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

by Matthew Sprange

  It was then that Adrianna weighed in with her assault. Something crackled in the air across the courtyard before, from a cloudless sky, a bolt of lightning shot down from the heavens to strike one of the Vos units square in its centre. The luckiest men flew through the air as the ground exploded beneath them, while those closest to the descending bolt were boiled in their armour. A cry went up, and Lucius saw guardsmen point to the sky. Following their gestures, he looked, then gasped as he saw Adrianna, her powers manifesting themselves for all to see.

  Her cloak billowing out behind her as tightly circling winds carried her aloft, Adrianna rose into the evening sky. Gesturing at the ground beneath the guardsmen trying to fight the fire in the stables, he saw their feet become mired as the earth turned to liquid beneath them. Adrianna paid them no more attention as she rose upwards to alight on the wall, now commanding the high ground and able to see the entire courtyard below her. Under the directions of an officer determined to take charge, squads of crossbowmen assembled in front of Adrianna, cranking their weapons back and sliding bolts into place before aiming them upwards.

  With a series of clicks audible across the excited courtyard, dozens of bolts shot towards Adrianna, but she stayed her ground, merely holding up a hand to ward them off. As if striking an invisible wall, the bolts sheared off course just a few feet away from her, scattering themselves as they ricocheted back into the courtyard.

  A few fell close to the crowd. Fearing they would soon be caught in a crossfire between Vos guard and Shadowmage, Lucius tugged a thread, and sent its energy surging into the fires of the stable. With a low boom, the flames suddenly swelled with intensity, sending the guardsmen fighting them reeling back in shock. The sudden flare and noise was enough to galvanise the crowd and, screaming, they fled as one to the gate. The guards stationed there were trying to close the massive portal, but the frightened people just surged past them into the city streets.

  Directing more men towards Adrianna, who even now was racing along the wall for the cover of one of the small towers set along its length, von Minterheim made his move. Whether wanting to bring reinforcements into play or through self-preservation, he began to run for the Keep, his entourage close behind. Lucius was ready for him.

  Drawing a dagger from his boot, Lucius forced powerful energies down its blade, feeling them pulse in anticipation of release. Stepping out of the shadows, he placed himself in von Minterheim’s path before launching the dagger with a straight throw.

  Guided unerringly to its targets, the blade arrowed straight for one of the officers flanking von Minterheim, no spin upsetting the delicate balance of its flight. It ploughed into the breastplate of the man, a shower of blood erupting as the weapon tunnelled through his body without losing any of its momentum. As it blasted out between his shoulders, the dagger continued on its trajectory, and smashed into the chest of the officer behind, sending him flying to the ground with terrible force.

  Instinctively, von Minterheim and his remaining officers drew their swords as they warily approached the man who had materialised out of the shadows before them. Lucius waited for them to make the first move, a faint smile on his lips as von Minterheim frowned in recognition.

  “You,” the captain said, his voice low and dangerous, promising a slow death to any who invaded the Citadel.

  “You have cost me the lives of many of my friends, you Vos bastard,” Lucius said, feeling both hatred and exaltation at confronting this man. “You are going to die slowly.”

  Von Minterheim sneered, ignoring the explosions and lightning behind him as his guards tried vainly to bring Adrianna to ground. He nodded to his officers.

  “Take him.”

  The four surviving officers of the captain’s entourage spread themselves out, anxious to be the one to slay their superior’s enemy. Yet, they were wary of what Lucius could do, the corpses of their comrades a stark reminder that this stranger should not be underestimated.

  “You are going to burn in hell’s own fire, warlock,” said one as he paced to one side.

  “What do you know of hellfire?” Lucius cried out, releasing his anger as another ball of flame circled his right hand before being launched forward. The officer tried desperately to lunge out of the way, but the fire curved in flight to match his movements, striking him squarely in the chest. His dying shrieks were cut off as the fire eagerly consumed the air in his lungs, now exposed through the shattered remains of his breastplate and chest.

