Emperor of Shadows Page 3

  Mithasa gasped and flinched back as if lashed across the face. She sought to reject my power, and her mind was strangely slippery, evading my grasp at first.

  But not for long. Dull, pounding rage suffused me, slipping free of my control, and I willed her to break. Closing my power about her mind, her spirit, I squeezed. For long, aching seconds she resisted me, fought, uncoiling so that she rose high upon her serpentine body - and then, at last succumbed.

  She was mine.

  “Proclaim me your master,” I commanded, voice so cold I could barely recognize it as my own.

  “You… you are my master,” whispered Mithasa, sounding at once horrified, shocked, and stunned.

  “My safety, well-being, and interests are now your foremost concern,” I commanded. “You will take no action that harms me or those I care for, and will ask my permission to take any action you’re unsure might contradict these rules. You will tell me anything you think I need to know without needing to be prompted, and will anticipate my needs without causing me trouble.” I hesitated, and at that moment an old memory came to me: writing the contract we’d demanded Netherys swear to before releasing her from her prison at the butcher’s. The contract she’d never been constrained by, but which she’d pretended to follow.

  Would this deal be of similar fragility?

  “Tell me you understand,” I prompted when the medusa remained silent.

  “I understand,” she said, voice sullen and flinty.

  “Good.” I dropped the mirror, and in a show of bravado turned around to meet her gaze. “Now. Assume your human form so that we can go restore my friends.”

  Mithasa loomed above me, her human torso lifted high by her fiery coils. But slowly, reluctantly, she lowered herself, snake body shrinking, sinking into itself, then parting in twain and becoming a pair of human legs. The scales faded into her pale skin, and in a matter of moments, she stood before us completely nude; her body mature and arousing, full-breasted and broad-hipped, her sex hairless. She was completely unabashed by her nudity, and stepped aside to pull on a robe which she cinched tight about her waist with a slender chain.

  “Madam Crux,” I said. “You are not to speak of this meeting to anyone without my permission. Understood?”

  “Yes, Master Kellik,” she whispered.

  “Then resume your duties as before. Any intelligence, money, or services that you once rendered to Aurelius you will now tend to me. Clear?”

  “Clear.”

  “Then let’s get going. Veserigard, you’re to remain with us. Mithasa, follow behind and don’t do anything to sabotage our mission.”

  Both of my reluctant servants nodded.

  I led the way back upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. By all rights, I should have been exhausted, but I was buoyed by excitement and elation. Only now was I beginning to appreciate how much more powerful I’d become.

  The prospect of what I’d do with this power was both bewitching and thrilling. My mind wanted to leap ahead, to start planning, speculating, but I reined it in. First and foremost, I’d save my friends.

  Then, and only then, would I get to work.

  We all climbed aboard the increasingly crowded phaeton, riding across town in silence to where Pogo had set up our secret base. I felt detached from everyone, even Cerys by my side, and simply stared out the window at the city rolling by.

  Endless life filled the streets, even at this remote, pre-dawn hour. The laborers headed home from all-night factory shifts; the vendors and costermongers sought to make a copper off their weary hunger; small night-markets filled random squares; bells tinkled as street ladies sought to score one final john before calling it a night.

  It was a city at once as familiar as the back of my hand and yet now surprisingly strange; I wasn’t a part of the city, not as I’d once been. Even when I returned as the fictional Count of Manticora, I’d felt involved, but now? I felt distant, like I was seeing all of it from a mile above the ground, or through a smoky dark glass.

  I could stop the carriage and command any of those people outside to do my bidding. Like a king - no. More than a king. My new powers would compel them to be my slaves. I could demand anything from them. That they give me a free apple or cup of coffee, or their clothing, or to serve me, to adore me, to fear me. Those two guards there, nodding off to sleep against the tavern wall - I could make them fanatical bodyguards. That trio of whores laughing by the coffee cart, holding their steaming cups close - I could order them into a cheap hotel room to do whatever I wanted them to.

