The Shadowmage Trilogy (Twilight of Kerberos: The Shadowmage Books)

by Matthew Sprange

  She had risen to the challenge. Just as Adrianna had some very definite ideas about how the Shadowmages’ guild should be organised and run, so too was Grennar determined to leave her stamp upon the beggars. With him now running the thieves’ guild, the three of them had formed an alliance of sorts and, though Lucius and Grennar did not really trust Adrianna, they could all see the possible benefits and support the alliance could offer. Grennar had nicknamed them the Triumvirate, and proclaimed their ability to run the entire city.

  Lucius did not believe their influence would stretch that far, but the possibilities were interesting.

  For his own part, Lucius had finally accepted leadership of the thieves. He still maintained that it was not something he wanted but there had been no one else he trusted. A very long conversation with Wendric had left him with the impression that the lieutenant had risen as far in the guild as he ever intended. Wendric liked the authority he carried as the guild’s second, but did not want the responsibility that went with overall leadership. He wanted to be the man behind the master, not the master himself. That left Lucius.

  Deep down, Lucius had told himself that he would stay just a few years and abdicate when someone better came along. Until then, there was plenty of work to be done and the idea of shaping the guild to his own personality had an appeal.

  “Good riddance to them,” Grennar said, pronouncing her judgement on the Vos soldiers as they began to wind their way through the north gate.

  “What is the word on the streets?” Lucius asked.

  Grennar shrugged. “The people seem optimistic. Not sure why. Our new masters may not be that different from our old masters.”

  “Pontaine has a different way of doing things,” he said.

  “We will find out soon enough,” Grennar said. “Their army will be here before the evening.”

  “That soon?” Adrianna asked.

  “You don’t think Vos just picked a random day to leave the city, do you? They wanted to keep their claws in the city for as long as they possibly could.”

  “Any rumours on this baron?” Lucius asked.

  “More than rumours. We have already had an audience.”

  Lucius and Adrianna turned to face her, brows raised.

  “How did you manage that?” Lucius finally asked.

  “It’s my guild now, thief. We are doing things my way, and I always thought Sebastian limited himself by only having agents within the city walls. I simply... expanded things.”

  Again, Lucius chuckled.

  “Impressive,” Adrianna allowed. “How did your contact with the baron go?”

  “Well, by all accounts,” Grennar said. “The... situation in the city was explained to de Sousse, and he has requested a meeting with the three of us.”

  Adrianna and Lucius glanced at each other briefly, thinking the same thoughts. It was Grennar that spoke them out loud.

  “It seems the Baron de Sousse is an intelligent man. He recognises who has the power in the city and he is willing to do business with us.”

  Lucius smiled. “That is good work, Grennar.”

  She gave him a mock curtsey.

  They returned to the battlements, each now lost in their own thoughts and plans as they watched the last Vos soldiers leave the city and start the long march back to the Empire.

  Lucius knew he would have trouble with some of his thieves, particularly those that had been in the guild the longest. And the assassins, of course. They all knew about his Shadowmage abilities, and not all were comfortable with a wizard among their ranks, especially as they had learned how Elaine had died. The resentment would only get worse when they found out he had also pledged himself to renew his magical training under Adrianna’s direction. That, of course, would carry its own dangers, but the recent events had convinced him that he could no longer turn his back on his heritage. For better or worse, he would be both thief and Shadowmage.

  So, he thought, there was a new age coming for Turnitia. It might never be the free and independent city it once was, long ago, but if this new Pontaine lord was prepared to deal with guilds on the fringes of society, life was about to improve.

  The world was opening up with possibilities.

  THE END

  Original cover art by Greg Staples

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE CITADEL LEERED down over Turnitia, its five towers as dark and threatening as they ever had been. Involuntarily, Lucius kept his eyes downcast and wrapped his grey cloak about him all the tighter, as if to avoid scrutiny from the occupants of the fortress.