  Sensing motion behind him, Lucius whirled round, collecting the air about him into a solid wall, before flinging it at his assailants in a single smooth movement. Hurled off their feet by the blast, he watched the officers collapse to the ground, then summoned the thread once more to gather the air above them. Going down on one knee to emphasise the action, he raised his arm high over his head, then swiftly dropped it, palm downwards. A sickening squelch echoed through the courtyard as the officers were crushed. In his mind’s eye, Lucius saw ribs break and organs burst under the weight before he released the conjuration.

  Standing straight, he looked down at the dead men, their still faces contorted in terrible pain as blood seeped from their mouths. Grinning, Lucius looked up at von Minterheim.

  “Who are you?” the captain asked, and Lucius was mildly surprised to note von Minterheim was more curious than afraid.

  “Consider that a mystery to contemplate in the grave,” Lucius snarled, reaching out with a hand as a surge of lightning wreathed his arm. Unleashing the energy, he was stunned as von Minterheim raised his sword to block the attack, bolts of white light crackling around the blade as they were dissipated harmlessly into the air around him.

  He had taken the weapon to be purely ceremonial, but cursed himself for not guessing that there was little in the Vos military that was not functional in the extreme, and that von Minterheim was likely rich enough to afford the best equipment in the Empire.

  “Nice sword,” he managed to say, but was answered only with a derisive sneer as von Minterheim took two steps forward and swung the blade, the rare stones in its elaborate gold crossguard glinting in the fires spreading through the outbuildings of the courtyard. Lucius noted the markings etched into the blade as he pedalled backwards to avoid the blow, a fine script in some foreign tongue. The lettering glowed briefly with the radiance of the lightning he had thrown at von Minterheim, before they finally faded.

  Another swipe forced him back, then another. He crouched down to reach for his remaining dagger, but von Minterheim gave him no room for pause.

  Behind the captain, Lucius saw that several squads of guards had noticed the fight, and they rushed to join their superior. They fanned out to either side, weapons drawn, cutting off any chance of escape. Conjuring fire to his hand, Lucius held it low, waiting for his time to strike. He took another step back and felt the wall of the keep at his back. Looking left and right at the guardsmen, he saw grim faced men ready to take their revenge for the attack.

  “Make it easy on yourself,” von Minterheim said. “Maybe we’ll give you a quick death. Once you have answered a few questions, of course. Just a gentle chat, then a quick hanging. Believe me, the noose is better than what my men will be wanting to do to you.”

  The fire at his fingertips began to burn hot, its energies having been kept in check too long. Lucius took a deep breath as he prepared a last assault on the guardsmen as, pace by pace, they closed in for the kill.

  “Adrianna, I could use your help now,” he muttered, and he was at least gratified to see a few of the guardsmen check their step, fearing he was vocalising some incantation that would bring death to them all.

  He saw her then, standing on the wall across the far side of the courtyard. A guardsman lay dead at her feet, and she seemed to be staring straight at him, heedless of the bolts and spears that flew past her. A rush of air swept over him, a gentle breeze that reminded him of calm summer afternoons in the Anclas Territories, and the wind carried Adrianna’s voice to him, as clear as if sh
e were standing at his side.

  “Unleash the power, Lucius,” he heard her say. “Let’s find out what you are really capable of. Let the magic flow through you. Give yourself up to it.”

  Von Minterheim had ordered the guardsmen to halt, and they stayed, weapons at the ready, less than a dozen yards away. Their ranks were held tight, at least three men deep, forming a barrier of flesh and iron that trained cavalry would have difficulty breaking. Smiling, von Minterheim took a pace forward and gestured to the ball of flame Lucius still held in his hand.

  “Want to try your luck one last time?”

  Lucius stared ruefully back at him, before a soothing calm flooded through him. With an instant clarity, he could see the threads spinning and weaving their magic in the hidden part of his mind, begging to be manipulated and used, their only purpose to serve his direction.

