The Shadowbearer (aegis of the gods) Read online

  The Shadowbearer

  ( Aegis of the Gods )

  Terry C. Simpson

  Terry C. Simpson

  The Shadowbearer

  PART 1

  P ORTENTS AND P LOTS

  Prelude to War

  From the notes of Jenoah Amelie — First of the Exalted

  I must make these notes before the voices call to me again. Of late, I cannot tell which of the essences they are. Is it light or heat? Or gods forbid, the shade? Does the earth beneath my feet speak to me? Is the very air around me whispering in my head? Or the water I drink? Maybe, it is not the essences within the elements of Mater at all. Maybe, it is all my imagination.

  What they promise is so overwhelming. Twice, I have almost given in to their call. Is this what the others experienced when the madness took them? I must defend our actions while I am still capable of coherent thought.

  Some would argue that the formation of the Pathfinders was a desperate act, that the men and women who make up their ranks are nothing more than murderers. Some would say we think of ourselves as gods for doing as we did. What were we supposed to do? Sit back and watch the world burn? Again? Did not the war between the gods and the Eztezian Guardians destroy enough of the world?

  We, all Matii, are appointed with protecting and saving the people of Denestia first. The same mandate the gods gave to the Eztezians when they created them. When we use Mater-the very essences and elements that drive our world-to destroy, we are betraying the sanctity of our forefathers, and blaspheming against Ilumni himself. We realized the fear of insanity and eventual death when wielding Mater is not enough to deter those who crave power. A more definitive action needed to be taken.

  The formation of the Tribunal has worked well for a time. However, the volatile change in Mater has brought about a rift with our brothers and sisters. We once held all the descendants of the Eztezians who form the Matii we know today: the Ashishin, the Alzari, the Namazzi, the Svenzar, the Skadwaz, the Desorin, the Rendorta, and the Toscali, under our roof. They each had a position and title of honor here from which they could govern.

  But they have not agreed with the need for harmony. Thus, they have broken away and ventured off to form their own kingdoms, the majority of them across the sea in Ostania. We fear nothing good will come of this.

  Already the separation and those dedicated to individual gods and religions are beginning to show. Wars have been declared. Crusades for one religion or another have sprouted. We, the Ashishin, must a find a way to sever ourselves from this strife.

  CHAPTER 1

  Knight Commander Stefan Dorn surveyed the battlefield below him from his vantage point astride his horse. The oncoming Astocan army stretched in a long line that disappeared into the shadows of the mountains behind them. The Setian Knight Commander grimaced. “Fools. They’re dead.” With a shake of his head, he let out a resigned sigh. “Prideful and stupid to the end.” It pained him to see such a waste of good men even from his enemies. Their general should have listened to reason. Together they could have averted the upcoming bloodshed.

  “The way the Astocans would tell it, it’s bravery of the highest degree.” Knight General Garrick Nagel shrugged, broad shoulders made even wider by the pauldrons of his plate armor. He twirled his mustache around his thick forefinger. “They give their lives for pride. To claim they bent knee to no one. They would say their gods and people deserve nothing less.”

  Atop his brown gelding, Knight General Kasimir Edsel snorted. “Too bad their gods aren’t fighting the battle.” With the recent sunny days, the Knight General’s skin had tanned to a deep brown.

  “Indeed.” Stefan nodded. As a believer and leader of the Setian, he understood how a man might wish to have the deities on their side in a battle like this, especially if that man was an Astocan. He pursed his lips as he scratched at the annoying black stubble under his chin and studied the enemy.

  Spread like fangs, the peaks of the Sang Reaches cast long shadows as the sun blazed in the cloudless skies. From their depths, the Astocan army boiled in numbers to dwarf his Setian forces. The smell of horse, sweaty men, and metal choked the air as his cavalry spread to his left and right. Up ahead his infantry advanced.

  “I still don’t understand your concern for them,” Garrick said.

  “You wouldn’t,” Kasimir replied. “Not after what they did-”

  Stefan cut Kasimir off with a glare. It served no purpose to remind Garrick of the past. “They’re men with families and livelihoods like us.”

