Aegis of The Gods: Book 00 - The Shadowbearer (22 page)

C
HAPTER 28

A
fter the second rush of speed within the Travelshaft, Stefan cast a glance over his shoulder. The Dagodin were all with him, each appearing unaffected by their surroundings. He gave a satisfied nod toward the Captain.

Less than an hour into the trip, Stefan frowned. By now, there should have been travelers heading the opposite way on channel to his left. At least four or five caravans or nobles with their retinue. Not only the armies used the shafts, but also dignitaries, craftsmen, and other service providers like the menders or apothecaries. Anyone who could afford them and had the tiniest spark of Matersense took advantage of the Travelshafts. Wealthy merchants willing to pay the high price for quick delivery of goods for which they themselves charged a premium were among the most common facilitators. Their absence didn’t bode well.

The answer to the mystery arrived in the clash of steel, cries of men, whinny of horses, and several great rumbles. A monstrous roar followed.

Eyes straining ahead, he tried to pick out the battle’s participants. Slowly, the ethereal glow resolved into heavily armored, lance–wielding Setian infantrymen. They spread in a wedge formation with their backs to several wagons and coaches. On the ground, behind them and ahead of them, lay numerous wounded and dead men. A woman in rich clothing cradled a man’s head in her lap. A wail ripped from her throat.

Standing over twenty–feet tall, a full–grown Svenzar was tearing into half a dozen wagons ahead of the retreating soldiers and fighting the remnants of the Setian cohort. If a mountain could lumber and had eyes, arms and legs, that would be the Svenzar.

Alongside the stoneform creature were at least a dozen Sven half its size. The Svenzar’s young twins smashed into any soldiers who got close enough to be a threat. Among them skittered, the Svenzar’s crab–like minions, the gerde. Steel flashed and stone thumped, the vibrations rocking the cavern as men and monsters battled.

Gerde darted back and forth on eight splayed legs, bodies to the ground, and carapaces often hardening to defend the strikes from soldiers. Their stony exteriors seemed to be a mixture of sediment. Maws wide and snarling, bodies the size of small ponies, they charged head first into what remained of the Setian ranks.

Men screamed and died. The smell of dirt and blood hung thick.

Twisted at inhuman angles, limbs missing, soldiers’ bodies littered the ground. Half again as many gerde lay amongst them along with abandoned pieces of broken armor and cracked stone shells. Blood stained the earth red.

For the moment, the Setian held the enemy at bay thanks to two Alzari. Huge boulders ripped from the earth to slam into the gerde not engaged with any soldiers. Intermittent bolts of light stuck others, shearing rock from skin to expose pink flesh beneath. Gerde howled and screeched.

One of the Alzari focused on the Sven and Svenzar, but whatever he did proved ineffectual. Whether it was a light bolt or a rolling wave of earth and debris, the monolith of a creature flicked a hand, and instantly a wall of earth shot up to block the attacks. More often than not, the Sevnzar absorbed any rock or dirt that found a way through its defenses. Alzari strength resided in Forging essences of earth and wood, but in that, the Svenzar were stronger. When the Alzari switched to his meager skill in light or fire, his attacks failed.

Nearby, the Sven continued to defend against the last few soldiers who’d managed to sneak through. Stefan knew now they must be Dagodin. Whenever the Setian’s blades or spears struck true, a Sven crumpled to a stony mound. Only
divya
produced such an effect.

Abruptly, one of the soldiers among the group turned and made an inhuman leap toward the closest Alzari. The Forger must have seen the movement from the corner of his eyes, because his hands swept toward the man. A huge fireball roiled to life in front of him before streaking up and catching the leaping soldier in the chest. The impact blew the man backward. When he landed with a smoking hole in his torso, a transformation began.

In the place of the Setian soldier was a dead Sven.

The Alzari spun to face the other Setian. He peered at them, hands outstretched, and then as if seeing whatever he sought, he turned back to the rock–armored gerde and began his attacks anew.

