There was barely enough time to get defenses up before the Qingrenese unleashed a barrage of enchanted arrows, some spears of flame, others like icicles. Alfred returned fire, finding his mark in several enemy soldiers, but having to rely heavily on Magnus to shield him. “Can we go back to fighting the madman trying to make the earth swallow us whole?” he shouted over to Matthias, before realizing he was out of arrows. “Oh, by Faolen’s Fangs!” the High King cursed as he pulled out his wand, training his eye as best he could before shooting out fireballs. The enchanted Qingrenese arrows began flying over the walls, hitting the shields of the Andrathi legionnaires as they held them up to protect citizens below.
“He’s aiming for civilians!” Derogynes growled, holding a shield over a mother huddling close to her child. “Will the Hegemon not listen to reason?”
Magnus blanched, quickly pushing Alfred back down the stairs. “I think he’s beyond reason—here he comes!”
The sky was dotted with Tsuriin Sorahai, with Kazan in the center of them. They peppered the city below with fireballs, sending the panicked citizens scattering for cover. Altani warriors mounted a defensive, but Kazan and his Sorahai worked their magic in sync, sending a great gust of wind that blasted them back.
They landed behind the walls, and Kazan pointed his finger at the defenders. “Destroy every last one of them, then take down the gates. When the soldiers are dead, move on to the civilians. Not a building is to be left standing! Not one!”
“My Hegemon!” Bai Feng broke through the lines, and threw himself at Kazan’s feet, kowtowing before him. “My Hegemon, please, wait!”
Kazan held up his hand and clenched his fist, and the Sorahai stopped in their tracks. All was suddenly still, as a lone breeze tugged at the Hegemon’s billowing cloak and Bai Feng was left cowering under the gaze of his leering mask.
“You are late, Lord Bai,” Kazan growled.
“My Hegemon, most sagacious and wise ruler, who knows the mysteries of Heaven and Love, please, stop this.” Bai Feng raised his head. “Blessed Kazan, King Cyril is dead.”
Kazan was as still as a statue. “What?”
“He was killed not an hour ago. That is why the shield fell.”
The Hegemon’s wings fidgeted, and he withdrew his twin blades, the metal sparking with enchantments as he roared his disapproval. “Who? Who has taken this kill from me? I gave explicit orders that Cyril is mine!”
“My Hegemon, please,” Bai Feng averted his eyes again. “They are long gone.”
“Liar!” Kazan shrieked, and immediately kicked Bai Feng in the stomach. He brought his swords together, pressing both blades down on the ambassador’s neck. “You know, Bai! Tell me at once, or I will consider this an act of treason!”
“Leave him alone!” Matthias shouted, rushing to the front, shoving aside the Sorahai with little effort.
“Silence!” Kazan barked. “Not another step, human, or I shall execute this cowardly bureaucrat here and now!”
“Sagacious Kazan, please!” Bai Feng cried. “Cyril is dead. There is no point to this war!”
“No point? The honor and dignity of Qingren are the point!” Kazan declared incredulously. “Those meant something to you once, Ambassador.”
“Hegemon Kazan!” Derogynes stepped forward. “By my right as Ambassador to Ardri Gordias, you should know that Fosporia is Phas Fratan, blood brothers of the Andrathi. If you attack them, you attack Theragos!”
“You think I care, you fat, slovenly merchant?” Kazan spat. “The multitudes of Qingren will drown Theragos, if you dare to try us.” He pressed the swords against Bai Feng’s neck. “Do not test me further, Lord Bai. Name Cyril’s killer, and aid your Hegemon in this fight!”
“My Hegemon, everything I have done, I have done for our people! I have served dutifully for a century, and I urge you to see reason. You must stop this!” the Jaoren urged.
“You dare speak to me of loyalty, when I find you with these barbarians and former slaves?”
Bai Feng grunted under the pressure of Kazan’s swords pressed into the small of his neck. “My Hegemon, please. I am only doing what is right. These people do not deserve your wrath. Spare them, or you will find yourself far more similar to Cyril than you ever wished to be.”
Kazan roared in a blind fury and slashed his swords into Bai Feng’s neck. The Ambassador’s body immediately fell limp, his head rolling away.
