Emperor of Shadows

by Mike Truk

Kavark bit off a howl, took a deep breath, and his burning crown flared.

  “Watch out!” screamed Netherys, but it was too late.

  A gout of fire burst forth from Kavark’s muzzle, a stream of virulent crimson that engulfed Pony’s head and upper body.

  I screamed and hurled the silver dagger, burying it deep into the side of Kavark’s neck. The torrent of flame ceased, but Kavark couldn’t move, still held in place by Pony’s burning fists.

  The last of the flames disappeared, whirling away into the air, and I saw Pony. Or what was left of him. Cindered and blackened, his head was little more than charred bone covered in scraps of stony hide, his upper chest just ribs and sternum around gleaming, burned innards. Shoulders were held together by lashings of jerky-like muscles, and for a moment I thought he was dead.

  But still, he held on, even as he reeled; then he blinked his one remaining eye, and I saw his piss-yellow gaze narrow.

  “Ow,” said Pony again, his voice cracked.

  Kavark was weakening, the white fire extending up his arms.

  Netherys slid across the floor behind him, slashing at his hamstrings with both curved blades as she went. Purple fire lined their edges, and they struck true; I thought I could hear the twang of tendons severing, then Kavark crashed down to his knees.

  Pony hunched his wrecked, smoking body over the demon werewolf, and I saw him will his newfound power to consume our foe. White flame spread like St. Elmo’s fire over Kavark, consuming him utterly.

  The Uncle raised his voice into a wretched howl, then keeled over onto his side and went still.

  Pony held him up for a moment longer before releasing his grip on the Uncle’s wrists. He then stood there, swaying.

  I stepped up to Kavark and studied his corpse. He was reverting to his human form, slowly shrinking, till there was nothing left but a badly burned figure curled up at Pony’s feet.

  I looked up at the war troll. “Need a drink?”

  Pony looked ghastly. Nothing but a war troll could have taken that much damage. But ghostly fire was playing over his wounds, which were knitting even faster than they usually did. Almost as fast as my own wounds had healed. It was fascinating and eerie to see flesh regrow, fibrous and slick - for his pitted, stony-blue hide to creep back over his wounds. The architecture of his skull reformed itself, and his right eye blossomed back into existence, growing full and yellow just before he blinked.

  “I think we all need a drink,” said Netherys, rising to her feet and spinning her blades about.

  Cerys hopped off the table. “Well done, everyone. Especially Pony. I don’t think I’ll ever want to go into battle without a White Sun Exemplar war troll again.”

  “Same,” I said. “But let's press on. I want to search the premises.”

  “See if we can find a seer?” asked Cerys softly.

  “You know it.” I rolled my head about my shoulders, eliciting a series of sharp pops, and realized I’d just copied Pony’s favorite move. The thought made me smile grimly. “Come on.”

  We pressed into a hallway and down past several rooms filled with dusty wine racks, endless amounts of shelving, and one featuring a foreboding well without a bucket system.

  That one gave me the creeps. Peering down into that bottomless black eye, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was staring right back up at me from the depths.

  But it was the last chamber that broke my heart.

  A mutilated seer was indeed in residence, but she was unlike anything I’d seen before. Splayed out on a filthy bed, she moaned and turned her head, eyes rolling as her expression flitted from coy grins, to mewls of dismay, to furious grimaces. Her form was mountainous: a huge mass of soft flesh that spilled out everywhere, pale, damp and reeking of sweat - something worse.

  “The White Sun preserve us,” whispered Cerys, raising a cloth to cover her nose.

  The room was filled with a musty, rotting smell; as I circled the massive woman, her coils of oily black hair gleaming in the torchlight, I realized she was covered in sores, her skin red and oozing wherever it met the bed.

  We stood there in horror, regarding the broken seer, our words stolen by the sight.

  “How could they?” asked Cerys, moving over a large pail filled with stale pastries slathered in white icing. “I mean, I know… we’ve seen their inhumanity, but each time…”

  “This should never become normal,” I said, cold fury coiling within me. “Each one is a crime against humanity. We should…”

  “Grant her freedom?” asked Netherys, voice as smooth as silk, her expression lethal. “Agreed. I must still be affected by my sojourn as a high elf because even I find this nauseating.”

