“Can I see it?”
She shrugged and handed him the orb, but he moved his hand at the last moment, causing it to fall. It shattered in a tinkling of glass, the memory floating up from inside. Elenyr threw him a scathing look.
“Why would you do that?”
“I thought you wanted to see the memory.”
“I wanted to keep it as evidence.”
“Too late,” he replied.
The memory was of the sea, the water rising and falling in shallow swells. But the liquid seemed off, more reflective, solid even. The image of the waves filled the room, making them feel like they were on the seas, the walls and ceiling obscured by the memory.
“Where are we?” he asked.
The sea swelled up and morphed into the shape of a man. Gendor. At his side, the water rose up and turned into Bartoth. As the third took shape into the Raven, Elenyr sucked in her breath, her features wide in recognition.
“This is an oracle’s memory.”
“Senia?” Shadow asked.
“Or her grandmother,” Elenyr said. “They are the only ones I know whose farsight was the sea.”
“One of them foresaw the creation of the generals?” He was out of magma ale, and he rose from his seat and stepped to the door.
She caught his elbow and held him fast. “This is Senia’s memory,” Elenyr said as the final one took shape. “Serak must have manipulated her and then used his memory mages to strip the memory so she wouldn’t know.”
“But who is the last general?” Shadow asked.
The final figure took shape. The woman’s slight frame was that of a dark elf. Her body was slim and appeared frail, her features mottled and diseased. Shadow blinked in surprise as he recognized the woman.
“Is that Mimic?”
“First of the Queen’s Hand,” Elenyr nodded in understanding. “Her magic would make her an ideal candidate for becoming Draeken’s general.”
“And she’s really cruel,” Shadow said.
“I didn’t know you’d met.”
She turned and noticed he stood with his hand on the door, his mug empty. She frowned at his posture and he shrugged sheepishly. Just as he took his hand off the door, the knob began to turn. On instinct he retreated into the shadows next to the cabinet. Elenyr followed his lead and turned ethereal before leaping into the cabinet, both disappearing from sight just as the door swung open.
The cloaked figure of Gendor stood framed in the opening, his scythe pulsing with power, his skeletal hands clenched on the wood. His eyes burned like coals as he surveyed the room and settled on the mug resting on the desk. The memory had faded, but the mug marked the presence of an intruder.
“My apologies,” he said, and then slashed through the cabinet.
Elenyr cried out as the scythe cut through the wood, slicing across her side. Shadow leapt from his hide and picked up the mug, which he smashed on Gendor’s head. The man whirled with inhuman speed, his scythe cutting high.
Shadow ducked, the scythe scraping his hair as it passed above his head. Shadow leapt into the stairwell and hurtled down the stairs to avoid the spinning weapon. The man gave pursuit, much faster, and far more deadly.
The scythe cut Shadow’s cloak from his shoulders, the fabric settling on the steps as Shadow turned to dark form and leapt to the ceiling. Gendor kicked off one wall and then another, bringing himself to the top of the hall, his weapon reaching for Shadow. Giving up on escaping on the ceiling, Shadow dropped to the floor, narrowly avoiding losing his hand as he landed on the steps.
“I thought you were on our side,” Shadow called over his shoulder.
“I didn’t choose this,” Gendor snapped. “He holds my will. I am to kill the intruder.”
“What if I’m not an intruder?” he shot back.
“What else would I call you?” Gendor demanded.
Shadow reached the basement stairwell and ducked into the armory. He caught a sword from the wall and then picked up a shield. He sent it spinning into the hallway, clipping Gendor on the shoulder as he entered. Shadow raised his sword and parried the man’s scythe but the weapon was too fast, and Gendor drove him back into a storeroom.
Shadow was used to being faster than anyone except Light, but Gendor’s sheer speed took his breath away. Shadow ducked and twisted, avoiding the scythe by a hairsbreadth as he retreated to the next stairwell and into the final storeroom. Just as he passed the barrel containing the magma ale, he yanked the plug from the hole and spun, slashing the dagger and sword against each other.
The spark ignited the ale in a burst of fire that poured from the barrel. Shadow had hoped it would explode, but the flow of liquid created a current of flames that streaked across the room and splashed across the opposite wall.
Gendor slid to a halt on the other side of the firewall, and across the barrier the two combatants regarded each other. Shadow smirked at Gendor’s reserve, and the assassin passed his scythe into the fire, the metal burning bright.
“Very clever,” Gendor said. “I cannot disobey my orders, but neither can I die for them.”
Elenyr dropped through the ceiling and groaned when she landed on her feet. She had her hand on her side, where a line cut through her tunic. She straightened and caught Shadow on the shoulder, dragging him towards the exit.
“Let’s go.”
“You cannot stop them,” Gendor called.
“Then who will?” Elenyr snapped.
“My blade is poisoned with the Dark,” Gendor said. “If you do not clean the wound in the next few minutes, it will take root and you will be dead soon.”
