The Shadow of War

by Bryan Gifford

  Cain gave chase, and the men turned to him, eyes wide.

  He reached one of the stragglers and stabbed him through the back. He threw another man to the ground and drove Ceerocai into an attacker’s sword, snapping the blade and lopping off his head. He watched as his men took down most of the remaining Acedens.

  Shaking off his growing weariness, he ordered his soldiers into a wedge formation with spears and shields in front. With a shout, he led his army in a charge toward the valley mouth. The bulk of the Aceden force lay just beyond, their flank exposed as men focused on the fighting to the west. The din of battle boomed in the canyon walls and drowned out the pounding of their boots as they ran.

  They smashed into the Acedens and broke their formation in a wave of bodies.

  Cain cleaved a man’s chest open, feeling the bones break beneath him. Using the momentum of his charge, he plowed through the shocked Acedens and dropped corpses with wild, crushing swings. His army cut a gouge deep into the enemy lines before the Acedens managed to reform their ranks and slow their advance to a crawl.

  Cain fought deep into the mass of black steel and hateful eyes. All around, thousands of soldiers pressed in to kill them. Over the sea of helmets, Isroc’s army fought toward them, banners snapping in the valley wind.

  Cain breathed out in relief. They’d arrived just in time. Together, perhaps they would be enough to push back the Aceden army. They could take the Crossing.

  They could win this.

  Silas tugged on the catapult’s release and watched the boulders arc over the canyon. The massive stones crashed into the Aceden army, crunching flesh and steel. Arrows shot up at him and he dodged behind the catapult, the dull thwacks of broadheads on wood sounding behind his head.

  He called for the next group of catapults and boulders launched over the battlefield. On the opposite canyon wall, Acedens adjusted their machines to try and target Silas and his men. Outriders clashed with Acedens for control of both platforms.

  One boulder smashed into the cliff face overhead and showered dirt and stone over the clashing soldiers. A second stone took out the catapult beside him, throwing bodies into the air in a spray of shrapnel. Silas cursed at the shards of wood in his arm.

  A shadow darkened him, and he leapt away as a boulder smashed right into his catapult. He rolled to a stop and jumped to his feet, boots slick in the blood. He charged into the nearby fighting with a cry. Arrows and boulders shot down around them as they clashed, bodies tumbling and earth spraying.

  The remaining catapults were just beyond the ranks of defending Acedens. Men and women launched a desperate barrage, reloading and firing their machines with blind haste. They kept glancing at Silas and his slowly approaching Outriders, eyes wide.

  A boulder took the first catapult. Acedens were ripped apart, body parts flying over the heads of the combatants. Silas cut down his attacker and turned from the wreckage of the machine. On the other platform, Acedens launched a final barrage before the Outriders cut them down.

  The stones sailed over the gap and crashed down around them. Aceden and Outrider alike were crushed beneath the boulders, blood and gore painting the air. Catapults exploded in a shower of wood and metal.

  The Acedens retreated at this, a few lingering long enough to drag their screaming wounded off into the trees.

  Silas stumbled out of the tangle of bodies, covered in blood and dirt and slivers of wood. He gazed out over the destruction. Dozens of dead twisted and mangled. Entrails and limbs poked out from the splintery remains of catapults. Craters pocked the earth and trees lay broken and shattered.

  He staggered up to the cliff edge with the remnants of his weary Outriders.

  Below, Isroc and Cain’s armies pushed back the Aceden forces. They gathered as one mass and drove the black tides back into the canyons. The Aceden armies were in full withdrawal.

  Cheers echoed in the great basin below.

  Silas managed a smile despite his bone deep exhaustion. His men embraced each other, fists to the air in victory.

  They were winning! He turned to the stronghold before them, its two keeps spanning the eastern gorge that served as the entranceway to Iscarius’ fortress.

  Just one more task lay ahead, and then they could take Markadesh.

  Mithaniel ran once more toward the sounds of battle.

