Emperor of Shadows

by Mike Truk

  “Not good,” said Netherys. “Anybody who spends a lot of time focused on purity has very serious issues and means to drown the world in blood.”

  “Nobody called her a hereshen, however,” continued Cerys. “Instead, she’s called the White Lioness.”

  “Makes sense.” I tapped my lips. “‘Hereshen’ being the Dream Eaters’ term for her. But now that we know who she is, we need to use our knowledge of what happened to figure out what she is. I’ll task Pogo with researching the city’s archives for the term and see what we can learn about her true nature. Tamara thought she’d be turning her attention to Port Gloom right after conquering Olandipolis.”

  “And I thought we had time,” said Cerys in disgust. “I’ve never visited, but during my studies to become a Crimson Noose we researched each major city’s prime defenses. Olandipolis is one of the best defended in the known world. But so much for its walls.”

  “That’s what I thought. But if Tamara’s right, the city will fall from within, as White Sun faithful convert en masse to the hereshen’s cause and overthrow the government.”

  “Great,” said Netherys. “First question - should we turn away everyone coming from that region? Prevent the contagion from spreading into our city?”

  “I don’t know… I mean, thousands or more enter and leave Port Gloom each day.” I rubbed my chin. “If we close the walls, we’ll be entering a state of siege weeks before Aurora even comes our way.”

  “But we’d be safeguarding ourselves from infection,” said Cerys.

  “I’ll ask Pogo,” I said. “He’ll have a sense of whether that’s even feasible. Though it would be a huge blow to the public. They’re already furious about the destruction of the Noose.”

  “Second,” continued Netherys. “May I suggest we reach out to my brothers and sisters in Aglorond? Send an invitation for a couple of argosies to help counter these purity-obsessed fanatics?”

  I laughed. “Counter the White Lioness with several thousand dark elves? Oh, I can’t see a single drawback to this plan. Yes, let’s replace the Family with an even deadlier occupying force.”

  Netherys smiled darkly. “It would prove entertaining, I can promise you that.”

  “We’re looking to survive,” said Cerys coldly. “Not be entertained.”

  “Oh pooh,” said Netherys. “There’s no need to be so grim about imminent conquest and destruction.”

  To which Cerys could only level a withering stare in her direction.

  “Let’s focus on tonight,” I suggested. “We’ve two leaders to knock out, and I can’t be on hand for both.”

  I stood up and examined the map once more. “Delilah has her base of operations here, in the rambling estate that is the Perfumed Cloud. Yevost has his on the very southern tip of the docks, in Last Paradise. Both are sprawling buildings with various entry points and hidden exits. How do you two feel about tackling the Perfumed Cloud with Tamara while Pony and I take on the Paradise?”

  “Must I?” asked Cerys.

  “Oh, stop.” Netherys’s eyes glittered. “You know you like seeing me in action.”

  “I’ve never been inside the Cloud, but grew up hearing stories about it. It sits atop a smuggler’s haven, a nexus of three underground canals that exit into the bay here, here, and here. I’d suggest you break one assault team into three and send them in via the canals, while you lead the second directly against the Cloud.”

  “What manner of security will Delilah have?” asked Cerys.

  “The usual. Like most Aunts and Uncles, she’s historically counted on the Family’s reputation to keep her safe.”

  “That will have changed with the fall of the Noose,” said Netherys. “Nobody will be feeling safe now.”

  “Which is why you’ll be joined by Effezia and Tarn, the Exemplars of the Hanged God,” I said. “I sent word that they’d be needed tonight, and offered to pay double to ensure they were available.”

  Cerys gave a firm nod. “That should help.”

  “We’ll each take a Sworn - Tamara’s promised to ensure they’re available - and one of the White Sun Exemplars. No need to use the Bridge Nixie or Blightwort unless they’re absolutely needed.”

  “Takes all the fun out of it,” said Netherys. “No chance of things going horribly wrong at all.”

  “She was so much nicer as a high elf,” said Cerys, looking right at me. “Is there no way of changing her back?”

