The Conqueror's Shadow (35 page)

“Don't even start.”

Khanda sniffed.
/All right, be that way. What else? I—well, I'll be damned./

“A bit late for that, isn't it?”

/Oh, you're hysterical, you know that? Pekatherosh./

“Excuse me?”

/It's Pekatherosh. I was wondering whatever happened to that son of a bitch./

“Old friend of yours?”

/In the “I'd love to stake him out on an abyssal plain and feed his living entrails to the parasites” sense of friendship./

The gnome appeared directly under Corvis's nose. “It must come
now!”

“Of course. Lead the way.”

The gnome glared suspiciously but stumped toward the heavy leather flap, muttering to itself and twitching.

If the tent's exterior was excessive, the interior was downright opulent, in a sick and twisted sort of way. A banquet-sized table of a heavy oak dominated the cavernous canvas chamber. It was bare, save for a
haphazard heap of maps and parchments on the far side, and a pair of ornate wine goblets and glass decanter on the near. In one corner of the tent, directly below the tin skirt of the chimney, sat a firepit large enough to roast a deer (and was, in fact, currently doing so). The spit rotated despite the lack of attendants, but so accustomed had Corvis grown to magic that he scarcely noticed. A four-poster bed with a thick, downy mattress occupied one far corner, along with a towering wardrobe and what appeared to be—

“An iron maiden?” the Terror of the East asked incredulously. “He travels with an iron maiden?”

/Obviously, this is a man passionate about his hobbies./

“Fantastic. So where is he?”

/I'm not sensing him in here anymore. He probably stepped out so as to make a suitably impressive entrance./

“Probably. I might have done the same thing,” Corvis admitted. “I bet he'd come running pretty quick if I started poking through his notes.”

/I imagine he would./

“So how come you didn't know it was this Pekatherosh when he contacted you the first time?”

/Distance, Corvis. All he did was send a message; there wasn't enough of his essence for me to identify. Once we got near, though … Corvis, you'd better hope that Audriss has a pretty good leash on Pekatherosh. The results are going to be
very
unpleasant if we end up confronting each other directly, and that's exactly what'll happen when one of us gets free./

Corvis grunted thoughtfully as he made a brief circuit of the tent. “I take it there was a special enmity between you two?”

/You've no idea at all. Have you ever seen two enraged, rabid dogs going at it?/

“I can imagine it.”

/Like that, but ugly./

Corvis was spared the necessity of a response by the sound of the flap opening. With a deliberate effort, he kept his hands away from Sunder as he slowly faced the Serpent.

Audriss stood in the doorway, framed in moonlight reflected by the
low-lying mists. For the first time, Corvis saw the dull black armor, impossibly carved of stone, the grotesque silver runes, the gaping hood containing nothing but a featureless expanse. He appeared unarmed save for a long, curved dagger at his left waist. Silver rings adorned every finger save one, the middle finger of his left hand, which bore one of dingy pewter, topped with an emerald stone.

They stood and assessed each other, these two men who'd dreamed of domination. Corvis realized that the Serpent was not a tall man; even without the benefit of armor, he had more than half a foot on his counterpart.

Finally, his voice echoing behind the mask, Audriss spoke. “Corvis Rebaine. The Terror of the East. Believe me when I say that this is one of the greatest honors of my life.” He bowed from the waist. “Welcome to my home, Lord Rebaine, transitory as it may be.”

Corvis inclined his head politely, the jaws of the skull helm clacking together. “You are too kind, Lord Audriss. I've been looking forward to meeting you as well. You and Pekatherosh.” He gestured absently toward the emerald ring.

/Show-off./

“Ah, Pekatherosh. One of my greatest assets in this humble endeavor. I'd introduce you, but you wouldn't hear a word he has to say, and I doubt seriously that Khanda would feel inclined to be cordial.”

Inside his helm, Corvis scowled.

“But come, Lord Rebaine,” Audriss said, waving magnanimously at the table, “make yourself comfortable. It's late, and you've walked far to get here. A man of your age should never be kept waiting.”

/Ouch,/
Khanda said appreciatively.

