The Conqueror's Shadow Read Free Page B

topic he enjoyed discussing. He’d decided long ago, when he first set upon this path, that the end results were worth whatever it cost him. Still, he didn’t find it pleasant.
    Instead, he directed his attention back to the twisting corridors.
    â€œThis is it,” he said finally, examining the enormous, rust-coated metal door impeding any further progress. “We’re here.”
    /Congratulations. Can we get on with this already?/
    â€œNot much for savoring the moment, are you? All right, fine. Let’s do it.”
    /Shall I? Or would you prefer to batter it down with that oversized shrub trimmer?/
    Rebaine glanced down at the wide-bladed axe. It could do the job, certainly. For this was Sunder, one of the last of the Kholben Shiar, the demon-forged blades. It was said that with enough patience, a man could carve apart a mountain with such a weapon.
    On the other hand, why take the risk of sending chunks of steel flying through the chamber? He’d pursued this prize too long to risk damaging it now.
    â€œThe fancy way, I think,” he said after a moment of contemplation.
    /Very well./
    The warlord concentrated, focusing his thoughts. His own skills at magic were unremarkable at best. Never formally tested, he imagined he’d qualify as a mere Initiate of the First Circle, or at best an unskilled Second. Pitiful compared with many of his enemies—such as Rheah Vhoune, Initiate of the Seventh Circle. Of all Lorum’s allies, she was the most dangerous: in recorded history, only Selakrian himself, Archmage and Master of the Tenth Circle, had achieved the Seventh at a younger age than Rheah.
    On the other hand, Corvis cheated.
    So accustomed had he grown to the process that he no longer consciously noticed it. He visualized the effect he desired, thrust forth a gauntleted hand, and drew upon not his own power and skill but those of his inhuman ally. Flakes of rust fell from the door, as though agitated by a mild earthquake, yet the corridor itself held steady. The metal began to glow red, then white, in a very specific pattern of lines, dividing the door into eight sections that met in the middle. The air in the corridor grew acrid, painful to breathe. First one wedge, then a second, pulled back from the center, in rather the same way a man might peel an orange. The metal fragments plastered themselves to the wall, the floor, the ceiling, and slowly cooled back to their normal state, welded permanently with the stone.
    Even before the segments fully cooled, Rebaine stepped through the ring of metal into the room beyond. Yes! There it was, lying upon a table, coated with webs and the dust of ages. It had waited for millennia, waited for him. With this, there would be no more bloodshed. There would be no more
need
. With this, and this alone, he would rule.
    Eyes gleaming beneath the nightmarish helm, Corvis Rebaine strode forward, hands outstretched …

    â€œRHEAH? Rheah, can you hear me?”
A familiar voice. Concerned, worried. Also anxious. More on his mind than just the question
.
    â€œWill she be all right?”
Another voice, also familiar, though not so much as the first. Younger. Far more worried. Fear. The accompanying clanking is probably his hands—gauntleted—wringing together
.
    â€œHow would I know? What do I know about magic? I don’t even know what happened to her! I—”
    Slowly, mentally bracing herself against the stabbing pain she knew the light must bring, she opened her eyes. “Water,” she croaked. A strong hand slid behind her, helping her to sit, and she felt a glass pressed to her lips. It was lukewarm, made gritty by the ambient dust and dirt, but she drank deeply. With every swallow the burning pain inher throat lessened, and the ogre inside her skull finally ceased the ceremonial dances he was performing up and down her brain.
    â€œAre you all right?” Nathaniel asked. She realized it was he who held her