  He led his group of Iscara up the slope and around a bend and came out onto open ground. At the other end of the ridge—barely visible in the night—the Alliance gathered at the base of the Crossing’s stronghold. Arrows rained down on them from the ramparts and boulders arced overhead, smashing through their tightly-packed formations. They advanced in groups, shields overhead as they carried makeshift ladders and small rams toward the high stone walls.

  An assault force already hammered at the gate. Boiling oil and flaming arrows poured down on their shields to set men aglow like living, flailing torches. Soldiers climbed ladders up to the battlements but were met with rocks and arrows and oil and sent tumbling back into the masses.

  Mithaniel weaved through the reserve force and approached Isroc and Ethebriel who were busy passing orders to officers and scouts.

  Isroc turned to him, blinking in surprise. “Mithaniel! Cain said he’d sent you off days ago to aid his other forces. Where have you been? Did they survive?”

  Mithaniel shook his head, pausing to catch his breath. “None of them survived that I know of. You don’t have the proper equipment for a siege, you’ll get slaughtered out there. Where is Cain?”

  “He’s down in the canyon below, clearing out the last of the Acedens and ensuring they actually retreat.” The man rubbed at his beard as he eyed the nearby Iscara. “Who are they?”

  “Don’t worry, they’re with us. They want to help. Let us breach the gates. We can take the place much easier than your men can.”

  “We have catapults and ladders,” Ethebriel noted.

  “And they might help, but not before you lose hundreds, or even thousands, in a direct assault. Let us take the gate.”

  Isroc turned to Ethebriel with a sigh. “What do you think?”

  The Kaanosi king studied the other Iscara for a moment. “If you can save the life of even one man, then it’s worth the risk. I hope your friends here know what they’re doing.”

  Eritha stepped up beside Mithaniel. “Don’t you worry,” she said with a pat on both men’s shoulders. “We will take the keep for you.”

  With that, the woman stepped toward the keep.

  Mithaniel cursed and waved for the others. Behind, Isroc shouted orders for his assault force to pull back from the walls.

  Mithaniel jogged up toward the massive keep, arrows and catapults aimed at him. He should have felt fear. Instead, he only felt exhausted. Sheer, overwhelming fatigue. Every step he took jarred and rattled his bones. He felt like he’d been rolling down a cliffside for the last week.

  It grew strangely quiet, the silence punctuated with the occasional dying scream. Men retreated with shields overhead at Ethebriel’s call for withdrawal, more than a few casting confused glances at Mithaniel as he marched the wrong way.

  The seven Iscara stepped out onto open ground. And faced an army alone.

  A wave of fiery arrows launched at them. Mithaniel weaved together the threads of energy and air that formed his shield and sent it out to join the others. Hundreds of projectiles snapped and splintered in the space before the Iscara, the air warping with every collision. By himself, Mithaniel wasn’t sure if he could have stopped a single arrow, but with six other Iscara to aid him, perhaps he’d be strong enough.

  Catapults redirected toward them and men hastened to load massive stones into their nets. The Iscara could stop small projectiles in flight, but giant boulders were another matter. Likely thinking the same, the other Iscara picked up their pace and now rushed across the field of bodies and flames.

  “I’ll go and make a path for you,” Eritha cried over the shattering arrows. “Just get that gate open!”

>   The mad woman charged ahead alone, arrows snapping away from her. Then, she launched into the air with a blast of wind beneath her. She directed her flight toward the gate and threw her hands out behind her. Another burst of speed and she sailed clean over the wall.

  Mithaniel refocused his attention on the gate, which, blessedly, had been briefly ignored as men gaped at the flying woman. The Iscara thrust their hands out at the lone gate.

  A column of wind and fire and light struck the doors with a resounding boom.

  The steel doors blasted open and flung Acedens through the air. Eritha fought in the small courtyard inside, deflecting blades with her glaive and throwing men with ropes of air. Balls of wind tossed men back or struck them with a concussive clap that dropped them to the ground. Mithaniel and the other Knights charged.

  Mithaniel ran up to Eritha’s side and bashed his shield into a man. His first instinct was to drive down with his sword, but he paused, briefly unsure of what to do. An Aceden took advantage of his uncertainty and charged. Mithaniel raised his shield in time, then cracked the man in the chin with its edge. He spun and laid about with whips of wind and light that dashed ranks apart.

