“I should go,” Isroc said, “Adriel will want a report. She’ll be happy to hear of your resistance here. I’ll just need some coin and—”
“No!” Armeth made to stand but sat back down with a wince. “The Acedens will be looking for you after your little fiasco in the market. Besides, it’s after curfew. No one is allowed out on the streets.” He waved and the soldier that had brought Isroc appeared. “This is Darian. He’ll travel to Hearthill in the morning to pass along our messages. Hopefully, Adriel can get to us before the Acedens get to them first.”
Armeth swatted Darian away as he gingerly rose to his feet. “In the meantime, my friend, make yourself at home. There’s plenty of beer, as you can see.”
Isroc scanned the musty room again. Now that his eyes were adjusted to the darkness, he could see just how many kegs there were. “Where are we?”
“In a tavern, of course.” Armeth chuckled. “Well, the cellar of one, anyway. All the inns in the city have been commandeered by the Acedens. This one happens to be the closest one to the palace.” He hobbled away for a moment before turning back. “Oh, and try not to make too much noise, there’s fifty Aceden officers staying upstairs.”
“Wait!” Isroc called after him. “You can’t just tell me that and then leave! Why are there fifty bloody Acedens above us? Are you mad?”
“Quite the opposite, believe it or not. The best place to hide is under the enemy’s nose. None of them ever come down here—that’s left to those beneath them like the barkeep and the serving girls. We’ve been here for months and they’ve been too pompous and drunk to notice. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a battle to prepare for. We’ll be ready to attack within the week.”
Isroc sighed. The thought of being so close to the enemy made his skin crawl. But what other choice did he have? He was stuck inside Dun Ara until Adriel could mount an assault. He just had to hope he could stay alive until then.
Darian slipped away and returned with two mugs of golden Kaanosi ale. The soldier clapped him on the back with a hearty laugh before chugging his drink. Isroc frowned as he finally heard it—the stomping of boots overhead and the singing of far too many inebriated men. Their cries and cheers boomed in the cellar. A cellar full of two dozen Kaanosi soldiers. This wasn’t going to be stupid or dangerous at all…
With a sigh, he tipped his mug to his lips. Here’s to hoping he could stay alive just a little while longer.
Another patrol marched up ahead. Ada hid behind a tree and watched them file by. He followed the road the direction the patrol had come from and came to an open area in the hills. A large valley split the high cliffs below, the last traces of sunlight lost in its depths.
A fortress! Ada gaped at the massive structure with its towering spires and great domes. The valley cut the place in half, with a stone bridge connecting the two main keeps. The bricks were stained with age, scarred and broken. Many of the towers and domes were crumbled wrecks. Indeed, only a few were still standing and those looked ready to blow down at the next strong breeze. Yet new construction sprang up throughout the ruins like fresh growth in a bed of ashes, with shining planks and bricks, cranes and saws, and machines of war oiled and ready for use.
Ada jumped for the shadow of a shrub bush as Acedens marched across the bridge.
What were they doing out here in the middle of the wilderness? And why was this fortress here? Was this Markadesh?
No, it couldn’t be. It was far too old and far too out of the way. He knew a little about Angeled, mostly from rumors and half-forgotten stories. There used to be a great civilization here, at least until they vanished. Or were wiped out by something. Or someone. Maybe that’s what this was, one of the world’s first strongholds.
But why would Iscarius be using it? And what was the point if they were this far from the rest of the world?
Ada shook himself from his thoughts. He needed to get in there. That’s where Malleus would be.
One of the first things he’d learned while stalking his prey was to observe. Study their habits, their movements, the way they walked and talked. He needed to get to know his target better than they knew themselves. He knew everything he needed to know about Malleus—after all, he’d daydreamed about killing the man for years. But he didn’t know this strange fortress.
So, he moved back along the path and climbed the steep side of a hill. He squatted down amongst the rocks and waited, watching for a time. He observed troops coming and going, sentries patrolling the walls, men strolling about and drinking as they finished their day’s duty.