  “Never like us,” Garrick snapped. “Lose this battle today and they would enslave us all, rape our women, and pillage our cities.” Nostrils flaring as they often did when he was angry, Garrick pulled so hard on his mustache Stefan wondered if his friend felt any pain at all. “So you’re right, Kas, I wouldn’t understand, not after how they made me suffer. But I know what it means to you, Stefan.” He nodded to the Knight Commander. “You have way more honor than I ever will.”

  “Thank you.” Stefan dipped his head and let out a slow breath that Garrick held his temper in check. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, old friend. You’re as honorable a man as I have met, regardless of how you try to hide it.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the thin form of Knight General Cerny as the man made to say something. The Knight Commander spurred his horse forward a few steps. The King’s errand boy could wait a bit longer.

  Drumbeats rolled from across the battlefield. Blaring horns and the stomp of marching feet joined in. The jangle of weapons and the trundle of carts from Stefan’s army of Setian played accompaniment. In tight formations, armor dull and dusty, his infantry lines awaited their commands.

  A buzz-like flies alighting on a bloody corpse-filled the sweltering air. Arrows darkened the sky, shot from the blackness beneath the drab grey and green mountains.

  “Incoming!” boomed the voices of the silver-armored Setian Knight Captains. Their warning rose unnaturally over the trumpets and drums echoing from the enemy’s ranks.

  Stefan’s infantry legions brought forearms up to shield the eye ports of their helmets.

  The buzz grew in intensity. Arrows began to land, pinging harmlessly off imbued steel plate.

  “Be ready!” the Knight Captains yelled as the barrage ended.

  Several horns blared down the cavalry lines to Stefan’s sides.

  He brushed a stray lock from his face then raised the looking glass to his eye. Despite their location at the base of the mountains some six hundred feet away, the encroaching Astocan soldiers sprang into his vision as if he stood among them. Their archers were preparing another volley.

  “Infantry … Formations,” Stefan called out.

  The trumpets relayed his order.

  Two ranks of shield-bearing swordsmen marched forward. Spread from left to right, they made up the vanguard. A similar formation of pikemen wielding twenty-foot spears followed them ahead of an additional double rank of swordsmen. Behind the column of foot soldiers were Stefan’s ranged legion consisting of bowmen, operators, and Cardian slaves. In unison, over twenty thousand sabatons stomped. The impact with the parched earth resounded-a mocking challenge to the Astocan archers’ efforts.

  “Return fire,” Stefan said.

  Amid horns announcing the command, the trot of a horse’s hooves accompanied Knight General Cerny’s appearance next to him. Cerny made to speak, but Stefan spared the small man a look, eyebrows raised. Cerny’s mouth snapped shut. With a gloved hand, Cerny dabbed at his sweaty forehead.

  At the rear of the infantry, the small complement of bowmen stepped forward. They drew fletchings to ears. Bows twanged and arrows loosed.

  Stefa
n’s gaze followed the flight of the Setian arrows. As expected, they fell woefully short. No man could fire as far as the Astocans with the monster bows they wielded. A derisive cheer rose from the Astocan legions. Stefan smirked.

  “Slow forward,” Stefan said to Kasimir and Garrick arrayed on either side of him.

  With nods, they called out the order. The Setian heavy foot surged ahead, a step at a time. Their boots drowned out all else.

  Across the plain, in numbers like swarming brown ants, the leather-clad Astocans dispatched their infantry. Their cavalry spread to their flanks, lances upright, tassels blowing in the wind. Mounted bowmen moved among them. Stefan gave a wry smile. Renowned for their horseback archery, the large Astocan warriors could deftly handle their mounts while firing their oversized bows with deadly precision. The sight was a thing of beauty … or terror.

  “Have the drays follow.”

  This time, there was no trumpeting the command. Bannermen brandished the Setian flags in a complicated pattern. The images of a forest with a quake splitting it down the middle swirled with the movements.

