Shadowkings

by Michael Cobley

  "Well?"

  The revenant stopped at the foot of the dais and bowed his head. "Majesty, another of us has returned to the dust."

  A clenched fist slammed down on the arm of the throne.

  "Who is this man? The girl says that he's just some merchant prince from Yularia - "

  "By your pardon, majesty, but it is not a man but a boy who has the seed."

  "You saw him?"

  "I spoke with him, majesty."

  "And here you are. Yet it appears that the seed is not in your possession, Argatil. How can this be?"

  Argatil, once Archmage and Imperial advisor, straightened and stared at his accuser. "Sire, the boy is your son. Your child by the Duchess of Patrein."

  Korregan, twenty-seventh monarch of the Khatrimantine Empire, regarded the former Archmage with a green eye. "Are you certain? Yes, I expect you are. So Illian's offspring survived all these years...Still, we must have the seed ready and waiting for our master, and soon - " He pointed at the pair of revenants who had captured the girl. "You two, take this sentimental fool and go after my esteemed son. Use him as a decoy, or even kill the boy if you have to, just bring me the..."

  Then a thin smile crept over his leaden countenance. "On the other hand, perhaps I should attend to this myself. After all, there are some things that only a father can do."

  * * *

  The crest of the ridge was busy with horses and their riders looking for any kind of shelter from the fine, steady rain. With dawn still an hour or more away, torches hissed in the damp air and hastily-made fires crackled as the Mogaun boiled up crocks of beverage from an assortment of tubers and seeds. At the centre of the activity were the ruins of the old fort. One massively-built corner was still standing, its stones gleaming in the rain, its accumulated burden of small bushes and saplings sending strings of drips to the ground below.

  As Byrnak climbed over the eroded remains of the outer wall, he saw that Grazaan and Thraelor were already present, as were a group of Acolytes. They were gathered by the fort's overgrown corner wall, marking lines on ground and stonework, and did not look up at his arrival.

  "Greetings, o General," said Grazaan.

  "Brothers," Byrnak mumured in reply as he crossed to the pair of opaque figures. Thraelor was still a dour-faced, grey-haired man while Grazaan remained a tall, handsome youth. Both were attired for battle, Thraelor in the heavy, battered trappings of a mercenary while Grazaan wore a suit of armour seemingly modelled upon the shells of sea creatures. But in colour it was a glassy red, gleaming like translucent blood. Grazaan smiled, regarding Byrnak with cat-like eyes.

  "It appears that the Black Priest's timing does not sit well with you, brother."

  "Nor does it with us," Thraelor said bluntly. "But that is trivial next to his carelessness and his negligence."

  Byrnak nodded slowly. "Yasgur."

  "Exactly. He habitually overstretches himself and exposes us all to potential disaster."

  "His arrogance is undermining all we have gained," said Grazaan. "For all we know, the Motherseed may no longer be in Besh-Darok. If this new strategy of his fails, we must pursue other alternatives."

  "Such as Gorla and Keshada?" Byrnak said. "A long, slow task - "

  "But certain," said Thraelor. "Our domination of this land would be complete and irreversible."

  Uncertain, Byrnak shrugged. "Our nameless hidden brother might be swayed," he said. "But what of Ystregul?"

  "Let us see if he survives his latest endeavour, first," Grazaan said, glancing past Byrnak. "Enough - he approaches."

  The rain was growing heavier and gusts of winds tugged at the robes of Ystregul and his servants as they trooped into the ruined fort, each bearing a wooden staff. The Black Priest inspected the markings made by the Acolytes then turned to face the other Shadowkings and gave a stiff bow. At that moment, the spectral, helmed form of the Hidden One stepped out of nowhere and sauntered over to join the others. The look of poisonous anger that trembled in the Black Priest's features just then gave Byrnak an immense inner pleasure.

  Ystregul mastered his fury and lifted his gaze to stare at the sky. Fine droplets of rain swirled about and over him, yet Byrnak saw none touch his face nor mar his full, perfectly black beard and hair.

  He will betray you, said that familiar darkening voice within his mind. Strike him down while you can.