  The Alliance stormed the keep with Isroc and Silas at their head. The two men plunged into the broken lines, scattering frightened Acedens. The enemy retreated deeper into the keep, a trail of bodies left behind. Isroc’s troops gave chase.

  Eritha tugged on Mithaniel’s arm. “Come on, we need to finish this.” She raised her glaive and led the Iscara up the stairs.

  The place was in complete disarray. Acedens ran about every which way, some fleeing while others mounted a defensive. Alliance soldiers streamed through every building and road, clashing with the enemy throughout the keep.

  Mithaniel beat back Acedens with his shield as he pushed through the press of bodies deeper into the heart of the battle. Alliance and Aceden alike smashed together in an amalgam of steel and blood. It was a terrible din of banging metal, crunching bones, and dying wails.

  Eritha waved a hand and Acedens swept aside in a gout of air. She flicked her fingers and the wind wound around her to sweep up an incoming group of Acedens. Their formations crumpled as men were tugged this way and that, others flung overhead.

  “Go down below,” she cried to the other Iscara as she launched a blinding wall of light. “We need to get control of that bridge if we’re going to take the other keep!”

  The woman then leapt off the battlements and soared through the air with another blast of wind. Mithaniel ran toward the edge to watch her arc clear over the canyon, arrows slapping harmlessly away from her. She landed on the wall walk of the other keep and smacked her glaive three men, knocking them back over the stairs.

  Below, some of Isroc’s soldiers were already preparing to cross the bridge. The army inched onto the stone walkway, shields raised to the bombardment of rocks and arrows.

  “We need to reach that gate before they do!” Mithaniel jumped off the battlements and landed on the bridge before the Alliance, using a clap of air to cushion his fall. The other Iscara dropped down behind him, and together, they rushed the gate of the second keep.

  The dull thud of bodies pelted against the doors from the other side, and the great metal gates opened with a snap. Eritha stood among a twisted heap of unconscious men, Acedens scrambling away in terror.

  “Where in the name of Brynden’s beard did you find her?” Silas asked from nearby. Eyes wide, he practically gaped at the woman.

  “She found me.”

  “Well, I wish she would have found you sooner.” He shook his head and turned to his men with Sitare held high. “Follow me, boys. This keep is ours!”

  Mithaniel and Silas charged at the head of the Alliance and stormed the second keep. The Acedens abandoned their defenses and made to flee, but there was nowhere for them to go. All around, men and women were already dropping their weapons in surrender.

  At last able to rest, Mithaniel climbed onto the wall walk and sank down against the battlements. Below, the Alliance routed the last of the Acedens.

  Mithaniel let out a relieved sigh. They’d taken the canyons. They’d taken the Crossing and now the keep. Against all odds, they were winning. All that remained was Markadesh.

  And Iscarius.

  Despite his exhaustion, his heart still beat fierce from battle. He rested his head back against the cold stone and watched the sun rise from behind the mountains. It dripped over the slopes like melted gold.

  Eventually, Cain, Silas, and Isroc climbed the stairs to join him. All three men were covered head to toe in blood and sweat and grime. They looked like walking death.

  Cain grinned at Mithaniel as he approached. They met with an embrace. “It’s good to see you alive,” he said. “I was worried what might have happened.”

  Mithaniel frowned. “I couldn’t save them. Not a single man.”

  His voice took on that familiar somber tone. “You did what you could.”

  “You’ve done well here,” Isroc commended. “We would have lost a lot more men if it weren’t for you.”

  “I hardly did anything. You should thank Eritha here, and she did it without killing anyone.”

  Silas shuddered. “I’m glad she’s on our side.”

  Isroc scratched at his beard. “Yes… strange, isn’t it? Why hasn’t Iscarius sent his Knights out to stop us? Look how much just seven accomplished. And how many does Iscarius have?”

  Mithaniel rubbed at his temples, thoughts a slurry in his head. “Um… well, about three hundred and fifty turned against Abaddon. He sent us all over the world to aid the Acedens and track down surviving Abaddon loyalists. So, unless he summoned all of them to Markadesh… I don’t know, maybe fifty?”

