The Shadowbearer (aegis of the gods)

by Terry C. Simpson

  “What if they decided to take you?” Kasimir’s weapon still pointed at the stoneform creatures.

  “We wouldn’t be able to stop them if that was their wish.”

  “I hate being helpless,” Garrick said.

  Stefan nodded. “Me too. Me too.” He raised his voice. “Men, lower your weapons.” Exhalations and the creak of strained wood easing on either side of him confirmed Kasimir and Garrick followed the order. Stefan glanced behind to make sure the rest of the cavalry complied, and then he faced the Svenzar once more. Fissures and cracks were appearing on the creature’s body in patterns he couldn’t quite place. “Svenzar, how do we do this?”

  Stony chips fell away from the Svenzar’s eyes as they opened to reveal emerald pools. The eyes reminded Stefan of his own. “I wish to speak to you alone, Knight Commander Dorn. Come to me. Leave your men behind.”

  “How do I know you don’t mean me harm?”

  “You do not.”

  “I’m supposed to trust such an answer?”

  Voice tinkling in those musical notes, the Svenzar gave what sounded like a chuckle, “What choice do you have?” The Svenzar gestured a massive rocky hand to the Sven surrounding Stefan’s men. “Our young are more than enough to handle your men. Within the stone, we hold power. All you see here is ours to do with as we will.”

  As if in emphasis, the creature waved its hand, and the ground shook. Walls grew from the earth, spouting up until they blocked off any possible retreat. For the first time Stefan also noted the sense of motion that persisted inside the Travelshafts had come to a complete stop. The sensation was as if the entire world paused and waited for a command.

  “Point taken,” Stefan said aloud. Under his breath he said, “Should they do anything to me, fight to the death.”

  “Yes, sir,” both men replied solemnly.

  Stefan exhaled, let his bow drop to the ground, and strode forward. He refused to unsheathe his sword. A measure of command was necessary. Feet crunching on smaller portions of rubble, he picked his way through the rock chips and debris littering the floor until he found a clear path along the metal tracks. As he strode to the Svenzar, he kept his back straight, his chest out and paced himself with an easy grace. In this situation, he would show no fear.

  When he drew within a dozen feet of the creature, Stefan realized the fissures and cracks on its body did form lines and patterns. In fact, they appeared to be more like tattoos. He strained his eyes and was able to pick out images of men, creatures he’d never seen before, landscapes, scenes of great battles, and sparkling celestial bodies. The intricacy of the artwork made him gasp. Even the murals along the walls in the Royal Palace paled by comparison. This was the first time he ever witnessed such a vibrant tapestry.

  “I have watched you and your people for years.” The Svenzar’s voice was softer now, more musical than before, and conversational.

  Stefan stopped. The Svenzar’s stoneform body stretched so high Stefan needed to crane his neck to peer into its face. Up close, the tattoos wormed and shifted. They gave off the impression the men and creatures watched his every move. “Why?”

  The Svenzar chuckled. “So impatient your race is. You often want answers to questions you already know and to those well beyond you. It must be a trait of having a shorter life span.”

  “If I knew the answer I wouldn’t ask.”

  With a sigh that drifted upon the windless air, the creature said, “I have monitored you because you shape the future. Your decisions and choices affect all around you.”

  “Isn’t that the same for everyone?” Stefan frowned. The conversation somehow felt off, a little odd.

  “Yes, but for your kind more so than any other. Look at what your conquering of Ostanian lands has done. In Granadia you have changed the life patterns of countless millions.”

  “I almost get the sense you aren’t pleased,” Stefan said.

  “Upheaval, instability, fates in constant change ….” The Svenzar cocked its head. Boulders fell from its face in a rumble, but when they struck the shoulders and chest, they clung as if snagged in mud and were absorbed into its body. “I would not say I am not pleased … more … concerned. Such events take thousands of years to occur among the Svenzar. For you, it takes hundreds.”

  Stefan shrugged. “So is this the reason you hindered my passage? To inquire about my race and how we live?”

  “No. I am here to give you a choice to change the course your people are set upon.”

