Aegis of The Gods: Book 00 - The Shadowbearer (7 page)

Part of Nerian’s words rang true for the Knight Commander. Granadia’s Tribunal had done what none else accomplished: Their Dagodin, Ashishin, and High Ashishin had driven the creatures from their land and helped Ostania accomplish the same. Why should they risk more for kingdoms unwilling to convert to the Streamean religion despite all they’d done to help in the past?

“Would you care if you were them?” Stefan asked.

“If I were them, the world would already be mine to do with as I wish,” Nerian replied absently, his gaze seemingly locked on something in the distance.

Stefan frowned. This was not the Nerian he remembered before going off to war. Sure, they were both ambitious and both lived for glory, but the sound in the King’s voice spoke of a longing, a need to make the entire world bow to him. When they shared their dreams in the past, they wanted the Setian to stand above all but without oppression, without tyranny. Nerian sounded almost … jealous. “You intend to take on the Tribunal, don’t you?”

Nerian’s gaze shifted to the Knight Commander.

Stefan almost flinched at the cold pits there. “Why? They helped to give us much of what we hold now.”

“Give?” Nerian scowled, showing his teeth. “They gave me nothing. All I have I took.” He paused. “You helped me take. You, my son, are the only one I need to thank for what we Setian accomplished. The rest are fodder.”

Stefan opened his mouth to tell the King he was wrong. Without the men who worshipped them, the men Stefan convinced to follow him and the King’s wishes to their death, they would have nothing. The same men Nerian now denied the peace Stefan had promised them. Had it not been for them, the Setian would be a shell of their current glory. How had the King changed so much in three years? The man spoke as if life was little more than a tool to be sharpened, used until it broke, cast away, and then replaced. Stefan bit his tongue. Instead, he said, “Thank you, sire. You honor me.”

Eyes again drawing to something distant, King Nerian nodded as if he expected nothing less than gratitude. “The Tribunal wishes to make it seem as if they have no real interest in Ostania or even Everland, but indeed they do. They may not be able to rule us by force yet, but they conquered many Ostanians mentally. If only I saw it sooner.”

“What do you mean?”

“Streamean worship, of course.” Nerian pointed toward the towering statues of Ilumni and the other gods at the temples in Benez. “With their Devout priests and priestesses, the Tribunal has accomplished what no army could. They have subverted the rule of the Ostanian kingdoms with their promises of unity of the gods, harmony between the three religions, and equality between men and women.” Nerian spat. “They tout compulsory education and universal language as if we are semi–intelligent beasts. Through the knowledge they garnered from the Chronicles, they lead people to think the gods reveal their will through the Devout. The fact every one of the priests is also a mender only helps to make that more believable. Look around you some time. Their influence is rampant. Despite their promise of unity, which god do most of us pray to? Ilumni. When something ill happens, to whom do we direct our curses, our blasphemy?” Nerian turned to meet Stefan’s gaze, letting the answer hang.

Amuni,
Stefan thought, but kept silent.

“I see you begin to understand,” Nerian said.

“You might be right, but they also brought stability with them. Denestia has thrived from a world wreathed in war to one more prosperous. Take Granadia for example. When was the last time you heard of a major war there? They have small conflicts, sure, but nothing on a scale like we do.”

“Because the Tribunal rule their own as we should. Absolutely.”

Stefan shook his head. “Let’s say this is true, that the Tribunal does intend to rule all of Denestia. How would you begin to stop them?”

The faraway expression clouded the King’s face once more. “A concentration of Mater exists in the Great Divide. It must be why the Erastonians guard it so rabidly. I will have that power even if it means defeating the Erastonians themselves. Not that I would need much excuse to fight them. Their inability to prevent shadelings emerging from the Divide has led to enough damage to other lands. The time has come for someone else to take on the responsibility.” Nerian’s gaze shifted to Stefan. “You saw how powerful a few shadelings can be. Imagine if we managed to harness their power without the taint attached. We would not only complete a conquest of all Ostania but Granadia as well.”

