The Conquerors Shadow

by Ari Marmell

  /Damn it, Corvis! I warned you about this! I warned you! For hell’s sake, kill her!/

  But Corvis could only dress slowly for bed. For many hours he lay awake, the floor pressing on his back mercilessly through the blanket, and stared upward at nothing at all.

  /IF THIS TURNS OUT to be some blatant trap you’re about to saunter into, and you get yourself killed, I’m going to be greatly disappointed./

  “Why, Khanda,” Corvis said, voice reverberating hollowly through his helm, “I had no idea you cared.”

  /What are you, stupid? I’d shed more tears over a diseased rat than I would you. I just don’t want to be left on a putrefying corpse out in the middle of some field for the next few centuries./

  “Ah. My mistake.”

  /It usually is./

  The dirt and gravel of the winding road crunched beneath the warlord’s tread. Shimmering moonlight bathed everything in a dancing glimmer of faerie fire, creating a landscape of flitting ghosts and flickering dreams. Most travelers would have found it disorienting, but to Corvis, his night vision enhanced by a simple spell, it was merely distracting.

  Sporadic trees lined the roadside, and these he spared a passing glance, alert for any hint of ambush. He didn’t need Khanda to tell him this was almost certainly a trap. But Corvis, over the strenuous objections of his companions, chose to accept the invitation nonetheless. He might have made arguments about assessing the strength and nature of the enemy forces, but in truth Corvis was intensely curious to learn exactly what sort of man he was dealing with.

  And so he neared the “neutral area” Audriss’s messenger conveyed to Khanda, his right fist stuck to Sunder’s hilt as though welded there. His eyes were wide and watchful, the searing power of Khanda’s magic tensed and gathered at his fingertips.

  /You realize,/ Khanda remarked, /that Audriss probably expected you to meet with him tomorrow. His messenger seemed a bit taken aback when I told him we were on the way./

  “That’s the point. I wanted to throw them off a little.”

  /To what end?/

  “It makes me feel better.”

  /Ah. How petty./

  “Is there any particular reason,” Corvis asked irritably, “that you’re unwilling to go more than two minutes without making some useless, sarcastic, and, above all, annoying remark?”

  /Does it bother you?/

  “Excessively.”

  /That’s the reason./

  The grating of the gravel beneath his boots ceased abruptly as Corvis froze, scanning the road before him with senses both human and infernal. “Did you hear something?”

  /I did, and it sounded close./

  One of the shadows before them extruded itself into the light of the moon. A small, misshapen form emerged from that shadow. Corvis could hear the shallow, abrasive breathing and the clicker-clack of the creature’s claws as it dragged itself into the light.

  “He thinks this is the one he waits for, yes.” The sound—for it could not be termed a voice in any human sense of the word—didn’t emanate from the creature in any normal fashion. It crawled forth, skittering across the intervening space and washing over Corvis, tickling horribly, a tide of twitching spider legs. “He thinks that this one he cannot have, no.”

  “Oh, gods!” Corvis hissed. “Gnomes!”

  “He thinks you are wrong,” came a second voice, crawling from the shadows. “He thinks this is not the one. He thinks this is just another human. He wants it, yes, to have. He wonders, yes, if it will taste like the last one.”

  “I have a friend you ought to meet,” the Terror of the East told it calmly, determined to show these abhorrent monstrosities no fear. “You can discuss recipes.”

  “He will have it now, yes, take it,” the second voice grated. “Before it can try to run, to hide.”

  “You will not,” Corvis said firmly. “I’m here to see Audriss.”

  “You see!” It was the first gnome again, the one who’d partially emerged into the light. “He knew! He knew it was the one he wanted.”

  “He thinks you are wrong, still, yes. He hungers.”

  “And he wonders,” the first mewled impatiently, “what will happen when Audriss learns you have killed the wrong one, eaten it?”

  “He is not afraid, no, not of Audriss, not a human.” But the tone was sullen.

  “He will take it to Audriss, yes, and learn. If it is not the one, no, he and he eat it then.”

  “Agreed.”

