All Darkness Met
Book Five of the Dread Empire Series
Glen Cook
Copyright © Glen Cook 1980
Cover art by Kinuko Y. Craft
First Printing: June, 1980
This ePub edition v1.0 by Dead^Man Jan, 2011
AT EMPIRE'S END
War is not all Hell. Mocker finds old friends in the halls of death, and Nepanthe new lovers in the fields of blood. The war-child wields the sword of truth: the Star Rider's dead secret is at last revealed. And so it ends. Though "end" is but a wizard-word for new beginnings...
Contents
ONE: Shing, Ehelebe
TWO: Mocker
THREE: Old Friends
FOUR: Intimations
FIVE: A Traveler in Black
SIX: The Attack
SEVEN: The Old Dread Returns
EIGHT: The Prisoner
NINE: A Short Journey
TEN: Lord of Lords
ELEVEN: Marshall and Queen
TWELVE: The Stranger in Hammerfest
THIRTEEN: Regency
FOURTEEN: Lady of Mystery
FIFTEEN: The Stranger’s Appointment
SIXTEEN: Deaths and Disappearances
SEVENTEEN: Michael’s Adventure
EIGHTEEN: The Unborn
NINETEEN: Funerals and Assassins
TWENTY: The Dragon Emperor
TWENTY-ONE: The King Is Dead. Long Live the King
TWENTY-TWO: Eye of the Storm
TWENTY-THREE: The Hidden Kingdom
TWENTY-FOUR: Kavelin A-March
TWENTY-FIVE: The Assault on Argon
TWENTY-SIX: Battle for the Fadem
TWENTY-SEVEN: Mocker Returns
TWENTY-EIGHT: A Friendly Assassin
TWENTY-NINE: A Dark Stranger in the Kingdom of Dread
THIRTY: The Other Side
THIRTY-ONE: Baxendala Redux
THIRTY-TWO: Defeat. Defeat. Defeat.
THIRTY-THREE: Itaskia
THIRTY-FOUR: Road to Palmisano
THIRTY-FIVE: Palmisano: The Guttering Flame
THIRTY-SIX: Home
ONE: Shing, Ehelebe
The woman screamed with every contraction. The demon outside howled and clawed at the walls. It roared like a wounded elephant, smashed against the door. The timbers groaned.
The physician, soaked with perspiration, shook like a trapped rabbit. His skin was the hue of death.
“Get on with it!” snarled the baby’s father.
“Lord!...”
“Do it!” Nu Li Hsi appeared undisturbed by the siege. He refused even to acknowledge the possibility of fear, in himself or those who served him. Would-be Lord of All Shinsan, he dared reveal nothing the Tervola could call weakness.
Still the physician delayed. He was hopelessly trapped. He couldn’t win. A demon was trying to shatter the sorceries shielding his surgery. Inside, his master was in a rage because the mother couldn’t deliver normally. The child was just too huge. The woman was a friend, and the surgeon doubted she could survive the operation. The only assistant permitted him was his daughter. No fourteen-year-old was ready to face this.
Worse, there were witnesses. Two Tervola leaned against one wall. These sorcerer-generals, who managed Shinsan’s armies and made up her nobility, were waiting to see the product of the Dragon Prince’s experiments.
The goal was a child who could develop into a super strong, super competent soldier, thinking, yet with little ability to become a personality in his own right, and immune to the magicks by which foes seized control of enemy soldiers.
“Start cutting,” Nu Li Hsi said softly, with the “or else” transmitted by intonation, “before my brother’s attacks become more imaginative.”
For a millennium Nu Li Hsi and his twin, Yo Hsi, had battled
for mastery of Shinsan, virtually from the moment they had murdered Tuan Hoa, their father, who had been Shinsan’s founder.
“Scalpel,” said the surgeon. He could scarcely be heard. He glanced around the cramped surgery. The Tervola, with their masks and robes, could have been statues. Nu Li Hsi himself moved nothing but his eyes. His face, though, was naked. The Princes Thaumaturge felt no need to hide behind masks. The surgeon could read the continuing anger there.
The Dragon Prince, he realized, expected failure.
