The Shadow of War

by Bryan Gifford

  The black armor of sentries didn’t surprise him, of course. Acedens roamed the streets and rooftops with weapons in hand, but at this distance they looked little more than army ants patrolling their mound.

  Mithaniel stepped up beside him. “We don’t have any other options. We need supplies, badly.”

  Cain knelt beside his rucksack. “Going into that place is as good as stretching our necks out on the headsman’s block. Who knows how many Acedens are down there.”

  “What do you propose we do then? We’re almost out of food.”

  “We can find another town or village. Our provisions will last another few days if we’re careful.”

  “This is the only major city on the Setlon until Grandin, and that’s a good week south. There are small towns and villages along the way, but the Acedens have likely cleaned out every larder from Ramoch to Nimithy Valley. This is our only chance to resupply. Besides, we have to cross the Setlon eventually.”

  Cain sighed and stood, shouldering his rucksack. It did feel all too light. “Alright. We’ll buy what food we can and cross as quickly as possible. I hope you have more coppers than I do.”

  Mithaniel freed his coin purse from his cloak with a satisfying clink of metal. “We can buy a feast for an army,” he grinned. “I could go for a good roast. If I have to eat one more bite of tack bread I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Good, then we can buy horses while we’re here.”

  Mithaniel grunted. “We might travel faster on horseback, but we won’t be able to hide as well, and this country is teeming with Acedens.”

  Cain wanted to get to Kaanos as quickly as possible, but unfortunately, Mithaniel made sense. Horses were difficult to hide in a pinch, and two military-aged men on horseback would draw too much attention. “Fine. Let’s get on with this.”

  Mithaniel started toward the city. “My mouth is watering just thinking about that roast.”

  Cain peered over his shoulder to the nearby Faeran before joining him on the road. It was well into the morning, long after the Acedens would have begun letting trade into the city, but a steady stream of people still flowed by. Old men and women pulled carts filled with barrels and crates. Women and children bustled along, carrying packs and prodding livestock. The occasional well-off merchant rolled by on a horse-drawn carriage. To most people, it probably didn’t matter who controlled Charun; they still needed to eat, after all.

  Cain threw up his hood and cast a glance at Mithaniel. The man had raised his hood and wrapped his cloak tight. Good. White hair was not exactly common, let alone on a face free of wrinkles. That was forgetting his Iscara armor, its midnight black plate enameled with the scarlet serpent and sword of Abaddon.

  As if reading his mind, Mithaniel said, “There won’t be any Iscara here, and there are few enough who would recognize me besides. Iscarius likely doesn’t know about my defecting. So, if we are found out, we may be able to play it to our advantage. Still, better to be safe.”

  “Just don’t let it come to that. We need every advantage we can get. Iscarius may be trying to lure me into a trap, but he doesn’t know where I am, and I don’t intend to strike until I’m ready.”

  Mithaniel nodded and turned his pale eyes to the city. The merchants set a decent pace despite the mud, and soon, they approached the first of Brandor’s buildings. Acedens lined the mouth of the cobble road, swathed in gray cloaks and clutching spears. They stopped merchants with carts and wagons to peer under the coverings and examine the contents, and searched the occasional passerby with a rucksack, but they mostly relegated themselves to distrustful glares.

  Cain and Mithaniel slipped past the guards with the knot of merchants and continued down the street. Any glance in their hoods would have shown that they didn’t fit in with the elderly and the women, but fortunately the drizzling rain had not relented, helping them look at home in the sea of hoods and capes.

  Despite the cold and rain, the streets hummed with life. Wizened old men and women bustled about and merchants shouted their wares. Children weaved through the crowds, playing with sticks or splashing in puddles.

  The occasional man sauntered by, hard eyes and swordsman’s gaits clearly marking them for off-duty soldiers. Many gathered in taverns or under awnings and tents to gamble or drink or share laughs. For every man off duty, ten held their posts, armed and armored and watching the crowds.

  “I have to see to something,” Mithaniel informed Cain as he eyed a group of Acedens huddled in the doorway of an inn.