  “My people? The Setian?”

  “Who else could I mean?”

  “I’m not sure. For a moment there I got the strange sense you meant all of Denestia.”

  The Svenzar smiled, mouth a maw of jagged stone teeth.

  “So what’s this choice,” Stefan asked. “My people’s future has never been brighter.” He focused on the creatures eyes, trying his best not to cringe as the mouth eased shut.

  “I would disagree about the future, but arguing is pointless. We need you to serve the Svenzar. In so doing you serve your people.”

  Stefan gave a cynical chuckle. He shook his head at the absurdity of the Svenzar’s statement. “Even if I considered such a thing … not that I am … why would I want to serve you?” He brought his hand up with the thumb and forefinger almost touching. “We were this close to defeating you and the Harnan.”

  “If that is what you believe.” Again, the creature gave a jagged smile. “Your choices here may doom your people.”

  “Really? How so?”

  “Power seeping into the world from the Nether. Unstable Mater … well, at least for your kind it is unstable. I am sure you have encountered such already.”

  “The same Nether where the gods are supposed to be imprisoned?” Stefan tilted his head as he regarded the creature.

  “Yes. The very same one.” The Svenzar frowned. “You do not believe in the gods?”

  Stefan raised his brows. “Of course I do. I have seen enough to believe they exist. I simply doubt their ability to affect anything in this world.”

  “A shame,” the Svenzar said. “You have seen their power at work. A young Matii and several others are now dead because of it. Choosing to serve us can help prevent some of what is to come.”

  Stefan kept his face smooth to hide his shock at the Svenzar’s knowledge. “Tell me, Svenzar-”

  “Call me Kalvor.”

  “Tell me, Kalvor, why did you choose me for this news or this offer?”

  “Because that is the way of things. The fate of your people rests with you. It is a chance before a step is made from which there is no return.”

  “What if I refuse?”

  “Your people are doomed.”

  “As simple as that?”

  “Like death, most things are simple.”

  The statement sent a chill through Stefan’s spine. The words were eerily similar to those Nerian often uttered. “Who or what will bring this doom?”

  “Your own and the shade,” Kalvor said.

  Lips curling, Stefan resisted the urge to reach for his sword. He took a moment to calm himself before he replied. “My people are more unified now than they have been in ages. As for the shade … we defeated them before … we can do so again. This,” he pointed at the Svenzar and the hundreds of Sven, “show of strength feels like a general laying out an army before an enemy in an attempt to instill fear.” He tilted his head slowly until his gaze met the Svenzar’s eyes. “There is little for the Setian to fear from you or any others. I won’t betray my people to serve you. In fact, we will conquer you and the Harnan.”

  “So be it,” the Svenzar said, his voice once again a basso rumble. “Let it be known the choice was given and refused.”

  With those words, the walls shook. The stones and dirt covering the floor rushed toward Kalvor. As they touched the Svenzar, they became one. Kalvor’s body began to melt, taking on the appearance of thick mud as it slid to the ground. Around the walls and the roof, the Sven once more became humps of
earth. When the process completed, no traces of their presence remained.

  Jaw unhinged Stefan stared all around, fully expecting the creatures to reappear again, but nothing happened. Finally, he turned and headed toward his men, his mind swirling with all the Svenzar had said. What did Kalvor mean by the fate of his people rested with him? That by choosing not to serve he had doomed the Setian? It was as if the creature was revealing some distant future. Stefan dismissed the thought. More likely, the Svenzar and the Harnan had an abundance of forces at their disposal no one expected. This was too close to the odd happenings with King Nerian. If the King did intend to resume the old campaign in the Nevermore Heights against the two peoples, he might be walking into a slaughter. Nerain needed to be warned. With news of this encounter, I can save my men after all.

  “What did the beast want?” Kasimir asked.

  Stefan relayed much of what the Svenzar requested.

  “Serve them?” Garrick snorted. “We had them beat if the Tribunal’s Ashishin hadn’t refused to help our Matii.”

