The Shadow of the Sun (The Way of the Gods)

by Barbara Friend Ish

  “I didn’t realize you had a Deluge, too,” Iminor said, gaze on the broken walls beyond the sunset-lit flow.

  The truth of it crashed down on me: I wondered that I hadn’t seen it before. I didn’t know what had motivated their great goddess Dana, but history was clear on the destruction here: Lady Tella had reduced a city that once outshone Ilnemedon to a slag-heap because its people would not turn from Esus to Her. This had been the site of Her final battle with Him; even after all these centuries, the air still tasted of a goddess’s rage.

  “Deluge?” Amien sounded astonished. My mind was too full of black, ancient arcane energies to let me focus on him. “No, this was different.”

  The very rock still remembered arcane storms and plagues on the land and fire that rained from the sky. The noncombatants who had perished here turned my stomach, even while the energies that killed them raised terrible thrills along my flesh. It all seemed like the sort of arcane dueling that had cost me the throne, magnified a thousandfold. But it had been the goddess. I tasted bile.

  “My lord, we should take the opportunity for reconnaissance,” I said. I needed to understand; needed to see the difference between what She had done here and what the Danaan goddess wrought at Arian. We needed to know what powers would be in play when the wizards came back here after the Moot. I must rid myself of the hideous sense that Esus was not the One to blame for what happened to this land. The answers to all those problems lay on the opposite side of the sunset-flaming river.

  “Agreed,” Amien said, and turned to Rohini. “Shall we camp on this side tonight?”

  “Here?” Iminor blurted. His voice cracked.

  Power surged across the river, drowning out the argument that sprang up among them. I knew that power’s flavor, knew the notes that resonated in my bones, but suddenly it rang as powerfully on the air as it had in the grove at Nemetona, on the night I first met Esus. Intoxication spiraled up from the ground, enveloping me; sunset’s glow faded to eternal, moonless starlight. My companions’ voices were barely audible, their words ranging over terrain impossibly remote.

  “Well, are you going to ward the place?” Iminor demanded, his unaccustomed ferocity rocking Amien visibly backwards. “Or was Ellion right about that, too, and you can’t even—”

  In the midst of the river, in the place where Esunertos rose up from the flow, something shifted. I saw the city as it had been, as it would be, the red-shot basalt of its walls and towers rising like a more solid and angular echo of the glory that Arian once was. At the center, in the castle keep, stood an immense oak. From outside it seemed dead, scarred and leafless. But I saw the life coiled deep in its heart, waiting for something to revive it. I knew the touch it required.

  Abu al-righ, the wind sang. The phrase tingled through me on the next breath I drew, and the invisible torc settled into a pleasant and altogether fitting weight around my neck.

  “My lord?” Letitia’s voice called me back to the barren place my companions occupied. I glanced at her, seeing the things that commandeered me reflected in a sudden hunger in her gaze.

  “What would you see us do?”

  I glanced across the river again. I needed to know; her future depended on the answers I would find.

  “Trust our Essuvian friends,” I said, eyes still trying to bridge the gap between today’s destruction and the city’s possibility. “And be prepared for the eventuality that what we learn may require us to decamp.” Iminor opened his mouth and closed it again with an audible clicking of teeth; Nuad shifted in the saddle. “We won’t be gone long.”

  “We’ll be waiting when you return, sian,” Rohini said, sounding satisfied.

  I nodded and cued my horse; Amien fell in beside me. I’d read the histories of the battles that destroyed Esusdia; Beannchar in particular gives a wealth of detail on the terrain and the way Owain Mourne exploited it, making his volume one aspiring commanders still study. Today I could see little beyond Beannchar’s complete failure to account for the arcane aspects of the war. But he’d left me one usable detail: east of Esunertos, it is possible to ford the Riga at the wide, open crossing commanded by the Precinct Road—or at a more secluded spot an hour’s brisk ride to the south. I turned us southwest to ride across the broken plain towards the quieter crossing, which allows access to the isle of Esunertos itself. Or would, if that crossing were not too strongly secured. Amien wove a glamour around us as we rode, a sight-foiling haze that would conceal us from any lookouts but arcane ones—but which made it difficult to see beyond half a mile.