  Sighing, Lucius held up his hand and let the ball of flame fly high into the sky, where it finally sputtered and flashed out of existence.

  “Sensible choice,” said von Minterheim, and he lifted a hand to direct his men to take Lucius into custody, but something checked him. His eyes widened as he watched Lucius draw in a deep breath, and a sudden tension filled the air. The shadows around the keep seemed to lengthen and grow, appearing to cluster around Lucius as his eyes shone with a pale, inner light.

  “Take him!” von Minterheim shouted at his men, not knowing what his enemy was planning, acting purely on instinct.

  Primed and ready to obey, the guardsmen leapt forward, weapons raised, as Lucius closed his eyes and caught the threads. With little conscious thought, he fashioned them crudely, trading finesse for power, raw power. The threads responded, eagerly it seemed, and he opened his mind to their energies, not attempting to hold them in check, acting as a funnel for their escape as if they now controlled him.

  His eyes snapped open as the power bubbled violently over the brim and with a wide sweeping motion, he flung fire at the nearest guardsmen. A giant sheet of flame tumbled toward them, its green and purple hues making it look almost tame. As it reached them, it turned white hot and the men were incinerated where they stood, the trailing wake of fire leaving only blackened and shrivelled corpses. Their weapons and armour were melted into slag by the terrible heat.

  Only narrowly missed by the fires, von Minterheim leapt forward, the tip of his sword aiming true for Lucius’ chest as the surviving guards rallied behind him. Only barely aware of the danger, Lucius continued to let the magic flow unchecked, and he felt himself raise his foot before stamping it down hard. The earth rocked as tremors radiated out from him, throwing captain and guard alike to the ground, their feet kicked from beneath them by the force of magic rippling below.

  Scrabbling for weapons, they looked up to see Lucius glaring down upon them, the fury in his eyes replaced by something altogether more primal, smouldering in its release. He sought out von Minterheim from the tangle of weapons and limbs, and his gaze bored into the man’s eyes.

  “You cannot conceive of the power you have unleashed,” he heard himself say, then shuddered as he felt the darkest of threads push itself to the fore, snaking out from his outstretched hands to slither over every man who still drew breath before him.

  The strangled shrieks of the guards tortured his ears and drew the attention of everyone left in the courtyard. They grasped their throats as their skin turned deathly pale, the life being sucked out of their bodies. Lucius watched as von Minterheim tried to tear off his breastplate with fingers that rotted as they pulled uselessly at the clasps. Flesh dropped from his hands in blackened chunks, leaving only bone, as the skin drew taut across his face. Hair greyed and fell to the ground, while his eyes lost the sparkle of life, dulled and then hardened. Then the screams fell silent.

  Full consciousness returned to Lucius, and he retched as he felt the dark energy pulse through his body. Dropping to his knees, he vomited. He could smell nothing but death, and it seemed like a poison in his veins, charring every part of his being and staining it forever. He spat to remove the foul taste from his mouth, but it felt as though nothing would remove the darkness that gathered in his body and mind.

  Standing, he took a shaky step forward, trying hard not to notice the shrivelled corpses that lay all around him. But their sightless eyes seemed to catch his, the dark husks accusing him of a crime humanity had no word for. He felt his stomach heave again, but he continued his march, limping with exhaustion and disgust at himself. Glaring at the remaining guards he passed, Lucius dared them to move against him. After witnessing what he had done to their captain, none did.

  The gate was closed as he approached it, and he cast about, looking for a guard to intimidate into opening it, but they had begun to flee back into the keep. He eyed the wooden barrier, knowing he had no strength left to summon the magic, and little desire to give free rein.

  The air became agitated around him, and he felt a gale sweep past his body, the current running just inches from his skin, leaving him unmolested. The wind seemed to be formed from a sweeter form of magic, and he felt physically charged as he bathed in its purity, the sickness of his soul slowly receding. Taking a deep breath to savour the feeling, he watched the wind now whistling with shrieking hurricane force, smash into the gate. The timbers exploded in a shower of splinters, leaving the wrecked gates hanging by ruined hinges. Beyond, the streets of Turnitia lay as they always had, a scene of complete normality somehow removed from the devastation of the courtyard behind him.