  I moved to the bed’s edge, hesitated. The massive woman rolled her head from one side to the other, living through who knew what memories or experiences, her expression mercurial, manic, lost. My heart was pounding as I stared down at her.

  I drew my dagger, the handle awkward in my grip, feeling as if I suddenly had two left hands. My breath was coming short and tight.

  The seer’s head ceased to loll, and she blinked, focusing on me. She smiled, her lips cracked with blood and dried sugar. “Sweets?” Her voice was eerily high-pitched, like that of a child. “Sweets?”

  “Sweets,” I said, voice tight in my throat. “Yes, sweets.” I looked at Cerys. “Is it right to just… kill her?”

  “You grant her release,” said Netherys.

  Cerys’s expression was conflicted. “If we could get but an indication…”

  “What more do you need?” Netherys’s voice was cruel in its coldness. “She is broken, lost, in misery. You do her a blessing.”

  “But if there’s a chance she could live somewhere, be taken care of, maybe…” I hesitated, fingers rippling on my dagger.

  The woman was staring at me, but staring through me. There had to be a way to communicate with her. Otherwise, she would have been useless to the Family. I smoothed back her lank hair and leaned closer. “Can you hear me? Do you understand my words?”

  The seer blinked; something akin to cunning entered her gaze. “Maybe. Sweets?”

  I looked over to Cerys and nodded. With extreme distaste, she peeled a sticky bun from the mass in the pail and handed it to me.

  “I’ll need to feed her,” I said in disgust, but before I could even begin working out how to handle the chains, Pony leaned down, grasped them one by one, fists aflame, and tore them apart.

  “Here,” I said, putting the bun into the seer’s grasping hands.

  “Sweets,” she said. Shoving the whole mass into her mouth, she chewed while moaning happily.

  “Listen,” I said. “You want to end this?” My tone was growing rough. My own despair and disgust were turning to anger. “You want to be released to the Ashen Garden?”

  “Easy, Kellik,” said Cerys.

  “Shweets,” said the woman, chewing happily, her jaw working strongly. “More shweets.”

  She looked idiotic, bovine, and I felt my anger irrationally turning toward her. For making me make this decision, for being so helpless, so childlike, content with so little.

  “Here,” said Cerys, handing her another bun.

  “Listen to me,” I said, and my voice thrummed with power. The seer’s eyes slid over to fix on me even as she pushed the bun into her mouth. “Do you want to die? What do you want?”

  The force of my will was undeniable, but it was like firing a cannonball into the water. There was no structure to adhere to. No defined mental frame.

  She blinked owlishly, then shook her head. “No. No die. More sweets.”

  “Fuck.” I threw up my hands and stepped back. “What do we do?”

  Pony moved up to stand next to me, resting his huge, stony hand on my shoulder. “Sweets,” he rumbled, the sound like rocks shifting deep underground.

  “I guess you’re right,” I said. “I just… never mind. If that’s what she wants, we can provide it. Cerys, can I put you in charge of getting her
out of here? Get Pogo to gift us a house and a stipend with which to hire servants to take care of her. If it’s sweets she wants, then we’d be monsters to deny her.”

  “Yes,” said Cerys, face pale. “I’ll see it done.”

  “Fucking Family,” I said, watching the huge woman coo happily as Netherys simply gave her the pail. Blue light formed an aura around her, luminous and ghostly, then dove into the pail, drawing out the sticky buns and croissants, the sugar tarts and fruit pies. The whole congealed mass arose into the air, then separated into distinct pieces, pulled apart by the blue light. It arranged them in a long line in the air, one end just before her mouth, the other extending near out the door.

  The seer sighed contentedly, opening her mouth wide.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to the woman. “For what happened to you. For what you could have been.”

  The seer paused, her expression going slack, then tears filled her eyes. Her whole body trembling, she blinked them away and smiled once more, the expression beatific as the first bun descended into her mouth.

  “I want to search the premises down here further,” said Cerys.

  “I’ll join you,” said Netherys.

  “Fine. I want to see how things are going up top.”

  “Still, be careful.”

  “Agreed,” said Netherys.

