Emperor of Shadows

by Mike Truk

  Out my essence poured as Iris reworked my matrix, out and into Iris, who snapped back into focus, her figure distinct - then poured that power into Aurora.

  Aurora slammed back, lifting off the ground, arms thrown out wide, hair falling into her face.

  The twin eyes of the witch goddess narrowed, and I felt her will begin to impose itself, beginning to pass through that swirling archway of black magic. I felt her interpose herself between Iris’s assault and the White Lioness.

  “Mother Magrathaar!” Netherys’s voice was so ragged with emotion and despair that it near cracked. “I beseech you, I adjure you from your altars, let this one go! Do not save her, and I swear that I shall prove an infinitely more fitting servant, and will bend myself always to your will! Please! In light of all that I have ever done for you, and ever shall, let this hereshen go!”

  The eyes turned to consider the kneeling dark elf, and for a moment, all hung in the balance.

  Then, by slow degrees, that ancient, vile will withdrew itself.

  Iris’s fingers clutched at my chest as if seeking to dig through my flesh and find my heart. More power flowed out of me; a torrent, a flash flood, violent and awesome, a deluge that swept through Iris and into the floating Aurora.

  I felt myself growing small. Diminishing. The font was endless, but the font itself could be removed. I felt Iris cup it in her hand, the essence of my being a king troll, then crush it.

  Released in the process was a shockwave that sealed over Aurora’s reality-defying scars, sending forth a wave of power that knocked my companions to their knees even as it sent corpses tumbling away.

  Aurora raised her head, blinked. “Oh,” she said, in the faintest of voices. In that moment I saw her as she had once been, skin tawny gold, her face flushed with health. Then she, too, fell the dirt and lay still.

  “You did it?” Cerys gaped at the fallen White Lioness. “It’s done?”

  “It’s done,” said Iris, turning back to me. “As am I.”

  “No,” I whispered, and took hold of her hands, seeing as I did so that mine own had become pale and human once more. “Stay. Just a little more. Don’t go.”

  Tears came to my eyes as I pulled her into the tightest of embraces. Holding her close, I inhaled her scent, trying to crush her into my very heart.

  Iris raised her lips to my ear. “I have loved you more than life itself, Kellik. I regret… nothing.”

  “Iris,” was all I could choke out.

  And I felt her body change, growing limp; with horror, I drew back and saw that I held a corpse, the mauled body of a man.

  I allowed it to fall to the muck, where it lay beside the corpse of the White Lioness.

  “Iris,” I whispered, and this time I truly knew she was gone forever.

  Aurora’s death had sent her army into chaos. Ranks were growing muddied, some pushing to get away, others falling to their knees in horror.

  Chaos reigned atop the walls of Port Gloom. I fancied I could hear Yashara and crying out commands, but knew I was too far to really do so.

  “I… I can’t believe…” said Tamara.

  “What now?” asked Netherys.

  “Now?” I turned to survey the walls. The people of Port Gloom were fleeing back into the city through the Field Gate. Many cast fearful glances our way. “There’s no going back. Not as we were. But we’ll return, even if only briefly, to say our goodbyes.”

  “And then?” asked Cerys.

  I smiled bleakly at her. “I don’t know. I’m sure we’ll figure something out. After all, we have the rest of our lives in which to do so.”

  Chapter 17

  Three days later, we managed to enter Port Gloom under the cover of night. It wasn’t hard. The White Lioness’ army had collapsed; half the numbers opted to march back home to Olandipolis, the rest camped out in dismay.

  Port Gloom, never one to pass up an opportunity, opened the gates to allow a new kind of army to sally forth: vendors, merchants, herbalists, and doctors. Phalanxes of carpenters and builders who set about erecting a tent city which they charged the defeated a copper to inhabit.

  The fields before the walls were soon a bustling suburb, composed of great canvas-walled hospitals, gambling dens, whore houses, impromptu markets, and endless caravans preparing to sojourn across the wilds to take those willing to pay home.

  I couldn’t help but watch this development with a smile.

