The Shadowmage Trilogy (Twilight of Kerberos: The Shadowmage Books)

by Matthew Sprange

  The men rushed around the corner, the one in the lead suddenly stopping. Those behind cursed as they ran into one another before the first raised his hand.

  “Well... where on Kerberos did he go?” he said.

  They all peered into the alley, squinting to penetrate the gloom. Running straight as an arrow, they could clearly see the length of the alley, just as they could clearly see there was no rogue silhouetted against the lights of the establishments in the next street.

  “Maybe he climbed to the roof,” said one, eyeing up the side of the buildings.

  “Idiot,” retorted another.

  “There’s people that can do it!”

  “Not in just a few seconds.”

  “A master criminal, are you?”

  “Idiot.”

  Lucius watched the men, reaching behind his back to clasp the hilt of his short sword. The closest stood no more than two feet away, but they were oblivious to his presence. Wreathed in arcane darkness, Lucius had effectively become invisible. The other things that might give him away, an involuntary movement, a slight sound, those he could suppress from years of practice. It was a fearsome combination and one that was more than a match for an irritated gambler and his friends.

  As the squabble spread to the other men, all with theories on what to do next, Lucius moved. Whipping his sword clear of its inverted scabbard in near silence, he reversed the weapon and brought the steel pommel down on the neck of the nearest man. The target sank without a sound, and Lucius was among the rest of them before they realised one of their number had hit the ground.

  A foot sank into the stomach of another, while the sword descended once more – pommel first – into the face of a third. The man’s shriek bubbled as blood welled up from his shattered nose, but it was enough to alert the remaining thugs.

  The mark acted before thinking, and reached for Lucius’ throat with both hands. Lucius took a step back and felt threads of energies rush through him as he sought to harness their power. Selecting a strand, he focussed on its structure and form, consciously moulding it into something he could use. He felt its strength swelling inside his body as it always did in battle, somewhere near his heart, and he extended an open palm to the charging man. A crack resounded down the alley, like a miniature bolt of lightning, and a faint, crimson wave of force sprang from his palm, catching the man full in the chest. With no chance of avoiding the blast, the man was picked up off his feet and hurled against the unyielding building opposite. He collapsed to the floor, winded.

  “It’s a damned wizard!” one of his friends cried out, now panicking.

  “Could be the Lord of the Three Towers himself, he still won’t bespell us without a head.” This came from cudgel-man, and Lucius turned to see him winding up for another swing. The blow, when it came, seemed painfully slow and obvious to Lucius, who raised his sword to block the attack. The sharpened blade dug deep into the club, trapping it briefly.

  Two others, seeing an advantage, both rushed Lucius from behind. He felt a hand grab his shoulder and instantly buckled his knees, rolling forward and dragging his weapon free at the same time. Tumbling away, he came up in a crouch, ready for their next move.

  While cudgel-man was wondering where his enemy had gone, the other two were not so slow. Both yelled in triumph as they saw what they thought was a beaten man on the ground. As they ran to start raining kicks and blows down upon him, Lucius took another breath, narrowed his eyes in concentration, and then slapped his free hand on the cobbles. A wave of energy spread out before him, pushing up stones as it shifted the ground. All the men still in the fight were thrown off their feet by the pulse, fear registering in their eyes.

  Three turned and fled without another word, though a curse from cudgel-man followed them. Another, the first to fall, lay motionless on the ground, though Lucius knew he would wake up in an hour or so with the world’s worst hangover.

  Cudgel-man faced him once again, seething with anger but unsure of what to do without anyone backing him up. Knife-man helped the mark to his feet, before turning to face Lucius, blade held at arm’s length.

  “We can still take him,” said cudgel-man, sounding as if he needed the encouragement himself.

  “I advise you not to try,” said Lucius, raising a hand in an attempt to start a parley. “A beating in an alley is a hazard of the city. But if either of you try to use those weapons, I’ll start getting serious.”

