The Shadow of War

by Bryan Gifford

Silas leapt to his feet and snatched up the whiskey barrel, raising it overhead. “Enough with the sad talk, the night is still young!”

  Shara scooped up Sitare and brandished it overhead, whooping and cheering as she jumped after him. Isroc stood and smiled down at Kari. He offered her his hand, and she took it with a smile.

  Together, they followed their friends into the crowd and joined in on the singing and dancing, long into the light of the early morning.

  To Be Whole

  Mithaniel sighed. They hadn’t even started, and Cain’s plan had already blown up.

  He peeked around the corner to the town square where squads of Acedens were already gathered. Soldiers jogged down the side roads to join the main formation and officers rode high on their horses, waving swords and barking orders. The town erupted with the clanking of boots and armor. People hurriedly tore down their camps, cursing and crying as they stuffed away the few possessions they owned.

  A hand grabbed for him and he spun, reflexively reaching for the sword hidden in his cloak. Cain raised a finger to his lips and peered around the house.

  “What are you doing?” Mithaniel whispered. “We have to get out of here.” He then noticed the bundle of cloak and rags strapped to Cain’s back. “You brought Ceerocai! Have you gone mad? Wait, how’d you sneak it in?”

  “We may need it. We’re still going through with my plan.”

  “You haven’t even told me what the damn plan is yet!”

  “We’re going to ask High Captain Vernell a few questions.”

  Just when he thought Cain couldn’t get any dumber. The man was full of surprises. “I don’t think I need to tell you how idiotic that is. This place is teeming with Acedens; the whole place is on alert.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on. Something happened at the capital from what I’ve gathered. I think Vernell is pulling out of the area. This is the perfect cover. Let’s go.” With that, the blithering fool jumped out onto the road and disappeared into the crowd.

  Mithaniel cursed and followed him, pushing his way through the throngs. He had to admit, it was easy to go unnoticed in the crowd. Everyone was too preoccupied—tearing down tents, packing up wares, loading carts. Soldiers filed by, but they were too focused on their mission to pay attention to another man in a Meresi scarf.

  Mithaniel weaved through the chaos and found Cain on the other side of a caravan of wagons. The man waved him over and the two stepped into an alley. A courtyard lay just ahead, ringed with tall tents and a low spear wall. A large pavilion tent capped the hill in the middle.

  “There,” Cain pointed to the tent, eyeing the four guards outside. The officers’ camp was empty save for a few bustling servants and guards.

  Mithaniel suppressed a groan. There was no getting to it save through the gate. It was a straight shot to the entrance, and the guards would surely notice their approach. They needed a way to take out the two at the gate without alerting those on the hill.

  He slipped back out of the alley and, making sure the road was empty, hopped up onto a wagon. Cain peeked out of the alley, frowning at him. Mithaniel shuffled through the provisions, occasionally picking up a barrel or crate. He eventually settled on two small kegs that were just the right weight. He turned the corner and approached the guards with his kegs.

  “Hey, you there!” one called out at the sight of him.

  Mithaniel sent a keg flying with a burst of wind. It smashed into the guard’s face and knocked him off his feet, spear clattering to the ground. The second keg took the other’s cry from his lips.

  Mithaniel and Cain dragged the unconscious men into a nearby tent before slipping through the camp. The two crept through the tents, pausing from time to time as servants and soldiers rushed past. They eventually climbed the hilltop and paused at the wall of Vernell’s tent.

  “Three thousand won’t be enough,” cried a voice from inside.

  “Bullshit,” replied another, “they’re nothing more than farm boys and serving girls. We need to take the city back.”

  “Silence!” a voice boomed. “I will not have squabbling. You have my orders; we will retreat east, even if that exposes our flanks. A forward operation will meet us in Meurig. From there, we can gather our strength and redeploy as necessary, or withdraw into Angeled. I will have no further argument. Now, Captain Efrenis, you and your men will take the vanguard. Captain Onus, you will bolster the forward units to ensure our path is clear.”