  Even as he nodded his agreement, Stefan gazed at the area where moments before hundreds of Sven and a Svenzar had been. Not a stone appeared out of place. Were we really close to winning?

  “So what now?” Kasimir held out the reins to Stefan’s horse.

  “We go home,” answered the Knight Commander as he took them. He swung up into his saddle and set off at a trot. He was so preoccupied with all the occurrences of the last few days he almost spewed the contents of his stomach when the Travelshaft’s speed altering effect restarted.

  The remainder of the trip was uneventful, the monotony of the channels broken only by the occasional merchants or soldiers on another path. The first gong to warn them they had entered the arrival area broke him from his pondering. Ahead, the exit’s white light beckoned. Taking a deep breath, he plunged into the glow.

  Instead of feeling as if it slowed upon entering, the horse exited already at maximum speed along the roadway. The sensation from a steady, almost leisurely pace to the sudden blur of movement brought a rush of bile to Stefan’s throat. He bit back on the sensation, squeezing his eyes tight. The effect lasted little more than a few moments but seemed to stretch on forever. The easing of the pressure on his stomach was a welcome relief.

  Slowly, elongated shapes outside resolved into people, fortifications, wagons, coaches, and animals. Colors that once bled became solid. Here, the green of cohorts marching down lanes between the three roadways, there, the many shades and differing styles of clothing worn by the Setian and other peoples who were congregating for arrivals or departures. Large and small buildings lined the roads. The cacophony of several thousand conversations in a myriad of tongues as well as the trundle of wheels and clang of smithies resounded. The activity reminded him of a hive-roiling yet organized.

  The arrival in Benez chased away his other thoughts. His only wish was to see his wife again. All else could wait.

  CHAPTER 6

  Helmet under one arm, back straight in his burnished armor, Stefan and his army marched to Benez’s gates and its walls hewn from black feldspar. The clop of their horses’ hooves on the cobbles matched the outpouring of celebration from the people. He smiled as he took in the cheering masses, but his wife’s absence overshadowed his triumphant moment. Absently, he raised a gloved hand to rub tenderly at the charm. Long ago, when they had identical pendants crafted, he and Thania made an agreement: Whenever he returned from battle, she would wait on the ramparts directly above the gates next to the King. Stefan checked the parapet again. There was no sign of Thania.

  King Nerian, black hair done in long braids, golden armor gleaming, was on the battlements in his usual place though. A smile plastered on his face, the King stared down at Stefan and the Setian army. Stefan acknowledged the King with a nod and placed a fist to his heart. The sight of his mentor-a man he thought of as a father-brought a jumble of emotions flooding through him. He hoped all was well.

  Stefan peered farther along the walls trying to make out if any of the noblewomen in their frilly, colorful dresses was his wife. Unable to pick her out, he searched among the crowds on the King’s Road before the yawning black gates and the portcullis. Peasants and the less fortunate, many in their feast day best, lined the street, breaths rising in feathery mists with autumn’s chill. Their jubilation brought a fleeting smile to his face. Admittedly, the sweaty stink from the press of so many friendly bodies was something Stefan did indeed miss.

  But none were his wife. Not the folk held in check on the street by lines of guards, not the ones at the windows of the shabby buildings, or crowded on the rooftops. Children ran beside the path, waving, and dogs darted back and forth, barking and nipping at the horses as if they too reveled in greeting the Unvanquished.

  “Feels good to be home,” Garrick shouted. He clapped Stefan on the shoulder.

  “Yes, it does.” Stefan offered a strained smile to his friend.

  The procession continued up Benez’s winding streets with the Cogal Drin Mountains looming above and behind, the city ascending on the lower slopes. The crowds grew thicker as they drew closer to the massive amphitheater built squarely between the ending of the slums and the beginning of the middle class’ brick and mortar edifices. People hung out the amphitheater’s windows, cheers rising in a roar to drown out all else. They showered the soldiers with flowers. A few women flashed their privates to the amusement and appreciation of several warriors.

