Paitr fought a suspicious frown as he followed Martin across the empty square. What did Martin know that he didn’t? The thought made him uncomfortable. He’d have to coax it from the other man. Carefully.
“Have any details of the meeting leaked out?” he asked – a safe question. It implied neither knowledge nor ignorance.
Martin shook his head, quickening his pace. “Nothing specific. And not for lack of trying. With so many disciples milling about, you’d expect some leaks. Lord Lon-Shan’s kept everything to himself, it seems.”
“How many?” Paitr asked.
“How many what?”
“Disciples, Martin. How many nobles?”
Lon-Shan’s disciples had become notoriously provincial over the years. The centuries spent jockeying for favor made them paranoid. Only a direct order from Lon-Shan could lure them out. Paitr drummed his fingers nervously against a thigh. Why hadn’t he been told?
Martin shrugged. “All of them.”
Paitr nearly stumbled. “What? You’re sure?”
“Fairly sure, yes. I didn’t have a list to check, but I saw enough of them.” Martin put a hand on Paitr’s shoulder and leaned his head close. “Some of the fools are using the creatures our lord gave us to pull their carriages.”
Paitr’s jaw dropped. “Are they insane? Arrogance is one thing, but this… This is exactly what we’re fighting to stop.” He shook his head. Their lord would not be pleased.
Lon-Shan had spawned the beasts from his guardian, and while they lacked Streega’s intelligence, they retained much of its ferocity. Their lord ordered his disciples to turn the brood into an army. That took commitment, determination, and patience, something Paitr’s compatriots obviously lacked. But an army for what? Martin believed their forces would sweep across the world and usher in a new order. Paitr wasn’t so sure. Conquering armies showed discipline and at least some semblance of humanity. Lon-Shan’s showed neither. His forces were little more than a huge pack, and packs didn’t conquer or rule; they destroyed. He was missing something, something important. Something he needed to know before the fighting started. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and he glanced into the brewing storm. “That’s funny.” He scowled. “I don’t remember hearing anything about rain. Do you, Martin?”
The other man shrugged. “Who can say what our lord has planned. A downpour would go a long way to obscure daylight outside the palace grounds.”
Paitr wasn’t convinced, peering constantly over his shoulder as he walked. “You might be right. Still, I’d rather be inside when it breaks.” More thunder boomed, closer and louder this time. “Come on. We’d better hurry. It wouldn’t do for us to present ourselves to Lord Lon-Shan drenched to the skin.”
They trotted over another street, cut across the central boulevard, and headed toward the unnaturally dark mass surrounding Lon-Shan’s private compound. Paitr glared surreptitiously at Martin. Doubt gnawed at him. He should have kept a closer eye on the man. Martin was more than a rival now; he was a threat. The time had come for Martin to have an accident.
Paitr mulled the possibilities as they reached the darkness surrounding Lon-Shan’s estates. Its huge shadow spread out before him, at once sucking and reflecting what was left. He walked into it then headed for the high walls – gated and studded with black pearl and onyx – ringing the looming buildings beyond.
A single pillar stood to the left of the gate, blacker than everything else around it. It was taller too, over one hundred fifty feet, possibly more.
“Odd,” Paitr mumbled. “I don’t remember that tower.”
“No,” Martin agreed. “It wasn’t there the last time I was in the palace.”
Paitr wondered when that was. He hadn’t been inside for over fifty years – not since the last Weakening. His gaze scanned the tower, and he stiffened.
“What?” Martin said.
Paitr grimaced. The fool didn’t even have enough sense to lower his voice. He lifted a hand and hissed for silence. “I thought I saw something. Up there – near the top of the tower. A large door, maybe two.”
“I don’t see anything.” Martin sounded incredulous, but when he saw Paitr shield himself, he did the same.
“There.” Paitr pointed to a spot well over their heads. “Did you see that?” The tower shivered. Realization slammed into him. Horrified, he shrank back. How could he have been so stupid?
Instantly, he released his shield and dropped to one knee. With any luck, Martin would remain shielded. The insult would cost him his life. His eyes shifted to Martin, but then froze as a great, bat-like wing peeled away from the tower. A second followed, exposing a leathery body with wide shoulders and powerful arms ending in talons. Midnight eyes peered down at them over a short, snarling muzzle.
“How dare you!” Lon-Shan’s guardian boomed. “Disciples are not allowed a shield within the gates.”
“Forgive us, Lord Streega!” Paitr cried. “We didn’t know.”
