Silas and Isroc’s forces clashed with the Acedens here. Men battled in sporadic knots in rings around the walls and a writhing mass of blades and shields and boots pulsed back and forth in the gateway.
Adriel galloped into the fray.
She ignored the jolting of hoof against bodies and swung, sword biting into steel and bone.
She carved away at the masses that pressed around her like boulders. Shocks seared up her arm with every swing. Bodies pelted against her. She pushed on, parting their ranks with hoof and blade. It was a din of chaos, of steel banging and bones breaking. It reeked of sweat and fear and viscera… and fire.
Adriel swung her sword with a scream and ripped open a man’s throat. She rode over the still-gurgling man and speared through the Aceden lines, her Vilant and Royal Guard following behind.
At last, she made it through the gateway. Vilant roared past her in the hundreds, then the thousands, pushing back the defending Acedens like white water against a flagging dam.
Javelins shot down from the causeway above. The massive projectiles ripped through rider and mount, sending men flying and pinning horses to the ground. Adriel weaved through the flailing bodies and retreating soldiers, crossed under the towers, and passed the barracks.
She galloped up the stairs at the end of the court and tumbled from her saddle, eyes wide with horror. Fire consumed the palace, great pillars of black billowing into the sky. Its heat was overwhelming, threatening to peel off her skin and burn it all away.
Her Royal Guards rushed up the stairs and formed a perimeter around her as the two armies clashed on all sides.
Adriel shielded her eyes against the intense glow. The doors were open, spewing smoke. Flames writhed and twisted, but they hadn’t fully engulfed the palace yet. There was still time.
She darted toward the palace to the dismay of her guards. Harin and his men stomped after her, and together, they approached the inferno.
Harin suddenly grabbed for her and yanked her back with strong arms. Five men approached them, gone unseen among the brilliant blaze. Their blood red armor glistened in the tossing fires. They moved with a clinking of sabatons, every move somehow equally powerful and graceful. These were no ordinary soldiers.
They were Iscarius’ Blood Guard.
Adriel pushed back the pain of a night long ago when she’d lost people she’d fought to protect. When she’d come face to face with a monster. Malleus Taraus. She could only hope Ada had killed the creature.
Harin nodded to her and raised his war hammer.
The Blood Guards lunged. Adriel jumped away from a halberd and ducked under a great sword. She came up in time to block the backswing, the force of the blow throwing her back. Harin deflected a swing aimed for her, and Adriel slipped around the struggling men and stumbled through the palace doors.
Pungent smoke cut at her lungs like a hot knife. The air seared her skin and eyes, sweat pouring like molten metal. She stumbled about in the thick, rolling dark until her feet stopped against something solid, boots slick. Bodies. They were everywhere, arrows and spears and blades impaled through their broiling flesh.
She followed the trail of corpses to the throne. The once proud symbol of Kaanos sank into a tomb of fire and smoke.
Adriel beat back the embers and squinted into the black. At the feet of the dying throne lay Ethebriel’s crown, its base metals of iron and bronze warped and melting. She knelt before the crown, her bright eyes a flittering shadow in the weeping metal tears.
“Adriel!”
She spun with sword raised.
Armeth staggered toward her, bleeding and limping.
“Armeth!” she coughed. “Are you alright?”
“No time to worry about me. We have to find the king. Quickly!” Adriel nodded and made for the left hallways.
“Not the dungeons,” he called after her. “They’re using him as a figurehead. He’ll be somewhere on this floor.”
“His study; that’s the safest place in the palace!”
Together, they bolted down a nearby hall. The smoke was thinner here and they used the light of distant fires to direct their path. A few turns, and they came to Ethebriel’s study.
Two Blood Guards loomed at the end of the hall, pounding against the sturdy door. Armeth charged. One of the Guards stumbled back—no doubt startled by the attack—and drew his mace. Despite his wounded leg, the king’s advisor was nimble, weaving fluidly between attack and defense as he pressured the Guard back against a wall.
