With Footfalls of Shadow

by Donogan Sawyer

  “Does anyone know where he is?”

  “He has escaped in one of Arconus’s carriages.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  “He mocks the King.”

  “Indeed, he does,” interjected the Chairman again. “He’s headed to the ruins of Sarhani. Others are meeting him there.”

  “He prepares for war on the kingdom?”

  “I believe so,” answered the Chairman.

  “We must decide now where we stand.”

  The Chamber was silent for some time.

  “We must support the King.”

  “With our numbers added to the King’s forces, Foster hasn’t a prayer, has he?”

  “Foster has been underestimated all along. Do we underestimate him now?”

  “He has strange allies.”

  “How so?”

  “A witch accompanies him, and a giant, and some other odd creatures.”

  “I have heard he has Mikraino with them, with strange eyes that can see things others cannot.”

  “Preposterous.”

  “Yes, but it may work to our advantage.”

  “Yes, the people of Jeandania despise magicians and others of their sort.”

  “With good reason. Since the days of Æhlman, their kind has ruined our country.”

  “Indeed, no one will rally behind a man with such allies.”

  “Some will. There are many who hate Arconus.”

  “They hate him, but they also fear him enough not to cross him.”

  “Won’t they also fear the witch?”

  “Enough to raise arms against her, I hope.”

  “Then it is decided. We must prepare for war.”

  “And we must frame the context of this conflict. This is a war against the very evils that brought this country to ruin a generation ago. It is the King against a rebellion, and it is men against magic.”

  “So goes the vote.”

  “So goes the Chamber.”

  ~Æ~

  The messengers were back in less than two hours. They arrived in a very excited state. Darryck and Riley stood up from their seats by the fire.

  “What news?” asked Darryck.

  “Great news,” answered Bryntal. “I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw him.”

  “Who?” said Riley through a smile.

  “Beg pardon, sir.” Riley’s man stood at attention and saluted. Bryntal noticed and did the same, only now remembering protocol.

  “Yes, at ease, at ease. Tell us what you found,” Riley insisted.

  “It’s Maurious, sir,” reported Bryntal.

  “Maurious? Out here?” asked Darryck.

  “Yes, sir. He said he was waiting for us. He knew we would see his camp. He was with two small men with dark eyes. Very strange. They are going to the ruins of Sarhani. They request that we join them.”

  “What awaits us at the ruins of Sarhani?”

  “Maurious says that is where Liam Foster is heading.”

  Darryck wasted no time. “Let’s go,” he said to his men, who immediately started breaking camp. “Of course, General Riley, you must decide for yourself if you wish to join us. We’ve found many times over that Maurious can be relied upon, even in the strangest circumstances. We must go to him.”

  “I believe we’ll join you, Darryck. We’re not graced with many options at the moment, and I’m anxious to meet this Liam Foster.”

  XXXVIII

  Yes, we have fear. We know our small force will be over-matched ten to one against the army of the King. We know Arconus has the finest weaponry in Jeandania, while we fight with garden tools. We know Arconus can call on allies, while we can only call upon the ghosts of lost loved ones. We know that Arconus will hang us, or cut off our heads should we be caught en route to the ruins. Still, we shall go to Sarhani.

  – Lazaro’s Flame

  The traffic along the road had been growing gradually thicker over the last thirty leagues.

  Liam’s leg was nearly healed from his injury in Filos’s attic. The time on the road to Sarhani was enough for Lyra’s to heal all of their party near to full strength. The Mikraino watched her intently as she worked, despite her protests that she had little skill in healing.

  Liam sat by the window on the left side of the wagon, waving at every person they passed. There were men, women, and children of all ages.

  “I understand these men who have come to fight, but why would they put their families in danger like this?” he asked.

  Lyra answered, “They feel their families are safer with you than they will be at home. They brought their families with them for fear of repercussions from Arconus.”

  “But how will we feed them all?” he asked.

  Filos answered, “It is they who will feed us, Liam. We are the warriors, they are the caretakers. Warriors cannot tend grain any better than these people can wield a sword. We need them, Liam.”

  Liam had a hard time accepting these observations. For a time, he flitted from one side of the wagon to the other, just to make certain he did not miss anyone on the right, but then Lyra explained to him that Richard Ban’hoen had been directing everyone to the one side so that he did not have to move. Apparently this was normal protocol for royalty. How ridiculous, Liam thought, that they should consider him royal, but then he realised that royalty was exactly what these people expected of him. This old, forgotten road only led to one destination, and there was only one reason for these people to be on it. They were all journeying to Sarhani to help him to become king.

  They were coming up on a rise in the road, much like several dozen they had passed before, but this time Filos had made certain everyone was looking out the windows as they came to its crest. A great castle gradually rose from behind the horizon, as if drawn up from the earth by the gentle hand of a great god to reveal the site of his destiny. It was strikingly beautiful in the twilight. The architecture exuded certain strength, yet the lines of the many structures and buildings flowed together with an elegance belying fine sculpture. The most remarkable feature of Sarhani was the giant fighting arena. Built outside the front gate of the city walls, the arena was an enormous circular stage surrounded by large pillars. Most of the pillars were still intact, and on top of a few of them, a sculpture of some ancient hero still stood looking down onto the arena.

