The Shadow of War

by Bryan Gifford

  Silas tossed aside his scruples. She may be a woman, but she was dangerous, and she was killing his men. He shouted for his soldiers to refocus their attention on the catapult and turned to face his opponent.

  The woman swung. Silas deflected and stabbed, but she simply stepped past it and dove in for the kill. Silas whacked her blade away with the haft of his weapon and swung with a powerful blow. The Aceden tried to dodge the sudden attack but one of the curved blades struck home, ripping open her stomach. She stumbled past Silas and fell to her knees.

  Silas raised his weapon for the kill but paused. He’d never killed a woman before. Could he even bring himself to do it?

  He listened to her pained cries and found himself thinking of Shara. She was fighting for what she believed in. Wasn’t this woman doing the same? Could he afford to treat her different from any other Aceden?

  He drove his weapon into her spine. Quick and clean.

  Silas stumbled back against the catapult. He wanted to retch. Odd that this one kill could be so different from all the others.

  “Sir!” an Outrider called, jarring him from his thoughts.

  He shook his head and steadied himself against the side of the catapult. The soldier who called his name pointed to the platform across the valley. A boulder launched over the battle and crashed into the barricade. Metal twisted with a harsh crunch and several of the machines exploded, sending an eruption of fire into the air. The oily flames splashed back down on many of the Alliance, their screams rising in the canyon walls.

  “Catapults on that barricade,” Silas shouted over the platform. “I want that damned thing taken down!”

  Still harried by the remaining Acedens, the Outriders adjusted their machines and launched a barrage of stones into the air.

  The munitions smashed down into the open gaps between the armies, but one found its mark. Ripping and crushing metal, the boulder tore through the blockade and rolled into the Acedens, fires leaping over shrieking men.

  Isroc’s army advanced in a wedge of shields where the fires were weakest and met the charging Aceden force.

  Silas sank down the side of the catapult as the last of the Acedens retreated into the trees.

  It was an excruciatingly slow and painful process. But they were doing it, they were winning. Two or three more days of fighting and they’d reach the Crossing.

  But something told him this wouldn’t get easier.

  Adriel frowned down at the map one of Kari’s scouts had drawn. The rumpled piece of parchment marked the enemy formations—spears and heavy infantry surrounding blocks of archers and light footmen. Cavalry moved between the rows and around the army to form a kind of roving patrol that guarded columns of archers and catapults at the rear.

  Those catapults were a problem. They’d taken out many of the machines in the last few pushes, but the enemy seemed determined to hold here near the edge of the plain. The Acedens hadn’t seemed bothered about withdrawing before, and even seemed eager after some of the Alliance’s quick advances. What changed? Weren’t they worried about being pushed into the swamp?

  “Commander!” a voice called.

  Adriel waved away another scout with the latest casualty reports and turned to see Kari approach through the rows of tents.

  Kari saluted, face red with exertion, dress torn in places. Adriel still didn’t understand why the woman insisted a riding dress was proper battle attire. “Commander, the attack on the north row of catapults was successful. Our cavalry took out five of them before they were forced to retreat.” She paused for a heavy breath. “We sustained heavy losses though.”

  Adriel nodded. She’d known sending in a strike team of riders well past the enemy lines would be risky. “There’s more?” Kari and most of her scouts were forward observers. They wouldn’t be reporting on the battle, as that task fell to Adriel’s Charunite and Vilant officers.

  “Aceden reinforcements are coming up from the Crossing. About five thousand.”

  Adriel cursed. That put them well outnumbered now. She rushed over to where one of her Guards held her horse’s reins and jumped into her saddle. She galloped through the camp, Harin and her Royal Guards running to catch up.

  She rode along the rearmost ranks of her army toward a spot where she could get a better view of the battlefield. She didn’t have much of a vantage due to the flat terrain, but she could see the enemy cavalry rushing for another attack at their flanks. Boulders and arrows and bolts and javelins darkened the afternoon sky.

