The Conqueror's Shadow Read Online Free Page A

scream of a man roasting to death in the inferno’s heart. No, these wereshrieks of mindless rage, of a fury that couldn’t be expressed by voice alone. Even as they watched, a second burst of fire flowed down the passage, followed by the sound of shattering stone. Immense clouds of dust poured up from the hole at the base of the pit, and the building shuddered. Guards and prisoners alike exchanged horrified glances at the realization that Rebaine was collapsing the tunnels.
    Tyannon blinked, her eyes tearing again to clear the dust from beneath her lids. When she could finally see again, he stood before her, an impenetrable shadow emerging from the billowing dust. The hideous axe hung from his right hand, flecks of stone and dirt falling from the blade. In his other he held something, boxy, wrapped in mold-covered and moth-eaten red velvet. Rage radiated from him in palpable waves; prisoners and guards alike fell back in fear.
    All save one: a large man, tall and broad of shoulder. His hair was a light blond, almost white, and cut close to his scalp save for a single long lock at the back. He wore a hauberk of chain, topped by a black cuirass similar in design to those worn by the rest of Rebaine’s men. His square features were marred by a jagged scar running from his left ear to just beneath his nose. He, and he alone, stood his ground, undaunted by his master’s fury.
    â€œMy lord?” he asked, his voice gruff, tinted slightly by an accent Tyannon could not place. “Things did not go well?”
    â€œWell?
Well?”
Rebaine spun viciously to face his lieutenant. “Does it
look
like things have gone ‘well,’ Valescienn?”
    â€œNot as such, my lord, but—”
    â€œA godsdamn key!” He shook the cloth-covered object in Valescienn’s face, neither noticing nor caring that he would surely have broken the man’s nose had he not flinched away. “All the writings in which he spoke about this, his ‘greatest accomplishment’! You’d think that just once, he’d have bothered to mention it needs a bloody
key!”
    Valescienn paled. “You mean—”
    â€œUseless.” Rebaine stepped back, arms falling limply to his sides. “It’s completely useless.”
    The blond man’s eyes widened, then narrowed in sudden anger. “And without it? Are you suggesting we’ll not be continuing on toward Mecepheum?”
    â€œMecepheum? Valescienn, we’ll be lucky if a third of the army survives to escape the damn city! We—”
    â€œMy lord!” Another soldier dashed into the room, his face coated in sweat, skidding slightly on the rubble and detritus near the pit. “My lord, Lorum is attacking! There are tens of thousands of them! Nobles, Guild soldiers …” He croaked to a stop, gasping for breath.
    A mutter passed through the soldiers, each thinking the same thing. But it was Valescienn, as usual, who possessed courage to voice it. “We can’t win, my lord,” he said quietly to the back of Rebaine’s helm. “This city is a death trap. It won’t hold for us any better than it did when we took it.”
    Rebaine’s shoulders slumped, an invisible gesture in the confines of his nightmarish armor. He’d failed. He’d gambled everything on the knowledge that victory lay hidden
here
, in the ancient tunnels beneath Denathere. And he’d lost.
    He would, at least, deal with it properly.
    â€œValescienn, tell the men to fall back. Escape by any means possible. I free them from my service. Let them go home, or find employment elsewhere.”
    â€œMy lord?” The question was incredulous, almost plaintive. “You don’t wish us to regroup elsewhere?”
    â€œThere’s no place to regroup, my friend, nor any purpose. Even with luck on our side, we’ll not have enough men left once we’ve escaped to make a proper army. And I’m tired,