Terry Simpson: The Shadowbearer

The spears of fire tore through the air. The children stepped to the side and off the carpet. Serene smiles crossed their faces, then abruptly their arms elongated and flowed down to touch the marble floor. Stone and earth flowed up over them. The flames struck with a low boom.

Stefan threw a hand up against the sudden heat and the small concussion.

Fire rippled around and down the stoneform figures that were once his children. The flames snuffed out as if sucked away by a deep indrawn breath.

In place of Anton and Celina stood two ten-foot Sven. Marble and rock covered their bodies. Smoke rose from them. The smell of char trickled through the room. Below them, the ground was torn. As one, they roared at the King.

“Calm down.” Nerian cocked his head, an amused expression on his face.

The Sven quieted, but their brown-eyed glares remained on him.

“So,” Nerian stood, “all the pieces are together. We have the Sven, so I should count the Harnan as well, the Tribunal and their Ashishin, the Felani hiding behind the Vallum of Light waiting for said Tribunal.” He chuckled. “Let’s not forget the Erastonians.”

“All the more reason for you to give up this madness,” Stefan said, finally finding his voice. He tried his best to ignore the sword vibrating against his leg. It was a constant reminder the shadelings held his wife.

“Ah, but I hold the advantage.” Nerian’s gauntleted hand gestured toward his right and a small, dark entryway there.

The door opened. Anton and Celina, eyes fearful, clothing disheveled, shuffled into the room. Kahar glided in after them, his dark cloak and clothing motionless.

“NOOO!” Thania screamed.

Stunned, Stefan opened and closed his mouth.

“Mother,” the children cried, trying to head to her. Kahar cut them off.

“Not once did you think the Ashishin assisting your escape would belong to me.” Nerian shrugged as if it was obvious to him. “Bring them to me.”

Every fiber within Stefan’s body urged him to do something. Anything. But what could he do against Nerian, Kahar and the shadelings? Even his wife who was as strong or stronger than any High Ashishin he knew, appeared powerless. Thania had crumpled to the floor, crying.

The children approached the King, their gazes drifting to Stefan. They gasped. Celina began to wail. Anton mouthed the question, “Father?”

Heart thumping as he fought down sorrow, Stefan nodded. There had to be some way to help his children. “W-What do you want, Nerian? Please, stop this.”

“I am almost tempted to say that time has passed,” Nerian said. “Come, children, do not be afraid.” He beckoned them on as they paused a few feet from the dais.

When they climbed the steps and stood next to him, Nerian glanced from one to the other, his lips curled into a wicked smile. He ruffled Anton’s hair, then strode down the stairs, leaving the throne and the children arrayed at his back.

“You were like a son to me, Stefan. All I asked was for your help in fighting the Erastonians, to establish the rule of the Setian. In return, you would rule beside me. What do you do instead? You ally with them.”

Stefan fought down the urge not to gape at Nerian’s revelation. How did he find out?

“You hide your surprise well, Stefan,” Nerian said. “But there is little I do not know. Man’s greatest flaw is greed. The power of promises and delivering on them.”

“Dishonorable use is not what the Disciplines were created for.”

“Oh? So, you wrote them?” A smirk played across the King’s face. “Like anything else, they are a tool. In this case, one that teaches you how to get the best out of your men in whatever endeavor. For example, the Erastonians invaded Seti, already destroyed several towns and cities, massacred hundreds of thousands, and enslaved even more. They managed to defeat the greatest General Seti has ever known. Our armies and our Alzari will fight like never before. Right now, they are slaughtering your precious Erastonians.”

This time, Stefan did gape.

“Thank you for bringing them together in one location for me to crush. You served your purpose better than if you hadn’t betrayed me.” Nerian slowly shook his head from side to side. “And to think, I gave you everything.”

“No.” A sudden rage boiled in Stefan as he thought about all the dead, all the lives and families shattered over countless years of war. All wasted because he was blind to Nerian’s plans all those years. “I earned what I had. Many times over. What you asked was for me to go against what I believed in. All you have taught me. The Disciplines , honor, respect for life, and a man’s need for family. What happened to you, Nerian?” Stefan gestured to the shadelings. “To make it worse you turned to them, the very thing that has tried to destroy the world for years.”

“Nothing happened. I am who I am.”

“Lies!” Stefan shouted. “You were an honorable man. A man many admired-even worshipped-as if you were one of the gods. Now, look at yourself, look at your people, look at the filth and darkness that has become of Benez. You’re nothing more than a madman deluded by dreams and prophecies of the dead.”

Nerian scowled. Then, he shrugged. “Mad, maybe. Deluded? No. There are things beyond your understanding at work here. The world will be covered in the shade’s darkness. Nothing will stop that. No one is prepared. I will be victorious. But, in order to do so, there is something I need. Your sword. Release its bond to me or I will kill your children.”

Stefan stared, not believing the heinous words Nerian uttered. He closed his eyes, a hand sliding to his head to massage where his skull ached. To kill during a war was one thing, but to threaten to murder the children was beyond Stefan’s comprehension. Nerian was worse than a lunatic. He was a rabid animal that needed to be destroyed.

However, such a thing was easier thought than accomplished. The King faced the two Sven, Thania, whatever power Anton and Celina could muster, and yet appeared unconcerned. If Nerian wanted, he could probably kill everyone within the room. Not that Stefan was discounting himself, but for him to have any hope, he needed to get closer to the King.

“I served you faithfully all these years,” Stefan said, his voice a hair above a whisper. “Giving all I had, helping to build a kingdom, protecting the people and your rule. Not once before did I question your need for glory and conquest. I embraced it, took in what you taught me, and made your wishes a part of myself. All I ever asked was a chance to enjoy the fruit of the blood we spilled if the gods should ever bless me to live that long.” He stared longingly at his children. “Now I have that chance, and you not only deprived me of raising my children, but you would take them away from me? Kill them?” The seething inside him bubbled to the surface in a red-hot cauldron. “For a sword?”

“No. Not only a sword,” Nerian said from where he stood at the bottom of the dais. “The power within it.”

“So for a chance at power you would ask me to choose between the weapon and my blood?”

“I was not asking.” Nerian flicked a hand.

Celina made a choking sound. Kicking and thrashing, she rose slowly until she floated several feet above the throne. Her eyes bulged.

“Cel!” Anton yelled, hand outstretched toward his sister. Then he spun on Nerian, his face a mottled mask. Before Anton made another move, he went flying into the throne.

Something tugged at Stefan’s feet. Marble slid up to his ankle then hardened. Any attempt he made to shift was futile.

“Nerian,” Thania yelled.

Stefan snapped his attention back to his wife

Brow bunched together, she stared down the King, hands clenched into fists. Expression strained, Cerny stepped toward her, fist upraised.