  Fortunately, her own cavalry was quick to respond, and thousands of riders tangled in a chaotic mess. The Aceden horses still managed to punch through in places and charge the Alliance. They were prepared for that.

  Her soldiers maneuvered Silas’ wooden barricades into position and horses smashed again the sharpened stakes. Horses not impaled on the blockades were brought down with long pikes. The enemy cavalry was forced to retreat and left behind heaps of bloodied horses and men.

  The Aceden army advanced.

  Her own army responded by hunkering into a phalanx. Bodies tumbled beneath the barrage of stones and arrows, trampled beneath hooves and boots.

  Harin and the other Royal Guards finally caught up to her and Harin voiced his usual grumpy complaints. They formed a ring around her as if to keep her where she was.

  Adriel forced herself to look away from the fight. All around her, blood stained the brown grass. Bodies littered the expanse like dark mounds. Vultures and ravens blackened the plains and shadowed the sky. The mineral reek of blood lingered in the air.

  A raven landed on a body near her feet. It scared off the other birds and took a taste of the poor man’s entrails. It turned its big, yellow eyes up at her, then resumed its meal.

  Adriel sat in her saddle, feeling completely and utterly useless.

  What was the point of being queen if she couldn’t save her people? What was the point in being commander of an army of freedom fighters if they died before they ever got to know that freedom?

  So much pointless death.

  And she could do nothing but watch it take everything she ever cared about.

  Mithaniel ran.

  Long after he’d grown tired and the exhaustion seeped into his bones, he ran.

  Vultures glided out of his way, but many wheeled about to follow him, as if hoping for a fresher meal. He no longer felt pain or stiffness. He only felt numb.

  Yet still he ran.

  He’d managed to reach the Alliance soldiers that had assaulted the middle valley. Or, what was left of them. A handful of wounded, terrified survivors… and thousands of dead. He’d been too late to save them.

  Perhaps there was still a chance to save those that assaulted the third canyon. Two days had passed since Cain had marched them into these slot-like canyons. Could they have survived this long?

  He had to hope. That was the only thing that kept his feet still moving.

  The sun set somewhere behind the valley walls and turned the sky a deep, ruddy orange. He continued into the growing dusk until a cloud of vultures parted before him.

  Thousands of bodies covered the valley floor. Fires still burned here and there, catching the occasional body to send up a bright blaze. The wings of vultures tossed the last of the red light, casting the canyon walls with an eerie display of flickering shadows.

  Mithaniel’s knees buckled. He collapsed to the bloody ground, body shaking.

  He hadn’t been able to save a single man. Thousands dead because he’d been too slow, too weak.

  What was the point of fighting anymore? They’d all be killed. The Acedens were vast, powerful, and controlled the world. They had the Iscara, and worse, they had Malecai. Iscarius was the strongest of them all. How could they ever hope to defeat him?

  The Forgotten had abandoned them all.

  Was that why he was here, facing eventual death at the hands of his former friends? Was the Creator angry with him for turning from his will and siding with the humans? Should he have just l
et Abaddon continue his divine genocide? He was naïve for thinking he could defy the Creator.

  He sank, head bowed, letting the vultures hop toward him.

  It would be so easy to just give up.

  Mithaniel dug his fingers into the dirt and pushed himself to his feet. The sudden movement caused the nearby birds to take flight in surprise.

  The pain returned to him, threatening to pull him back down to the rocks.

  He refused to give up. He may have turned his back on his friends and creator, but he had something to fight for—the survival of humanity. And new friends. That alone was reason enough to keep going.

  Boots stirred the rocks and muck. He turned with a hand weakly reaching for his sword.

  He blinked. “Eritha?”

  The Iscara woman smiled, her almost silver eyes glowing. She lowered her hood to reveal her thin face and short tail of deep black hair. Behind her, five other Iscara approached.

  Then, his tired, laggard mind remembered she was the enemy. He ripped his sword from its scabbard and held it before him.

