Stefan gasped. Next to him, similar exclamations issued from Garrick and Kasimir. Shocked and awed murmurs rippled down the cavalry ranks to either side of them.
The scorpios reloaded and fired. Again, no effect.
The operators cranked the gears frantically now. Bolts flew and struck the same invisible wall.
A Forged shield, it had to be.
“Signal the pikemen to be ready.” Even as he yelled the order, Stefan knew it was too late. He’d been too stunned by the infantry’s speed and the failure of the scorpios. The Erastonians would slam into his men before they arranged their formation. “Cavalry, charge!” he cried.
Trumpets wailed as he kicked his mount into motion. A roar went up from his men as hooves began to drum on the hard earth. Sword out, heart thumping, Stefan leaned into his stallion’s neck. The chances of saving his men seemed slim, but he had to try.
A scant few pikemen managed to set their spears forward before the Erastonians crashed into them in a boiling wave. A few of the enemy were impaled, which told Stefan the shield no longer protected them. Others leaped impossibly high and far over the extended pikes, landing behind the forward line of swordsmen and among the pikemen.
The slaughter of the Setian began.
Unable to drop their spears and unsheathe their short swords in time, the pikemen were cut down. Occupied by the enemy still pouring in, the defensive line of Setian swordsmen could do little to help. Those that did turn died to dual–wielding, white–faced Erastonians stabbing them in the weaknesses of their armor between torso and legs or at their necks. Blood spurted in gouts, painting silver armor red and made leather darker.
The second rank of pikemen did manage to draw their swords but found themselves outmatched by the faster, lightly armored Erastonians. Another enemy wave leaped over the milling mass of Setian battling along the front line to reinforce their other warriors. They hacked and slashed with merciless efficiency.
By now, the black plate wearing Erastonians gained the lines and began to lay about with their two–handed great swords, decimating all who stood before them. The Setian managed to strike down a few, but his men soon disappeared beneath the wave of black.
A trumpet sounded as his cavalry reached the rearmost infantry ranks. What remained of his men struggled mightily against the Erastonians to hold their own. Scorpios still tried to fire, and the ones that did loose were able to punch through a few of the enemy soldiers, nearly splitting them in half when they struck. But the quarters were too close. The Erastonians quickly focused on the scorpios, dropping slaves and operators in quick succession.
“Protect the scorpios,” Stefan yelled. He dashed toward the closest ones, his warhorse knocking men from its path as he slashed left and right, carving a space around him.
His men, reacting to what he did, followed his lead, falling back to the scorpios to reinforce them. The battle boiled fiercest around the drays. Steadily, the Erastonians pressed on, fighting in small pockets, killing all before them.
Surrounded by one such group, Garrick roared as he chopped down one man after another. Then the black armored wave swept him under, stabbing and hacking. Stefan tried to head toward his friend, but Erastonians blocked the way.
Again, a trumpet blared.
Stefan peered down the pass. Another enemy wave appeared with more armored men. Behind them came cavalry. Among those on horseback were many dressed in black robes.
He was sure they had to be Matii—the ones responsible for the earlier shield.
“Retreat,” yelled. “Cross behind the scorpios.”
A few heard and tried to comply. He continued to fight on stabbing and slashing any enemy within reach as he tried to shepherd his forces across the threshold formed by the scorpio line. Locked in their many battles they couldn’t move fast enough. Desperate he took a quick glance to where he’d hidden the Alzari cohort to their flanks above the pass. For a moment, he considered sending the signal that would have them bring the rocky walls crashing down, but too many of his remaining soldiers would be caught in the avalanche.
A small prickle of hope edged through him as he noticed now how his men rallied, not only around him, but ahead, fighting desperately. A Setian infantry wedge and cavalry formed and managed to hold the Erastonians at bay. The resistance would be short lived. Once those Matii gained a range where they could Forge again, the battle already lost, would become a complete massacre. They would leave none alive.
The earth heaved in a sudden lurch, almost knocking him from his mount. Whinnying, the horse reared up on its hind legs. A rumble and a tearing sound followed.
A chasm opened less than a hundred feet from where he stood fighting off a few white–faced Erastonians. The rift split the pass from one cliff line to the other. Animals, drays, Setian and Erastonians disappeared into the hole. Screams followed their plunge.
Dear Ilumni, what have they done. I didn’t give the signal.
Throes wracked the earth again, but this time the accompanying rumble came from the surrounding slopes several thousand feet ahead. Boulders tumbled, and then the sheer rock faces on each side crumbled. The rubble filled the pass, cutting off Stefan’s sight of the Erastonian army beyond.
Horns started a serenade behind him. A soft patter of rain began as the clouds above finally broke. He recognized the tune. Whirling, he could not believe what he saw as the horns continued to play.
Surrounded by several hundred of his Royal Guard and garbed in golden armor, cape flapping, was King Nerian.
A cheer went up from the remaining soldiers. The Knight Commander’s shoulders slumped even as disbelief, quickly replaced by anger at the sacrifice of his men, swept through him. He turned back to the ragged gash in earth ahead where nothing but silence greeted him. Here and there, his men finished off the few Erastonians left on this side of the barrier of rubble and the chasm.