  The gambler was suddenly less than sure of himself and started to mumble something, but Lucius caught the flash of the knife’s movement from his friend.

  “Fool!” Lucius hissed as the knife span through the air. The man’s aim was true, but Lucius gritted his teeth as he released the same energy he had used on the dice earlier. This time there was no effort at finesse or style, as he desperately sought to slow and steady the blade. A blast of wind gusted in a narrow line, striking the knife with a low whistle. The weapon stopped suddenly in mid-air, hung motionless for a brief second, then fell to the stones with a clatter.

  Knowing a distraction when he saw one, cudgel-man judged the moment right to finally unleash his skull-splitting swing. It was a poor decision.

  Ducking under the wild blow, Lucius sprang forward, lunging with his short sword. The blade buried itself in cudgel-man’s stomach, and the man gave a curious mewing sound as his brain began to register that the wound was mortal. Knife-man started to back away, but Lucius reached forward with his outstretched hand and grasped him by the throat.

  The rage of battle now well and truly upon him, Lucius dug within himself to find the darkest, most vile, and terrible of threads. He felt a chill sweep through his body as he channelled the force from his heart, down his arm, through his hand and into the man. The power mustered was the antithesis of life and it reacted with the living flesh it raced into. The man gasped as he futilely grabbed at the hand holding him, but his strength was already waning. Lucius stared into his eyes, watching them grow dim in seconds. The man’s skin greyed and withered, while his cheeks sank into his face and muscles shrivelled, hair falling out in clumps. When Lucius released his grip the corpse looked as if it had been dead for months.

  Angry at the men for attacking him, and for forcing him to use such power, Lucius ripped his sword clear of cudgel-man then rounded on the gambler. With blade held menacingly, he turned his free hand palm upwards and conjured wisps of fiery energy, his hand now wreathed in flames of lavender and turquoise.

  “You’ve lost two friends tonight because of your folly,” Lucius told the man. “Believe me when I say you got off lightly. Now go!”

  Lucius jerked his head to reinforce his command, but it was wholly unnecessary. As far as the man was concerned, death itself stalked that alley, and he wanted no part of it. Spinning on his heel, the man scrabbled for the bright lights of the Street of Dogs, and a life that held no terror.

  Briefly regarding the men lying on the ground, Lucius exhaled as the tension left him. Wiping his blade on the tunic of cudgel-man, he sheathed it then cursed. He had not intended to give knife-man so gruesome a death, no matter how much it might have been deserved or forewarned. Lucius knew many different ways to kill a man but, in the heat of battle, there was rarely time to plan and consider. He had reached for the most devastating attack needed at the time, and taken the first that came to his command. That it was the most loathsome of the energies he was able to use and control was almost pure chance, as he had reached blindly, by instinct. The coldness of its touch still caressed him, and he could feel the dark evil lurking just beneath the surface. He would be paying for its help with a couple of sleepless nights at least, as the old dreams flooded back.

  Trying to stem images of past haunted nights, he gathered his wits and resolved to put as much distance between himself and the bodies as possible. Heading away from the Street of Dogs, he briefly considered trying to find another tavern friendly to gamblers, but he quickly dismissed the idea. The earnings tonight would keep him for a day or two at
worst, and he was in no shape to beguile anyone after the fight. All they would see would be a rogue, a desperado. Or murderer, maybe.

  He decided to head away from the lights and aim for the merchant quarter. The inns there were usually sombre affairs, dedicated to traders and other businessmen visiting Turnitia. They catered for higher classes who demanded peace, security and thrills less blatant than those on offer in the Street of Dogs. The peace and security at least were things Lucius could appreciate at this moment.

  Stepping cautiously out the other end of the alley, Lucius scanned the wide road it spilled onto. From old memories, he believed this to be Lantern Street, which ran down the hill parallel to the Street of Dogs before jinking north toward the merchant quarter. Houses lined both sides of the street, punctuated with the occasional bookseller, jewellers, or other trader dealing in luxuries. This area marked the boundary between the masses living alongside the cliff-side warehouses and those in the considerably wealthier area higher up the hill. Drawing his cloak about him, he set off with a safe room, warm bath and comfy sheets in mind.

