Aegis of The Gods: Book 00 - The Shadowbearer

by Terry C. Simpson

  “Sire,” Stefan replied, going to one knee.

  “Oh, my son, stop, no need for formality. Not here.” Nerian strode over, and they embraced, the King having to bend a ways to get his arms around Stefan.

  Stefan was not a small man. At a little over six feet, he was taller than many a Setian, but next to the King he always felt small and not only from the man’s stature. Nerian was at least a foot, maybe two, taller than him. The King often reminded Stefan of the pictures of giants from books in his youth. In the three years since Stefan was last home, Nerian’s chest was wider, face more angular, his eyes harder. When Stefan met the King’s gaze, emerald beads came to mind.

  “Let me look at you.” Nerian held him at arm’s length. “Not bad.” He pursed his lips. “A little worse for wear, but you look … healthy.”

  “Same to you, sire. You’re more fit than I remember.”

  “Ah, if only I felt that way.”

  Mind drifting to Thania, Stefan gave a pensive frown.

  “What troubles you?” Nerian asked.

  “Where’s Thania? She’s never missed a day when I return.”

  “Ah. Yes.” Nerian was grinning now. “She is well.” His voice lowered. “I am not supposed to be telling you this, but she prepared a surprise for you.”

  Stefan arched an eyebrow.

  “Not to worry. Trust me. You will love it.”

  “Yes, sire.” Stefan still couldn’t help the trepidation gnawing at him.

  “So,” the King’s demeanor became serious, “Cerny said you did not receive his message well.”

  “The man’s overbearing and incompetent. Why did you promote him anyway? Because he’s an Alzari?”

  “Yes, he can be.” The King paused for a moment. “Still, I had my reasons beyond him being a powerful Matii. Walk with me. Let us escape the crowds.” He nodded out toward the revelers in the streets.

  A wind nipping at them, they walked in silence for some time until the palace’s battlements met with the city walls. Guards greeted them, bowing deeply to the King and putting fists to hearts at the sight of their Knight Commander.

  They were traveling along the southern wall when finally Nerian spoke. “What do you think of what Cerny had to say?”

  “Nothing good,” Stefan admitted, breath rising in feathery mists from the evening’s chill. “Why another war so soon? And against whom?”

  The sun played off the King’s resplendent golden armor of interlocking plates as he stopped. His oversized hands gestured out to the vast city from the slums before the gates here in the south to the villas and spires rising up the slopes of the Cogal Drin Mountains to the north. Citizens crowded the streets. “For them of course, the people, the Setian. We deserve to rule all of Ostania as we did in the days of old.”

  I thought you’d given up on that. Stefan suppressed a sigh.

  A time existed when he and Nerian plotted on how to bring Seti and Ostania to their former glory, holding dominion over most of Denestia. But the Tribunal shattered those dreams when they united the Granadian kingdoms in its present empire under the ideals of Streamean worship. During the Luminance War, when the shade swept out of the Great Divide in Everland, Felan and then Seti itself ceded to the Tribunal for protection and assistance. The Felani, however, had recently broken away from the Tribunal. Still, with its influence stretching far into Ostania, the Tribunal was a near immovable force now.

  As the thoughts flitted through his mind, a sense of satisfaction overcame Stefan. He and Nerian had managed to carve an empire for the Setian within Ostania. He could live with such success. A whisper of sound made him look over his shoulder.

  A few steps behind, Kahar trailed. The King’s bodyguard was like a ghost, always seeming to fit in wherever he went, and most did not notice he was there until it was too late. The man’s too plain appearance, placid demeanor, and shifty eyes glinting with the dying sun gave Stefan the chills.

  Bracing himself against the King’s possible anger, the Knight Commander said, “The men deserve a break, a time to rest. Haven’t enough died a hard death already?”

  “Death’s always simple. We spend our entire lives dying.” Nerian shrugged.

  Those words again. “Do you intend to resume our attempt to conquer the Nevermore Heights?”

