Jon Sprunk - Shadow's master

As Balaam listened, a female in black armor migrated toward him through the crowd. A coiled chain whip hung on her belt.

“I greet you, shalifar,” she said.

“I see you, Deumas.”

“It is good to have you back. There were whispers that you may have encountered difficulty in the south.”

Balaam looked back to the front of the hall. As the Northmen filed out of the hall, trailing their fur cloaks, a side door opened to admit a squadron of soldiers with a prisoner. “There was no difficulty.”

Balaam squinted, not sure he could believe his eyes. The man under guard was Lord Oriax, commander of the eastern armies. Balaam had served with him, albeit briefly, years ago during the first stage of the northern conquest. Oriax was from an old bloodline and was known for the high regard in which his men held him.

The guards brought Oriax before the dais and forced him to kneel. Balaam moved closer as Lord Malphas addressed the prisoner. “Lord Oriax of House Umberal, you have been summoned before this court to answer for your treasons.”

Oriax lifted his gaze. “I have committed no treasons against our Great Lord. I swear it upon the Mother and my family's sacred name.”

Lord Malphas reached into his sleeve and produced a rolled parchment from which he read. “Twelve thousand human soldiers. Four thousand draft animals. Sixteen tons of timber. Seven tons of iron. Two coteries of imperial knights…”

“This is not well done,” Deumas said. “Kobal and I were the ones sent to retrieve him from Sirion. I tell you, shalifar , this is not the empire we once knew.”

Balaam turned his head slightly. No one was close enough to overhear their words, but the shadows were everywhere. “I was not aware of this operation.”

Deumas nodded toward the dais. “Lord Malphas now directs the Talons.” She lowered her voice. “Be wary, shalifar. That serpent has long fangs.”

With a nod, Deumas turned and left the hall. Balaam returned his attention to the audience. The Talons were the Master's instruments, to be used as he desired. It should not have rankled him that the majordomo was given control over his team, and yet…

“Enough!” Oriax shouted as Malphas continued to read from a long list of goods and materials. “I do not understand. What does this have to do with treason?”

Lord Malphas rolled up the parchment. “This is a list of the resources that have been placed under your command. Resources that have been squandered and wasted in a fruitless campaign.”

“Wasted?” Oriax tried to rise to his feet, but the soldiers held him down. “I have won dozens of victories, captured many towns and fortresses. Virtually the whole of Einar is under my-”

Lord Malphas began to answer, but movement stirred on the throne. The crowd murmured as the Lord of Shadow leaned forward in his stony seat. The hall's ruddy light played across his oiled scalp and the long bridge of his nose. Bony shoulders shifted under his mantle of burgundy chased with silver and gold thread.

“Towns and fortresses?” The Shadow Lord's voice was measured, but it resounded through the hall. “You were charged with subjugating the human nations of Arnos and Hestria.”

“Master, I-”

Oriax flew back onto the floor and rolled over. A titter passed though the assembly, but no one spoke. Even Malphas stood silently, hands folded within his sleeves, but Balaam thought he saw a look of satisfaction cross the majordomo's face.

The Shadow Lord extended a finger. “You have failed, Lord Oriax. And the cost of your failure is death.”

Oriax climbed to his knees and dared to meet the Master's gaze. “I would gladly die for my empire and my Master. But grant me the final honor of a proper death as befits my station.”

“You dare to-,” Lord Malphas started to berate.

But the Shadow Lord nodded. “It is granted. Choose your executioner.”

Oriax craned his head, but none of the nobles would meet his gaze. The hall was silent. Then Balaam found himself stepping forward. “I will serve as your second, my lord.”

Eyes followed him as he crossed the floor. Balaam stopped before the dais and bowed. Then he drew his sword and turned to the kneeling lord. The soldiers stepped away.

Oriax closed his eyes, head bowed, as the kalishi sword lifted above his head. Balaam inhaled a deep breath and held it. His mind was still, his nerves calm. Yet, Deumas's words haunted him. This is not the empire we once knew.

Oriax nodded, and the blade fell.

Balaam stepped back. He used his cloak to clean his sword and returned it to the scabbard. Then he laid the cloak over the general's headless body. He stood there for a time as the body discorporated into fine gray ash.

“Balaam.”

He looked up. The hall was empty save for the two figures on the dais. Abraxus, the last Shadow Lord, stood up slowly and beckoned with a veiny hand. “Come. We have been waiting.”

As Balaam strode forward, he hoped Malphas would depart, but the majordomo remained at the Shadow Lord's side. Balaam concealed his disappointment as he went to one knee at the bottom of the steps. “Master.”

“Rise and tell me what you found in Liovard. Is my daughter dead?”

“Yes. The temple was in shambles.”

“It is as I feared, but I had to be sure. I cannot trust all that I hear anymore. How did she die?”

“It was the scion's doing, Master.”

Balaam obeyed with a full account of his investigation in Liovard. He would have gladly stopped before reporting Lady Sybelle's final moments in this world, but he was bound by duty. As he related her fateful last words, Abraxus slapped his thigh. His face was a gray mask.

Lord Malphas tsked. “A great loss to our cause, my lord. A tragedy beyond words. Shall I arrange the funereal rites for your beloved daughter?”

“My daughter.” Abraxus pursed his lips together. “A more wily creature was never born. If she'd had the opportunity, she would have usurped my throne long ago.”

“A lady of many…moods,” Malphas ventured. “Perhaps a muted affair. The city shall mourn her passing in silence, as befits the daughter of your mighty house.”

Balaam ignored the majordomo, understanding what his Master meant. “We should prepare.”

Abraxus met his eye with a jaundiced gaze. “Indeed. One who could overcome my beautiful Sybelle, even besotted and weakened as she had become, is a dangerous foe. I want you to find him. Find him and bring him here.”

Balaam exhaled as the command settled over his shoulders like an ill-fitting coat. “Master, is that the wisest course? An enemy as powerful as this one, it would be better to slay than capture him.”

The Shadow Lord looked up toward the arched ceiling, and Balaam bowed his head. He shouldn't have said anything. A weapon did not ask where it should be pointed; it only served the purpose for which it had been made.

“There are forces moving,” Abraxus said, “but I cannot see them. I can only sense them on the edges of my awareness, shadows within shadows….”

His voice trailed away, and he stood that way, saying nothing, for a span of many breaths, until Balaam wondered if he should say something. Then he remembered how long it had been since his Master had left this citadel. Years, perhaps decades. Balaam thought back to the early construction of Erebus, the army of slaves toiling on the wastes. Hundreds died each month, only to be replaced by others, and then by their children. But Abraxus had remained here since the laying of the first foundation. And now an entire city had grown up around the palace, even though their people were fewer with every passing year. A city in search of a people. Caught up in his own reverie, Balaam started when the Shadow Lord spoke again.