  Be silent, was his only reply.

  "The time is upon us," Ystregul began.

  "Again..." muttered the Hidden One.

  "The past awaits, the future awaits, the very heavens await the return of the Lord of Twilight. Mountains will be hewn into temples, the seas will open and the sun will give forth wine when the Prince of Dusk walks upon the earth..."

  Byrnak felt a chill at the words, and sensed a thread of dark anger winding its way through his thoughts.

  "The moon will be our banner, the shadows shall breed with shadows, and all the realms will become as one." Eyes glittering with an unfettered voracity, he raised his staff and turned to his dozen or more servants, saying, "Begin!"

  Gathered in a rough semicircle, the Acolytes pressed the tips of their staves to points in the designs they had scribed on ground and wall. As each began to murmur a harsh incantation, a vivid green radiance spread quickly through the patterns. The rain hazed the hot, bright symbols and tenuous vapours began to rise.

  "Brothers," said Ystregul. "Lend me your strength."

  It was no effort to reach for power. The Wellsource was always there and for Byrnak, drawing upon it had become as easy as breathing in. Channelling it to Ystregul demanded a conscious shaping of the flow, giving it direction. And all the time part of his awareness was observing the Black Priest, watching for any hint of treachery.

  At the focus, Ystregul seemed taller, his presence dominating the gathering. Enclosed by a restless aura, he stood facing the patterns, one hand grasping his staff and guiding its burning tip across the intricate weave. Raising his free hand, he uttered a deep-throated cluster of syllables - brutish, primal sounds - and swept his hand down. The air twisted like a membrane bitten by invisible jaws, and the mossy wall behind rippled and faded into a view of the throne room in the palace at Besh-Darok. The grassy ground with its symbols blurred into a fire-blackened marble floor upon which more symbols glowed, sustained by grey forms wielding rods of brightness. Across the gloomy hall, a slight female form sat huddled at the foot of the throne steps, watched over by a green-eyed guardian.

  Byrnak was concentrating on Ystregul's actions, as were the other Shadowkings. Their mistrust was almost tangible, yet Ystregul himself seemed innocent of any dubious machination and fully intent on preparing for the ritual, concealing nothing. Then he noticed that the man's head was slowly turning, not far, just enough to give Byrnak a piercing sidelong glance and a wide malicious grin.

  "The Acolytes!" said the Hidden One suddenly. "They are - "

  Before Byrnak could react, the Black Priest, the Acolytes and everything vanished in a dazzling, blinding burst of light. A monstrous thunderclap shook the ground and a rushing force picked Byrnak up and threw him backwards. Instinct and anger seized the Wellsource for him, and he slowed his flight and set himself back on his feet. A thick cloud of fumes and steam was already dissipating, revealing nothing but a charred wall and scorched ground with a few clumps of burning grass. Ystregul and his Acolytes were gone.

  "That traitorous filth!" said Thraelor. "Where did he go?"

  "To the palace, of course," the Hidden One said. "Where the Motherseed is, where the power will be."

  There was a sudden cry from Grazaan, whose beautiful features were contorted with alarm and fury. "He attacks my city!...with nighthunters!..." Then he disappeared. In the next instant Thraelor, without any explanation, did the same.

  An eery silence fell, then Byrnak became aware of sounds of fighting from the darkened terrain around the ridge, sounds that were coming closer. He felt torn between a kind of shocked lack of purpose, and a hatred of the
Black Priest so extreme it seemed to exist apart from himself.

  'His followers are attacking yours," the Hidden One said, then gave a dry laugh. "There was not much he wanted left whole behind him."

  "How sure of himself he is," Byrnak said. "I envy such certainty."

  "Certainty! A mask for stupidity, a flaw which will break him." The other's voice was full of contempt. "I am not done with him yet."

  "You mean to go to the palace?" said Byrnak. "I will accompany you - "

  "I am already there, but you should stay here and salvage something from this wreckage," the Hidden One said. "Be patient - I will send him to you."

  Then he too was gone.

  Byrnak stared out at the concealing night, focussing his awareness, searching.

