Emperor of Shadows

by Mike Truk

  “Everyman Jack had access to his hidden palace, remember?” The memory was all too vivid. “That secret door that led to another… place? We should assume Kavark has the same.”

  “We’ve gloom keys,” said Cerys. “We can follow after him.”

  “A demon werewolf is not going to be easy to defeat.” I tapped my lips. “We should recruit a core group of elite fighters to help take him down.”

  “Such as?” asked Netherys.

  “Exemplars, if we get them.”

  “Where do we find Exemplars?” asked the dark elf. “Their churches?”

  “That’s where Baleric hangs out. I don’t think he’d join, but perhaps we can see who else is in town. Get a grab bag of them to help us with the gloom knights and the werewolves, then lead them into Kavark’s private manor to destroy him.”

  “I like it,” said Netherys with a dark smile.

  “As do I, but we’re running short on time.” Cerys placed all the documents back into a central pile on her lap. “You’ll need to take point on that initiative, as your king troll powers will make recruiting them much more efficient.”

  “Having Baleric by our side would be delightful,” said Netherys. “Can we sway him?”

  “I think not.” I thought of Baleric and his team, elite and lethal and now just idling at the sidelines. “But perhaps if we impress him with our integrity he’ll come around.”

  We rode in silence for a minute, each of us sunken into our own thoughts.

  “I miss Iris,” said Cerys at last. “Not just because she’d be fantastic at this kind of mission, but… there was a sense of having a secret weapon on our side while she was here. That we couldn’t really lose with her on our side.”

  “And Yashara,” I said, a sharp wedge in my throat making it hard to swallow. “I’d make her commander of the guard and then lead the elite group right after Kavark.” And I could see it, too: Yashara leading the militia, whipping them into shape and brooking no complaints, while Cerys, Netherys, and I infiltrated the Noose, with Iris and her undead ensuring no surprise could halt our plans.

  “I miss Tamara,” Netherys said with surprising frankness. “And not just because she could bring us all back from the brink of death. When she is with us, there’s a sense of…” She trailed off, lips pursed, trying to find the right word. “Of moral composure to our group. Which, I know, is ironic coming from me. But she brings a steadiness to our team that is reassuring. A sense of identity.” She smiled then, self-conscious. “Perhaps that makes no sense.”

  “No, I know what you mean. Especially now that she’s become an Exemplar in her own right.” I sighed and gazed back out the carriage window. “It feels wrong to be doing this without them. But what choice do we have?”

  “None,” whispered Cerys.

  “So we’ll do it anyway, and do our best.” I forced myself to sit up straight. “And when Tamara returns to us, when we find a way to heal Yashara - Havatier if we can - we’ll be almost as we once were.”

  The Royal Provost tower was the center of Port Gloom’s bureaucracy and administration; if the Star Chamber was where the decisions were made, the tower was where they were executed. The courts, exchequer, and diplomatic offices were all located within its august body, all of which were defended by the guard’s elite core.

  “Black Wolves,” said Cerys thoughtfully as we descended from the carriage. “Interesting name for city guards.”

  I snorted as I jumped down “More apt perhaps than it should have been. In the Family, we called them the ‘Knuckleheads,’ but it took a skilled crew to even think about crossing them. They’re more like wolves than I think the city meant them to be.”

  “How so?” asked Netherys, descending last with all the grace and poise of visiting royalty.

  I gazed up the height of the Provost Tower. The last time I’d been here had been with Cerys, a mission to scale to the very top and there slay part of Imogen’s Web.

  It felt like a lifetime ago.

  “They’re as corrupt a group as they come,” I said. “They use their elite status to enrich themselves to no end. Part and parcel of the Family, really. More like raiders than city guards.”

  Netherys swept her purple hair back and bound it with a thong. “And they’re entrusted to defend the tower?”

  “I mean, kind of? They don’t so much defend it as use it as their base of operations. The tower’s off-limits to the Family, so it’s not like they’ve ever had much work to do. C’mon. Let’s go muzzle them.”