  Each pulled by a pair of huge, tan-skinned Cardian slaves, the drays trundled forward. The two-wheeled, flat bed carts followed in the paths created by the infantry. The thin, gill-like slits on each side of the Cardians’ necks flared open and closed with their exertion. Two Setian soldiers-the operators-followed behind every dray.

  Scorpios sat atop each dray, positioned between the wheels. The weapons measured five-feet from their front to the end of their loading chambers. They were in essence massive crossbows with arms twice as long across. With two thousand scorpios at his disposal, the Astocans stood little chance. Stefan had hoped he wouldn’t need to resort to their use today, but their general had rebuffed any further attempts to parley.

  “You wish to speak, Cerny?” Stefan said to the red-faced Knight General. Why had King Nerian chosen to send this buffoon with his message? The man couldn’t lead a horse to a trough. Kissing the King’s ass does have its benefits, he supposed.

  “Why would you risk getting your men wounded by moving closer to the Astocans?” Cerny said in a huff. “You will not be able to reach them with your bowmen. Why use them anyway? You have the scorpios.”

  Stefan preferred not to waste his time or breath, but he still spoke. His answer might shut Cerny up. Gods knew he couldn’t stand the man’s mouth. “The Astocans are overconfident. They believe if they make us work, that by the time we engage, our men will be tired from marching in heavy plate armor. Add that to the wounded, and they think-”

  “The armor is imbued,” Cerny blurted, hairless brows rising. “It weighs no more than leather. And their arrows will not penetrate unless they get lucky.”

  “The Astocans know this how?” Stefan tilted his head toward Cerny. Explaining himself was a chore he’d rather not take up with the man, but he did so nonetheless. “They will continue to fire, maybe even take out a few slaves, thinking they have the advantage as we advance. In close combat, their general believes he can win because of the strength kinai gives them. Against lesser forces? Yes … but my men have had their fill of kinai juice as well. Their stamina is beyond what General Dedrick expects. I’ll allow him to feel he can milk their superior range while we draw closer. By the time the scorpios begin, it will be too late for them to retreat.”

  “You’re going to force them to charge,” Cerny said, eyes widening.

  Stefan gave a slight nod then resumed his attention of his army’s advance.

  The Knight Captains bellowed orders. Accordingly, the rearmost shieldbearers paused for the drays to catch up. They aligned themselves next to the wagonbeds in order to protect the slaves against a possible Astocan volley.

  Again the buzz rose, the sky darkened, and a hail of arrows fell. Shafts landed among the drays in greater concentration. The Setian soldiers raised shields to protect not only themselves but also the Cardian slaves closest to them. The scorpio operators had their own shields on each dray, and they raised them as well. In some spots, a slave fell, an arrow protruding from his body. When the sky once again lightened, slaves in reserve dashed forward to replace their fallen comrades.

  “Cavalry to the wide flanks,” Stefan ordered.

  “Hmmm,” Kasimir mused, “you think we’ll need them?”

  “I doubt it, but one can never be too certain.”

  In response to the horns blaring the new order, several Knight Captains flapped their reins and detached themselves from the long line of horsemen stretching to Stefan’s left and right. Their men followed hard on their heels as they rode toward the battlefield’s eastern and westernmost edges.

  The Astocans deployed more men to the wide flanks to outmatch any numbers Stefan produced. Good, maybe I can save some of you.

  He judged the distance between his infantry and theirs. “Five hundred feet. Sound the last command for the men to prepare.”

  The call went out. Now, it was a simple matter of waiting for the battle to unfold. Despite the certainty that he already knew the outcome, a slight tingle of fear and anticipation ran through Stefan’s body as the space between the armies closed.

  “Four hundred and fifty feet or there about,” Knight General Garrick said, a smile splitting his square face, his dark eyes twinkling.

  Kasimir grunted his agreement. “No turning back for them now.”

  “Nope.” Garrick’s amusement grew to a toothy grin.

  The roar and rumble of sixty thousand Astocans became thunderous. Their cavalry wheeled as if to begin their charge.

