Emperor of Shadows

by Mike Truk

  She clung to me just as frantically, squeezing me hard, and we stood in such a manner for I don’t know how long, the world slowly spinning around us, our embrace the center of the universe.

  It was all I could do to thank the gods over and over again as I held her. To thank that Aurelius hadn’t gone through with his threats. To have her here, with me, in my arms, alive and awake, unharmed, and mine forever.

  “What happened?” She pulled back at last, and I saw how her illness had weakened her; made her cheekbones more prominent, her eyes ringed with shadows, her skin pale. “I remember entering the carriage with you, then an explosion - pain, and… Tamara. Her voice, coming to me from a distance, telling me I would be well. Then I awoke here, and nobody’s told me anything since.”

  “Aurelius,” I said. “He took you while you were healing up. As for what’s happened since…”

  “Aurelius?” She curled a strand of crimson hair behind her ear. “He took me? Wait. Was he…?”

  “The King Troll. My father.” I grimaced, unable to quite smile. “I thought we were done for. But before I tell you more, let’s get Netherys. Veserigard?”

  The butler had remained by the door, but clearly had heard everything, his jaw going slack, his eyes widening. “Aurelius is your father?”

  “Was,” I said. “I had him killed. Lead us to Netherys.”

  “This… this way.” The man’s face had turned gray, but somehow he led us down the hall to another door, which he also unlocked and pushed open.

  The room beyond was larger. A four-poster bed dominated the chamber, chains affixed to the posters. Netherys was bound in the bed’s center, her limbs outstretched and manacled.

  “Netherys?” gasped Cerys, hand rising to her mouth.

  The being who lay before us was no dark elf, seductive and purple-haired, but a high elf, her mane white as fresh-fallen snow, her features beautiful and pure.

  “Kellik!” Netherys sought to sit up, was prevented by her chains. “Thank the stars!”

  “Unchain her,” I growled, and Veserigard bounded forward, keys shaking in his grip as he sought the right set.

  Cerys stared, fascinated, dumbfounded. “But… you… your hair…”

  Netherys lay back, a wry smile curving her lips. “Kellik has proven a good influence, I suppose. I changed last night, embracing my light side. Too much love.”

  Veserigard unbound the manacles in short order, and Netherys sat up, rubbing at her wrists as she considered the butler.

  “Stand against the wall,” I commanded him, “and remain quiet unless we ask a question of you.”

  The butler did as he was told.

  “Aurelius?” asked Netherys.

  “Taken by the Paruko Dream Eaters.” I sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted, and told them everything. The medusa’s attack on our base, led in part by an Eddwick who’d regained the ability to speak. Yashara, Pony, and Pogo turning to stone. Netherys being the only reason I was able to escape at all. Her change, and then our desperate attack on Aurelius. How we’d failed completely.

  My flight into the city. My turning to Iris, and how we’d returned. Her enigmatic last words, the trick she’d pulled on Aurelius’s pattern, how the Dream Eaters had shown up just in time to take him into some nether realm from which he’d never return.

  “She’s dead?” Cerys didn’t look like she could be shocked any further. “I… somehow I thought she’d never die. That she’d find a way to keep living, no matter what.”

  “I don’t know what she is,” I said. “Decapitated, yes. Dead? Maybe. Which sounds insane, I know, but she said to look for her, to not worry. So… who knows?”

  “Iris,” said Netherys softly, considering. “Perhaps the world is a safer place without her in it.”

  “Perhaps,” I said, but the tears came back to my eyes as I recalled her soft smile, her gentle acceptance of her death as she turned to me. “But I’d do anything to bring her back.”

  “We have to free Yashara and the others,” said Cerys, tone growing hard. “Make sure they’re safe.”

  I turned to consider Veserigard. “The medusa. How can we best get her to bring our friends back?”

  Veserigard licked his lower lip. “Mithasa is a practical creature. Convince her that you have taken Aurelius’s place and will pay her wages, and she’ll transfer her loyalty to you.”

  “Can we trust him?” asked Cerys.