  Isroc contemplated this. “Fifty Iscara. And where are they?”

  “We’ve no time to worry about that now,” Cain said. “Has anyone heard from Adriel? She didn’t meet us at the Crossing.”

  Isroc replied, “I received a messenger yesterday. She’s still fighting the Acedens up north but they’re pushing toward the swamp. I sent a small force to assist her, but I couldn’t spare more than a few men.”

  “You did the right thing; we can’t split up our army any more than it already is. Either we stay here and risk being surrounded and crushed, or we retreat and join Adriel’s forces and give away all the ground we’ve bled for.”

  “Neither one sounds very appealing,” Silas replied.

  Isroc nodded. “Momentum is our only option. We move on Markadesh.”

  “Aye,” Cain said, “before Iscarius can lick his wounds. The faster I can get to him, the faster all of this will be over. It pains me to say it, but Adriel will have to hold out a while longer.”

  He fell quiet then, and his gaze locked on something ahead. Curious, Mithaniel stood and turned to see a stake high above the battlements. Atop it, a severed head. The four men approached it and paused.

  “Ada,” Silas whispered.

  The assassin’s head was barely recognizable beneath all the blood and decay. Maggots feasted in his drooping mouth and eye socket.

  Mithaniel bowed his head. He’d met the assassin a few times. He’d known him to be a pragmatic, resourceful person. Not exactly the most kind and forgiving man, but Mithaniel wanted to believe that Ada had had more driving him than the idea of a few coins.

  “He really did it,” Isroc murmured. “He didn’t lie to us.”

  Silas simply crossed a fist over his heart in a salute.

  Mithaniel turned from them to look out over the stronghold. The Alliance rounded up the Acedens and collected weapons and supplies. Men sang and cheered but most took the reprieve as a chance to simply catch their breath. Aceden banners drifted away in the wind as Alliance banners erected in their place.

  Eritha climbed onto the wall walk and stopped beside him. She nudged him in the side with a smile, and the two looked to the east.

  Markadesh.

  A dark mass of twisting spires and towers and domes. F
ive great floors, each the size of a city. Hundreds of catapults and trebuchets and ballistae. A great lake that surrounded its island of cutting rocks and sheer cliffs. The fortress was an absolute behemoth.

  And they would conquer it.

  Mithaniel’s exhaustion waned beneath his excitement. The end was upon them.

  Isroc marched at the head of the Alliance. Cain, Ethebriel, Silas, and Mithaniel walked beside him, their eyes transfixed on the long canyon before them. The footfalls of tens of thousands of soldiers boomed in the cavernous walls.

  Silas and his Outriders had scouted the way ahead; the canyon was virtually a straight shot to Markadesh. The mountains were next to impossible to climb, and so, there weren’t any platforms for any more catapults to block their way. The Acedens had finally abandoned the passes and had retreated in full behind the walls of their fortress. A day’s march, and they’d arrive at the lakeshore of Iscarius’ hideout.

  The Alliance had gathered ballistae and catapults. They had their ladders and rams. They had several Iscara, and a force of men and women prepared to do whatever it took to win.

  Isroc gazed up at the rising sun that now peeked over the mountaintops.

  They were going to win.

  Adriel suppressed a grin.

  She gripped her reins tight, fighting the urge to brandish her sword. She wanted to swing and swing, to drive the enemy back with every blow.

  Her army didn’t need her help. After days and days of near endless fighting, they’d at last beaten the Acedens into the swamps on the plain’s eastern edge. Men flailed for air above the murky waters. Horses tumbled with terrified screams. Catapults and chariots sank in the bubbling mud.

  The Acedens still fought bravely, lashing out at the ever-advancing Alliance. Their usual discipline had been trampled under sheer instinct for survival. They fought like mad, often charging at the Alliance to gain a few precious inches of solid ground before they were cut down. Their formations crumbled as men threw down their arms or jumped into the consuming mud to avoid death at the hands of their enemy.