  Obax...Obax...bring the clans to the ridge...

  Lord, we are fighting our way towards you, but the Black Priest's vassals are ferocious and their shamen wreak much havoc.

  How soon?

  Minutes, great lord, but there is other news from our scouts...they say that Yasgur is riding forth from Besh-Darok with the Imperial rebels at his side. Should I order a portion of your men to attack them?

  A third will be sufficient, then bring the rest here.

  There was a wordless assent and as Obax's presence, the taste of his personality, faded from Byrnak's thoughts, something else emerged from the veils in his mind and rang through all his inner halls and chambers

  A dark and baleful laughter.

  * * *

  One moment Alael was staring at a misty door in the wall of the throne room, and the tall, robed man who stood beyond it with several others. Then there was a flash of light and the door was gone, and the tall man was leading his followers across the great hall.

  He stopped before her, gazing down. She felt dwarfed by his height and broad-shouldered physique, almost smothered by his presence. But she would not be cowed and made herself look up at the dark hunger of his eyes.

  "What a countenance of innocence this is," said the man, whom she knew to be Ystregul, the Black Priest. "Yet even if her spirit were blackened and base, it would matter nothing - her blood is the key which will open the way to the domains of the eternal. All I require now is the lock - "

  "I know you!"

  A grey stooped figure came forward, the one who had returned without the Motherseed. Alael felt a stab of pity at the despair that was writ openly on his aged stone features.

  "Who might you be?" said the Black Priest.

  "One who knows you well."

  "Ah, yes - you are Argatil." Ystregul stared in contempt. "Do you know where my seed is?"

  "I know you - I have seen your face reflected in a thousand swords, in the patterns of blood spilt upon the ground, in the smoke rising from razed towns and villages, in the stones of dried-up riverbeds, in the carrion of battlefields - "

  "You do not know me, old man," Ystregul said in a low voice heavy with menace.

  But Argatil went on. "I have heard you weeping with joy at the altars of pain. I have seen your hand in the ruins of the ages - "

  "You have never seen me!" Ystregul said tightly, angered.

  "I can see you now, even behind that mask you are wearing..."

  Uttering an inarticulate cry, Ystregul hurled a burning knot of green fire at the revenant Archmage. For a second Alael saw a smile of weary peace on Argatil's face...then it struck, and with a terrible cracking sound he shattered. She gasped in fright and, in reflex, covered her head with her hands as the pieces rattled and clattered all about.

  The Black Priest stood staring at the destroyed revenant with something akin to fear in his eyes. His lips moved as if in some inner dialogue, but he made no sound. Knowing she was in the presence of madness, Alael glanced away as tears came.

  "So you disposed of the old dotard, my lord. Good."

  She looked up and the sight made her catch her breath in dismay. The revenant emperor Korregan had returned, bearing a shocked, unresisting Tauric who was clasping to his chest the Motherseed. The emperor floated over to Alael, deposited Tauric next to her then alighted at the edge of the floor pattern and bowed very slightly to the Black Priest. Ystregul had regained his composure and smiled at the forced show of obeisance.

  "Your loyalty will be rewarded," he said. "In the domains of the eternal I shall need many lieutenants, many governors - "

  "Give me a body," Korregan said. "Give us real flesh, skin and bone as was promised. Then we will do whatever you ask."

  Alael glanced at Tauric who sat, dazed, beside her.

  "What happened," she said. "How are you feeling?"

  "She wouldn't stop him," he mumbled. "He came for me and the seed...did nothing...I..." He clutched her arm, his eyes wild. "That...thing is not my father! It can't be..."

  "The promise will be honoured," Ystregul was saying. "First, blood must flow upon the seed, opening the way. Then - "

  "Then there will be nothing," said a voice. "Because you will be nothing and He will be everything."

  Visibly started, the Black Priest whirled to stared, along with everyone else, at the armoured figure sitting on the throne. The armour was golden, almost amber, and all its parts were ornately worked with images of lizards and snakes and adorned with spines. A grotesque full mask-helm was likewise decorated.

