Aegis of The Gods: Book 00 - The Shadowbearer (15 page)

“To sneak as many of our people as we can to safety over the next few years,” Galiana said. “Then bargain with the Tribunal for sanctuary in exchange for our help in defeating Nerian.”

Stefan nodded. Allowing Galiana to think he was completely on her side was better than the alternative. The night’s attack and Cerny’s absence cast little doubt that the Knight General was responsible, but until he was certain of the man’s influence on Nerian, he needed to keep his options open.
‘A good leader is adept in the art of deception.’

For the next hour, they decided on the best routes and methods to funnel people from the city, starting with the family members of his most loyal soldiers. This proved to be an agonizing process as Stefan realized he would lose many in this endeavor.

All their plans hinged on what the Tribunal would require in exchange for their help. Stefan put himself in their place. He would start by requesting easy access into Ostania. The problem there lay in the major ports closest to Granadia. With the Barrier Mountains blocking western Ostania, the closest harbors were in Felan. Not only had the Setian not been able to conquer or ally with the Felani, but the Felani secession from the Tribunal was still an area of contention. Sure, the Setian now controlled the Cardian ports, but those were thousands of miles east, past Felan. No smart captain risked sailing out into the Sea of Clouds in an effort to bypass the Felani coastline. Those who attempted to do so in the past never returned. He wished they could somehow gain Felani support.
If wishes had wings.

“We could offer them total rule within the government,” Galiana said.

Stefan shook his head. “They will have that anyway. When the Granadians assume control, the rest of Ostania will abandon us. There’ll be civil unrest and the other kingdoms will marshal forces against us. We at least need the Felani. The Harnan would be a plus, but …” He let the words die.

“True,” Galiana said. “I believe I can convince the Felani that the only course of action left to them is to ally with the Tribunal and allow the Granadian forces to pass.”

“You do?” Stefan strode to a map hanging on the wall. He pointed out the capital of Felan. “Surrounded by the Barrier Mountains and the ocean, Felan Mark’s position is almost as impregnable as Harna and the City of Stone. In addition, since they’re within the Vallum of Light, they have little to fear from the shade. The only way I can picture them agreeing is if Nerian wins against the Erastonians.”

“By then it will be too late.” Galiana let out a frustrated breath. “I will see how soon I can put my idea into place after I speak to the Tribunal.”

They continued for a few minutes longer, rehashing what plans they had before they parted ways. Not wanting to wake any of the servants, Stefan let Galiana out the side entrance and headed upstairs.

Dim light from over a dozen candles suffused the bedroom in a warm glow. The sweet scent of bellflowers lit up the air. On the bed, in a diaphanous shift, lay Thania, her chest rising and falling expectantly, her hair spread in silky waves around her.

Trying his best to ignore her for the moment, but finding himself still sneaking a peek her way, he strode to the small bed in the corner where the children slept. He marveled at how much they resembled both him and his wife.
My children.
Without realizing, he found himself touching the pendant around his neck. It felt oddly warm.
My children
, he thought again. The words still seemed foreign, unbelievable as if murmured in a dream from which he would soon wake. He bent and gave each of them a tender kiss on the cheek.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Thania’s arms snaked around his waist.

“Yes, very much so. Just like their mother.”

Her face moved from where she’d snuggled against his back to rest on the side of his arm. “No. They look more like you. My features help to smooth them out a bit. Celina has your nose.”

“Maybe, but they both have your eyes. Well, your eyes before they changed.”

“Hmmm,” Thania said in agreement. “Anton already looks as if he’s going to be as tall as you are.”

“Runs in the family.” Stefan unclasped her hands and faced her. “This first strike is more of a test before the main campaign begins. I intend to return to spend at least a little more time with you all. But—”

Thania placed a finger to his lips, cutting him off.

After kissing her finger, he gently removed it. “I need to say this.” He stared into her golden eyes. “Teach them who and what they are. Never let them forget me even if I should be away for years. Above all, regardless of what happens, what Nerian does, do not leave them alone with him.”

“The only way I will ever leave them is if I’m imprisoned or dead,” Thania said. “Our pendants, the pieces of us I imbued into them, now also contain a part of the children’s essences. The day you do not feel its warmth, our love, when within its presence is the day you will know something is amiss. But even then, there will be hope.”