“No!” Matthias roared, punching the nearest Sorahai near him and charging for Kazan, before the Hegemon effortlessly blasted him back with a gust of wind.
“This means war, Kazan! Gordias will hear about this!” Derogynes snarled, shaking his fist in rage.
“Enough of your empty threats!” Kazan shrieked, turning to the Sorahai. “Burn the city to the ground! Spare no one!”
“Wait!”
Song Wei grabbed Kazan’s attention as she stepped forward, bowing low. “Most Gracious Lord, you walk a perilous path.”
“Do not speak to me as if I am a penitent, coming to the temple on bended knee for redemption,” Kazan spat. “I am the Hegemon of Qingren, Father Xian Reborn!”
Song Wei kept a respectful distance, but gave such a look to Kazan that it froze the Hegemon on the spot. “My Hegemon, you hold a great fear in your heart. Not for anyone standing here today, nor of death, but of your legacy. You fear to be thought of as weak, as Hegemon Taizong before you.”
There was a tense pause; Kazan had fallen silent.
“I assure you, no one will think of you as weak.” She gestured to Bai Feng’s fallen body. “But look at what you have done to one of your own. A loyal servant of the Empire, who gave his life to prevent terrible calamity to fall upon Qingren. Will you make his death meaningless, Great Kazan?”
“He dared compare me to that beast and villain!”
Song Wei gave a soft, dimpled smile that was far more venomous than any sneer she could muster. “A terrible insult, indeed, my Hegemon. Cyril was a wicked and cruel man who killed his own people for speaking out,” she nodded pointedly to Bai Feng’s body, “and threatened to bring his great nation to the brink of collapse, all in pursuit of an ancient, fetid grudge over past grievances.”
“The two hundred Qingrenese killed in his attack on the consulate were not an ancient grudge, Priestess,” Kazan growled.
“Indeed. But he also killed three hundred of his own people.” She gestured once more to Bai Feng. “How many more Qingrenese must fall by your hand, my Hegemon, before you become sufficiently like Cyril?”
The question cut too deep for the Hegemon. His wings flared out as he charged for the priestess, but he lost the will when he reached her. “I will not spill the blood of a Priestess of Mother Mei,” he growled.
“Because you know she speaks the truth,” Matthias said. “There’s nothing for you here. Take your army, and leave.”
“My Hegemon, that would be best,” Song Wei said softly. “This is not you. You are an honorable warrior. You have already spilled innocent blood; stop before it is too late. These things will stain the very soul of your being.”
Kazan tightened his mask, gesturing around to the Sorahai. “The Imperial Army has taken this city. We stand in its streets. What military strategist would walk away? These men came for the honor of their empire; and we shall not fail them.”
“Then fight me,” Matthias shouted, stepping forward. He banged his sword and shield together. “Don’t put thousands of lives on the line. We’ll fight to settle this.”
The Hegemon scoffed. “And why should I fight you? You look like a shaven Andrathi that never learned discipline.”
Matthias glowered, holding his shield up as he readied his stance. “Because I killed Cyril.”
“What?” Floriana rushed to his side. “No! That’s a lie!”
“I am Matthias Wolfborn, son of Stefan. Who had more cause than me to kill Cyril? He killed both of my parents, just for the sake of power,” the warrior declared. “Why do you think Bai Feng wouldn’t tell you
who killed him?”
Kazan was silent, studying Matthias until he spoke. “Very well. I will offer you these terms, Wolfborn; I shall spare the city, and we shall fight to the death. When I win, your life is forfeit. Qingren will exact tribute and reparations, and we shall choose a suitable candidate for the throne that will prove respectful of our wishes.”
“You would make Fosporia a puppet,” Matthias growled.
“I cannot just walk away with nothing, Wolfborn,” the Hegemon replied.
Matthias shifted, looking over to Floriana. “And if I win?”
“Then you will have the honor of killing a Hegemon of Qingren. My army will do anything you ask of it, and not a single soul shall be harmed in this city,” the Hegemon declared.
Matthias glanced over to his friends, then nodded. “I accept.”
Kazan tapped his dual blades before falling into a defensive stance. “Then come, Son of Stefan. You may be an honorable warrior, so I shall grant you an honorable death.”