  Cain thought he could trust the Iscara now, but that didn’t mean he was stupid. “I’m coming with you.”

  Mithaniel smirked. “This way then.”

  The two worked through the crowd and followed the grid-like roads deeper into the city. The cobble beneath their feet formed tiny rivulets of rainwater and darker mirk. Mangy dogs and cats roamed the streets, picking through refuse or nosing through the channels.

  They turned a few more corners and came to a hill overlooking most of the city. Mithaniel led Cain up the steps and down the road of lofty houses before pausing at a door.

  He raised his hand to knock but stopped, then lowered his hood. Gathering his hair back, he tied it in a quick tail that dangled past his shoulders. He knocked on the door, one quick rap followed by two harder knocks and two short ones.

  Barely a breath later and the door flung open. A wrinkled man in gray robes met them with a deep bow. He flashed a glance at Cain and then into the street for good measure before offering another bow. “My lord Iscara,” he began in a weedy voice, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

  Mithaniel led Cain past the man and into the entryway. “We won’t be long, Odum. I believe you have my falcon?”

  Odum made another bow. “Yes, up the stairs with the other birds, if you will follow me. But I must warn you, she did not bring a message. I hope she wasn’t intercepted. That would be most disastrous indeed.” He guided them down a narrow hallway to a broad staircase dominating a plush sitting room.

  “I did not send a message this time. I must remain hidden for the task at hand.”

  “Yes, of course.” Odum led them up the stairs and gestured to a door at the far end of the hallway. “I had to keep her with the pigeons, I’m afraid, I’ve been receiving far more messages than usual over the last few weeks.”

  Mithaniel exchanged a glance with Cain. “Have you read any of them?”

  Odum led them past several rooms, each door muffling the cooing of pigeons. “Any that do not carry the red ribbon, of course. I read what I can, or what I can decipher anyway. It is my duty after all.”

  “And you have not raised suspicions? A good many more birds coming to your coops would arouse suspicion in all but the most indolent.”

  The old man gave another bow. “I have been careful, lord Iscara; I am but a humble pigeon keeper, after all. But I have had a few patrons inquire. Those that do not voice their interest are the ones that keep me watchful. Some Acedens have taken up to guarding my home, I can’t even use the privy without them knowing about it. And as an old man…” He paused with another bow. “Not that I complain, of course, I am grateful for the protection, what with all the resistance fighters still lurking about.”

  Mithaniel answered with a dip of his head as they reached the final door. “We have no doubt that you are cautious. Your post requires it. You have served us well for many years.”

  “I only live to serve,” Odum replied with another bow. “She is here,” he said as he unlocked a large iron bolt and padlock. They entered a small room, plainly furnished with shelves and benches. Pigeon coops filled the walls, countless of the birds flapping and cooing as Odum entered. Mithaniel’s gyrfalcon, Sylva, turned in her cage and beat her wings as he approached.

  Odum retrieved a sturdy leather glove from a bench and opened the cage, shooing away a red-tailed hawk. He plucked the gyrfalcon from her perch and handed her to her owner. Mithaniel stroked Sylva’s head as she gave a satisfied screech.
/>   “What did those messages say?”

  Odum threw another quick glimpse at Cain as if trying to see under his hood. “A good many things, lord Iscara. Most were reports on supplies and provisions, troop movements and the like. Meres has been taken and their king slain, though I’m sure you already knew that. Dozens of Meresi ships have escaped to Kaanos however, though we will find them soon.”

  “What about the troop movements, where are they going? How many?”

  “Pardon, my lord Iscara, but am I being tested? Surely you know where your troops are going?” He bent himself with a quick bow. “I mean no disrespect, of course.”

  “What about the troop movements, Odum?” Mithaniel’s voice turned even harder.

  The spindly man offered another bow for good measure. “Of course, yes… it seems that over a quarter of the army has moved into the south, and they’ve taken most of the slave caravans with them.” Odum cast a look around the room, eyes growing anxious. “Markadesh has been mentioned, though the reason for their gathering hasn’t been revealed, at least through my channels.”