“Indeed,” Corvis said, biting off the sharp retort that initially came to mind. He strode to the waiting goblets, selecting a chair at random. Audriss stood directly opposite.

“Before we talk shop,” Audriss said, keeping his feet. “Would you permit me a moment to satisfy a bit of idle curiosity?”

“That depends on what you're curious about, I imagine.”

“Sunder.” Audriss raised his hands, palm-first, in a gesture of helplessness. “I've always been fascinated by the Kholben Shiar.”

“If you think there's any chance …,” Corvis began hotly, but he
paused. For the first time, he truly looked at the dagger the Serpent wore at his side, truly felt the cold—not a physical but spiritual chill-emanating from the unassuming weapon.

“Well,” he said with forced levity, “I'll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Audriss laughed. “Fair enough.” Very slowly, each drew his weapon and extended it haft-first across the table. A tense heartbeat, and then both weapons were snatched simultaneously.

The dagger writhed even as Corvis's fist clenched around the hilt, twisting and flowing; across the table, Sunder did the same. The weapon in the Terror's grip lengthened, widened, sprouted a heavy blade. A cry filled his mind, a faint wail that didn't suggest pain so much as it did the
expectation
of pain. And somewhere in the sound that wasn't sound at all, Corvis heard a name, just as he'd heard the name of Sunder so many years ago.

“Talon.”

And then it was done. In his hands, Corvis now held a massive battle-axe, similar in many respects to Sunder itself. The blade was thicker, more squared along its cutting edge, and it lacked Sunder's signature engraving, but it felt identically balanced.

Corvis glanced over to see Audriss holding a thick, single-edged dagger with an ornate filigree running up both sides of the blade. It was a wicked weapon, one clearly designed for murder, not battle.

“You,” Corvis said disdainfully, “have the soul of an assassin.”

Audriss gestured at the massive axe. “And you of a brute.” He turned back to the weapon, holding it up as though to catch more of the light. “Fascinating things, the Kholben Shiar. They know us, I sometimes think, even better than we know ourselves.” Then, with what might have been a sigh of longing, he held Sunder back toward Corvis, who in turn extended Talon. Once again the weapons flowed and shifted until they resumed the forms they'd worn before.

“And the point of that?” Corvis demanded, refusing to accept “curiosity” as an answer.

For the moment, the Serpent ignored his question, once again sheathing the dagger at his side. “Wine?” he offered.

“I believe I'll pass, thank you.”

“Why, Lord Rebaine, you don't believe I've summoned you all this way just to poison you?”

Ignoring Audriss's choice of words—summoned indeed!—he shrugged. “Have I any reason not to believe it?”

“Tsk, tsk. You clearly don't understand me at all. You see, my friend, I'm a man with a vision.”

“Of course you are.”

“A vision you helped inspire. I've built my campaign upon the model of yours, though I—if you'll pardon my candor—will succeed where you failed. But Lord Rebaine …” Audriss leaned forward, his hands clenched tightly against the table. “Lord Rebaine, Imphallion is a large kingdom, and there are other nations, even larger, beyond our borders. Surely this land is wide enough for two men to rule.”

Hard as he tried to show no reaction, Corvis was taken aback. “You want me to
join
you?”

“Why not? Nothing could stand against us! Imphallion would topple like a house of twigs! Cephira would be just as easy. Even the Dragon Kings couldn't stand up to our combined might! We could own this entire continent in less than a decade, Corvis. Think of it!”

“I am thinking of it,” the Eastern Terror said coldly. “I think it's a fool's dream. I think that you—if
you'll
pardon
my
candor—are a madman. And I think I preferred you calling me Lord Rebaine.”

The air between them threatened to freeze, then eased just as quickly. Audriss leaned back in his chair and chuckled softly. “That's direct enough, I suppose. Tell me,
Lord Rebaine
, if I'm both a fool and a madman, how have I gotten this far?”

“Sheer luck and weight of numbers,” Corvis told him, also leaning back. “You've started your campaign based on someone else's plans, and you're slavishly following them like a parrot squawking poetry it can't possibly understand. Beginning at Denathere made no strategic or tactical sense whatsoever, as any first-year student of warfare would have known. If Lorum had mobilized even a fraction of the Guilds, you'd have been completely cut off.”