  Anyone. Everyone.

  All I had to do now was speak, and I would be obeyed.

  I shivered, forced a reassuring smile when Cerys looked my way in concern.

  How was I supposed to handle this kind of power? To prevent myself from turning into my own father, a monster at the center of his tangled, scheming web?

  What was to keep my darkest impulses in check, to stop me from extending my hand and taking whatever I wanted?

  Steeped deep in my thoughts, I ignored the tension in the carriage, the strange company that rode with us. I considered only one thing: gathering the ones I trusted and loved close to me, and with them by my side, making the right decisions.

  Tamara. She’d ridden out not long ago for Olandipolis. I could send riders to bring her back, tell her everything had changed.

  The thought of Tamara’s face, the warm depth to her eyes, her conviction and power and love, made me yearn for her company like nobody else. She’d help me navigate these currents, would use her newfound moral certainty to keep me from falling into the darkness.

  Yes. As soon as Yashara and the others were restored to my side, I’d send a dozen fleet riders to bring Tamara back, and then we would hold council, decide as a group what needed to be done.

  The streets grew narrower, the houses leaning ever further out over the carriages and pedestrians, and the night sky began to take on the first pale tints of dawn.

  We were nearing the far side of town, and Cerys gave more exact directions to the driver. Pogo had devised the base with the utmost secrecy, insisted on there being indirect means of approach that would defy our comings and goings being spied on and our secret discovered.

  So it was that we parked the now flagrantly out-of-place carriage on the mean street before the decoy house in which the entrance to the sewers was located, and all stepped down to cross the slimy pavement to the doorway.

  It was unlocked, following the raid, and unguarded.

  I led the way, needing to get below, to see Yashara brought to life, to hear Pogo’s inquisitive tones, to see Pony rumble and blink.

  So close.

  Any second now, we’d be almost all gathered together.

  We descended the stairs into the basement, and there to the trapdoor that gave access to the sewers. Down again into the tunnel, up its length toward the hidden door.

  Which, of course, stood open, light spilling out from within to illuminate the rough tunnel walls, the trickling of sewage running underfoot.

  Voices.

  A group was still gathered within. It made sense; Aurelius would probably have ordered them to uncover the extent of our operations, to ransack the last of my gold.

  I hurried closer, the others at my heels, completely fearless, bursting with impatience.

  But just before I reached the door I heard a sound that caused my heart to spasm with pain and horror.

  The pound of a hammer on metal, high and distinctive, and then the sharp crack of stone splitting in twain.

  My mind blanked.

  I stepped into the doorway and stared across the expanse of Pogo’s hidden base, ignoring the dozen or so men off to the side. Ignoring the bodies, the blood.

  I saw only the two men standing before Yashara’s petrified form, hammers and chisels in hand, chunks of ragged rock fallen about their feet.

  I saw their wicked smiles, one of them telling a humorous tale. Neither rushed, neither them aware of who had just arriv
ed.

  Simply intent on their job, chiseling the statue apart. Destroying Yashara forevermore.

  I stared, horrified, at what remained of her body. Her left arm and shoulder were gone. Chunks had been knocked free of her chest.

  And her head. They’d decapitated her. It lay on its side, staring right at me, her face visible. Beautiful, regal, frozen in that last, desperate, defiant snarl as she’d run toward the enemy, toward the door where I stood, to give me one last, precious second to get away.

  I stared at her blind, stone eyes, at her peerless beauty, at her ruined body, and something within me broke. Something within me broke, and a great, terrible darkness flooded forth, something beyond fury, beyond rage, beyond horror.

  Quietly, my whole body vibrating with an excess of emotion and power, I stepped into the room.

  Chapter 2

  “Oi. Who are you, then?”

  The challenge came from one of the soldiers off to the side, part of the dozen going through Pogo’s paperwork. At his question everyone oriented on me, stopping what they were doing, lowering chisels, setting down documents.