Matthias bellowed a challenge as he broke into a charge, swinging his fiery blade with all his might. Kazan deftly dodged the swing, and struck like a viper, slashing at the warrior’s arm. The huge man grunted as he felt the electric sting of the Hegemon’s enchanted blades singe his body, but he thought past the pain. When Kazan struck again, he was repelled by Matthias’ shield.
From the sidelines, Magnus, Alfred, Floriana, and Derogynes were paralyzed as they watched the duel that would decide the fate of a kingdom.
“What are his chances? Matthias has almost never lost a fight.” Alfred asked nervously. “He can beat this man, yes?” He winced as Matthias was pushed back by a wave of magic as Kazan struck the ground.
“The Hegemon is one of the most powerful magic users in the world,” Derogynes noted. The Andrathi grunted as Kazan leaped into the air, striking at Matthias’ face and cutting his cheek. “But Matthias can take a considerable amount of punishment.”
Floriana shook her head. “He shouldn’t have done this. We had an army. We could have fought together.”
“He’s his father’s son,” Magnus said grimly. “Why should thousands die, when only one needs to?”
Matthias blocked another attack, the force of Kazan’s magic rattling every bone inside, but he held firm. Kazan sent a spark of fire to the wolfskin helm, and Matthias roared as he tore it off, exchanging blows with the Hegemon as their swords clashed against each other, their enchantments sparking off one another.
“Your Qingrenese blood shines through,” Kazan nodded to Matthias’ pointed ears as they circled one another. “In another life, you would have made an excellent soldier in the Imperial Army. You would have been welcomed, despite your mixed blood. I’ve never seen strength like yours come from humanity.”
“We’re tougher than we look,” Matthias breathed, shoring up his strength as he raised his shield again. “You know you’ll never stop human rebellions if you keep trying to force your will over them.”
“I must do something, Wolfborn. Honor demands it.”
“Qingren’s honor, or your own?” Matthias bashed the Hegemon’s face with his shield then lunged for Kazan, swinging his sword in a wide arc. The Hegemon leaped away, but not before Matthias slashed his wing, a long, wide gash running up the burnt, leathery skin.
Kazan cried out in pain, tearing off his broken mask. “A cut for a cut, Wolfborn,” he snarled, leering wildly as his own guards stared in shock at his ruined features. “But that will cost you dearly.” He swung his blades, electric bolts smiting the ground. He ran for the warrior, flanking him at the last second. Matthias’ fiery blade connected with one of the Hegemon’s swords, and the resulting shock of flame and lightning sent the sword hurtling from the Tsuriin’s hand.
A moment later, however, Kazan slashed at Matthias’ arm, cutting deep into the muscle and tendon. As the Hegemon pulled away, the hulking warrior cried out in pain, dropping his own sword.
The two wounded combatants panted, staring at each other before Kazan drove his remaining sword in the ground. He summoned up pillars of earth, and sent them careening into Matthias. The warrior gritted his teeth and held up his shield as the stone slammed into him, and when the dust cleared, Kazan gasped; the stone had shattered to rubble, and Matthias had not budged.
“What sort of man are you?” Kazan shouted in frustration.
“A good one, I hope,” Matthias said plainly, breaking into a run to tackle Kazan. Panicking, the Hegemon sent out a barrage of fire, lightning, and hail, but it all struck the warrior’s shield as harmlessly as rain. He barely had time to grab his sword before Matthias slammed into him like an avalanche, sending the Hegemon hurtling to the ground.
Dazed, and every part of him rattled and bruised from the impact, Kazan summoned up all his willpower and staggered to his feet, lunging to strike at Matthias. Letting out one last cry of defiance, the warrior charged, throwing his strong arm around Kazan and tackling him to the ground again, holding the Hegemon fast in an iron grip. Keeping the Tsuriin planted with one arm, he scrambled for his fallen sword, the flaming blade wobbling in his wounded hand.
Kazan reeled, his good eye seeing spots, and his vision blurry. “Do it,” he hissed through ragged breaths. “Finish me off. Let the Hegemon of Qingren die honorably,” Kazan closed his eye, and braced himself to meet Mei and Xian above.
Matthias snarled and bared his teeth like a wild animal ready to kill, but then he felt as if his father’s eyes were on him, and he said, “No.”
