Dark Sahale

by Sam Ferguson

  Erik let his feelings flow through him and into his sword. White flames danced upon the black, Telarian steel as he readied himself. “Come out, demon,” Erik said.

  A long, thick leg with massive, rock-like growths along the front extended outward from the darkness. A long, deadly claw stabbed into the ground, shaking the entire plateau. The leg then flexed as a second came forward. A red glow grew from within the black cloud until it finally broke through, revealing an ever-burning face much like a bat’s. Long fangs extended below the creature’s jaw, dripping with acidic venom that hissed and ate through the dirt wherever it landed. Two more legs followed the head and body. Overall, it was like staring at a large spider. The head and face were in the front, with a bulbous, flaming body behind it. Six legs protruded outward from the body, with two shorter limbs jutting out from under the head.

  “You do not know the powers you have stirred,” Fangryd laughed. “I have devoured wizards and sorcerers in the blink of an eye. I have slain warriors by the hundreds. I am older than the stone upon which you stand, a demon from another plane, and another time.”

  Erik smirked. “I know what you are,” Erik said.

  “Oh, then you have either come to kill me, or you have released me in the hopes that I will in turn grant you some of my power,” Fangryd surmised. “You are doomed in either case. No human can defeat me, and I do not share my power. Had you fully given yourself to developing the darkness lurking in the depths of your soul, then perhaps you could have commanded me, but you are foolishly trying to suppress it.”

  “I have come for neither of those purposes,” Erik said.

  The demon’s wicked smiled widened. “Then do tell me what it is you think you are doing, for you are nothing but a bug to be squashed under my claw.”

  “The monks here claim you have slain many people, and by your own words, you have killed many more. I have come to offer you a chance at redemption.” Erik kept the ideal of mercy at the forefront of his mind, pushing away any doubts the demon was trying to stir within him about his own character.

  “Redemption?” the demon scoffed. “Is that why you fight against yourself? Is that why you have abandoned your true destiny?”

  Erik could only barely hold back his growing anger and contempt for the beast. “I am the master of my own fate,” he shouted. “I shall say it again, I am here to offer you a chance to redeem yourself and make amends for what you have done.”

  “I have seen the gods,” the demon said. “I have even slain a few of the gods of my home world. I need no redemption.”

  Erik continued, focusing solely on his mission, as he saw it, to offer mercy to all those who could truly make use of it. As he tried to see the demon for what it might be, instead of what it was, he became empowered by the surge of strength welling up inside of him. “It will not be an easy road,” he said. “You will have to spend many years making restitution, but I am offering redemption.”

  Fangryd laughed, and acidic venom dripped onto the ground, smoking as it ate through the stone. “The mighty do not seek forgiveness,” Fangryd said evenly. “Even if I did, why should you care?”

  Erik smiled confidently. “I was taught that every life is precious.” He thought not only of the orc tribe he had grown fond of, but of the lesson Master Lepkin had taught him very early on in their training. Every creature has a family, a friend, a higher purpose, and the monster is often as deserving of the knight’s rescue as any damsel in distress may be.

  “Even a demon’s?” Fangryd asked. He brought his face closer and sniffed, nostrils flaring wide.

  “The tenet must apply to every creature, or it can apply to none,” Erik said. “So, make your choice, shall you work toward redemption and forsake your evil ways, or shall you choose death?”

  Fangryd laughed and pushed up to his full height, towering over Erik by twenty feet. “Foolish human. What threat could you possibly pose to me?”

  “Then you refuse to change?” Erik clarified.

  “I refuse,” Fangryd said.

  Erik recited the spell he had practiced. A bolt of lightning tore through the sky and a mighty howl split the air, but there was no thunder. Fangryd turned, raising one of its spiked legs as Silverfang, Dimwater’s mighty wolf companion from another plane, came charging in toward the demon.

  “This is what you have?” Fangryd laughed. “A dog and a fire-sword? I have devoured legions. No human shall stand before me!”