  My loves and I laid low, having melted into the chaos, and finding a dark corner in which to wait, to allow the dust to settle. Like a snake shedding its skin, Port Gloom discarded its wartime self, unnatural to its vigorous mercantile instincts. It set about reinventing itself all over again.

  News was hard to come by. The tales we heard contradicted themselves. In the end, I resolved to return and find out for myself what was taking place.

  That, and we had our goodbyes to say.

  Wearing hoods and cloaks, we joined the trickle of traffic entering the city through Field Gate. Gazing at those walking with us, I saw expressions of stupefaction and numbness. Pleased merchants and young gentlefingers weaseled their way through the crowd; guards barked out orders. Even a nobleman surrounded by private guards, boots and legs splattered with mud, his expression contemplative, walked blindly, staring out in personal reverie.

  The streets immediately within the Field Gate remained a converted barracks for the huge numbers of guards that had been drawn forth from the rest of the city to man the walls. Field Avenue passed through this encampment and spilled out into the Merchant District, every step of the way lined with opportunists and hopefuls.

  “Come to the Crownflower, the finest yet most eminently affordable inn you’ll ever find!”

  “Hot pies! Freshly baked, no rat, all hot, juicy goodness!”

  “Looking for a squad of brutal yet friendly bodyguards? Travel back to Olandipolis in comfort and style!”

  “New boots! Just a little bloody, but supple and only a copper!”

  Cerys linked her arm with mine. “This city is a wonder. Was it just two days ago everyone was on the verge of religious conversion?”

  “There’s only one true faith here,” said Tamara with a wry smile. “That of the gold coin.”

  “Humanity was ever thus,” said Netherys, bringing up the rear of the group. “There is a correlation between the brevity of your lives and your desperate yearning to be comfortable and well-fed.”

  I glanced back at her over my shoulder. “You’d not mind being cold and hungry, then?”

  Her smile was dark and enigmatic. “I have been before, and no doubt will be again. It’s simply a matter of having a ‘why’ worth suffering for.”

  “Well I’m feeling decidedly human,” said Cerys, tugging me along. “A hot bath and a good meal are all I want in life.”

  “We should be able to manage that,” I said, and pulled down the edge of my hood as we passed a contingent of Black Wolves, all eight marching in smart order.

  It seemed my commands were still holding.

  We were forced to walk nearly to the Snake Head before finding an old hansom cab willing to take us the rest of the way, and just as well. The rain was starting to come down - one of those dour, steady storms that would flood out the sewers and wash the streets clean, making Port Gloom habitable for another week or two.

  We rode in companionable silence, jostling and jouncing as the cab hit every stray rock, gazing out the window at the endless gray expanse of the city. The old buildings with their swaybacked roofs, the endless forest of chimneys spewing black smoke into the sky, the endless variety of pedestrian traffic, the occasional temple or shrine.

  We rattled over the New Bridge and into the Garden District, there winding our way to Thorne Manor. A pair of guards stood before the wrought iron gates, scowling in anticipatory displeasure at the sight of the dilapidated cab.

  But when I stepped down and pulled back my hood, they spluttered in shock and saluted smartly, causing our cab driver to nearly fal
l off his high seat.

  “Pogo home?” I asked as the guards pulled the gate open.

  “Master Pogo is in residence, yes, my lord.”

  “Good.” I climbed back into the cab, staring morosely out at the luxurious grounds, the manicured bushes, the flower beds, the winding paths I’d never had the time to walk.

  How many of the wealthy never had a chance to enjoy the fruits of their work?

  We rolled up to the manor’s front doors. I jumped down before a groomsman could approach, extending my hand to help the ladies down. Rain sheeted down on either side of the portico; the air was heavy, humid, and betrayed that distinctive mineral tang.

  I guess even the rain couldn’t make it into Port Gloom without getting changed.

  Guards bolted to attention as we climbed the steps, pulled open the huge front doors, nearly knocked themselves out, so vigorous were their salutes.