It was getting late, but Malleus was not one to waste a night with sleep—he preferred to fill that time with drink and women. He’d be down there somewhere, making an ass of himself eventually. Ada settled back against a boulder and passed the hours with his surveillance of the fortress.
He tried to ignore those screams of guilt that came when it was quiet. It was no use fighting, of course. He’d killed hundreds of people in his life, from peasants to generals. Yet three names came to him above all others. Hallus Braygon. Aren Hayden. Joshua Valfalas.
And even though he’d killed Isroc’s father and Silas’ brother, the two had let him go. They’d forgiven him. Well, they might not have said that, but they hadn’t killed him, and that was a good start. They had looks of pure rage and sadness in their eyes, and yet they had let him go. That selfless act was enough to show Ada that there was still some good left in the world.
He hoped he was worthy of their forgiveness.
There. In one of the courtyards. Malleus sauntered below, his distinctive red armor glinting in the starlight. He walked with that haughty swag, big shoulders swaying as he led two women through the streets.
It was time.
Ada slid down the hillside and prowled across the open ground. He glanced up periodically at the sentries roaming the walls. Idiots. Those torches killed their night vision—they likely only cared about being seen doing their job rather than caring enough to actually do it.
That meant Ada could get right up against the keep’s wall. He moved along the bricks to the valley and dropped over its edge. He shimmied slowly along the cliff face and worked his way along the fortress to the bridge. There was little to hold onto and the almost brittle stone crumbled in his hands, nearly throwing him the three hundred or so feet to his death on the valley floor. At last, he managed to reach the bridge.
It lay just ahead, tantalizingly close, yet still out of reach. Ada sighed, and jumped. A flailing hand caught an arrow loop and he hung there, dangling in open space. He hoisted himself up with a grunt and threw out his other hand to gain a handhold. One hand before the other, he pulled himself up the bridge’s wall, using the many scars and seams for support.
Ada reached the top of the battlements and peeked over a crenel. Seeing no one, he rolled over the top and fell to a knee. His aging body protested his every movement, his joints searing and creaking from the climb. He ignored the pain and bolted toward the open gate.
A group of Acedens guarded the archway, deep in conversation and drink. In a flash, Ada drew his bow and sent a black arrow through the face of one of the laughing men. The others turned with a curse and drew their weapons. Arrows dropped them in moments.
Ada ran past the bodies even as they fell. He skidded to a stop in the courtyard, arrow raised to cheek. He scanned the empty court, and, finding nothing, continued down one of the side roads. A few Acedens walked here, but a few well-placed broadheads cleared his way. He came around the bend and nearly barreled into the back of a patrol.
He turned and slipped into the shadows of an alley. Why were they patrolling the inside of their own fortress? Were there slaves or prisoners here? It didn’t matter. They’d find the bodies any second now. And he still needed to find Malleus.
Slinking back onto the road, he came to a stairway leading to the main keep. He took a step, and shouts echoed from behind. He spun to see a group of Acedens charging.
He let loose his arrow, th
rowing a man back with force. He dropped several more with a volley of black, but they were too many. Ada cursed and twirled under a sword swing, tearing one of his swords from its sheath. He sliced the yatagan across the Aceden’s chest and ducked to cut another man’s legs out from under him. Blocking an axe, he freed his other sword and drove them both through his attacker’s face.
Ada turned and bound up the steps, Acedens chasing after him. He dodged a swing and kicked a man back into his fellows before blocking another attack. He cut his opponent’s armpit with his other sword and kicked the screaming man into an incoming soldier.
Ada reached the top and bolted down the road. Shouts and bells sounded in the night. He didn’t have time, he had to hope this was the right way. He stumbled out onto the courtyard where he’d last seen his prey. Acedens practically filled the court now, but he had eyes only for one man. Malleus Taraus.
The man’s bald head towered over the crowd, his blood red armor a beacon in the dark. Malleus shoved two young women into the clutches of his men and stepped forward. The Acedens parted, and Malleus smirked at the sight of Ada.