Adriel leapt for the other Guard who was still attempting to tackle the door down. He turned to swipe her weapon away and kick her back. The breath shot from her and she fell onto a table. The Guard swung down, and Adriel rolled to the side, his hefty sword digging into the tabletop. Adriel drove her blade up under his armpit, drawing blood as she stabbed through the joints in the armor.
The Guard shouted a muffled curse beneath his helm and swatted her back with a gauntlet. He yanked his great sword free and swung, nearly striking Adriel as she gained her footing. She threw the table down in front of the man, but he kicked it away to lunge at her.
Adriel leapt back, blade an inch from her face. The man swung again, and she braced herself for the blow. She went reeling and smacked into a wall. She crumpled to the floor and threw her sword up in a last-ditch defense.
The Blood Guard staggered. Armeth jumped onto the man’s back and pried up his helmet to plunge his dagger down. The man lurched—neck spurting blood—and slammed Armeth into the wall, pinning him with his bulk. Armeth stabbed again and again until the body slumped to the floor.
Armeth shoved the bloody corpse aside and fumbled toward the door, clutching at his chest. “Ethebriel…” he breathed. “It’s me. You’re safe now.”
The study’s lock clicked and the iron bracers clanged. The door opened to reveal Ethebriel smiling. “I knew you’d come for me eventually,” he coughed, arm raised against the smoke. “I was going to give myself to the fires before I’d let them take me again.”
“Well, we’re not safe yet. You need to get out of here.”
Ethebriel embraced Adriel before turning to his friend. “You’re hurt.”
Armeth sagged against the wall. Blood poured through his fingers. “You need to go…”
Ethebriel and Adriel wrapped their arms around Armeth and pulled him forward. “No, I’ll only slow you down!”
Adriel turned from the two Blood Guards and dipped her face to the intense heat. “We’re getting out of here. Together.”
Smoke churned around them now, tearing at their eyes and lungs. Fire licked up the walls and ceiling. Debris crashed over them. Ember and ash spiraled in the blaze, stinging against their exposed skin.
Adriel’s chest felt like it was about to explode. Her head was light, vision twisted and blurred. Her legs buckled, nearly dropping Armeth on top of her. Just a little farther. A few more seconds and her body would give out. This was not the end!
Fresh air. A blast of wind met her as she drew a precious breath. She collapsed, coughing desperately for more air. Brief clarity returned. Where was Armeth?
He laid nearby, staring up into the ember-streaked sky and gasping for breaths. Ethebriel knelt over his friend. Blood pumped between his fingers.
Adriel crawled toward them as a crowd of Vilant gathered. All around them Acedens were surrendering.
“We’re safe,” Ethebriel whispered, ashen tears shining on his face. “You saved me. You saved our city, my friend.”
Adriel could barely stay conscious, let alone think straight. She wasn’t sure if she was crying. She dropped beside Ethebriel and laid a hand on Armeth. His chest rattled beneath her fingers.
Armeth blinked up at them with those wise, gray eyes. “You two are my family, I die in peace knowing my last moments were spent with you.” Blood trickled from his mouth. “Go. Go and reclaim our country. Go and take back our world.”
His chest rose a final time, then stopped.
Harin’s steady ha
nd helped Adriel to her feet. She turned to see thousands of Vilant gathered around them, heads bowed. The first pale light of dawn appeared over the hills.
They had saved Dun Ara.
Next came the world.
We March
Silas took a long pull from his wineskin and wiped his mouth. He threw himself onto a cot with an exhausted sigh, listening to the sounds of Outriders and Andaurel’s militia prepare for the battle at hand.
“Don’t hog all of that now,” a familiar voice rumbled from nearby. Joshua approached, his hulking body framed by the doorway’s evening light. “We’re supposed to make that last till our next stipend.” He snatched it from Silas’ hands with a smirk, then promptly downed the rest. “Ah, that’s a damn fine whiskey!”
His brother sat down beside him and the two remained silent for a time, alone in the now empty Andaurel armory. “Are we going to survive this, Joshua?” Silas muttered.