Creeping, cold fingers eased down Stefan’s spine. The King had lost his senses. To dream of controlling Mater? The power legend said the gods created? One that had turned mountains into flatlands, forests into plains, seas into deserts, created the Vallum of Light and the Great Divide itself? The power existing within everything, but as the madness that eventually took all Matii who wielded it proved, was unstable at best and needed to be handled with extreme caution? Either the King’s ascent was corrupting him or he was going mad. Stefan had heard the voices inhabiting the essences as they whispered their malevolence in his days of training to become a Dagodin. He cringed. Could such an ailment be afflicting the King?

“I see that look in your eyes, son.” A smile on his lips, Nerian shook his head. “I am not insane. And yes, I believe a way exists to completely control Mater. The Pathfinders are a perfect example. They may not have full control yet, but they are more powerful than almost any other Matii. The answers lie in the Great Divide. I am certain of it. Why else would the Tribunal seek to bring Ostania under their rule?”

“How are you so sure conquering Mater is their intention?”

“Come now. You witnessed what happened when their Ashishin handled unstable elements. Imagine the possibilities if a way existed to prevent such a thing from happening.”

A world in chaos,
Stefan thought, as he pictured Forgers abusing their power without its limitations. Then his eyes widened. “So you did know,” he exclaimed, staring at Nerian in disbelief. “And you withdrew our Alzari without warning me.”

“You would have tried to mend those Astocans anyway.”

Stefan frowned. “Who told you I did?”

“I have my ways. Remember when you were young and you and Kasimir stole kinai fruit from that merchant?”

Brow wrinkling, Stefan recalled the time vividly. He and Kasimir had waited until Master Sena placed the sweet, fist–sized, red fruit in his warehouse before using the hole they’d dug the night before to crawl in and gorge themselves. Before they could leave, Nerian called to them, stepping out from the dark. The King had kept it quiet, but he’d put a whipping on the two of them they’d never forget. For weeks after, they both found it difficult to sit. Involuntarily, Stefan’s hand reached toward his butt. “Yes,” he said. “Garrick told on us then. Did he … is he—”

“No, he did not and is not. I asked and he refused me.” Nerian gave him a wry smile. “Do not worry yourself, but what happened at the Sang Reaches was confirmation of things I expected. I was already aware of much of the Tribunal’s plans.”

Stefan’s mouth fell open. “A spy within their ranks? Not just anyone, at least a High Shin.” Stefan’s brows climbed his forehead. “Galiana,” he whispered. Another knowing smirk from Nerian was all the confirmation he needed.

“Don’t look at me that way,” Nerian admonished. “She volunteered for the task. Besides, the Tribunal has been spying on us this entire time. I cannot trust any of their Matii.”

“Despite all the years they helped in our battle against the shadelings?”

“Do not be naïve,” Nerian chided. “We use who we must as they do us. Alone, we could never muster enough Matii or weapons to fight the shade’s last invasion, but together, a united Ostania did. In taking credit for bringing us together, the Tribunal gained their hold in Ostania.”

“And we’re united now, aren’t we,” Stefan said, finally understanding some of the purpose of his last few years of service. “On our own.” He couldn’t bear to look at Nerian with the knowledge of how the King used him.

“Not quite,” Nerian said. “But we are close, oh so close.” His voice gained a sudden fervor. “Don’t you see? We are stronger now. We no longer need to rely on the Tribunal to defend us. We can protect ourselves. Eventually, we can chase them back across the sea where they belong. Ostania can once again be whole.”

Stefan regarded the man he once held in such high esteem. “What then?”

King Nerian chuckled. “After that my son, the world is ours.”

“A dream, sire. You’re living a dream. I guess the Granadians will simply bend knee and let you claim their lands. Their Matii will no longer fight for their cause but for ours instead.” Stefan made no attempt to hide his sarcasm.

“That my son is the beauty of it all. Come.”

His body tense, Stefan followed at the King’s heels.

Nerian strode with purpose, head held high. He stopped at the edge of the battlements. “There, this is why I needed you to come home.” The King pointed out to the fields beyond the eastern walls.