  The first of the gnomes shambled farther into the light, granting Corvis an unwanted view of its deformity. Limbs bent not only in the wrong directions, but in an excessive number of those directions at once. Even aided by his night-vision enchantment, Corvis could make out nothing of the creature’s face save a pair of gleaming, feral eyes and a gaping, jagged maw.

  “He will take you to see Audriss, yes, to speak with him. You will come, yes, follow.” The eyes gleamed. “He wonders, does it understand? Does it know that it should not attempt to flee, no, nor to hit and harm? Does it know, he wonders, what he will do to it if it tries?”

  “It has a pretty good idea,” Corvis said drily. “It used to work with gnomes.”

  “Good. Then it will follow quietly, yes, in peace.” Pivoting grotesquely, the gnome meandered back into the shadows, not even bothering to check if Corvis followed. He did, staying on the creature’s heels as it followed an unseen path through tall grasses and trees.

  When they finally reached their destination, Corvis was reluctantly impressed by the sheer ostentation of the place. Atop a wide, flat rise had been assembled a pavilion-sized tent, made of thick black canvas and staked out by iron rods. A black pennant, lined in silver and displaying an emerald snake half risen to strike, flapped and kicked loudly from the center pole. A thin tendril of smoke undulated upward from a narrow tin tube functioning as a portable chimney. The ground around Audriss’s mobile headquarters was blanketed by a thick but low-lying fog, probably the result of the nighttime condensation dewing the surrounding grass; it added an eerie, surreal aura to the scene.

  The only piece missing was the unit of grim, black-clad guards that would normally have been an aesthetic requirement for so arrogant a scene. Apparently, Audriss was taking his promise of safety on neutral ground to surprising lengths—or else he was so supremely confident that he felt no need for added protection.

  /Cozy sort of place,/ Khanda noted.

  “I’m so glad you approve.”

  /Well, it’s nothing a good bonfire wouldn’t improve …/There was a momentary pause. /Be very careful. He’s got his demon with him./

  “So do I.”

  The gnome came to a halt, impatiently glaring back over his shoulder—literally—as Corvis examined the tableau. “There could be a small army in that damn tent,” he murmured.

  /Could be, but there isn’t./

  “Are you sure?”

  /No, Corvis, I accidentally overlooked three hundred soldiers hiding behind the tent pole. Yes, I’m bloody well sure!/

  “Sorry.”

  “He wonders what it is doing,” the gnome grumbled. “He thinks that it should hurry, yes, keep moving.”

  “In a minute,” the warlord snapped, refusing to be rushed. Then, more quietly, “So what can you tell me about what is inside that tent?”

  /Audriss, for one thing. At least, I assume it’s Audriss. It’s someone I can’t probe, because he’s shielded. Have you pissed off any other demon-wielding world-conquering madmen of late?/

  “No,” Corvis said sourly, “I figured I’d start small and work my way up. What about the demon? Can you tell me anything about him?”

  /Hmm. Let’s see … He’s strong. Not stronger than me, but then, who is? Imprisoned, much as I am. You know, Corvis, I’d be even stronger if you freed me, and I’d be grateful enough to—/

  “Don’t even start.”

  Khanda sniffed. /All right, be that way. What else? I—well, I’ll be damned./

  “A bit late for that, isn
’t it?”

  /Oh, you’re hysterical, you know that? Pekatherosh./

  “Excuse me?”

  /It’s Pekatherosh. I was wondering whatever happened to that son of a bitch./

  “Old friend of yours?”

  /In the “I’d love to stake him out on an abyssal plain and feed his living entrails to the parasites” sense of friendship./

  The gnome appeared directly under Corvis’s nose. “It must come now!”

  “Of course. Lead the way.”

  The gnome glared suspiciously but stumped toward the heavy leather flap, muttering to itself and twitching.

  If the tent’s exterior was excessive, the interior was downright opulent, in a sick and twisted sort of way. A banquet-sized table of a heavy oak dominated the cavernous canvas chamber. It was bare, save for a haphazard heap of maps and parchments on the far side, and a pair of ornate wine goblets and glass decanter on the near. In one corner of the tent, directly below the tin skirt of the chimney, sat a firepit large enough to roast a deer (and was, in fact, currently doing so). The spit rotated despite the lack of attendants, but so accustomed had Corvis grown to magic that he scarcely noticed. A four-poster bed with a thick, downy mattress occupied one far corner, along with a towering wardrobe and what appeared to be—

  “An iron maiden?” the Terror of the East asked incredulously. “He travels with an iron maiden?”