  “Yes,” I said. “My powers - they’ve come into their own. I can’t explain it. But with my father’s death… it’s as if they’re finally blooming. But I know he’ll do as he’s told, and if I tell him to tell us the truth, he will.”

  “You seem different,” said Cerys, then smiled apologetically. “I mean, after all that’s happened, that makes sense, but you seem… I don’t know how to put it.”

  I reached out and took her calloused hand in my own. “I understand. I’m not quite myself yet. Losing Iris. Confronting my father. Everything that’s to come. I’m still coming to terms with it. But right now? I just want everyone back. Yashara. Tamara. Everyone. Then we’ll talk. Figure out what comes next.”

  “What comes next,” mused Cerys.

  “World domination,” said Netherys, with something of her old, sardonic humor.

  “Perhaps,” I said, rising to my feet. “But first we need to deal with this Mithasa. Veserigard, how do you contact her?”

  “A runner. She operates out of a brothel complex close by that’s owned by a criminal figure called Yelentha.”

  “Her Auntie,” I said.

  Veserigard considered me. “You know of the Family.”

  “As do you,” I replied. “How much do you know, exactly?”

  “That’s hard to quantify, but I’d wager I know just about everything. Aurelius entrusted me with his confidence. I oversaw most of the day-to-day operations, including the running of the Family.”

  A thrill ran through me. “You know all the Aunties and Uncles?”

  “I do.”

  “And where they operate out of?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the magic web run by the mutilated magic users?”

  Veserigard nodded.

  “Their locations as well?”

  “I was charged with determining the schedule by which they would be moved.”

  “Fortuna wept,” I whispered. “You knew about what was done to them, and didn’t care?”

  He hesitated. “I’m not sure if I did. I’ve been so thoroughly used by Aurelius since I was a child that I can’t tell what I feel anymore. I think…” Sweat beaded his brow. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know.” I stood up, moved to stand before him. “You look back at all you’ve done, seen, been responsible for, and don’t feel any regret?”

  The fear in his eyes was stark. His mouth worked, and I felt him fight against my will, like a fly wrestling in strands of spiderwebbing.

  “I… I don’t know,” he whispered hoarsely. “I know what you want me to say. But I can’t lie. I haven’t… Aurelius had control over me… so long, that… I don’t have… I don’t know…”

  “Kellik, leave him,” said Cerys, rising and move to my side. “Your father must have broken him in some profound way. Don’t torment him so.”

  “Don’t torment him,” I whispered, staring at Veserigard. “Fine. He was a tool of my father’s. For a while, he’ll be my tool as well. First things first. Yashara, Pogo, and Pony. Get Mithasa. Actually, no. We’ll go with the runner.”

  Beads of sweat were rolling down Veserigard’s brow. “Yes sir.”

  I turned to Netherys and Cerys. “You two all right to continue on?”

  Netherys stretched languorously and then arose, all sinuous, lethal grace. “A little sore here and there, but ready all the same.”

  “With our friends waiting?” Cerys’ smile was hard. “You think I’ll wait behind?”

  “Good. Veserigard. Lead the way to this brothel.”

  The man t
urned without a word and walked out of the room. We three followed. Down the hall, past the stunned-looking guards, back upstairs. A word from Cerys and I relented, ordering Veserigard to don boots and warm clothing. Both women found suitable outdoor gear in a vestibule off the entrance, and soon we were outside in the chill.

  “Summon a carriage,” I ordered Beauclaire, who snapped to attention, his whole frame vibrating with terror. “Something small, fast, and unobtrusive.”

  “Yes, my lord,” whispered the footman, and made a gesture off into the dark. Sighting down the length of the house, I saw a second servant positioned where the private road swept around to the back of the estate, where no doubt the stables and carriage houses were kept.

  The servant, a young boy, took off at a dead sprint.

  There was so much to ask. To learn. Veserigard was no doubt a treasure trove of information. But all I could do was think of my missing friends. Yashara. Pogo. Pony. Turned to stone what felt a lifetime ago, though in reality, it couldn’t have been more than eight hours. Standing there in the darkness, lost and alone in their petrified selves.