If they were lucky, eight to ten thousand of his original forty thousand had survived. Today, they were no longer the Unvanquished.
CHAPTER 18
“You sacrificed nearly thirty thousand men,” Stefan said quietly. Rage should have burned inside him, but somehow, it had sputtered out. A hollow formed in the pit of his stomach with the words. “My men. Men who trusted me to bring them home alive. Men I promised peace to, a chance to be with their families. You cost me a friend today.” A growing sense of despair trickled through him. His hands shook.
At the table in the pavilion, not even bothering to look up from the map of Everland, Nerian shrugged. “The Disciplines warned you against making certain promises, did it not, General Dorn?”
Knight Commander Dorn, Stefan itched to say, but instead he bit his tongue and nodded. He’d failed to keep the one promise that meant so much to him and his men. The blame fell on his shoulders for his misplaced honor and arrogance in thinking he knew Nerian better than the man did himself.
“Anyway,” the King continued, “the menders managed to save Garrick. He may yet be able to rejoin us if he recovers fully. It was a necessary sacrifice. The men believe in me now. They trust I will lead them to victory.”
Stefan squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he pictured the wounds hacked into Garrick’s armor. He no longer recognized his friend when they removed the armor. When the Alzari were attempting to heal him, they said if he managed to live, Garrick would limp for the remainder of his life and have scars across his body and face. “All of those lives wasted for a ploy?” Stefan whispered.
“No, not wasted, used to attain the men’s belief. They know now that they can rely on Matii to help them win battles the same as the Erastonians. They needed to experience the horror of an Erastonian attack and then see it turned back. You have been naïve in this, Stefan, surprisingly so.”
Eyes narrowing, Stefan said, “You knew how the Erastonians fought along. Why—”
“What? But you said no Scouts reported—.”
“None did,” Nerian interrupted.
The King was splitting hairs. “So how did you …”
“I watched when Renaida and Senden suffered defeat months ago.”
Stefan frowned. Then you had them killed before they revealed the Erastonian strategy. You are mad, aren’t you? “Why would you withhold that from me and cost us so many men.”
“They were my men, to be used as I thought best. The same as I used you. Nothing must stand in the way of my triumph.”
Stefan’s hands clenched and unclenched. “Why? Why did you do this? Do their lives, their families, mean nothing to you?”
“Victory is everything, Stefan. I will use what I must, even fighting darkness with darkness if I have to.”
“What do you mean by that?”
A slow smile spread across Nerian’s face. “What pushed you over the edge to fight, to lead these men here, and to decide the Erastonians must be eradicated?”
Stefan tilted his head to one side, thinking for a moment. No. He doesn’t mean … does he? “The shadeling and Erastonian Matus’ attack in Benez.”
“Exactly,” Nerian confirmed.
“She wasn’t an Erastonian, was she?”
“No, of course not.” Nerian chuckled. “She was one of our own Alzari.”
Stefan understood, now. For me to commit, you gave me something I feared more than anything … a threat to my family from the supposed enemy. But that also means … “The shadelings were yours.” He gave an incredulous stare.
“Like I said, sometimes you must fight darkness with darkness.”
“What have you done?” Stefan’s words came out in a hoarse whisper.
“What I needed to ensure the Setian rise above the Tribunal to rule all of Granadia as we should,” Nerian said.
Something else dawned on Stefan. He made an involuntary reach for his sword. Nerian’s smug expression stopped him.
“Do not bother. I’m aware of the sword, but according to Kahar, it bonded to you. I can do nothing but wait to see if you possess the strength it needs. Afterward, you can pass its power onto me once you learn how to do so.”
An onset of weakness almost overcame Stefan. If there was a chair nearby, he would have found a seat. “Power to do what?”
“Defeat the Tribunal. Undo whatever imprisons the shadelings within the Great Divide.”
A gasp escaped Stefan’s lips. “You would release their plague onto the world?”
Nerian smiled crookedly. “With their power and numbers added to mine, none can stop me.”
“Who would stop them?”
“Why, me, of course.”
“You really are mad,” Stefan said, voice quaking.
“No. I simply understand what most do not. The wealth of information and power hidden within the Great Divide is there for the taking. Your sword, and the shade … no … Mater itself, are the keys. I simply need to unravel the process to control them all.” A feverish gleam shone deep within Nerian’s eyes. “Don’t you understand? Remember the dreams we shared of making Ostania whole? We can achieve them together and so much more. Denestia will be mine with you as monarch under me. With this power I will become a god. It has already been written.”
Stefan’s insides writhed at what the words meant. All along, the King was already aware of the parts of the Chronicles Galiana thought she kept secret. He’d allowed her to deliver the sword. He deceived them all. ‘A good leader is adept in the art of deception.’ The words from the Disciplines grated at Stefan.
Still, why didn’t Nerian kill him and take the weapon? Unless he couldn’t. Stefan thought back to the day he received the divya from Galiana. He added that to Nerian’s mention of a bond. The tingling sensation that passed through him had not been his imagination nor how the divya felt as if he’d wielded it for centuries. Did the sword reject Nerian and now the only way left to gain its use was to have the bond voluntarily passed from another? He had to play this out correctly, use Nerian’s own madness against him.
