Here's a quick snippet of "Shadivengen" by
Mark Adams, a peek into the life of Losa, Emperor Pileaus' eldest daughter and top general, and her top bodyguard, the Shadivengen named Calib:
Her vest has been refastened – the only indication that she has moved at all. Calib leads Ayet and his officers, all of who insisted on attending the general, up the hill. Hearing them approach, Losa turns to face the small group of men. She alone notices Calib shift out of view.
“I see you have brought your council,” she says, fixing Ayet with her crystal blue eyes. “Good, this will be educational for all.”
The general nods his head to Losa. “Why have I been summoned?”
Catching everyone by surprise, Losa steps forward and strikes the general across the face. “You will address me as ‘my lady,’” she snaps.
Ayet takes a step back, the force of the slap far less than the sting of shock and humiliation. “As you wish, my lady.” He straightens, rising to his full height. “Now, my lady, for what have I been summoned?”
She looks at him for a long moment, then turns away, again looking out on the valley below. She motions for Ayet to step beside her. A hint of nervousness settles in his eyes as he joins her.
“I have to wonder,” she begins, motioning towards the valley, “just why there is so much activity here.”
Calib, now closer to his charge, sees the look of poorly feigned puzzlement on Ayet’s face. “There was a battle here, my lady. What else would you expect?”
Her eyes flash dangerously. “Do not be dense, Ayet. Why is there activity here?” She again indicates the valley below with her hand.
Ayet clears his throat, his anxiety clearly building. “This area represented a credible threat, Losa.” He points to the far end of the valley, perhaps a mile distant. “The Oran reserves were camped there, awaiting orders to join the front. This was a flanking maneuver.”
She rounds on him, her voice trembling, an iceberg of anger. “Three thousand men, Ayet. Three thousand of my men died here, for no reason!”
“No reason?” he barks back at her. “We destroyed more than twice that many Orani! How can that be ‘no reason?’”
“I gave you a direct order to bring those men to support the shield wall on the north flank! These reserves were nothing but green boys. No threat! Oran would have never brought them up, as supporting the north flank would have routed the Oran army. You wasted these men!”
“You are but a girl, Losa, not even twenty. I have three decades of–” Losa moves so quickly that only Calib sees. In a single motion, she pivots, draws her sword, and strikes Ayet. The blade catches his throat, and his words die in a choking gurgle. Her sword is sheathed before the other men even realize Ayet has been attacked. Ayet’s hands fly to his neck in a vain attempt to check the flow. He stares at Losa blankly as the crimson cravat grows on his white tunic. Slowly, he drops to his knees, then pitches forward onto his face.
“Ayet!” shouts Rogen, his shock quickly turning to fury. He pulls his dagger, his eyes burning. “Die, witch!” He springs forward with reckless abandon.
With speed honed by a lifetime of training for no other purpose, Calib draws his matched set of single-edged swords from across his back and steps between the crazed officer and his ward. Suddenly aware of the Shadivengen, Rogen tries to correct his approach, but too late. One of Calib’s blades hits high, the man’s momentum driving it through his chest. The other hangs at the ready. Watching impassively, Calib holds him upright as the life leaves his eyes. With a tug, he frees his weapon, letting the man collapse over Ayet.
“No one,” he says, watching the others, “touches the Mardente.”
“Enough, Calib,” comes Losa’s voice, surprisingly soft. “It is over. They understand.”
“Aye, my lady,” agrees Higalen. His throat is tight. “We are yours.”Mark has done a great job creating the Shadivengen mythos and working it into our plans for the world. Can't wait to see even more!
Labels: short stories, writers