  /Obviously, this is a man passionate about his hobbies./

  “Fantastic. So where is he?”

  /I’m not sensing him in here anymore. He probably stepped out so as to make a suitably impressive entrance./

  “Probably. I might have done the same thing,” Corvis admitted. “I bet he’d come running pretty quick if I started poking through his notes.”

  /I imagine he would./

  “So how come you didn’t know it was this Pekatherosh when he contacted you the first time?”

  /Distance, Corvis. All he did was send a message; there wasn’t enough of his essence for me to identify. Once we got near, though … Corvis, you’d better hope that Audriss has a pretty good leash on Pekatherosh. The results are going to be very unpleasant if we end up confronting each other directly, and that’s exactly what’ll happen when one of us gets free./

  Corvis grunted thoughtfully as he made a brief circuit of the tent. “I take it there was a special enmity between you two?”

  /You’ve no idea at all. Have you ever seen two enraged, rabid dogs going at it?/

  “I can imagine it.”

  /Like that, but ugly./

  Corvis was spared the necessity of a response by the sound of the flap opening. With a deliberate effort, he kept his hands away from Sunder as he slowly faced the Serpent.

  Audriss stood in the doorway, framed in moonlight reflected by the low-lying mists. For the first time, Corvis saw the dull black armor, impossibly carved of stone, the grotesque silver runes, the gaping hood containing nothing but a featureless expanse. He appeared unarmed save for a long, curved dagger at his left waist. Silver rings adorned every finger save one, the middle finger of his left hand, which bore one of dingy pewter, topped with an emerald stone.

  They stood and assessed each other, these two men who’d dreamed of domination. Corvis realized that the Serpent was not a tall man; even without the benefit of armor, he had more than half a foot on his counterpart.

  Finally, his voice echoing behind the mask, Audriss spoke. “Corvis Rebaine. The Terror of the East. Believe me when I say that this is one of the greatest honors of my life.” He bowed from the waist. “Welcome to my home, Lord Rebaine, transitory as it may be.”

  Corvis inclined his head politely, the jaws of the skull helm clacking together. “You are too kind, Lord Audriss. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you as well. You and Pekatherosh.” He gestured absently toward the emerald ring.

  /Show-off./

  “Ah, Pekatherosh. One of my greatest assets in this humble endeavor. I’d introduce you, but you wouldn’t hear a word he has to say, and I doubt seriously that Khanda would feel inclined to be cordial.”

  Inside his helm, Corvis scowled.

  “But come, Lord Rebaine,” Audriss said, waving magnanimously at the table, “make yourself comfortable. It’s late, and you’ve walked far to get here. A man of your age should never be kept waiting.”

  /Ouch,/ Khanda said appreciatively.

  “Indeed,” Corvis said, biting off the sharp retort that initially came to mind. He strode to the waiting goblets, selecting a chair at random. Audriss stood directly opposite.

  “Before we talk shop,” Audriss said, keeping his feet. “Would you permit me a moment to satisfy a bit of idle curiosity?”

  “That depends on what you’re curious about, I imagine.”

  “Sunder.” Audriss raised his hands, palm-first, in a gesture of helplessness. “I’ve always been fascinated by the Kholben Shiar.”

  “If you think there’s any chance …,” Corvis began hotly, but he paused. For the first time, he truly looked at the dagger the Serpent wore at his side, truly felt the cold—not a physical but spiritual chill-emanating from the unassuming weapon.

  “Well,” he said with forced levity, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

  Audriss laughed. “Fair enough.” Very slowly, each drew his weapon and extended it haft-first across the table. A tense heartbeat, and then both weapons were snatched simultaneously.

  The dagger writhed even as Corvis’s fist clenched around the hilt, twisting and flowing; across the table, Sunder did the same. The weapon in the Terror’s grip lengthened, widened, sprouted a heavy blade. A cry filled his mind, a faint wail that didn’t suggest pain so much as it did the expectation of pain. And somewhere in the sound that wasn’t sound at all, Corvis heard a name, just as he’d heard the name of Sunder so many years ago.