  “Nobody move,” I whispered, but power thrummed in the words, irresistible power which froze every man in place. My will was an iron chain that snaked out and coiled about them, wrapped their limbs in unshakeable force.

  Faces paled as they realized how helpless they’d just become. Some were flushed with effort as they fought to break my hold on their minds.

  But all remained locked in place.

  Or so I thought. A figure moved into the light from where he’d been leaning against the wall in the shadows. Short, as familiar as family, brown hair cut short, clad in dark thieving leathers.

  Eddwick.

  Moving, defying my will. Prowling into the lantern light, eyes narrowed as he studied me, my companions.

  Eddwick, but at the same time, not. He was different, somehow, a subtle change that grew more screamingly obvious the longer I stared at him. It was in how he moved, his newfound panther-like grace, a focused intensity, a self-possession.

  Gone was the chalkboard, the hesitant manner, the sense that he was about to flinch at some unseen blow.

  “Kellik,” he said by way of greeting, and oh, it was strange to hear him speak, to hear a normal voice issue forth from his lips. All my life we’d communicated via signs, signals, and chalkboards. “And Mithasa. I must admit to some amount of confusion.”

  “You betrayed me.”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know how much choice I had in the matter. Did I run when that Gloom Knight came? Sure. I thought we were all dead. That you survived that… well. Improbable.”

  “You led an attack on my friends,” I said, moving forward. Around us, the frozen soldiers stared, sweat beading their brows, muscles twitching futilely. “You betrayed me.”

  “You know what happened to me after I fled? Of course not. I was snapped up by the Family, brought before Jack, who sent me on to the Grandfather. Who was impressed by my little gift, and decided it was a bigger deal than we’d imagined.”

  Eddwick’s gift. His ability to divine the odds. The secret ingredient that had allowed us to pull off capers and cons far beyond our station, knowing when to press on and when to fall back.

  I felt like I was sinking, drowning. I didn’t want to stare at Yashara’s brutalized stone body, to consider the implications. To deal with what it meant for me, and thus, for Port Gloom.

  “He took a liking to me,” continued Eddwick. “And so he did what he’d done to the Uncles and Aunties.”

  “What was that?” asked Cerys, moving up to my side. “Put a demon inside you?”

  “Precisely,” said Eddwick, his smile mirthless. “And that changed everything. Cured my inability to speak. Amplified my powers even as they were changed. So you see, I’m not sure how much choice I actually had in all this. If I’m even Eddwick any longer.”

  “Silence,” I commanded, bringing my might to bear.

  “Sorry,” said Eddwick, tugging at one leather glove, looking almost regretful. “Got a demon in me, Kellik. Those commands won’t stick.”

  “But you did what Aurelius commanded,” said Netherys, who’d been slowly moving out wide, hand resting on the hilt of her blade.

  “It’s simple, really.” Eddwick tugged on his other glove. “If you’re under the sway of a king troll before the demon’s implanted, you remain as such. Aurelius got his claws in me before Arasim got to work. So the demon couldn’t shield me from Aurelius’ power. But you?” Eddwick shook his head. “No dice, my friend.”

  “Don’t call me that.” I drew my blade. “You’re no friend of mine.”

  “Alas, you’re probably right.” Eddwick dropped his hands to his side and began walking toward me. “But no matter. It’s a big world out there. I’m sure I’ll find new ones.”

  I sank into a combat stance. Cerys and Netherys drew their blades as well.

  “Don’t try to stop me,” said Eddwick, sounding unconcerned. “My powers have changed.”

  Netherys raised a hand and golden light flared around Eddwick. For a moment it appeared as if ghostly figures from legend were closing on him, but fire flared out from around him, a wash of crimson light that reduced the figures to tatters.

  “I used to get vague glimpses of the future,” he said, tone conversational. “Hunches as to what was going to happen, given a course of action. That’s all gone now.”

  I ran at him, closing the distance with five long steps, and stabbed at his gut.