This was the Prince’s eleventh try using his own seed. Ten failures had preceded it. They had become reflections on his virility....
The surgeon opened the woman’s belly.
A half hour later he held up the child. This one, at least, was a son, and alive.
Nu Li Hsi stepped closer. “The arm. It didn’t develop. And the foot....” A quieter, more dangerous anger possessed him now, an anger brought on by repeated failure. What use was a superhuman soldier with a clubfoot and no shield arm?
That wounded elephant roar sounded again. Masonry shifted. Dust fell. Torches and candles wavered. The walls threatened to burst inward. The door groaned again and again. Splinters flew.
Nu Li Hsi showed concern for the first time. “He is persistent, isn’t he?” He asked the Tervola, “Feed it?”
They nodded.
The Tervola, second only to the Princes Thaumaturge themselves, seldom became involved in the skirmishes of Shinsan’s co-rulers. If the thing broke the barriers contiguous with the room’s boundaries, though, it would respect neither allegiances, nor their lack. Yo Hsi would make restitution to the surviving Tervola, expressing regrets that their fellows had been caught in the cross fire.
The Dragon Prince produced a golden dagger. Jet enamel characters ran its length. The Tervola seized the woman’s hands and feet. Nu Li Hsi drove the blade into her breast, slashing, sawing, ripping. He plunged a hand into the wound, grabbed, pulled with the skill of long practice. In a moment he held up the still throbbing heart. Blood ran up his arm and spattered his clothing.
The screams of the doctor’s daughter replaced those of the sacrifice.
From outside, suddenly, absolute silence. The thing, for the moment, was mollified.
No one who hadn’t been in the room would know that it had been there. The spells shielding the walls weren’t barriers against things of this world, but of worlds beyond, Outside.
Nu Li Hsi sighed resignedly. “So.... I have to try again. I know I can do it. It works on paper.” He started to leave.
“Lord!” the surgeon cried.
“What?”
The doctor indicated woman and child. “What should I do?” The child lived. It was the first of the experimental infants to survive birth.
“Dispose of them.”
“He’s your son....” His words tapered into inaudibility before his master’s rage. Nu Li Hsi had serpent eyes. There was no mercy in them. “I’ll take care of it, Lord.”
“See that you do.”
As soon as the Dragon Prince vanished, the surgeon’s daughter whispered, “Father, you can’t.”
“I must. You heard him.”
“But....”
“You know the alternative.”
She knew. She was a child of the Dread Empire.
But she was barely fourteen, with the folly of youth everywhere. In fact, she was doubly foolish.
She had already made the worst mistake girls her age could make. She had become pregnant.
That night she made a second mistake. It would be more dire. It would echo through generations.
She fled with the newborn infant.
One by one, over an hour, six men drifted into the room hidden beneath The Yellow-Eyed Dragon restaurant. No one upstairs knew who they were, for they had arrived in ordinary dress, faces bare, and had donned black robes and jeweled beast masks only after being out of sight in a room at the head of the ba
sement stair.
Even Lin Feng, The Dragon’s manager, didn’t know who was meeting. He did know that he had been paid well. In response he
made sure each guest had his full ten minutes alone, to dress, before the next was admitted to the intervening room.
Feng supposed them conspirators of some sort.
Had he known they were Tervola he would have fainted. Barring the Princes Thaumaturge themselves, the Tervola were the most powerful, most cruel men in all Shinsan, with Hell’s mightiest devils running at their heels....
Waking, following his faint, Feng probably would have taken his own life. These Tervola could be conspiring against no one but the Princes Thaumaturge themselves. Which made him a rat in the jaws of the cruelest fate of all.
But Feng suspected nothing. He performed his part without trepidation.
The first to arrive was a man who wore a golden mask resembling both cat and gargoyle, chased with fine black lines, with rubies for eyes and fangs. He went over the chamber carefully, making sure there would be no unauthorized witnesses. While the others arrived and waited in silence, he worked a thaumaturgy that would protect the meeting from the most skilled sorcerous eavesdroppers. When he finished, the room was invisible even to the all-seeing eyes of the Princes Thaumaturge themselves.
