Emperor of Shadows

by Mike Truk

  The decision, of course, was what to do with the Noose now that they were cleared. Smoke hung over the neighborhood, courtesy of a final firetrap that had taken a dozen guards down with the building itself; but as dawn broke on the fourth day, all was still. Crows cawed from cornices, and the lonely whistle of a guard on patrol was all I could hear.

  “Orders, sir?” Rory stood by my side, propping himself up on a pike, looking haggard but grimly satisfied.

  “We should burn the whole mess to the ground,” said Drussander, face gray with fatigue but still standing proud. “Raze this nightmare to the dirt, fill in the basements, level it with exacting precision.”

  “And then?” I asked.

  He chewed on the corner of his massive walrus mustache. “A park. Yes. A green space for the city to enjoy. I have always thought it a crime that only the wealthy could enjoy their stately Garden on the north of the Snake Head. I would commission a talented architect to create a green space for the poor.”

  I turned to stare at Drussander, genuinely taken aback. “That’s an excellent idea.”

  “What about the displaced?” asked Rory. “Near five thousand of the city’s poorest called the Noose home afore this. They’re packing the poor houses to the gills right now, sleeping in streets. The docks are lousy with the homeless.”

  I sucked on my teeth. The easiest thing to do would be to simply walk away, allow the city to seep back in - to reclaim the Noose, return to their lives without the Family overwatching their activities.

  But was that what I wanted? To allow things to return to the way they’d once been? Wasn’t this a chance to make a real difference?

  “I need to think on it,” I said. “Let’s keep a cordon about the neighborhood and not allow anybody back in just yet.” And then I caught myself. “And, ah, I have to ask the Star Chamber to approve any decision we make. We’re the guards, not the city planners.”

  Rory eyed me with far too much awareness in his narrow eyes. “As you say, sir.”

  “Excellent work. Lieutenant, see to it that each captain involved receives a bonus of a hundred gold, and that each sergeant receives ten. What’s the status on the riots?”

  “Still quiet.” Rory straightened up, rubbed the side of his nose. “Seems like everyone’s still in shock over what’s taken place here. I’ve heard reports that nobody can square this circle, if you know what I mean. Nobody can believe you’ve not been struck down by lightning for offending the Family.”

  “Good. That means the other Aunts and Uncles are licking their wounds and trying to figure out their next moves. General warfare on the streets is out.”

  “What’s to be our next move?” asked Drussander, mood vastly improved by the prospect of his bonus. “Another large operation?”

  “I’m thinking more along the lines of surgical strikes. I’ve a few strongholds that I’ve a mind to destroy in short order, but first I need to report back to the new Royal Provost.”

  And bring him under my control, I thought.

  “Very well, sir. May I return my men to the walls?”

  “Yes, Captain Drussander. And know that I will personally commend your service to the Council. You have done an exceptional job.”

  “Well, well,” said the old man, brushing his mustache with furious pleasure. “We are all but humble servants of our grand city, are we not? Doing our duty is reward enough!”

  Rory smiled bleakly. “Should I rescind your bonus then?”

  This earned him a thunderous stare from the old campaigner.

  “Everyone has performed admirably,” I said. “The criminals of Port Gloom have been put on notice. Now for some housekeeping.”

  “What will happen to all the reclaimed wealth?” asked Rory. “If you don’t mind my asking, sir.”

  Drussander glowered. “What do you think, man? It will evaporate, like a puddle in the sun.”

  “Haven’t you heard what I’ve been saying?” I looked from one man to the other. “Times have changed. I’m going to ensure that wealth is put to civic use. Maybe I’ll suggest a public fund be created to help house the displaced. Or for the creation of this park of yours, captain. Regardless. Part of our campaign against the Family will be to use its stolen wealth to benefit the people.”

  The thought was immensely pleasing to me, and I decided there and then to make sure it came to pass. “We’ll poster the city, alerting everyone to the confiscation of wealth and how it will be used to help the common man.”