As Stefan watched, the boulders striking the gerde grew smaller and decreased in frequency. So did the bolts of light. The creatures began to ignore the bolts altogether, some not even bothering to screech when they were struck. Legs clicking on the metal and stone of the channel, they easily shifted from the path of incoming debris or slapped them to one side. One after another, the soldiers fell to the beasts until only six remained with the two Alzari.

The attacks on the Svenzar ceased altogether as the second Alzari now assisted his counterpart with his attempts to keep the gerde away. The Svenzar and Sven finished their demolition of the wagons and supplies and turned to the cohort’s remnants.

Commotion near the wagons drew Stefan’s attention. The doors to one of the coaches opened, and four children, two boys and two girls, ran over to the grieving woman. When they saw the man, they too burst into tears, falling to the ground, clawing at the man’s tattered clothing and bloody face.

A roar echoed from the direction of the battle.

There, a glow suffusing his body, one of the Alzari raised his hands. The last of the Setian and the other Zar fled. The gerde closed in.

Luminescent sheets arched from the man’s body like a hundred tiny, forked lightning bolts. They shot into the gerde, blowing limbs from bodies. Stone armor shattered as the blasts lifted the beasts off their feet and slammed them into the nearby wall. When the burst dissipated, the Alzari crumpled, his body a smoking ruin.

The last few gerde and the Sven and Svenzar advanced.

Despite the apparent hopelessness of the situation and ignoring his own warning, Stefan spurred his dartan the remainder of the distance. He could not sit by and allow these innocents, this woman and her children, to die like this. He glided across the central channel, through the luminescence separating it from the others and onto the same tracks as the retreating men.

“NO!” a voice screamed in a tone like a high–pitched musical note.

The word rocked Stefan to his core. It came from the Svenzar. Something about the voice seemed familiar, but he shook the sense off.

A massive arm stretched toward Stefan. All across the creature’s body, almost the same color as its stone exterior, tattoo–like drawings writhed. Shaking off his surprise, Stefan whipped his reins and drew up next to the Alzari and his six fellows. He turned to the oncoming Svenzar.

His sword vibrated.

By pure instinct, Stefan snatched his weapon and whirled to face the Setian.

A howl echoed.

His escorts had no time to react before several wraithwolves tore from the body of the soldiers and leapt on their backs, jaws snapping and snarling. The lone Alzari’s lips curled into a venomous smile, his eyes glittering as he regarded Stefan. Behind him, the same transformations were taking place not only among the other soldiers, but also from the woman herself and the four children.

The world slowed as the Alzari raised his hand.

The ground rumbled and shook. The earth heaved, causing his dartan to stumble to one side. A massive undulating lump roiled past Stefan. Yanking on his reins, he retreated.

The Alzari’s mouth fell open as the mound pushed up from the earth, forming a head bigger than the size of a wagon. The form continued to pour up from the ground, stone and dirt spilling away as neck, shoulders, then torso and arms grew. Intricate tattoos covered the Svenzar’s surface. They writhed around its body as if they wanted to tear from the creature’s skin.

Stefan recognized the Svenzar. It was Kalvor.

Light lanced out from the Alzari, striking Kalvor’s body, but not once did the Svenzar react.

“You helped save the Harnan,” Kalvor said. “For that, we are in your debt. We can help your people but you must make Nerian create an opening.”

“What are you—”

“Nerian is like a child, not knowing what he is doing, touching powers that lay dormant for years. One is holding him back. Your King must begin the process to unleash all he is. Only you and your weapon can provide what he needs.”

“How?”

“Use your sense when the time comes.”

Confused, Stefan opened his mouth to speak.

GO! NOW!” Kalvor commanded, towering into the cavern, his back to Stefan. “You will understand when you meet him.”

A face grew on the Svenzar’s back.

Stefan gasped. It was as if he was looking into a mirror at his own reflection, but several times bigger.

“Remember to trust what you feel, not what you see,” the face said. “Begone.”

Without waiting for another invitation, Stefan pulled on the reins and dashed to the central lane. A quick look over his shoulder revealed several wraithwolves trying to leap across. The ground shook again, but this time, Sven rippled up from the earth to block the creatures.

Turning his focus ahead, Stefan sped away from the clamor of battle.

