The Tomb of the Dark Paladin

by Tom Bielawski

  "Go to Pier 3." Cannath tilted his head questioningly. "A man there has been working the docks. He's a thrall of the Hurkin Horde but he might be able to help you escape on a merchant ship. You might take him with you."

  "What is his name? How will I know I can trust him, or find him for that matter?"

  "Trust?" laughed the shopkeeper. "Don't know about that. If you get to the pier alive, he'll find you."

  At that, the merchant turned away. Cannath stalked out into the night, his mind wondering who could still be alive in the city that could help him. Would the man help him? What did Cannath have that could persuade him? Perhaps the offer of freedom would be enough.

  Cannath made his way among the stink of the hurkin walking about. At one point he he even saw a hurkin wizard, and he almost stopped in his tracks with fear. He gritted his teeth and carried on, determined not to look determined. He made his way down to the waterfront. Pier 3 was in sight. He stopped and casually looked about, assessing what his situation was. There were hurkin everywhere, though none of them seemed to know or care who he was.

  That was when a powerful hand locked onto his bicep like a vice, sending shivers of pain down his spine.

  "Going somewhere, my thayne?" came a familiar voice. And Cannath knew he had been had.

  C H A P T E R

  F I V E

  ~

  Shalthazar sat in his study at Fort Ogerwall poring over the Tome of Shadows, absorbing every minute detail on many levels at once. His earlier encounter with the Lord of Darkness had left him twitchy. The power of magic was certainly thrilling in the midst of battle, firing spells and destroying enemies with ease and impunity. However, the power of office was something altogether different from what the elf was accustomed to. He had tired of the doldrums, the day-to-day routine of giving audiences and settling disputes. He detested the incessant demands on his time to attend to menial matters of rule, endless paperwork and affairs of state. While he had long ago become disillusioned with the trappings of power, he knew that he must at least keep up a facade of leadership for the sake of his own survival.

  Some recent tedium included the appointment of ambassadors and meetings with prince-lings and chiefs and petty lords. He had dealt with visiting nobles from Old Nashia and was directed to grant them lands and lordships in the new empire by Arman Sul himself. All of these tediums were taking time away from what the elf truly wanted to do, and what the dark god wanted him to do; find the Everpool. Umber did not care that the demands of this position had taken his precious time. There was far too much to lose by losing his empire, and Shalthazar did not like to lose. He had the Tome of Shadows, and its nearly limitless power, at his disposal. He had begun grooming one of his subordinate apprentices in the Wizard Corps to replace him as ruler of New Nashia. Thus, he would be free to embark on the quests for power that he so desperately needed and field test his new creations while retaining his hold on the burgeoning empire and its respectable army and navy.

  Shalthazar allowed himself a small measure of joy. The apprentice he had assigned to spy on the group of miscreants who were working against Umber told him one was bent on leaving the group. His own informant within the group was still in place and the information supplied to him seemed accurate. He hoped the pack would not fail him and that he would be able to recover Umber's coveted device. Once he possessed it, he intended to keep it from Umber for as long as he could.

  The search for the Tomb of the Dark Paladin had, thus far, frustrated him. The powerful Dark Disciples operating on Shalthazar's behalf in Hybrand had promised to send a capable man to search for the tomb. Shalthazar's own apprentices hunted this agent of the Spiders in Caelambra. But found no trace of him. The wizard was beginning to wonder about the Disciples' loyalties. The Disciples were ancient and powerful beings who had given their souls to Umber in exchange for great power and immortality, and each was truly a force to be reckoned with. Yet each was motivated solely by a desire for personal gain and could not be trusted.

