Chronicles of Den'dra - Spencer Johnson Page 0,117

of a man in deep contemplation if he hadn’t mutely witnessed the man at the desk throwing books and papers on the floor only a minute earlier. His sudden calm was as unnerving as the eye of a storm off the Silent Sea. Reigns was frustrated by a myriad of things. The fact, in and of itself, that the assault on the rebels was going so slowly was frustrating. The reports of plaguing illness were coming from every source he had in the assault. His false princess was gone along with any chance of controlling the people through her resemblance to the real Princess. That vile assassin that had in one night burnt his fleet and stolen the fake princess was still out there somewhere gloating over his victories. That was possibly the most irking thought of all the misfortunes that crowded Reigns’ mind.

On the other hand, he had not received any communications from the Shadow Order since Crein’s untimely death. It had come as a shock when Reigns had received the message while inspecting the rubble at the port that the old man, who virtually worshiped the ground that Reigns trod on, had suddenly collapsed and had died a few hours later of unknown causes. Reigns had an idea what had happened and cursed the fact that Crein hadn’t been more forthcoming. Reign was aware of how dangerous it was to use a scanner in finding the Asgare. A perfect waste of a sorely needed tracker. It did however explain how Crein had been able to receive messages from the farthest corners of the Braebach in miraculously short periods of time. Now that Crein was dead, he began to realize how useful the Shadow Order had become. His spy network was a massive organization that would always deliver the information, but at nowhere near the efficiency of the Order. Reigns now wished that he hadn’t made himself such an enemy to the Gifted community. They had obviously been thriving even under his most ruthless efforts at ridding the land of any free Gifted individuals.

If the Order wanted to restore their working relationship, then they would have to make the first move. Reigns had no idea how they might be contacted. The idea that Crein had professed so much loyalty, but had manipulated Reigns to the point he had little knowledge of his father’s organization galled him to no end.

“My lord, there is a man here to see you. He said that he wants to offer his condolences concerning Crein’s death.” Reigns caught the cryptic message. It wasn’t hidden well and it was most certainly the contact that Reigns had been waiting for. After giving the order to admit the man to his study, Reign stationed the guard at the doors that led into the hallway that let into his room. There were already guards posted at these two doors, but they were out of earshot yet still within calling distance. The tall man that was admitted a moment later was as expected arrayed in the black robes that seemed to mark the Shadow Order when they cared to reveal themselves.

“You…” Reigns’ keen memory allowed him to recognize the round face and short cropped brown hair of a gardener that had been seen tending the flowers around the castle years in the past.

“Do you know who I am?” The gardener swept some letters out of the chair opposite Reigns and sat down.

“You are a gardener.”

“Ah yes, I was a gardener, but you are going to promote me to something that involves less manual labor.”

“I am the one that gives orders. You would do well to remember that.” Reigns glared at the gardener who didn’t even blink.

“I think we both know that you need us as much as we need you. There is no need for pretenses.”

“Alban is what you were called once within my hearing.”

“Good. That is one of my names and it will work well for this arrangement.”

“I am a dark elf. You will give me the respect that my name deserves.” Reigns spoke icily. Alban smirked before responding.

“Or what? You are going to have my head removed from my shoulders? I don’t need to remind you that doing so would make you an enemy of the Shadow Order. I don’t care if you are a dark elf or not. I don’t care if you are son of Yer’entho Dark Spire or of Hebram the Unknown. Until you take the initiation rituals, you are little more that the High