Terry Simpson: The Shadowbearer

Kaden knuckled his forehead to Stefan. “Sir, I assume this means we leave for the encampment at dawn?” Despite the helmet enclosing his face, Kaden’s voice was deep, clear, and vibrant.

To the point. Stefan nodded. “Yes. There are more wounded Astocans than expected. Quite a few from our earlier skirmishes, in fact. Your Shins will be mending near fifteen thousand men.” Stefan wished the Pathfinder’s entire face was visible, but the narrowing of Kaden’s eyes told him enough. “Can they can manage?”

“If we had a few weeks or if I had more than a thousand Ashishin plus your Alzari, yes, but you want this done in days. Why? It’s not only the lives of these Astocans at stake. There is a possibility I will lose some of my own men as well.”

“I understand, Pathfinder Kaden.” Stefan stared through the slit of an entrance to his tent and into the night. “A King once said to me, ‘a good commander is one who shows an interest in the plight of his enemy, especially after their defeat. Such an act goes a long way in turning the mind of one’s enemy to seeing more than a simple conqueror.’ ”

“A wise man. But what of my Ashishin? Essentially, you might be working them to death, and putting your men as well as what’s left of the enemy you’re trying to save at risk at the same time.”

“Doesn’t your Tribunal proclaim the Shins as servants to all?”

Kaden regarded him in silence for a moment. “Fair enough.” The Pathfinder tipped his head. “Whatever is the Tribunal’s wish, I am but an extension of their orders.”

“Good. Now, do you think your Pathfinders will be able to prevent any Shins from losing control?”

“We can try, but there are no guarantees in this. However, if one of them does succumb, we should be able to stop them before they do any damage.”

“That will have to do,” Stefan said.

“Knight Commander?”

“Yes?”

“Why did King Nerian summon the Alzari back to Seti?”

“I’m wondering the same thing myself,” Stefan answered.

“If something should go wrong tomorrow, Nerian’s decision will be partly to blame.”

“Then let’s make sure nothing does.”

In the shadow of the Sang Reaches, Stefan surveyed what remained of the Astocan encampment. Located in a vale with a tiny pass for an entrance, the expanse of fields had been quite defensible with an easy retreat into the mountains. Too bad the positioning was all for nothing.

Burned and ripped canvas, broken poles, and ramshackle wagons spread in a haphazard fashion about the ground. Hanging from a tree branch was the corpse of one of the Astocan captains. Below him, another soldier leaned on the trunk, a spear driven through his chest. The acrid pall of smoke hung so thick Stefan covered his mouth to choke down a cough. Brown, tattered brush crowded once verdant fields. Pieces of weapons glinted amongst the trampled grass. Stefan’s men had gathered the majority of the Astocan soldiers and led them off. A few of the remaining officers had managed to flee into the mountains. The ones left behind were incapacitated by their wounds. Some lay on makeshift litters, while others rested on grassy mounds. Moans and groans echoed among them. Many were unmoving and silent-eyes staring sightlessly.

One Astocan-skin so dark it shone-coughed and attempted to rise to his feet as Stefan approached. Several punctures from what must have been scorpio bolts and a missing arm prevented the soldier from doing much more than getting to his knees. The man clasped a hand to the two thin slits at the side of his neck that always reminded Stefan of a fish’s gills. The matching ones on the other side fluttered open and closed. Red trickled between the Astocan’s fingers, and he crumpled.

An Ashishin wearing the colors of a Devout priest hurried to his side. She placed a hand on the soldier’s chest. Blood oozed from the wounds and bubbled from the man’s mouth. Head down, the Devout prayed. An answering rattle issued from his lips. He gave a final kick and lay still.

Robes a brighter red than the dried blood on the ground, Ashishin Matii moved from one man to the next, mending those not too far gone. Soldiers beyond the point of saving were passed on to the Devout. Dressed in white and gold, these higher ranked Ashishin bent to offer prayers for the dead and dying. More often than not, the mortally wounded chose to convert to the Streamean religion the Devout preached and accepted the blessing of a god whose warriors bested theirs.

In close proximity to the menders were the Pathfinders. Displayed on their cloaks as well on each Ashishin’s breast was the Lightstorm insignia of the Granadian Tribunal-an illustration of three lightning bolts striking in front of the sun. Each Pathfinder’s hand rested on his sword. They had eyes only for the Ashishin.

Seeing the Matii at work with their guardians keeping watch, Stefan wondered again about the King’s message and his actions. Why did Nerian withdraw all his Alzari? This was the last battle. He knew they needed them to save as many Astocans as possible. Why did Nerian require the few Forgers they possessed? And for what campaign? Why was the King willing to risk the men’s ire by having them go off to war once more? The questions roiled on. Only one threat came to mind that would need the attacking power and prowess of the Matii.

Shadelings.

A chill passed through Stefan, and he shivered, covering the tingle by running his hand up the back of his neck and stroking the hair standing on end. He breathed easier knowing that the combined might of the Ostanian kingdoms had driven back the black monstrosities years ago. Thanks to the Tribunal’s help. On rare occasion, a report came in from the far north or northeast of a sighting. A massive hunt followed until they destroyed the creature in question. Stefan found it hard to believe a sizable incursion had occurred without his knowledge. At least not one dangerous enough to warrant the King’s actions and the message of a new call to arms that Cerny had delivered.

Controlling his mount with his legs, Stefan shifted to get a better look at Kasimir and Garrick. “I still can’t decide if I should break the news to the men or how.” He’d spent the previous night mired in sleeplessness and nightmares. In his dreams, his soldiers mutinied and caused a war that brought Seti to its knees. Hopefully, events would not be so bad. The thought did little to lessen his sense of dread or his dislike for the King’s orders. Such had been the dreams that he’d awoke red-eyed and weary.

“Do as you always have,” Garrick said. His mount sniffed at the ground then snorted. “Tell it like it is.”

Kasimir nodded his agreement.

“Maybe that would be best,” Stefan said. Impaled on a pike not far from him was General Dedrick’s head. A slight breeze ruffled the Setian Quaking Forest banner tied to the shaft below the ragged stump of a neck. “I still can’t help the sense that many of our men won’t be pleased. I feel as if I failed them.”

“Nonsense,” Garrick said. “The men followed your command because of who you are and what you have done. They’ll know you wouldn’t force them back into duty if it could be avoided.”

“I still don’t understand why the King feels the need to continue the campaigns,” Kasimir added. “Except for the Harnan and Svenzar lands, we have claimed all of Ostania for ourselves. Does he intend to attack those two again?”

“Don’t forget the Felani,” Garrick said.

“Meh, the Felani are the Felani. They will continue to hide behind the Vallum of Light.”

“Unless he’s found a way to root the Harnan and Svenzar out of their mountain strongholds, I don’t see why he would bother,” Stefan said. “Such a feat would take more Matii than we have.” He nodded toward the Ashishin.