  Nothing mattered more than rescuing them.

  Sensing my dour mood, my two women stood close by, Netherys slipping a hand around my arm and standing close, Cerys flanking me at the other side. We remained so in silence, waiting, and were soon rewarded by the crunch of wheels of gravel.

  A carriage rolled into view, a light phaeton painted a black so deep it seemed to melt into the night. Two glorious stallions pulled it, each as black as coal; their necks were proud and arched, manes carefully groomed into stylish knots, coats gleaming as if wet.

  We all climbed aboard, and Veserigard gave the driver directions. I listened carefully, seeking some sign of duplicity, but heard none.

  We rolled out of the estate, and back into Port Gloom’s night. Out onto the broad avenue, but this time we rolled in style; the phaeton was of obvious quality, and was afforded right of way by lesser carriages and cabs.

  Ten minutes later we stopped before the brothel, an unassuming manor on a residential street, its minimalist garden enclosed by a spear-topped iron fence. It blended in with its neighbors, respectable and silent, its windows betraying light from within but heavily curtained, a pair of guards by the front door the only measure of obvious security.

  “What’s the protocol for entering?” asked Cerys.

  “Possessing sufficient coin, to be honest,” said Veserigard. “Though I am known to the madam of the house. My presence will open all doors.”

  “Then lead the way,” I said. “And take us to Mithasa.”

  “Wait,” said Netherys, reaching out to pluck at the butler’s sleeve as he opened the door. “Did the medusa have any resistance to Aurelius’s powers?”

  The butler ignored her, continued to get out.

  “Stop and answer her question,” I said. “In fact, treat commands from Cerys and Netherys as if they came from me.”

  Veserigard pulled himself back into the phaeton, face ashen. “Very well. Yes, Mithasa was resistant to his powers, but he broke her walls down in time. Her mind is alien, reptilian, and thus hard for king troll commands to secure a hold on.”

  “Hmm. All right. Good to know. Lead on.”

  I followed Veserigard down onto the sidewalk, through the gate, and up the steps to the two guards who scrutinized us with boredom.

  Just another fancy carriage at the brothel, I supposed.

  “Please let Madam Crux know that Veserigard awaits her company,” said the butler, tone stiff with hauteur and authority.

  The guards exchanged a glance, and then one slipped inside. A moment later, the door was yanked wide open, and the visibly shaken guard stepped aside, breathing heavily.

  “Madam Crux would be honored to see you in her office,” said the man, fighting to control his breathing. “My heartfelt apologies for -”

  But Veserigard swept past the man and into the manor. It was opulent, tastefully decorated, and filled with the sweet music of a delicately played piano. Everything was plush, everything was roseate, from the light to the carpet to the upholstery. My limited experience with brothels while an aspirant thief many lifetimes ago was clearly of no use here - there was no stink of sweat and smoke, no overpowering clouds of cheap perfume, no raucous shouts of amusement, no grunts and cries from behind doors.

  Instead, I felt as if we’d stepped into an elegant salon. There were indeed women within the rooms we passed through, but they could have been the daughters of the nobility, all of them refined and beautiful, dressed in the latest fashion of the court. Some were seated and playing cards, others read books by lantern-light; a few were gathered in a corner, enjoying drinks in cut-glass goblets.

  All of them eyed us, but none seemed over-eager or desperate. None had the lover’s pox, none seemed drunk, none were hiding their true looks under a thick layer of mascara.

  Instead, the eldest woman seemed to be in her early twenties, and each was a rare beauty in her own right. Tall and slender, short and curvaceous, blessed with large chests or a dancer’s physique, there was enough variety to satisfy nearly any taste.

  But I wasn’t here to shop around. After taking in the setting, I dismissed it and followed Veserigard to the rear of the home, where he opened a door set in the back without knocking.

  We followed in right after, and I found myself in a small but tastefully appointed office. A woman in her forties rose to her feet from behind her desk, where she’d been clearly balancing her books, an abacus and several pouches set beside ledgers and piles of papers.