  Cain pulled Ceerocai from its coverings. The massive weapon practically glowed in the traces of moonlight, as if reveling in its freedom. He mouthed the word ‘guards’ and slipped around to the front of the tent.

  Mithaniel crept around the other side and eased his sword in its scabbard, sword glinting as he raised it up to a guard’s neck. The man turned suddenly and Mithaniel leapt, cutting his throat with one hard pull. A second guard spun in time to take Mithaniel’s sword through his face.

  The tent sprang alive with shouts and curses. Cain stepped over the bodies of the other two guards and dove into the tent.

  Mithaniel followed and was met with swinging swords.

  He ducked under an attack and cut the man at the shins. He spun to block a blade and drove his weapon through the captain’s gut. A body dropped in front of him and he spun to see Vernell charging with sword raised.

  Mithaniel waved a hand out and a large slab of wood shot from the side to throw Vernell over the table. He dropped with a grunt, artwork slab pinning him to the ground. Cain tossed a body aside and jumped, landing with a boot on the polished wood. He propped Ceerocai under the High Captain’s chin.

  “Kill me,” Vernell spat, squirming despite the immense weight on his chest. “Do it, coward!”

  “You’ll tell me where Markadesh is. Now.”

  Vernell managed a half-laugh, half-gasp as Cain put his weight into the wood. Candlelight caught in the curves of the slab. It was a beautiful engraving, of Dun Ara and flowers and sunshine. Blood spotted its polished surface.

  “Where is it? Is it a fortress?”

  Mithaniel blinked and looked about. He didn’t have time to stand here and watch; they likely only had moments before the Acedens discovered them. He rushed over to the large table in the middle of the tent as Cain continued his demands.

  Maps and ledgers and reports covered the tabletop. He shuffled through the stacks until he came to the large map in the middle, hastily scribbled with lines and notes. It was everything they needed! It showed troop movements and numbers, where units were garrisoned, how many wagons of supplies were needed and where the caravans were moving.

  He scanned the map, following the arrows that crisscrossed the country into Angeled. They all converged on one location. Markadesh.

  “Cain!” Mithaniel cried, waving the map. “We’ve got what we came for, let’s go!”

  At this, the tent flap burst open and two guards rushed them with spears. Cain deflected a stab and jumped off Vernell. The slab shifted, and the high captain came up with sword raised.

  Cain dodged a guard’s stab in time to block Vernell’s attack. The Aceden steel snapped clean in two and Cain swung his sword across his foe’s chest. Vernell dropped with a hand to his sheared breastplate, blood gushing out over the wooden artwork.

  Mithaniel sidestepped a thrust and drove his sword through his attacker. He shoved the man out the tent and sent the body rolling down the hill. Somewhere, a horn blew.

  “Shit!” Cain breathed as he stumbled out beside Mithaniel.

  Below, dozens of Acedens charged for them. Mithaniel and Cain raised their swords and braced for the attack.

  A group of men crashed into the Aceden’s flank. Soldiers tangled together in the confusion and bodies tumbled down the hillside.

  Young boys and old men fought with pitchforks and billhooks and woodsman axes. The master carpenter Ardon fought at the front, hacking at an Aceden’s shield with his axe.

  “Ardon!” Cain cried as he made to join the fray.

  Mi
thaniel grabbed him by the arm. “We don’t have time. We have to go.”

  Cain cursed and ripped his arm away. He watched the Acedens surround the small group of fighters. Boys and men died screaming. “We have to help them.”

  At this, dozens more Acedens came pouring into the camp.

  Mithaniel hoisted his shield before him. “There’s too many of them. We’ll never make it out if we don’t leave now.”

  He could see the conflict twisting in Cain’s eyes. With another curse, Cain turned and ran from the fighting.

  Together, they rushed down the hill. They reached the incoming soldiers and leapt aside. Swords whizzed past them as they crashed into the hillside and rolled down the slope. Mithaniel smashed against the palisade wall and scrambled to his feet. He pulled Cain up as the Acedens ran back down the hill after them.

