Warlord Lewd could still feel the excitement surging through his veins. He could barely contain himself. He did not feel as though he was walking down a hallway, but through the clouds of victory. His lips were frozen in a perpetual grin. He reviewed the litany of his latest boasts. He had parlayed with death, bargained with death, shared a bottle of wine with death! He had stared death straight in the face, mocked him and lived! It would be told to the ends of Covent that it was his hand which slew the invincible assassin.
His men did well. He would hold a great feast and raise a toast their honor. No, he would raise a toast in his own honor, but he would shower his men with dining and dancing, drugs and women…the list of pleasures would indulge them late into the night.
The crimelord felt a gust of air behind him. He heard the subtle whip of cloth. A common burlap cloak landed in front of him.
Lewd halted in his steps realizing he was no longer alone. He bent over and examined the garment identifying it to be the Rat’s cloak.
“You did well,” said Warlord Lewd. He did not turn around, but straightened. He mindlessly examined the cloak in his hands. He was not sure what to make of the Rat’s strange gesture, but would let nothing spoil his mood. He remained cordial and said coolly, “You are to be the guest of honor in my festivities.”
Silence. There came no reply.
Lewd turned the cloak over in his hands. The burlap had recently been soaked as if it had been used to sop up blood, lots of blood. The fabric had dried mostly, but the blood flaked off. It stuck to his fingers as he rubbed.
He spun around and found nothing but an empty corridor. A torch flickering down the hall snuffed out like a wick pinched out by a pair of fingers. He felt a snakelike chill crawl down his spine and sink its teeth deeply into his nerves.
“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing,” he said sternly, “but you are fast falling from my graces.”
Warlord Lewd jumped as a cold draft of wind whisked past him. He turned down the opposite end of the hall. Still, empty. What was this? Shade’s ghost returning to haunt him? Some ruse of the Rat and his illusions? Just then another torch winked out on the wall. The hall went completely black.
Lewd panicked and ran for the nearest door. He pulled at the latch, but it wouldn’t budge. He spun around and went for the opposite door. That door was locked as well. He ran from door to door pulling madly at the handles, but to no avail. He broke out into a cold sweat. His hot panicked breaths bounced back at him. He looked left then right and left again, but even his night vision availed him nothing. He froze as he felt a pair of strong arms wrap around him.
A cold steel knife pressed up against his throat.
“I told you what would happen the next time you saw my face,” came an all too familiar chilling whisper.
“You!” Lewd breathed, “but how? I saw you die!”
“No, not I.”
“Then if that wasn’t you, it was…” Warlord Lewd looked and saw the Dark Elf’s mocking smirk in a mirror hanging on the wall.
“Yes,” Shade whispered, “you see the chilling thing about Shadow Magic is that it can also be cast on unwilling victims. Oh, I wouldn’t hold it against your so-called master of illusions. That secret is known by few even in Jui-Sae. Perhaps if he had delved more deeply into the ways of shadow he would yet live. In the end he was only a minor piece on the board…a decoy chosen for my own dark amusement. I had only to cut out his tongue and send him running off like a rat. Then it was merely a game of cat and mouse with your men. If only I didn’t have to put them repeatedly back on the trail. ”
“But how? When the magic wore off I saw your face!”
“An even wider secret is that Shadow Magic can project illusions just as well as light. I had only planned on leaving your rat in shadow form, that is, until you added your personal touch to your own downfall. You asked me to cast that spell, remember? A bold masterstroke I have only you to thank for.”
Lewd seethed through clenched teeth, “My men will find and butcher you!”
“I think not,” said Shade and he clasped his gloved hand over Lewd’s mouth, “you and I both know their kind are hardly more evolved than a pack of wild dogs,” he paused and reinforced his hold as his victim squirmed in his arms, “I leave them to squabble over your table scraps.” He pulled the blade cleanly across Lewd’s neck. He held him until the warlord barely struggled. The assassin finished with a shrill whisper blown softly in his victim’s ear, “Your empire dies with you…”
Smash! The double wooden doors splintered and broke to pieces. Kishrub and Zulbash came lumbering through the dust.
Yessheeran shoved his way past the two bumbling brutes and glanced down the hallway. He saw his master’s body lay unmoving on the brick floor. He slid quickly down the hall heeled by the clamoring of the Gorums’ heavy boots. Lewd’s arms had been crossed across his chest. His fingers had been folded neatly around a flower the Syssrah had never seen before—a single black rose.
Yessheeran collapsed in anguish. He beat his fists against the cold hard brick. “NOOOOOOOOOOO!”
Warlord Lewd’s minions had not searched for Shade for long. Infighting had already broken out in Lewd’s palace. Control had wriggled far too quickly from Yessheeran’s fingers. The assassin had slipped silently in shadow form back into the sewers of Kurn. He no longer bothered to travel unseen. He strode briskly out of the Old Mino Quadrant, his cloak wrapped tightly about him.
The assassin had not passed into the Black Markets ten minutes before the fragile infrastructure of the underworld crumbled around him. Whispers of Warlord Lewd’s assassination spread like wildfire. Sparks flew off of tongues and ignited into heated arguments over who should assume control. Power struggles sprouted among the middle management. Old alliances and blood grudges rekindled.
Shade smirked darkly as he witnessed firsthand the fruits of his labor. The rapid and utter decay of the Kurn underground surprised even him. The denizens of the underworld erupted into a full scale riot. First words flew, then merchandise and overturned stalls, and then out came the iron. Arms clashed, blood was shed and bodies splashed into the sewer canals. Men, Doelms, Drakor and Syssrah lucky enough to make it back hunkered down in their respective sectors. Magic flashed in the north markets as even the Black Robes were forced to defend their territory. Only one passed through the turmoil unhindered. Only one whose glowing yellow gaze had become as much feared as the eyes of death itself.
Shade’s smirk slowly faded away. He could not help but feel a growing pang of disappointment that chewed away at his accomplishments. He traced his fingers along the bandages of his wounds. He had been tested, but not tried in every avenue of his being. He had hoped that somewhere within his clashes with Warlord Lewd he would have found a worthy rival to challenge him for years to come. He would have to wait for another day.
The assassin turned around and stole one final glance at his handiwork. He wondered at how much more trouble he had caused poor old Bwedrig. He hardened his heart at the thought and melted into the shadows of the east tunnel. Somewhere out there in this dark, depraved world waited a worthy enemy…
The Story Continues…
Shade Series II:
Kingsblood
Don’t miss Shade’s next tale that takes him deep into the bustling heart of the Capital Doljinaar—a urban labyrinth completely hostile to his kind. He must play the unlikely hero and track down an unidentified assassin of the Shaltearan Brotherhood who has a contract that threatens the very throne of men…