  “You can visit my chambers later tonight if you want to try,” said Netherys, amusement rippling under her words. “You’re sweet and innocent enough that it just might work.”

  In response, Cerys just stuck her tongue out at her.

  “The goal,” I said loudly, trying to draw their attention back, “is to parade Delilah and Yevost before the masses as we load them - or carry their comatose bodies - into the paddy wagons. I want the docks to see these formerly untouchable figures brought low. For there to be no doubt that they were arrested. Remember that.”

  “There’s that whole demon-possessed angle, though,” said Netherys. “Might make it a bit tricky to parade them around in irons.”

  “Beat them down,” I said simply. “Between all of you, one demon-possessed madam shouldn’t be much of a challenge. Beat her down until there’s no fight left in her, and then bring her out.”

  “That we can do,” said Cerys.

  “Turn out the prostitutes, confiscate Delilah’s files, and see if you can’t liberate a member of Imogen’s Web. Given that Veserigard’s intel on their locations is no longer reliable, we need to keep an eye out and find them where we can.”

  A grim nod from Cerys. “You want us to transport the seer somewhere if we find one?”

  “I’ll leave that to you to decide. If they’re ready to be released from this mortal coil, give them their freedom. Otherwise, bring them back to Thorne Manor where we can treat them with every kindness till we decide what the next step is.”

  Even Netherys’s expression turned grim.

  “We clear? Any questions?”

  “Look how good he’s getting at this,” said Netherys to Cerys. “So officious. So in control. Makes me shiver.”

  “Yes,” mused Cerys, looking me up and down. “Our little thief’s all grown up.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Do I have to paddle you both to get some respect?”

  “Yes, please,” said Netherys, leaning forward with mock enthusiasm.

  “Try it,” said Cerys, voice sweet. “See how far you get.”

  I laughed. “Fair enough. Now let's get downstairs and start organizing all those carriages. Tonight’s logistics are going to be an utter nightmare.”

  “We need to send word to the Execution Hill prison,” said Cerys. “Prepare them for the influx. We could be sending hundreds of new prisoners their way soon.”

  “Excellent point.”

  “I suppose I can double-check the objectives we’ll be handing out,” said Netherys with a sigh. “Ensure each captain is receiving the right paperwork and that nobody gets a copy of another’s mission.”

  “Great,” I said. “So I’m the only one on carriage duty? I guess I’m the only one on carriage duty.”

  “Such a noble leader,” said Netherys. “So brave. So willing to do the most boring tasks himself.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh as I pushed away from the table. “Who knew ruling a city would be so glamorous?”

  “Just wait,” said Netherys. “There’ll be a reward in it for you later tonight if all goes well.”

  “True,” said Cerys, and then fixed Netherys with a stare. “But you had best get in line. Some of us have been patiently awaiting their turn.”

  “What is this ‘patience’ you speak of?” asked Netherys innocently.

  “You’ll find out soon enough. Kellik? I expect you to seek me out later after we’re done. We have important matters to discuss.”

  “Important matters,” said Netherys, rolling her eyes.

  To which I could only gr
in. “As you command, my lady.”

  Cerys gave me a curt nod, all business, but couldn’t disguise the gleam in her eye. “Then let's get to work.”

  Chapter 8

  The Last Paradise was Port Gloom’s premier gambling hall, but to limit its varied attractions to just gambling was to do it a grave disservice. Spoken of up and down the continent’s coast, it was a mecca for the wealthy and desperate from Port Lusander to Carneheim. Reclusive, reserved for the elite, and boasting a refined reputation that made it fashionable for even local nobility to visit in the dead of night, it was an institution, a cultural landmark, a symbol of Port Gloom’s excesses and glory.

  Or so Yestov would have the world believe. Having grown up on the docks and been part of the underworld my whole life, I’d quickly learned the truth behind the fabulous facade. I’d seen beautiful young women plucked from the streets and offered a glamorous life serving refreshments to the wealthy patrons - then seen them return to the streets, a year or two later, wasted by addictions, their minds hollowed out by abuse, their beauty already faded and gone before they’d turned twenty.

