The boom of the closing doors sent a tremor through the floor stones as Balaam watched the scion depart from the hall. The assembly whispered among themselves. Their words traveled through the hall. “The grandson…heir to the black throne…dishonored…death…”
Balaam glanced around. There were so few of his kind left in the citadel, less than a score, but they had become strangers to him. Even the others of his clan were like odd creatures in a menagerie, and he was locked inside with them.
Malphas cleared the chamber with a command while the Master sat silently and gazed at the doors at the end of the hall. Balaam stood with his hands clasped behind his back. When they were alone, Abraxus sighed. He looked fatigued. “He is strong. Stronger than I had reason to anticipate, considering his mixed lineage.”
“He is an untrained abomination,” Malphas said. “Forgive me, my lord, but that is all the more reason to execute him immediately. So that his deviancy and the threat he poses to your empire will die with him.”
The Shadow Lord gazed down from the throne. “What is your opinion?”
Balaam considered his words carefully. There was something in Malphas's expression he did not like, something predatory. Is this what we have become? We surround ourselves with slaves and servants, but are we all just tools like this scion, to be used and discarded? “He is dangerous, Master.”
Lord Malphas began to nod in agreement, until Balaam continued, “But I counsel you not to slay him out of hand.”
Malphas sniffed, but the Shadow Lord asked, “Why not? Do you believe he could be one of us?”
“No, Master.” Balaam groped for some reason to defend the scion's life. What shall I say? He fights well, and with honor, which is more than I can say of everyone in your court. “But he may be the last of your line. With one of your daughters departed, and the other-”
Abraxus waved his hand. “I will not be swayed by the virtue of blood alone. Are you sure he cannot be convinced to join our conquest?”
“Quite sure,” Malphas said before Balaam could reply. “I attended his interrogation personally. Believe me, my lord. There is nothing of your greatness in him.”
Balaam considered challenging those words. He had tested the scion in personal combat. He knew the man's mettle better than anyone else in Erebus. But then he thought of Dorcas. If he crossed Malphas and lost, who would care for her? “Master, I do not agree.”
Malphas stepped to the edge of the dais platform, where he towered over Balaam. “The court is grateful for your efforts in capturing this enemy, but be mindful of your station, Talon.”
Balaam felt the muscles in his arms and legs contract as cool detachment filled him. His gloves creaked. But Abraxus stood up. “Prepare the scion for execution. Tomorrow at the high diurn.”
Malphas bowed. “Yes, Master. I shall see to it myself.”
Balaam lowered his head and kept it down until Abraxus had departed. When he looked up, Malphas was gone as well. Taking a deep breath, Balaam turned toward the doors. Why did he care if the scion was put to death? The man was nothing to him. But then he recalled the execution of Lord Oriax.
This is not the empire we once knew.
Balaam pulled the hood of his cloak down over his eyes as he opened a portal to a place far away.