Blood Of Kings: The Shadow Mage (34 page)

He looked farther up the hill to where the emperor’s palace dominated the skyline, sitting beyond the houses of the wealthy citizens of Alcraz. Its towers and domes dwarfing every building around it.
Like a fat hen sitting on her clutch of eggs,
Aknell thought.

He knocked on the door with the edge of his fist, pounding on the heavy, solid wood until a small shutter was pulled back. The doorman wordlessly slammed the peephole back into place and moments later the door creaked open. Aknell and the massive Nortman Rolfgot stepped through the archway into an open courtyard. Several guards, armed with spears and short swords by their sides, lined the walls.

“It would seem our friend, Lorian, has upped his security,” Aknell said, as much to himself as to his companion. Two guards approached, blocking them from proceeding through the house.

“Your weapons,” a third said.

“I am unarmed,” Aknell said, a pleasant smile on his face. “You can search me if you wish,” he added as he opened out his arms.

“That won’t be necessary, but I’ll need to take your bodyguard’s sword.”

Aknell’s smile grew wider. The sight of these house guards attempting to disarm the giant Nortman would be most entertaining. He was almost tempted to let them. Instead he nodded towards Rolfgot and the Nortman unstrapped his weapon and handed it over, sheath and all, while his face remained neutral and unreadable. Aknell revelled in the guards discomfort as he took the weapon from the Nortman.

The gatekeeper led them through the small courtyard towards the main door of the house. Once he stepped onto the tiled-floor of the hallway, the real wealth of the owner was revealed. Artworks adorned the walls of the spacious entranceway, huge pillars propped up the high ceiling. Overhead skylights allowed sunshine to flood the room. Standing in a pool of light was their host, Lorian Olmet. The fat nobleman spread his arms wide in greeting, before clapping his hands together twice in quick succession. Servants hurried to attend him, bearing trays of drinks and bowls of water for his guests to wash their hands.

“Welcome, welcome to my home, my friend.” He grinned. His chins moved as he nodded his head jovially.
A little too good-natured,
Aknell thought. He noted, once again, the increased guards hovering, trying to remain out of sight, and how Lorian glanced once at the big Nortman before quickly looking away. His fear of Rolfgot was evident enough. “Come, sit with me on the balcony. It is a beautiful day and there is a wonderful view of the city from there.” He led his guests towards the back of the house without waiting for a reply.

There was indeed a fine view overlooking the city, likely only bettered by the view from the palace one level higher up. Aknell sat on a cushioned couch, while Rolfgot took up position behind him, standing statue-still, his arms folded across his chest. A small table set before the couches was piled high with various fruits of the empire, as well as breads and cold meats. Lorian dropped into a couch opposite and immediately plucked a duck leg from a platter on the table.

“Eat,” he said and began gnawing on the drumstick. Aknell noticed how his hand trembled ever so slightly as he reached for the food.

He smiled graciously and reached for a small loaf of bread, tore off a chunk and bit into it. “Thank you, it is most welcome,” he said. “We have not spoken in many months, my friend. It has been too long.”

The fat man shrugged, his eyes darting between Aknell and the Nortman standing behind him. “Life has been busy… difficult,” he said, his eyes dropping away from Aknell.

“Oh, how so? Is there trouble at the palace?”

Lorian’s eyes shot back up. “Always questions about the emperor, Aknell. Your fishing makes me worry I have allowed a spy into my house.” The fat man smiled at his own joke, although the humour did not reach his eyes.

“Now I know something is troubling you, Lorian. Are we not friends?”

“Yes, yes of course, I’m sorry. A cloud of suspicion hovers over the palace. It is as contagious as a plague.”

“It must have been seismic to have you so nervous, my friend, he who is normally the very essence of calm and foresightedness.”
Peddler in rumours and gossip more like,
Aknell smiled reassuringly at the fat man.

“Some months ago, assassins made an attempt on the Princess Rosinnio’s life.”

“On Rosinnio’s life?” Aknell’s smile remained in place.

“So I’m led to believe. It was made to look like a coup and attempt on the life of her husband, but I’m told by my sources, the emperor and his closest advisors believe that was a rouse to mask the real reason, that being to murder the princess.”

“But why?”

