Terry Simpson - The Shadowbearer

At the words, Stefan frowned. “You don’t think that is-”

“N-No, it couldn’t be.” Kasimir’s face drained of color.

“Let’s hope not,” the Knight Commander said. “There’s no way we can win a war against the Tribunal with all of Granadia’s might behind them. Even Nerian knows that.”

“What if he believes differently?”

“I guess we’ll find out when we get to Benez. Is the cavalry ready?”

Kasimir nodded.

“Good, we head out now. Leave a quarter of them behind with the infantry and the scorpios. We can’t afford to wait. Whenever they make it back is fine.” With a jerk of his reins, Stefan set off through the downpour.

By the time they reached Konele’s outskirts, the rain was dwindling to a drizzle. The drum of hooves drew Stefan’s attention to a fenced field near an abandoned farm-one of the many in the area. Head down, a horse galloped across the muddy pasture.

A loud mewl made Stefan whip his head around in the opposite direction. Body a blur, a six-legged creature crashed through the fence. Splintered wood flew into the air. The beast slowed as it gained the field. Stefan recognized the mottled carapace, the humped shell on its back, the long swinging, snake-like neck, and a head with a mouth lined with sharp teeth. It was a dartan.

The beast stopped, peered at Stefan and his men, and then toward the lone horse. It mewled once more before bounding forward, muddy water splashing as its feet churned. As tall and wide as dartan’s were, one would expect them to be slow and lumbering, but they were as much that as they were docile. This one ran three times faster than the horse, and it was several times larger. Kept by farmers for their speed and strength, dartans needed to be beat into submission to maintain a semblance of control. Even then, such control was often fleeting. Yet their workload was worth the risk. Not to mention their use in prizefights.

Before the horse gained the fence to the pasture’s far side, the dartan caught up. The creature crashed into the horse’s side. The horse went toppling, its body carving a path through the sodden earth. With a whinny, the horse attempted to scramble to its feet.

The dartan rushed forward, head snaked out. Its jaws snapped onto its prey’s neck. A sudden twist and the horse stilled and sank back onto its knees. The dartan tore a chunk of flesh and mewled in content.

Whenever Stefan saw the beasts, he marveled at them. He had sworn to find a way to harness their aggression and speed into something his army could use. Alas, such a process eluded him. The arrival of one of his scouts drew him away from the dartan at its meal.

Garbed in dark leather, the scout drew rein. “Sir, they have withdrawn everyone into Konele.”

“Good.” Stefan gave one last glance to where the dartan stood tearing another chunk of meat. “Head down to the Travelshaft. It’s past time we were home.”

Similar to their other locations the Travelshaft’s entrance sat outside the town with three, smooth-paved roads sloping down into it. The stone of the roads weren’t cobble or large flagstones. It was as if one layer of rock had been laid down in a stretch a thousand feet long. The surface showed no signs of erosion nor did precipitation collect. Instead, rain flowed off as the streets declined slightly from the middle to the sides. Despite their smooth surfaces, the roads never became slippery. They were an ancient marvel none appeared able to reproduce. And there was no discussing the construction with the Sevnzar even when they did happen to speak to a human.

As the scout reported, the central road itself was empty. Unmanned, heavy stone fortifications stood sentinel along the way. Next to those were several ballistae aimed at the portal tunnel that was the Travelshaft’s entrance.

Ahead, the yawning maw of the shaft towered. Rock covered the exterior forming what looked like a short hallway hewn into stone and angling down into the earth. Nearly forty feet tall and twice as wide, the surface of the portal gave off an ethereal glow, power resonating from it in rhythmic pulses. Any Matii could feel the pull of energy as soon as they set foot onto the ramp’s beginning. Beyond the glow was a black so pure it stood out at night.

Stefan waited for Garrick and Kasimir to draw abreast of him. Once they began the downhill dash, there would be no stopping. The speed altering effect of the road leading to the portal was immediate, triggered by some unknown link between Matii and the essences around them. According to researchers, most creatures seemed to have the link innately. Any normal man would feel nothing. After a deep breath, Stefan hunkered deeper into the saddle, raised his hand, and dropped it. He slapped his reins at the same time.

His horse leaped forward, head down and stretched like an arrow shot from a bow. Legs churning, its speed increased until it ran at twice a normal gallop. Then three times as fast.

Behind him, his cavalry thundered. Unbidden tears came to Stefan’s eyes, but he could not manage to lift a finger to wipe them away. His face contorted and his hair and cloak streamed out behind him. He hunched into the saddle.

In moments, the Travelshaft reared up in front of him. He plunged into the pits of its blackness.

As Stefan crossed the portal’s obsidian surface, his movement slowed from a breakneck lunge to a crawl. Tendrils of cold prickled across his skin as if tiny creatures attempted to leech all warmth from him. Then he was through to the other side and his men with him.

Inside, a dim glow lit the three channels-the wide thoroughfare they ran on and a lesser one to each side. The channels consisted of link upon link of interconnected metal each in the shape of an H. Rocky slabs filled the open spaces at the top and bottom of each H like smooth, rectangular flagstones. Only the difference in the silver of the metal and the brown of the stone told where one began and the other ended. Tracks, the Svenzar called them. The channels stretched for miles into impenetrable darkness.

To the outskirts were walls that made Stefan feel as if he rode in cavernous mine deep within a mountain. Bleached bones showed in a few locations against the rock faces. Sometimes he wondered if this was how it looked within a tomb. The thought made him shudder. One thing he was happy for was the Travelshafts’ scent. Their interiors did not carry the stench of death or of a space enclosed for too long. They were practically odorless. So much so, that he could smell his own sweat and his horse.

Along one of the other paths, a contingent of guards on foot surrounded several supply wagons. The tracks didn’t appear to move, but the soldiers slid along all the same, apparently at an incremental pace. Stefan knew the sensation was deceiving. Their actual speed would be more in comparison to ten times a horse’s gallop. Everything always seemed to slow when within range of the exit.

Stefan braced himself for the lurching rush that would send his stomach into his mouth when he passed beyond the entrance’s threshold. Fifty feet in, he crossed. His horse leapt forward under him in a speed that made what it did on the roadway outside seem slow by comparison.

Blood rushed to his ears in a roar, a tingle shot through his body, his stomach threatened to spew its contents, and he thought his heart would jump from his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut against the sensation of blinding speed, knowing within a few moments it would settle as if it were a part of him. Those moments seemed to last an eternity, but once his heart and his stomach calmed, he eased his eyes open.

In this section of the Travelshaft, the glow was much brighter, like early afternoon suffused by a light mist. Even after all these years, he still marveled that no lamps or lightstones produced the effect. The luminescence simply existed. The air rushed by in a steady swish, a gentle breeze against his face, the one thing louder than his or his horse’s breaths.