  Nerian’s brow wrinkled. “One day, not now. Our campaign starts in Everland with Erastonia’s fall.”

  The words brought a slight relief to Stefan. He considered warning Nerian about the Svenzar, but first, he needed to voice a protest for his men. “I promised my men—”

  “I know what you promised, and I commend you. Your words gave them something to fight for besides simple glory. ‘Give a man a purpose he believes in with all his heart, and he shall accomplish great things.’ You have taken the Disciplines and implemented them in ways well beyond my imagining when I taught them to you.”

  Despite the concern for his men, Stefan’s chest swelled with pride. “So you’ll let them have some time before you start this new campaign? Or, at least seek volunteers first? Plenty among them would gladly remain soldiers.”

  Nerian paused and rested a hand on Stefan’s shoulder. In his mentor’s shadow, Stefan felt inconsequential as if caught up by some irresistible force. A glimpse of regret flashed across Nerian’s emerald eyes.

  “You are like a son to me, but I cannot promise you anything,” Nerian said. “I will try to limit how this reflects on you, but I must do what is best for our budding empire.”

  “I understand.” Stefan resisted the urge to pull away from the King’s grip. “But it’s not right.”

  “Come now.” Nerian chuckled and gave Stefan’s shoulder a squeeze before releasing. “You sound almost like the little boy I met all those years ago. Sometimes we need to be hard.”

  “I know.” Stefan gave a half–hearted shrug as he stared off at nothing. “If there’s anything commanding men has taught me, it’s that one constant. Still, I don’t have to like this or what it means for men who have already spent most of their lives in service.”

  “Duty,” Nerian said, his expression thoughtful, “can weigh on a man until it buries him like an avalanche of snow. Yet, if you strive hard enough, if you keep working, you will find a way to dig out from under its weight.”

  “Unless it kills you first.”

  “There is that.”

  “Are you sure there’s no other way around this?” Stefan glanced out to the setting sun, its glow lighting the sky in purple shades that made the Cogal Drin’s rocky shoulders even more beautiful. “Maybe leave it to the Granadian Tribunal? They owe much to you. After all, you backed them for years. Without you, they would not have a presence in Ostania.”

  “I would not take it that far. I believe they would have found a way at some point.” Nerian stroked his oiled beard. “Their refusal is partially why I am undertaking this action.”

  “They refused to help? Why? This concerns the shade, and it’s not as if they know of your plans for Seti’s full revival.”

  Nerian clasped his hands behind his back. “According to their High Ashishin, we effectively drove the shade back into Everland and the Rotted Forest. They feel invading Everland itself and breaching the Great Divide to eradicate the shade’s minions once and for all is not worth the risk.”

  “Despite the ruin the beasts brought the world since their creation?”

  Nerian pointed out to the southwest where a distant white glow suffused the horizon. “The Granadians think they are safe behind their precious Vallum of Light. Why should they feel any different when the Sanctums of Shelter has protected them from the Great Divide for countless centuries?” A sneer played across the King’s face. “They are not overly concerned with what happens to this part of the world, unless it interferes with their plans.”

  Stefan almost said h
e agreed. They themselves might be better served leaving well enough alone. Ostania had survived for a millennia defending against the shadelings. Either the giant, black–haired wraithwolves that at times stood like men, or the darkwraiths—creatures of smoky mist in the shape of men. More often than not, the shade’s taint transformed some hapless adventurer seeking fame or fortune in the crevasse that was the Great Divide into one of the beasts. Stefan cringed at the pictures his mind conjured from the years he’d done battle against the monsters.

  However, the tomes of the Chronicles spoke of a time when the creatures would rise again to scour Denestia. Supposedly, if the prophecies were to be believed, the Setian would pave the path to free the world from doom. Thinking of the books conjured memories of Stefan’s old wet nurse, Shin Galiana who often told him the stories. To many, they were little more than myths. Stefan wasn’t so sure.