“You must,” Kazan gasped. “I cannot face defeat.”
“You can.” Matthias stood up, throwing his sword down. He offered his hand. “No more blood needs to be spilled today.”
The Hegemon shoved his hand away. “I can stand on my own,” Kazan snapped. He struggled to his feet, and immediately began to sway before two of the Sorahai rushed to steady him. “In time, I may come to thank you for sparing my life,” the Tsuriin said. “But I have not known the shame of defeat in a very long time; it is a bitter tonic.”
Matthias grinned. “I have heard it said that, to understand honor, you must know what it is to be humbled. Strength is nothing more than being humbled by your own weakness, again and again.”
Kazan laughed bitterly. “You speak like a sage, Son of Stefan.” He waved his hand, and the other Qingrenese around him stood at attention. “As long as I have breath, I will honor my word. You have won. What is it you ask of Qingren’s Army?”
“Only that you leave this city, this kingdom, in peace. We will not ask for reparations or tribute; and you will forever relinquish any claim to such things.” Matthias looked out to the western horizon, where the ocean lay. “And when you return home, tell the humans that still remain in Qingren that they are welcome, here. We will not abandon them as Cyril did.”
“Lenient. Any other would ask for far more from the Hegemon of Qingren,” Kazan noted.
“I’m a simple man, Kazan,” Matthias replied.
The Hegemon laughed again, shaking his head as his Sorahai began leading him out of the city. “Nothing, Wolfborn, could be farther from the truth. We wait with bated breath to see what other wonders are born from mankind.”
Chapter 34
The Age of Prophets
As the Qingrenese slowly retreated to their ships, the city of Stefanurbem was awash with relief. Altani, still bearing their shields stamped with the Rising Sun, mingled with Fosporians, and the vast majority of them fell on bent knee as Priests of the Creator gave prayers of thanks. As Matthias picked his way through the crowds either giving their thanks to god or breaking into an early celebration of song and drink, he noticed one particular person looked almost forlorn. Astride her horse, and looking even older, Gudrun looked out at the celebrations with a wistful look in her ancient eyes.
“Jarl Gudrun. Are you not glad we won?” Matthias asked.
Gudrun sighed. “Of course, Wolfborn. Cyril was a madman, and this Kazan was a terror, but don’t you see?” She nodded to a robed pr
iest giving his blessing to two Altani warriors. “Your mage’s ploy worked. Your god gave the Altani the courage to carry the day, and now thousands of them are renouncing the gods of their fathers.”
“And you are not?”
The old woman scoffed. “Certainly not. I lived all my life in service to the gods; I will not abandon them in my old age. I will carry on the old ways, but my age is passed. This is a new dawn, for a new people.”
Matthias grimaced. “What shall you do?”
“Go home, most likely. I don’t have many years left, and I must prepare my successor. I shall lead any that seek the old gods, and teach them the ways of our ancestors as best I can. I’m afraid the High King is also lost to the old ways after this.” She regarded Matthias with a stern look. “These Fosporians look to you, now. Will we be welcome, then? Us…what did the Fospars call us? Heretics, pagans?”
“I don’t know what role I’ll play in days to come, but wherever I call home, those that worship the old gods shall always be welcome.”
“That is a comfort,” Gudrun nodded graciously. “Thank you. Now, go, these sort of celebrations are for the young. Revel in your victory today, Wolfborn. You’ve earned it.”
“Thank you, Jarl Gudrun.” Matthias bowed his head respectfully. “Oh, and…” he chuckled in spite of himself. “If you have a Skald to spare, send them my way.”
Gudrun cracked a smile. “Perhaps we’ve not lost you yet, Wolfborn.”
“My beliefs are set after all this,” Matthias said. “But I’m always up for a challenge.”
The old woman cackled. “Good, very good. May Jaedrun grant you wisdom, and Faolen grant you strength, Wolfborn.”
“And may the Creator go with you, Jarl Gudrun.”
As the old Jarl turned away, Matthias walked back among the throngs of Stefanurbem. Altani warriors smacked him on the back, with promises of drinks and friendly duels, while the Fosporians bowed as he passed, giving blessings in High Altun and clasping their hands in prayer. Gwen was the first familiar face he spotted, and she, too, bowed before him.
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