  A turn of events brought those whom the Disciples had sent seeking the Tomb of the Dark Paladin to a place once called Lordsdeep. Lordsdeep was the seat of an ancient, and largely forgotten, empire of incredible wealth. It was also the hiding place of a magical device that the Lord of Darkness wanted found very, very, badly. It was a remarkable coincidence, and yet it was infuriating for the evil wizard. His own very capable force of troks and warves had been scouring the underground city for months. He had even sent some of his newly acquired knights, the Zuharim, to assist in the search. Somehow, those pathetic humans and that Keneerie woman had stumbled across the device and taken it from under the very noses of his troops. Nevertheless, the wizard was confident that things would begin to work out. He did have a spy in the company of this Fyrbold reporting their movements with regularity and accuracy. As it happened, this group of companions had made remarkable progress in their quest to reach the Tomb of the Dark Paladin and the wizard was beginning to see wisdom in letting them find it. Then there was the report from this informant that one of these meddlesome companions had in fact departed from the group, taking the magical device that Umber so coveted with him. Could that be true? The implications of losing track of that powerful item were sobering and could prove to be the wizard's undoing.

  The room began to spin as shadowy tendrils raced toward the wizard, powerful magic was working against him. He crouched, ready to fight, and began recite a Sigilspell to shield him; but his voice had been stifled! He shuffled toward the door to his study and lunged for a piece of obsidian in the shape of an eyeball. It was a magical device that he had created which could teleport him far away. Just as his fingers closed over the cool stone his world went numb. In a flash of darkness, his sight was gone, leaving the sensation of a thousand needles poking his entire body. When the terrible sensation passed, the elf found himself on his knees on a floor of black marble.

  He lifted his hooded head and peered around, relieved that the painful sensations had passed. He was in a vast room with a marble floor and massive columns. Beyond the columns nothing but impenetrable darkness could be seen. He could only see by virtue of a few flickering candles that gave off an eerie red light. It was then that he had a profound revelation.

  He knew where he was.

  The rhythmic sound of a massive, rumbling drum shook the chamber. Thump, thump. The sound pummeled his mind, and it was hard to think. It was meant to unnerve him, and though perhaps it did, the dark elf took comfort in the fact he refused to be rattled. His voice returned and he felt the sensation of the Shadowtides all about him. The power was very strong here, and he smirked knowing he was not completely defenseless.

  "Shalthazar," a voice whispered. Although the voice was soft, the sound of it reverberated in the dark wizard's skull and he gasped in pain. A cluster of what appeared to be red fireflies swirling around an unseen object warned him that danger was close. Around and around the strange fireflies danced, circling a larger object, their light trails of crimson leaving streaks in the elf's vision. Thump, thump. The sound thundered in his skull. The dark wizard was furious with himself for feeling so inferior to anyone, even one of Llars' First Six.

  His vision swam as the leering visage of a demon manifested in a burst of red light. Before the monster could reach him, he was overtaken by painful sensations. He was about to be flung through the ethers once more. A portal in the darkness ripped a seam in the fabric that separated the realms and unseen forces flung him into a supernatural flight into darkness. Though he could not see in the inky blackness of the space between realms, he was aware that the demon, and other shadowy beings, trailed him. Desperate to prey upon his living flesh, the dark beings danced around him, through him, and sucked his life force from him whenever their icy fingers grazed his flesh. He desperately wanted to use his magic but found that he could not speak and could not gesture, he could do nothing to stop the molestation that these beings of darkness and shadow were committing upon him.

  Slowl
y the dark minions veered away from the shadowy missile as he plunged through the ethers and emerged in the one place in the universe he dreaded. His body regenerated slowly, shooting pains raced through his arms and legs. He was kneeling in filth in a vast cavern, dark and cold. The shadows seemed to be alive with the sinister power of the dark god. The wizard knew he was not alone.

  "Umber," he whispered, confirming his suspicions with a sense of dread. He stood shakily and attempted to brush the muck from his finely decorated coat of leather and velvet. The Tides were now being kept from him, but the wizard had been prepared for such a tactic and reached reassuringly into his pocket. It was different every time the dark god summoned him and Shalthazar never knew when or where he would be taken. He had been to a number of Umber's dominions during his enslavement to the dark god, but this time, it seemed, he had landed in the dark god's privy.

  "Where is the Everpool?" thundered the voice inside his skull.

  "I have not found it yet, Master," he returned, head low. "I have every available agent seeking it now."

  "I have little patience, Shalthazar." The wizard cringed, expecting a painful punishment. "What of my device?"

  "My spy is due to report any day, Master. I have but to wait for the report and we can claim the mysterious device." Shalthazar had no idea at all if any of his spies had information that would help him, but he had learned over time that he could bluff the evil god.