An army numbering in the tens of thousands, no, hundreds of thousands covered the plains. The Quaking Forest of Setian flew from every battle standard. The absence of flags displaying lightning bolts striking in front of the sun was more than a little disconcerting. That absence, the lack of the Tribunal’s Lightstorm, was a stark revelation of the King’s intention.

“What—”

“Matii,” the King declared. “Our own.”

Stefan stared dumbly at the mass of bodies below. The green with crimson sleeves represented Dagodin, and from the unnatural gleam of their swords and spears, they wielded
divya.
How had the King found enough Matii to imbue so many weapons? Next to them he counted several legions in green and gold tunics and pants—Alzari. “How did you find so many Forgers?”

“Because of you, son.” A wild grin split Nerian’s face. “Once you defeated the Astocans, it gave us the last supply of Matii we needed. We may have warred with each other, but long ago, the kingdoms came to an agreement. Whoever conquered all of us would lead a united Ostania to overthrow the Tribunal. The other kingdoms decreed that all Matii must enter military service. Here in Seti, we sent out High Alzari to recruit Matii or forcefully take any who would dare shun my commands. I chose not to make the requirement public until I thought we were ready to face the Tribunal.”

Or to avoid any Matii fleeing beforehand
.

“Now, that day is here,” Nerian continued. “All that remains is for you to say yes, you will lead them.”

“I thought Cerny was next in line.”

“He has proven to be a tad unworthy.”

“What if I refuse?”

Nerian gave him a mirthless smile. “Come now. You will not refuse. I have done away with titles endowed by the Tribunal. We shall revert to our own. From now on, you are no longer Knight Commander, but General Stefan Dorn.”

Stefan shook his head in denial.
How could Nerian have changed this much?

“Go home to your wife and think things over.”

“I don’t need to—”

“Trust me, General. Think about the decree for service from all Matii.”

Stefan’s eyes narrowed. Thania was a Matus, once a Shin within the Tribunal. A sinking feeling rippled through the pit of his stomach. “You can’t mean to force—”

“Go home to your wife. She needs you.”

Stefan stiffened at the empty tone of the King’s voice. The pendant of his wife became as heavy as the sudden weight threatening to crush his heart.

C
HAPTER 7

C
old autumn air whipping at his face, his mount’s hooves beating thunder onto the flagstones, Stefan rode hard for home. Yet, the chill wasn’t what sent shivers through his body, and his speed wasn’t what spurred on his racing heart as he dashed past mostly empty side streets in Benez’s Upper City. Concern for his wife was the cause. Another time and place he would not have believed King Nerian could have meant Thania harm, but the look in the man’s eyes, his voice and his apparent insanity sent doubts whirling through the Knight Commander’s mind. Nerian’s mention of his distrust for the Tribunal and their Matii, his revelation of mandatory service, coupled with the fact Thania once served as a High Ashishin only added to Stefan’s trepidation.

This was supposed to be a time of enjoyment for him and his men. Music feathered through the air. All across the city, the people celebrated. Even here, along the avenue with its expansive villas, nobles dressed in layered silks and satins hurried on their way to join those cavorting on the King’s Road or to the ball at the Royal Palace. Some paused to cheer him on. At any other time, Stefan would have stopped to enjoy the festivities, the foods, the dancing. His expression soured with the thought of revelry.

He whipped his reins and dug his heels harder into his horse’s sides. Head down, neck outstretched the animal bounded forward. The world became a blur as he raced up the avenue, his anxiety growing the closer he came to home. When the square columns, the manicured gardens, and the roof of his villa appeared over a rise, he willed himself to go faster. Heart aflutter, the last vestiges of the daylight dipping below the horizon and Denestia’s twin moons casting long shadows around him, Stefan reached the premises.

Down the small incline he went and through the gates, ignoring the servants who waited there to take his mount. He did not stop whipping his reins until he reached the stairs before the wide, mahogany doors. Not waiting for the attendants to take his mount, he leaped off its back and ran up the stairs.

“Thania,” Stefan yelled. “Thania!” He threw the doors open and entered.

A long lamp–lit hallway stretched before him. Dressed in the blue of the Dorn house and bowing profusely, his serving men and women greeted him.

“Thania!”