Joshua gazed out the door for a time, the setting sun playing across his broad, hardened face. “I don’t know, brother. We’ve fought so many battles for so many years. But this one… well, it’s got even my stomach in knots. We’ve lost Andaurel once already, and this feels a lot like that night. So much fire and death.”
“What are we going to do? We’ve been outnumbered before, but never like this. Our own damn king won’t even come to help us. We’re alone… again.”
Joshua sighed. “Do you remember those wildfires out by Lake Torriv a few years back? They destroyed hundreds of acres of good farmland, not to mention people’s homes.”
“Aye, I do. It was sad, seeing all those people without a place to live, their livestock gone. But what’s that got to do with anything?”
“Oh, I suppose I’m just thinking. But the grass eventually came back, the trees, the people. They rebuilt and had a fruitful harvest. Their grains probably made that whiskey there.”
Silas scratched his chin. “I don’t understand.”
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that none of this really matters. Not in the end, anyway. Sure, it’s all fire and death and sadness now, but maybe someday it won’t be. Maybe we’ve got to lose some more before we can rebuild. It’s not the now that matters, it’s what comes after.”
It’s what comes after.
Silas opened his eyes.
He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the late afternoon light that shone through the windows.
“Water,” he managed to croak.
Isroc and Shara rushed across the room. “You’re awake!” Isroc grinned.
Shara crossed her arms, but Silas thought he saw her lips twitch into a smile. “How are you feeling?”
“Water…”
“Oh, right!” Isroc grabbed a jug and poured him a cup, tilting it to Silas’ lips. Silas gulped, the cool liquid filling him and awakening dull muscles. Then came the pain. He dropped back into his pillow, sharp pricks and dull aches pulsating.
“You were banged up pretty good,” Shara said. “The healers said you’re exceptionally lucky, what with getting trampled by horses and soldiers. Not to mention your cuts. Good thing you’ve got a hard head.”
“I’ve had worse,” Silas groaned.
“I’m sure you have.”
He gazed up at the ceiling. Course, cracked stone. Ancient and weathered. “We’re in the arena. In the officer’s barracks.” He knew this place well; he’d had his share of scrubbing floors here, not to mention more than his share of lickings.
“Yes, we are,” Isroc said. “The Acedens used this place to hold prisoners, but Ethebriel figured it’d be put to better use for the wounded.”
“So, we saved Dun Ara?” Silas tried to rise. “We saved the king?”
Isroc leaned over the bed to ease him back down. “We retook the city. Ethebriel is safe. He’s with Adriel right now, actually.”
Silas knew better than anyone that nothing came without a price. “Who did we lose?”
The two exchanged a look. “Armeth,” Isroc replied.
Silas closed his eyes, fighting off the throbbing pain. “How long has it been?”
“Only a day,” Shara answered. “We’re still assessing our casualties. The numbers are… not looking good.”
Silas cursed and threw off his sheet, sparing a glance for his bandages and colorful bruises.
“What are you doing?” Isroc asked.
“You need my help. We need to get moving if we’re going to strike back.”
“Strike where? Why? We routed the Acedens, we took back the capital.”
Silas eased his legs over the side of the bed and rose, ignoring the jolts in his ribs. “We need to hit them while they’re on the run. Hit them hard, keep their tails tucked. We can push them out of Kaanos if we—”
“Slow down there, big, brave Warrior,” Shara said, pushing him back down as he made to stand. “You’re not going anywhere. Just get your rest and leave the fighting to us.”
“I’m not going to sit around and do nothing. You need me.”
“Oh, and you’re feeling just peachy then? Ready to jump into the fight and swing that absurd weapon about?”
“Aye!”
She slapped a particularly purple bruise on his chest, eliciting a yelp. He rubbed at the spot only to yelp again.
“It doesn’t matter how I feel,” he grumbled. “What matters is that this fight isn’t over, and I can still hold Sitare.”
Isroc shrugged. “Would either of us actually lay in bed while there’s still work to be done?”
