us, and with his death, we shall at last rid the shadow from our world. Tarsha will praise our na
mes and sing songs in our honor for a thousand years and more. We will bring the Iscara Turganoth, and we will have our peace!”

  The commanders stood, cheering and clapping and clinking goblets. “A new age! A new reign!”

  But peace would come with a price. The heart of Cain Taran.

  To Drive Out the Rats

  Lightning seared by Cain’s face. The flashes briefly illuminated the surrounding trees as he threw Ceerocai into another attack. Every strike smashed into him like a hammer, rattling every bone. Wind. Cain jumped aside, and the blast of air roared off through the trees.

  Mithaniel smirked, palm out before him. “Watch out for surprises. Iscarius won’t play fair.”

  Cain grunted, trying to work feeling back into his arms and hands. He felt quit thoroughly battered. “How can you switch attacks so fast? I was expecting more lightning.”

  Small arcs of lightning crackled between Mithaniel’s fingers to briefly light his face in the pitch dark. “It takes a lot of energy to keep it going; air is all around us so it’s much easier to manage. We each tend to specialize in something: Alanis with fire, Kamael with light, Eritha with wind. Iscarius is the strongest with lightning, he’ll use it to hold you back while he breaks you down with stronger attacks.”

  “Can’t I just wait the fight out, buy myself time while he wears himself out like Alanis did?”

  Mithaniel laughed. “Malecai’s not an idiot. He’ll fight sword to sword, then surprise.” He accentuated the last bit with another bolt of lightning.

  Cain blocked this and sent the cracking fingers curling away. The hairs on his arms and head rose with each attack. He cut through another blast and swung. Mithaniel deflected this and slammed a fist of wind into Cain’s chest. He shot back and rolled across the rocks.

  “Thank you for that lesson.” Cain climbed to his feet, rubbing his chest.

  “Anytime. I enjoy knocking you around a bit.”

  “Very funny. But I need to know how to fight Iscarius. He killed me last time. Somehow, I don’t think I’ll get a third chance if I mess this up again.”

  “We’ll need to practice more.” Mithaniel frowned. “A lot more.”

  Cain took up a defensive stance. He needed to keep himself busy; those screams were endless, howling their keening death notes beyond the shadows. He needed something to focus on or he’d risk losing himself to this place. Again. “You were Malecai’s friend. I need to know everything I can about him, what makes him tick, why he’s doing all of this. Knowing how he fights is only half the battle.”

  The two met with a peal of metal.

  Mithaniel deflected an attack, kicked Cain back, and hurled a ball of wind into him. Cain flailed back and slid to a stop inches from a tree’s vicious thorns. Mithaniel’s sword tapped his neck. “Malecai will stop at nothing until the world is his. You must fight with everything you have if you want to even have the faintest hope of winning.” He stepped back and led Cain to their nearby camp.

  “Malecai wants peace just as much as we do. That’s why I followed him for so many centuries. He had good intentions once, but the slavery, bribing, manipulating, murdering… he’s lost his way. He’s led the world to its destruction.”

  So Malecai hadn’t lied to him, back in Brunein. He really did want peace. “So why spend decades, centuries even, building an army if he wants peace so bad?”

  “He believed that once he killed Abaddon the world would rip itself apart. He felt that the only thing keeping people from tearing out each other’s throats was their united fight against a greater enemy. If that enemy were to be suddenly removed… well, I’m inclined to agree with him. Humans certainly seem to have an aversion to peace.”

  “We haven’t even fought each other in over four hundred years; most people have forgotten that there was even a time before Abaddon. It’s Malecai who brought the killing back.”

  “And thus, the dilemma. Either way, Malecai felt it necessary to prepare an army to keep the peace. Now, I think he believes the only way to keep the peace is by uniting Tarsha under his hand. I don’t know. Maybe he’s just gotten drunk with power.”

  “So, an empire? We haven’t had one of those since High King Aurel back in the Age of Gold.” He had to silently thank Aren for that bit of information. His friend had always had a fondness for the histories.

  “Ah, you know your history, I see. And was his reign and his sons’ reigns so bad?”

  Cain thought on this. “No, I suppose not. Not until the rebellions.”

  “And so, people had peace, albeit not perfect, but it was still peace. Until the people themselves picked up their swords and plunged the world back into chaos.” Mithaniel raised his weapon, inviting Cain to another bout.

  Cain rubbed his chest again but readied Ceerocai. Lightning sizzled across their camp. “So, his Acedens. They believe in his idea of peace? That’s why they fight for him?”

