Aegis of The Gods: Book 00 - The Shadowbearer

by Terry C. Simpson

  Stefan returned the sentiment before yanking his reins to turn his dartan and trot away. When he was out of earshot of the Erastonians he finally let out the breath he held. “Well that went well.”

  “A little too much so,” the High Shin said dryly. “Do you mind telling me how you managed to Forge where no other Matii should have been able to? King Jelani asked about what you did almost as much as he suggested killing you.” She paused. “In fact, you cannot Forge, you’re a Dagodin.”

  Stefan grinned. “I would say I do mind and leave you and yours to ponder the question from the next several years, but you would hound me down until you found your answers.”

  “Well?”

  “First, I didn’t Forge.”

  “But—”

  “People believe what they think they see. Fear is a powerful thing.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “Me? I did nothing besides wave my hand and look fancy, but he doesn’t need to know that, does he?” Stefan waited for Clarice to understand.

  Kasimir caught on first, sucking in a breath as he did so. “You had another Ashishin close by but out of range of the Warping.”

  Stefan rolled his hand in front of him and made a mock bow as if performing at a play.

  “How …” Clarice began. Her brows drew together. “She or he was Masked. Risky. Any slight move on their part would have revealed them.”

  “A worthy risk in this case.”

  “It’s a wonder the Erastonians never suspected,” Clarice said.

  “Fear.” Stefan shrugged. “I simply used their own plan against them and their emotions did the rest.”

  “Who was it?” The High Shin turned slightly, her eyes scanning the area behind them.

  “You have your secrets and I have mine.”

  Clarice cocked her head to one side to regard Stefan. “Fair enough, but how did you know they would use a Warping?”

  “I didn’t, but if I was in their shoes, I would make sure I had some precautions against Matii. Accepting that nothing is beyond your opponent leaves you well prepared.”

  The High Shin nodded.

  They continued riding, no one saying a word. The wind picked up, dry leaves and brush skittering across the ground before it, as the foremost part of the storm began to drift over. Behind them the Erastonian war horns blared twice, the drums thumped, and marching boots rumbled.

  Kasimir broke their silence. “What I really want to know is how you plan to keep what happened here from reaching Nerian’s ears.”

  “Easily.” Stefan smiled at Kasimir’s blank face. “We were defeated. Dead almost to a man. I alone will report our failure to Nerian, while you take what’s left of the army into the Barrier Mountains. You’ll await word from me there.”

  Kasimir gaped. “Sir, you can’t do that. Or at least let me accompany you.”

  “I have no choice but to return, Kas. My family is still in Benez. Nerian has them watched day and night. Secreting the families of our men out of Seti over the years proved hard enough. There was no way I could do the same for mine without drawing more suspicion.”

  “I will have to agree,” Clarice said. “It makes no sense risking more than necessary at this point. Besides, Nerian expected you to be defeated. Whether he will play this out seeing you as his old friend or simply another who failed against the Erastonians and deserves to be beheaded is another question altogether.”

  “I don’t think I have anything to worry about there,” Stefan said.

  Nerian still wanted the sword after all.

  CHAPTER 26

  By the time they reached the encampment, the thunderstorm had swallowed their surroundings, turning late morning into dusk. The Erastonians had disappeared within the blinding sheets of rain, their drums, horns, and marching feet washed away by heaven’s bellows. With Kasimir and Clarice following on his heels, Stefan entered the tent, happy to get out of the rain and the sucking slog of mud. Torchlight flickered within the pavilion’s confines, throwing back the dimness the storm wrought. Outside, the wind’s howls waxed and waned, and rain drummed an accordant percussion.

  Deliberately not addressing her by title, Stefan said, “You know what’s required, Clarice.” He faced her and braced himself. “Get to it.”

  The High Shin’s eyes glinted angrily, and her face flushed.

  “I still don’t agree—” Kasimir began.

  The flick of Clarice’s hand and Stefan’s subsequent painful cry cut him off.