  “A display some would find impressive.”

  The casual remark caused him to whirl round, his hand instinctively reaching up behind his cloak to grasp his sword once more. A woman stepped from the alley he had just left, slipping easily from the darkness as if she had been there all along. Lucius was not so certain that was not the case.

  “Who are you?” he said warily, expecting any kind of trouble after events this evening.

  “Do you not recognise me?”

  Lucius stared at the woman for a moment, racking his mind. Her dark hair was tied up high on her head, in the style common to women used to fighting, and both her poise and manner indicated she was well accomplished in battle. In age, she was beginning to reach her middle years, but he thought she was no less attractive for that, for the leather tunic studded with small metal discs could not conceal the fact her body was extremely well-toned. Lucius had met such women before and he knew they could drive a blade through a man’s body as easily as he could. A tell-tale and familiar bulge in one of her boots told him she was armed with at least one blade and he began to wonder what other weapons might be concealed.

  Her eyes were the most striking feature though, dark pits that seemed impenetrable and yet likely missed nothing. They assessed him and the potential danger he posed, even as he weighed her in return. Upon seeing that gaze cast upon him once more, he knew exactly who he was talking to.

  “Aidy,” he said finally. “I hadn’t counted on you still being here.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  EYEING AIDY WARILY from across the table as she sipped her wine, Lucius was a little unnerved to realise she was returning his own suspicious stare. It had been eight years since he had last seen her but under the lanterns of the inn, the years had seemed only to brush against her. Those dark brown, almost black, eyes watched him with the same disapproval he began to remember all too well. They were bordered by a few lines he thought had not been there before, but the biggest change was in her demeanour. She seemed... harder. Colder. Half a decade older than he, Adrianna Torres was obviously just as dangerous as she was in the past.

  “Damned chance us running into each other,” he said, beginning to feel uncomfortable at the easy way in which she carried the silence.

  “Fool,” she said dismissively. “Have you forgotten already the lessons of Master Roe? There is very little in this world that happens by coincidence.”

  “Then how...?”

  “Your arrival here was like a beacon. I would be surprised if every Shadowmage remaining in the city did not feel it.”

  Lucius was perplexed at that but did not feel like pushing the point and risking a lecture. Adrianna had been more advanced in the craft than he had ever been, and she was certainly more committed. He had always seen his control of the magical threads that made up the Shadowmage’s art as a tool, a means to an end. For Aidy, it had been something more akin to a religion, with their shared Master the high priest. Still, at least there was some common ground there.

  “So, still learning under Master Roe?”

  Her eyes suddenly narrowed, and he mentally kicked himself. He should have guessed things had taken a turn for the worse after he had left Turnitia.

  “No, I am not.”

  It was a leading statement, but Lucius found himself hesitating over the obvious question. Not for the first time, he felt as if he were being led by Aidy in the direction she wanted.

  “What happened?”

  “What do you think happened? The Empire of Vos increased its grip on the city after their occupation, and the Shadowmages were at the top of their list. Some fled.” At this she looked pointedly at him. “The rest of us tried to fight. Without support, we were crushed. Master Roe, as one of the most visible among us, was captured by the Vos guard and taken to the Citadel.”

  “They killed him?”

  “Well, they don’t pamper you with whores and wine in the Citadel,” she said, caustically.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. She let it pass but continued to stare at him witheringly over the rim of her glass. Her self-righteousness was beginning to grate on him.

  “You do remember I had some problems of my own back then?” he said, trying not to sound defensive. “The war affected everyone in this city, not just the Shadowmages. The Final Faith was their vanguard, and they made damned sure the Brotherhood was in no position to raise objections. I lost my whole family, Aidy, and I would have been next. They knew who I was. I had no choice but to leave.”