  Eritha chuckled. “Please. You flatter me, but I’m not here to kill you.”

  “Then what are you here for?” he breathed, eyeing the other Iscara that stepped up beside her.

  The woman crossed her arms. “We want to join you.”

  Mithaniel was so taken aback that he couldn’t think of anything to say. “You… you do?”

  Eritha laughed again. “You’re not the only one allowed a change of heart.” She grew solemn. “We’ve all done things under Iscarius that we regret. We followed Abaddon because it was the Forgotten’s will. We betrayed him because we believed the humans were worth preserving. And yet…”

  “Iscarius made us kill humans.”

  Eritha unbuckled her breastplate and let it fall to the ground. She untied part of her tunic to expose the tops of her breasts. There, a twisted burn scar laid over her heart. The remnants of the Mark of Iscara, the Followers of Abaddon, and Purveyors of the Forgotten’s will. The symbol of a world cleansed of humanity and sin. The Iscara Turganoth.

  “We burned these from our bodies because we could no longer fight for the will of a god bent on destruction. We burned the Mark because we believed that mankind was worth saving. Did you destroy yours?”

  Mithaniel unlatched his breastplate and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his scarred chest. And the burned Mark over his heart.

  “Then we are on the same side,” Eritha continued as she laced up her shirt. “Let us fight together for what is right.”

  A surge of relief welled up inside Mithaniel. He wasn’t the only one who had betrayed everything he’d ever known. He wasn’t the only one willing to stand for what was right.

  “Then let’s go,” he said, strapping on his armor. “There’s something we need to do.”

  Eritha caught him by the arm as he passed. “We will not spill more blood.”

  “What do you mean? We’re in the middle of a battle, we don’t have a choice.”

  “We do have a choice, and we are done killing. We must show the humans there are other ways toward peace. We must be examples.”

  “Killing more of them than they kill of us is the only way to win.”

  “You sound like Iscarius.”

  That struck deep. Malecai believed in his vision of peace as much as Mithaniel believed in his, and both sides were willing to kill for it. Could there ever be peace through death?

  “I don’t kill for power or pleasure,” Mithaniel growled. “I don’t fight to enslave, to subjugate. I fight for humanity.”

  “Yet you kill humans.”

  He opened his mouth to snap back but stopped himself. He wanted to say that sometimes you had to get your hands dirty, do the things you don’t want to do in the name of peace. Malecai had once used those same words.

  The other Iscara watched him as his tired brain worked through his muddled emotions.

  “Fine,” he relented. “No more killing.”

  The group nodded and Eritha stepped back, waiting for the “but”.

  “But we are still at war. There may come a time when we have no choice but to kill. I will not hold back then.”

  Eritha gave a quiet sigh. “Neither will we.” She raised her glaive overhead to the cries of the other five.

  With that, she and the others turned and ran through the field of bodies.

  Mithaniel spared a glance at the swirling mass of vultures overhead. He didn’t know if the Forgotten was listening or if He had abandoned Mithaniel, but he hoped the Creator would know what was in his heart.

  Purpose.

  Summoning the last dregs of energy remaining to him, Mithaniel turned from the scene of death, and went to seek out life.

  Isroc beat away a man’s axe and slit his throat. He shoved the body back into the Acedens and lunged, messer sword flashing in a blur. Bodies dropped, trampled beneath the Alliance assault.

  The Acedens tried to reform a new phalanx but their outer shield walls had been breached. It was now a free-for-all. Sweaty, bloodied men pressed together in the confines of the valley mouth, swords and shields and axes beating and bashing.

  Isroc was so close to the enemy that he could smell their breath. More than once he had to abandon hope of swinging his sword and simply punch the man before him. It was a deafening cacophony of grinding steel, snapping bones, and pained screams. The air reeked of fear and sweat and viscera.

  Isroc grabbed a man’s arm as he tried to swing a mace and drove his blade through his foe’s face. He threw the body back and climbed over it to leap at an incoming Aceden.

