Jon Sprunk - Shadow's master

While the others prepared to leave, Caim looked back in the direction of the ruined city. Where was Kit? He cursed her for leaving, and then cursed himself for a fool. He had all but driven her away. Why couldn't he just tell her how he really felt?

Something moved on the plains. Caim tensed until a low, four-footed shape emerged. The wolf's eyes were amber coins in the dark, staring in their direction. All by itself.

Caim pulled up the collar of his cloak as he put his foot in the stirrup and swung onto his steed. The wind was picking up again.

The salty wind stirred up a white froth across the ocean waves below the cliff. White birds cawed as they circled overhead. The sun was painful to the eyes as it sank beneath the horizon, but not so bright as to be blinding.

Balaam inhaled and let the smells fill him. There was something about the water, its vast expanse and unknowable depths, the rhythm of the waves. He closed his eyes and remembered his homeland, the many nights he had stood on the beach at his father's house in Drechensvelt Prefecture looking out over the midnight lakes.

The summoning beckoned him, pulling at the recesses of his brain. Balaam considered defying it as he took a last look over the endless blue waters. The fire that had engulfed his cloak was gone, but the shame of failure remained. He saw the scene again in his mind: the trap laid perfectly, his heart beating with anticipation as the scion entered the killing ground, the daemon released from its etheric prison in the pit. And then their duel. Balaam had run through every moment of the fight in his mind, studying every step, every blow, every breath. It had been a dance of combat perfection. Elegant, fierce, and honorable. Until they were interrupted.

His flaw was that he'd failed to account for outside interference. Now he wished he'd stayed to conclude the battle with the scion, even if it had meant his defeat. Better to die than face this dishonor.

The portal deposited him in a rough-hewn chamber far beneath the citadel's foundations. He followed the tunnel around several sharp angles to its conclusion. His breath misted before him as he entered a colossal cavern. Carved from the rock, it stretched more than a hundred spans from end to end. Fingers of translucent ice cascaded down the cratered walls, reflecting the light of the eternal blue flame burning in the obsidian urn at the center. The fire gave off no heat, but Balaam hardly registered the cold of the subterranean cavern. His anger and shame kept him warm.

The Shadow Lord stood on the far side of the chamber. His shoulders were slumped, his back bent slightly as if under a heavy weight. Balaam kept a tight rein on his composure as he crossed the uneven floor. All at court knew the Master came down here often by himself. The rumors of what he did here were rife with ill intent, but few knew the truth. As Balaam passed the urn of fire, the far wall vanished into a well of nothingness. No, not nothingness. More, and somehow also less.

It was the original gateway that had brought them to this world. Embedded in the stone wall, it was black and impenetrable like a starless sky. Many thought the gateway had been lost, destroyed by the Shadow Lord, but Balaam and a few trusted others knew that their Master had hidden the gate in the earth and built his citadel above it. Yet what wrenched Balaam's insides was not the gateway, but the pitifully small figure stuck within it. He remembered Isabeth from the old days. The Master's daughter had been so full of life and breathtakingly beautiful, but the warped, stone-gray statue before him hardly resembled that girl. Save for the eyes. Even embedded in the flinty substance her flesh had been transformed into over these long years, they retained a spark of rebelliousness.

Dark things moved under the surface of the void. Balaam remained still, hardly daring to breathe, as an inky tendril emerged from the gateway and touched the Shadow Lord. Abraxus shuddered, his eyes closed tight as if lost in rapture, or agony. Moments passed. When the Master turned, he was no longer the ancient man who had presided over Lord Oriax's execution, but strong and hearty with the bearing of a younger man, though his gaze was slightly vacant as if he'd been staring into the void for hours. Perhaps he had.

“Sometimes I think it means to destroy me. But I will endure it as long as I must.”

Balaam folded his gloved hands behind his back. “Master?”

Abraxus stepped closer to the gateway, until his face was mere inches from his daughter. The void's eldritch energies writhed and palpitated, as if excited by the Shadow Lord's presence. “She was my prize, Balaam. My magnificent jewel. Do you have children?”

“No, Master.”

“A wise decision. This is where your father died. Did you know?”

“No, Master.”

“It was here. The traitors came while I was in my meditation. Your father slew them all. When I returned from the ethers, he was lying next to the sentinel flame.”

Balaam said nothing. There was nothing to say, but for an instant he imagined drawing his sword and opening his lord's throat, saw the black blood spill out on the floor. I am a soldier. I live only to serve and die. He held fast to that belief as he clutched his hands together. The Shadow Lord's daughter stared at him from the void.

Abraxus turned away from the gateway. “Have you found him?”

Balaam gave the full account of his ambush, leaving out nothing. When he came to the part of his defeat, his stomach clenched and a cool sweat broke out across his brow, but he continued on and ended with his new plan to use teams of Northmen to track the scion.

Abraxus nodded. “Yes, Balaam. Do as you see fit. My trust in you on this matter is complete. But I have an additional task for you.”

Balaam bowed his head. Any duty would be preferable to continuing this farce, even a transfer to a distant battlefield far from Erebus. And far from Dorcas.

Lord Malphas emerged from the shadows on the other side of the flames. The majordomo was dressed in an impeccable gray suit with a long jacket. “One of your Talons has left Erebus without permission.”

They are mine again now?

Lord Malphas held up a black helmet. “Deumas, I believe her name was. She left this at the foot of the Master's throne.”

Balaam took the helm, turning it over in his hands. Yes, it belonged to Deumas. Her desertion was no great surprise.

“You are to find the traitor,” Malphas said. “Eliminate her and bring us proof when you have finished.”

Jaws clenched tight, Balaam bowed to Abraxus. “As you command, Master.”

The Shadow Lord placed a thin hand on his arm. “You are my chosen, Balaam. My most loyal servant. Let none stop you, and we shall deal with the scion in good time. He will come to us like a slouching mongrel, but his power will crumble in the face of…in the face of…”

“In the face of your power, Master,” Malphas finished.

“Yes,” Abraxus said, his voice hollow. “Perform the tasks I've put before you. That is all I require.”

Balaam bowed again as the Shadow Lord took a step and vanished, leaving them alone together in the cavern. The majordomo approached within arm's reach of the lady, gazing into her blank, frozen eyes. The gateway's surface was now as smooth as black glass. “You knew her,” Malphas asked. “Did you not?”

“I was raised in the Master's household from a young age. I knew his entire family.”

Lord Malphas faced him, his features smooth like a sheet of dusky granite. “I forgot you were raised as a Talon. I've always wondered what it must be like to live a life of service, beholden entirely to another's will.”