Shadow of Empire

by Jay Allan

  And he knew that he just might let him.

  Just not yet.

  EPILOGUE

  “GREETINGS, LORD GOVERNOR.” VILLEROI SET AN ORNATE BOX on the floor and knelt before Vos. “Your orders have been carried out to the letter on Kalishar, and I am pleased to report complete success.”

  Vos sat on his chair, looking down at the operative. “I am gratified to see you have returned so quickly, Lord Villeroi. Your efficiency and competence is greatly appreciated, as always.”

  The governor looked up and gazed out across the hall. Guards were lined up along each wall, and two stood at each side of his own chair, all dressed in ornate white-and-gold dress uniforms. He gestured toward one of them, pointing to the box Villeroi had set down on the floor.

  The soldier snapped to attention at the governor’s gesture and stepped forward, leaning down and opening the box. He reached inside and pulled out a severed head, holding it firmly by strands of sparse, stringy hair. He stood and held it aloft before Vos.

  The governor stared at the severed head of the ka’al. The former leader of Kalishar had taken the governor’s gold, and he had failed him badly—and repeatedly. Now he had paid the price, and his head would hang outside the Capitol, its slowly rotting remains a warning to others that Kergen Vos demanded success and competency from his minions.

  This pristine city and its pampered people would know what the rest of the Far Stars was about to learn: that ugliness could come to them, too.

  Vos nodded toward the prone agent. “Rise, Lord Villeroi, and accept my compliments on a job well done.” He’d always known the bastard noble was a capable agent, but he’d been concerned the man’s sadistic tendencies might affect his performance in the field. Vos himself was never hesitant to resort to cruelty or inflict pain, but he did it in furtherance of his strategies. Villeroi enjoyed it.

  Vos was pleased to see that Villeroi had executed his instructions perfectly and with complete success. He had kept his own impulses in check with admirable discipline, and he followed his orders with ruthless efficiency.

  Though I’d bet the ka’al’s end had not been pleasant.

  Rax Florin was Kalishar’s new ruler, and the coup that gave him the throne had been achieved quickly and almost bloodlessly, thanks to the vast quantities of imperial gold in his coffers. Florin’s allegiance had not come cheaply, and Vos was stunned when he first heard what Villeroi had promised. But the new ka’al was a vastly abler man than the old, one who promised to be a far more reliable ally than his predecessor. Nevertheless, even with stable leadership from Florin, it would be some time until Kalishar regained its strength. Half its ships had been destroyed in battles with Wolf’s Claw and the Celtiborian navy, and those losses would only be replaced slowly and at great cost.

  Villeroi rose and stood at attention before Vos. “My thanks to you, Lord Governor, and my loyal service, always.” He bowed and turned, marching toward the massive entry doors, his boots echoing loudly on the polished stone of the floor.

  But pleasure is so often tempered . . .

  Vos turned to the left, focusing on Mak Wilhelm. The general had returned from Celtiboria’s system a few days before. His ship had fled before the Celtiborian navy blasted the Kalishari ships to plasma. He hadn’t abandoned the pirates out of cowardice, but he couldn’t risk his ship being captured or even identified. Pirates invading Celtiborian space was one thing, an imperial vessel was quite another.

  “Out!” Vos roared. “All of you.” He waved his arms toward the guards and other functionaries. “I wish to speak with General Wilhelm alone.”

  There was an instant of stunned surprise, followed by a rush to the door. Vos walked back to his chair and sat down while the last of the guards stepped out of the room, the big double doors closing behind them. He looked down at Wilhelm. “Speak, General.”

  “I’m afraid Saragossa may well be lost, Excellency. The revolutionaries launched an offensive and appeared to be on the brink of success, but they were checked at the point of victory. Reports suggest a spaceship of some kind launched a devastating ground attack and routed their forces after inflicting enormous casualties. The forces of the nobility have apparently regrouped and launched a counterattack. Intelligence is sketchy, but it appears they have inflicted a serious defeat on the revolutionaries and are now threatening to retake the capital.”