  Daylight faded though the glow of evening to moonless dark. The aftermath of ancient arcane warfare hung on the air, alternately choking and intoxicating; I tried and failed to find some semblance of equilibrium, hauled my awareness back and back again to the military issues. But I already knew I was retaining no details beyond the arcane.

  As the high ground traversed by the Precinct Road faded into the darkness behind us, I felt Nechton give the command. Just like last time, his Will tugged against my spine; his intention settled like fog across my mind. Horror erupted in me; I reined. Amien’s horse clattered to a stop a moment later; he twisted round in the saddle to look at me, bewilderment barely visible in the fading light.

  “Básghilae,” I said.

  “What?” Amien squawked.

  I turned my horse’s head around, spurred him to immediate speed. After a second I heard Amien follow; then all my attention fell on closing the gap between the Básghilae’s arrival and my own. I felt them surge across the river and catapult across the open plain, unhindered by the moonless dark. I needed to go faster, to capitalize on my lighthorse’s greater speed; I needed the eyes of a Tan. Or Esus.

  Had there ever been any choice? I breathed in the velvet night in which Esus always enveloped me; the world shifted into visibility that revealed far more than obstacles over which my horse might stumble. Powers beneath the earth’s surface and zephyrs of darkness on the air crowded around my peripheral vision, waiting for me to turn my attention on them; to turn them to the uses which only a wizard might make. Even without my touching them, those energies ignited me, crystallizing my need to protect Letitia into a Will of much greater breadth and clarity. Letitia was vitally important, though not for the reasons my blind human emotions would have me believe.

  But turning my attention on that issue made the darkly-visible plain across which my horse flew fade from sight. I hadn’t sufficiently opened myself to this power: that knowledge blew through me on a subtle blue-black breeze. There remained an initiation I must take.

  There wasn’t time to consider that, either; even after I released the issue of Letitia’s significance for later, I still needed better visibility. I shredded Amien’s glamour and spurred my horse faster yet, reaching across the aether for Letitia.

  *Annu.*

  I felt her startle across the miles. *Ellion! Are you all—?*

  *Básghilae on the way.* I was remotely aware that I sounded far colder than a human should; no time for that issue, either. *I’m on my way, but they’re going to beat me—Get ready—*

  And then there was nothing to do but race through the darkness. Stars and cold invisible fire shimmered within my grasp, promising pleasures I’d foregone for a decade and sufficient energy to singlehandedly change the battle I must fight. Dread for my companions knotted in my throat. Everything about this night loaded the scales in Nechton’s favor: the proximity of the power well across the river; the wide, barren terrain; even the moonless sky. I felt the shift in the Básghilae as they closed with my companions, the way the surge of my companions’ terror became yet another source of energy. I urged my horse faster, even though I knew the horse capable of faster didn’t exist. At last we crested the rise that traces the Precinct Road—and I spotted my companions’ campfire. Even from here it dazzled my eyes.

  “Yah,” I said to the horse; his ears pinned back, but he surged bravely down the rise. Halfway there I discovered my sword in my hand, whistling ag
ainst the rushing air.

  Now I could see the disposition of the battle. Iminor, Nuad, and the Essuvians stood clustered around Letitia: all of them mounted, surrounded by more Básghilae than I had ever seen. Three of Rohini’s men had fallen, but I couldn’t identify them from here. More than a dozen Básghilae lay headless and defeated; their abandoned destriers milled restlessly a short distance away. Horses picked their ways among the bodies, trod on the remains of a dozen broken spears; firelight flashed in the blades of clashing swords. It hardly mattered where one additional man was deployed: I charged the closest Básghil, sweeping his head from behind—and gasped in surprise when the dark energies that powered him shivered up through my blade and into me. Immediately my head shifted, and the power blowing across these vacant lands blasted through me again; three more Básghilae converged on me before that first body hit the ground. A moment later Amien crashed in to engage the one at my left hand; gradually we shifted until our horses faced in opposite directions, stirrups periodically clashing as we jostled within a deepening ring of ghouls.

