The Conqueror's Shadow (57 page)

Seilloah's glare was almost vicious enough to hide the slow flush of embarrassment in her cheeks.

“All right.” The warlord shrugged. “Call me Cerris. I'm used to it.”

“All right, Cerris,” Ellowaine said hesitantly. “Tell me how we get inside a besieged city without being noticed.”

“Why, simplicity itself, Ellowaine. We'll climb a tree.”

“Oh, of course,” she retorted sarcastically. “How could I possibly have missed that? Seilloah, how did I miss that?”

Seilloah just shook her head.

“There,” Corvis announced cheerfully after an hour of leading his increasingly irritable companions around the perimeter of the raging battle. “That one should do.” He gestured at a towering, snow-coated conifer with a discouraging dearth of low branches large enough to support a corpulent pigeon, let alone a trio of encumbered climbers.

Corvis had a solution for that, too, of course. He made liberal use of Khanda's magic to levitate them, one by one, to the higher branches, where Ellowaine and Seilloah found themselves clinging to the trunk with quiet desperation.

“What do you think, Khanda?” Corvis asked softly, standing atop a large limb. He peered, squint-eyed, across the bloodstained snow and crowded parapets, into the distant streets of Mecepheum. “It's not very clear, but it is in line of sight. Can you do it?”

/If it was just you, no problem. With your two tagalongs … Yes, I can do it, but I won't be good for much immediately afterward. It'd help if I had a snack waiting for me on the other side./

“No chance. We're not here to kill the population. Besides, it'd draw attention.”

/Fine, but if you get into a scrape I'm too exhausted to pull you out of, it's your funeral./

“You know, you're really obnoxious in the face of danger.”

/It's that whole immortality thing. Makes one a bit blasé about it all./
A moment passed.
/Say, are you going to tell them ahead of time what you're planning to do?/

Corvis concentrated once more, and they were swept by a sudden sense of falling, atrociously fast. The world blurred around them, and then they were standing inside the mouth of a dark and filthy alley off Mecepheum's main boulevard.

“Nope,” Corvis replied. “Gives them less time to worry about it.” Then, repressing a chuckle at the slackened expressions on the faces of his companions, he set out at a brisk pace.

Even here, far from the walls, Mecepheum was clearly a community under siege. The street bustled with activity, the calls of vendors and the pervasive buzz of conversations replaced by grimly determined voices, shouted orders, and calls for help. The scent of the marketplace—that strange but universal mixture of bodies, meats, vegetables, and dyes—was absent, smothered by sweat, steel, and leather. Most of the citizens dashing back and forth carried water, bandages, and spare arrows for the soldiers on the walls. The snow, inches deep outside those walls, was almost nonexistent on the streets within, kicked aside and trampled into slush by the constant stir. On occasion, a gnome rose up—seemingly from solid stone—and darted from a darkened byway to drag away some unsuspecting soldier or citizen.

Corvis, Seilloah, and Ellowaine went largely unnoticed in the hubbub.

“My lo … ah, Cerris,” Ellowaine hissed, nudging him slightly to draw his attention from the crowd around him. “You still haven't told us where we're going. Or what we're doing. Or who we're looking for.” She waited expectantly, and Seilloah, striding behind them, stepped up her pace to be certain she could hear.

“You're right,” Corvis agreed. “I haven't.”

Seilloah snorted once, and Ellowaine began turning a vegetative shade of purple.

“Ladies, listen to me.” Corvis dragged them to stand beneath a small awning protruding from a nearby shop. His voice cut through the bedlam of the surrounding throng despite his hushed tone. “Audriss has his demon, remember? I don't
think
Pekatherosh is telepathic—
Khanda's not. But I don't
know
. Khanda can warn me if I'm being magically probed in any way, but the two of you don't have that defense. If I tell you what I know, and he sees us coming before we see him, it might warn him off. Trust me when I say this isn't something we want him to know that we know.”

Ellowaine frowned unhappily but nodded. Seilloah just shrugged. “Whatever you say, Cerris.”

“Right.” Somehow, he wasn't precisely reassured.

/You know, Corvis, you could just ask me if Pekatherosh can read your minds./

The Terror of the East coughed once, embarrassed. “I, um, I guess I didn't think of that. All right, Khanda, can Pekatherosh read our minds?”

/How should I know?/

With an inarticulate gurgle, Corvis lunged once more into the street.

The minutes fled in droves as the trio maneuvered, wiggled, and shoved through the crowds, drawing glowers and curses as they passed. And then, abruptly, Corvis drew to a halt. “I realize you can't do much with what I've told you,” he said to his companions. “But any preparations you feel the need to make, make them now. We're almost there.”

Ahead, looming from the surrounding structures, was the Hall of Meeting. His face radiating determination, one hand resting atop Sunder, Corvis stepped into the building's shadow—and the shadow of a past he'd thought he'd left many, many years behind him.

/How perfectly karmic,/
Khanda commented as though he indeed read Corvis's thoughts.
/You lost your
last
war in a Guild Hall, too. If this was any more symmetrical, I'd have to rethink my assessment of the gods. It seems they have a sense of humor after all./

“You find this funny, do you?” Corvis asked angrily.

/Corvis, my boy, you've absolutely no idea./

For a brief instant, Corvis's eyes closed in supplication to he knew not which gods, and then he deliberately pulled open the huge door and walked inside.

THE NOBLES AND GUILDMASTERS
were meeting not in the audience chamber downstairs, but within the confines of an upper-level room, large enough (albeit barely) to seat them all comfortably. The horseshoe-shaped table within was enormous, with sufficient chairs for all. The room possessed but a single door, a heavy hardwood monstrosity with iron bands and multiple bars, and the walls were twelve-inch stone. It was, put quite plainly, practically impregnable, and the various nobles and Guildmasters felt far safer making their plans here than they would downstairs.