  The Provost’s tower was ornate, its sides covered in stone gables, pointed arches, lancet windows, archivolts, and engaged columns. It looked akin to an ancient cathedral that had sought too hard to reach the sky, a vast and glowering testament to the provost’s power and dominance over the city. It was fronted by a small paved space crowded with market stalls and book vendors. Three- and four-story-tall buildings hemmed the square in on all sides, buildings of government from which the accountants, notaries, judges, questors, and councilmen ruled the rest of the city.

  “There’s a second tower being built at the rear,” said Cerys as we stood shoulder to shoulder, looking up. “Kellik and I used it to climb the main tower, last time.”

  And it was to that second partially-finished tower that we were directed by the guards at the main tower’s entrance, for it was there that the Black Wolves had their garrison, using the finished lower three floors while the rest was constructed under a swathe of scaffolding.

  It was strange to walk up in broad daylight after having skulked here under the cover of darkness last time; too easy to remember our fight, the arrows, the stone gargoyles, and defenses. At any moment I expected shouts of alarm to be given, for eagle-eyed guards to realize that we’d returned and to be met with a storm of crossbow bolts.

  But no such thing happened.

  The second tower was built flush against the greater tower’s side, this one shorter and built in a classic cylindrical shape. It was swathed in scaffolding, the cone of its roof partially built yet only reaching two-thirds of the way up the main tower. The courtyard before it was busy with guards going about their business, which meant they were standing around drinking coffee from the various patronized carts that paid an exorbitant fee to set up within sight of the main gate.

  But there was no denying the dangerous air the Black Wolves gave off - the same kind of lean lethality as the best of the Family’s enforcers, from whom, truth be told, they were no different. They ranged greatly in appearance but were all clad in the same black half-plate over luxuriously-oiled black chain, a blend of hard and flexible armor that allowed for maximum protection and mobility. Halberds were propped against the occasional shoulder, but for the most part set in a large rack, mounted against the tower wall.

  I saw a number of city trolls, large and lean, once the pinnacle of military might in my mind until I learned better. Their pebbled skin ran to gray, their features were sharper, and they loomed over the other guards, with most of their number a head taller than the biggest man.

  Impressive, once.

  The rest of the guard were mostly human, with the occasional dwarf or half-elf thrown in for good measure; an unshaven, mostly hungover crowd, who turned to eye us as we approached. They noted the expensive carriage behind us but didn’t really care till the covered cart arrived and Pony sat up.

  Nothing like the sudden appearance of a war troll to get folks’ attention.

  There was no need for me to exercise my powers. A few startled oaths rang out as men dropped their coffees and brought their halberds to bear, those closest falling back as if in fear of being left exposed; within moments we faced a rough phalanx of anxious, angry faces, helms being slammed onto scalps, hands resting on the pommels of blades, eyes gleaming as they sized us up.

  “Easy, easy,” commanded a lean man who pushed his way into the center. “Now c’mon, Fortuna blight your souls, don’t bunch up like a pack of chickens.”

  “Brood of hens, sir,
” supplied a lanky guard whose helm seemed intent on slipping over his eyes each time he moved.

  “Spread out,” said the man, finally reaching the fore, the guards making room for his compact frame. He radiated an easy, competent authority, but was otherwise unremarkable. Plain features, regular frame, armor the same as the others. “You bunch up, that war troll will knock us over like a pack of ten pins.”

  “It’s a war troll, lieutenant,” said a guard off to the side, voice gruff and defensive.

  “Good job, Trask. Sharp eyes. Doesn’t seem very upset though, does he? Now spread out, the lot of you, in case we piss him off.”

  The Black Wolves obligingly shuffled out wide so we soon faced a loose cordon, a shallow semi-circle ready to wrap around us if we charged in.

  Which, as the lieutenant had divined, we weren’t about to do.