  “Where the fouzh are they all coming from?” Amien muttered. But I didn’t have to answer; we both knew. The only questions were how deep Nechton’s reserve across the river might be and how much of it he was willing to expend. I swept a glance among the undead men surrounding us: in my peripheral vision each mounted Básghil seemed to double, and dozens more crowded restless and hungry just a short distance away. Even the abandoned destriers manifested shades of undead men.

  There was nothing for it: we dug in and whittled away at them. Esus’s Power whirled like uisquebae inside me; Nechton stared from behind Básghilae eyes. My companions’ growing fatigue hung upon the air. Rohini’s man Calbo took a thrusting wound through a joint in his armor and crumpled; his life energies lit up the battlefield like a rain of stars, knotting my throat with warring pleasure and revulsion. When Corrib went down beside him a moment later, I felt the energy of the battle shift.

  We needed to withdraw, to find some better place in which to stand; but Letitia still stood utterly surrounded, and with this power racing through me I could see for miles: there was no better place within sprinting range. We could do nothing but chip away until the balance of forces shifted. Then Nechton would withdraw his troops. I glanced around, tallying swords: they outnumbered us by seven now. I applied myself to closing the gap.

  But then Rohini’s horse stumbled on the pieces of a spear, and her opponent whipped his blade through that half-second’s opening. It slashed across her midsection with an audible impact, tangling in the wiry spidersilk; her personal wards flared in brilliant green and shades of black imperceptible to mundane eyes. She gave a short, surprised cry and tumbled from the saddle; Amien crumpled in mid-swing, falling across his horse’s neck.

  Suddenly he was all that mattered. The world shrank to the circle of Básghilae surrounding us, and I abandoned a developing opening in Básghil defenses to spin my horse on the spot, reach across the intervening space and grab Amien’s reins. He didn’t seem to be dead, just unconscious: I tweaked my horse so he reared, hooves flailing, and took advantage of that second of Básghilae confusion to drive the horse through a narrow opening to my right, pulling Amien’s horse behind me. As we raced towards the rest of our companions, I saw: Letitia had slipped from the saddle to pull Rohini’s inert body into the center with her; Básghilae all around the circle were pulling away from other engagements as if they might run her down. Iminor and Nuad began shouting at her.

  “Letitia, back!” I heard myself shout; I had no recollection of forming the words. She glanced at me but dragged Rohini along with her, and then the shrinking circle of knights closed around her again. In the midst of the confusion Busadi backed his horse into the circle with Letitia, leapt from the saddle and hauled Rohini across his horse’s withers, then scrambled up behind her. Letitia shinnied back into her saddle. I had to change the tempo.

  I shouted, spurring my horse and yanking Amien’s along; Busadi broke through the confusion to follow, the Tanaan and the remaining Essuvians trailing in his wake. Away from the road we raced, northwest across the broken plain: I would make for the river. If we could find a spot where the banks stood higher than the water, we could make a better stand.

  The Básghilae had been fresh at the beginning of this engagement; we’d been riding all day. We never managed to pull away, just kept moving as they harried the back of our disorganized pack. After a few minutes of sprinting, Uxenti and then Olin took the bite of Básghilae blades and fell from the saddles; their horses never broke stride, just clung to the faint reassurance of the retreating herd. The terrible delight of stolen energy raced up my spine and was gone.

  Finally the river loomed before us, its broad expanse barely distinguishable from the endless stretch of barren basalt in the dark. There was hardly any drop to the water: nothing here to guard our backs. But the horses were as tired as the men. Nothing for it: at least, while we fought, the horses might catch their breath.

  “Busadi!” I shouted, and tossed him Amien’s reins. “With Letitia!”

  “Lord—” The argument tripped past his lips before he visibly thought better of it and gave a crisp nod. The rest of us circled around them at the shore: at least all of us would have better footing than some of the Básghilae. It was a pathetic excuse for tactical advantage.

  Within a minute both Iminor and I had separated Básghilae heads from their bodies, and renewed hope rippled around the circle. I felt him as a solid presence at my left hand, relied on his defense of my flank almost as I would have done with Amien. And when next I looked back both Amien and Rohini had regained some semblance of consciousness; Rohini slid down from Busadi’s horse and sent him back into the line, while Amien cast confusedly about for a sword I could only assume had been lost a mile or more back as we ran. Letitia shrugged and passed him hers, and he spurred his horse out to take up a position on Iminor’s left hand. Still we were only ten now, with two of us injured and two disarmed: for all practical purposes, the Básghilae outnumbered us two to one.

