“What if I refuse?”
“Your people are doomed.”
“As simple as that?”
“Like death, most things are simple.”
The statement sent a chill through Stefan’s spine. The words were eerily similar to those Nerian often uttered. “Who or what will bring this doom?”
“Your own and the shade,” Kalvor said.
Lips curling, Stefan resisted the urge to reach for his sword. He took a moment to calm himself before he replied. “My people are more unified now than they have been in ages. As for the shade … we defeated them before … we can do so again. This,” he pointed at the Svenzar and the hundreds of Sven, “show of strength feels like a general laying out an army before an enemy in an attempt to instill fear.” He tilted his head slowly until his gaze met the Svenzar’s eyes. “There is little for the Setian to fear from you or any others. I won’t betray my people to serve you. In fact, we will conquer you and the Harnan.”
“So be it,” the Svenzar said, his voice once again a basso rumble. “Let it be known the choice was given and refused.”
With those words, the walls shook. The stones and dirt covering the floor rushed toward Kalvor. As they touched the Svenzar, they became one. Kalvor’s body began to melt, taking on the appearance of thick mud as it slid to the ground. Around the walls and the roof, the Sven once more became humps of earth. When the process completed, no traces of their presence remained.
Jaw unhinged Stefan stared all around, fully expecting the creatures to reappear again, but nothing happened. Finally, he turned and headed toward his men, his mind swirling with all the Svenzar had said. What did Kalvor mean by the fate of his people rested with him? That by choosing not to serve he had doomed the Setian? It was as if the creature was revealing some distant future. Stefan dismissed the thought. More likely, the Svenzar and the Harnan had an abundance of forces at their disposal no one expected. This was too close to the odd happenings with King Nerian. If the King did intend to resume the old campaign in the Nevermore Heights against the two peoples, he might be walking into a slaughter. Nerain needed to be warned. With news of this encounter, I can save my men after all.
“What did the beast want?” Kasimir asked.
Stefan relayed much of what the Svenzar requested.
“Serve them?” Garrick snorted. “We had them beat if the Tribunal’s Ashishin hadn’t refused to help our Matii.”
Even as he nodded his agreement, Stefan gazed at the area where moments before hundreds of Sven and a Svenzar had been. Not a stone appeared out of place. Were we really close to winning?
“So what now?” Kasimir held out the reins to Stefan’s horse.
“We go home,” answered the Knight Commander as he took them. He swung up into his saddle and set off at a trot. He was so preoccupied with all the occurrences of the last few days he almost spewed the contents of his stomach when the Travelshaft’s speed altering effect restarted.
The remainder of the trip was uneventful, the monotony of the channels broken only by the occasional merchants or soldiers on another path. The first gong to warn them they had entered the arrival area broke him from his pondering. Ahead, the exit’s white light beckoned. Taking a deep breath, he plunged into the glow.
Instead of feeling as if it slowed upon entering, the horse exited already at maximum speed along the roadway. The sensation from a steady, almost leisurely pace to the sudden blur of movement brought a rush of bile to Stefan’s throat. He bit back on the sensation, squeezing his eyes tight. The effect lasted little more than a few moments but seemed to stretch on forever. The easing of the pressure on his stomach was a welcome relief.
Slowly, elongated shapes outside resolved into people, fortifications, wagons, coaches, and animals. Colors that once bled became solid. Here, the green of cohorts marching down lanes between the three roadways, there, the many shades and differing styles of clothing worn by the Setian and other peoples who were congregating for arrivals or departures. Large and small buildings lined the roads. The cacophony of several thousand conversations in a myriad of tongues as well as the trundle of wheels and clang of smithies resounded. The activity reminded him of a hive-roiling yet organized.
The arrival in Benez chased away his other thoughts. His only wish was to see his wife again. All else could wait.
CHAPTER 6
Helmet under one arm, back straight in his burnished armor, Stefan and his army marched to Benez’s gates and its walls hewn from black feldspar. The clop of their horses’ hooves on the cobbles matched the outpouring of celebration from the people. He smiled as he took in the cheering masses, but his wife’s absence overshadowed his triumphant moment. Absently, he raised a gloved hand to rub tenderly at the charm. Long ago, when they had identical pendants crafted, he and Thania made an agreement: Whenever he returned from battle, she would wait on the ramparts directly above the gates next to the King. Stefan checked the parapet again. There was no sign of Thania.
King Nerian, black hair done in long braids, golden armor gleaming, was on the battlements in his usual place though. A smile plastered on his face, the King stared down at Stefan and the Setian army. Stefan acknowledged the King with a nod and placed a fist to his heart. The sight of his mentor-a man he thought of as a father-brought a jumble of emotions flooding through him. He hoped all was well.
Stefan peered farther along the walls trying to make out if any of the noblewomen in their frilly, colorful dresses was his wife. Unable to pick her out, he searched among the crowds on the King’s Road before the yawning black gates and the portcullis. Peasants and the less fortunate, many in their feast day best, lined the street, breaths rising in feathery mists with autumn’s chill. Their jubilation brought a fleeting smile to his face. Admittedly, the sweaty stink from the press of so many friendly bodies was something Stefan did indeed miss.
But none were his wife. Not the folk held in check on the street by lines of guards, not the ones at the windows of the shabby buildings, or crowded on the rooftops. Children ran beside the path, waving, and dogs darted back and forth, barking and nipping at the horses as if they too reveled in greeting the Unvanquished.
“Feels good to be home,” Garrick shouted. He clapped Stefan on the shoulder.
“Yes, it does.” Stefan offered a strained smile to his friend.
The procession continued up Benez’s winding streets with the Cogal Drin Mountains looming above and behind, the city ascending on the lower slopes. The crowds grew thicker as they drew closer to the massive amphitheater built squarely between the ending of the slums and the beginning of the middle class’ brick and mortar edifices. People hung out the amphitheater’s windows, cheers rising in a roar to drown out all else. They showered the soldiers with flowers. A few women flashed their privates to the amusement and appreciation of several warriors.
Their surroundings changed to more affluent neighborhoods, cleaner streets and a network of drains to carry the stink of sewage away from the city, and so did the people’s garb. Rich wool and moleskin blends became the main fare among the folk. Choice of clothing again altered as they trekked even farther into the Upper City. The people here wore the most expensive silks and satins but made certain to cover their shoulders in ermine scarves or cloaks. The avenues widened, became pristine, and lined by gardens, fountains, colonnades, and villas, many with spires rising into the sky against the backdrop of the Cogal Drin’s expansive fangs.
The Royal Palace sprouted before them, Seti’s Quaking Forest flying from the highest points. Stefan frowned at the omission of the Tribunal’s Lightstorm banner. The castle reminded Stefan of a delicate off-white flower tinged with blue on its towers, spires, and parapets. The rugged battlements, the guards with watchful eyes, hands on weapons, and the many murder holes lining the castle’s surface proved the appearance to be a lie. The Royal Palace was a fortress.