Shara grunted and removed her hand from Silas’ shoulder. She helped him to his feet, letting him stretch and work feeling back into his legs. He grabbed the nearby pitcher and downed its contents before throwing on a tunic and limping across the room.
He paused and turned to the two. “Where’s Armeth’s body?”
The fire was still hot, blistering against Adriel’s face. It had dwindled, now just a large heap of ash and twisted, charred wood, but its glow still illuminated the arena’s pit. It flashed red against the high stone walls like a torch in the dusk, fighting off the growing dark.
Armeth had taken Adriel to this arena many times. Together, they’d often watched Kaanos’ next generation of soldiers train out here on these sands. He would explain to her the sacrifices those children would make, of how they were the weapons that would destroy Abaddon. For a time, she’d felt sorry for all the boys that spent their childhoods training to risk their lives for a greater cause. She’d never given much thought to the sacrifices she would have to make as well. Or Armeth.
How many more people had to sacrifice for there to be peace? How many more people had to die?
Adriel sat back in her chair with a sigh, crown warm against her brow. The tears had long since burned from her face.
Ethebriel took her hand in his. “Armeth would want you to be strong, my child.” He wore a new crown of solid iron.
Adriel nodded. “I have no other choice.”
“You’ve been through a great many ordeals since we last parted. I can see it in your eyes. So tired, so angry.”
“It’s just all so senseless. Why do we have to keep fighting? Why do we have to keep dying? I don’t know if my heart can take losing anyone else…”
Ethebriel’s grip tightened. Adriel turned to him, his gentle eyes filled with concern. He had more gray hairs and deeper wrinkles, but he was still the same caring and powerful man she’d come to love as a father. “You are a queen now. That crown comes with responsibility, the lives of all your people. I could reiterate your duty like Armeth probably would have, but instead, I’ll tell you to simply be yourself. You are a loving woman who wants what is best for her people. Well, this war will end. I promise you that. And when it does, you will be the one who rebuilds this world. You will make it a beautiful and happy place again. Yes, we will lose more in the fights to come. Yes, we will suffer and cry. But their pyres will make ashes of our world… and leave a new one for you to make better.”
Adriel gazed i
nto the glow of Armeth’s pyre. There would be peace, of that she knew. Just a little longer, just a few more fights. She had to keep fighting. For the future of Tarsha. And for Cain.
A quiet cough interrupted her thoughts. She turned to see Isroc and Shara standing nearby, Silas propped between them for support. The man looked positively ragged, but he still managed a wave and a smile.
“I hope we’re not disturbing you,” Isroc said.
“No, not at all,” Adriel beckoned. “Come, have a seat.”
The three entered the pavilion and Ethebriel and Adriel’s servants rushed to prepare them seats. Shara shooed Rion away and settled Silas into a chair before sitting beside him. The servants offered them wine and Shara snatched a goblet, downed it in big gulps, then took two more. Silas did the same.
The group sat in silence for a time, listening to the crack and pops of the fire.
Ethebriel eventually spoke. “Armeth wanted his fire here in the arena. He wanted to be a part of the place that helped forge our country.”
Silas raised his goblet. “He was a good man. A good patriot.”
The group lifted their drinks. “To Armeth,” they said in unison.
Adriel took a sip of her wine before setting it down. “We need to talk.”
Everyone turned to her, curious.
“We’re going on the offensive.”
“Yes!” Silas cried, then winced. He leaned forward with a grin. “Where are we going?”
“Attack?” Shara asked. “We’ve barely retaken Dun Ara. The rest of the country might as well be under Aceden control, not to mention the rest of Tarsha. And what about—”
“It doesn’t matter.” Adriel tapped her chair’s arm in thought. “Iscarius’ forces had a tentative hold on Kaanos at best. Their influence was not strong here as it was farther north; Ethebriel confirmed this. When word reaches the few Aceden encampments of our victory here, they will have no choice but to withdraw. Our soldiers in hiding will come to us then. Soon, we will have an army large enough to combat the Acedens.”
The Shadow of War Page 35