  Erik stabbed his sword into the ground and called upon his inner power to shift into his dragon form. The transformation was fully completed by the time the laughing demon turned back to face Erik. The young warrior smiled, drawing his scaly lips back to reveal his own fangs. Mighty claws dug at the earth and stone beneath him. “You err, Fangryd, for I am no human, and now you shall pay for your crimes.”

  Fangryd’s eyes darted up and down Erik’s dragon form, as if trying to comprehend it all.

  Silverfang closed in and leapt up at the demon’s underbelly. The magical animal’s bite was not enough to penetrate the thick shell underneath, but it did distract Fangryd one more time. The large demon scuttled to the right and tried to stab at the wolf. Silverfang effortlessly dodged each claw as it slammed down into the dirt.

  Erik lunged forward, showering the demon in a great wave of fire. With his forelegs, Erik grabbed Fangryd’s front two legs and snapped them at the knee joints as easily as one might break a crab leg at the dinner table. Fire and black smoke billowed out from the open wounds. Fangryd reared back and prepared to spit his deadly acid, but Erik was ready for that.

  As the vile, acrid stuff streamed toward him, he held up the severed legs and blocked the deadly venom. He then leapt up over Fangryd, smashing down upon the top of the demon’s head with his own acid-coated legs. The thick, rock-like shell on the legs was enough to withstand the acid, but the top of Fangryd’s skull was another matter entirely. The skin melted away, revealing white bone. Erik continued to pummel Fangryd, driving the demon down to its belly.

  Fangryd lashed out with its two legs on its left side. Erik blocked the first by catching it with his right rear leg. The second demon leg was batted away by the thrashing of Erik’s tail. Fangryd tried to regroup as Erik pressed the fight, but Silverfang came in fast and hard, snarling and positioning itself just a few feet away from the demon’s fiery face.

  The distraction worked once more. Fangryd flinched away from the wolf, likely expecting the animal to lunge at its eyes. It brought its shorter arms out defensively, and that’s when Erik came down hard with the severed legs. There was a wet cracking of bone, followed by a shower of sparks as the skull split open. Green ooze poured out and Fangryd began to twitch.

  Erik dropped the severed legs before the acid could reach him, and then he pressed upon the thorax with his left foreleg, pinning Fangryd to the ground. With his right foreleg, he reached out and drove his talons through Fangryd’s middle leg’s trochanter, the joint between the thorax and the leg. The limb snapped off with a fiery pop! Erik then grabbed the lower end of the leg as Fangryd tried to squirm free. Erik used the claw as a dagger, and drove hard into the skull fracture, stabbing deep into the demon’s brain.

  Fangryd went limp.

  The flames and sparks shooting forth from his open wounds died down. The fire protecting Fangryd’s face dissipated, and more green ooze leaked out from the demon. Erik dismissed Silverfang, and then took three steps back from the demon before pouring out an inferno so hot that it incinerated the carcass.

  Erik then took his human form once more and started for the monastery. The fight had not been overly exhaustive, but the amount of fire he had needed to produce to destroy the body had left him drained. He staggered toward Shermin, who was rushing to help him. They went up into his bed chamber, leaving his sword in the dirt near the battlefield. Erik slept for the rest of the day, rising only after the sun had set and the moon was high in the sky.

  He threw his covers off only to find that he had not clothed a
fter his transformation. He hurriedly put on his clothes and then stretched. The sound of music and laughter came in through the window. Erik stepped to the window and saw the monks outside, along with perhaps forty villagers. A large bonfire was burning in the place where the demon had fallen. People were eating, dancing, and laughing. He smiled. He packed the rest of his belongings, which were few, into a sturdy back pack and then went down the stairs. Had he been able to, Erik would have slipped away without saying good bye, but Shermin caught sight of him and rushed over to call everyone else’s attention to their hero.

  “Behold, the warrior who has slain the demon!” Shermin shouted as he lifted Erik’s hand into the air.