At the moment, however, they weren't making many plans at all.

“Absolutely impossible!” Rheah Vhoune stood beside her chair, white-knuckled fists pressed against the table. “I don't believe it!”

Duke Lorum, face covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his armor caked with dirt, leaned back in his own chair and shook his head. “I understand, Rheah. Jassion's a friend of mine, too, remember? But the facts fit.”

“Like hell they do!”

Ignoring the outburst, Salia Mavere, the priestess of Verelian, shifted in her own chair, idly playing with the head of a massive hammer. “How reliable is this information, Your Grace?”

Lorum smiled sadly. “As reliable as any battlefield report, I suppose. According to the few who made it back, the unit Jassion took to engage Rebaine's elite force was largely wiped out, despite the element of surprise.”

“And the baron did not return with them?” That from Sebastian Arcos of the Merchants' Guild, who sat as far from Rheah as courtesy and acoustics permitted.

“No.”

“It proves nothing!” Rheah insisted. “Maybe he fell in battle! Gods, we're sitting here condemning the man, he could be dying as we speak! Why—”

“Rheah,” Lorum's tone, though gentle, cut succinctly through her
protests, “you've heard the full report. Several of his own men saw him vanish into a sudden bank of fog, fog that rose with no warning and faded as quickly. And we all know what that means.”

“So who's to say,” Duke Edmund asked, “the Legion didn't just kill the poor young man? Not that I would wish for such a thing, of course, but it might be a more reasonable explanation.”

“No.” Nathaniel Espa, who held no official position but attended as personal adviser to the regent, stood and leaned across the table. “No, I've seen the Legion in action, at Pelapheron. They kill quickly, efficiently, and I've never seen them take anyone with them before.” He sighed. “I fear Duke Lorum's theory, however distasteful, may be correct.”

“No!” Rheah insisted again, though her conviction wavered. “Damn it, I know Jassion! I've known him since he was a baby! He's headstrong, stubborn, violent, obsessive … But he's no traitor! I cannot believe he'd willingly serve Audriss.”

“You're supposed to think he
is
Audriss, actually.”

Every head in the room turned toward the door, now gaping open. No one should have been able to enter the chamber: The door was not only locked and barred, but enchanted by Rheah Vhoune herself. Yet now, without so much as a sound of movement or a flicker of the wards, the portal swung wide, framing three people within.

The man—tall, wiry, and grey-haired—moved to stand at the center of the U formed by the table, where he could address the entire assembly. His companions, both female, spread out to either side. One, as gaunt as he, held a pair of hideous hatchets, and the gleam in her eyes suggested she was all too ready to use them. The other was dark haired, older than the first, and appeared to be unarmed.

“Who are you?” Espa demanded, hand falling on the large sword at his waist. “How did you get in here?”

“Rheah,” the man said, “please tell your friend that if he pulls that sword, he'll be dead before the scabbard stops wobbling.”

Her jaw clenched tightly, Rheah nodded. “He means it, Nathan. All of you. Your weapons are useless.” She raised an eyebrow. “Mine aren't, though,” she continued. “You know I can stop you. I may not match your pet for sheer power, but you can't channel it all at once.”

“Possibly true. That's why my companion over there looks so edgy. If anything unnatural happens to me, her orders are to take those hatchets and start killing.”

Rheah cursed under her breath.

“As far as who I am,” the man said, “let me make it more obvious. Khanda?”

He rippled very much like a watery reflection into which someone had hurled a stone. And then he was dressed not in fur and leathers, but in the black-and-bone armor known to everyone within the room. He wasn't wearing his helm, but then, he didn't need to be.

He'd expected, truth be told, to have to curb the subsequent commotion, to browbeat everyone back into their seats long enough to listen to what he had to say. For whatever reason—quite possibly utter shock—it didn't happen. Instead, most of the assembly simply gaped at him with fearful eyes and made no sound save for uneven gasps.

“Good,” Corvis said succinctly. “That makes things easier.” Slowly, purposefully, he took in the entire gathering, one by one. Few of the Guildmasters and nobles were courageous enough to meet his gaze. Fewer still could hold it.

Despite his best efforts, he couldn't keep a sneer of contempt from crossing his features. These were the men and women who ruled Imphallion? Cowering weaklings and squabbling politicians, fools for whom even the threat of a conquering army was insufficient motivation to work together. They weren't worthy to govern. A part of Corvis wondered if they were worthy even to survive.

“What are you doing here?” Duke Edmund finally burst out, clearly hovering at the precipice of hysteria. “What do you want with us?”

“I assure you,” Nathaniel Espa added more calmly, “that if you seek to hold us hostage in exchange for the city, you're sadly delusional. The safety of our citizens—”

“Oh, put a cork in it, you windbag,” Corvis snapped at him. “Gods, are you people naturally this dense, or have you been stuffing rocks in your ears?
I'm not working with Audriss!”

A moment of silence, and then Corvis could feel the weight of their disbelief come crashing down upon his head. Undeterred, he pressed on.

“Shocking as this may be to everyone concerned, myself included, I'm trying to
help
you people!”

“Ha!” Duke Lorum rose—slowly, so as not to aggravate the fidgety lady with the hatchets—and glared at the greatest nightmare of his time. “With all respect, Lord Rebaine, do whatever it is you've come to do and get it over with, but spare us the lies. It's obvious what's happening here!”

“Is it?” The warlord began, methodically, to pace. “I wonder.”

With that he fell silent, save for his boot heels clicking across the cold stone. Various councilmen traded glances, frightened, confused. Whatever they'd expected of the Terror of the East, this wasn't it.