  I’d heard of the gamblers who couldn’t satisfy their debts being kept prisoner until some wealthy patron could ransom that, or failing any ability to produce gold, be sold into slavery and shipped to Port Lusander. Heard tell of the Red Room and the horrors that took place there for customers with sufficiently depraved tastes and more gold than they knew what to do with.

  But beyond that, beyond the glittering entertainment the building supposedly offered, I knew the Last Paradise to be the center of the Family’s financial operations. Yestov was the massive spider at the center of the Family’s economic wealth, siphoning in great quantities of gold from the other Aunts and Uncles and laundering it back into a thousand purses, businesses, and economic interests, financing the vast bribery that ran most of Port Gloom and assured the Family’s dominance.

  Growing up, I and the other gentlefingers would tell each other of the endless bags of gold kept in the Paradise’s vaults, an ocean of gold coins which glittered mesmerizingly in the dark, enough gold to satisfy a dozen dragons. We imagined each covered cart that passed into the Paradise’s central courtyard to be loaded with loot, and dreamed of impossibly schemes to waylay one such and make our everlasting fortunes.

  Those childish fantasies gave way to sordid realities as I grew older, became an aspirant, learned from the veteran Family members what was really going on. In truth, little gold was stockpiled at the Paradise, though as much wealth passed through its halls as through the tax master’s custom house off the Bay of Ruin. The Paradise was a machine for processing wealth, redirecting it, applying it judiciously across countless beneficiaries, greasing palms, and ensuring the Family remained unchallenged and supreme.

  Yevost was the genius behind the Family’s economic empire, the head of its pyramid of fences, sharps, appraisers, loan sharks, and art dealers. It was said half the nobility in the Palace District owed him money, and that if he were to close shop the government of Port Gloom would stutter to a close.

  Time to find out how accurate those reports were.

  I rode with Pony over the New Bridge, no longer bothering to hide his presence. He’d become the symbol of the Count of Manticora, was redeeming the reputation of war trolls everywhere, and our passage was met with cries of encouragement as the locals raised fists and called out their approval.

  It appeared like the Family hadn’t been that popular after all.

  Behind us followed forty Black Wolves in four wagons, led by Captain Rory. They gleamed in the evening light, the crimson hues of the setting sun causing their black half-plate to glimmer as if recently polished.

  We moved quickly. Word would precede our arrival, but I urged our driver to move with all haste, giving the enemy little time to prepare. Coming over the New Bridge and driving down Bridge Street as we were, it was impossible to guess in which direction we’d turn. Temple District? Market Square? The docks?

  I led our team straight south, amidst the temples, to turn right and spear straight west toward the Paradise, giving Yevost as little warning as possible. At the very last, I ordered the wagon to go as fast as the driver was willing to go, my command forcing him to disregard all caution as we rattled along the narrow streets, the cart leaping and crashing into every pothole and plank.

  No matter. Pony and I would survive a few bruises.

  The plan was simple. The Last Paradise was a lofty edifice some three stories tall, wrapped around its central courtyard and so broad and crowded in by other buildings as to be impossible to be seen in its entirety at a go. So we’d not try to cover every exit, but rather storm in through the main four, ten men to a unit, to overwhelm the enemy with shock rather than force.

  We came careening around the last corner, and then there it was - lit up like a festival barge, paper lanterns hanging from sagging lines from each corner to the closest neighbor, windows lit, music filling the night, the space around it crowded with hopefuls and hangers-on.

  They scattered at our approach, yelling in fear and alarm. Pony let out a roar for good effect and leaped down, massive hammer in his hands, his glower sending the rest of the crowd packing.

  I jumped down nimbly by his side, exhilarated, feeling terribly alive, taking it all in, trying to gauge the variables, see if any aspect of our plan needed to be remedied.

  There were extra guards at the front door. Usually, the Palace kept their presence to a minimum to not make the guests nervous, but now fifteen men, in elegant chainmail and boasting contoured breastplates that made their physiques look phenomenal, stood by the huge archway that led into the building.