“Every disciple knows! It is the law.”
Cold sweat trickled down Paitr’s neck, his heart stopped for a moment, and he waited for a blow that didn’t come. The seconds stretched on, but he didn’t look up. He didn’t dare. He should be dead, unless the guardian had something worse in store for him. The thought made him shudder.
“I should have killed you, Brother Norwoska,” Streega said. “But your devotion to Lord Lon-Shan has earned his favor. He will overlook this incident.”
Paitr put a hand on his chest. He could breathe again.
“Training our army was a difficult task. Many tried, but you are the only one who succeeded. Tonight, our lord rewards you. He will name you first disciple.”
Paitr’s eyes widened. His body came alive as if jolted. He wanted to laugh, to cheer. “Thank you, Lord Streega.” He lowered his head in respect. “I am honored.”
“Your gratitude means nothing to me,” Streega said, abruptly shifting its attention to Martin. “As for you… Lord Lon-Shan is most disappointed in what you’ve become.”
Martin squirmed under Streega’s black gaze.
“I hope you enjoyed your last assignment. Delivering messages to a liege is an important part of an aide’s duties.”
Martin tensed, but he made no sound.
“Every leader needs a lieutenant. Brother Norwoska is no different. You are to serve him until he’s had enough of you. If he is not satisfied with you… then you are mine.”
Martin swallowed noisily. “It will be as you say, lord.”
Streega’s head came down in a rush of wind. It faced Martin, studied him from a few inches away, close enough for Paitr to smell blood on its breath. Poor Martin – he must have forgotten to guard his thoughts.
“You can’t keep secrets from me, slave!” Streega growled, grinding Martin’s body against the street with its mind. “You will do as you are told. If something unexpected happens to the master’s chosen one, you will suffer. Have I made myself clear?”
Martin managed a wooden nod. “Yes, Lord Streega.”
Streega continued to stare. After a moment, it pulled back and released its hold. “Lord Lon-Shan is waiting for you. You are free to go.”
The pressure that kept Paitr at Streega’s feet ended as abruptly as it had come. He stood stiffly and stared at the guardian, hoping for more assurances. Having a would-be assassin as an aide did not make for an ideal situation. When the fighting began, he’d order Martin to carry commands to the front. A necessary assignment, if a dangerous one. Accidents happened in battle. It couldn’t be helped.
He bowed to Streega, spun on his heels, and hurried toward a set of heavy doors at the front of the palace. They swung back as he approached, revealing a grand foyer just beyond the threshold. At the far end, a pair of staircases branched out toward the east and the west wings.
Paitr took the stairs to the right, climbing effortlessly. Despite his brush with death, his heart was light. He’d pleased Lon-Shan. The reward his lord promised was within his reach.
Outside, the storm finally broke. The slap of large drops against stone added an eerie rhythm to the click of his boots. He reached the top and followed the corridor to the east wing and the library. Martin struggled to keep up, falling behind and shouting for him to wait.
“Hurry up, Martin,” he called, poking his head over the stair rail. “How would it look if I arrived without my servant? I won’t have you dishonor me now.”
He’d wasted energy worrying about Martin. The man would pay for that. Sweat and hard labor were just the beginning. He smiled at the thought and turned to the windows. This was the most ferocious storm he’d ever seen. Windless, with drops the size of his fist, it had started only a few minutes earlier, and the courtyard below was practically flooded.
Martin staggered up the last few steps and lurched to a stop beside him.
“I don’t like it,” Paitr said. “Something about the rain feels… unnatural.”
Martin snorted but quickly remembered his new station and muttered an apology. Ignoring him, Paitr reached for the library’s heavy wooden door. He twisted its gilded handle and pushed his way inside.
Book-lined shelves framed a small path into a large room, rows of sycophantic disciples milling about a big fireplace at the far end. He glimpsed the black flames and smiled. Even the candles along the walls swallowed the light, dark where they should have glowed, like a negative of the natural world.
“Let him through,” a voice within the crowd ordered. Reluctantly, Lon-Shan’s disciples parted in a swish of fine silks.
Paitr sneered at them – at their pristine swords and bejeweled clothing. They flaunted treasure as if it could earn what their weakness could not. How would they feel when the night was over? He grinned wickedly, deciding who to keep and who to discard.
The farther he went, the more hostile the mob became. Zealous stares bled with envy. The space between his shoulders prickled as if expecting a knife. His shield was down, but as he’d already learned from Streega, raising it this close to Lon-Shan could be fatal. Fortunately, hurting him in Lon-Shan’s presence was probably just as fatal. What happened beyond the estate’s walls was another matter. Not that he worried, though. Life here meant being overly cautious.