Lorian leaned in closer, glancing around him, as if there were eavesdroppers all around him. “Rumour has it the reason Rosinnio was sent north to marry was to remove her as far away as possible from the palace. The emperor feared so strongly for her that he sent her to Nortland, where he thought she would be safer. Imagine… safer in the Pirate Isles!”

“But that makes no sense.” Aknell sat back into his couch and looked beyond his host at the city yawning below the balcony.

“Somebody in this city has the emperor scared enough for his daughter’s safety that he sent her as far away as he could imagine. Who has the power to frighten an emperor?”

“There are higher orders than that of an emperor,” Aknell said.

“Higher than an emperor? I don’t follow you,” the fat man said.

“Are the gods not infinitely higher?”

“I suppose, but the gods have their own places and rarely interfere directly with affairs of mortals.”

“That is where you are wrong. The gods take a very great interest in what men are doing. A god is only as powerful as his followers make him… or her.”

“Anyway it is a moot point. It was men who poisoned the princess, not a god,” Lorian said. “Somebody with enough wealth to hire a company of swords, and enough power to frighten an emperor. Who has that power over an emperor? And why Rosinnio?”

“Sadly, all things must end, my friend,” Aknell said.

“What are you talking about?” The fat noble fidgeted nervously on his couch, glancing over to where his guards stood silently just inside the house.

“The time has come for change, Lorian, for the world to be remade.”

“Aknell?” Lorian smiled unconvincingly.

“It has been quite some time since your friend Aknell walked among the living, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t understand.”

“His likeness has served me well, these past years, but now I think it is time to move on. I can sense him finally departing. He was most strong, stronger, I think than you will ever be. Alas, I have a long journey to undertake now, Lorian, and I need something from you.”

“What is that?” The fat man’s words came out in barely a whisper.

“Your soul.”

“No!” Lorian backed away from the man he thought his friend. A movement caught his attention as the giant Nortman started towards him. “Guards! Guards, kill them!”

Guards armed with spears and short swords suddenly materialised, rushing the balcony. The one nearest Lorian stood between the fat noble and the Nortman, his spear raised. Rolfgot snarled and advanced on the guard, snatching the weapon from his hands and turning it on its previous owner. Lorian backed to the edge of the balcony until he felt the balustrade behind him. He watched in mounting terror as the Nortman lifted a charging guard into the air and flung him from the balcony. Another swung a sword at him, but he simply caught his wrist, twisted and the sword fell to the ground with a clatter. The huge warrior grappled the man then, twisting his neck until a sickening crack made him go limp.

The Nortman turned towards another advancing guard only to have a sabre driven into his chest, running him through until it protruded out of his back. The captain of the guard stood back then, a smirk on his face as he assessed his handiwork. The smile quickly faded.

Without taking his eyes from him, Rolfgot, with both hands on the hilt, pulled the sabre slowly from his own body. Where a dead man ought to be lying stood an angry warrior with a bloody blade in his hand. The captain of the guard ran.

Lorian wretched. “What in the name of the gods are you?” Words choked out from a constricted throat as tears watered his eyes. He slid down onto his knees as Aknell approached him, shaking his head as he blubbered out words, begging for mercy. The jewel Aknell had gifted him all those months before fell out from beneath his tunic, a silver light pulsed veins of light from deep within the unblemished stone. Lorian gasped for air as he clawed at his throat.

“Your body is weak and pitiful,” Aknell said with disgust clear in his voice.

“Help me.” Lorian choked on his words.

“Help you? I despise you. It pains me that I will be stuck within your weak flesh until I find a more suitable host, but your face will open doors for me another could not.”

“What…?” Lorian gasped, as tears streamed from his eyes

Aknell revelled in the pain and fear of his victim, just as he had done when he stole the body of a merchant as if it were a new cloak. The soul of the merchant had cried out in agony and anguish from somewhere deep inside for a long, long time. He fed on the exquisite pain of Lorian as he melded his emotions with the fat noble. It was an easy matter to push aside the essence of the man and assume his body as if changing his coat. Deep down he felt Lorian struggle, he fed on his fear and desperation. The power of the ancient jewel aided his own, but it was he who possessed the magic to transfer his essence into the body of another. He who could usurp the soul of another.