  All of them stared at Pony as if they were suddenly reconsidering their life decisions.

  But Yestov had to have known fifteen guards wouldn’t stop the force that assailed the Noose – which meant he was ready to run at the first sign of trouble, but hadn’t run yet.

  Perfect.

  I drew my blade and marched toward the doorway. People were screaming, shouting, running away, the other four carts racing up behind us, guards already leaping out.

  “Lie down and stay down!” I bellowed at the fifteen guards, who froze, blinked at me, and then complied, dropping their weapons to collapse like scythed stalks of wheat.

  Pony grunted as he stepped over the guards, looking vaguely disappointed.

  I led the way, jogging lightly through the massively ornate archway into the luxuriously appointed entrance, where an artificial waterfall rushed down a wall of flecked agate and leather chairs were arranged in intimate gathering spots beneath towering fronds. Rich and beautiful people stared at us in shock, drinks in hand, frozen to the spot by Pony’s appearance.

  A quick glance told me Yestov wasn’t here. Nobody of note was behind the main desk, in the corner booths. So I pressed on. We had to find the stairs. We had to go down. Yestov would be hitting the sewers.

  We had to catch him before he slipped through our fingers.

  The sound of fighting in the near distance broke out: the clash of swords, the cries of anger, the screams of pain.

  The Black Wolves had found more guard to tangle with.

  “You!” A handsome youth with stylish blond hair and emerald studs in his ears came racing to challenge me, a glittering silver blade in his lead hand. A half-dozen guards came right behind, all of them looking like heavy hitters.

  “Heya,” I said, then projected my authority: “Lie down, stay down, and make no attempt to stop me.”

  The handsome youth’s eyes flared open in shock as he nose-dived down to the ground, not even bothering with kneeling first. His fellows wilted, showed stronger wills, but all collapsed before us.

  “Nice sword,” I said, leaning down to pluck the glittering silver blade from the youth’s hand. “Mind if I borrow it?”

  “Yes!” rasped the man through gritted teeth.

  “Too bad.” I twirled the sword about once and admired how it left a silvered t
rail of ghostly light in its wake. “Thanks anyway. Pony?”

  The war troll grunted sourly as he stepped over the fallen men.

  “Don’t be bitter,” I remonstrated, restraining the urge to laugh. “I’m sure we’ll find someone for you to hit.”

  The entrance hall led opened into a hallway that ran perpendicular to us, and no doubt served as the spine of the building.

  I paused, unsure which way to turn, and then smacked my forehead. “One second,” I told Pony, then jogged back to the fallen youth. “Hey, what’s the quickest way for me to find Yestov?”

  The youth grimaced, looked like he was trying to bite his tongue off, then let out a gasp and spoke. “In his study on the second floor. Private stairs down to the basement. He’ll be heading there now.”

  “Sewer access in the basement?”

  The youth nodded. “Take a right in the hall, second door on the right, down the trapdoor to the wine cellar. Hidden door behind the oak barrel marked with an ‘X’. That leads to his escape route.”

  “Good man,” I said, patting his head comfortingly, and ran back. “Come on, Pony!”

  The second door to the right was locked, but a gentle push from Pony burst the lock. We entered a storeroom, shelving on all sides laden with bottles and small barrels, but my attention was on the trap door.

  Pony grasped the iron ring, pulled it up easily, and I raced down the stone steps into a truly impressive wine cellar. It was less a single basement room and more a series of interconnected chambers, all of them visible through one archway after another. Racks upon racks of dusty bottles were everywhere to be seen, their dark shapes gleaming in the light of the few magical lanterns that hung from the rafters.

  “Barrel with an ‘X’, barrel with an ‘X,’” I muttered as I ran through one archway after another. “Barrel with - ah. Pony?”

  The barrel was huge, large enough to hold the war troll himself, and held up on a wooden frame so that its top faced us. A large ‘X’ had been chalked over the cover. Pony stepped up, moved to haul it aside, then paused.