  He saw the attack coming from a mile away and sidestepped; he didn’t even bother to parry. Simply moved aside as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

  I wasn’t done. I turned my stab into a scything slash back and around at where he was moving.

  But he saw that coming, too, and leaned out wide so that my slash swished past him harmlessly.

  Then Cerys was there, blade darting out at his face in a feint. But Eddwick realized what she was doing, and with his dagger, parried her stab when her blade went low, not even looking down to track her attack.

  And then he was past us both.

  It was effortless, as if we’d all rehearsed this a hundred times so he knew exactly what steps to take.

  “See, thing is, I can now only see about ten or so seconds into the future,” he said. “But those ten seconds? Pretty priceless.”

  “Everyone,” I growled. “Stop him.”

  The guards came to life, drew their blades with jerky movements, and then rushed at Eddwick.

  Only for him to laugh and turn his back toward the door, where Mithasa and Veserigard yet stood.

  Where Mithasa’s eyes flared golden as she sought to turn him to stone, and instead caught everyone else in her attack.

  A dozen guards froze in place, skin turning grey, that horrendous crackling sound filling the air.

  Eddwick tossed his dagger over his shoulder, a languid throw that sent it flying just left of where Mithasa stood.

  But she flinched, dodged to the left, and took the dagger full in the neck. Letting out a scream, she dropped, hands going to the wound.

  Eddwick was staring right at me, still walking backward. “You’d best tend to her, Kellik. If she dies, none of your old friends come back.”

  Veserigard let out a hoarse cry of fear and rushed Eddwick, who sidestepped again and expertly tripped the butler before turning with a laugh to run out the door and into the sewers.

  Rage and shock near rendered me stunned; it had all happened so fast. But my mind locked into a single truth: I had to save Mithasa.

  “Netherys! Help!” I ran to Mithasa’s side. She was thrashing, pushing herself up against the wall, her legs melting into a sinuous snake’s tail, her eyes blazing with horrendous light.

  But my previously implanted command triggered, and as I drew close she shut down her petrifying attack.

  Netherys was there, by my side, expression aghast. “I can’t help her,” she whispered. “Tamara�
�s the one who can heal.”

  “Your new high elven powers?” I was reaching for straws. “Anything you can do?”

  Netherys shook her head. “I’m so sorry.”

  The wound was mortal. The blade was sunk deep into the side of the medusa’s neck, and black blood was sheeting down her side, pooling around her. The snakes clustered around her head were in a frenzy, but their movements were chaotic, growing disordered.

  I’d grown so used to having Tamara present that the thought of losing someone to a wound was almost insulting. How many times had Tamara brought one of us back from the brink of death?

  A cold calm descended upon me. “Stop moving,” I commanded.

  Mithasa froze, one hand pressed to her neck, the other propping her up as her tail uncoiled before her.

  She was dying. In less than a minute she’d most likely bleed out.

  “Use your powers to turn everyone but the half-destroyed half-orc back to flesh,” I commanded.

  Hatred pulsed in Mithasa’s gaze, a bitter fury made all the more wretched by her inability to resist me. She turned her gaze upon the statues littered across the room.

  There was no wash of golden light, no visible sign of her power. But like frost melting off cobblestones at dawn, the grayness began to disappear from the statues, shrinking into puddles as color bled forth once more. Skin tones and armor, hair swinging loose, bodies becoming pliable, screams and shouts frozen mid-yell suddenly coming forth once more. A panoply of yells turned into confusion and bewilderment as charges lost impetus and men and women who’d been locked away in darkness blinked and took in the changes around them once more.

  Pony. Fucking Pony was there, larger than life, lumbering forward but slowing to a stop, bat ears quirking, heavy brows lowering over his piss-yellow eyes, to lower his massive sledgehammer and peer around in confusion till he saw me.

  And damn my black heart if I didn’t want to just run over there and hug the war troll. The relief at the sight of his massive, ornery self come back to life was almost more than I could bear.