William King: Shadowblood

The soldiers finished with blade and club. They looked as if they had been working in a slaughterhouse but they were victorious. A strange quiet fell over the street as the last of the undead went down. All eyes focused on the Inquisitor and his black garbed retinue.

“Things are as bad here as I was told,” said the Inquisitor. “The Shadow lies heavy on this place.”

“You’ll get no argument from me, sir,” said Sardec.

“My brethren and I are grateful to you for your assistance. The Light smiles on our mission.”

“I am glad we could help,” said Sardec.

“I am High Inquisitor Joran.”

“Sardec, Lieutenant, the Queen’s Seventh Infantry.”

The gold mask inclined itself forward. The flaming fingers steepled. “Then these would be the so-called Foragers.”

The statement chilled Sardec. The idea that his company had caught the attention of the Inquisition was not a pleasant one. Cold eyes, at odds with the mellow voice, fixed Sardec with their gaze. They reminded him of a hunting hawk staring at its prey.

“I believe you and I have some things to talk about, Lieutenant,” said the High Inquisitor. The cleansing flames had died away but the ancient runes on his gauntlets glowed with their own internal light.

Sardec said, “I would be delighted to escort you through the city. Halim can be quite dangerous. It’s not just the undead; there are bandits and rebels and highway robbers.”

The Inquisitor’s coach was nearby. Hungry folk had already stripped meat from the dead horses. The remainder of the animals had fled or been stolen. Trunks and other gear lay strewn all around.

“Someone around here has considerable presence of mind,” said Joran. He laughed as at a mildly humorous joke. “No one came to our aid but they found time to loot our possessions.”

“People are desperate and they have little love for Taloreans here,” said Sardec.

“No doubt you are correct. I would be very grateful if your men could help us. Those trunks contain valuable papers.”

“Of course,” said Sardec, turning to the Foragers. “You five gather up those chests and stow them away on the coach. Sergeant, take ten men and go to the Palace. Explain the situation and have them send more horses and a cavalry escort. I will help guard the Inquisitor.”

“At once, sir,” said Hef. There was no humour in the Sergeant’s manner now. The presence of the Inquisitor and his retinue daunted him. Sardec was pleased to note that Hef had the presence of mind to take Weasel and the Barbarian. Those two were the last people he would have wanted falling under Joran’s eye.

Several of the Inquisitor’s henchmen eyed the soldiers coldly, as if they expected them to try and make off with the sacred relics. Sardec knew the sort of Terrarchs they were likely to be; fanatics of the most intolerant kind. He was suddenly aware that Joran had moved up to him. The smell of incense and something else, perfumed oil perhaps, clung to those white robes.

“You are familiar with the Lady Asea,” Joran said. It did not sound like a question.

“I commanded her escort during her visit to Harven.”

“You were there when she made her daring escape from the city.”

Sardec nodded. He could still recall the eerie night flight out of the great seaport. He forced himself to meet the Inquisitor’s gaze. He was a loyal Terrarch of a proud and ancient family. He had nothing to fear from Joran.

“You are acquainted with the half-breed she has taken under her wing.”

“He used to be a private soldier in my company.”

“He has come a very long way in a very short time. He rescued Queen Kathea from the Serpent Tower and some say he killed her.”

“I do not believe that is what happened.”

“What do you believe happened?” Sardec felt as if he were standing on the brink of a very deep precipice, on very unstable ground. He needed time to think. He glanced significantly at the human soldiers standing all around.

“I believe this is neither the time nor place to discuss such matters.”

The Inquisitor’s voice was soft and friendly but there were chill undertones in it. “Then we shall talk about this again, when the time and place are right.”

The black uniformed servant led Sardec through the labyrinthine corridors of the Palace. He strode uneasily through the elegant corridors where he passed old oil paintings depicting famous scenes from Kharadrean history. His encounter with the Inquisitor had left him feeling watched and judged. Joran’s oblique questions had made him uncomfortably aware that something was going on and he felt that Asea should be warned.

He was not entirely sure how or why but a bond had grown between them. He was not bewitched by the Lady of the First as many of his fellow officers were, but he owed her the loyalty he would feel towards any comrade with whom he had shared hardship and danger. She had saved his life on several occasions and he had saved hers.

A number of soldiers stood guard; all men of the Seventh Infantry. The sorceress had been held in a position somewhere between house arrest and protective custody since just after the night Queen Kathea died.

The servant showed Sardec into the drawing room where Asea and Rik waited. He was at once struck by the contrast between them. Asea had not grown any less beautiful since he had last seen her. She was tall, stately, with luminous silver hair and the fine-featured, pointed eared beauty of the most ancient of Terrarch lines. Her features were at once calm and sensual. Her manner of dress had the elaborate complexity of the latest female fashions. She looked no older than Sardec although legend claimed she had lived for more than two millennia. She smiled as if genuinely glad to see him.

By contrast, the half-breed looked worse than ever. The expensive cut of his jacket and britches could not conceal the fact that he had lost weight, and he had never been fat to begin with. His features were gaunt and haunted which had the effect of emphasising the Terrarch half of his heritage. If only his ears had come to a full point he could easily have been mistaken for one. He had endured enough recently to make anyone look grim. Asea had only just managed to save him from being executed for the murder of Queen Kathea, and then only because she was the half-sister of Lord Azaar, the commanding officer of the Talorean Army in Halim.

What had happened in the Palace that night, Sardec wondered?

He had heard all the camp gossip and he still was not sure. Was it really possible that Lord Malkior, former Chancellor of Sardea had assassinated Kathea? If so why had he come himself, and not sent assassins? It made no sense; Malkior had a reputation of being something of a moderate among the nobles of the Dark Empire. There were things going on here that scared Sardec, strange currents of sorcery and politics swirled through the air.

He had seen some terrible things since he had begun accompanying Asea and he suspected that the Inquisitor was right, and that the Shadow was strong in this place.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?” Asea asked. Her voice was musical and as perfectly controlled as the rest of her. He wondered just how much of the warmth in it was real, and how much was manipulation. Like all of the First, Asea was a consummate actress.

Sardec gave a warning glance at the servant, and said, “I found that I missed your company. And I was worried about your safety.”

Asea gestured for the girl to withdraw. As the door closed, she smiled and said, “Why today more than any other day?”

“Because I have just come from escorting High Inquisitor Joran to the Palace, and he seemed unduly interested in your doings and those of your protege.”