  Cain climbed to his feet and turned toward the fight. Despite himself, Mithaniel followed suit. The valiant few who fought to ensure Cain and Mithaniel’s retreat were dying. Out-armed and out-armored, they quickly fell to the overwhelming number of Acedens.

  Ardon took a spear to the chest. He fell to his knees and turned to see Cain and the sword of Abaddon. With his final breath, he raised his axe and cried, “for Cain Taran!” Another spear took him through the back.

  Mithaniel tore his gaze away and pulled Cain toward the gate. The man’s eyes remained locked on Ardon’s body, all but ignoring the Acedens that now gave chase.

  The two slipped through the gate as scores of Acedens charged up the road toward them.

  Together, they slipped into the alleys and came out into the open fields where a warm breeze met them. Behind, shouts of soldiers and the blowing of horns echoed in the empty plains. They retreated into the night, leaving the town of Andaurel behind.

  The light of the early morning stretched across Dun Ara. The streets teemed with activity as people prepared for the march ahead. The time had come. Weeks of preparation, of gathering equipment and provisions and soldiers. Weeks of blood and sweat and hard training. It had all come to this moment.

  Adriel smiled at the thought of so many people joined together to defeat their common enemy.

  Soldiers from all over Kaanos had returned to Dun Ara after hearing of its liberation. Men and women and children of all ages had flocked to the city to offer their services or sword. The place was so packed that camps had sprung up around the city and stretched for miles in all directions.

  Then there were the Meresi. They’d tracked down the Meresi ships that had been patrolling the southern coast. Nearly ten thousand soldiers! After providing them with much needed provisions, the Meresi had pledged themselves to Adriel. Some now guarded the coasts and rivers of Kaanos while others had sailed off to scout the waterways of Angeled. They had their fleet.

  Charunite soldiers also came to Dun Ara. Their attacks on the remaining Aceden garrisons had been successful, and it seemed that they would soon reclaim their country. Many had heard of the gathering in Kaanos and had come to offer their blades.

  Soldiers and civilians from Erias had come as well, though not very many. But there were even Inveirans among them!

  Isroc had been having great success in training the Vilant on mounted combat. They were green indeed but quick to learn, and, bolstered by the cavalrymen from the various armies, they were becoming a fierce force. They had their cavalry.

  With over fifty thousand Vilant and fifty thousand soldiers from all over the world, they had their army. People from Kaanos, Charun, Meres, Erias, and Inveira.

  They had their Alliance.

  Adriel turned from the window, that familiar knot of equal parts excitement and fear twisting in her breast.

  A serving girl finished with her hair, an intricate series of golden braids that fell about her shoulders. Other serving girls then approached and strapped on her breastplate. It was an elegant piece of brilliant white, its steel flowing like a master’s painting. The girls strapped on her pauldrons and fauld and lastly her vambraces and greaves, each a beautiful part of a whole.

  Adriel admired the armor, but more so for its light weight and molded fit. She turned to Locke, the city’s master smith, and nodded her approval. The grizzled old man beamed with satisfaction. He was never much for talking, but she’d always managed to pull him out of his shell. He really was just a big softy.

  “I am glad you find it to your satisfaction, Lady Ivanne… I mean, my queen!”

  “You can never disappoint me, my dear friend. I thank you for your hard work and loyalty.”

  The man grinned again. “I’ve got that other set of armor you requested, as well. I think it looks mighty fine, if I may be so bold to say.”

  “I would expect nothing less from the finest smith in Kaanos.”

  “At least let me fashion you a new sword,” Locke replied. “Or even just a handle and crossguard. A queen needs a proper blade.”

  Adriel looked down at the sword buckled to her belt. Battered and worn and in a sheath equally abused, she had to admit that it did look decidedly out of place next to the shining new armor. “Thank you again, Locke, but this sword is special to me. I will fight with this blade and no other.”

  The serving girls clasped a flowing silver and white cloak to her pauldrons and fiddled with her armor. She still had to get used to people dressing her, but she figured that was a small price to pay for her newfound responsibilities.

  “Rion,” she addressed to the lanky boy standing near the door. “Are the armies ready to move?”