  “Greetings,” I said, raising a hand and stepping forward. “I’m the Count of Manticora, magistrate and member of the Star Chamber. I have been appointed the commander of the guard, and would like to speak with the commanding officers.”

  The lieutenant pushed back his helm so that he could scratch at his helm. “Well, that’s a relief. You, ah, have some documentation on you? No offense meant, my lord count.”

  “None taken.” I extended the scroll.

  The man took it, read it quickly, then handed it back. “At ease, men. Looks like we’ve got a new commander. I’m Lieutenant Rory, my lord. Welcome to the Black Wolves.”

  “The war troll joining up?” asked a voice from the back.

  “For a spell,” I said. “But let’s take it a step at a time. Lieutenant, gather the commanding officers. We’ve an emergency that needs taking care of.”

  “Yes sir. This way, please.”

  So it was that ten minutes later we found ourselves on the second tower’s third floor, minimally decorated and dominated by a lengthy table. A half-dozen men had assembled, a mixture of sergeants, lieutenants, and corporals. None of them seemed pleased to see me, and they lounged and hung about with a calculated display of insouciance.

  “Good afternoon, everybody.” I stood with my hands on my hips, chin raised, smiling easily at the rabble. “What exciting times we live in! The Royal Provost dead, the city consumed by riots, your dear commander fled. Why, such times positively beg for heroes to step to the fore and save the day. And how fortunate for Port Gloom that it is served by such heroic types as yourselves.”

  One of the Black Wolves, a sergeant who was in almost every way the opposite of his name, Tower, spat a stream of black tar onto the floorboards. “I’m afraid you might have the wrong impression about the Black Wolves, sir. We ain’t no riot-quelling types. We’re the Black Wolves. Our post’s here, by the tower.”

  “Aye, that’s right,” said a second, a corporal who’d spent more time leering at Cerys and Netherys than doing anything else. “We’ve lost one Royal Provost. Be a right shame to lose another.”

  “Very inspiring,” I said. “I’d expect no less from Port Gloom’s elite. But alas, times are what they are, and the Wolves are being summoned forth to show the good people of the city their quality.”

  The largest of them all, a monster of a man who looked more minotaur than human, finally pushed off the back wall to move to the front of the group. “We’re an elite group, right enough,” he rumbled. “But we’ve earned the right, one and all, to guard the tower and the Palace District. You’ll crush morale if you force the Wolves forth, commander. Best if you learn a bit more ’bout our culture before you start throwing your weight around, you know what I mean? There’s still a chance we can all get along.”

  “What a relief.” I beamed at the crew, all of whom leered back but for Lieutenant Rory. He stood by a window, cleaning his nails with a small knife and watching with a studiously blank expression. “I’d hoped I wouldn’t prove popular, and that you all might not embrace me like a brother. But now I see you will cherish me and cheer me on as I give you order after order, striving to achieve ever greater deeds! Wonderful. You’re going to love it because first, we’re heading down to the Noose to destroy Kavark’s stronghold.”

  I might as well have slapped the lot of them with their own mothers’ underwear. They froze, brains grinding to a halt, unable to process the words I just said.

  Then the huge man with the bullish look blinked. “Destroy… Kavark’s… stronghold?”

  “Yes!” I tried to sound as cheerful and enthusiastic as possible. “In the Noose? We’re going to gather the guard and militia and sweep the city clean of him and his men. What fun! If we get cracking, we could be done in time for lunch.”

  The shocked pause lasted another beat, and then as one, the men laughed, turning to each other as if they’d never heard a more delightful joke. Some even bent over, hands on knees, eyes watering.

  Rory raised an eyebrow and moved the tip of his blade to his next nail.

  Even Pony’s presence at the back of the room didn’t seem able to constrain the Wolves’ hilarity.