Stefan couldn’t help his frown. The words seemed an odd thing to say. In ways, they reassured him, but the end sounded almost prophetic. Her hands stroking his face chased away the thoughts.

“Come, my love,” she said, golden eyes shining, voice husky with need. She headed for the bed, hips swaying seductively.

A grin on his face, Stefan shed his clothes and followed. At dawn, he would spend some time with the children. But right now, all he wanted was to chase away his worries, all the plots, and make love to his wife.

C
HAPTER 17

A
relentless march past the Sands of the Abandoned then through the Everlast Mountains into Everland brought Stefan’s forces to this rock–strewn pass. With Harnan territory due east of the Sands, this was the only route left to them. As usual, he’d made sure his soldiers feasted the night before. Men should not battle on an empty stomach. They needed their full vigor when they went to greet their gods. To either side, rock faces and slopes rose to sheer heights. His cape billowing behind him, Stefan surveyed the Erastonian army. Through a wavy haze of heat, black armor glinting, they spread below in an unmoving mass half the number of his forty thousand Unvanquished.

Stefan wiped sweat from his brow then raised the looking glass to his eye. The men of the Erastonian vanguard wore dark, shiny leather armor and bore short dual swords, one on each hip. Behind them stood infantry in black plate mail, either with two–handed great swords or tasseled polearms. Inside each helm, he made out faces so pasty white they gave the impression his men faced walking corpses.

Battle standards flapped above the Erastonian army, displaying a gray fist enclosed around a black lightning bolt—the Searing Fist. Against the backdrop of the valley and the mountains behind the enemy, a storm boiled. Lightning flickered among the gray clouds like some daemon’s eye opening and closing quickly. With each flash in the puffed quilt, thunder rumbled. At a slow roll, Erastonian drums joined the bellows. Their trumpeters blared in unison. From over two thousand feet away, the enemy ranks rippled as they began their charge.

What do they hope to accomplish? They have no archers or cavalry, and we have the advantage of higher ground. This is going to be a slaughter.
Still, something about the way they charged gave Stefan pause. He frowned, took the looking glass from his eye, and wiped away sweat once again. The Erastonian infantry appeared closer than they should be for men who ran. He scanned the field through the bronze tube. The Erastonians had covered over half the distance in moments.
In Ilumni’s name, how is that possible?

“Tell the men to fire the scorpios,” Stefan yelled, hand clenched around the looking glass.

Both Kasimir and Garrick started at the order, but they passed it on. Trumpets along the Setian lines blew.

The Cardian slaves cranked the drays into position. Operators turned the loading mechanisms on the scorpios.

By the time Stefan brought the tube to his eye once more, the charging Erastonians were within five hundred feet. In a black avalanche, they swept down the pass, the rumble from twenty thousand boots shaking the ground. The absence of a single battle cry among them was more than disconcerting; it made Stefan’s heart hammer.
Good gods, they’re fast. Too fast.

“Fire,” Stefan shouted as he fought down the dread that threatened to become panic. “FIRE—Gods damn it—FIRE!”

Three thousand scorpios loosed their projectiles. The din of oncoming boots washed out the twang of the weapons’ release. Through the looking glass, a nervous tingle rippling within him, Stefan followed the bolts’ flight. Zipping sideways like rain showers whipped by the strong winds, the steel–tipped projectiles flew true.

Within a foot of striking their targets, the bolts rebounded as if they struck some unseen wall. They fell to the ground. Not one struck their intended targets.

Stefan gasped. Next to him, similar exclamations issued from Garrick and Kasimir. Shocked and awed murmurs rippled down the cavalry ranks to either side of them.

The scorpios reloaded and fired. Again, no effect.

The operators cranked the gears frantically now. Bolts flew and struck the same invisible wall.

A Forged shield, it had to be.

“Signal the pikemen to be ready.” Even as he yelled the order, Stefan knew it was too late. He’d been too stunned by the infantry’s speed and the failure of the scorpios. The Erastonians would slam into his men before they arranged their formation. “Cavalry, charge!” he cried.

Trumpets wailed as he kicked his mount into motion. A roar went up from his men as hooves began to drum on the hard earth. Sword out, heart thumping, Stefan leaned into his stallion’s neck. The chances of saving his men seemed slim, but he had to try.

A scant few pikemen managed to set their spears forward before the Erastonians crashed into them in a boiling wave. A few of the enemy were impaled, which told Stefan the shield no longer protected them. Others leaped impossibly high and far over the extended pikes, landing behind the forward line of swordsmen and among the pikemen.