  It was habit. Not three months ago, the Citadel had been the outward symbol of Vos domination and tyranny over a city that had once rejoiced in its own liberty as much as Freiport did now. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of the city’s citizens had gone through the huge iron-wrought gates that towered above him, never to be seen again. Many of those had been thieves from his own guild.

  What a difference three months made.

  Where Vos had once ruled, now Pontaine was dominant, rising in its ascendancy. The ever opportunistic baron, de Sousse, had taken advantage of the weakness with which the Vos Empire had held the city and now his troops garrisoned the Citadel, his court reigning in its keep.

  Even Pontaine frippery could not change the outward nature of the Citadel, though.

  Lucius passed through the main gates that burrowed through the yards-thick exterior wall, faintly marvelling at the lack of guards. Under the Vos regime, the gates were never opened unless there was good reason, and the familiar red-tabarded guards would be present in force. Now Pontaine held sway, security was far less visible, and the city’s people were openly encouraged to enter the courtyard, trade, do business with Pontaine officials, or even just take a look around the place that had dominated their lives.

  That was the tradition of Pontaine leadership. To rule without being seen to rule. To interact and build relationships with the populace, not ruthlessly control their lives. As far as the Baron de Sousse was concerned, Lucius was coming to believe, it mattered less than the fate of a fly what citizens got up to in their own homes or on their own streets. So long as their taxes were paid and the – fairly lax, by Vos standards – rule of law was obeyed, the lords of Pontaine would not even notice you.

  That was a good starting position for the leader of a thieves’ guild, and Lucius was here this evening to see just how flexible the baron intended to be.

  Beyond the gates, the courtyard of the Citadel was mostly empty, with just a few citizens gathering their possessions after a day’s trading, watched by a smaller number of off-duty Pontaine guardsmen, their bright blue and orange tunics stretched tight over chainmail. However, despite the spears they kept near to hand, there was little intimidating or frightening about them. They relaxed, joking amongst themselves as they drank deeply from pewter tankards.

  Lucius cast a long glance around the courtyard, taking in the various outbuildings scattered along the inside of the main walls, the looming keep that rose even above their height, and the long stone bridge that spanned from the keep to one of the five towers. He had fought for his life on that bridge, infiltrated the depths of the keep, and battled alongside his thieves and assassins against the worst Vos could throw at them. Many had died.

  From time to time, Lucius found himself naming the dead. Swinherd, Nate, Helmut, Harker, Hengit.

  Elaine.

  Many had died here in the Citadel, others had been caught in clashes between the thieves and the tightening grip of the Vos Empire.

  If some of their killers had escaped to Vos during the rout, then at least the Citadel itself still bore the scars. The unleashing of powerful magics deep within the keep had shattered part of its foundations, and Lucius could see the metal and wood framework supporting the eastern corner of the giant building as Pontaine engineers laboured to repair the damage. There was talk around the city that the foundations were beyond help and that the Citadel would have to be completely demolished and rebuilt. Lucius would n
ot have minded that.

  As he closed the distance to the keep, sounds of music and laughter floated to him across the courtyard. The noise seemed at odds with the sombre surroundings, and even the garish banners hung from the walls of the keep, welcoming various Pontaine lords, did nothing to aid the atmosphere of revelry. Not that this seemed to matter to those inside the keep’s main hall.

  Two guardsmen dipped their spears in a half-salute as Lucius approached the keep’s grand entrance, but they did not so much as ask his name as he mounted the wide stone stairs and passed them. Lucius shook his head silently. Three months.

  The keep’s entrance took him down a long, wide corridor that arched high above him, the lanterns suspended on iron brackets strategically placed to create shadows across the ceiling. Within the shadows lay murder holes and other defences, but the baron apparently felt that highlighting their presence would perhaps not put people at ease as they entered his court.

  Passing through the corridor into the main hall, Lucius was immediately assaulted by the full weight of revelry taking place.