  I felt bad about tracking in the mud and rain, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. Thorne Manor’s entrance hall was brightly lit; no expense spared on candles, and every surface shining as if recently polished. But one squint and I could see that young waif who’d come to kill me with her shadow cat demon, oh so long ago. The damage Pony had done pummeling it to death. The smears of blood, long washed up, the cobwebs.

  No matter how much Thorne Manor changed, some memories would never go away.

  “Master Kellik!” Xandi came rushing forward, tail lashing, eyes wide. “You’re safe! We’ve heard the most terrible rumors, have been beside ourselves with fear for you.”

  “Xandi,” I said. “We’re fine. Where’s Master Pogo?”

  “Where else?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “In his study with Lady Yashara.”

  “Lady Yashara?” asked Cerys, amused.

  Xandi looked stricken. “Oh yes. We dare not call her anything else.”

  “Thanks.” I was about to walk on but paused, turning to consider her. “I’m leaving Port Gloom. Don’t know when I’ll be back. But I’ll see to it that you and the other girls are taken care of, all right?”

  “Can I come with you?”

  Cerys snorted.

  I could only smile. “No, Xandi.”

  “Ah well.” And then her eyes twinkled. “Can’t fault me for trying.”

  We marched up to Pogo’s study, which had previously been a grand suite of rooms, all of which had been given over and repurposed toward his ends.

  Sitting outside his door was Pony, a green felt hat pulled down over his face, bandy legs crossed at the ankles, huge, rugged hands resting on his small paunch of a belly.

  At our approach, he slid his cap up with one digit, revealing a piss-yellow eye, then sighed with satisfaction at the sight of us. Climbing to his feet with remarkable alacrity, he moved forward to envelop me in a hug.

  It was like being entombed in stone or smothered by an avalanche. But I didn’t mind, squeezed back as hard as I could, unsure if Pony felt anything. When the war troll stepped back, I couldn’t help but grin at his craggy features.

  For a moment we just stood there, staring at each other, then he nodded and stepped aside.

  That was all that was needed. No words, no more gestures. The acceptance and loyalty, the love and steadfastness, were more than I deserved. My eyes prickled; I patted his great, ornery shoulder before moving forward to open the door and step inside.

  Pogo was behind a desk so large he could have run laps around it. Even so, precious little of its wooden surface was visible, buried as it was under pile upon pile of documents and folders. Small glass globes gave off a soft, amber light, each hanging from a cradle of string affixed to the ceiling rafters, covering all with ambient illumination.

  Pogo himself was dressed in a new outfit, a black and crimson get-up with a high, starched collar and black velvet vest.

  Yashara sat in a massive armchair before the fire, a curved blade resting across her thighs, a whetstone in one hand. She’d doffed her cruel iron armor for a comfortable looking outfit of black velvet and leather, and looked ravishing, her majestic figure at once hinted while also being concealed.

  “Looking good, Pogo,” said Cerys as she entered beside me.

  “Hmm? Oh! Oh!” The little goblin threw down his document and leaped up so that he stood atop his chair, where he leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Master Kellik! Mistress Cerys! Lady Tamara! Netherys! You’re alive! Alive and well!”

  “I don’t even merit a ‘lady’?” asked Netherys with a sniff. “You’ll make me fear you don’t think well of me.”

  Yashara rose and reached me in three strides, to wrap me in her arms and clasp me close. “I knew you’d return,” she said, voice rough with emotion. “Knew this was the best place to wait for you.”

  Seized by an excess of glee, Pogo leaped onto the desk. Darting between the towering piles, he leaped down and ran over to embrace me around the thighs.

  I reached down to pat his shoulder as I squeezed Yashara back.

  “Ah! What wild news I’ve heard!” Pogo stepped back, adjusting his spectacles. “I haven’t been able to get a straight account no matter how much gold I splash around. Tales of the dead coming to life, of your killing the White Lioness in a half dozen different ways, of your leading a rebellion against the Star Council, your being a monster, your being any of a dozen different things. Master Kellik! You have left this city fairly abuzz with wonderment and speculation!”

  “He has proven remarkably immune to my own first hand account,” said Yashara, stepping back with a fond smile. “Insists on hearing each and every lurid version.”