  I hesitated. “Well, if you’re both concerned…”

  Pony let out a sigh and reached for his sledgehammer. Hoisting it up onto his shoulder, he carefully rolled his head about his shoulders. A few pops sounded. He still looked atrocious - his hide patchwork and burned, his body steaming - but he grunted and nodded toward the steps.

  “I’m not worried anymore,” said Cerys.

  “If Pony’s with you, have fun,” said Netherys, giving me a wave as she turned toward the rest of the complex.

  “Ha,” I said. “C’mon, Pony. Let’s go wrap this up.”

  Though in truth there wasn’t much left to wrap up. The Family’s core of resistance had collapsed, with a good forty or so enforcers, mercenaries, and bully boys having thrown down their weapons in disgust. Captain Rory had gathered them in one corner of the square, and there ordered them to sit in tightly packed rows where they were watched by guards.

  Not that you could tell the difference between the guards who’d been ordered to watch them and all the other guards who were milling about. Scores of the wounded were gathered by the Sworn on one side, where Lady Anna and Bergamot were plying their calling, while captains were trying to instill order on the mass of armed men whose bloodlust was clearly up, still looking for more action.

  The Exemplars and other elites were gathered just outside the Bloody Knot. The Fickle Warwickle was perched atop a rain barrel eating a meat bun, while the Bridge Nixie watched longingly. Two of the White Sun Exemplars were conferring quietly with the Hanged God ones, but there was no sight of Fellhand, Blightwort, or Master Hieronymus.

  “Count Kellik,” said Tuln, one of the White Suns. “All well below?”

  “Kavark is dead. So, yes. Sir Gremory?”

  Tuln and Lady Holdfast grimaced. “Ran afoul of another exemplar.”

  Effezia, Exemplar of the Hanged God, ran a hand over her pale, shorn scalp. “Never a good idea to cross blades with Timothy.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss. Where’s this Timothy now?”

  Effezia looked around the square as if expecting to see him with her pink irises. “Gone to ground. He’s a rare one. Dances to a different tune than the rest of us.”

  “Not reassuring,” I said. “The mages?”

  Sir Tuln shrugged. “I saw the necromancer taking off to explore the Noose. Fellhand died giving chase to the last of the werewolves.”

  “And Master Hieronymus fell to a Gloom Knight,” said Effezia, tone emotionless. “Arrow to the eye.”

  “Three losses, then,” I said. “Still, all told, the operation was a success.” I took in the square. The milling guards, the captains, the bodies strewn underfoot. “Captain Rory!”

  Rory jogged over. “Sir?”

  “We’re not done here. I want the bodies cleared off the streets. Set them aside for the dust carts. I want a second detachment to collect weapons which will be transported back to the Royal Provost’s tower. I want a third to help escort the wounded to wherever Lady Anna and Bergamot deem best, and the rest of the militiamen set to scouring the Noose. I want them operating in teams of five, and to go home by home, searching for caches of treasure, clearing out traps, and driving out the last pockets of opposition.”

  Rory rubbed at his unshaven jaw. “Will take some time, that, but we’ll see it done.”

  “Have the militia work in shifts, and determine the bare minimum necessary to return to the precincts to ensure more chaos doesn’t break out.”

  Rory snapped out a salute. “Yes sir.”

  I turned back to the elites. “Look like we’re going to be doing clean-up duty for the next few days. But there’s more fun to be had right after. I’ll send messengers to alert you of future opportunities. Pay will be doubled, and right of spoils offered.”

  Sir Tuln and Lady Holdfast stood a little taller. “No pay is necessary, Count Kellik. Revelator Mercult asked that we assist in any way possible. We remain at your disposal.”

  “My thanks.”

  “We’re not averse to gold,” said Effezia, a gleam entering her pink eyes. “Especially not when the amount is doubled.”

  Tarn, the other Exemplar of the Hanged God, gave me a death’s head grin.

  “Any chance you two could talk to Baleric? I’d welcome his help.”

  The two Exemplars exchanged a glance.

  “Baleric’s a busy man,” said Effezia, ebullience muted. “Got weighty matters on his mind.”

  “He the most senior of your group?”