  A feint.

  “S-Sir,” Cerny said, his voice shaky, sweat beading his brow. “Shouldn’t you respond with our cav-?”

  “And waste good horses to their mounted archers?” Stefan wrinkled his face in distaste at Cerny’s suggestion. After a deliberate shake of his head, he refocused on his men.

  “Watch and learn a thing or three,” Garrick added as flippant as ever.

  The Cardian slaves ran to the sides of each dray and began to work. There was the clack, clack, clack of winches being turned, closely followed by the grind of metal gears. The drays, with one operator on top, elevated another few feet. Within moments, two thousand scorpios were primed and ready.

  The scorpio operators cranked the winches that drew the bowstring back into firing position. Once secure, they fed the large, steel-tipped bolts into the sliding chambers and declared their readiness.

  Standard-bearers waved their flags all along the ranks.

  A simultaneous twang followed as the scorpios fired. Indiscernible blurs in their flight, the bolts ripped into the Astocans.

  The precision was uncanny. The majority struck true, punching through armor, flesh, and bone like paper. Blood sprayed. Men and horses screamed.

  Within the first minute, a second and a third salvo ensued. If a bolt struck a man on horseback, it threw him from his mount. Those on foot simply crumbled before their brethren trampled them.

  Two-handed great swords brandished, the Astocans’ pace began to increase in tiny increments. Behind their ranks, the drumbeats also sped up.

  Stefan’s army advanced at an almost leisurely rate, one pronounced step at a time.

  The air hummed with another flight of death from the scorpios.

  Soon the Astocans were trotting. A horn blew from among them. The drums rose to an incessant roll, unfaltering. A roar went up from the enemy ranks, and their speed increased to a sprint. The cacophony of the Astocan charge-hooves, boots, rolling drums, screams, and shouts rolled across the plain in a living wave.

  Stefan’s men stood fast, staring down the incoming enemy that outnumbered them at least two to one. Not a single man among the Setian shifted or flinched. They simply waited.

  Another flight of bolts tore into the Astocans. Empowered by battle rage and kinai, those pierced in the chest managed a few more steps before they fell. Where the steel-tipped projectiles sliced or severed a limb, that Astocan still attempted to drag himself to the
melee.

  Ignoring the onrushing forces, Stefan focused on his men and studied the smoothness of their reaction. His soldiers shifted positions instinctively. Their ranks curved at the far ends and collapsed inward with the shieldbearers taking up the foremost positions. Behind them, the pikemen formed a column four lines deep with more swordsmen at their back. To the rear stood the ordered scorpio file, still shooting.

  More steel bolts thrummed death into the Astocans.

  Yet, their charge did not falter.

  Neither did the scorpios.

  The Astocan cavalry drove forward, well ahead of their infantry now. When the enemy reached within forty feet, the Setian shieldbearers shifted. The pikemen adjusted their stances and dropped down to brace the pikes into the ground behind them, using the small bucklers at their elbows for support. Into the small spaces opened by the shieldbearers, the twenty-foot spears jutted out.

  Too late and moving too fast to pull up, the Astocan cavalry slammed into steel instead of men. Horses died and sent soldiers crashing to the ground. The force of some of the sudden impacts propelled Astocans into the Setian ranks.

  The Setian front line took a step back. Simultaneously, the pikemen yanked out their spears from the dead or dying. They shifted, allowing a space between each man, and the next file assumed their places. The movement was seamless. Unable to breach the formation, the next wave of horsemen died, impaled on steel.

  Stefan saw he was wrong about one thing.

  The Astocan cavalry were not simply archers but trained infantry also. Roaring as their battle rage took them, the ones who flew into the Setian lines that hadn’t sustained grievous wounds lay about them with short swords. Their blows sheared through steel and lopped off limbs. More often than not, it took three or more of his men to down one crazed Astocan. When the last one fell, the Knight Commander let out a relieved breath. The second rank of his swordsmen replaced the first. Stefan shifted his attention to the remainder of the Astocans.