William King - Shadowblood

“A lot of them already do.”

“There is a difference between looking on something as property and something as food or wood or some other source of power.”

“You think that really might happen?” Rik was prepared to believe many bad things about the Terrarchs but he found it hard to imagine them keeping people in herds.

Asea seemed to follow his thoughts. “It does not take too many people to think that way to have the Princes of Shadow come again, Rik. The ones who do will acquire power that in this world could only be described as god-like.”

The words burned in Rik’s mind, and he hoped their effect was not visible. The Quan had made him privy to such techniques. If he could find a way to tap into them the way Asea claimed then he too could possess such powers. He was not sure he wanted power acquired that way but the temptation was there.

“Were you ever tempted to walk that road?”

“The problem with walking that road is that it drives you mad eventually. You can’t absorb another sentient being’s memories without being affected by them. Your own experiences must have shown you that.”

She was right. He thought of the voices and tried to imagine thousands of them, all crying away in his mind at once. That was not a pleasant prospect.

“Surely there must be techniques for controlling the side-effects.”

“None that I have ever heard of.”

“Why did the Princes of Shadow continue then, if they knew the results?”

“I am guessing that they thought as you did, and did not realise what was happening until it was too late. And Rik, it is worth remembering that the Princes of Shadow were Terrarchs, with hundreds of years of experience, and among the best trained sorcerers of their world.”

The warning in her voice was unmistakable. She obviously could see the way his thoughts were running. “Were you ever tempted?”

“Not once I saw what would happen.”

“Did you look for other ways of casting magic?”

“Of course, but then war was upon us and the Princes of Shadow conquered the world.”

“How did they do that? If someone wanted to devour my soul I would fight against them. I cannot imagine that the majority of Terrarchs were any different.”

“As I am sure you must have realised, things rarely appear that clear cut. The Princes lied about the source of their power, they confused the issue with political arguments. They bound servants with spells. As they gained power, their secret police terrified most folk. If only one in a hundred people vanishes then you can convince yourself that it won’t be you, and that maybe they deserved it anyway. You can build systems where people will co-operate with those who oppress them, Rik. You have seen it here on Gaeia.”

Rik could see the sense in what she was saying. He thought about the world in which he lived. He had been a soldier of the Queen. He had helped put down the Clockmaker’s rebellion. This was a world where humans fought against humans at the behest of Terrarchs. When Talorea clashed with the Dark Empire most of the dying would be done by human beings.

“And yet you want us to fight against the Sardeans?”

Her smile was sour. “I want a better world. But of course that is what a Prince of Shadow would say as well.”

“Why would people follow those who called themselves the Princes of Shadow?” He saw the stupidity of the question even as he said it, and answered it for himself. “They did not call themselves that, did they?”

“They called themselves many things; the Illuminated, the Enlightened Ones, The Brotherhood of Peace. It was their enemies who called them the Princes of Shadow. It’s what they called us.”

“The same way we call Sardea the Dark Empire.”

“Indeed. In all of history I cannot think of any nation that ever called itself the Dark Empire.”

“The Sardeans probably call us that.”

“They call us the Scarlet Empire, the Bloody Handed Empire and a lot worse.”

“Whichever side wins will get to name the other.”

“It was ever so, Rik. I have no doubt that now on Al’Terra, they refer to Gaeia as the world of Shadows.”

He thought about what the Terrarchs had done since they came here, and of what Malkior and perhaps others like him still planned to do. “Maybe they are right.”

Looking down from the hills above Askander, Tamara felt she was finally home. The city lay nestled around the Bay of Claws, a giant monument to the glory of her people. The chill northern sunlight filtered down through thin clouds. It was a light unlike any other she knew, estuarine, over-brilliant, as if the sky had taken on something of the glitter and sheen of the sea. Gulls squawked, and the air had the familiar wet, salt tang.

From up here she could see the mighty dragonspires of the Temples, the ancient walls the city had long outgrown and the statues of former Emperors and Empresses that dominated the squares set at each compass point of the central ring. A dozen more of them stood on huge island plinths in the bay, gazing out to sea.

Over everything loomed the Imperial Palace, a combination of fortress and royal mansion that dominated the city by its sheer size, massive as the cliff in which it had its roots, its walls every bit as strong as the rock on which they rested. It seemed an extension of the cliff, part of some great demonic tusk of stone emerging from the soil of the city. Beneath it was an endless labyrinth of dungeons in which terrible things happened to the enemies of the Empress.

As in all the lands she had ridden through so swiftly, there were signs of gathering war. In the bay a massive fleet was anchored, a mixture of galleons and trading ships pressed into service. The purple flag of Sardea fluttered proudly on every vessel. She was surprised that the fleet had not sailed yet. It must be costing a fortune to keep it there.

The rumours were true then. The Quan Sea Devils had closed the northern waters to all Terrarch vessels, and not even Arachne’s proud fleet would risk the wrath of those alien monsters. Kraken could smash even the mightiest ships in their tentacles, and the Quan possessed alien sorcery that was matchless on the ocean. So much for landing troops by sea on the coasts of Kharadrea.

She studied the city, drinking in its appearance. It was a place that represented all that was proudest and most ancient in the traditions of her people. Cynical as she knew herself to be, it never stopped surprising her that some small part of her responded to that. She was part of a generation who prided themselves on seeing through the follies and hypocrisies of their elders, and yet as she grew older she discovered that she had more in common with them than she liked to think. Perhaps it was her father’s influence.

Her steed panted, grateful for the rest. It was the last and strongest of the relay of post horses she had used since the border. She had driven it unmercifully, using magic when necessary to keep it moving, and she had made good time. The journey had cost her dearly in energy, but its hardships had distracted her from her grief and worries.

The sight of the city below her made it all worthwhile. She loved the place with its broad avenues and ancient alleys, its cafes and salons and palaces, its starving authors and civil servants and its rich nobles who packed it in season from every corner of the far flung Empire. She had grown up here, attending balls and Court functions, taken her first lovers, killed her first enemy, learned sorcery and stealth. She felt the same way about Askander as the First felt about the home world. If she truly had any place in this world, it was here.

With a word, she urged her mount down the long winding road, through the farmlands and estates, towards her father’s ancient townhouse.