  “Talon.”

  And then it was done. In his hands, Corvis now held a massive battle-axe, similar in many respects to Sunder itself. The blade was thicker, more squared along its cutting edge, and it lacked Sunder’s signature engraving, but it felt identically balanced.

  Corvis glanced over to see Audriss holding a thick, single-edged dagger with an ornate filigree running up both sides of the blade. It was a wicked weapon, one clearly designed for murder, not battle.

  “You,” Corvis said disdainfully, “have the soul of an assassin.”

  Audriss gestured at the massive axe. “And you of a brute.” He turned back to the weapon, holding it up as though to catch more of the light. “Fascinating things, the Kholben Shiar. They know us, I sometimes think, even better than we know ourselves.” Then, with what might have been a sigh of longing, he held Sunder back toward Corvis, who in turn extended Talon. Once again the weapons flowed and shifted until they resumed the forms they’d worn before.

  “And the point of that?” Corvis demanded, refusing to accept “curiosity” as an answer.

  For the moment, the Serpent ignored his question, once again sheathing the dagger at his side. “Wine?” he offered.

  “I believe I’ll pass, thank you.”

  “Why, Lord Rebaine, you don’t believe I’ve summoned you all this way just to poison you?”

  Ignoring Audriss’s choice of words—summoned indeed!—he shrugged. “Have I any reason not to believe it?”

  “Tsk, tsk. You clearly don’t understand me at all. You see, my friend, I’m a man with a vision.”

  “Of course you are.”

  “A vision you helped inspire. I’ve built my campaign upon the model of yours, though I—if you’ll pardon my candor—will succeed where you failed. But Lord Rebaine …” Audriss leaned forward, his hands clenched tightly against the table. “Lord Rebaine, Imphallion is a large kingdom, and there are other nations, even larger, beyond our borders. Surely this land is wide enough for two men to rule.”

  Hard as he tried to show no reaction, Corvis was taken aback. “You want me to join you?”

  “Why not? Nothing coul
d stand against us! Imphallion would topple like a house of twigs! Cephira would be just as easy. Even the Dragon Kings couldn’t stand up to our combined might! We could own this entire continent in less than a decade, Corvis. Think of it!”

  “I am thinking of it,” the Eastern Terror said coldly. “I think it’s a fool’s dream. I think that you—if you’ll pardon my candor—are a madman. And I think I preferred you calling me Lord Rebaine.”

  The air between them threatened to freeze, then eased just as quickly. Audriss leaned back in his chair and chuckled softly. “That’s direct enough, I suppose. Tell me, Lord Rebaine, if I’m both a fool and a madman, how have I gotten this far?”

  “Sheer luck and weight of numbers,” Corvis told him, also leaning back. “You’ve started your campaign based on someone else’s plans, and you’re slavishly following them like a parrot squawking poetry it can’t possibly understand. Beginning at Denathere made no strategic or tactical sense whatsoever, as any first-year student of warfare would have known. If Lorum had mobilized even a fraction of the Guilds, you’d have been completely cut off.”

  “Yes,” Audriss said mockingly, “you’d know about that, wouldn’t you? I can’t imagine what came over us, Lord Rebaine, to end and begin our respective campaigns at Denathere. Can you?”

  “Oh, shit,” Corvis said under his breath, so quietly that only his demon could hear him.

  /Corvis, you don’t think—/

  “Yes, I do. He knows, Khanda.”

  /We have a problem./

  “Since we’re being so open and honest with each other, Lord Rebaine, let’s get to the point, shall we? It’s not at Denathere anymore. I knew it wouldn’t be, but I had to make certain. You’d never have left it behind, even though you obviously couldn’t use it. I want it. Do that, and half this kingdom, this continent, even this world could be yours with no further risk to you. Surely you couldn’t ask for a better offer.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve no idea of what you’re talking about, Lord Audriss.”

  “Oh, I think you do. But we can play that game, too, if you wish. I’ll get it from you eventually.