  Part of Nerian’s words rang true for the Knight Commander. Granadia’s Tribunal had done what none else accomplished: Their Dagodin, Ashishin, and High Ashishin had driven the creatures from their land and helped Ostania accomplish the same. Why should they risk more for kingdoms unwilling to convert to the Streamean religion despite all they’d done to help in the past?

  “Would you care if you were them?” Stefan asked.

  “If I were them, the world would already be mine to do with as I wish,” Nerian replied absently, his gaze seemingly locked on something in the distance.

  Stefan frowned. This was not the Nerian he remembered before going off to war. Sure, they were both ambitious and both lived for glory, but the sound in the King’s voice spoke of a longing, a need to make the entire world bow to him. When they shared their dreams in the past, they wanted the Setian to stand above all but without oppression, without tyranny. Nerian sounded almost … jealous. “You intend to take on the Tribunal, don’t you?”

  Nerian’s gaze shifted to the Knight Commander.

  Stefan almost flinched at the cold pits there. “Why? They helped to give us much of what we hold now.”

  “Give?” Nerian scowled, showing his teeth. “They gave me nothing. All I have I took.” He paused. “You helped me take. You, my son, are the only one I need to thank for what we Setian accomplished. The rest are fodder.”

  Stefan opened his mouth to tell the King he was wrong. Without the men who worshipped them, the men Stefan convinced to follow him and the King’s wishes to their death, they would have nothing. The same men Nerian now denied the peace Stefan had promised them. Had it not been for them, the Setian would be a shell of their current glory. How had the King changed so much in three years? The man spoke as if life was little more than a tool to be sharpened, used until it broke, cast away, and then replaced. Stefan bit his tongue. Instead, he said, “Thank you, sire. You honor me.”

  Eyes again drawing to something distant, King Nerian nodded as if he expected nothing less than gratitude. “The Tribunal wishes to make it seem as if they have no real interest in Ostania or even Everland, but indeed they do. They may not be able to rule us by force yet, but they conquered many Ostanians mentally. If only I saw it sooner.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Streamean worship, of course.” Nerian pointed toward the towering statues of Ilumni and the other gods at the temples in Benez. “With their Devout priests and priestesses, the Tribunal has accomplished what no army could. They have subverted the rule of the Ostanian kingdoms with their promises of unity of the gods, harmony between the three religions, and equality between men and women.” Nerian spat. “They tout compulsory education and universal language as if we are semi–intelligent beasts. Through the knowledge they garnered from the Chronicles, they lead people to think the gods reveal their will through the Devout. The fact every one of the priests is also a mender only helps to make that more believable. Look around you some time. Their influence is rampant. Despite their promise of unity, which god do most of us pray to? Ilumni. When something ill happens, to whom do we direct our curses, our blasphemy?” Nerian turned to meet Stefan’s gaze, letting the answer hang.

  Amuni, Stefan thought, but kept silent.

  “I see you begin to understand,” Nerian said.

  “You might be right, but they also brought stability with them. Denestia has thrived from a world wreathed in war to one more prosperous. Take Granadia for example. When was the last time you heard of a major war there? They have small conflicts, sure, but nothing on a scale like we do.”

  “Because the Tribunal rule their own as we should. Absolutely.”

  Stefan shook his head. “Let’s say this is true, that the Tribunal does intend to rule all of Denestia. How would you begin to stop them?”

  The faraway expression clouded the King’s face once more. “A concentration of Mater exists in the Great Divide. It must be why the Erastonians guard it so rabidly. I will have that power even if it means defeating the Erastonians themselves. Not that I would need much excuse to fight them. Their inability to prevent shadelings emerging from the Divide has led to enough damage to other lands. The time has come for someone else to take on the responsibility.” Nerian’s gaze shifted to Stefan. “You saw how powerful a few shadelings can be. Imagine if we managed to harness their power without the taint attached. We would not only complete a conquest of all Ostania but Granadia as well.”

