Free The Conqueror's Shadow by Ari Marmell

I don’t! I—”
    â€œI get it! Shut up!”
    Corvis thought furiously in the sudden silence. It didn’t quite ringtrue, yet he couldn’t bring himself to believe the man was lying to him. Whatever the case, any illusions he’d harbored that Chelenshire could somehow avoid the whole affair had been brutally shattered into so many splinters.
    He glanced around him as though seeing the area for the first time. Four corpses, and one man on the ground, twitching, who wouldn’t survive the next few hours without the attention of a healer—attention that Corvis was not inclined to provide.
    But that left one man standing.
    â€œThe first question,” he muttered, “is what to do with you.”
    â€œMercy! I told you everything I know! Mercy, I beg you!”
    Corvis nodded once. “Mercy, then.” He spun about once, his left hand yanking the stolen sword from the earth. Momentum carried him about, full circle, and the man’s head bounced across the dirt to fetch up against a nearby oak. The rest of the body toppled sideways, the broken bones of the arm digging furrows into the soil.
    â€œConsidering what I want to do to you,” Corvis told the head, meeting its lifeless gaze, “that’s mercy enough.” The sword, coated in blood, tumbled to the ground; the spade followed a moment later. Somehow, he didn’t think either he or Tyannon would care to use it in the garden anymore.
    Corvis knelt, cradled his daughter in his arms, and slowly made his way home.

Chapter Three
    â€œAre you certain about this?”
    Even in the darkened basement, lit only by a single black candle in the room’s center, the irritation was obvious on the younger man’s face. “I’m certain that if you ask me that one more time, I’m going to strongly consider feeding your liver to the gnomes.”
    The ancient fellow, his skin desiccated and shriveled almost to parchment, recoiled, one hand nervously rising to stroke the remaining wisps of beard. “It’s just … You understand what it is you’re trying to awaken here?”
    â€œBetter than you. Do it, before I decide to use your soul to awaken him the old-fashioned way.”
    The old man muttered something unintelligible, knelt beside the candle with a creaking of tired bones, and began to chant. Three times, his old voice wavered nearly enough to break the spell, and three times the younger man reached for his blade, ready to spill the wizard’s life.
    But there was no need. Faint, so faint that even the lone candle was almost enough to drown it out, the tiny stone that was the object of their attention began to glow.
    /Feed …
/ It was weak, barely an echo of a whisper, but they both heard it in their minds.
    â€œSoon,” the younger man cooed, his tone almost seductive. “Soon, my friend, you’ll have all the souls you could ever wish for. But first I need your help to locate someone, someone who knows some
very
important secrets.”
    /Who …?/
It was almost a groan, little more.
    â€œA rather violent fellow by the name of Valescienn.”

    â€œWELL,” Audriss said, leaning back heavily in his velvet-lined chair, “that was unattractive.” He negligently waved a hand through the image hovering over the mahogany table before him: Corvis Rebaine carrying Mellorin from the woods. It scattered like pipe smoke and faded away.
    /It’s not as though you didn’t know what he was capable of,/
the now familiar voice in his mind responded drily.
    â€œPerhaps, but it was surprisingly brutal.”
    /Most animals get that way when their young are threatened./
    â€œIndeed.” Audriss rested his chin on an open palm—only here, in the sanctity of his most private chambers, would he dare to remove the featureless mask—and stared moodily across the table. “He used magic in that battle.”
    /Assuming Rebaine hasn’t signed any