  Heat spilled through Stefan in a rising wave, followed by stings and burning sensations all across his body. A final, agony–riddled surge ripped along his abdomen as if someone slashed his stomach with a sharp blade. His hand immediately went to the area. Blood spilled over his fingers. Fatigue attempted to suck him under as if he’d dueled a dozen foes.

  Gasping, he uttered, “Enough.”

  Kasimir rushed to his side and steadied him. “He said make it look good, not try to kill him.”

  “I hardly tried to kill him,” Clarice said, her voice bearing a hint of satisfaction. “Anyone who inspects those wounds will think he’s been in a deadly battle.”

  Stefan eased his eyes shut, gritting his teeth to quell the pain. “It’s fine,” he said in a raspy whisper. “If she went too easy, it would have been obvious.” He sagged against Kasimir’s arm.

  “Maybe you should mend him a little.”

  “No. Any competent Forger will be able to tell.”

  “Don’t do anything that wouldn’t seem natural,” Stefan said. Still clutching his side, he limped over to his table with Kasimir helping to keep him on his feet the entire way. “Here, this is where I need to go.” He pointed north of a town named Karsten. “A Travelshaft is there at a main stationing point for our forces. They’ll be able to mend me enough to get me home safely.”

  “I could simply take you near Benez,” Clarice said.

  Stefan frowned despite the pain. “I doubt you know the area well enough to Materialize me to the city. Even if you did, Nerian has wards placed all throughout the capital and its surroundings.”

  “So you are assuming I know this Karsten. You are also assuming I can manage to take you despite all the energy I already expended with my Forgings.” Clarice shook her head. “I need more time to recover.”

  Stefan coughed. “I assume nothing. I didn’t ask you to take me, did I?”

  Clarice’s eyes shot open. Immediately, she glanced around. “Your secret Ashishin is in here with us, isn’t she?”

  “Kasimir, show out our dear High Shin.” Stefan lifted his arm from over Kasimir’s and leaned against the table.

  Kasimir bowed, touching fist to heart. “After you, High Shin,” he said, hand on his sword hilt.

  “You dare—”

  “It’s not what I dare, High Shin Clarice. I do what I must as you have learned by now. For this, I trust those closest to me. I have already accepted the Tribunal’s help in good faith. I even allowed you to know by what method I would return to Benez. That alone should suffice for you to show some faith in me. Accompany her to her tent.”

  Face a flushed mask, Clarice nodded. “As you wish.” She spun on her heels and stalked out into the rain. Kasimir followed.

  “Why didn’t you let me do this?” High Shin Galiana Calestis’ voice hissed from the height of Stefan’s chest. From nothing, she appeared next to him, crimson robes bearing two more stripes than Clarice’s. Concern clouded her golden eyes as she inspected his wounds.

  Stefan braced a hand against her shoulder. “No. You or Kasimir would have went too easy on me. She took some goading, but I got the result I wanted. At the same time I kept her off balance.”

  “As you say. Ready?”

  “Yes.” He steeled himself.

  Without another w
ord, she raised her hand, palm facing outward.

  There was a swish, like a blade cutting the wind. A jagged slice appeared before them as if a serrated blade punctured the air then sawed its way down. The slit opened into a convex shape much like an eye but with the corners at the top and bottom instead of left and right. Inside the opening was a dark surface. Through the portal, he barely made out the hills around Karsten. The view was akin to looking through the wavy haze of baking desert sands. To either side of the image, blackness beckoned.

  Together, they stepped into the rift.

  The world twisted. Stefan snapped his eyes shut against the inertia. The sensation imitated a leap from a vast height, spiraling into some unseen pit. His stomach dropped and heaved. Blood rushed to his head. Heartbeats later, solid ground caressed his feet. Rain and wind whipped at him. Thunder pealed.

  “We are here,” Galiana said.

