Shadow Dagger Ch. 08

He walked down many twisting passages, thinking only of the glory to come. They were so close to realizing their dreams. Freedom, precious freedom, would finally be theirs. Some of the Magi Victus craved respect, as well. But Sanje would be happy with the end to their persecution.

He came to the spot he was looking for. The stretch of wall in front of him looked no different from anywhere else. As always, he admired the ingenuity of the hidden shrine. The Magi Victus who built it must have been a master engineer.

Sanje squatted down and found the brick he was looking for. He pushed it and it sank deeper into the wall. He stepped back and watched as a section of the wall began sliding sideways, revealing a sturdy iron door.

There was no door handle; only a small slot in the middle of the door. Sanje took out his Shadow Dagger and slide it into the wall. The runes of the dagger began to glow. There was a loud clicking sound and the door swung smoothly open. Sanje removed the dagger and held his torch up high. The room beyond emanated an overwhelming sense of age and history. He closed the door behind him.

Sanje walked down the pitch-black hallway, his torch the only source of light. His footsteps were muffled by the accumulation of dust on the ground. He walked for several minutes before the air changed noticeably and the hallway walls curved outward.

Sanje walked the edge of the wall until he came to the first torch. He lit it with his own torch and continued walking the perimeter of the room. After several minutes, he lit the ring of torches that surrounded the domed chamber.

Sanje set his torch in an empty bracket and walked to the middle of the room. He simply stood there for several minutes in silent contemplation. Am I worthy to stand here? He always asked himself that same question. He was very young to be the Master Victus. He had gained his position in questionable ways. Still, he felt a sense of belonging when he stood here.

A plain slab of unremarkable stone stood in front of him. The stone stretched nearly the entire length of the oval chamber and rose well over his head. As always, he wondered how this immense stone made its way down to the sewers. It was oddly out of place.

The only interesting thing about the gigantic slab of stone was the thousands of Shadow Daggers that adorned it and the scrawling runes that covered it.

The sight always filled him with awe. Here was where the sacrifices of the Magi Victus were honored. Every Magi Victus that chose to make his dagger looked forward to the day that their dagger would be honored here. He did not know the runes that covered the stone but he found them beautiful, nonetheless.

Sanje walked toward the edge of the stone and found the last Shadow Dagger that hung there, secured on a metal plaque. It was eye level with him. He took from his pouch a metal plaque, a hammer, several thick nails. He hammered the nails through the holes in the plaque and into the stone next to the last dagger until it held fast.

He removed a wrapping from his pouch. Reverently, he unwrapped the cloth to reveal a Shadow Dagger. I have kept my promise, Alio. You will be honored.

The plaque bore no name; nor did any of the others. Names were unimportant when compared to the life of a man. The Shadow Dagger was all the mattered. He hung Alio's dagger carefully on the hooks that extended from the plaque.

Sanje stepped back and watched as Alio's dagger glowed brighter and brighter until he had to turn his head away, tears streaming down his cheeks. The light slowly faded and all that was left was the flickering light cast by the torches.

Alio's dagger no longer looked like a dagger hung on a plaque. It seemed to belong to the stone now, even if it looked the same as it did just seconds ago. But Sanje knew that instant death awaited any hand that would seek to touch any of the daggers.

Sanje knelt on the floor and hung his head. Soon he would have to seek out Raynolt and discover his plans for the war. Soon he would have to prepare his men to fight and die. But, for now, Sanje embraced the customary night-long vigil and honored a man named Alio.

***

It was one of the happiest days of Jon d'Thelas san Ronar's life. He stood, stunned, at the sight of Sarah rocking his newborn son. She hummed under her breath as she rocked back on forward on her chair. She turned her head when she heard him enter the room.

"Oh, my love," she gasped. Tears suddenly streamed down her cheeks.

Jon fought back his own tears and hurried toward her. He reached out his hands to hold his son for the first time. But Sarah's eyes widened and she instinctively clutched his son to her chest. "No! Jon...your hands," she whispered, horrified.

Jon blinked and looked down at his hands. They were caked with dirt and blood. He shared her horrified look. "Sarah, I'm so sorry! I rode straight from the battlefield when I heard the news. I didn't think...I just wanted to see you and my new son."