  Creeping, cold fingers eased down Stefan’s spine. The King had lost his senses. To dream of controlling Mater? The power legend said the gods created? One that had turned mountains into flatlands, forests into plains, seas into deserts, created the Vallum of Light and the Great Divide itself? The power existing within everything, but as the madness that eventually took all Matii who wielded it proved, was unstable at best and needed to be handled with extreme caution? Either the King’s ascent was corrupting him or he was going mad. Stefan had heard the voices inhabiting the essences as they whispered their malevolence in his days of training to become a Dagodin. He cringed. Could such an ailment be afflicting the King?

  “I see that look in your eyes, son.” A smile on his lips, Nerian shook his head. “I am not insane. And yes, I believe a way exists to completely control Mater. The Pathfinders are a perfect example. They may not have full control yet, but they are more powerful than almost any other Matii. The answers lie in the Great Divide. I am certain of it. Why else would the Tribunal seek to bring Ostania under their rule?”

  “How are you so sure conquering Mater is their intention?”

  “Come now. You witnessed what happened when their Ashishin handled unstable elements. Imagine the possibilities if a way existed to prevent such a thing from happening.”

  A world in chaos, Stefan thought, as he pictured Forgers abusing their power without its limitations. Then his eyes widened. “So you did know,” he exclaimed, staring at Nerian in disbelief. “And you withdrew our Alzari without warning me.”

  “You would have tried to mend those Astocans anyway.”

  Stefan frowned. “Who told you I did?”

  “I have my ways. Remember when you were young and you and Kasimir stole kinai fruit from that merchant?”

  Brow wrinkling, Stefan recalled the time vividly. He and Kasimir had waited until Master Sena placed the sweet, fist–sized, red fruit in his warehouse before using the hole they’d dug the night before to crawl in and gorge themselves. Before they could leave, Nerian called to them, stepping out from the dark. The King had kept it quiet, but he’d put a whipping on the two of them they’d never forget. For weeks after, they both found it difficult to sit. Involuntarily, Stefan’s hand reached toward his butt. “Yes,” he said. “Garrick told on us then. Did he … is he—”

  “No, he did not and is not. I asked and he refused me.” Nerian gave him a wry smile. “Do not worry yourself, but what happened at the Sang Reaches was confirmation of things I expected. I was already aware of much of the Tribunal’s plans.”


  Stefan’s mouth fell open. “A spy within their ranks? Not just anyone, at least a High Shin.” Stefan’s brows climbed his forehead. “Galiana,” he whispered. Another knowing smirk from Nerian was all the confirmation he needed.

  “Don’t look at me that way,” Nerian admonished. “She volunteered for the task. Besides, the Tribunal has been spying on us this entire time. I cannot trust any of their Matii.”

  “Despite all the years they helped in our battle against the shadelings?”

  “Do not be naïve,” Nerian chided. “We use who we must as they do us. Alone, we could never muster enough Matii or weapons to fight the shade’s last invasion, but together, a united Ostania did. In taking credit for bringing us together, the Tribunal gained their hold in Ostania.”

  “And we’re united now, aren’t we,” Stefan said, finally understanding some of the purpose of his last few years of service. “On our own.” He couldn’t bear to look at Nerian with the knowledge of how the King used him.

  “Not quite,” Nerian said. “But we are close, oh so close.” His voice gained a sudden fervor. “Don’t you see? We are stronger now. We no longer need to rely on the Tribunal to defend us. We can protect ourselves. Eventually, we can chase them back across the sea where they belong. Ostania can once again be whole.”

  Stefan regarded the man he once held in such high esteem. “What then?”

  King Nerian chuckled. “After that my son, the world is ours.”

  “A dream, sire. You’re living a dream. I guess the Granadians will simply bend knee and let you claim their lands. Their Matii will no longer fight for their cause but for ours instead.” Stefan made no attempt to hide his sarcasm.

  “That my son is the beauty of it all. Come.”

  His body tense, Stefan followed at the King’s heels.

  Nerian strode with purpose, head held high. He stopped at the edge of the battlements. “There, this is why I needed you to come home.” The King pointed out to the fields beyond the eastern walls.