  Rory eyed me skeptically. “As you say, sir.”

  I laughed, refreshed, enlivened, and ready for new challenges. “Just you wait and see, Rory. In the meantime, I want the Black Wolves to maintain their current edge. I want their equipment to be inspected and replaced as necessary with the new gear we’ve reclaimed. I want training drills performed daily, and for groups of twenty Wolves to tour each precinct, learning the lay of the land and becoming acquainted with each guard captain. We’re going to be taking a more central role in matters moving forward.”

  “Yes sir,” said Rory, saluting sharply. “I’ll get right on it.”

  “Drussander, I’ll send word when we’ve need of your forces once more. For now, enjoy your respite.”

  “If I may, commander?”

  I nodded to the old man.

  “The walls themselves are in dire need of repairs. The Field Gate hasn’t been closed in decades, and I doubt it could be closed at all. The portcullises are rusted, and numerous cracks and gaps have appeared in the walls themselves. I have a report I compiled years ago that went largely ignored. May I update it and resubmit it for your examination?”

  “Absolutely.” Once again I examined the old man with renewed appreciation. “You are a good man, Drussander. I appreciate your thoughtfulness. Send an updated report, and spare no details. If ever there was a time to rebuild our defenses, it’s now, while we’re flush with confiscated gold.”

  “My thoughts precisely,” said the old man, snapping out a salute of his own. “I’ll see to it the report is delivered promptly.”

  “Now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ve a report to present to the Star Chamber.” I chuckled wryly. “Wish me luck.”

  “Want a detachment of Black Wolves to escort you, sir?” Rory’s eyes gleamed with wry amusement. “They’ve become a dab hand at disarming traps and driving dissidents before them.”

  I laughed. “We’re not there yet, but I thank you for the thought. I’ll come by the Tower this evening, lieutenant, to check on progress.”

  Both men saluted and I left, climbing aboard my private carriage and directing the driver to take me back to Thorne Manor.

  I’d realized over the past couple of days that I couldn’t simply set up shop at Aurelius’ manor. That would provoke too many questions, so it was with reluctance that I returned to the massive estate Cerys had acquired for the Count of Manticora. I’d given a battalion of servants a day to wash out the blood, repair the broken windows, and replace the broken furniture.

  But nothing could wipe out the bad memories. The assaults, the assassinations of Yashara’s mercenaries, the sense of growing helplessness as Aurelius’ noose had tightened about my neck.

  This wasn’t the time for sentimentality, however, and for now, the guise of Count was still necessary. It gave me access to the Star Chamber, allowed me to lead the guards, and kept me insulated from the city behind high, sheltering walls.

  Had my father, I wondered, felt the same way about his position as a councilor as the years wore on?

  We rumbled through the Garden District, and I noted with muted surprise that my passage was pointed out by more than one cluster of pedestrians; the black carriage I’d commandeered from Aurelius’s estate was luxurious enough to draw eyes, but ever since I’d begun using it regularly to cross the city it had become associated with the Count.

  And with the destruction of the Noose, it seemed, I’d achieved a level of fame that my proposed reforms in the Star Chamber had never earned me.<
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  We turned into the Thorne Estate, pausing only for the broad gates to be pulled open wide, then rolled down the gravel driveway to stop before the massive facade. I didn’t wait for the footmen to attend me, but got out quickly, hopping down to tug my coat straight and glance up at the strangers who now ran the manor in my name.

  Cerys had hired a phalanx of butlers, groomsmen, servants, charladies, and more to bring Thorne Manor back to its bustling self. The men in smart uniforms who greeted me by the front door bowed low, their faces betraying a mixture of awe and nervousness.

  No wonder.

  My last set of servants had all been murdered.

  Nodding politely to the greetings, I climbed the broad steps and entered the great hall. Everything gleamed, polished and scrubbed. If I squinted, I could almost forget the violence that had taken place here.

  Taking a deep breath, I tried to decide what to do next. Wash? Grab a bite to eat? Locate Pogo and ask for an update?