She nodded and her horrified look drained from her face. It was replaced by love and longing. "The servants left some scented water over there by the mirror."

Jon nodded his gratitude and hurried to the bowl of water. He scrubbed his hands thoroughly and was shocked to see the water turned red. When he had his hands as clean as he could get them, he turned around and held out his hands again.

Sarah smiled and nodded. Jon felt his heart skip a step as his hands gently enfolded the tiny body of his son. He picked him up and cradled him against his stained armor. He was sound asleep.

He was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The last year of Jon's life had been the most difficult of his life. He struggled with the war and his worry of Sarah's pregnancy. Now that he held his son in his hands, something broke loose inside of him. Sarah stood up and laid her head on his arm as he began to silently weep.

Jon kissed his son's forehead, hoping his falling tears did not wake him from his peaceful sleep. He held him close while his wife hugged him hard. Together, they wept.

After a time, the worries of the last year faded from their hearts and left behind a deep feeling of love neither one had ever experienced. They had created life together. They were whole now.

Sarah had the maid take his son away so she could have some private time with her husband. Jon very reluctantly gave up his son and let Sarah pull him into their bed.

They did not speak a word as they made love. They had been separated for over three months and missed each other more than they allowed themselves to feel. He made love to her with urgency, not knowing why. She urged him on with her own passion. She bit her lip and shook uncontrollably. Jon grunted and released his seed inside her.

They held each other for several of the best minutes of their lives. Reluctantly, she broke the silence. "How fares the war?"

Jon grunted and sat up on the edge of the bed, the good mood suddenly gone. "I've just returned home to my family. Can't this wait?"

Sarah sat up next to him and stroked his face. "You know it cannot."

Jon sighed and gave in. "The true-born have sacked Devers. We sustained heavy casualties there."

Sarah gasped and put her hand over her mouth. "The Red Tower?"

Jon squeezed his eyes shut. "Crumbled into dust. I watched and bore witness as that magnificent structure came crashing down. The true-born will leave no monument of men standing."

"We are going to lose, aren't we?"

Jon stood up and paced the room. "There is still hope. Jocelyn's army has reclaimed North Wall. A minor victory, to be sure, but a strategic one. The supply lines are opened again to General Davarath's main force. We can winter in Thale and cut off the true-born's supply lines there. The harsh blizzards and the city's constant need for resupply will greatly weaken them. They may fancy themselves gods but they still need to eat and keep warm. Come spring, we will be refreshed and we can take back Thale."

"A solid plan," Sara spoke quietly. "Was it General Davarath's?"

Jon shook his head. "No, it was mine. Davarath approved it. Surprisingly, he doesn't begrudge my loss at Devers. Indeed, he expected us to lose the city months ago."

"Of course he doesn't begrudge you the loss. He gave you command there because he knew you were the only one who could hole up God-General Bena in Devers long enough to keep him off his back while he surrounded Thale."

"I was supposed to save those people, Sarah. I failed."

Sarah gave him a stern look. "I will hear none of your self-pity Jon. You did more than he expected." She took a deep breath. "That's why he needs you in Thale, before the blizzards come. When do you leave?"

Jon scowled and looked down at the carpet. "In one week," he said quietly.

Sarah nodded. "That will give me enough time to prepare for our departure. Our son will need winter clothing made before we depart. I fear what the cold will do to him, but he would be safer with us."

Jon felt his mouth drop lower and lower as Sarah went on. Finally he sputtered, "No! Sarah, I forbid it! I will not take my newborn son and my wife into a war zone!"

Sarah gave him a hard look. "The only reason I wasn't with you these past three months is because you convinced me that I needed to be here for the birth. You know, deep in your heart, that we need all the battle-Magi we can get. Well, my love, you are married to one of the best."

Jon tried his best to think of something to convince her with but could not find a single thought. Indeed, it surprised him to realize that he needed her there with him. They would be safer surrounded by an army than here where they could be vulnerable.

"I guess you're right," he mumbled.

She smiled sweetly and kissed his cheek. "I see you still have some brains in that head of yours. I did wonder how you managed not to get yourself killed while I was gone."

Jon barked a laugh. "Oh, I managed. I would have gone mad eventually without you, of course. But my first-lieutenant turned out to be a blessing in disguise. He doesn't speak much but when he does, wisdom rolls right off his tongue. He helped me hold back Bena with several well-thought out strategies. We have become good friends. I can't wait for you to meet him. We will travel together to Thale."