  “A spaceship of some kind?” Vos’s eyes narrowed. “Care to venture a guess as to what vessel that was?” Vos knew what Wilhelm was going to say, but he wanted to hear it from his general’s lips.

  “I have little hard data from the ground, but I can only assume it was Wolf’s Claw before . . .”

  “Before it took off and blasted its way through the entire Kalishari fleet and then delivered Astra Lucerne back to her father?”

  “Yes, Excellency. That is correct.” Wilhelm stood at attention, obviously ready to accept blame for the debacle. “I offer you my sincere apologies, Lord Governor, and my sword if you wish it.” He knelt before Vos’s chair.

  Vos let him stay in that position for a moment before saying, “Get up, you fool. This setback is not your fault. Indeed, I knew I should have replaced that imbecile the ka’al long before I did. Without his incompetence none of this would have happened. We would have Astra Lucerne, and Saragossa would be in the hands of the revolutionaries.” He sighed. “Still, we have made some progress. The Far Stars Bank has played right into our hands, and they have no idea of our true intentions. We have made inroads into the transport guilds as well, progress that will accelerate as we consolidate control over the bank. Our plans on other worlds are also moving along quite well, and we have strong prospects for success on many of them.”

  His expression hardened. “We still have problems, though, and we must formulate plans to deal with them. Marshal Lucerne has successfully consolidated power on Celtiboria, and worse, he has come close to concluding an alliance with Antilles. We must develop another plan to contain or defeat Lucerne, and even more urgently, we must prevent his Antillean alliance from becoming a reality.”

  Wilhelm had stood up. “I agree, Excellency. Marshal Lucerne is a more dangerous problem than ever, and we must prevent him from extending his authority and influence.”

  Vos leaned back in his chair, silent for a few seconds. “And this Blackhawk and his crew. They are extremely capable and far too dangerous to ignore. We must find a way to rid ourselves of them once and for all.

  “We need a plan to kill Arkarin Blackhawk.”

  AN EXCERPT FROM ENEMY IN THE DARK

  Captain Blackhawk and the crew of the Wolf’s Claw continue their adventures in Enemy in the Dark, Book 2 of Jay Allan’s Far Stars series!

  “I’ll see your thousand and raise you . . . five thousand.”

  Ace stared across the table, through the dim light and swirling haze of cigar smoke. His opponent wasn’t half the poker player he fancied himself, and Ace would have been licking his chops anywhere else, ready to pounce. A pompous fool, whose arrogance greatly exceeded his skill, was tailor-made for a shark like Ace Graythorn. But today he had a job to do, and that was to keep the sucker at the table—something he would hardly accomplish by cleaning him out early.

  Ace looked at his cards for the third time, part of his carefully orchestrated act, and he exhaled loudly. Finally, he pushed his cards facedown into the center of the table with a groan that was only half playacting. Granted, he was sighing because he was laying down a winning hand—he figured his kings were a 90 percent favorite to win—but the sigh went over well. No matter what, the mission came first.

  The mission always came first.

  Alejandro Jose de Cordoba reached out and pulled the chips across the table with pudgy hands festooned with gaudy rings. He wore the elaborate dress of a Castillan nobleman, though Ace knew there was nothing but peasant blood coursing through his veins. Cordoba had earned his position the old-fashioned way. He’d killed for it.

  “Ah, Lord Suvarov, now you find y
ourself in a real game. One hopes you are not easily intimidated.” Cordoba’s voice was pleasant enough, despite the slightly mocking tone, but there was something else there, a menace only another killer would have noticed. Cordoba was a loud and boisterous man, but just like Ace, it was all an act. He was definitely not a man to be trifled with.

  “Indeed no, Lord Cordoba. I find the challenge . . . stimulating.”

  Ace had been gambling almost around the clock for five days, waiting for Cordoba to notice him and invite him to a game. Cordoba was well known at the Grand Palais as a high-stakes gambler . . . and more important, as the top henchman of Lord Aragona, the venerable establishment’s notorious owner.