  He felt Adrianna’s presence before he heard her footsteps.

  “I said you had potential,” she told him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  “I swear to you,” he said when he found his voice, “I am never doing that again. The magic is... evil. Black. We are not supposed to be using it, not like that.”

  “Don’t you dare blame the magic for that! The power you manifest is a reflection of you, and you alone. That darkness is a part of you, and the sooner you realise that, the more powerful you will become.”

  “I don’t want it,” he said plaintively.

  “Not your choice. Right now, you need it.”

  Damn her, Lucius thought. He knew she was right.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  MURDER EXPLODED ACROSS the city.

  The surviving Hands were astounded at the stories coming from the Citadel: Captain von Minterheim slain in the cruellest fashion, the corpses of guardsmen littering the southern courtyard like so many rag dolls discarded by a precocious rich girl and powerful magic unleashed against their enemies. Many presumed that Lucius had forged an alliance with great wizards, or brought mercenary warlocks into their guild’s employ. A few guessed the truth, but their suspicions were over-ridden by a new feeling of optimism among their fellow thieves.

  For the first time victory seemed possible. Maybe even likely.

  There was little opposition to the next phase of Lucius’ plan, and no attempt on his part to curb the enthusiasm of the more bloodthirsty thieves. In the morning after the assault on the Citadel, he unleashed the Hands into the city while the Vos guard were paralysed and the Guild was reeling from the loss of its greatest ally.

  Working in concert with the Beggars’ Guild, shambling mounds of filth-ridden disease providing accurate descriptions of where targets could be found, the thieves hunted down their enemies and showed no mercy. They killed collectors working extortion rackets, their bodyguards and any client known to sympathise with the Guild. They killed enforcers, lookouts, spies, fences, anyone remotely connected with the Guild and who might raise opposition to the new swing in the balance of power. The assault on the Vos guard continued, with a dagger or crossbow bolt launched from a high rooftop or dark alley to strike down sergeants and corporals. The net closed, with the Hands leaving nowhere for Guild men or their supporters to run to. Everyone in the city knew what was happening, and those with no interest in the outcome – the thousands of ordinary traders, craftsmen and their families – kept clear of the streets, no
t wanting to inadvertently be caught up in the slaughter. The Vos guard, by now, were powerless to protect them.

  Throughout the day, a constant stream of beggars reported to Grennar, now permanently stationed at the Hands’ guildhouse. They were bringing back vital information of the Guild’s response, allowing the Council to pull their own men away from areas of the city where thugs and mercenaries prowled, looking for the chance to repay the Hands for the blood being spilt. All the time, the beggars tracked the movements of Guild men until, finally, they were ready to reveal the expected location of Loredo’s new guildhouse.

  As evening approached, a final Council meeting was called, attended by every thief not still wetting his blade with the blood of the Guild. The mood was jubilant, for the day had seen the Guild all but cut down. Now, just the final stroke remained, the last attack that would see their enemy smashed forever.

  All eyes were on Grennar as she outlined what her beggars had learned of the Guild’s last hiding place.

  “They’ve retreated to the docks,” she said. “Their operations have always centred in that territory, ever since it became a no-go area for you.”

  “I heard they had demons on their side,” one voice from the crowd said, and was greeted by a few nervous murmurs. “That’s what put paid to Lucius’ operation.”

  “You’ve been drinking too much, or else listening to old wives’ tales,” Nate said scornfully. “They employed mercenaries who took Lucius and his men by surprise.”

  Lucius was aware of Ambrose among the thieves, his eyebrows arched questioningly, and he sighed.

  “We will be walking into the heart of our enemy’s territory this evening,” he said slowly. “They will be at their most dangerous, cornered, afraid and desperate. I would not have you walking into their lair without knowing the truth.”