  I grinned and set to removing folders from chairs so we could sit. “Most of it is probably true. If you call for some drinks and refreshments, I’ll even tell you about it.”

  “But of course! Pony! Pony, be a dear, and tell Bartholomew to bring up four or five decanters of whisky, as many bottles of our best Ellosaint wines, and a platter of finger foods?”

  Pony, who’d ducked his head in through the doorway, frowned.

  “Finger foods,” repeated Pogo. “Not fingers. Hors d'oeuvre. Aperitifs? Small snacks. Little food things. Oh, he’ll know what I mean.”

  Pony’s expression remained dubious as he retracted his head.

  “Here,” said Yashara, turning her massive leather armchair around and patting its seat. “You deserve nothing less, my love.”

  I grinned and sat down with a sigh, and then smiled even wider when Yashara draped her magnificent form across the chair’s arm and back, one large leg crossing over to wrap over my knee.

  “But while we wait,” I said, “what’s been going on in the city?”

  “Well. It has been a veritable madhouse. Bedlam, as far as the eye can see.” Pogo crossed back around to his chair behind his desk and took a seat. “For a day or two, it was mere anarchy. But Captain Rory has proven his worth; he took control of the guard, quelled the worst of the riots, and soon imposed order. In your absence, he’s been promoted to commander of the guard.”

  “He’s done well,” Yashara said. “He has the makings of a great commander.”

  “Agreed.” I was being warmed by the fire on one side, Yashara on the other. “We should go ahead and make it official.”

  “Hmm,” said Pogo, noncommittally. “Why do I get the sense this is a temporary visit? Asking me to order the food, approving of your replacement?”

  I grinned. “Keep going.”

  “Well. I mobilized my printing press department and issued thousands of posters underlying the authority of the Star Chamber. Dispatched criers to each city corner. I believe it’s had an effect; complimented by the White Lioness’ death, we’ve managed to re-assert the authority of the government. It’s precarious, but we’re making inroads. Helped by my idea of issuing free rations and grain from the city warehouses to stave off the disruption to our supply chains.”

  “Smart,” I said. “Folks will be less likely to rebel with their stomachs full.”

  “Magistrate Mellonis has w
armed up to his task,” continued Pogo. “He’s turning into a veritable demagogue. But I approve of his measures; he’s become a focal point for the populace, venting their displeasures in the council and then reporting back via my printed broadsides. The Tangles will not be razed, after all, but rebuilt as they were before. This has gone a large way to placating the people.”

  “Hmm,” I said.

  “My apologies, Master Kellik. It was Mellonis’ idea, and I thought, given the situation, a good one.”

  “Fair enough. What else?”

  “General clemency has been promised to all who rebelled against the government. There shall be no mass incarcerations or attempts to ferret out the instigators. Again, another initiative of Mellonis. I, however, contributed in no small manner by suggesting the formal creation and management of what we’re calling the ‘Exurb,’ as in the growing tent city just outside the city walls.”

  “That was your idea?” asked Cerys.

  “More like my acceptance of a burgeoning reality,” said Pogo, smiling modestly. “But it has proven a wonderful opportunity to the more business-minded of the populace, resulting in both a chance to distract them from further complaints and a means to enrich themselves at the expense of our erstwhile conquerors. It’s chaotic, but we’re issuing licenses faster than we can print them, and all seems to be going well.”

  “Well done, Pogo,” I said. “You’re in your element.”

  The little goblin surveyed the endless piles of documents and gave a happy sigh. “There’s enough work here to last me several lifetimes. I doubt I’ll ever sleep again, or even see the sun.”

  “Like a pig in mud,” said Tamara with a fond smile. “I don’t think you could pry him out of here if you tried, Kellik.”

  “Pry me out?” asked Pogo. “So you are leaving? I’ll come, of course. Who else would manage your affairs? Assure that you didn’t become impoverished past the point of all dignity?”

  “No,” I said, and fondness and regret washed through me in equal measure. “This is your place, Pogo. It sounds like the Star Chamber has recognized your utility?”