C
HAPTER 29

H
ours later, Stefan arrived at the Travelshaft’s exit. Not much of what happened made sense. Why would the Svenzar defend him? Not only that, he could have sworn it seemed as if Kalvor expected him to be there. The same as the time when the Svenzar met him in Astoca. He frowned as he tried to understand what Kalvor meant by the sword providing Nerian with what he needed. One thing was certain. He was not giving the
divya
to the King.

His mind drifted to the shadelings, and he considered if Nerian sent them. But that didn’t make sense. Why not wait for him to come home? Unless Nerian assumed he was fleeing. He shook the thought off. Nerian knew he wouldn’t abandon his family.

Head spinning, Stefan continued to ponder his dilemma. What if someone else was acting on their own accord? Cerny maybe? If he made the wrong choice, not only his family’s lives, but those of the other men and women who now relied on him would be forfeit. With the thought, a hollow formed in his chest where the pendant of Thania rested. Whatever he decided, he had to proceed with the utmost care. One mistake and all would be lost.

A warning gong echoed. Ahead, the exit’s white glow came into view.
Self–mastery
, he reminded himself. He spurred his dartan toward the light.

When he exited, the air here deep in Seti was much cooler than he’d experienced at the Crescent Hills or even Karsten. The weather carried the chilly nip of autumn. Lit up by the orange glow of late evening sun, the peaks of the Cogal Drin Mountains loomed, soaring sentinels guarding the valley in which Benez nestled beyond the hill ahead. The clamor of an army on the march and clinking armor greeted him along with the trundle of wagons and shouted orders. Soldiers accompanied by Alzari massed on other roads leading to the shaft. The smell of man, metal, pack animals, and mounts rode heavy on the air. Several people pointed or stared at his dartan. The beast eyed them, mewling its displeasure.

On the main causeway where the road to the Travelshaft ended, ten mounted Dagodin in red and blue waited—the King’s Guard—their horses as stiff as the men themselves. General Cerny led them. Back straight and chest puffed out in his uniform with its crimson scrollwork running down the sleeves, the man was all smiles. A prickle ran through Stefan.

“Good to see you’re safe. We had reports of an encounter with Svenzar within the Travelshafts,” Cerny said as Stefan drew up in front of them. His horse whinnied and shied away from Stefan’s dartan. With a deft move of his legs, Cerny brought his mount under control and threw Stefan a fur–lined cloak. A curious expression crossed his face as he took in Stefan’s dartan.

“Thank you. Glad to be safe.” Stefan attempted to sound as genuine as possible as he caught the garment and slung it over his shoulders. “The Svenzar were preoccupied with their raid. I was able to sneak by.” He nodded toward the guards. The men did not acknowledge him. “I gather the King received word from Karsten?”

“Yes.” Cerny peered at him over his bulbous nose. “An eagle arrived earlier today. The message said you reached Karsten near death … and alone.” His eyebrows rose questioningly.

“I did.” Stefan kept his face stoic but questions abounded. If the Cerny knew he left from Karsten, then he was aware of Stefan’s Dagodin escort.
Why not ask after them?

“Defeat then.” Voice low but not quite a whisper, almost as if he was rolling the word around on his tongue, Cerny raised his hairless brows.

“Yes,” Stefan said, allowing his shoulders to slump and holding his head down for a moment.

“I think the King may have expected it, as did I.” Cerny’s tone carried the hint of a gloat.

“I guess that explains the numbers Nerian appears to be sending to the front.” Stefan wheeled his dartan to face the Travelshaft. He counted at least ten separate legions. Among them there were six made up entirely of Alzari. Several cohorts of men and women in flowing gold and green robes led them. The number of High Alzari was nothing less than astounding.

“He reacted a bit … angrily to your apparent defeat in the field. I suggest you soothe his temper.”

For the briefest moment, Stefan considered ignoring the man again. Instead, he said, “My ability to influence Nerian disappeared when I begged away from leading the first assaults into Erastonian territory.”

“I’ll pray to the gods for you then,” Cerny said.

Brows raised, Stefan cocked his head to one side to regard the General. “Things are that bad?”