  “Markadesh… I’ve heard whispers of the place. Is Iscarius gathering his forces there?”

  Odum’s wrinkled forehead creased further as he raised a brow. He plucked at his robe once more and gazed around the room. His eyes lingered on the table beside him. Candles dotted the small tabletop, a half-drained goblet, a quill and jar of ink and a box of sand. And a knife.

  “I cannot say, I haven’t heard the place mentioned often, and I have served lord Iscarius for over forty years.”

  “Is there anything you can tell me about Markadesh?”

  “Are you here because I know about Markadesh? Are you here to kill me?” He bowed and remained bent. “I’ve already been punished for it, see?” He held out his left hand where a finger was missing. “I promise I didn’t see a red ribbon. I didn’t know it was to remain a secret! Please, please, I’ve been a faithful servant.”

  “Tell me! Tell me what you know!”

  Odum leapt for the table and the knife. Mithaniel threw out a hand, hurling the man back with a sudden clap of air. The old man crashed into a cage, throwing the thing over as he dropped to the floor.

  “Help me bind him!” Mithaniel yanked off the man’s wide leather belt and secured his hands behind his back. Cain ripped a strip from the hem of the man’s robe and stuffed it in his mouth. Mithaniel fastened his legs together at the ankles with a nearby rope.

  Odum groaned and shook his head, struggling feebly as they finished.

  “That went well,” Cain grunted as he started to search the room.

  “You won’t find any messages. He’s converted them into another cipher and burned the originals. Our only chance to find out more is in there,” he tapped Odum’s forehead with a finger, and the man gave a muffled gasp.

  “You were one of Malecai’s confidants. Surely you know his ciphers?”

  “Some of them, yes. But many of these messages will exchange hands several times, each with a different code. It would take too long for us to search through all of this and find the ones I know.”

  Cain cursed. “He said this place is watched. The Acedens likely know what’s happened already or will soon. We’ll have to make this quick.” Cain knelt beside Odum and unsheathed his knife.

  “That will take too long. Here, help me with him. We can at least buy ourselves some time.” Mithaniel wrapped his arms around Odum’s legs, who now shouted into his rags.

  The two men carried him out into the hall and to a door at the end. “In here. It’s a closet.”

  They threw him into the tiny, dark room with a thud. Mithaniel pulled dusty sheets from a shelf and threw them over the man, tying them around him until he was a cocoon of moth-eaten blankets. Mithaniel shut the door on the man’s muffled wails.

  “They’ll come check on him soon. We have to go.” He retrieved his bird and waved Cain for the stairs.

  Cain grabbed his arm. “The back door. We can slip into an alley.”

  “No, we were watched coming in. Going out the back will look too suspicious.” He paused to throw on his hood before leading Cain out of the house and into the drizzling rain. He tossed his arm and sent Sylva flying off into the gray afternoon.

  They scanned the streets and buildings for any sign of watchers. The street was empty. They descended the hill and joined a group of farmers at the head of the road and followed them toward the markets.

  Cain turned to Mithaniel with a whisper. “Who was that man and how did you know your bird would be with him?”

  “He’s a spymaster. As well as collecting and distributing encrypted messages, he also runs a network of eyes and ears that gather information on the Alliance. Spies didn’t have much use in the Four Hundred Year War, but Iscarius saw their potential. There are hundreds of them all over Tarsha. Odum was a pigeon handler, so it seemed a natural fit to acquire his services.”

  “So, every pigeon he sent out for the Alliance, Iscarius knew about.”

  “More than just him. Like I said, there are hundreds more.”

  Cain clenched his fists. “Iscarius has been… thorough.”

  They continued down the road in silence for a time. “What’s Markadesh?” Cain asked. “Odum grew nervous the moment he mentioned it. He thought we were there to kill him for accidentally discovering it.”

  Mithaniel sighed. “Like I said, I’ve only heard whispers. Somehow, I think I was never supposed to know either. Malecai is very good at keeping a select few privy and providing only bits of information to the rest.”

  “I thought you were his friend?”