  Their surroundings changed to more affluent neighborhoods, cleaner streets and a network of drains to carry the stink of sewage away from the city, and so did the people’s garb. Rich wool and moleskin blends became the main fare among the folk. Choice of clothing again altered as they trekked even farther into the Upper City. The people here wore the most expensive silks and satins but made certain to cover their shoulders in ermine scarves or cloaks. The avenues widened, became pristine, and lined by gardens, fountains, colonnades, and villas, many with spires rising into the sky against the backdrop of the Cogal Drin’s expansive fangs.

  The Royal Palace sprouted before them, Seti’s Quaking Forest flying from the highest points. Stefan frowned at the omission of the Tribunal’s Lightstorm banner. The castle reminded Stefan of a delicate off-white flower tinged with blue on its towers, spires, and parapets. The rugged battlements, the guards with watchful eyes, hands on weapons, and the many murder holes lining the castle’s surface proved the appearance to be a lie. The Royal Palace was a fortress.

  Still, no sign of his wife. Hopeful that one woman he picked out with velvet hair almost to her waist and a lithe frame could be Thania, he paced a little ways from his men. His heart sank when she turned, and an unknown face greeted him.

  “People of Benez.” Nerian’s voice boomed above the din. The King stood on the palace’s walls with his arms outstretched, golden armor glinting. His lone bodyguard, dressed all in black with a long cloak to match, was only a few feet away. The noise from the crowd died. “I give you … the Unvanquished.”

  Wild cheers followed. People danced and capered in the streets and threw hats high. Many showered the army with flowers.

  “In honor of their return,” the King’s deep voice rose higher still over the cacophony, “games will be held in two months.”

  The jubilation pitched to new heights. A tap on Stefan’ arm made him glance down.

  “The King requires your presence immediately.” The man who spoke wore black. He was of average height with a face plain enough to fit in anywhere, but Stefan never forgot those eyes. The way the silver flecks within them shifted to hide the green of his irises was disconcerting and made them appear to witness everything at once. The man was Nerian’s bodyguard, Kahar.

  How had he gotten down from the walls so quickly? Taken aback, Stefan paused for a few moments before he nodded, tossed his helm to Garrick, then dismounted to follow Kahar.

  Without the bodyguard speaking or even making a gesture, the crowds parted before the sinuous
man. Each person appeared oblivious to his presence, yet still made room for him to pass. Together, they strode up the steps, into the western tower, around winding stairs, and onto the battlements.

  “Stefan,” King Nerian proclaimed. A wide smile on a face still wearing the past summer’s tan made him appear a darker shade than his usual olive. The King did not look as if he aged a day.

  “Sire,” Stefan replied, going to one knee.

  “Oh, my son, stop, no need for formality. Not here.” Nerian strode over, and they embraced, the King having to bend a ways to get his arms around Stefan.

  Stefan was not a small man. At a little over six feet, he was taller than many a Setian, but next to the King he always felt small and not only from the man’s stature. Nerian was at least a foot, maybe two, taller than him. The King often reminded Stefan of the pictures of giants from books in his youth. In the three years since Stefan was last home, Nerian’s chest was wider, face more angular, his eyes harder. When Stefan met the King’s gaze, emerald beads came to mind.

  “Let me look at you.” Nerian held him at arm’s length. “Not bad.” He pursed his lips. “A little worse for wear, but you look … healthy.”

  “Same to you, sire. You’re more fit than I remember.”

  “Ah, if only I felt that way.”

  Mind drifting to Thania, Stefan gave a pensive frown.

  “What troubles you?” Nerian asked.

  “Where’s Thania? She’s never missed a day when I return.”

  “Ah. Yes.” Nerian was grinning now. “She is well.” His voice lowered. “I am not supposed to be telling you this, but she prepared a surprise for you.”

  Stefan arched an eyebrow.

  “Not to worry. Trust me. You will love it.”

  “Yes, sire.” Stefan still couldn’t help the trepidation gnawing at him.

  “So,” the King’s demeanor became serious, “Cerny said you did not receive his message well.”

  “The man’s overbearing and incompetent. Why did you promote him anyway? Because he’s an Alzari?”