Terry Simpson: The Shadowbearer

The Alzari Matus’ face wrinkled in concentration. As with any other of her kind who could delve into the elements of Mater said to reside within everything in the world, Stefan was certain she was doing just that. The ability allowed her to touch the essences within those elements and shape them by the force of her will.

He wanted so much to open up his own senses to see the wonder of what she Forged. But he cringed with the thought of what might await him there. Yet, he couldn’t help but frown. Did she Forge air alone to carry his voice? Or more?

In his youth, he’d often dreamed of wielding the same power as an Alzari Matus or any other Forger. They were lauded as being blessed among the gods, and as a boy of faith, he could not think of a greater honor. Gifted with the ability to harness the elements of Mater like the gods themselves, able to create, to destroy, or to save lives. How he’d dreamed. Until he witnessed what awaited those who succumbed to the very power they wielded. Those horrors had etched themselves into his mind. He shuddered.

“It is done, Knight Commander. You may speak,” the Zar said, her voice showing no strain.

“Thank you, Zar Selentis,” Stefan said. He closed his eyes to quell the emotions warring inside him. Words from The Disciplines echoed in his head. ‘As a leader, be careful what you promise your men. Failure to deliver can be as costly as defeat. Glory, the spoils of war, and the worship of the commoners are good forms of motivation, but use such rewards sparingly. The trust of your men hinges on their belief in you. In turn, victory hinges on that same belief. Break that trust but once, and the damage may be irreparable.’

“Men,” he called as he opened his eyes.

Enhanced by the Alzari Matus’ power, his voice boomed across the encampment to every corner, certain to reach all thirty thousand soldiers. The celebratory noises dwindled away, leaving only the crackle of fire and the scuff of a boot here or there. Heads shifted and eyes focused in his direction.

“For thirty years, you have followed me. You have feasted with me before every battle and after every victory. You have obeyed my commands without question. In turn, I have walked in the footsteps and listened to the words of a great man, a man more like a father to me than the father I knew. To King Nerian the Lightbearer!” Stefan raised his cup of kinai wine and downed it in one gulp.

“To King Nerian the Lightbearer!” his men echoed, cheering each other on as they drank.

The liquor wasn’t as refined as his wife’s was, but it did the job. The kinai wine’s heat flared down his gullet, bringing with it a sense of renewed vigor. Tasting the drink brought on a longing to be with Thania, conjuring memories of her dark hair, coppery skin and golden eyes. Stefan smiled despite the heaviness in his heart. “Men.” The noise died once more. “Tonight, we feast together again, but for another reason. I was a mere youth, my nineteenth naming day when I earned my first command.”

“Are you saying you’re an old man now?” called a gruff voice.

All around, soldiers barely stifled their laughter.

“Not quite, Carim,” Stefan said to the smooth-faced Knight. “But I could whip you and any other youngster who think they can best me with a sword. Wait …” He grinned. “Isn’t that exactly what I did to you two days ago? It was four of you, wasn’t it?”

Guffaws and good-natured ribbing came from the men around Carim. Red faced but smiling, the Knight bowed.

“Anyway,” Stefan said. The men quieted. “When the King began his campaigns, I assured him we would be victorious-I promised YOU victory.”

“Stefan the Undefeated, Stefan the Steadfast,” someone shouted. Picked up by other voices, the names rolled through the camp.

The Knight Commander raised his cup, and the shouts lessened until the men drifted into silence once more. “The victories are not mine alone or the Knight Generals.” He gestured to Garrick, Kasimir and the others. “But yours.” He pointed to the soldiers. “You men made this possible. Your willingness to believe in us, to stand before superior numbers undaunted, and battle to the last breath. Your fortitude to train until your body burns and you can no longer take a step much less lift a weapon has carried us to this point.” Chest heaving, he paused. “YOU … have made the name Setian a name to be feared, a name to be held in awe, a name to be revered for all time!”

A cheer went up then, building into a deafening roar. Stefan allowed it to continue for a few moments. They deserved their elation.

“Today,” Stefan said, his words rising above the din to wash it away. “You won the last victory in our campaign to make Ostania whole once more. We can stand against the shade and any other enemies as one people, one nation, unified. Today, we routed the Astocans like their cousins the Cardians before them. Coupled with the Banai surrender, we have prevailed. Today, we can truly consider ourselves an empire.” Amid the wild whoops that followed, Stefan rolled the word around on his tongue, loving the taste.

“I promised you something else back then. For those of you who remember that day and have witnessed me repeat the same time and again … I promised you peace … a chance to raise your families, to love your wives, to find a wife, start a family, to ensure our future as a people.

“I said you would have a chance to go home to Seti one day to live a different life. Not as soldiers, but as merchants, miners, farmers and teachers, or simply to relax, enjoy life and your children until the end of your days.”

The camp reached a palpable silence.

“You.” He pointed out to his men, drawing his hand from left to right to encompass them all. “You. Every single one of you. The ones before you who have shed blood, who have given an arm, a leg, a life, for the King, for Seti, for victory, deserve this day.

“Men of the Unvanquished …” it was the name many had begun calling them, and although he resisted it, and often said he never wanted to hear the name in his presence, right now, the title fit. “I give you peace.”

When the triumphant cries bellowed, Stefan could no longer hear himself think. He allowed the feeling to wash over him, reveling in the tingle it brought. Not only the cheers and belief of his men but the word peace itself.

It meant he should have been able to finally go home to Seti, be with Thania, and maybe, just maybe, start a family. A smile that did not touch his eyes bloomed on his face. However, as he turned and entered his pavilion with Garrick and Kasimir close on his heels, his expression crumpled.

Several hours later, after Cerny and Zar Selentis left to return to the capital, Stefan sat at the table in his pavilion. Two candles in glass holders occupied the table’s center, their perfumed scent overriding that of the untouched food before him. Illuminated by flickering light, a map next to his plate displayed his forces. He removed the pins representing the Alzari Matii. By now, they were well on their way back to Benez under Cerny’s command.

Men were going to die because of the King’s order for their withdrawal. A great many.

In the days to come, the first to perish would mainly be Astocans. Some might say their deaths weren’t much of a loss, but eventually, his own men would number among the dead. A sense of helplessness crowded over him, and he sighed. Yet, he harbored no regrets for his announcement. Somehow, some way, he needed to stay true to his word.

“So what now?” Kasimir asked.

In his brooding, Stefan had almost forgotten about him and Garrick. “We do as we have always done … save as many of the enemy as we can.”