  I recognized the one battling Iminor: so immense he fought one-handed with a sword that should have required two, he was the one I’d been fighting when Nechton gave the command to retreat last time. Tonight he plied the weight of his sword and all the mass of his body against Iminor, who worked speed and subtle bladecraft to turn the heavier sword’s momentum into a disadvantage—until the Básghil reared up in the stirrups and brought all his mass against Iminor: sword clashing against Iminor’s and sending the Tan tumbling from the saddle; the sickening, unmistakable sound of a shattered blade splitting the air.

  I must close the gap Iminor’s fall opened in the line before Letitia; but power flared, close by, and my head snapped around involuntarily to locate the source. An arcane casting flew from the blade of a Básghil a short distance away, streaking in brilliant red towards me.

  A wizard not bound by a vow would have raised a shield, deflected the casting. I tried to dive from its path instead. But a shield erupted in the air around me anyway, sparkling in an array of greens that cast the darkness in brief emerald illumination—and flared into nonexistence as the bolt from the Básghil sword grounded in its flow. I hit the ground, rolling awkwardly around my sword; Amien slumped across his horse’s neck again; the gap before Letitia had become a highway through which the Básghilae might drive an entire wedge. I launched myself back into the saddle, glancing along the line just in time to see Iminor scramble to his feet and grasp a blade a defeated Básghil had dropped. I heard myself shout, heard Letitia wail despair—and the sudden, horrific flow of Nechton’s death-spell from the sword into Iminor made my head spiral beyond control.

  Iminor leapt into his saddle and engaged the massive Básghil before the man could reach Letitia; another arcane blast issued from the sword of the Básghil at my right flank; I bashed my blade against his, sending the casting wide, but the deflected power knocked my weapon from my hand. Nechton glared at me from b
ehind the Básghil’s eyes; power surged through the undead man again, and I was out of defenses: I launched myself across the space between our horses, dragging us both from the saddle.

  I hit the ground with a thud I heard but didn’t feel: fists full of a dead man’s jacket and a cataract of arcane power blasting through me, lighting me up in black and red and colors the mundane world can’t accommodate. A moonless night on a barren shore disappeared, and I hung in the midst of timeless darkness, staring through a corpse at Nechton’s intense grey eyes while Básghil energy spun me so far past reason that I forgot to care about anything but the elation of it, vision questing into incandescent darkness to encompass my enemy. Rapture cascaded up from the base of my spine; without planning it I began wrapping my awareness around Nechton, seeking out the dark spaces beneath his conscious mind. He pushed me away, his focused will shifting into sudden dread; a flavor of desire ethical men fear to name erupted in me. We might be brothers, or lovers; I might consume him whole and begin considering dessert; he sank a dragon’s talons into my arms.

  Who the fouzh ARE you?

  I laughed, because I knew and he didn’t; abruptly he was gone. I lay on the ground in the darkness, clutching a corpse so long dead it should have decayed months ago, the sort of laughter that gets men locked away bubbling out of me. I was peripherally aware of Básghilae thundering away into the night, of my companions staring in horror; I forced myself to stop laughing, to roll away from the dead man and climb to my feet, to pause and assess the situation. That is a commander’s first job, but I could hardly see the people and assets I meant to tally through the raucous delight of arcane consciousness.

  We were ten now: Rohini staring dismayed at me, swaying on her feet with the broad sweep of a Básghilae blade blazing an inferno of pain across her midsection; Amien fading in and out of consciousness, his familiar energies shadowed by a troubling darkness; Iminor fully, horrifyingly aware of the death-spell swirling through him and regarding the blade in his hand with evidently detached interest; Letitia unhurt but half-blinded by guilt and grief, tears glittering unshed in her eyes. Nuad and Busadi, Thurro and Seihar and Tibas seemed uninjured except in soul. My sword had fallen a short distance away, beside the head of a Básghil I’d defeated: I went and retrieved it, slid it into the sheath, gathered my horse’s reins in one hand and spent a few seconds reassuring him.