Sarah dressed while he rambled on. "Oh, is that so? I look forward to meeting this man who can so capture my husband's attention. What is his name?"

"Berrick," Jon replied.

Sarah winced as though something had just pierced her heart. The walls of his palace shook. Dust rained down from the ceiling. Jon staggered, trying to keep his feet underneath him as the floor-stones shifted.

"Will you forgive me?" Sarah asked desperately as large blocks of stone fell around her.

Jon didn't have a chance to answer. Sarah screamed and disappeared under an avalanche of stone. "Sarah!" he screamed. His chest hurt. It felt as though someone had reached inside and torn his heart out.

The stone above Jon shook loose and fell straight down. Jon didn't feel like moving. But suddenly a hand grasped his arm and pulled him back.

Jon shook his head, trying desperately to catch his thoughts. He looked up and blinked. He was in a blacksmith's shop. A large man stood in front of an anvil and banged on a red-hot piece of metal. Sparks flew up and illuminated his face.

"Berrick," Jon growled.

Berrick set down his hammer and wiped his face with his arm. He dusted his hands on his apron and stepped around the anvil. He looked sadly at Jon.

"I should have died at Devers. But you saved me...and I curse God for that," Berrick said. A fat tear leaked down the dirt and grime on his face.

"So do I," Jon replied quietly. His chest was too tight; he couldn't breathe properly.

"I never meant...I had no choice, Jon. Soul-mates are an ancient magic."

"You always have a choice!" Jon snapped. The pain in his chest increased, becoming a stabbing sensation.

"Not in this," Berrick replied sadly. "Will you ever forgive me?"

"N...Never," Jon breathed. The pain was too much. Something was pushing its way out of his tunic. He squeezed his eyes shut and fought the pain with all his strength.

"Then why, Jon? Why did you keep the sword?"

Jon screamed as a sword burst from his chest.

"Jon?"

Jon snapped his head up. The dream still lingered in his mind, disorienting him. He could still feel his chest tightening...

"Jon?"

It was the voice again. He blinked his eyes several times and fought to regain his senses. The room was dark, illuminated only by one flickering touch. Something was touching his hand. He looked down and saw a hard, callused hand in his own.

"Jon?" Sophina whispered, her eyes still shut tight.

Jon shook his head. He was by Sophina's bedside. He had sat in vigil next to her and must have fallen asleep. "I see you are finally back among the living," Jon said, hoping the fear of his dream did not linger in his voice.

Sophina slowly opened her eyes. "Where am I?"

"You are in the bed of my guest room. You have been battling death for the past three days. To be honest, there were some moments there when I thought you weren't going to make it."

Sophina shook her head slowly, as though trying to catch up to her thoughts. "Three days?"

"Yes. You were badly wounded in your fight with that guardsman. I did my best to heal you but I pushed your body too hard. I'm sorry, but it had to be done."

"The guardsman...Warren? It was a trap..."

Jon coughed and cleared his throat. "Yes...I know."

Sophina's eyes snapped all the way open. "That Tom fellow was acting very suspicious. I thought you had sensed it, too."

Jon hesitated for a moment and then nodded his head. She had to know. "Sophina...I'm sorry."

Sophina struggled to sit up but Jon held her down. She gasped and fell back to the bed. But her cheeks were red with anger rather than exertion. "You knew he was going to betray us and you let it happen! Why, damn you? Why?"

"Whether we like it or not, all four of us will have to work together to get through this. But you and Ashford didn't understand the position we are in. You complained about bathhouses and needing new clothes. You both had no idea what you are facing or what it means to be a fugitive. So I took you to a place where I could enlighten you...and test you."

"Well are you satisfied?" she spat. "You almost got me killed! Did I pass your stupid little test?"

Jon bit back a retort and took a breath. She had a right to be angry. I have forgotten what it's like to be part of a group...I need to trust them. But I know I can't. Betrayal follows trust. Always. "I was not going to allow you to die...but I didn't think we would be barred inside. I may a calculated mistake, I admit it. By the time I burned the door open, your fight was already finishing."

