Aegis of The Gods: Book 00 - The Shadowbearer (21 page)

Nerian still wanted the sword after all.

C
HAPTER 26

B
y 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 word, 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.

C
HAPTER 27

“G
eneral 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.

A young cadet entered, carrying a tray heaped with food. What looked to be a roasted pheasant in a thick sauce, slices of bread, a blood orange, and several pink fleshberries. Next to them was a flagon and a cup. Peppery smells drifted from the dish, intermingled with the tantalizing scent of the fleshberries.

“I suggest the fleshberries first, sir,” Ballard said. “They help with the mending process.”

Stefan almost rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to inform the overbearing man this wasn’t his first time being wounded and mended. Instead, he nodded and strode over to the table where the cadet placed the food before bowing, knuckling his forehead to Stefan and leaving.

After he muttered a brief prayer, Stefan pulled out a chair from the table and sat. He poured a cup of wine, popped a few fleshberries into his mouth, and washed them down. The kinai wine only added to the sweetness of the berries. Well distilled kinai at that, fermented in precise amounts. The taste was so familiar Stefan raised his cup, swirling around the contents, his brows drawing together in a lumpy frown. The quality of the drink was impressive. Not many knew the secrets of producing such a near perfect vintage.

The better the kinai wine or juice, the stronger the restorative and energy inducing properties, or so Thania said. Only by picking the fist–sized, red fruit at the right hour, during early dawn or late dusk, could one be assured the essences were absorbed at their most potent.
Impressive indeed
. The liquor reminded Stefan of his wife’s brew. He sighed and resisted the instinctive urge to reach for his pendant.

“You made this?” Stefan held up the cup to Zar Ballalrd.

“No, General. I brought it in from the capital. I only use this vintage on rare occasions such as this.”

The wine might well be his wife’s after all. Stefan nodded. To put the thoughts of Thania and the children out of his mind, he tore off a leg from the pheasant and chewed. Every time he sipped the kinai, memories flooded him: Thania in the kitchen, preparing lunch, little Anton running around a flowerbed with Celina giving chase.

Will I ever be given another chance to see children of mine grow up?
Very few Matii had ever given birth to more than two children in their lifetime. A side effect of Setian longevity many said. In a different world, he would have surrendered his extended life span for a chance. He hoped what he was doing now meant a better life for Anton and Celina. He thought of nothing more horrific than a world overran by the shade, and people losing their souls to its taint.

Stefan tore into another piece of pheasant before pushing the remainder away, his appetite gone. “I dawdled long enough.” He stood. “Is my mount ready?”

“Yes, sir,” the female Alzari said.

“Lead the way then.”

The two Alzari turned as one and headed outside.

Before he took a step to follow, a sudden bout of dizziness swept through him. He borrowed a moment to steady himself. Mouthing a silent prayer that Ballard hadn’t stayed longer to witness his weakness, Stefan headed to the tent’s exit. The Zar might be stupid enough to force the issue of his health and send someone else with a message to Nerian. Events were already on a precipice’s edge, needing only a nudge or some mistake to come crumbling down.

Outside the tent, a dozen mounted Dagodin waited, silver armor gleaming. They snapped to attention at the sight of Stefan.

“An honor escort, sir,” Zar Ballalrd said. “And protection should you have unwanted visitors in the Travelshaft.”

Stefan almost groaned. Taking more men into Benez wasn’t something he relished, but offering a protest wouldn’t sit well. Not for who he used to be, and not with the Svenzar raiding the Travelshafts at their leisure. Head held straight, he stalked by the men.

At the end of the line, his dartan was snuffling at the some meaty carcass. The Dagodin’s horses whinnied. His mount swung its head toward them and mewled. The horses pranced before the Dagodin brought them under control.

“He’s been well fed,” Zar Ballalrd said.

“Thank you.” Stefan braced himself as he mounted, making sure he showed no weakness when he climbed into the saddle. Once he was secure, his shoulders reaching slightly above the front of the shell, he beckoned to the lead Dagodin whose pin and four tiny golden swords on his breast named him Captain. When the man reached him, Stefan said, “Keep your men close. If you see Svenzar, ignore them. We have no goods. I don’t care what is being transported in the minor channels. The last thing I need is to lose men foolishly. Remind your men that they’re safe as long as they stay within the central channel.”

“Yes sir, General Dorn.” He snapped his reins and returned to his men, addressing each one personally. When the Captain finished, he nodded to Stefan.

They set off at a trot, padding along a worn path toward Karsten’s western outskirts. The backdrop of the town’s stone edifices stood more than four stories high, poking above the surrounding walls. Guards dotted the bulwark and the occasional square tower. Outside town, Setian forces in tents occupied most of what had been farmland. Many of the soldiers watched as they rode by, some saluting to Stefan and the Captain, while others practiced formations, or lounged about as they awaited orders.

As Stefan expected, the central road itself was empty. Laborers and soldiers spread along the edge for the spectacle. Stefan waited for the Dagodin to draw next to him, six per side. He nodded and flapped his reins.

Head down, the dartan bounded forward. In moments, its speed surpassed any creature Stefan used before. Then it went faster still. His stomach lurched, threatening to spew its contents, but he fought down on the sensation.

The speed grew until those watching from the roadside melded with each other. In turn, the spectators became one with the tents and other fortifications. His clothes felt as if they wanted to rip from his body where they flapped, while in other places the cloth plastered itself to his skin. He huddled into the saddle as everything blurred into one unrecognizable stream.