The slaughter of the Setian began.

Unable to drop their spears and unsheathe their short swords in time, the pikemen were cut down. Occupied by the enemy still pouring in, the defensive line of Setian swordsmen could do little to help. Those that did turn died to dual–wielding, white–faced Erastonians stabbing them in the weaknesses of their armor between torso and legs or at their necks. Blood spurted in gouts, painting silver armor red and made leather darker.

The second rank of pikemen did manage to draw their swords but found themselves outmatched by the faster, lightly armored Erastonians. Another enemy wave leaped over the milling mass of Setian battling along the front line to reinforce their other warriors. They hacked and slashed with merciless efficiency.

By now, the black plate wearing Erastonians gained the lines and began to lay about with their two–handed great swords, decimating all who stood before them. The Setian managed to strike down a few, but his men soon disappeared beneath the wave of black.

A trumpet sounded as his cavalry reached the rearmost infantry ranks. What remained of his men struggled mightily against the Erastonians to hold their own. Scorpios still tried to fire, and the ones that did loose were able to punch through a few of the enemy soldiers, nearly splitting them in half when they struck. But the quarters were too close. The Erastonians quickly focused on the scorpios, dropping slaves and operators in quick succession.

“Protect the scorpios,” Stefan yelled. He dashed toward the closest ones, his warhorse knocking men from its path as he slashed left and right, carving a space around him.

His men, reacting to what he did, followed his lead, falling back to the scorpios to reinforce them. The battle boiled fiercest around the drays. Steadily, the Erastonians pressed on, fighting in small pockets, killing all before them.

Surrounded by one such group, Garrick roared as he chopped down one man after another. Then the black armored wave swept him under, stabbing and hacking. Stefan tried to head toward his friend, but Erastonians blocked the way.

Again, a trumpet blared.

Stefan peered down the pass. Another enemy wave appeared with more armored men. Behind them came cavalry. Among those on horseback were many dressed in black robes.

He was sure they had to be Matii—the ones responsible for the earlier shield.

“Retreat,” yelled. “Cross behind the scorpios.”

A few heard and tried to comply. He continued to fight on stabbing and slashing any enemy within reach as he tried to shepherd his forces across the threshold formed by the scorpio line. Locked in their many battles they couldn’t move fast enough. Desperate he took a quick glance to where he’d hidden the Alzari cohort to their flanks above the pass. For a moment, he considered sending the signal that would have them bring the rocky walls crashing down, but too many of his remaining soldiers would be caught in the avalanche.

A small prickle of hope edged through him as he noticed now how his men rallied, not only around him, but ahead, fighting desperately. A Setian infantry wedge and cavalry formed and managed to hold the Erastonians at bay. The resistance would be short lived. Once those Matii gained a range where they could Forge again, the battle already lost, would become a complete massacre. They would leave none alive.

The earth heaved in a sudden lurch, almost knocking him from his mount. Whinnying, the horse reared up on its hind legs. A rumble and a tearing sound followed.

A chasm opened less than a hundred feet from where he stood fighting off a few white–faced Erastonians. The rift split the pass from one cliff line to the other. Animals, drays, Setian and Erastonians disappeared into the hole. Screams followed their plunge.

Dear Ilumni, what have they done. I didn’t give the signal.

Throes wracked the earth again, but this time the accompanying rumble came from the surrounding slopes several thousand feet ahead. Boulders tumbled, and then the sheer rock faces on each side crumbled. The rubble filled the pass, cutting off Stefan’s sight of the Erastonian army beyond.

Horns started a serenade behind him. A soft patter of rain began as the clouds above finally broke. He recognized the tune. Whirling, he could not believe what he saw as the horns continued to play.

Surrounded by several hundred of his Royal Guard and garbed in golden armor, cape flapping, was King Nerian.

A cheer went up from the remaining soldiers. The Knight Commander’s shoulders slumped even as disbelief, quickly replaced by anger at the sacrifice of his men, swept through him. He turned back to the ragged gash in earth ahead where nothing but silence greeted him. Here and there, his men finished off the few Erastonians left on this side of the barrier of rubble and the chasm.

If they were lucky, eight to ten thousand of his original forty thousand had survived. Today, they were no longer the Unvanquished.