  Stefan opened his eyes. Sure enough, she had Materialized them within the hills north of Karsten. The rain, falling in lancing sheets, blotted out much of their surroundings.

  “The mount.” Stefan trembled against a bout of pain that wracked his body. “You had someone bring it right?”

  “Of course. The dartan will appear as if it ran for days to get you here.” She sloshed over to where the animal was chained against a tree.

  He shambled after her, clutching his side, rain soaking through his already waterlogged uniform.

  Galiana patted the beast where it hunched, now appearing half as formidable as earlier. She offered what help her diminutive body allowed as he mounted. Each movement was an exercise in pain for him, but he needed to bear the agony for a little longer.

  “Goodbye, High Shin Galiana. I’ll see you in Benez,” Stefan said.

  “Remember the Disciplines, ” she replied. “Persevere.”

  Stefan bowed once to his old teacher. With a grunt, he whipped the reins to send the dartan off toward the town, grateful that a jarring jounce did not accompany the splashing of its feet as it ran. In the growing dark, he lost track of time.

  Body and wounds throbbing, the encampment at Karsten’s outskirts abruptly loomed before him. Stefan almost fell from the saddle. He leaned listlessly, offering no protest as several rough hands helped him down.

  “It’s General Dorn,” a voice yelled through a wavy haze. “Someone fetch the menders.”

  Blurred faces hovered above him. Grass or some other surface cushioned his back. Raindrops peppered his face. When did I lie down? Then the hands were whisking him away on the back of a wooden dray, wheels rumbling on cobbles. In several places, cool wind brushed against his exposed flesh. Above him, thunderclouds boiled in a gray quilt often punctuated by cyan lightning flashes. The dray stopped.

  Hands again grasped him. They should have added to his pain when they dragged him out of the deluge, but he felt little. Torchlight greeted him, and he squinted against its glare. Moments later, gentler fingers stripped his clothes from his body. Someone sucked in a breath.

  “Within inches of his life,” a female voice said.

  “The work of a Matii.” The second voice was a harsh, masculine hiss.

  “And at least one or two swords.”

  Stefan wanted to smile, but the fingers slid down to the wound on his stomach and pried the edges apart. A spittle–filled gasp left his lips.

  “Hold him down,” said the first voice.

  Someone gripped his arms and legs. Another held his face and slipped a thick cloth into his mouth.

  “So you don’t bite off your own tongue.” The person above him was hazy, but he made out long hair. “This will hurt.”

  Searing heat tore through him. By comparison, the burning made what Clarice had done seem like hands warmed over a campfire. He tried to scream, but the cloth already opened his mouth as wide as it could go. All that came out was a muffled sound. His sight became nothing more than bright lights. As fast as this fire spread through him, freezing cold followed, chasing the heat. Kicking and thrashing, he arched his back, but the arms held him steady.

  After a final spasm, he succumbed to blackness.

  CHAPTER 27

  “General Dorn,” said the female voice he remembered.

  Stefan eased his eyes open. The brightness of noon greeted him. He winced at the sudden exposure to light. Softness cushioned his back. The sweet scent of perfume or the soap she bathed with tickled his nostrils.

  “Sorry.” Footsteps drifted away from him, and the brightness lessened.

  When the steps drew close once more, a young female’s face accompanied them. Dark hair spilled about the shoulders of her green Alzari robes.

  “How long have I been out?” Stefan sat up.

  “A full day.”

  “A day?” Stefan’s mind whirled. Enough time for Nerian’s people to reach the battleground at the Crescent Hills. They would have found several thousand dead Erastonians and the pyre left by the Ashishin. The Erastonian habit of cremating corpses in any battle they won came in handy. With the enemy occupying the area and guarding the pyre, Nerian’s spies could not have gotten close enough for a better inspection. Stefan pulled the sheet from over his body and stood before realizing he was still naked. The Alzari averted her eyes.

  “Your new uniform is hanging in the corner. I’ll inform Zar Ballard that you’re awake. He’ll want to make sure you’re well enough to travel.”