  "Ah, my faceless brother," said the Black Priest, relaxing slightly. "Faceless, nameless and spineless..."

  "You are His puppet, Ystregul. You think that you are pursuing your own purpose, but He has laid out the path for you, all the steps, all the tasks that will give him the power you dream of."

  "Such ravings are proof of an addled mind, brother," Ystregul said. "Leave this place while you may."

  The figure on the throne, whom Alael guessed to be one of the other Shadowkings, laughed softly.

  "You hear Him, do you not? Whispering black thoughts to you, all the day and all of the night, sometimes begging, sometimes demanding, but always there, waiting." A gauntleted hand pointed. "I know you hear Him because I do too, and like me you will not give it all up for Him."

  "Leave now. I shall not make this offer again."

  "Yes, life is not so bad that you would voluntarily end it - for Him. Is that not so?"

  "Your armour is tarnished, brother," Ystregul said. "Let me polish it for you."

  He swept his staff before him in a swift arc and a bright bolt of power sprang forth. Simultaneously, all his servants unleashed sorcerous attacks, a howling barrage of spikes, nets and spears that lit up the great hall. A storm of fire and radiance raged around the throne but its occupant, seemingly unaffected, stood and spread his arms in a dramatic gesture. Bright spines burst from his armoured form, all speeding unerringly towards each and every one of his assailants. Some were thrust backwards, while others lost fragments or limbs. One of them, a gaunt bowman who was launching fiery arrows from several feet up froze in midmotion and fell to the floor with a mighty crash.

  Crouching on the floor while the waves of deadly force flew to and fro above her head, Alael almost jumped when Tauric seized her hand.

  "Look - they're getting away..."

  Across the hall, the mages who had been under guard were sidling along the wall and moving towards the main doors now that all the revenants were otherwise occupied. Tauric pointed at an archway to the right of the throne dais. Alael nodded and together they began crawling towards the arch. They were almost two-thirds of the way there when Tauric suddenly gasped and slumped onto his side.

  "Tauric, what's wrong?" Alael said, panicking.

  "...won't let me..." he said. "She wants..." The words dissolved in choking sobs and moans of pain as he lay there with the Motherseed held in the crook of his arm.

  "No, you won't be leaving just yet!" said a harsh voice.

  Glancing over her shoulder she saw against the flaring battle of sorceries the ashen form of the revenant emperor Korregan gliding towards them. Her gaze immediately went back to Tauric's metal arm, remembering how sh
e had used it to tap into her own wild power. Then she saw the seed, grabbed it in desperation and swung round to face the oncoming danger.

  At once it began rising from within, like a stormfront. She could taste it in her mouth, a pungent heat and a pure whiteness she could sense but not see. The pursuing revenant was now only yards away and Alael was trying to will the burgeoning power into breaking free when a bright spear flashed down from near the throne and struck the revenant in the side.

  With a sound like a hundred hammers smiting a hundred anvils, the grey emperor burst apart. Fragments large and small flew in all directions and Alael, eyes tight shut while turning away, felt the stings of shards and splinters on her face and neck, bare arms and hands.

  Then it was over and she looked down at her hands cradling the heavy Motherseed to her chest, saw the chips and slivers embedded in the skin, and saw the blood that was trickling down to where her palms were pressed against the seed's cool, grained surface...

  "Now my revenge shall begin."

  It took her a moment to realise that the vast, resounding voice had come from her own throat, had been shaped by her lips.

  From the other side of the high chamber came a roar of fury. "No! - that power is mine!"

  As Ystregul lunged across the chamber, Alael felt herself being lifted up amid a coruscating silvery aura which was thickening in opacity by the second. Tingling waves of hot and cold raced all over her body and the veins and arteries on her arms and hands pulsed with vivid rainbow hues. It was terrifying, but it was beautiful.

  (...fear not, child. You will come to no harm...)

  She felt herself rising into the air, yet cushioned on all sides. Looking down she saw that the glittering aura had coalesced into a semblance of prodigious legs and to either side were the blurred shapes of huge arms. Am I within the body of a god?