The Shadowbearer (An Aegis of the Gods Book)

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.

Still, no sign of his wife. Hopeful that one woman he picked out with velvet hair almost to her waist and a lithe frame could be Thania, he paced a little ways from his men. His heart sank when she turned, and an unknown face greeted him.