Cerny let out a deep breath and nodded. “Worse. One of my men overheard the King saying you should have died with your men.”

And you tried to fulfill the King’s wish by sending the assassins in the Travelshaft, didn’t you?
Stefan shrugged. “It won’t be the first time he’s threatened my life over the last few years. Certainly won’t be the last.”

“I guess.” Cerny peered around as if gauging the distance between the King’s Guard and them. “But,” he whispered under his breath. “If you should need my help in securing a way—”

“I’ll take my chances,” Stefan said, cutting the man off. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep your suggestion to myself.”

Cerny gave Stefan a slight bow. “Then let’s not keep the King waiting.”

Smiling inwardly at Cerny’s sullen expression, Stefan slapped his reins and sent the dartan trotting up the cobbled road. The King’s Guard didn’t need to clear a path for him as the sight of the dartan created ample room. He yearned to rush off and have his family start their exodus, but the King had given him little choice but to attend to him first. Somehow, he needed to get word to Thania. The chances of leaving Nerian’s presence alive seemed more uncertain now than ever.

He crested the hill, pushing his chest out to make himself appear to ride with all the pomp necessary for a General, even a defeated one. The dartan’s massive size added to the effect. Behind him, hooves drummed a constant dirge. The thought of Cerny’s escort almost made his shoulders sag, but he refused to show any weakness. Part of him was still Stefan the Steadfast.

Across the wide valley, Benez’s gray edifices rose before the soaring, black feldspar walls. From the small dwellings within the slums to the larger buildings, the city’s structures wound their way up the valley and onto the mountainous slopes upon which the Royal Palace was built. The Palace itself sparkled with the evening sunlight. What may wait inside sent a chill through his bones.

Fifteen years
.

Alongside the road, travelers pointed at Stefan and his escort. Others made way for their passage, keeping their heads down and eyes averted. Stefan frowned. The Setian he remembered were a proud, happy people, always walking with their heads up, pride for their soldiers evident. Even the ones who were lesser off. The expressions now were often grim, hateful. More than one person spat as they rode by. Many shuffled, backs bowing under the weight of belongings they carried. The wagons held up along the road were bursting to overflowing with both people and personal items. The press of unwashed bodies reeked. For the first time, Stefan noticed soldiers searching some of the wagons and at times carrying off the owners or walking away with young men under guard, their mothers wailing in protest.

Stefan slowed until he rode alongside Cerny. “What’s happening?” He nodded toward the young men.

“The King needs recruits in order to take on the Erastonians. He recently passed a new law. Every able–bodied male must serve in the army.”

“What?”

Cerny shrugged. “King’s orders.”

“Not everyone is born to fight, Cerny. What the King is doing is—”

“I understand,” Cerny said, nodding, “but if I were you, I’d keep those thoughts to myself. Of course, I could pass on your sentiments if you would like?” His eyebrows rose inquisitively, and he rubbed at his nose, his lips twitching ever so slowly into a cruel smile.

“No, if I need to, I’ll speak to him.”

“Fine.”

“Are all these people fleeing Benez?”

“They’re trying to. Most aren’t allowed to leave, at least not before inspection. The King believes the Erastonians have infiltrated among us. The dungeons overflow with suspects.” Cerny sounded almost pleased by the prospect and the gleam in his eye said as much.

Stefan ground his teeth. Rumors had reached him of how bad life had become, but this was terrible. Something else drew his attention. There was tenseness to the air, a poised readiness, like a rockslide waiting for the one boulder, the one weakness to send the stones tumbling. While some people did appear cowed or resigned to whatever fate would befall them, others seemed ready to attack, fists clenched around anything resembling a weapon. Often it was their hands balled into fists, but that was the extent of their protests. The gestures gave him hope. There might be a way other than fleeing after all.

First, he had to convince Nerian only a few survived against the Erastonians and that Garrick’s entire legion perished. A tall order if there ever was one. The occasional vibration from his sword when some soldier passed close or the mewl of his dartan toward one person or another lent to his sense of dread.

For all intents, he’d known this trip might be a suicide mission.