  "He had better, wizard. He had better."

  Shalthazar dared look up. The god was seated upon a throne of bones inlaid with gold and silver. As was his wont, Umber's face was shrouded in shadows, his skeletal hands visible at the ends of his armrests. A single bony flinger lifted from the edge of the armrest and a shadowy dart hurtled across the distance in the blink of an eye and struck the dark elf. His body was racked with pain as his arms locked up and his body stiffened. Inky tendrils of darkness wrapped themselves around the dark elf's feet and wound their way up his legs, then around his torso, and finally to his neck. Slowly the bands of shadow constricted, inflicting incredible pain as they slowly crushed him. Shalthazar did not panic, however. He knew that whatever horrible pain was about to be inflicted upon him would not kill him. Umber needed him, of that he was confident. Any punishment would be temporary and unlikely to leave any lasting harm. Such pain and discomfort was not new for the elf who had lived for many centuries and was quite capable of dealing with it. Shalthazar used the power of the Shadowtide stored within certain items on his person and removed his consciousness from his body. He passed his entire spiritual being into the shiny eyeball of obsidian that now lie tightly gripped between his fingers, yet he retained the awareness to control his facial features.

  Shalthazar watched the antics of the dark god from the eyeball in his hand and, now that he was free from experiencing the pain in his body, he smiled to himself. He listened to the dark being rant but learned little other than the fact that Umber seemed incapable of detecting Shalthazar's stunts. Finally, the dark god relented and waved another bony finger at the wizard. Shalthazar dropped weakly to his knees as he returned his mind to his body. He felt the lingering effects of Umber's power over his body and was keenly aware that the pain would have been nearly unbearable had he not escaped. Still, Shalthazar played the part and pretended to gasp and pant in pain and agony.

  He rolled over onto his back, then lay still, pretending to recover from his punishment. "Forgive me, Master," he whispered hoarsely.

  "What must I do to motivate you?" Shalthazar kept up his ruse, processing the god's words. "You must capture it and you must see it destroyed!"

  "Yes, Master," he groaned. "How shall it be destroyed, my Master?"

  "Throw it in the Everpool and destroy the power of the other Tides!" Umber's anger was lessening now and Shalthazar could see some of his attendees emerging from the shadows. Among them were a number of sultry women of a variety of races, and some very ugly demons who clearly acted as his guards.

  "What does this device look like, my Master? How shall I know it?"

  "Find the one who carries it, the Fyrbold. You shall know it when you see it." The god was intentionally holding something back and Shalthazar needed to know what it was. But he knew he would not catch Umber off guard. He would have to find his answers another way.

  "How goes your own campaign, my Master?" said the wizard, as he rose unsteadily to his feet.

  "My war goes as it should. My host is poised. You had better be ready to do your part when the time comes, wizard."

  "Indeed, my Master. I have only to seek the allegiance of the ogers and my host will be ready."

  "The ogers," said Umber softly. "They had better swear allegiance or their consequences will be dire indeed. And what of my other host, Shalthazar?"

  "All is going according to plan, my Master. I will begin the trials of the new soldiers on the morrow." Shalthazar had grown to detest his master, he wanted only to answer Umber's questions and end this encounter. The dark god was always very careful to reveal nothing to Shalthazar beyond the very limited scope of their encounters. Umber never gave the wizard any freedom to move and always held their meetings in different, and completely barren, places. Umber must know Shalthazar was capable of deducing much from even a few very limited observations.

  "With them at the vanguard of your army, you shall be unstoppable!"

  "My Master, things with your brother seem unpredictable and Arnathia is on the brink of its own destruction."

  "My brother may seem irrational and beyond the reach of logic at times, but you may be certain he always knows what he is about."

  Shalthazar was growing frustrated with Umber's evasiveness. "Arnathia is still loyal to Q'raz, that will be unlikely to change even with the chance that the empire will disintegrate. Can we count on your brother to do his part?"

  "My brother is not to be trusted. The Hurkin Horde will be our insurance against his treachery, I want them in position to strike Arnathia in the event of treachery; they will be my reserve, so to speak."