  The others cheered and clapped. Many of the villagers approached him, grabbing his free hand and shaking it, patting him on the back, or trying to hug him through the throng of people. An old lady kissed him on the cheek and thanked him. He nodded and tried to move away from them as quickly as possible without appearing rude. Fighting demons was not quite as hard as accepting praise. By the time he was able to pull away, his cheeks were thoroughly flushed and he was avoiding eye contact so as to dissuade others from continuing to thank him for what he had done.

  Shermin sensed Erik’s uneasiness, and with the help of the other monks, redirected the villagers to their dancing and their food. Erik circled around the large fire and pulled his sword out of the dirt. He sheathed the weapon and then stared out over the valley. He couldn’t see much of it, as the fire hampered his ability to see into the darkness of night beyond the plateau, but he could sense a definite shift. The evil that had lorded over this area was now vanquished.

  “Where will you go?” Shermin asked quietly as he came up beside Erik.

  “I am needed in the north,” Erik said.

  Shermin extended a hand. “Accept the thanks of an old monk?”

  Erik took Shermin’s hand in his and gave it a hearty shake. “It is I who owe you thanks,” he said. “The books I have been able to read, and the new knowledge I have been able to learn, have helped greatly.”

  “Did you pack the book written by the Cult of Zammin?” Shermin asked, glancing at Erik’s backpack.

  The young warrior patted his backpack. “I did,” he said.

  Shermin smiled and looked out into the night. “I assumed you would,” Shermin said.

  “If I can decipher it, I will have a copy sent back.”

  Shermin shrugged. “There must be some sort of cypher somewhere. If you can send a copy back, we would appreciate it, but even if not, if all you ask for slaying the demon is a book, then you can have it without any further obligation. As I have said before, however, it is my firm belief that if the Four Horsemen come to Terramyr, there will be nothing you or any of us can do to stop them.”

  Erik didn’t respond. He let the words roll around in his head. He had learned a lot about the Four Horsemen since he first heard about them several years before, but nothing indicated they were stoppable. In fact, nothing he read or learned even hinted that the gods could stop them. By all accounts, if the horsemen came, then it was far too late to save the world. The only way to keep them at bay was to try and maintain order and balance.

  That was no simple task.

  “May the road rise to meet your feet, and the sun always shine upon your path,” Shermin said.

  Erik smiled and then made his way toward the stairs carved into the hillside and started down. Though the monks were more than accepting of Erik’s ability to change into a dragon, there was no reason to scare the villagers who had only just gotten out from Fangryd’s shadow. He descended half way down before he was certain that he was far enough away so as not to be seen. He walked to the edge of the stairs and peeked over the rails. Had the sun been shining, he would have seen the ground some thousand feet below where he stood, but as it was a very dark night, the drop off appeared to fall away into nothingness.

  He used his belt to wrap his belongings together and stuffed his pants, shirt, and boots into the backpack. Once everything was secure, he tossed the bundle over the rails and then leapt out after them. The transformation happened a couple of seconds slower than it had when battling the demon, but it was quick enough to allow him to catch the falling equipment nonetheless. He stretched his wings and soared out into the darkness.

  In his dragon form, he could see much better, easily discerning homes and campsites as he soared away from the monastery. He flew out to the forest and then ascended upward to take advantage of the many lingering clouds in the night sky. As the cool air rushed over his body, he couldn’t help but wonder if Lady Arkyn was all right. He beat his wings faster. Tonight, he was going to see just how far, and how fast, he could fly without taking a break.

  CHAPTER 5

  Njar stroked the fur atop his head, smoothing it back repeatedly as he stared at the pattern of tea leaves in his cup. He saw three symbols. Change. Trouble. Death. The old satyr reached for his book on tasseomancy, hoping that perhaps there was something he was missing, or possibly that the symbols had alternate meanings. He flipped through the pages, looking up each symbol in the order they appeared in the cup starting with the symbol nearest to the cup handle, and then working his way around the cup in a clock-wise fashion. From what he understood, the events were going to happen very soon.