  The hall was packed, with long tables arranged in rows down its length. Around each one, people clustered, with lords of Pontaine rubbing shoulders with Turnitia’s richest and most ambitious. Everywhere, people were feasting and drinking, taking delight in the bread, wines and cheeses brought into the city from Pontaine. Even the meats supplied by the city had been prepared with a Pontaine flavour, and smells of rich sauces and seasonings wafted around the hall as provocatively-dressed servants scurried to provide the attendees with ever greater courses, a constant flow that emanated from the kitchens.

  On the other side of the hall, more food was prepared, this time in full view of everyone. Several large pigs were being roasted whole above fire pits, the smoke only seeming to add to the atmosphere as it wound its way through the enormous hall. Above them, high on the balcony that stretched around three sides of the hall, a large band – perhaps those from Pontaine would call it an orchestra, Lucius did not know – played quietly, its subdued tones of wind and wood draping themselves gently over the banquet below, enhancing the pleasure of the event without dominating it.

  Straight across from the main entrance, sat de Sousse himself, flamboyantly dressed even for a Pontaine noble, no doubt enjoying his sudden rise to power and prominence with his victory in Turnitia, albeit won by deceit and good timing rather than force of arms. The baron and his closest allies sat on a raised dais, their table overflowing with the very best the kitchens could amass. A giant roasted elk dominated the table, with some rich golden fruit from Pontaine’s heartlands wedged firmly in its mouth. Cherries had been hung from its antlers and it was these that de Sousse was swiping by the handful as he reached across the table while animatedly describing some battle or tournament to the lords on his left.

  Before them stretched a long line of supplicants, people of Turnitia who were looking for some favour, be it leniency for a crime committed, gold for investment or permission to start trading directly with the baron and Pontaine as a whole. For them, this audience was the whole point of the evening, not the rich banquet, and for many their whole lives could rest on the baron’s answer.

  A young girl caught Lucius’ eye as she waved him over to a nearby table. With a freckled face framed by neat, dark hair that sank to her shoulders, she could not have been more than fourteen or fifteen years old. Dressed in a tight gown of pale blue satin, she looked like the innocent daughter of some lord or rich merchant who had finally been allowed to attend her first banquet.

  Lucius knew better. As he approached, she grabbed the collar of a drunken man who had passed out on the table beside her and, with a heave, sent him toppling over the back of the bench to make room for Lucius.

  Stepping over the sprawled man, who merely groaned and tried to crawl under the bench to escape the noise of the revelry before failing and slumping unconscious once again, Lucius sat down next to the girl and reached across the table to grab a half loaf of long, thin Pontaine bread.

  “Grennar,” he said with a slight nod.

  “You’re late.”

  “Fashionably so, I hope.”

  She cast a withering look at his cloak and the tough leather tunic underneath.

  “Leave the fashion to me, Lucius. I am a much better study.”

  That, he had to concede.

  “How goes life for the beggars?”

  Grennar shrugged. “Things change, things stay the same. Business booms ether way.”

  “You are not finding things easier under Pontaine rule?”

  “Oh, it is easier. But that doesn’t mean we are earning any more. Despite Vos’ best efforts, there were always loopholes and gaps in their policies. That is where the beggars flourish, regardless of who is in charge.”

  She did not look like a beggar but, again, Lucius knew better. As young as she was, Grennar had learned from the best and had developed a self-confidence that far outweighed her years. Under her leadership, the beggars’ guild of Turnitia had expanded and grown, making life difficult if not outright impossible for those who did not join, and creating wealth for those who did. She was an invaluable ally to Lucius and his own guild, as the beggars were the eyes and ears of the city. What his thieves could not discover, the beggars surely would. Nine times out of ten, they had already obtained the information he sought before he asked. Beggars were all but invisible to cityfolk, and were rarely noticed as people went about their business or confided secrets to one another.