  “I thought I was. Now, I’m not so sure. Maybe he always intended to keep me in the dark, though I’m not sure why.”

  They paused as a group of Acedens marched past. Cain adjusted his hood and waited until they were well out of earshot. “This Markadesh must be very important. What do you know about it?”

  Mithaniel’s frown deepened. “Not now. We need to focus on getting our provisions and getting out of here.”

  The market lay ahead. Stalls lined the road and in front of shops where shopkeepers and traders shouted their wares. Hawkers weaved through the crowd selling meat pies, wine, shriveled fruits and vegetables, baubles, and silks.

  Mithaniel pressed a handful of coins into Cain’s palm. “Meet me at the east road on the edge of the city. We have an hour, if we’re lucky.” He slipped into the press without a backward glance.

  Cain pocketed the coins and stepped into the bustling marketplace. The drizzling rain cut the mélange of smells, but still the sour stink of sweat and the sweet scents of cooking foods floated to his nose. Roasting nuts and meats wafted, the occasional aroma of pies and pastries floating from shops or stalls. It reminded him all too painfully of how poorly he’d been eating.

  He stopped at one of the wagons and proffered a few coppers. The squat, plump-cheeked woman plucked a meat pasty from a kettle and handed it off to Cain. He gave his thanks and continued through the crowd.

  The pasty was hot and greasy fortunately, but the meat was something else entirely. The thing must have been some Charunite delicacy, cream and goat meat were not supposed to go together. Still, it was edible, and he needed some actual food. Mithaniel was right, a man could only eat so much hardtack.

  Wiping his hands on his tasset, he looked about the stalls and examined their wares. Cutlers and cobblers, smiths and woodworkers, displayed their handiwork and worked their skills for small crowds. He ignored them. He had work to do.

  Food was indeed hard to find after the Aceden scourge, and any being sold went for a premium. He owned barely two pennies himself, but Mithaniel had given him enough silver to buy anything here. And so, he hurried from stall to stall and soon had a bag full of bread and meat and cheese. Even a couple lemon cakes. Seeing those had reminded him of Aren.

  He avoided Acedens, but they always seemed to materialize. Groups of them watched him from alleys that were empty only moments prior. He
thought his hood covered his face enough, but his beard still hung free for any lingering eye to see. He knew he looked out of place here where he towered over the tallest woman, and his gait and posture practically screamed soldier. He didn’t think he concealed Ceerocai very well either. Even bundled in rags and half-hidden by his rucksack it was clearly still a sword.

  Cain glanced at a group of guards as he passed. He almost felt their eyes boring into his back. He forced his hands to his sides. They itched for his sword.

  He slowed his steps to let a company of Acedens cut in front of him. He glanced back toward the end of the road; he had enough provisions, he should leave now.

  Cain continued down the road toward a small stall in a corner. A man as wide as he was tall, and not very tall at that, busied himself with a piece of wood behind the stall. He stopped his work at the sight of Cain and set his half-finished project among the displays of fine wooden toys and figurines.

  “What can I do for you, m’boy?”

  “I need some wood. White ash, if you have it.”

  The carpenter looked up into Cain’s hood and shrugged. “I think I have some here, let me look.”

  Cain turned, scanning the crowd. No Acedens. Was that good or bad? The carpenter returned from his nearby cart and handed Cain a small bundle of ash.

  “What will you be needing it for, lad?”

  “There’s something I need to make.” He offered the man a few coppers and slipped back into the crowd. He needed to wrap everything up and pack it all away. He still had some time, so—

  “You there!” a man shouted.

  Cain bolted off through the crowd, not daring to look back.

  All around him he heard shouts of men and the screams of women. Swords rang from their sheaths. Cain shoved his way down a side street and crossed a bridge spanning the river.

  Splashing through the mud, he careened down the road, shouting for people to move. His baskets and bundles were awkward in his arms, forcing him to stop more than once to adjust them.

  Acedens came from everywhere.

  Cain ducked under a sword swing and hit the man in the side of the head with his bundle of sticks. He stepped past a spear thrust and kicked the Aceden in the chest, sending him sprawling back in the mud.