Eventually, he left the throng behind and came to Lon-Shan. The Lord of the Darkness, Weaver of Shadow, and King of the Night studied him from a high-backed chair of onyx and black diamond. His silvery hair framed a cruel, almost lupine face. He wore a belt of black opals over midnight clothes. The short but lethal daggers hanging about it in battered sheaths spoke of continuous use, as did the strong, weathered hands resting on the pommel of his great staff.
Sweat dappled Paitr’s forehead. His last audience with Lon-Shan had been a long time ago. He’d forgotten how he felt in his lord’s presence, the aura of power; those dark, almost malevolent eyes.
“Paitr Norwoska,” Lon-Shan said in the gravelly voice Paitr remembered. “Come here.” An invisible force seized the front of Paitr’s shirt, dragged him forward, and threw him to the carpet in front of the throne. “Our long wait is almost over. The world outside beckons. Revenge awaits, my disciples. It is ours for the taking. No longer will the privileged ignore the work you do for them! The time has come to take what you’ve earned from those who claim it by birthright. Today, the oppressed and disregarded will overthrow our old masters. We will establish a new order, one of true equality and mutual respect.”
Cheers erupted throughout the room, momentarily muffling the pounding rain. Paitr sensed an undercurrent of worry below the surface. Some of the disciples realized how poorly they’d prepared. He needed to uncover them before the campaign began – desperate men were dangerous men. He’d put them on the front lines.
Lon-Shan’s thoughts blanketed the room, forcing mouths shut, silencing lips. His black eyes fell on Paitr. “Paitr Norwoska. You will lead our pilgrimage. You are my hand, Lon-Shan’s first disciple!” Lon-Shan lowered his staff onto Paitr’s shoulder. “Rise, Lord Paitr. Rise and face your soldiers.”
Paitr wasn’t sure if he stood by himself, or if his lord set him on his feet. As he steadied himself, his eyes locked with Lon-Shan’s, and in the span of those few short seconds, his triumph crumbled. Outwardly, the Dark Spirit looked the same as he remembered, but something – a light in his eyes – reflected a hidden pain. Paitr’s pulse quickened at the sight. How was that even possible? He was mistaken. He had to be.
A full goblet, that’s what he needed. Quench his thirst, give him time to think, steady his nerves. The force of Lon-Shan’s presence made it impossible to concentrate.
He eased his way back into the crowd, wiping a hand across his forehead. Dry. He’d been sweating. What happened to the sweat? In a daze, he searched for a glass with at least a few drops of wine at the bottom. He found one on a tray at the very end of the library, lifted it, and swirled it around in his hands. The blood-red liquid spun around the inner rim.
The idiot disciples hadn’t seen what he had. The strange light in Lon-Shan’s eyes – eyes that never glittered, never glinted, eyes that never showed anything but blackness – nagged at him.
Lightning flashed, closer now and followed half a second later by booming thunder. The rain beat down harder than ever, pounding against the windows as though trying to turn the estate’s thick walls into rivers of slime. He raised the cup to his lips, empty. Odd. He didn’t remember drinking. Another flash.
Something moved outside, briefly visible between the strikes.
The unmistakable figure of a woman appeared and then vanished, her beautiful face turned toward him, savage iron-green eyes glowing in the dark with a promise of violence.
Paitr gasped at the sight and dropped his empty wine glass in astonishment. He staggered backward, his mouth working soundlessly. Lon-Shan turned his dark eyes toward his favored disciple, searching, questioning.
“A woman, my lord!” Paitr shouted, half turning, his arm stiff, his finger pointing. “Outside… a woman in the courtyard.”
Flash! Boom!
Lon-Shan’s face registered both shock and fear. “It can’t be,” he muttered, as if seeing something for the first time. “It was all there, why didn’t I see it – the storms, the dehydrated air, the punishing rains. Seirin! I know you’re out there. Come inside, let me offer a proper welcome.”
Silence followed his words. The rains pounded louder. Another sound accompanied it, a roaring Paitr couldn’t quite place. Just in time, he realized what it was, lunged for the windows, and raised a shield in front of them as a wall of water smashed into the Palace.
Lon-Shan thrust his body forward and squawked at the indolent disciples like an angry crow. “Fools! Get on your feet, you cowards! We’re under attack!”