Rolfgot stood over them, his shadow falling on the fat nobleman. All the while the Nortman’s expression remained emotionless.

Lady Rosinnio: Wind Isle

M
ist swirled around her feet clinging to the dark, naked trees barely visible in the moonlight. She felt the chill of night creeping into her bones, making tiny bumps rise on her skin… or perhaps it was not the cold making her feel so. Fear instilled the iciness of winter into the blood, as every shadow became a monster stalking its prey. She knew terror’s freezing touch well enough, and the hooded creature who haunted her dreams. She turned about in a full circle, slowly, taking in her surroundings. The forest was impenetrable, an army of dead trees with jagged thorns and leafless branches sharpened into spears; a single touch from one of the poisonous tips would be death. Filtering into the air around her were noxious gases exhaled from the dying bark and stinking earth where the trees sunk decaying roots, corrupting the soil with their wrongness. There was no escape from the haunted wood, no escape from him.

The sound of snapping branches and snarls of an angry beast fighting against its incarceration in the wood caught her attention. Fear filled her soul as she redoubled her efforts to find an escape route. All the while, the hooded man laughed silently, mocking her, from just beyond her vision, seen but unseen, hidden from view and her inner sight.

Her heart leapt and stomach lurched as the fur-clad creature burst into the small clearing. He looked up, fierce anger burning in his eyes, and something deeper… hunger – Crawulf. She raised a hand, nervously, in greeting. He drew his sword. She could feel the heat of his fury burning the air around her as he regarded her with the eyes of an untamed forest creature. A wolf wrapped in fur and with the sharpest of teeth, forged from the strongest steel. She felt the mixture of awe and fear she always felt when he was near her, like being caged with a wild and unpredictable beast.

“Husband?” Her single-word question floated on the air, a barely felt breeze on a hot day. In the distance she could hear laughter, not good-natured jolliness, but cold, mocking laughter. Another shape emerged from the trees. Crawulf snapped his attention towards the newcomer. She gasped as a mirror image of her husband stalked from the forest. The laughter intensified, coming from all around her now.

The two Crawulfs ran at each other, swords raised. Thunder erupted from their meeting, lighting flashed from the clang of blades. The earth beneath her feet rolled, knocking her to the ground as her husband fought with his mirror image. They roared and swiped with savage cuts of their blades, each aiming for the killing blow, both evenly matched. Blood gushed through the air in crimson sprays, splashing greedy, black soil, as both combatants found a mark. They whirled about the clearing fighting a deadly duel until she could no longer tell which was which. Still the laughter drifted across the forest, its source just out of sight. Fear and frustration warred within her as she watched the ongoing battle, increasing in its ferocity, knowing that her fate was entwined with the outcome.

Thunder raged and wind howled as she opened her eyes into darkness. The room was suddenly illuminated as Alweise hurled lightning spears across the sky, doing battle with the dark elves of Boda who eternally besiege Eiru – home of the gods. Her heart raced as the memories of the dream overwhelmed her. She realised then that her first thoughts on waking were of the gods of her new home and not those she worshipped since a girl. Shivering, she pulled the heavy furs covering her bed up around her neck. She was alone in the bed. There was a feast, she remembered… there was always a feast. She could hear the muffled sounds of drunken warriors carousing, singing their battle hymns, and bragging about their feats of bravery to each other.

A flash of lightning quickly followed by a clap of thunder shook the walls of her chamber, the stark, stone walls and narrow windows doing little to keep out the wind and sound of The All Wise’s eternal struggle with the minions of the wife he cast out. She threw off the furs and jumped out of bed, quickly lighting an oil lamp. Elongated shapes crept up the walls as the orange glow of the lamp chased away the darkness, consigning any demons hidden there to the shadows. She dressed quickly in her warmest clothes and flung a heavy woollen cape over her shoulders, and hurried from the room. A spiral staircase led downwards, its steps uneven and awkward. She put her hand on the wall to ease her passage down, feeling the dampness seeping into the stone. The noise became much louder, the light brighter as she reached the bottom of the staircase. She could hear men guffawing at some joke or other, while others called to the servants to bring more ale. She hurried past the feasting hall, not waiting to see if she had been noticed.