“So, it really is you,” he said in that gruff, arrogant voice. “When I discovered you’d left, I admit, I wasn’t surprised. You are weak. Pathetic.”
Acedens rushed up behind Ada but Malleus raised a gauntlet. His soldiers formed ranks and gathered in a wide circle around the two men. More and more joined the crowd. “Oh, how I’ve longed for this moment.” Malleus held out a hand and another soldier in red approached. The Blood Guard handed Malleus an enormous battle axe, its blade fanning out with a vicious curve.
Malleus hefted the great blade and gave another smirk. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
Ada twirled his swords. “You talk too much.”
The two charged.
Ada ducked under Malleus’ swing, the hefty blade cleaving the air with a rush of wind. He made to swing but Malleus brought his weapon back with surprising speed, forcing Ada to jump aside. Another swing, and Ada sidestepped. He came into striking distance but another backswing drove him away.
Malleus moved with incredible grace and speed for such a large man, his great weapon practically floating through the air with precise strikes and swooping arcs. Another flurry of swings sent Ada lurching back, nearly stumbling into the crowd of onlooking Acedens. They shoved him back toward their general, jeering and cursing him as they brandished their weapons and beat their shields. Ada ducked under a swing and spun away. He was all too keenly aware of the growing crowd, every hostile eye glaring at him and shouting for his death.
Ada’s anger and hatred for the man had blinded him into attacking too soon. He’d rushed right into a fully garrisoned fortress with virtually no planning or preparation. Stupid. He’d thrown away his chance to ever kill Iscarius. But he could keep his promise to Adriel. He would kill Malleus Taraus.
He wasn’t getting out of this alive. So why prolong the inevitable?
Ada dove past a swing and twisted, letting the axe roar by his face. He drove a yatagan into his opponent, sending the curved blade ricocheting off his breastplate. Malleus stumbled, and Ada swung again, knocking back his foe’s arm. He stabbed for the exposed armpit.
Malleus slapped the blade away with a gauntlet and rammed his shoulder into Ada. Ada lurched back, nearly losing his footing. He shook his head of the pain in time to leap away from a powerful downward blow. The axe came quickly around but Ada jumped to the side and kicked his opponent in the knee.
The general staggered back, and Ada attacked. A blur of steel, he cut and stabbed, yatagans striking at every available opening. Malleus faltered beneath the onslaught, clumsily waving his arm and axe to deflect the blows. Malleus growled a curse and charged.
That’s what Ada had hoped for. He leapt away from the tackle and swung a sword, dropping one of Malleus’ legs. He fell to a knee, and Ada struck. Malleus barely turned and swung his axe, but the hefty blade lost its momentum. Ada pinned the axe to the ground with a sword and boot. He looked down into Malleus’ pale, hateful eyes. They gazed up at him in fear.
“For Adriel Ivanne.” Ada swung.
A force took Ada in the chest and sent him flying over the Acedens. He crashed to the stones and rolled to a stop in a spray of debris. Then, pain. He nearly blacked out then and there, sheer anguish racking his body. He managed to turn over, his back and legs burning. The stars twinkled at him overhead.
Iscarius approached. The crowd instantly dropped to their knees as their leader swept across the courtyard, a figure of flowing shadows. He stopped before Malleus who fell to his other knee with a curse.
“What are you doing?” Iscarius asked his soldiers. “Why did no one stop this?” The crowd remained silent, no one daring to incur his wrath.
Ada gaped at Iscarius. Whether from blood loss or simple shock, he couldn’t say. “You… what are you doing here?” he sputtered. “You were supposed to be in Dun Ara… why?”
Iscarius’ icy eyes held his gaze like a vice. A coldness crept up Ada’s spine. He groaned and managed to raise up, crawling a few feet to rest against a wall. A shattered bone pierced from his leg to pool blood around him. Ada fumbled for his swords, but they weren’t there, of course. His bow lay broken nearby in a splattering of his red.
“Let me have him,” Malleus growled.
“No. He is mine.”