The sixth arrived. The man in the gargoyle mask said, “The others won’t be with us tonight.”
His fellows didn’t respond. They simply waited to learn why they had been summoned.
The Nine seldom met. The eyes and spies of the Princes and uninitiated Tervola were everywhere.
“We have to make a decision.” The speaker called himself Chin, though his listeners weren’t sure he was the Chin they knew outside. Only he knew their identities. They overlooked no precaution in their efforts to protect themselves.
Again the five did not respond. If they didn’t speak they couldn’t recognize one another by voice.
It was a dangerous game they played, for imperial stakes.
“I have located the woman. The child’s still with her. The question: Do we proceed as planned? I know the minds of those who can’t be with us. Two were for, one was against. Show hands if you still agree.”
Four hands rose.
“Seven for. We proceed, then.” Behind ruby eyepieces Chin’seyes sparkled like ice under an angry sun. They fixed on the sole dissenter present.
A link in the circle was weakening. Chin had misjudged the man behind the boar mask. The absentee negative vote he understood, accepted, and dismissed. Fear hadn’t motivated it. But the Boar.... The man was terrified. He might break.
The stakes were too high to take unnecessary chances.
Chin made a tiny sign. It would be recognized by only one man.
He had convened the Nine not for the vote but to test the Boar. He had learned enough. His decision was made.
“Disperse. The usual rules.”
They didn’t question, though meeting for so little seemed tempting Fate too much. They departed one by one, reversing the process of entry, till only Chin and the man who had been signaled remained.
“Ko Feng, our friend the Boar grows dangerous,” Chin said. “His nerve is failing. He’ll run to one of the Princes soon.”
Ko Feng, behind a bear mask, had presented the argument before. “The cure?” he asked.
“Go ahead. What must be, must be.”
Behind the metal Bear, cruel lips stretched in a thin smile.
“He’s Shan, of the Twelfth Legion. Go now. Do it quickly. He could spill his terror any time.”
The Bear bowed slightly, almost mockingly, and departed.
Chin paused thoughtfully, staring after him. The Bear, too, was dangerous. He was another mistake. Ko Feng was too narrow, too hasty. He might need removing, too. He was the most ambitious, most deadly, most coldhearted and cruel, not just of the Nine, but of the Tervola. He was a long-run liability, though useful now.
Chin began to consider possible replacements for the Boar.
The Nine were old in their conspiracy. Long had they awaited their moment. For centuries each had been selecting eight subordinates carefully, choosing only men who could remain loyal to the ultimate extremity and who would, themselves, build their own Nines with equal care.
Chin’s First Nine had existed for three hundred years. In all that time the organization had grown downward only to the fourth level.
Which was, in truth, a fifth level. There was a higher Ninethan Chin’s, though only he knew. Similar ignorance persisted in each subsidiary Nine.
Soon after the Bear’s departure Chin faced another door. It was so well concealed that it had evaded the notice of the others.
It opened. A man stepped through. He was small and old and bent, but his eyes were young, mischievous, and merry. He was in his element here, conspiring in the grand manner. “Perfect, my friend. Absolutely perfect. It proceeds. It won’t be long now. A few decades. But be careful with Nu Li Hsi. He should be given information that will help us, yet not so much that he suspects he’s being used. It’s not yet time for the Nines to become visible.”
Chin knew this man only as the master of his own Nine, the world-spanning Master Nine, the Pracchia. Chin, perhaps, should have paid more attention to the old man and less to his problems with his own Nine. Evidence of the man’s true identity was available, had he but looked for it.
“And the child?” Chin asked.
“It’s not yet his time. He’ll be protected by The Hidden Kingdom.”
That name was a mystery of the Circle of which Chin was junior member. Ehelebe. The Hidden Kingdom. The Power behind all Powers. Already the Pracchia secretly ruled a tenth of the world. Someday, once the might of Shinsan became its tool, Ehelebe would control the entire world.
“He’ll be prepared for the day.”
“It is well.”