  His body had long since gone numb to the endless swinging of his sword. He felt like an avalanche, rolling over innocent people. Like a force of nature, building with momentum to wipe away and destroy, immune to the pleas of the people it killed.

  He stormed over all in his path, leading his army in an inexorable crawl. Just beyond, the canyon opened out into a wide expanse. The Crossing. The Aceden army gathered in this meeting point of valleys, thousands, perhaps tens of thousands strong. A fortress loomed atop two of the valley peaks in the distance, its catapults aimed for the Alliance.

  Isroc shrugged off the daunting task before them. Right now, it was down to killing.

  Kill. Kill. Kill.

  He tackled an Aceden’s shield and cut the man down, at last entering sunlight. His Alliance fought up beside him and left the valley behind. Thousands of Acedens came down around them.

  Isroc could only hope that Adriel and Cain were winning their respective battles. Everything came down to joining in a combined effort to take the Crossing. He could only hope that he’d survive long enough for them to show up.

  Isroc gritted his teeth and went back to the slaughter.

  Screams echoed in the canyons.

  Cain looked about for the source of the cries but could see little in the pale gray dawn. All around him, the valleys twisted into a labyrinth of deep gorges and jutting mountain ridges. Men died in the distance, their wails echoing in the steep walls.

  Cain pulled his sword from his latest victim and waved for his army to follow. They trampled over the bodies of their foes and rounded the next corner. Swords clanged somewhere in the distance, but he couldn’t pinpoint where.

  It was easy to get disoriented in this mess of gorges. And that was exactly what had happened. Cain lost a few men at first, then dozens, then hundreds. Tired soldiers lost sight of the main unit and had fallen behind. Others had likely just taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way or were picked off by Aceden skirmishers. Cain’s army was now barely half its prior strength.

  Worse, the enemy was there at every turn. They came from all sides at every hour of every day, drawing blood before retreating into the depths of the valleys. It had been days of fighting, of slowly losing men among the many twists and turns. They had to find the way out soon or they’d be whittled away in these endless, lonely canyons.

  Cain led his men down the valley and took the br
anch off to the right. They followed the bends until coming closer to the sounds of battle. A small group of his men struggled at the valley mouth ahead, pressed from all sides by Acedens.

  Cain charged the enemy’s backs and cut a swath through their lines. His soldiers pushed up beside him and quickly fended off the remaining Acedens. The enemy scrambled from the fighting and retreated down the valley.

  “You’re from the team I sent to assault the middle valley a few days ago,” Cain said, approaching one of the panting soldiers.

  The man saluted. “Yes, commander. We’re from the Charunite Second Battalion. I think we’re all that’s left.” He gestured to the cluster of fifty or so men. “We had no choice but to retreat. It was a massacre.”

  Cain cursed. He’d assumed as much. He hadn’t received any update reports, though he had hoped the difficult terrain was the reason for the delay. Likely even his scouts had gotten lost. “Have you seen the Iscara, Mithaniel?”

  The soldier shook his head. “No, commander. We did pick up a group of stragglers, though. They’re up ahead, scouting for a way out of these passes.”

  Cain gazed up at the morning sun now beating down on them. He hoped Mithaniel was alright. He’d sent him off alone into the night on what they both knew could very well have been a suicide mission.

  “Good work, soldier. Take me to them.”

  The army marched on through the winding paths. Screams followed them, some near, some far. Cain grimaced, knowing he’d be unable to find them and help them in time.

  They continued for hours until they heard sounds of battle thundering in the distance.

  A group of Kaanosi soldiers rushed toward them, stopping with hasty salutes. “The fighting’s out there,” one of the men said, pointing north. “At the Crossing!”

  “Lead the way!”

  Cain and his army followed a series of rolling turns and abrupt corners, and at last came out into a narrow valley. Ahead, Aceden soldiers tore from Alliance bodies and retreated for the valley mouth.