Iscarius stepped forward, that vicious cerebreum sword gleaming in the night. “You betrayed my trust, Ada Arillius. You killed my soldiers, nearly killed my general. You betrayed the cause.” He raised his sword. “For that… you will die.”
Ada freed his belt knife and raised it shakily before him, even as his vision grew dark. He had lived a lifetime of mistakes, but he knew in his heart that this was right. He’d promised the Warriors that he’d seek atonement for his crimes. He may not be worthy of their forgiveness, but he hoped this would be a start.
Ada thrust his dagger out with a scream.
Iscarius swung.
Darkness.
Ashes
Cain was home.
This was the road he and his friends would race down, pulling each other in carts to the nervous cries of the townsfolk. Over there, by that well, he’d had his first kiss with Eileen. And up on that hill he’d asked her to marry him.
Of course, those were only memories now. The Andaurel of his past had been razed, and in its place this shadow. It was dead and gone yet displayed for the world to see like an open casket before a funeral. Houses were erected where previous ones once stood. Shops and smithies and merchant stalls, some of solid wood while others were little more than cobbled together tents. The roads were filled with people, but they did not live here, they weren’t a part of what this place meant to him.
He should have felt anger at the Acedens for rebuilding Andaurel and making a bed out of its ashes. Yet he only felt focused. Determined.
He would drive the Acedens from Kaanos.
Cain continued through the market. It was like any other trade town—people shouting, food cooking, coins clinking. One could almost forget it was a war camp. Almost.
Acedens patrolled every street, spears slung over shoulders. Workers dug latrines and erected ramparts while soldiers drilled in the surrounding fields. And the people went about their lives, entirely ignoring their subjugation.
Cain passed a line of mounted Aceden officers and rounded the corner. Fortunately, without Ceerocai and wearing only his tattered linens, he didn’t look too out of place. His ragged beard and long hair helped, though he wanted to shave something fierce. With a little dirt on his face and back hunched, he looked entirely unremarkable.
That was fine by him. If he was going to try and follow Mithaniel’s plan of laying low and gathering information, he needed to play the part of a man down on his luck.
Cain came to a makeshift shop of timber and tarps. He brushed the Aceden banner aside that served as the shop’s door and tossed a small satchel of coins onto the table. “High Captain Vernell�
��s payment for the week, Ardon.”
Ardon turned from his work. “Good.” The old carpenter pointed a gnarled finger to a nearby basket. “Pass me that, would you, my boy?”
Cain handed him the basket of tools and watched him work for a time. The man’s bony hands flowed with a strange grace, carving patterns into the fine slab of mahogany as if it were clay. He worked with precision, every stroke and tap made with masterful care.
Ardon oversaw Andaurel’s rebuild; his team of carpenters worked night and day to raise buildings and defenses. He had little time for his true passion, but evidence of his art still surrounded them. Statues and figurines and fine wardrobes. Even something as simple as a chair showed devotion and tender care in its fine joints and smooth form. The piece he was currently working on—a decoration for High Captain Vernell’s chambers—showed such beautiful intricacy. It was hard to believe that such a frail looking man could create something so powerful.
Cain needed to improve his woodworking skills, and so he’d sought out a carpenter as soon as he’d slipped into Andaurel. He’d quickly discovered that Ardon was the man he’d needed, and so, he’d managed to apprentice himself to the aged master. Well, more like just run the man’s errands and sell his wares. Still, the opportunity had enabled him to learn much from the wizened carpenter.
Cain moved closer. The piece was of Dun Ara, an Aceden banner high over its seven hills. Rays of sunlight broke from behind the palace, and beneath, flowers blossomed. Cain found himself drawn to the artwork despite what it represented. Ardon had carved even the smallest details, from the wood grain in each individual stake of the outer wall to the veins in each blade of grass.
“High Captain Vernell is paying me handsomely for this piece,” Ardon said after a time. “And right he should, after the work I’ve put into it.”
“Ardon… why are you here? A man of your talent shouldn’t be working for the enemy for table scraps.”
The Shadow of War Page 33