  The road sloped steeply downward over the ridge, and a small valley opened up before them. He could see now that there were hundreds of people gathered, waiting for him. He continued to wave as he passed. They were all quite excited, and now that they were so close to the castle, they ran to keep up with the carriage so that they could greet him upon his arrival. Liam noticed the carriage slow down. He chuckled to himself, certain that Richard was making sure they could keep up. The carriage was surrounded, and the people were cheering and jumping as they jogged along. On all sides, he was surrounded by supporters who had dedicated their lives to him. In spite of this, he felt alone. No, he realised, it was because of this that he felt alone. All of these people were here expecting something of him that he had never wished for, and never promised. These people were expecting someone else entirely, some phantom they had conjured up in their idealistic hearts. He was merely an imposter. He was not the hero whom they imagined him to be. To the contrary, Liam was very afraid, more so even than when he had faced the gallows.

  He felt Lyra on his shoulders, the soft, warm descent of an angel, it seemed. “I believe in you,” she said.

  The gentle surprise brought a tear to Liam’s eye. He tried to wipe it clean without anyone noticing, and then he reached to his shoulder to caress her hand, and said, “I wish it were so easy, that love alone could win this war.”

  “Nonsense,” Lyra said. “Love is our greatest weapon. These people love you. I love you. We will all fight for you. No one fights for love of Arconus. They fight for pay, or out of fear. Trust me when I tell you Liam, it’s only love that can win this war for us.”

  He did not say aloud the answer that came to mind, �
��But I am not worthy.’

  “Look, up ahead. They are lining the road,” she said.

  Liam looked ahead at the crowd in the arena, still too far away to make out their faces. The anonymous mass of people stood like shimmering ghosts, and Liam was suddenly, desperately compelled to see the faces behind the apparitions. He turned away from Lyra and headed for the front of the carriage. He climbed through the hatchway on the roof, and settled into the seat next to Richard Ban’hoen.

  “So, Mr Foster, you have come home, it seems,” Richard said, his brows unmoving.

  “It feels like no home I have ever known, Mr Ban’hoen.”

  Ban’hoen laughed. “The great Liam Foster calls me Mr Ban’hoen. Only the servants under my employ call me mister.”

  “I do not know you well enough to call you by your first name, nor have you granted me permission to use it. And the last time I checked, I owed you my life,” Liam answered.

  “Why do you bother with trifles at a time like this?” Richard answered with a wry, sceptical smile, and then laughed. “I am beginning to see why my brother believed in you, Mr Foster.”

  “Perhaps you could enlighten me,” Liam answered.

  Richard laughed again, a hearty laugh this time, but did not answer. Then they both sat in silence as they carried on down the road. Liam continued waving. There were hundreds of people trotting along behind and beside them as they started up the slope, and the final stretch of the road. From the top of the wagon, Liam could now see the ravine that ran behind the castle to the northeast.

  “You were right about the defensive position, Mr Ban’hoen. I’ve never seen a better situated ground for defence. We are safe from attack from at least thirty-five percent of our borders.”

  “There are still a few disadvantages, Mr Foster. This place is very old.”

  Liam could see that the walls around the castle grounds were cracked, and in some places seemed ready to collapse.

  “Thank the gods for the terrain. We’ll have to bring this fight to them. Those walls will never hold.”

  “Thank the gods indeed,” answered Richard, “and ask them if they could spare a miracle or two. By all evidence, you’ve some pretty impressive connections. I recommend you use them.”

  Liam again turned his attention to those who stood alongside the road; the people who were pledging their lives to his cause. He studied their faces, and felt as if he would never forget a single one of them. Some carried swords, some bows, some nothing at all. Liam felt he should be doing something more.

  “You should stand up, Mr Foster,” Richard advised. “I think the people want to get a good look at you.”

  Liam complied. “Perhaps you are right, Mr Ban’hoen,” he said as he rose. “But I doubt I could live up to their expectations.”

  “Not unless you can levitate or something,” Richard answered. “And please call me Richard, Mr Foster.”

  “Liam,” he answered, and waved to the crowds as he passed.

  He was astonished at the number of people. Where had they all come from? More than that, how could they have known to come? There must have been a thousand people here, perhaps closer to two thousand.

  The soft, almost surreptitious sound of their approach suddenly became a clarion call as they rode into the arena. The sound of horses’ hooves and carriage wheels on the hard stone rising up above the din of voices. Richard sped the carriage into the crowd, then pulled them to a halt in the centre of the enormous arena.

  Liam looked into the faces of his followers. A desperate sorrow tore at him. He felt as if this place was some kind of trap, and he was powerless to run from it. Had he led all of these people here to die? Still, they seemed to rejoice at seeing him. They jumped up and down, and waved their weapons. Some were smiling; others looked serious, ready for battle. Many of them held their fingers in the configuration of Liam’s sign, which they now held proudly over their heads, rather than hiding it close to their chest.

