Shadow Fall (The Shadow Saga) by J. L. Lyon

for months and even years. Now that he was out from under Alexander’s shadow he looked like a kid on Christmas morning, though the gifts in this case were of a much more sinister nature. Alexander contented himself to glare at the screen with intense dislike, but waited for Sullivan to speak.
    The silent standoff did not last long.
    “Alexander,” Sullivan smiled cordially. “What a pleasure to see you again.”
    “The pleasure is all mine, Premier,” he replied with biting sarcasm. “Though I am a bit hurt you didn’t bother to say goodbye. After all we’ve been through together.”
    “It was for the best,” Sullivan’s smile broadened. “I’m sure you know what this is about, Alexander, so let’s not waste time. I have contacted you to announce the official separation of the Ruling Council from the World System, effective immediately. All the division leaders and generals in the Eastern Hemisphere have pledged their loyalty to us. Apparently you have become a bit of a tyrant, and they’ve had enough.”
    “So now you will make war against me,” Alexander frowned. “But to what end? Will you raze the earth and kill countless innocents until one or both of us is dead? Somehow I have trouble accepting that. You, ever the voice of reason and restraint, plunging the world into the most destructive war of all time? Help me understand, Premier.”
    “Some causes are worth the price we must pay.”
    The MWR laughed cruelly, “And so at last, Sullivan, you become no different than me.”
    “I will let the historians be the judge of that.”
    “Save the sanctimonious drivel for someone else. You think to ride in, a conquering king, the hero who vanquished the oppressive tyrant. You are a fool, Sullivan. What do you know of cost? You will sit back and send other men to die for you, just as I do. When the people of the cities you have stolen see their streets run red with the blood of their sons and daughters, we’ll see if they declare you savior then. When all of this is over, no one will even remember your name.”
    “Care to make a wager on that? I know how much you love games.”
    “I believe we both know the stakes in this game, old friend.”
    “Agreed. Still, there is an alternative to violence.”
    “Oh?”
    “The Imperial Conglomerate of Cities is willing to see reason in this matter. I’m prepared to offer you your life and a comfortable retirement, on the single condition that you step down as MWR in favor of me.”
    “Do you really expect me to accept those terms?”
    Sullivan’s sickening smile faded to a sly grin, “No. But I thought history would appreciate the gesture. So, for the record: you refuse our terms?”
    “Allow me to put it in words you can understand,” Alexander’s tone darkened. “You can have my throne, when you have purchased your passage in the blood of millions and pried the World System from my cold, dead hands.”
    Sullivan leaned in, “Words can’t express how happy I am to hear you say that. Let the games begin.”

8
    E YES LOWERED AND HEADS bowed in respect as Councilor Gordon Drake strode up the colonnade outside St. Peter’s Basilica, flanked by six of his royal guards. A chill hung on the air that ran deeper than the winter cold, as the soldiers had abandoned their Great Army greens for the white of the new Imperial Guard. Over the past three months there had been a slow but subtle drawback of communications with the cities in the West. Now, what lines of contact remained had been severed. Most telling of all: Drake no longer walked like a Chief Advisor of the Ruling Council. He strode like king.
    Christopher Holt—second of the three former members of the Ruling Council that had masterminded the separation—waited at the top of the basilica’s steps, his expression grave.
    “Good to see you again, old friend,” Drake said as he reached the top of the stairs. His guard split off to attend other duties while the two councilors began to stroll deeper