  It was easy enough to play the buffoon, but much more difficult to strike the balance Ace had managed most of the last week: that of a reasonably capable player, but one with inadequate control over his emotions. Just the sort of opponent an arrogant shark like Cordoba would seek. Strong enough to feed his ego, but weak enough to fleece.

  Ace had vacillated between winning and losing, managing to stay about even despite making some wild and foolish bets. Of course, that was exactly his job, but it still hurt the gambler inside to give it all away just to play a role. And it wasn’t easy, either. He wanted to appear as a gambler who was reckless, but he wasn’t looking to actually lose money. Anything he left at the tables would just ramp up the costs of the mission, and that would come right off the bottom line.

  “I am delighted to hear that, Lord Suvarov.” Cordoba stared across the table, looking into Ace’s eyes.

  He’s trying to get a read on me, Ace thought, see how far he can push me. Good luck with that, you arrogant ass. It will take a better man than you.

  “Perhaps you’d care to up the stakes, Lord Cordoba?” Ace slipped his hand under the table and pulled a large purse from his belt. He dumped it on the table, and an avalanche of platinum coins poured out. “I need a chance to win my money back, and I am prepared to wager my imperial crowns against your Castillan florins. Shall we say fifty crowns to the florin?”

  Ace knew it was an attractive trade for Cordoba. Imperial coinage was illegal for use on Castilla, and although the official exchange rate at the planet’s central bank was twenty-five to one, that was a ludicrous example of wishful thinking that only supported a flourishing underground economy where a crown could fetch at least sixty florins, and often eighty or more.

  “Very well, Lord Suvarov.” Cordoba nodded, his eyes barely betraying him. He’s good, Ace admitted.

  Just not better than me.

  He’d put it about fifty-fifty Cordoba would try and bargain him down, but he’d picked just the right number, an attractive deal that wouldn’t look suspicious. “Then, by all means, Lord Cordoba . . . deal.” Ace looked out over the table. He was down about fifteen hundred florins, nothing he couldn’t manage. And the big pile of platinum crowns was occupying Cordoba’s attention.

  Ace wondered how the others were doing. His “wife,” Katarina, would be in the restaurant, hopefully making a fool out of him by now. And Blackhawk and Sarge would be approaching the target location soon. In another few hours, the crew of Wolf’s Claw would be blasting off Castilla after another successful mission—or they’d be in deep shit.

  Just like every other mission, he thought.

  “Lady Suvarov, what a delight to see you again.” Arragonzo Francisco de Aragona stood next to the table, smiling. He wore a magnificent suit, perfectly tailored and trimmed in gold and silver lace. His neatly arranged hair was pulled back and fastened behind his head with a jeweled clasp.

  Unlike Cordoba, Aragona was a Castillan nobleman. He was also a renowned ladies’ man, one who preferred his women as beautiful—and married—as possible. His noble pedigree was modest, something that would normally have placed a ceiling on how high a Castillan could rise. But Aragona was smart. And ruthless. His willingness to use whatever means were necessary to clear rivals from his way had taken him far, and now he was one of the Oligarchs Council, twenty men who ruled the planet.

  His interests included most of the hotels and all the gambling on Castilla and, less formally, almost the entirety of the planet’s underworld. He was the most junior member of the council by lineage, but he’d made up for that with fear. The other oligarchs, members of proud and ancient families, held their arrogance in check around Aragona. It was well known how he’d dealt with his rivals on his rise and, while he’d never made a hostile move against any in the highest ranks of the nobility, none of them wanted to risk being the first.

  “Lord Aragona, what a delight to see you.” Her voice was haughty, but there was something else there too for anyone truly listening, a hint of seduction. Katarina Venturi had played many roles, and she slipped effortlessly into the guise of an exiled Saragossan noblewoman. She glanced up with a smile. “Won’t you join me for dinner? I’m afraid my husband’s attention is consumed by the gaming tables.” She sighed, a passing hint of sadness on her face.

  Aragona bowed slightly. “By all means, Lady Suvarov. It would be my great pleasure. If I may say, your husband is a fool.”