“Yes,” Audriss said mockingly, “you'd know about that, wouldn't you? I can't imagine what came over us, Lord Rebaine, to end and begin our respective campaigns at Denathere. Can you?”

“Oh, shit,” Corvis said under his breath, so quietly that only his demon could hear him.

/Corvis, you don't think—/

“Yes
, I do. He knows, Khanda.”

/We have a problem./

“Since we're being so open and honest with each other, Lord Rebaine, let's get to the point, shall we? It's not at Denathere anymore. I knew it wouldn't be, but I had to make certain. You'd never have left it behind, even though you obviously couldn't use it. I want it. Do that, and half this kingdom, this continent, even this world could be yours with no further risk to you. Surely you couldn't ask for a better offer.”

“I'm afraid I've no idea of what you're talking about, Lord Audriss.”

“Oh, I think you do. But we can play that game, too, if you wish. I'll get it from you eventually.

“Our exchange of the Kholben Shiar,” Audriss continued, “brief as it was, required at least a modicum of shared trust. I'd hoped it would prove to you my sincerity. Are you quite certain I can't convince you to join me?”

“Quite.”

“Ah, well. I had to try, you understand.”

/Corvis,/
Khanda shrieked,
/something's happening outside!/

“I understand completely, Audriss!” the Terror of the East shouted, lunging to his feet and vaulting the table. Sunder flashed outward in a mighty blow that should have ended the conflict then and there.

A shock ran through the weapon as it slammed into Audriss's armor. The smaller warlord hurtled across the room to land with a deafening clatter against the iron maiden; it tottered precariously, righting itself only at the last second. But there was no rent in the armor, no sign of injury as Audriss dragged himself to his feet. A spiderweb of cracks showed on the stone breastplate, but even as Corvis watched, the runes flared briefly into incandescence. When the blinding light faded, the armor was undamaged.

“Magic,” Corvis spat bitterly.

“Well, of
course
magic,” Audriss shouted, steadying himself. “Stone armor is a pretty stupid idea without magic, isn't it?”

His face grim beneath his mask, Corvis advanced. “But it's human magic, Audriss. I doubt it can stand up to the Kholben Shiar for long.”

“No, probably not. But Lord Rebaine, you don't
have
very long.”

/Corvis, the tent flap!/

The thick fog cloaking the surrounding grasses now flowed
into
the tent, seeping in beneath the flap. It left in its wake a trail of blood, a thin coating that painted the canvas a thick, rich crimson.

“I'm disappointed in you, Lord Rebaine,” Audriss told him. The Serpent moved farther into the tent, putting distance between himself and his contender. He had once again drawn Talon and he held the infernal weapon before him, his poise and posture bespeaking his skill with the blade.

“How's that, Lord Audriss?” Corvis asked, backing cautiously away from both Audriss and the new arrival, who had assumed the form of a tall, gaunt figure with jet-black hair. He stopped only when his back brushed against the canvas wall.

“You attacked me, Lord Rebaine. After I was generous enough to grant you my promise of safe parley. In my own home, no less! Have you no sense of honor?”

Sunder weaving a sinister pattern in the air before him, Corvis glanced meaningfully at the formerly insubstantial figure. “And your bloodsucking friend here just happened to be in the neighborhood? I'm no more dishonorable than you, Audriss. I'm just more honest about it.”

“You've got nowhere to go, Rebaine,” Audriss snapped, finally losing his last tattered shreds of patience. “Even if Mithraem can't catch you, the surrounding terrain is crawling with his people, not to mention my own guards and a handful of gnomes. Not even the great Corvis Rebaine can take on those kinds of odds.”

“Why, Audriss, I do believe you're absolutely right.”

Despite what he thought was an obvious cue, nothing happened. Mithraem drew nearer.

“Khanda, now would be an excellent time!”

/What's the magic word?/

His face, already red with exertion, purpled with rage and he
shouted something garbled and incoherent at the pendant around his neck.