  "The Horde is a formidable weapon indeed." Shalthazar paused, processing the conversation. "My Master, forgive me, but are you concerned for what Arman Sul may do should he learn the truth of your identity?"

  "Arman Sul is no longer relevant. You may cut ties with him when you find the Everpool. I no longer need him, nor do I need his army. You have what you need for your new army and the Hurkin Horde. Should you acquire the ogers as an ally, there will be nothing Arman Sul can do to stop you."

  "Yes, my Master," said Shalthazar. The wizard was concerned with the god's unwillingness to consider what the effect of severing ties with Old Nashia would be on his troops. There would very likely be dissension in the ranks and Shalthazar would have a problem on his hands. The wizard suspected that the god was incapable of considering such ramifications, a trait that the wizard himself had once been guilty of. This was not a point that was worth addressing with Umber.

  "I am sending you an advisor. His name his General Medov," growled the dark god. "He will help ensure you are fully compliant with my battle strategy."

  "General Medov?" Shalthazar grimaced. Medov was a ruthless tactician and the Commandant of the Elite Guard, the assassins' service of the Frost Elf leadership. "Are the clans united under one leader?"

  "They are," said Umber, simply. Shalthazar wondered what Elvish dynamics prevented the powerful tribes from uniting and raining hell upon the rest of the world. Whatever the case, it seemed they were indeed united. Throughout the history of Llars, when the tribes of Erestonin were united they often plunged parts of the world into chaos. Frost Elves were ruthless warriors and had been powerful users of the Shadowtide before Zuhr banned all use of the Sigils. Shalthazar began to suspect that this was Umber's way of bringing Shalthazar's apprentices under the dark god's control.

  This was certainly a difficult turn of events. Shalthazar would have to move quickly now to survive the coming war.

  In typical fashion, Umber and his entoura
ge vanished leaving Shalthazar alone in the filth with his thoughts.

  Should he abandon the Nashians to their own devices, they would promote someone else to take over Shalthazar's position and likely declare him a traitor and fraud. Shalthazar had entertained the notion often enough, but in light of the fact that he seemed to have become dispensable, it might prove wiser to stay the course. The dark elf was beginning to see that there might be another option. One that would leave a powerful army at his beck and call should he need to turn on his master. Did the dark god not foresee this possibility?

  With his magic once again restored to him, the dark elf harnessed the power of the Shadowtides and transported himself through the ethers back to his laboratory. The elf returned to his comfortable desk and wearily sat down, then opened an old and worn tome. Should he decide to rebel against Umber, there was no doubt in his mind that the dark god would find a way to revoke Shalthazar's use of the Shadowtide; the dark god had hinted at that possibility more than once. The more exposed Shalthazar was to Umber, the more he realized how much pretense and illusion were part of the god's repertoire. Perhaps Umber did not have a true hold over the Shadowtide after all.

  How could he? Zuhr was the most powerful of the gods of Llars, of that there could be no doubt. If Zuhr had banned the use of the dark magic from the world, how would Umber have the power to countermand such a decree? Umber was, undoubtedly, circumventing the chief god's law--but how? Umber's faith in the powers of his chosen few, the thirteen Dark Disciples, and his intense interest in their survival, seemed out of place to the elf. Were they the key? He began to think they were connected to the existence of that power, and that their demise could be disastrous for the Shadowtide.

  He opened a book from his home world, one into which he had recorded his most powerful theories and speculations about magic, the old magic that seemed so diluted here. Time and again he had thought that he had found the solution to correcting the weak flow of arcane power on Llars. Each time he failed, he felt as though the answer was within his grasp. As he flipped gently through the pages of the ancient tome, he stopped and stared hard at one page. The elves of his home world had dealt with this very problem themselves centuries ago when they found their magic dampened by a supernatural means. They were able to overcome the hindrance by strengthening their magical language to compensate for the supernatural dampener. This was something that he had tried on Llars with very small benefit. The problem seemed more complex here. Changing the language was but one part of the problem. He began to wonder if the existence of the Shadowtide itself was the cause, and therefore, how it would benefit him to continue working for the dark god.