  Only for my thoughts to freeze as I glanced sidelong through an archway into the drawing-room beyond, where a woman was rising from a chair.

  Tamara.

  She was clad in the white robes of her order, though they were dusty and dirty from hard travel along the country roads. Form-fitting, accented with a rich, almost metallic burgundy on the underside of her cloak and within her slit sleeves; her clothing was austere yet feminine, betraying her curves even as they set her as an object of veneration.

  An Exemplar of the White Sun.

  Her lips parted into a broad smile and she strode toward, me through the archway, hands outstretched.

  I moved into her embrace and held her hard, burying my face in her neck, squeezing her tight against my chest.

  For long moments we stood thus, clinging to each other, until at last, we parted, smiling and examining each other.

  “You’re back.” Self-evident, I knew, but I relished saying the words.

  Her expression, however, was bleak. “Kellik. I know what the hereshen is. Or, perhaps more accurately, who.”

  My half-formed stratagems to lure her into bed burned away in a flash. “What? How? Who?”

  Tamara’s expression was one of muted horror, as if this were something she was still struggling to come to terms with. “Remember Port Lusander? The Exemplar of the White Sun, Aurora?”

  “Aurora?” An image came back to me. The blond warrior, beautiful and dignified, dying as Pony and I wrecked her mortal frame in a bloody, brutal battle. “No.”

  “I’m sure. I got close enough to see her.” Tears suddenly brimmed in Tamara’s eyes. “Oh, Kellik. What have we done? What did we do?”

  The world was spinning, and I pressed my fingers to my temples. “But - wait. Wait wait wait. How? How did you get so close? What happened?”

  “I’m an Exemplar of the White Sun. I arrived at the outskirts of Olandipolis too late. Her army was already in place, and by accident, we rode into a large scouting party that thought me one of their own. I went along - easy enough, given my powers. And just like that, I had access to her whole camp.”

  Tamara’s expression took on a faraway look. “They were singing. Such joy. Even those that looked half-starved, the sick, the dying. There was a mania in the air, a sense of revelation, of transcendence. Wherever I rode, people called for my blessings. I made my way to the center of the camp. I had to learn. Had to find out. And saw her in the center, preaching to over a thousand of her elect, those she’d chosen as her blessed. Standing on a rock, golden hair gleaming in the sun. It was her, Kellik. Aurora. The woman we murdered in Port Lusander.”

  “And whom Iris used to bring you back,” I whispered, taking three shaky steps back to fall into a chair. “She used her matrix to contact the White Sun and use Pony’s regeneration abilities to bring you both back. Or something. But when she was done, Iris said she was still dead!”

  “Iris was wrong,” said Tamara flatly, hands on her hips. “Aurora is back. And she spoke with a power that matched your own, Kellik. I’m not saying she’s a king troll, but her words… I listened to her entire sermon. I didn’t mean to. But as soon as she started speaking, it was as if I sank into a daze. My heart raced, my devotion thrilled, and I would have followed her anywhere. Only after she was done did I manage to stagger away before she could notice me, and then when I examined my soul, and I found it charged with light. As if she’d healed me from a distance, suffused me with the White Sun’s power.”

  “Shit,” I said. “So she can do… what? Mass healing?”

  “Not quite. It wasn’t repairing my matrix. It was simply infusing it with the White Sun’s power. Like…” Tamara cast around for a simile. “Like how an iron will glow cherry-red if left in a bed of coals. And everywhere I looked, I saw the others who’d listened to her were similarly touched.”

  “Shit,” I said. “Good for the White Sun, I guess, but…”

  “There’s more.” Her tone was grim. “As I drifted away, I saw those who’d listened to the sermon talk to those who didn’t. And they spread that light. It was like an infection. She spoke to a thousand, but within half an hour, five times that many were charged up and ready to die for her.”

  “What?” I leaned forward. “Her commands can pass on to others?”

