Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...
Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...
Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...
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EPILOGUE<br />
From somewhere in the dungeon came a steady dripping. Sometimes it seemed near, sometimes far.<br />
What liquid, he wondered as he lay on the cold stone with its thin layer of straw; while half-asleep, he<br />
was convinced it was blood.<br />
Clanging. Calling. The officious Yeoli-accented voices, butchering an Arkan name. Making a man<br />
choose. He'd learned, from listening: they were giving everyone the choice. Swear allegiance to<br />
Snefen-kas, or die. Imperator, he was calling himself now; Imperator <strong>and</strong> you better believe it.<br />
I wondered… The old fart general had had him truth-drugged, learned the whole thing from end to end.<br />
And taken pity on him, of all things, admiring his plan. "To Hayel with Eforas Mahid," he'd said. "Eforas<br />
Mahid matters less than rotted shit in mud,now ." And sent for his best healer.<br />
My clawed cheek… In the infirmary of an Arkan camp, being driven further back into Arkan territory<br />
every battle, Matthas had waited, for fever, for sickness, aware of every tiny twinge inside… <strong>and</strong> waited,<br />
wondering just how slow acting a poison those demonic claws had carried… <strong>and</strong> waited, while the four<br />
gashes healed, into scabs, then scars—spectacular scars, he'd be able to tell a wonderful story of a bear<br />
or lion, if he lived—<strong>and</strong> waited, <strong>and</strong> realized the Zak had put no poison on the claws at all, but had only<br />
said she had, to torment him.<br />
I wondered, he thought now. Why she hadn't turned him in to Shefen-kas, he knew: she'd have been<br />
incriminated herself, not having done it sooner.But why didn't she kill me, when she could have, <strong>and</strong><br />
hated me so ?<br />
Now he knew. She'd let him live to witness the result of his failure: to see the Empire fall.<br />
To see the City sacked; not knowing what else to do, he'd gone there, one of thous<strong>and</strong>s of refugees.<br />
Irefas credentials had been enough to explain hisAitzas-'tong hair to the gate guards; but that would gain<br />
him no mercy, he knew when the fires <strong>and</strong> screams started, with the conquerors. He could likely get<br />
away from the r<strong>and</strong>om killing <strong>by</strong> hiding in the woods, he decided—lucky I have no home here to try in<br />
vain to defend, like all these poor bastards—but when it was over <strong>and</strong> he had to come out, he'd more<br />
likely be left alone if he werefessas , notAitzas .<br />
So he'd knelt in a thicket under the cliff, breathing deep to keep the knife steady, <strong>and</strong> was half-done<br />
cutting his hair, struggling to keep it even—when a bunch of shrieking Yeolis had stumbled into him.Sheer<br />
chance. Sheer fikken chance, they were the type honorable enough not to kill an Arkan who threw<br />
himself on their mercy, as long as I showed them the way to the Marble Palace dungeon, so they<br />
could throw me in .<br />
He heard rustling on the stone. Something slithered away from his h<strong>and</strong>. Torchlight flickered, making a<br />
square of firelight through the tiny barred window, moving like water on the wall. He was thirsty. The<br />
boots slowed down instead of passing, tread lightening as he'd noticed it did when they were about to<br />
stop.<br />
A key turned in the lock. The door swung creaking, thumped against the wall; torchlight filled the cell,