  Mithaniel blocked a downward strike and jumped back. “More or less. Some fight for their own greed or power.” He swiped away another attack. “Most believe that they’re doing the right thing, that unification is the only way to peace.”

  Cain leapt by a surge of wind. “But what does it accomplish? We had an Alliance.”

  “And what happened to it? The Alliance crumpled not months after its inception and Malecai barely did anything to hasten its demise. A strong alliance would have held firm in the face of new threats.”

  That was a valid point, unfortunately. “How did one Iscara manage to convince so many people to overthrow their governments and fight for him against their own countrymen?”

  Mithaniel frowned at this. “That’s one of the mysteries, I suppose. Hundreds of years of planning can accomplish a lot. Malecai gained the ear of Inveira’s king, and from there, we had Inveira itself.” He blocked Cain’s attack and pushed him back. “We controlled the throne through several of his descendants down to King Branim and used our influence to create the first Acedens. It was a gradual process—get a man to believe in something, and he’ll pass down his passion to his children and his children’s children. We had a message of unity, an idea that the world could come together in harmony. I suppose we were the New Alliance before there was a New Alliance. Throw in our mining of cerebreum—the world’s most valuable commodity—and our enslavement of anyone who stood against us, and we had the perfect breeding ground for our rebellion to prosper. From there, it was a relatively simple matter to spread our influence.”

  Cain thought he understood, but he just couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that people would willingly fight each other. Then again, he’d killed men himself. Thousands, tens of thousands.

  He shook his head, trying to shake off the indistinct memories of the Acedens he’d slaughtered in Ekran. Their screams. So horrible, so helpless. Was that the Faeran, or his mind?

  He believed in his own cause and was willing to kill for it. Could he blame the Acedens for their own beliefs? Yes, he could. They condoned slavery, murder, wanton destruction. He refused to feel guilty for trying to stop all of it.

  There was still one thing Cain didn’t quite understand. “Why Ceerocai? Why me? Malecai killed Abaddon, ended the arzecs and andreds. He all but controls Tarsha now. Why does he still want me?”

  Mithaniel sighed. “I think you know why.”

  Cain looked down at Ceerocai, warm and familiar in his hands. Unfortunately, he did know. He’d known since Ekran. The beast. The dark flames, the terrible mass slaughter of so many people.

  Cain knew what he was.

  That knowledge didn’t make this any easier. He knew he’d have to kill Iscarius. After that, well…

  “Come,” Mithaniel said, readying his sword. “You asked me to train you for your fight against Iscarius. We’ve a long way to go yet.”

  Cain shook off his thoughts. There would be time later to confront what he was, what he’d have to do. For now, he needed to prepare for the end.

  He shot across the path, Ceerocai high, and met Mithanie
l in a crash of metal.

  The rain drove down like nails, sharpened by the cold morning. Silas sighed and tugged his sodden cloak about him. The rain fit his mood. Cold and gray.

  He’d considered running away. He was no good here. He should be south—finding Cain, fighting. Anything but this. The war was back home in Kaanos. Ada confirmed that himself. And that bloody man was another matter.

  He looked around the archway. Dozens of Vilant huddled here in the entrance way of the southern wall, the rain spilling down the stones to form a river that washed about their boots. Most of the men and women contented themselves with bundling away in their cloaks but a few stood with heads together, their whispers lost beneath the pounding of the rain. Isroc leaned against the wall nearby. The man shrunk inside his cape and stared hard at the mud at his feet.

  Silas sank back against the cold bricks. He should have killed Ada when he had the chance. So why didn’t he do it? He’d rushed to stop Isroc instead. Seeing his usually collected and calculating friend in that state—twisted with sheer rage and sorrow—had nearly broken Silas. Instead of wanting to kill Ada, he’d turned to help his friend.

  He’d let his one chance for vengeance slip through his hands. He didn’t believe Ada’s sob story, but watching him beg for death, practically groveling for it… well, he didn’t feel sorry. He just couldn’t plunge a knife through a man on his knees.

  Silas stepped toward the edge of the archway just shy of the falling rain. Ahead, a packhorse trod through the mud toward the gate, carrying Adriel and a pannier of tarp-covered bags. The woman lowered her hood as she rode under the wall, her golden locks matted and darkened with rain. Every Vilant hailed her with proud salutes. Silas still had to get used to that.

  Shara Dralmond stepped up beside Adriel’s horse and the two exchanged whispers. Silas edged closer to listen.

  “…thrown a few of them in the dungeons,” Shara was saying. “Three have already admitted to being Aceden spies.”