The Shadowbearer (An Aegis of the Gods Book)

Chapter 16

“They dare to strike at me in my palace?” Dressed in ebony armor to match his braids, King Nerian paced across the marble floors before his huge throne. The gold and silver monstrosity would have dwarfed the body of a normal sized man, but with Nerian’s giant frame, the throne fit.

“Sire,” Kahar said, “I believe they had no other choice given their other attempts failed so miserably.”

“It’s possible,” Nerian stopped, his eyes ablaze, “but they had to know they would suffer the same fate. Why not hire some mercenary Matii? An Ashishin, a disgruntled Alzari, an Astocan or Cardian Namazzi or one of those crazed Felani Deathbringers. Why use one of their own? Not that any would have succeeded. Why expose that they work with the shade?”

“Boldness? Desperation?” Stefan rubbed at his jaw, which still throbbed even after the mending by the King’s High Alzari.

“This was well coordinated.” Nerian turned to regard Stefan. “They struck at all my Generals. Renaida and Senden are dead. I suppose they thought to stop my invasion before it began, or at least stall it. Yes, Pilar?”

Stefan turned to the muffled footfalls on the carpet that ran down the room’s center. Head down, Pilar, one of the King’s High Alzari, shuffled past the ruddy glow of several braziers positioned next to the carved pillars lining the hundred–foot walkway. Flames crackled in one of the three hearths along the walls. Pilar stopped at the semicircular steps and dais before the throne and bowed.

“A–A report from High Zar Galiana, sire.” Gaze shifting from side to side, but not meeting the King’s, Pilar’s head bobbed several times. He dabbed at his forehead with a cloth.

“Go on.” Nerian gave a nonchalant wave.

“A–Ashishin, sire.” Pilar kept his head down.

Stefan perked up. The King’s brow knitted.

“Look at me. What do you mean by Ashishin? I sent them all back to the Tribunal.”

Pilar’s head rose slowly. Licking his lips, he shot a nervous glance Stefan’s way. “At General Dorn’s home, Your Majesty. They were Ashishin. Four of them. Our High Alzari managed to kill three, but one escaped.”

“So, again,” Nerian sounded calm, but the tightness around his eyes told of a seething anger, “the Tribunal shows their true hand. Still, I can understand them wanting to kill my Generals to hinder my plans, or for revenge, but to send four High Ashishin, three shadelings and an Erastonian Forger for a mere Dagodin?” His brow knitted as he regarded Stefan. “Why?”

Stefan wrinkled his brow at the King’s inclusion of the Erastonians and the shadeling with the Tribunal. The suggestion of Ashishin allying with the shade was akin to blasphemy. He thought about asking the King why he thought they were all working together but decided against it. Nerian was already in a bad mood.

“Any ideas, General?”

“Oh, sorry, sire … I was thinking,” Stefan said. The Erastonian’s words ran through his mind anew, but the sword was something he still wished to keep from the King. “Maybe, my reputation as Stefan the Undefeated, leader of the Unvanquished? Not to mention my wife is as strong as any High Shin and was once a part of the Tribunal.”

“Ah, yes, there is that. How could I forget?” Nerian’s jaw worked as he ground his teeth. Brows drawn together, the King turned to face the stained glass windows at the throne room’s rear.

Pictures drawn on the surface of the twenty–foot panes displayed the gods of Streams, Flows, and Forms in a massive battle against each other and a formless, multi–colored force. The colorful waves surrounding the nine deities reminded Stefan of the essences within the three elements of Mater those same gods represented. Nights like tonight when he faced powerful Forgers often made him wish he could do more than sense Mater. Whenever his thoughts leaned that way, he remembered the fates of such men and women: Death, insanity, or both, brought about by the power they wielded.