“Good to see you, Lord Dorn. It is—”

“Perta,” Stefan grabbed the steward by his shoulders. “Where’s my wife? Is she well?”

“Why yes, my lord.” The balding man’s forehead wrinkled. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

Stefan expelled a long breath and smiled, a gloved hand gripping his chest as a tightness he had not noticed before eased. “King Nerian, he,” Stefan began. “Never mind. Where is she?”

“I’m not sure, my lord.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“M–My lord, M–Master D–Dorn, sir.” Perta grimaced. He pointed to where Stefan’s other hand still held his shoulder, squeezing.

“I’m sorry,” Stefan said, releasing his hold. He shed his gloves and tossed them to one of the attendants.

Perta rubbed at the spot, taking slow breaths. “It’s fine, my lord. What I meant was I’m not sure where she is in the house. It’s been a lot of commotion since your arrival was announced.”

Stefan nodded. He rounded on the other servants lining the hall. “Do any of you know where she is?”

A chorus of murmured ‘No, my lord’ spread throughout the foyer. One servant stepped forward. Stefan didn’t recognize the diminutive woman.

Head down, she said, “Lady Dorn went to her rooms to prepare for your arrival, sir.”

Relief swept through him for the second time in a few moments. “Thank you. What’s your name?”

“Clesi, my lord.”

“Thank you, Clesi.”

“Lord Dorn,” Perta said, “is there anything we can get you right now? Food? A drink? Maybe you would like a bath before you see Lady Dorn.”

Stefan cocked his head and raised a quizzical eyebrow at the steward’s suggestion. The man knew Stefan always spent time with Thania first before doing anything of the sort. “Perta.”

“Yes, my lord?”

“Walk with me. The rest of you continue with whatever my wife had you doing.”

After they bowed, the servants hurried away.

Stefan noted the sweat beading on Perta’s forehead. He made sure all the other servants were out of earshot before he deliberately rested his hand on his sword’s hilt. “Now, would you mind telling me why you’re stalling me from seeing my wife?”

Perta’s mouth opened then closed. He dabbed at the perspiration with a powdered cloth.

“You have another moment to answer me …” Stefan allowed the implied threat to linger.

“The Mistress, sir. She ordered me to delay you.”

“Why?”

“It’s supposed to be a surprise, my lord. I cannot tell you.”

Stefan quirked an eyebrow at Perta and tapped a finger on his sword hilt.

“Mistress’s orders … she forbid it,” the steward said quickly.

For a moment, Stefan considered commanding Perta to reveal what he knew, but by the stubborn set of the man’s jaw, he saw he would be wasting his time. The steward’s loyalty was unquestioned. And it belonged to Thania. With a resigned sigh, his earlier urgency washing away completely, Stefan said, “Fine. Take me to her.”

After a deep bow, Perta led the way. They walked along the hall, their footsteps muted by the thick carpet. The paintings on the walls were still in the same places Stefan remembered leaving them. In the main greeting area, he couldn’t help but smile. It had been three years, but again Thania had made sure the same soft, cushioned chairs and benches were against the walls. The vast area rug they now walked on was also as he left it. The artwork woven into the material showed an ancient war between the Eztezians and other Matii as they battled against each other and the shade’s armies. Materforgings scoured the land in lightning bolts, waves of earth, fountains of flame, maelstroms, and tornadoes. Around the entire scene, a massive forest burned. Shadelings were being herded into an enormous rent in the earth that supposedly represented the Great Divide.

The house smelled of bellflowers and spices, and sure enough, around the room on short pillars were vases filled with the blue and yellow blooms. Candles, smoke rising from them in lazy wisps that carried the nose tickling scent of the spices, burned in small holders on the three long tables set to either side of the room’s center. Servants hurried to the tables upon which sat various appetizers, from fruits to breads to meats.

As Stefan and Perta made their way across the room to the wide marble steps, several attendants came to offer Stefan fruit or small pastries of rolled meat. The mouthwatering aromas brought a grumble to his stomach. Hunger denied his temptation to shoo them away. Soon he was gulping down food while washing it down with his wife’s kinai wine. Whatever Thania had planned, she intended to have his attention held until she was ready.
My dear wife, what are you up to now?