  Rion studied the reports in his hand for a moment. “Yes, my queen. All forces are waiting outside the gate as ordered. The last of the supply wagons should be up and ready soon.”

  Adriel smiled. The boy had grown a lot since she’d taken him under her wing. He walked with confidence and talked without stuttering. He even looked her in the eyes when speaking to her. Well, most of the time, anyway.

  “And what of Captain Darian? Does he need any more men or provisions? He could very likely be holding Dun Ara for months.”

  Rion glanced at the papers but quickly looked away, instead drawing up straighter and meeting Adriel’s gaze. “No, my queen, Captain Darian says that five thousand is enough to hold, and that you have left him with ample supplies. He wishes to thank you and wishes you success in the coming battle.”

  “Very good, Rion. You don’t need to second guess yourself or fear making a mistake. That is how you learn. You’ve grown much since the Gray Lands. I’m proud of you.” Rion stood even straighter, if that were possible, and fought a grin.

  Two serving girls approached with a small pillow. A crown sat atop it.

  It was a dazzling circlet of white gold, a single vine-like form that wrapped around itself into flowing shapes like wings and lilies. Simple, and beautiful.

  The two girls set it down over Adriel’s brow, nestling it softly in her hair. Everyone in the room knelt, hands to hearts. “Queen Ivanne!” they hailed.

  Adriel turned and led her retinue of serving girls and guards out of the room. Outside the inn turned palace, Harin and the rest of her Royal Guard waited with her horse. The courser wore its white and silver regalia along with flowing scaled armor. The white horse practically glistened in the morning sun.

  Adriel mounted her horse and trotted down the road. A final glance at the ruined palace, and she turned down the main road. She continued through the streets of Dun Ara to the cheers of civilians and came to the entrance gate.

  Darian and his garrison waited here, and at sight of her, every man saluted. Adriel rode out of the city and into the brilliant sunrise. The Alliance waited in the fields beyond, a hundred thousand people gathered for war.

  Adriel gazed out over their armies. “Let us go to the end.”

  One foot before the other. One more step. One more step.

  Mithaniel trudged through the high grass, feet dragging. They’d been walking for weeks! Long days and longer nights with only fitful rests between. It was exhausting, even for an Iscar
a. Fortunately, their hectic pace had allowed them to outrun Vernell’s vengeful army.

  Cain walked ahead, back straight and shoulders broad. He turned to Mithaniel, his weary eyes the only evidence of his long expedition. And even they were bright with grim determination. “Meurig is just over this hill.”

  Mithaniel managed a nod and somehow summoned the drive to climb up the next hill. His body throbbed with equally dull and sharp aches, but the prospect of finally resting spurred him onto the hilltop.

  Indeed, they had arrived at Meurig. Ancient columns and crumbling walls, shattered domes and broken roads. The waxing moon’s light left a sheen on the faded bricks, giving them a somber, eerie quality. Sylva floated among the ruins, her white wings brushing the dense vines.

  The place had once been a popular waypoint if Mithaniel’s memory served him, the last remnant of the Angeled empire. It had been situated as a crossroads along the trade routes of the ancient kingdoms and had been renowned for its music and arts. Now, it was a husk of its former self, its songs lost even to the histories.

  “The Acedens are gone,” Cain said, pointing out over the ruins.

  They had assumed that the enemy would have set up a base here, as the former city served as a natural chokepoint with its high, rocky hills and nearby valley mouth. “Well, we might as well check it out.” The two descended the hill and entered the ruins.

  Small cottage-like homes dotted the wreckage here and there, each with its own farm or livestock pen. Cain explained that people had created a kind of farming community out here, people who wished to be far from the arzecs… and other people. This kind of place tended to attract a certain ‘breed’ of criminals and vagrants.

  As they continued through the city Mithaniel noticed the occasional black or gray tent abandoned among the weeds. The remains of food and refuse and sooty fires confirmed their suspicions. The Acedens had been here.

  Mithaniel sagged against a wall to finally rest. “I don’t get it. Why would the Acedens abandon their position here?” It felt odd to speak here in these ancient ruins, so far from civilization.