  “You always had a choice.”

  “What, stand and fight?” he asked incredulously.

  She leaned across the table, setting down her glass. “Yes,” she said fiercely. “We needed every friend we had. Instead, you chose to run. And for what? What are you now? A vagabond, thief for hire, mercenary?”

  “What possible difference could I have made? If you were not powerful enough to stop them taking the Master, what could I have done?”

  Adrianna did not answer straight away. Finally leaning back in her chair, she broke eye contact with him for the first time since they had sat down. “It might have made all the difference in the world. You have no idea what you...”

  She paused and seemed unwilling to continue.

  “What?” he prompted, but she did not answer. As the silence between them grew, Lucius began to feel uncomfortable again. He cleared his throat.

  “So, what are the Shadowmages doing now?” he asked.

  “We are a pale... shadow of our former selves. Hunted by Vos, whose nobles are convinced we are unstoppable assassins, and used by Pontaine nobles who think much the same thing. The guild is directionless with so many members dead and no one training young blood.”

  Lucius frowned. “Aidy, it was never much of a guild...” he started.

  “It was more a guild than many others in this city. We pledged to never attack one another, to re-assign ourselves when contracts clashed, and to take any and all action when one of us was in danger. Some of us still adhere to the old ways.” She gave a short, bitter laugh. “Old ways! It has only been eight years, and yet it seems like ancient history.”

  Draining her glass, she seemed in no hurry to order another, and Lucius presumed their meeting was drawing to a close.

  “So, Lucius, just why have you returned? Come to claim your inheritance? Cause more trouble for your former allies? Why have you come back to Turnitia?”

  Lucius shrugged. “I’ve spent the past eight years wandering the Anclas Territories and Pontaine. I wanted to see home again. I’ve kept out of the strife between the Empire and Pontaine, but I thought there might be someone here who could use my talents.”

  “Ha!” Adrianna cried, drawing the attention of the few remaining merchants and traders scattered on the tables around them. “I was right – playing the mercenary.”

  “I have a right to make a living,” said Lucius, giving her an injured look. “The guil
d could help me with that. Just a few jobs, and then I’ll be out of here.”

  “The guild no longer exists, Lucius,” Adrianna said firmly. “Not for you. Not for those who ran.”

  She stood abruptly and threw a few coins on the table to pay for their wine. “You are not welcome in Turnitia, Lucius Kane. Leave. Now. You are not wanted.”

  Left staring at her back as she departed, Lucius nursed what remaned of his wine, wondering just how he would continue working in the city if Adrianna decided to make life difficult for him.

  THE SUN WAS peering past Kerberos as Lucius paced Ring Street, its full daylight strength beginning to warm Turnitia as the citizenry stirred. As the fiery ball moved inexorably clear of Kerberos’ shadow, its rays warped and shimmered through the clouds of its giant companion until it coalesced into a solid sphere.

  Ring Street was the thoroughfare that bound the Five Markets together, and it was heaving with traffic. Lying east of the merchant quarter and the docks, the Five Markets were the centre of commerce in Turnitia and on any given day they would be thronged with traders and peddlers, all calling and shrieking for custom, be it from the city’s own population or foreign merchants looking to secure new goods for their own home markets.

  At the centre of the Five Markets lay the Citadel, a giant fortress that leered over the city and its people. As he looked up warily at its ramparts and the guards that lined them, Lucius recalled that it had been merely a single tower used by the watch when he was last in Turnitia. When Vos had fought with Pontaine, the city had been quickly conquered and the Empire, keen not to lose any territory of value, had dedicated its energies to rebuilding the tower, turning it into an unassailable fortress. A double line of high walls had been thrown up around the tower, causing many to speak of terrible crimes being committed within the hidden interior. The tower itself was expanded into an entire keep within just three years, and a law was passed that no other structures in Turnitia were permitted to be built taller than the Citadel. The message was clear; nothing was above the Empire of Vos.