  “No need. I feel as strong as an oak.” His stomach growled. “And hungrier than a Harnan herder after a fast.” His appetite didn’t surprise him much. Mending took sustenance from the wounded as well as energy from the Matii doing the Forge. He strode over to where his uniform lay on a table.

  “I’ll send for food.”

  “Good and something to drink.” Stefan paused. “Something strong.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Have someone bring my dartan. Tell them to treat him as they would a bull if he’s stubborn. Also, send word to the Travelshaft that I’ll be on my way.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Stefan listened for the swish of the tent’s flaps lifting and her footsteps outside before he expelled a breath. The first part had gone well. He inspected the results of the mending. Where once he had gashes, his skin was now smooth and supple, unblemished, and a healthy tanned ginger color. Even the simulated slice and thrust of a sword through his side was unmarred. Prior scars on his chest and arms remained.

  For a moment, his vision blurred as the exhaustion from the mending took its toll. The back of a nearby chair became his support. He yearned to lie down, but he’d lost enough time. After fumbling with his britches, he managed to get them on without tripping over himself. The buttons on the matching green shirt and embroidered coat proved a much harder challenge, but eventually he was buttoning up the coat. The day’s heat didn’t suit wearing the jacket, but the coming visit with King Nerian required formality. Anything to help dissuade suspicion. Stefan was sitting in the tent’s lone chair tugging on his boots when the Alzari returned.

  “General, I’m Zar Ballard,” a man announced.

  Stefan turned to the male voice he recognized from the night before. Today, the tone was smooth, confident. The man behind the voice was a reflection of that sound: chest up, back straight, hair slick with oil. His robes were pristine. The young, female Alzari stood behind him. Something about the man’s demeanor annoyed Stefan.

  “You need more rest. Delaying another day will not hurt,” Ballard said, the words sounding more like a command than a suggestion.

  Stefan stood slowly, drawing himself to his full height. “I’m sorry. Need? Did I miss when they appointed an Alzari above me? Delay? Are you sure that’s what you want to tell the King concerning the news of our latest defeat and the Erastonian advance? The message was delayed?”

>   “T–That’s not what I meant.” Ballard stumbled over his words, swallowing several times.

  Eyebrows rising ever so slightly, Stefan stared the man down.

  “General,” Zar Ballard added in response. He loosened his robes about his neck.

  “I didn’t think so,” Stefan said. “Now, I thank you for saving my life, but our King won’t care one way or another. Any other survivors reported from the Crescent Hills?”

  “No, sir, not even our scouts returned.”

  Stefan shook his head in feigned grief, his hand on his forehead. “So many brave men,” he whispered, his voice steeped in regret. “All dead. All because of me.”

  “It is not your fault, sir. How could anyone know the Erastonians would have such numbers or be this strong?”

  “You don’t understand, do you, Zar Ballard?”

  Ballard seemed to mull over the words, but his eyes lacked recognition.

  “Do you know what happens to those who fail of late?”

  “General, I–I have heard stories, but surely …”

  “Have you ever seen anyone flayed?”

  Ballard nodded numbly.

  “Good.” Stefan allowed his tone to take on a knife’s edge. “Take care such a punishment doesn’t happen to you should I suffer a second failure in not reaching the King in time.”

  The Alzari was speechless.

  Stefan’s stomach protested mightily. “Now, I distinctly remember asking for a meal.”

  “It should be here any moment, sir,” the young female Ashishin said, a small smile playing across her lips that Stefan was sure came from witnessing the horror written on her superior’s face.

  “General,” Ballard said tentatively. “You should rest at least another day. If you aren’t fully mended and you take the Travelshaft, you risk—”

  “I know the risks. Death using the Travelshaft to get the dire news I bring or death because I didn’t deliver such news in a timely fashion is still death, Zar Ballard.”

  The Alzari bowed in quiet acquiescence.