“What would you have me do?” Stefan asked in resignation.
A grin plastered on his face, Nerian strode over with his arms spread wide. Stefan allowed the King to hug him as if he were a long lost son returning to the fold. His expression a mask to hide his revulsion, Stefan returned the sentiment with a squeeze of his own.
“I knew you would understand eventually,” Nerian said. He backed off and looked down into Stefan’s face. “All I need is for you to help me defeat the Erastonians. Lead the men. After that, the Great Divide will be ours to gain its secrets. From there, the Tribunal will fall.”
“What about those slaughtered by the shade?” Stefan looked away, unable to hold Nerian’s gaze with the weight of the horror to come on his chest. “Those of our people who die during this campaign?”
“Sacrifices happen in war, Stefan. Their deaths shall pave the way for ultimate victory. Let today be the first day the Setian are remembered for all eternity, a day when a legend is born.”
Yes, Stefan thought, remembered in infamy and reviled for the cataclysm you will spawn upon the world. Thinking back, he wished he’d accepted the Svenzar’s offer. Now, it was too late. One thing remained without a doubt.
Nerian had to die.
CHAPTER 19
The return to Benez weighed on Stefan. He didn’t deserve the outpouring of jubilation around him. The Setian were doomed, and he blamed himself.
Thania, at her usual position above the gates with Anton and Celina beside her, was the one thing remotely normal about the day. Seeing them made him smile for a moment, and he touched the pendant around his neck before melancholy crept in. Defeat occupied his mind, but the people still cheered. Along the roadside, out of their windows, perched on roofs, they waved handkerchiefs, tossed flowers, and screamed and yelled more than at any other victory celebration. Don’t they realize the Unvanquished have fallen? That thousands of men who defended their country died at Nerian’s hands?
The majority of his surviving men, especially the veterans, marched with their heads down, expressions grim. The newer recruits chattered excitedly among themselves. Others stared absently, forlorn expressions etched onto their faces.
A procession of wagons followed their group, carrying those who had lost limbs. Interspersed among his men were King Nerian’s Dagodin and Alzari. At their head, surrounded by his Royal Guard, rode the King, broad shoulders appearing even more so in his armor, his figure an imposing one upon his huge warhorse.
“Hail King Nerian,” someone shouted above the din of the crowds along the cobbled streets. “Savior of the Unvanquished!”
Stefan started. So that’s what they were calling the man?
To Stefan’s left Kasimir shook his head. “Been quite a few of those today.”
As he listened closely, Stefan picked the names out: Nerian the Lightbearer, Nerian the Savior. The second title grated his insides more than any other. Carried by countless mouths, the name travelled along the avenue in a ripple with a power of its own. Eyes gleamed with fervor as they regarded the King. More than one person bowed their head in reverence as he rode by.
I lost thirty thousand men, Garrick still lies within death’s grasp, and he makes them believe this was a victory. Stefan stared at Nerian’s back, fingers caressing his sword hilt.
“There’s nothing you can do,” Kasimir said.
“Listen to your friend.”
Stefan whirled at the soft–spoken voice at his other side. Next to him trotted Kahar. Stefan shivered as he gazed into the bodyguard’s blank, silver–flecked eyes. Without another word, Kahar spurred his horse and rode toward the King.
Once they r
eached the Upper City, Stefan said to Kasimir, “Let the King know I won’t be attending the feast. My family needs me.”
“You sure?” Kasimir asked.
“Yes. He should understand. If he doesn’t …” Stefan shrugged. He nudged his horse through the crowd, onto one of the side lanes, and headed for home.
As expected, Thania had dismissed the servants for the day. She and the children were upstairs playing when Stefan made his way down to the training room.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be here,” he said to the form lingering in the shadows by the doorway across the room.
“Why is that?” Galiana stepped into a pool of lamplight.
“Because Nerian knows you gave me the sword, which means he knows about the parts of the Chronicles you kept from him.”
“Yes. That is why I risked coming. To warn you. Nerian sent the shadelings. The Matus we thought to be an Erastonian was actually one of his Alzari.”
Stefan nodded. “He revealed as much to me after our defeat.”
“You lost?” Galiana’s brow wrinkled. “All the reports we received said you won.”
“Nerian did maybe, but the Erastonians defeated the Unvanquished.”
“How?”
Stefan told her how the battle transpired.
Galiana’s frown grew deeper. “Why would he send you into a battle without the information you needed?”
“It was something so simple it was genius.” Stefan said. “By having the forces loyal to me destroyed, he got rid of his greatest possible threat. The best part is he never needed to raise a finger in attack. At the same time, he swayed any doubters to his side. Have you heard what they’re calling him?”
Galiana shook her head.
“King Nerian the Savior.” Stefan spat. “Please tell me you have better news from the Tribunal.”
“Yes and no.”
Aegis of The Gods: Book 00 - The Shadowbearer Page 15