Wyan ignored her and glared down at the advisors. “The city was better off under Kalak!” he yelled. “We will have our legion!”
The head floated closer to the ceiling, placing himself directly in the sun’s rays streaming through the window. His shadow fell in the center of the chamber floor, covering the heads of more than a dozen councilors, and began to expand. Crying out in alarm, the advisors pushed their way into the gallery seats. As the floor emptied, the black shadow spread across the granite blocks like an ink stain.
“Wyan, no!” Sadira commanded, hardly able to believe what she was seeing. She had known for some time that the head could communicate with the shadow giants, the nebulous beings of the Black, but she had never before seen any evidence that he could summon them to Athas. “Stop!”
When Wyan did not listen, Sadira pulled a glass rod from her pocket and pointed it at him. The head’s eyes went wide. Before she could begin the incantation of her spell, he left the light and flew up into the murky alcoves of the ceiling.
It did not matter. The shadow on the floor had taken on the shape of a tall, thin man with ropy limbs. A pair of sapphire eyes began to shine from the head, and a blue gash opened where the thing’s mouth should have been. Sadira pushed Rkard toward his mother. The sorceress did not need to utter any warning, for both women had seen such creatures before. Neeva had fought a shadow giant named Umbra during the war with Urik, while Sadira had visited the shadow people’s home in the Pristine Tower.
As Neeva took the child, she asked, “Are you going to allow this, Sadira?”
“It’s not for me to allow or disallow,” the sorceress replied. “The shadow people are the ones who bestowed my powers on me, and my magic won’t work against them.”
“But you’ve got to do something!” Caelum said. “We need Tyr’s legion.”
“I have no way to interfere,” Sadira snapped. “When I can do something, I will!”
The shadow rose to its feet, taking on a full three-dimensional body as tall as that of a half-giant. It stepped toward Cybrian and Lady Laaj, who defiantly remained standing on their podiums.
“Your tricks won’t fool us.” Cybrian looked past the shadow to Sadira. “You won’t win your way with a simple illusion.”
“The Black is no illusion!” hissed the shadow giant, stretching a hand out to each of the pair.
Recognizing the voice as that of the chief of the shadow people, Sadira stepped after the dark being. “Khidar, leave them alone.”
“You are not the one who asked me to take them,” the shadow replied.
Khidar wrapped his sinuous fingers over the pair’s skulls. As their faces disappeared into darkness, the wrab took wing and disappeared into its shadowy lair. Cybrian screamed, then Lady Laaj, their voices harmonizing into a single, pained, fearful howl.
Sadira grabbed the arm holding the noblewoman. The shadow giant’s flesh felt misty and cold, and holding it was like trying to grasp water. Still, the sorceress came closer to touching it than most beings, and when she pulled, tendrils of the arm came away in her hand. The black filaments evaporated into the air, vanishing like a dawn mist in the morning sun.
Khidar’s murky substance continued to swallow the templar and noblewoman, slipping over their shoulders, then down their wildly thrashing arms. Finally, the shadow consumed even their hips and legs, and they were gone.
For all of her magical powers, Sadira was helpless to stop the shadow giant. Casting a spell against him would have been useless, like trying to pierce the sun with a ray of light, and she knew better than to try. If she accomplished anything, it would be only to enrage Khidar to the point where he attacked more councilors.
Instead, the sorceress looked toward the ceiling. Though she could not see Wyan, she had no doubt that he was still up there in the murk. “This accomplishes nothing, Wyan. An army coerced into fighting is an army of slaves,” she said. “You know that neither Rikus, Neeva, nor I will have anything to do with that.”
“Then let the council vote,” Wyan countered. “They can do it here or in the Black.”
“Why bother?” demanded Charl Birkett. He stepped onto the floor and crossed to Sadira. “You and your friends have the power to take the legion, whether we like it or not-but I won’t lend my name to a sham.” The guildsman spat on the sorceress’s sandaled feet and turned toward the exit.
Khidar blocked his path. “The council has not voted,” said the shadow giant.
Charl glanced over his shoulder and glared at Sadira. “Tell this thing to stand aside.”
“I had no respect for Lady Laaj or Cybrian, true, but this is not my doing,” Sadira said. “You saw me try to stop him.”
“I saw you pretend to try,” the guildsman retorted. “Do not take me for a fool.”
Charl tried to step past Khidar. The shadow giant raised a hand to stop him. Sadira lashed out, closing her powerful fingers around the guildsman’s shoulder, and pulled him back. She shoved him roughly toward the gallery seats, drawing a murmur of angry comments from the other advisors.
“I suggest you vote.” The sorceress looked at Khidar, knowing that by now Lady Laaj and Cybrian would be half-frozen with the cold of the Black. “And do it now.”
Without taking his narrowed eyes off her face, Charl growled, “All those who think we should give our legion to Sadira?”
“Aye,” came the response.
Though the chorus was far from deafening, Charl said, “The motion carries. Now can we leave?”
Sadira glanced up at the ceiling. “Are you happy?”
Wyan came down out of the shadowy alcoves just far enough to be seen. “Your duties are finished, Khidar.”
“What of the noblewoman and the templar?” the shadow giant asked.
“Keep them,” Wyan sneered. “They’ll serve as an example to those who cross me.”
“As you wish.”
The shadow giant began to shrink. He quickly lost his human shape and melted onto the floor like a puddle of black water. Sadira waited until his blue eyes and mouth disappeared, then dropped to her knees and pressed her palms into the center of the dark stain that had been Khidar. The cold she felt was not that of the stone. It was more bitter and biting, numbing her flesh to the bone and stiffening her joints so that she could hardly bend her fingers.
“Caelum, keep Wyan out of the light!” she yelled, not looking up.
“I’ll burn him to cinders if I see him poke so much as his nose out!” the dwarf promised.
Sadira uttered a string of mystic syllables, and her hands sank into the Black up to her elbows.
“Lady Laaj, Cybrian, take my hands!” Sadira directed her words at the floor and began to shiver as the circle of shadow slowly contracted around her arms. “I’m here to help you!”
Whispers of astonishment echoed down from the galleries as the advisors started to return to the floor, but Sadira hardly noticed. Her whole body ached with cold, and her teeth chattered uncontrollably. She began to fear that the noblewoman and templar had been gone too long, that the Black had turned their bodies into frozen lumps of flesh.
Then, as the stain on the floor contracted to no more than a pair of small circles around her arms, Sadira felt a weight at the end of each hand. Her frozen flesh no longer had any sensation of touch, so the sorceress had no way of knowing whether or not the missing advisors had finally found her. Nevertheless, she willed her fingers to close, not sure whether the digits were obeying her wishes, and rose.
As Sadira pulled her arms from the floor, each of the dark circles around them expanded to the size of a human body. Out of the shadowy stains came the shivering forms of the two advisors. Their flesh was as pale and shiny as alabaster, and their muscles were so stiff that their own legs would not support them. With each breath, plumes of white steam rose from between their quivering lips, and hundreds of gleaming ice crystals clung to their clothes.