  The two Exemplars nodded.

  “No matter. Fickle Warwickle, Bridge Nixie? Can I count on your support the next time we march?”

  “Who knows?” asked the Fickle Warwickle. “Blind Fortuna does. We’ll see when the time comes.”

  The Bridge Nixie burbled unintelligibly and drew back behind the barrel.

  “Well, I guess we’ll cross that, ah, bridge when we get to it,” I said. “But for now, you all have my thanks. We’ve achieved what many thought to be impossible.”

  I took in the square again, the blood-soaked cobbles, the bodies of the Gloom Knights, the crushed heart of Kavark’s realm.

  “This will send a message to the other Aunts and Uncles like no other. Times have changed in Port Gloom. The era of Family dominance is over. A new authority now reigns in our fair city.”

  I felt the pensive stare from the Exemplars, but nobody contradicted me. For a moment we stood there in silence, then I gave them a nod, moving forward to ensure my commands were being carried out.

  The thought of the obese woman below, her mind broken, haunted me. And there were still more like her out there.

  My resolve was iron hard.

  There was work to be done.

  Chapter 6

  Clearing out the Noose took three days, and even then I wasn’t sure we’d done a thorough job. Those six square blocks were a morass of hidden tunnels, false walls, hidden attics, deceptively partitioned buildings, blind alleys, and worse. The buildings were packed so closely together you could stroll from one corner of the neighborhood to the next across the rooftops and never have to do more than leap a few feet across the streets below.

  Worse, the place was filthy with traps. The residents fled ahead of my guards, spilling out into the rest of the city like rats deserting a sinking ship. In their wake were left loaded crossbows, tripwires that triggered entire ceilings to collapse, more of those disgusting, shit-smeared spike filled pit traps, and pillows that exploded into blinding, burning dust that sent dozens of men in agony to the infirmary.

  But slowly we conquered it. I stayed on site; leaving for even a few hours would have seen mass desertions. Nobody wanted to go into the
next building, climb the steps of the next tenement, descend into another pitch-black basement whose floor seethed with rats. But I was there, ordering, commanding, insisting, and gradually, building by building, we claimed the Family stronghold.

  It yielded remarkable amounts of loot as well. The Family had been preying on Port Gloom for centuries - stealing from the wealthy and poor, extorting protection money, and looting places of business. Most of that wealth had been recycled back into the economy in the form of bribes and salaries to Family members, but too much had been taken for too long for it to simply disappear.

  This was why we found entire rooms packed with sacks of coinage, some of it so covered in dust and old cobwebs that I could have sworn their existence had been forgotten. Twisted little garrets could render up paintings in faded gold frames, statues, rolled up rugs, and chandeliers shoved into corners, their crystals dulled by the ages.

  We found silver candleholders, plates of platinum, bottles of stolen brandy, mountains of faded finery, an entire underground economy of foodstuffs that operated outside of the regular markets. Pouches of gems were pulled out of chimney shafts, floorboards were pried up to reveal gleaming swords stolen fresh from the city armories, and hidden compartments were exposed that were overflowing with precious books and holy tomes.

  Soon the men began to get into it. A canny gleam entered even the dullest eye, and they became investigators supreme. Knocking on every panel, shattering furniture to find false compartments, sticking their heads into every cranny, examining buildings with skeptical gazes to see which corners might hide inaccessible chambers.

  The urge to command everyone to turn over every coin was strong, but that way lay mutiny, madness, and murder. So I allowed a judicious amount of the wealth to be pocketed by the guards. Three days in, the men were strolling about the Noose like lordlings; some wore confiscated fur cloaks or feather boas, many carted rugs, or lacquered tables. The mood was sterling, laughter spiraling up from hidden courts and high balconies.

  My own cut - or, perhaps more accurately, that of the city - was still impressive. I had Pogo send a team of accountants to tally it all up, and by the time I deemed the operation concluded, we’d raked in over a hundred thousand gold coins of varying currencies, some not seen in circulation in centuries, most of it hauled out of Kavark’s private stash. There was enough exalted furniture to furnish a palace, weaponry to equip every guard anew, gems, writs and deeds that would take Pogo a lifetime to appraise.