Sophina turned her head. "The next time you wish to test me, let me know in advance. That way I can wear my armor and not have to suffer the shame of fighting buck-naked."

Jon allowed himself a small smile. "I have never seen a naked woman best a fully armored guardsman in a fight. I underestimated your skills."

"Flattery will not buy my forgiveness," she replied.

Jon smiled. The anger had gone out of her voice. "I will remember that."

Sophina said nothing for several moments. Jon almost thought she had fallen asleep when she turned her head. "I can tell my body is not right. How bad is the damage?"

"Sophina, I don't think-"

"How bad?"

Her tone was adamant. He sighed and stood up. "If you have the strength to rise, there is a mirror over by the dresser."

He waited for her nod before closing the door softly behind him. When she became stubborn like that, he could swear he was talking to Sarah. Thinking of her made him remember his dream. Why have my dreams been haunting me of late? I put all that behind me many years ago.

He would have to focus on other things. He needed to know what the Magi were up to. When did they plan on starting the war? He could use the war as cover to get to the truth of what was going on. What was Evelyn in all this? What is Sanje's plan? Why agree to the war? If Marcus was right, the future of the world was at stake and wasn't just about who currently had the power in Astuari.

He grimaced as he strode down the hall. He had too many questions and so few answers. It was time to talk to Marcus again.

***

Sophina was embarrassed to discover that she was naked under the blanket. I hope they didn't gawk over me! She shook her ruefully. She knew Jon wouldn't but Ashford was a different story. She set the matter out of her mind and focused her energy on getting out of bed.

It took her three tries before she was able to stand up on her very unsteady legs. She gasped as she saw how shrunken her legs were. How...what happened? She stumbled forward to the mirror in a daze. It had only been three days; what could have happened to her body?

She reached the mirror but kept her eyes down. She was afraid to look now. But she had to see sooner or later. She mentally prepared herself for any shock she might feel and looked up.

Somebody else was looking at her in the mirror.

She whipped her head around and saw nobody behind her. With a sickening feeling, she turned back toward the mirror. It was her. Jon had gone ahead and dyed her hair black. But that wasn't what shocked her.

Her body was as thin as a stick. Every rib pushed clearly from her stomach. Her cheeks and eyes were sunken. Her arms were fragile and spindly. Her legs were nothing but sinew and bone. She looked like death itself.

A deep, jagged grayish scar ran down her right shoulder. The cut on her left arm had healed smoothly but the cut across her ribs left a fine, thin white scar. She looked down at her right forearm and began to feel light-headed. The cut that almost severed her arm left behind a puckered scar that ran almost the whole way around her foreman. Her right arm felt weaker than her left arm, which was saying something, given her current condition.

Sophina had never been vain. But this...it took all her strength to blink back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. She turned away from the mirror and shuffled quickly back toward the bed. Jon had left a robe hanging on the bedpost. She grabbed and wrapped it protectively around her body. She sat on the edge of the bed and tried to still the tremor in her hands.

I am soldier. But I can't fight in this body! What am I to become? Can I regain what I lost or did the magic forever steal that from me? She had too many questions and no answers. She had dedicated her whole life to the sword. Now she abhorred the body she was trapped in.

Her planned disguise had worked out all too well. With her black hair and shrunken appearance, Sophina's own father wouldn't recognize her. She punched her thigh in frustration and then immediately regretted it. Pain spread from her thigh rapidly. She opened her robe and gasped at the large bruise forming on her thigh.

She couldn't help it; this time she couldn't stop the tears. She wept for the life that had been stolen from her. She wept for the fit body she took for granted. Most of all, she wept for the future that had been denied to her. This useless body would never see a battlefield again. She wasn't going to die defending her country or her fellow soldiers.

She wept quietly for several minutes before someone knocked on the door. She dried her eyes angrily and snapped, "What?"

"Can I come in?" It was Ashford.

"What do I care?" Sophina replied bitterly.

The door creaked open hesitantly. "Sophina? Are you decent?"

Sophina hugged the robe around her tighter. "Yes."

Ashford stepped inside and shut the door. She gaped at him. He was completely bald. And his beard had grown in thicker. He wasn't the only one who had changed. She almost laughed at the paleness of his bald head contrasted against the tan of his face. But then she remembered her current predicament and felt her anger return.