Terry Simpson - The Shadowbearer

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.

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.