  Handsome, dark-haired, but with a cold and calculating gaze that belied her warm smile. “Master Veserigard, you do me entirely too much honor. How can I be of service?”

  At which point the butler simply turned to me.

  “My name is Kellik,” I said, “and from this point on my interests, well-being, and safety are your paramount concern.”

  Madam Crux’s expression tightened as if a blast of frigid air had just washed over her, and she staggered, placing her fingertips on the table’s surface for support.

  To my surprise, she wrestled with my will, her own fierce and independent. She fought for a fraction of a second, and then broke and was mine.

  “But of course, Master Kellik,” she said, voice strained. “How can I be of assistance?”

  “Is Mithasa the medusa in residence?” I asked.

  “She is.”

  “How can we best effect an audience with her while ensuring my safety?”

  She didn’t even blink. “Her powers are nullified if you only observe her through a reflection. Do you anticipate difficulty?”

  “Perhaps,” I said. “She turned petrified several of my friends earlier tonight. I want them turned back to flesh.”

  “I see. That is, of course, entirely possible. I will speak with her myself, and ask that she listen to your offer.”

  “I don’t want her to flee,” I said. “Instead, take us with you. Do you have a mirror?”

  She drew one, a framed oval, from her desk drawer and handed it to me.

  “Very well,” I said. “Lead on.”

  Drawing herself up, she gave me a curt nod and strode past, out of her office, and then to a stairway hidden behind a cunningly disguised door that blended in with the wallpaper. Down we went, single file, to come out into an equally elegant and lavishly decorated hallway.

  Here the sounds of lovemaking were audible. Cries of pleasure, cries of pain. But no screams, no sounds of true violence.

  Down the hall Madam Crux led us, around the corner, and down a second flight of steps to a lower level.

  The flight opened into a large room directly, awhich was clearly Mithasa’s private domain.

  The room, or basement, perhaps, had more in common with a nest than a human’s sleeping accommodations. The center of the floor was sunken and edged with cushions, forming a cozy nest of rich fabrics that reminded me of Iris’s own basement chamber off the docks, in tha
t abandoned home of hers.

  But the walls were hung with countless works of art, so many that the walls were barely visible, and here and there stood statues, each more realistic than the last.

  Mithasa’s victims, I realized, and could help search the dozen or so present for some sign of my friends.

  They weren’t here.

  Mithasa herself was reclined in her cushioned nest, and I saw that her form had changed; her lower legs had been replaced by a massive serpent’s body, flame-colored and coiled upon itself, thick as my waist and making her beauty all the more inhuman for it.

  She’d been reclining in the center of her coils, and at our approach arose, her lips stretching into a smile which froze at the sight of me.

  Which I saw through the reflected mirror.

  “What is this?” she demanded, voice immediately tense. “Crux -”

  “Master Kellik wishes to speak with you,” said the Madam. “That is all. Please refrain from violence, Mithasa.”

  “Aurelius is dead,” I said. “I am taking his place. Soon the whole city will be mine. You can choose to work for me as you did my father, or die. What is it to be?”

  The medusa struggled with my words. I’d not put any power into them, but she struggled all the same, clearly trying to determine what to believe.

  “How can I trust you?” she asked.

  I looked to the butler. “Veserigard?”

  “I believe he speaks the truth,” said the butler. “Master Aurelius’s lock upon my mind is no more. I’m now obeying Master Kellik, which could only happen if Aurelius was no more.”

  “You?” Mithasa’s scorn was evident. “You defeated Aurelius? I can’t believe it.”

  Netherys was walking around the room, studying the works of art. “You don’t have to, darling. You simply have to do as you’re told.”

  “Do you wish me to lay my will upon you?” I asked, still staring fixedly into the mirror. “In fact, it might be easier for all involved if I did.”

  Mithasa hissed. “You wouldn’t have a chance -”

  “Silence,” I commanded, and the memory of what this creature had done to my friends put fire into my word. Pogo’s cry of pain and surprise echoed in my ear once more, the crackling sound of flesh turning to stone.