  The satyr chief stood up. As he rose, he bumped the table with his knee. The teacup shook and sloshed the little bit of remaining liquid around in the cup. Njar looked down out of habit and noticed that the three symbols had remained unchanged, but a fourth had appeared. Betrayal.

  “No,” Njar said to himself. “Surely, that cannot be a correct reading. I only bumped the table, I did not perform the entire ritual.”

  He turned and left his home, but the symbol of betrayal was burned into the back of his mind, nagging and pulling at him and worming doubts and suspicions into his very soul.

  There was only one place to go.

  The Pools of Fate.

  He would try to understand the tea leaf reading by calling upon the Pools of Fate to show him the future. He made his way quickly, holding his staff in his right hand and stamping the ground with it with each step he took. It was mid-afternoon, so most of the other satyrs were indoors, likely enjoying a short nap or perhaps eating a light snack. Satyrs were fond of their afternoon meals.

  Njar arrived at the Pools of Fate and looked out across the waters. The surface was still and calm. He held out a hand and called upon the energy of Terramyr. A vibrant green flowed up to meet his hand. He absorbed the energy and then converted it to create the spell he would need to peer into the future. His staff began to glow. He touched it to the water and stirred the end of the staff around in a circle three times while chanting the spell.

  In response, the water began to glow a bright blue. The hue lightened until the water appeared almost as if it were a liquid crystal. For a few moments, Njar could see into the depths of the pool and straight down to the bottom.

  A chill ran up his spine as he looked upon a pair of shackles embedded in the lake bed. He shook his head to fight off the unpleasant memories of a time when he had been imprisoned there by a dark, evil creature, and continued with his spell. The energy flowed out from the staff and into the water. Bubbles boiled into the water from the end of the staff, and then a great mist rose up before him. He pulled the staff from the water and stamped it on the ground twice. The mists thickened.

  From years of experience, Njar knew that the mist would soon take shape, and show him glimpses of what he was seeking. He waited as the gray mists swirled around in the air above the pool. His skin tightened as the atmosphere around him grew cold. He heard the sound of footsteps coming from behind him, so he turned to see who would dare intrude upon him at this time, but no one was there.

  The mist flowed out and around him.

  He floated up off the ground.

  The satyr bleated and tried to stamp the ground with his staff, but instead he found himself tilting forward.

/>   “No,” Njar said to no one in particular. “Time to put an end to this!” He spoke the words to end the spell, but nothing happened. The mists pulled him out over the waters. His heart began to beat faster and he had trouble breathing. All at once the memories of being trapped at the bottom of the Pools of Fate flooded into his mind and he began to panic. He clawed at the swirling vapors around him, but could not wrench himself free. He tried to call out, but found that he was hyperventilating, and could not actually speak with words. A black tendril rose up from the pool and Njar froze in terror.

  Not again. I can’t do this again!

  The tendril seized Njar’s staff and yanked it from the satyr. It then disappeared down below.

  The gray mists turned dark, blotting out the sun.

  “NO!” Njar cried as he finally found his breath. “I control the Pools of Fate! I am in control. They listen to me!”

  A voice laughed in the mist.

  Njar stopped fighting and tried to turn himself toward the sound of laughter. “Who’s there? Who dares attack me here?”

  “Don’t you know?” the voice called out. “Can’t you recognize me?”

  Njar peered into the black mists, but saw nothing. The voice did sound familiar, but it was warped somehow, distorted by the Pools of Fate. “Show yourself!” Njar demanded. “Face me honorably!”

  “What would you know of honor?” the voice asked. “Njar the Trickster. Njar the Meddler.”

  These were titles Njar had never heard before.

  “Njar, the Backstabber,” the voice continued.

  Njar tensed. That one he had heard. He had not earned it, but a group of humans from the Middle Kingdom had saddled him with it long ago, after an unfortunate event that led to the deaths of many humans.

  Had someone come at last to seek their revenge?

  No.

  No human could have found Viverandon. The home of the satyrs was well hidden, constantly moving, and guarded by powerful magic. This intruder had to be something else. Something… more.