The last time Thania had gone to this extent, she’d thought she was with child. When she found out she wasn’t, she’d been devastated. Stefan’s shoulders slumped with the thought. With the threat of another campaign in the way, he wondered if they would ever get to experience the joys of parenthood. At eighty, his chances were rapidly dwindling. Although she kept her age a closely guarded secret, Thania was much older by far, but she had the advantage of being a powerful Ashishin on her side, while he was only a Dagodin.

They reached the landing, followed the balustrade to the right, and entered an alcove with a staircase to the uppermost floors. Two flights up, they exited and strode down a short lamp lined hall to the main bedroom. Perta knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

Stefan’s heart sped up at the sound of Thania’s melodious voice.

Perta entered, and Stefan frowned at a noise much like a child’s laughter.

A moment later, the steward announced, “The lord is here, my lady.”

The urge to push open the doors almost overwhelmed him, but Stefan decided to let his wife have her fun. She’d gone to extreme lengths to prepare for his homecoming. The last thing he wished to do was ruin her surprise. One boot tapping on the rug, he waited.

The giggling reached him again, but this time a child did appear, peeking out from the door. Hair midnight black, green eyes twinkling, something about the child seemed disturbingly familiar. Stefan growled under his breath. Now he knew why the whole delay. Thania had once again taken in one of the servant’s children.
H
ad one of them died like last time? He shook his head. When last this occurred, his wife had become irrationally attached to the baby. When the child’s family arrived to claim him from Southern Felan almost a year later, it had taken months for her to recover from her sorrow.

“My lady says you may enter, sir,” Perta said from where he stood holding the door open.

Stefan stepped inside, his heart suddenly racing at the prospect of seeing his wife after so many years away. The door closed behind him, and it was only himself, Perta, the tiny boy who couldn’t be more than three and …. Was that another child sitting at a small table playing with a doll eyeing him curiously? Stefan’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead.
What, in Ilumni’s name, is going on?

Rather than question Perta again, Stefan studied the room. Similar to the rest of his home, his wife had kept the room as he remembered: the wide bed, the paintings on the walls and the lamps in their sconces. The familiar rug under his feet showed some battle between the gods. A bundle wrapped in an oiled cloth sat on a table near the door to the sitting room. A pinging noise made him look down. A smile on his face, the boy was knocking on his armor.

Smiling in return, Stefan peered around the room and called out, “Thania? Love?”

The door to the adjoining sitting room opened, light pooling in to match that from the glass lamps adorning the room’s walls. In glided Thania, radiant as ever, her hair falling in velvet waves down past the mounds of her tanned bosom and the deep V–neck of her layered silk dress with its many ruffles. Between her ample cleavage rested the twin to his pendant. To add to her appearance, she’d made up her face with powders and paints the way he liked. Upon her entry, Stefan’s pendant bloomed with warmth. Thania did not appear an hour past twenty–five naming days. She was perfect. Blue always looked best on her.

“My love,” she said, all sweet innocence, a smile that would brighten the dreariest day lighting up her face.

The thoughts of the King, the children, and all else fled Stefan’s mind. In several brisk steps, he strode to her and swept her from her feet. She smelled of saffron and bellflowers. He gazed into the golden pools of her eyes and kissed her deeply. Soft lips, so soft, like spun silk, greeted his chapped monstrosities. He couldn’t tell how long the kiss lasted but it felt like forever as her tongue played against his own and on his lips, moistening them. When he let her go for a moment to stare into her eyes, they were both breathless.

The pinging noise came again, and Stefan glanced down. The boy stood there knocking on his armor. Next to him was the girl.

Innocent eyes peered back up at him then over to Thania. “Mommy, who is this?”

The familiarity struck Stefan then, and he gasped, releasing his wife. Except for the green eyes, the child, no, both children were splitting images of her.

“Yes,” Thania said. “They are my … no, correction, they are our children. Stefan, this is your son, Anton and your daughter Celina.”

Stefan promptly sat on the floor, armor and all.