Shadow's Son by Jon Sprunk Page A

receive your due
compensation when this matter is completed. Mind the task I have laid
before you. I want the girl and this man dead. You may go now."
    Ral grabbed his cloak and left. The manservant preceded him through
the doorway. Just as Ral crossed the threshold, Vassili called out, "Don't
fail me again. My patience is almost at its end."
    Ral turned and made a bow. "As you command, Radiance."
    The soles of Ral's leather boots slapped on the tiles as he stalked
through the atrium, past the bodyguards who didn't look as if they had so much as blinked since he entered. Ignoring the manservant who held
open the door, he strode out into the brisk night air. This business was
getting out of hand. Once he had thought Vassili would be the herald to
all his dreams, but more and more of late he was beginning to doubt the
archpriest's true intentions. If Vassili managed to gain the prelacy, he
might decide that his old allies were too dangerous to keep alive. Ral had
no intention of being discarded after his work was done. Perhaps it was
time to form a contingency plan. One couldn't be too cautious in matters
such as these. A man had to look out for his own interests.

    Another thought nagged at Ral as he vanished into the shadowed
streets of the city. If it wasn't Caim, who killed the old man?

    Vassili frowned at the water-stained parchment in his hand.
    Your Radiant Grace,
    Conditions in the state of Eregoth continue to deteriorate. An influx of Utheno-
rian mercenaries-brigands in all but name-into the usurper's armies has
foiled our latest efforts to undermine the local viceroy. Rumors of strange happenings in the highlands continue to persist. Most of the peasants have fled or been
taken to parts unknown.
    We beg Your Radiance to send additional men and monies, as both are in
perilously short supply.
    Your Servant, with all humility,
    Jacob Mourning, Aspirant
    With a curse, Vassili tossed the letter on the desk amid a pile of
papers, all bearing similar reports from his agents in the north. Some had
not bothered to report at all. He was tired of their complaints, the endless wheedling for additional funds and soldiers. He was more concerned
with events here at home. Banditry and lawlessness plagued the countryside. Arnos encroached from the east, and the prelate's "holy war" against
the god-kings of Akeshia in the distant east had left Nimea with inadequate forces to guard her own borders.

    Vassili broke the elaborate seal on the next missive and unfolded its
stiff parchment. This one he found more to his liking.
    Brother in Faith,
    We most happily accept your gracious gift to the impoverished unfortunates of
Parvia. As the Holy Texts profess, surely your heartfelt generosity shall be
remembered forever.
    Furthermore, we hereby agree to an alliance of purpose on all matters that
come before the Council.
    Archpriest Gaspar, Viscount of Parvia
    After reading the message, Vassili folded it with care and placed it in
the hidden compartment under the bottom drawer of his desk. A dozen
archpriests presided over the twelve holy districts of Nimea. Together, they
formed the Elector Council, a body ordained to advise the prelate and, when
necessary, elect his successor. With Donovus gone and Gaspar's support, he
held half of the Council securely in his pocket. Now, if only Ral could be
counted upon to perform his task with alacrity, all would be set.
    A shiver went through Vassili as the temperature dropped and shadows
stirred in the corners of the room. A figure emerged from the darkness. Tall
and lean, almost to the point of gauntness, he wore a simple monk's robe,
black as the night, cinched at the waist by a plain length of cord. His pale
face hovered in the candlelight. Its stern lines came together to form a powerful jaw, a twisted nose. White scars creased hollow cheeks, old wounds
poorly healed. Shadows smudged the sockets of his deep-set eyes. Black
pupils like cold, bottomless pits