Chin kept his eyes downcast, though the ruby eyepieces of his mask concealed them. Like the Bear, he had his reservations and ambitions. He hoped he hid them better than did Ko Feng.
“Farewell, then.” The bent old man returned to his hiding place wearing an amused smile.
Moments later a winged horse took flight from behind The Yellow-Eyed Dragon, coursed across the moon into the mysteries of the night.
“Lang! Tarn!” she called. “Come eat.” The boys glanced from their clay marbles to the crude hut, crossed gazes. Lang bent to shoot again. “Lang! Tarn! You come here right now!” The boys sighed, shrugged, gathered their marbles. It was aconundrum. Mothers, from the dawn of time, never had understood the importance of finishing the game.
There in the Yan-lin Kuo Forest, astride Shinsan’s nebulous eastern border, they called her The Hag of The Wood even though she hadn’t yet reached her twentieth birthday. With woodcutters and charcoal-burners she plied the ancient trade, and for their wives and daughters she crafted petty charms and wove weak spells. She was sufficiently tainted by the Power to perform simple magicks. Those and her sex were all she had.
Her sons entered the hut, Tam limping on his club foot.
The meal wasn’t much. Boiled cabbage. No meat. But it was as good as the best forest people had. In Yan-lin Kuo the well-to-do looked at poverty from the belly side.
“Anybody home?”
“Tran!” Happiness illuminated the woman’s face.
A youth of seventeen pushed inside, a rabbit dangling from his left hand. A tall man, he swept her into the bow of his right arm, planted a kiss on her cheek. “And how are you boys?”
Lang and Tam grinned.
Tran wasn’t of the majority race of Shinsan. The forest people, who had been under Dread Empire suzerainty for a historically brief time, had a more mahogany cast of skin, yet racially were akin to the whites of the west. Culturally they were ages behind either, having entered the Iron Age solely by virtue of trade. In their crude way they were as cruel as their rulers.
Of his people Tran was the sole person for whom the woman felt anything. And her feelings w
ere reciprocated. There was an unspoken understanding: they would eventually marry.
Tran was a woodsman and trapper. He always provided for the Hag, asking nothing in return. And consequently received more than any who paid.
The boys were young, but they knew about men and women. They gobbled cabbage, then abandoned the hut.
They resumed their game. Neither gained much advantage.
A shadow fell across the circle. Tam looked up.
A creature of nightmare loomed over Lang. It wore the shape of a man, and a man might have lurked within that chitinous black armor. Or a devil. There was no visible evidence either way.
He was huge, six inches taller than Tran, the tallest man Tam knew. He was heavier of build.
He stared at Tam for several seconds, then gestured.
“Lang,” Tam said softly.
Four more giants entered the clearing, silently as death by night. Were they human? Even their faces were concealed behind masks showing crystal squares where eyeholes should be.
Lang stared.
These four bore naked, long black swords with razor edges and tips that glowed red hot.
“Ma!” Lang shrieked, scampering toward the hut.
Tam shrieked, “Monsters!” and pursued Lang.
With club foot and half an arm he wasn’t much of a runner. The first giant caught him easily.
The Hag and Tran burst from the hut. Lang scooted round and clung to Tran’s leg, head leaning against his mother’s thigh.
Tam squirmed and squealed. The giant restrained him, and otherwise ignored him.
“Oh, Gods,” the woman moaned. “They’ve found me.” Tran seemed to know what she meant.
He selected a heavy stick from her woodpile.
Tarn’s captor passed him to one of his cohorts, drew his blade. Indigo-purple oil seemed to run its length. It swayed like a cobra about to strike.
“Tran, no. You can’t stop them. Save yourself.”
Tran moved toward the giant.
“Tran, please. Look at their badges. They’re from the Imperial Standard. The Dragon sent them.”
Sense gradually penetrated Tran’s brain. He stood no chance against the least of Shinsan’s soldiers. No one alive had much chance against men of the Imperial Standard Legion. That was no legion brag. These men had trained since their third birthdays. Fighting was their way of life, their religion. They had been chosen from Shinsan’s healthiest, stoutest children. They were smart, and utterly without fear. Their confidence in their invincibility was absolute.