Terry Simpson - The Shadowbearer

Head down, the dartan bounded forward. In moments, its speed surpassed any creature Stefan used before. Then it went faster still. His stomach lurched, threatening to spew its contents, but he fought down on the sensation.

The speed grew until those watching from the roadside melded with each other. In turn, the spectators became one with the tents and other fortifications. His clothes felt as if they wanted to rip from his body where they flapped, while in other places the cloth plastered itself to his skin. He huddled into the saddle as everything blurred into one unrecognizable stream.

After 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.