  A round of polite applause rose from the other end of the hall as the Baron de Sousse stood to make a pronouncement. He directed his attention to the lead group of petitioners that lined up before his table and pointed at each one individually.

  “Yes, yes, no, no, no, and yes,” he declared grandly, granting or denying the favours sought before hearing what they were. More than one of the petitioners looked as though they wanted to argue the point, but the baron’s attention was already fixed upon a troupe of scantily-clad Allantian dancers that had been ushered into the hall, and the thump of a spear’s butt from a nearby guardsmen served to dissuade any further dissent.

  “That was quick,” Lucius said, frowning. “Erratic to the point of capricious.”

  “Oh, no,” Grennar said with as much of a wolfish smile as a young teenage girl could muster. “I’ve been studying the good baron all evening.”

  Lucius gave her a frank look. “Somehow, I think I should have guessed that.”

  She thought for a moment before frowning herself.

  “Yes,” she said. “You should. Anyway, our noble baron is a canny mark, and one worthy of some caution. See the servant that attends him now?”

  Looking back up to the dais, Lucius saw the baron clapping and howling for more from the dancers, whose combination of thin silks and slow gymnastics had roused the interest of most of the men nearby – and not a few of the Pontaine women.

  He almost missed the young man bringing another flagon of wine to the table. It was such a normal, casual act, especially here, in the hall of a Pontaine lord. As the servant leaned over the table, Lucius saw him whisper something, ever so briefly, to the baron, and a swift sleight of hand dropped a small parchment onto the table next to the flagon. Fascinated now, Lucius watched; as the baron continued to harangue the dancers, his eyes flickered to the parchment.

  “You see it?” Grennar asked.

  Lucius nodded slowly.

  “He already knew what those witless fools wanted before they got into line,” Grennar said. “There has been a constant flow of information being passed to the baron, always by the servants, never the same one twice in a row.”

  Even taking into account what he had seen, Lucius was more than prepared to believe Grennar on this point. The girl had a feel for the flow of information and how its transfer worked that made her truly gifted in her profession.

  “So, we should be wary,” he said.

  Grennar considered this. “Yes and no. Don’t give any
thing away that you don’t have to when we speak with the baron. He is sharp enough, and you can be sure that whatever he misses will be picked up by one of his own people. Don’t be surprised if we are interrupted by something that seems inconsequential – most likely, the baron will be getting a briefing on something we have just said.”

  “Right,” Lucius said, beginning to wish he could delegate such meetings to someone else in his guild. He was skilled at planning, even better at executing a plan, but politics was never his strength. That brought another frown as he considered that, when it came to politicking, they young girl seated next to him was likely his master.

  “But do not panic either,” Grennar said. “We more or less know what he wants – peace and prosperity, for both himself and the city as a whole. That makes him predictable. If the Triumvirate can guarantee no mess or trouble from our guilds and a continued flow of silver and gold, we will get what we want. Or, at least, what we need.”

  Lucius had to smile at that. Ever since Vos had left Turnitia, Grennar had started referring to herself, Lucius and Adrianna as the Triumvirate, the true power behind the city. She controlled the beggars, and so controlled information. Lucius was guildmaster of the thieves, and so controlled vast amounts of wealth. For her part, Adrianna ruled the Shadowmages, which was a frightening enough prospect in itself given recent events, but through her guild she wielded power that Lucius and Grennar could not even begin to match.

  Little happened in Turnitia’s underworld without the say of at least one of the guild leaders. Hence the term Triumvirate. Lucius was less sure that anyone else, de Sousse least of all, thought in quite the same terms, but the three of them were certainly a power bloc of sorts within the city and, thus, people who had to be listened to and, to a measure, respected.

  Grennar had determined early on that the baron, who was now smearing warm butter over the naked thigh of one of the dancers he had called to his table, was a man they could do business with. That had never been the case with the Vos management, who had ever been the enemy of all three.