  “You, commander, are a breath of fresh air, you are.” The bullish man moved up to lay a huge hand on my shoulder. “Clean out the Noose? Ha! Now, here’s how this is going to go. You’re going to go back to the Star Chamber and report that the Wolves are gathering their forces to make sure nobody makes a move against the Provost Tower. It’s a symbol, you see? Of the city. A target. We’re going to hold it against all attacks, and in fact, well, we could all use a raise. Operating during such dangerous times warrants a reward, don’t it?”

  The man grinned down at me as he squeezed my shoulder. His rank odor was more intimidating than anything else, but he was clearly doing his level best to put me in my place. And perhaps if I’d actually been the Count of Manticora, a sheltered noble whose life had never been in any danger, I might have fallen for it.

  Unfortunately for this fellow, I wasn’t really the Count.

  “Fall in, all of you.” My words crackled with supernatural authority.

  The bullish man blinked, then stepped back, dumbfounded at his own movements, to fall in along with the officers, who formed a rough line before me.

  “Silence,” I commanded as they began to bray. “Now, stand as smartly as you can, eyes front, chins raised.”

  It was like watching erosion in reverse. Where a moment ago a line of men had slouched, slowly they formed a proper line-up, squaring their shoulders, puffing out their chests, moving their feet to shoulder width. As if the years and decades of corruption and cynicism were washing off them, leaving the original core of military desire that had once informed their decision to join the guards.

  “Better.” I began to slowly pace before them. “From here on out, your primary concern will be to execute my commands with as much honesty, enthusiasm, and dedication that you can muster. You will take pride in being the Black Wolves, in being the best that Port Gloom has to offer, and will want nothing more than to bring order and peace to the city streets.”

  The men’s expressions squirmed, eyes twitching, lips pursing and jaws trembling.

  But their wills succumbed easily to my own.

  Except for Lieutenant Rory, who stood at the line’s far end, looking calmly ahead – there was no conflict there.

  “Our goal is the cleansing of the Noose. We are going to destroy Kavark’s power base, and the Black Wolves will prove instrumental in leading the other, less motivated guards, in this initiative. You will use your familiarity and authority over the other Wolves to ensure they understand how serious this operation is, and will do everything in your power to make it a success. Lieutenant Rory, I’m promoting you to captain. You will remain with me, advising me on how best to lead our men in this coming battle.”

  Captain Rory blinked in surprise, then snapped out a salute. “Yes sir.”

  “How many Black Wolves can we have ready to fight today?”

  His eyes remained focused straight ahead. “Sir, there are a total of sixty men or duty at this moment. The whole force is roug
hly about two hundred, with two other shifts currently off duty.”

  “How long would it take to have all two hundred ready to march?”

  “If we exert ourselves? We could have perhaps a hundred of them ready within a couple of hours.”

  “The remaining forty?”

  “Would take longer, seeing as probably that many men would be in brothels, or down at the docks gambling, or just about their own business in the city.”

  “Very well. How does the command structure work with the wall militias?”

  “Sir, the city militia is an independent military organization under their own captain. But should the Star Chamber declare a state of martial law, the militia captain falls under your chain of command.”

  “Well, seeing as we’re in a state of martial law, that’s mighty convenient. What is the command structure of the regular guard?”

  “Sir, the regular guard is divided into six precincts, each with its own station and commanding captain.”

  “Then send a messenger to the militia and regular captains to come to the Royal Provost tower immediately to begin planning our operation. While you’re about it, start the process of summoning the rest of the Black Wolves.”

  “Yes sir,” said Captain Rory, and marched smartly out of the room.

  “The rest of you,” I said, turning to the remaining six men. “I want you to whip the Wolves into shape.” I paused. “Not literally. I want you to take our current force and convince them as to the seriousness of our situation. Dismiss anybody you deem unable to act in the city’s best interests. I want the Wolves to truly be what they are supposed to be - the city guard’s elite. When the other captains arrive, I want them to see as much. I want equipment sorted and prepared, I want the tower put to rights, and for this place to display the kind of military presence it should already have. Am I clear?”

  “Yes sir!” barked the six men, hands flying up to a salute.