  As Liam neared the gates, he saw that there were a few present in the King’s colours, all congregated in the same spot. Some wore new uniforms; others were tattered and dirty. They also held their hands aloft, displaying the sign. Behind them, he saw faces he recognised, faces covered in tattoos. His spirits lifted some. He scanned the faces carefully for Rhoie. Was he still alive? As if in answer, Dilano pushed through to the front of the crowd. Liam leaned over to him and shouted the question, “Where is Rhoie?”

  “He is alive, sir, as far as we know,” Dilano called up to Liam.

  Rhoie was alive. A genuine joy passed over Liam, like a healing shower from the fates. Rhoie had not been killed by the windcat.

  Liam instinctively looked ahead to the palace gates. They were still of strong construction, and he could see signs that men had indeed been inside the walls doing some repair work and other preparations. But now all had come outside the gates upon Liam’s approach. A symbolic gesture. They wished to follow their leader into Sarhani.

  Liam realised, with foolish surprise, that they expected a few words from him. He was spared a moment’s reprieve as Lyra, Filos, Rhemus and Kaila exited the carriage and walked out into the crowd. There was a great deal of curiosity surrounding the motley group. Liam watched the crowd around them. Some looked apprehensive, even suspicious of Lyra and the Mikraino. He felt protective of them.

  “These are my friends,” he found himself saying.

  The crowd was silent for a brief moment, waiting for more? Or unwilling to accept his friends?

  “As you all are my friends,” he finally said. The crowd then erupted in applause and cheers. Those simple words triggered in him the profound realisation of their allegiance. It was a feeling Liam had never dreamed possible. Again doubt crept upon him, but this time he stamped it back. Now was no time for doubt; right or wrong, these people had put their faith in him, and it was his obligation to be strong for them. It was his duty to lead them, to give them the best chance for survival. No, it was more than that. It was his duty to give them the best chance for success.

  Liam climbed to the top of the carriage. The crowd quieted, and he tried to compose his thoughts, then began simply, “Thank you all for being here. Your presence honours me. We come together now, because we are all of one mind. A tyrant sits on the throne.”

  The crowd erupted again, this time with scathing rancour towards Arconus. Liam waited for the noise to die down.

  “I am a simple man. I know little of politics or philosophy, but there are a few things I do know. War, my friends, is a hateful thing. Men have choices in this world. They can love or they can hate. They can create or they can destroy. The right way is clear to all. Men are meant to live together, to help each other, to marry and to have children. Men are meant to love and to create. This, my friends, is the only thing worth fighting for!”

  The group cheered, but Liam suspected they were waiting for something a bit less poetic, and a bit more rousing.

  “Arconus has chosen the other path. He seeks only power and has no regard for humanity. He achieves his ends by pitting one group against another, stirring up hatred and discontent. When he is confronted with opposition, he destroys it. He rules through fear and intimidation. This insidious behaviour is seeping into every corner of our country. A man may no longer speak his mind in his own home without fear of death. No family in Jeandania is untouched by this. We have all lost loved ones. Jeandania has become a kingdom of orphans and mourning parents. Poison bleeds out of the palace, through Kraal, and soaks the entire nation. It drips into our very homes and threatens our families. It is time to stop this poisonous dictator. It is time to heal our nation.”

  Grumbles of agreement coursed through the crowd.

  “So here we stand, at the ruins of Sarhani. We are a few hundred, against many thousand, and we are ill-equipped. I do not know what the fates have in store for our cause. I do not know how many of us will come through this conflict with our lives.

  “I do know, however, with unwavering certaint
y, that our cause is just. Some will say that history cannot be changed by a gathering such as ours.

  “I say this is the only way history can ever change. I say tyranny must be defeated. I say whatever the fates may hold in store for you and for me, the fight begins here! Right here on this soil, in this place! The fight begins now!”

  The crowd cheered wildly, raising their fists and raising the sign. These were his people now, and his fate was sealed with theirs. Liam felt his blood flow near to bursting. In that moment, he believed they could defeat the armies of the King. The time for doubt was over. There was work to be done. He scanned the faces as they cheered. He tried to look into the eyes of every person there. There were men and women, young and old, rich and poor, weak and strong. They were his people now and his responsibility. He vowed to himself to protect them as if they were his own blood. Liam jumped down from the high roof of the carriage and into the crowd. Lyra, Filos, Rhemus and Kaila filed in behind him, and the immense crowd along with them. Richard guided the carriage slowly behind. Liam would not ride into Sarhani above his people; he would walk through the gates alongside them.

  XXXIX

  Liam Foster’s Council of Ten was convened on the third day after his arrival at Sarhani, where surprises and intrigues featured from the first day, and never seemed to cease …

  – Fedora’s Tales of the King

  What Liam did not know when he walked through the gates, was that there was one, and only one, of Sarhani’s new citizens who had not waited outside in the arena with the rest to greet him. Instead, she stood atop the city gates, watching with the greatest pride as her father rode in his royal carriage into the battle arena and addressed his people. It was a beautiful, magical moment and Brandi wished for nothing more than to rush up and embrace him, but she knew she could not. She was not supposed to be here. She was not supposed to be alive.