  Katarina’s smile broadened, and she looked across the table to her dining companion. “Natasha, do get up and make room for Lord Aragona. You may retire.” She glanced back at Aragona, a playful glint in her eye. “I don’t believe I will be needing you any further this evening.

  Sam Sparks stood up and bowed her head toward Katarina. “As you wish, my lady.” Samantha was doing her best to look comfortable in the elaborate dress she was wearing, but Katarina could see how much difficulty she was having trying to keep the long skirts in place.

  “Lord Aragona.” Sam bowed again, but Aragona didn’t acknowledge her. I’m not surprised, given the neckline of this dress, Katarina thought. Indeed, his attention was focused on Katarina, who was leaning forward slightly, giving him a better view. Sam turned and quietly slipped out of the restaurant.

  “Now, won’t you keep me company?” Katarina smiled again, more mischievous this time, turning up the seduction just a bit.

  Aragona glided around the table and slid into Sam’s chair. “This is an unexpected pleasure.” He raised his hand, just a few centimeters above the table. The waiter rushed over, clearly trying to hide his nervousness. “Yes, Lord Aragona? What can I get for you?”

  “Have you ordered yet?” He glanced over at Katarina.

  “No, Lord Aragona. I have not.”

  “May I?” He smiled across the table.

  “Of course.”

  Aragona turned his head slightly. “Bring us a bottle of the Antillean Black Château. And we’ll start with the chilled Paru melon, followed by the fire-roasted dragonfish.”

  Katarina suppressed a grin. She was an expert in aphrodisiacs, and she knew most of them were either frauds or only marginally effective, Castillan Paru melons among them. She had a few truly effective elixirs in her own bag of tricks, but she was confident she wouldn’t need them. Aragona’s mind was already where she wanted it.

  “I have heard much of the legendary Castillan dragonfish, Lord Aragona, though I have never had the pleasure.” The large fish was from the extreme arctic regions of the planet, and it was considered one of the finest—and most expensive—delicacies in the Far Stars.

  “I am certain you will enjoy it.” He looked across the table and smiled. “And please, no more Lord Aragona, I beg you. I am Arra.”

  Katarina returned the stare with a smoldering sensuality. “And I am Irina.”

  Arkarin Blackhawk crept through the thickets on the outskirts of the estate, knee deep in the warm waters of the estuary. Aragona’s home was a vast compound, built along the sandy lowlands just south of Madrassa. The lights of the city were visible in the distance, along the ridge behind the great château.

  Blackhawk held his hand up behind him, a reminder to Sarge to move slowly, cautiously. Aragona’s residence looked like the opulent seaside home of a wealthy nobleman and, indeed, it was that. But it was much more, a
nd Blackhawk knew it. Arragonzo Aragona was more than a businessman and a politician. He was the undisputed leader of most of the Castillan underworld. Blackhawk didn’t have the kind of scouting data on the compound he’d have liked, but he was sure the place was a veritable fortress.

  But every fortress has its weakness . . . and sometimes that’s someone inside.

  He was confident Katarina would manage to do the job. He almost pitied any man who was the target of her seductions. No, it wasn’t getting her in that worried him. It was getting her out with the prisoner that gave him the cold sweat on his palms.

  Blackhawk suspected Aragona was neck deep in a wide variety of unsavory enterprises, but the Castillan mastermind had made one crucial mistake. He’d included the Far Stars Bank among the targets of his frauds, defaulting on a loan for more than ten million crowns. The bank was not an entity to accept such a loss without consequences, and it had hired Blackhawk and his people to capture Aragona and bring him to its headquarters on Vanderon.

  It’s so easy to see power on one world as being universal. Aragona probably thought he was secure in his little fiefdom.

  Blackhawk knew better. There is always someone more powerful.

  He reached his hand out again, about to signal to Sarge to move forward, but then he froze. He heard something, far away, his ears picking up the dull roar long before Sarge knew anything was going on. Then, a few seconds later, he saw the lights, moving down the road from the east.

  It was some kind of convoy, and it was heading right for the compound. He stared into the darkness, trying to focus on the oncoming vehicles. There was something about them, something troubling, familiar.