Terry Simpson - The Shadowbearer

Stefan followed its gaze to see the earth cave in on the death pit. Dirt and debris piled into the hole as if gigantic shovels dumped their contents. Wisps of smoke petered up followed by dusty bursts whenever a dirt mound spilled into the chasm.

Guarding against the possibility any shadeling survived, ten Ashishin stood sentinel near the hole while another twenty buried what was left of the slaughter. The remainder of their cohort followed behind Stefan’s infantry. To either side of the foot rode the dartan cavalry in long lines, having split their legion in two. The silver armor of Stefan’s Knight Generals and Knight Captains stood out as they crossed in front of the ranks, barking orders.

“Your mount, sir,” Destin said, the reins held out in a shaky hand, sweat trickling down his face, his eyes wide as he regarded the dartan.

Stefan understood the man’s fear. The dartan was twenty-two hands tall and its snake-like neck swung from side to side as it sniffed the air. It tried to take a step toward the wraithwolf’s corpse, the smell of fresh meat no doubt drawing the beast. When Destin tugged on the reins to draw it back, the dartan showed its teeth and nipped at his hand. The Cadet snatched his arm away.

“I’ll take it from here.” Stefan took the reins and yanked them tight against the beast’s jaws.

The dartan mewled once more and straightened.

“T-thank you, sir.”

Stefan regarded the young man who averted his eyes. He remembered when he was young like Cadet Destin, aspiring to be greater than the sum of his parts with dreams of the glory of battle. Those dreams died during a campaign when he was one of the few who’d survived their foray into Banai lands. It had been their first encounter in Nerian’s plan to build an empire. Here he was, years later, about to watch more men die. Death’s always simple. We spend our entire lives dying. Wasn’t that what King Nerian always said? Stefan clenched his fist at the thought of his former friend and King.

“Thank you, Cadet Destin.” Stefan masked the strain of his voice for the Cadet’s sake. “You have done well.”

Destin gave a timid smile and bowed.

Reins in hand, Stefan used the handholds carved into the sides of the dartan’s shell to climb up and slipped onto the seat cut into the shell. His insides twisting in knots, he flapped the chains and headed toward his army.

As he rode, the Disciplines came to mind . Demand discipline by showing mastery of self. Demand they overcome after you prevail. Demand bravery by overcoming your fear. Demand strength by conquering your weakness.

Back straight and head held high as he schooled himself to calm, he jerked the beast into a gallop. The day was not yet done. There might yet be more death.

Stefan caught up to his soldiers as they reached the hilltop overlooking the plains where the Erastonian army massed. Armor clinked and leather creaked as men saluted, their gazes following his path between their ranks. He tugged on his reins, bringing the dartan to a sharp halt ahead of the rest of the army and next to Knight General Kasimir.

“Sir.” Kasimir gave a slight dip of his head. “Did he-”

“He’s gone.” Stefan sighed, fighting against the heaviness in his heart. They’d both lost a friend. “He’s been dead ever since the massacre in Everland.”

Expression grim and eyes watery, Kasimir nodded.

“Cavalry ready?” Stefan asked. He would show no more remorse in what he’d been forced to do. Those creatures were no longer his men.

“As ready as they’ll ever be.” Kasimir rapped a gauntleted fist on his dartan’s shell.

“Good.”

Several thousand feet and a few low hills ahead of the main force, the Erastonian cohort that had broken off stood in a motionless black snake of leather-armored men. The drums and horns stopped.

“You think they’ll parley?”

Stefan grunted. “Their commander agreed to this. His example of good faith was the information on Garrick or rather, the shadelings that replaced Garrick and the others.”

“Do you trust him? He might have told you anything to escape death.”

“He didn’t lie about Garrick, did he?”

“He wasn’t doing us any favors,” Kasimir said. “With the shadelings dead, their army won’t have to face them in addition to us. Worse, by watching our skirmish, he no doubt realizes how many Matii we possess. We-”

“I made an agreement with the man.”

“I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but maybe we should have waited on killing the shadelings. Combined with our Ashishin-”

“No matter how dire things appear, I won’t turn to the shade for help, Kasimir. The shade is to be destroyed, period.”

Kasimir hesitated for a moment. “But we could have turned on the shadelings afterward. I mean, we’re using Ashishin and Harnan now. Think of it the same way. The creatures would be another tool for us to use and discard. If what Guban said is true, and the King’s with them, we could end this war or at least change the outcome.”

Stefan allowed the Knight General’s words to wash over him, resisting the urge to give in to his anger. “I’m not Nerian,” he said softly.”I won’t throw away my honor or turn to the shade. You don’t see the bigger picture, Kasimir. Who knows what adjustments they made to our small victory, but seeing the dartans will give them pause. Doubt is what we need.”

“More reason to use every advantage,” Kasimir implored, his dark skin shiny with the sheen of sweat.

Jaw grinding, Stefan glared at Kasimir until the Knight General averted his eyes.

“Fine. I understand not using the shadelings, but falling to the Erastonian horde may be just as bad. Towns littered with dead and slavery or worse for those they don’t kill.”

“At this point, I would take slavery.” Stefan grimaced. “Kas, I need them to listen and come to an agreement. They have as much at stake as we do, because there’s no bargaining with the shade. Our object here is to save as many Setian as possible. Remember that. People are going to die, lose their souls, a great many of them, if Nerian isn’t stopped.”

“Are any less going to die if we don’t stop the Erastonians?”

“Which would you rather, Kasimir?” Stefan arched an eyebrow. “To be mired in the darkness the shade brings or to be under Erastonian rule?”

“Neither.”

“Exactly, but those are our choices right now, unless we do it this way.”

“Surely the Granadian Tribunal won’t allow Nerian’s madness to continue?”

“They haven’t done enough so far,” Stefan said.

“I beg to differ.” High Shin Clarice’s voice came from a few steps behind them. Silver sleeves in stark contrast to the crimson of her robes, the dark-haired woman, rode up on a dartan.

Stefan scowled. “Disagree all you want, but you endorsed Nerian. I remember the boasts of him being the first Ostanian allowed in your ranks in five hundred years. What did it accomplish? He got his hands on the Chronicles.”

“You speak as if you never supported him,” she said, voice calm.

“That ended a long time ago.”

The High Ashishin shrugged. “Not soon enough apparently. People tend to remember the worst of a person. For the Tribunal, it is bringing him among us. For you, the world will recall the wars you fought and won in his name.” She glanced out toward the Erastonians. “And for the ones you lost.”

“My intentions were always pure, High Shin Clarice.” Stefan practically growled the words. “Given a choice to fight or fall to one of the other kingdoms or to the shade, I chose to lead my people’s survival. I hope you never face a similar choice.”