  “No,” said Tamara. “She’s no king troll. She didn’t give them specific orders. She simply filled them with passion and devotion. They retained their own wills, it’s just that their desires aligned with her own. It’s how she’s amassed an army so quickly. She needs but speak, and everyone who comes in contact with her people falls in line.”

  “Shit.” I sat back, running my fingers through my hair. “That’s… I mean, it makes my abilities look really limited.”

  “Different,” said Tamara. “You can directly command. I doubt she can. She simply inflames hearts and inspires suicidal devotion.”

  I stared at her, mind reeling, trying to fight off the guilt that was already eating at the corners of my mind. “So - she’s alive? Dead? Undead? Did you get a sense?”

  “I couldn’t figure it out,” said Tamara. “I wasn’t close enough to read her matrix, and she looked alive. But she was dead when we left her. Whatever Iris did to her matrix, it brought her back.”

  “As a hereshen,” I said. “Hence the Paruko’s concern. They said Iris was fucking with the boundaries between life and death. Now we see what they meant. She’s clearly no animated corpse. She’s… alive? Not dead or undead. Unalive?”

  “Unalive,” said Tamara slowly, tasting the word. “That works.”

  For a long minute, we remained in silence; then I shook myself free of my shock and rose to my feet, moving forward to take her hands in mine. “I can’t tell you how happy your return makes me. By the Hanged God’s -”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  I coughed, tried again. “It’s damn good to see you again, Tamara. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.” And her words were said with such earnest simplicity that they warmed my heart. “I imagine you’ve much to tell me.”

  “So much! But I want to wash first. I’ve been up all night working in Noose. I can’t even imagine how bad I smell.”

  Her smile was fond. “Pretty atrocious. But not as bad as when you were first wheeled into my hut down by the docks.”

  I snorted. “That’s a relief. How about we freshen up and take breakfast together? I’ll tell you everything over food.”

  Tamara placed a hand over her stomach as it rumbled audibly. “That sounds good.” Her smile broadened. “I can’t wait to see the others. Where is everyone?”

  My smile slipped. “Pogo’s at… well. I’ll tell you all soon.”

  And I led her down the entrance hall, up the grand sweeping staircase to the second floor, and there we parted ways. I ordered a servant to tell the kitchen to prepare breakfast for two, then spent the next half hour washing grime and blood away, and rooting around for a clean outfit. I finally descended, feel
ing weary but excited.

  When had I slept last? Two days ago? Maybe three? The days were blurring together, connected by long nights of bloodshed and violence in the Noose.

  No matter. I’d sleep soon enough.

  Tamara was waiting for me in the dining room, seated at the far end of the titanic table, where servants were busy serving her a bowl of soup and pouring her juice. A side table groaned under a wealth of cheeses, dark breads, bowls of fruit, salvers of glistening sausages, platters of bacon, and a wealth of scrambled eggs accented with chopped chives and melting cheese.

  My stomach tried to digest itself in an orgy of anticipation, and I sat at the head of the table beside Tamara, nodding to everything the servant offered till my plate was overflowing.

  “All this food,” said Tamara, carefully slicing a sausage, “and yet you look like a man whose not eaten in days.”

  “Been busy,” I said around a mouthful of eggs and bacon. Taking up my coffee, I washed it down, then forced myself to pause and smile. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “The beginning,” said Tamara, raising her slice of sausage with amusement. “I find that’s usually best.”

  So I did. I told her of the raid on our subterranean base, the medusa and Eddwick, how Netherys had saved me, changed into a high elf, then been lost when we’d struck at Aurelius.

  “He was your father all along?”

  It was hard to recall my own shock at the revelation, but I saw it writ large across Tamara’s face.

  “Yeah. Hard to believe I’d been working with him, attending his parties, and never knew. But I fled to Iris. Who was more than willing to help.”

  And so I told her the rest. Iris’s strange confidence, our final confrontation with my father, and how she’d imprinted her spirit upon his own, diverting the Dream Eaters so they took him away forevermore. How she’d died, Baleric’s withdrawal, and how I’d placed the councilors under my power.