by Sam Ferguson
“That’s it?” Deringer asked. “You aren’t going to give me anymore to go on than that?”
Erik reached into himself and called upon his power. As the Champion of Truth, he could discern not only whether an individual was lying, but what their true intentions were. “Captain Deringer, if it were discovered that Lord Oswald were part of the crimes committed in Winter’s Beak, what would you do?”
Captain Deringer straightened in his seat. “Then I would help bring him to justice in whatever way I could.”
Erik listened to the words, but he relied more upon his power to feel the captain’s answer. He could sense no guile in the man, and therefore decided to allow him into their circle of trust. “Captain Deringer, what I am about to tell you does not go beyond you. Not even Farnsworth may know of it.”
Deringer narrowed his eyes and kept his silence, obviously thinking on the proposition for a moment before responding with a single nod. “I am at your service,” he said.
“Several sahale were lured to Winter’s Beak recently,” Erik said. “They were all murdered. They were found in their human forms, obviously prevented from using their dragon forms to defend themselves.”
“Could they have been poisoned?” Deringer asked.
Erik shook his head. “There were signs of definite struggle.” The Champion of Truth took in a breath and measured his words carefully. “We believe a shadowfiend to be the offender.”
“A shadowfiend?” Deringer asked. “I thought they were all slain?” He looked to Lady Arkyn. “Is not your group’s first priority to seek out and destroy shadowfiends and necromancers?”
Lady Arkyn nodded. “We do our best, but a few have managed to remain hidden. Erik and I slew one not more than a few days ago in Pracheloor Cave. We suspect there are others.”
“I see,” Deringer said. “I will send the dispatch to Winter’s Beak. However, if I discover something you should know, how will I get the information to you?”
“Have you ever heard of the Nighthawk?” Lady Arkyn asked.
Deringer nodded. “I have never been able to perform the spell, even with the instructions.”
Lady Arkyn screwed up her face and frowned. “But, the summoning does not require magical power to perform. All you have to do is read the words as they are on the page.”
Deringer put his hands up in the air. “It’s never worked for me. I tried it several times, attempting to find you.”
Arkyn blushed and then bit her lower lip.
“It won’t be necessary,” Erik cut in quickly. “If Lord Oswald is involved, then you should move forward and handle it.”
“And if he has thrown in with a shadowfiend?” Deringer asked. “I have a few good men, but we are not known for our magical prowess in Gontin. What good would swords do against such a creature?”
A flash of golden light erupted in the room.
Erik stood and drew his sword, Lady Arkyn leapt out of her chair and turned with her bow at the ready, and Captain Deringer pulled his own sword, watching Erik and Arkyn for the signal to strike.
“Forgive the intrusion,” a voice called through the light as the line expanded into a portal to another place. “It is I, Njar Somoricliar.”
Lady Arkyn relaxed and put her bow down. Erik and Deringer put their weapons away as well.
A large satyr with black fur stepped through the opening. Two lines of red paint streaked downward from his left eye, and a strange design was painted in red upon his right cheek. At his hip was a belt carrying a wickedly curved scimitar. A bow was slung over his left shoulder, and a quiver of arrows poked out over his right. He wore a chest guard of ringed leather, and a special helmet that allowed for his horns to go through two large openings sat upon his head.
“Njar?” Lady Arkyn said as she eyed him.
“Forgive me, it took a long time to locate you both. The Pools of Fate have been tainted, and Nonac is dying.”
Lady Arkyn gasped and clapped a hand to her mouth.
Erik knew little of Viverandon, the home of the satyrs in the Middle Kingdom, but he knew enough about Nonac to realize the gravity of the situation. “What can we do to help?” he asked.
Njar shook his head. “I will watch over my people, but I came to warn you. I was attacked in Viverandon, and I now believe I know who is responsible for the attack in Winter’s Beak.”
“Who was it?” Lady Arkyn asked.
Njar turned to her with sad, golden eyes and said, “Dremathor.”
Lady Arkyn stared at Njar with an open mouth.
“Are you sure?” Erik said.
Njar nodded. “I am sorry Erik, but it is true. He came to me at the Pools of Fate. He attacked me there, stole my staff and tainted the Pools. Then, he lashed out at Nonac, the guardian of my homeland.”
Erik closed his eyes and shook his head. “This can’t be,” he said.
“I’m sorry, but I feel a bit out of the know,” Deringer said.
Njar turned to Arkyn with his face and pointed at Captain Deringer with his hand. “Can he be trusted?” Arkyn nodded. “Very well then.” Njar turned to address Captain Deringer. “Dremathor is a shadowfiend, and more to the point, he is Erik Lokton’s true father.”
Captain Deringer whistled through his teeth. “A sahale and a shadowfiend by blood?” he commented.
Erik shook his head. “Dremathor is not my true father. As for his biological contributions to my existence, a shadowfiend is not a creature made by birth. I am not infected by such filth.”
Deringer patted the air and shook his head, instantly realizing his misstep. “I’m sorry, forget I mentioned it.”
“Dremathor is dead,” Lady Arkyn said.
Njar nodded. “He willingly gave himself,” he said. “His life essence was allowed to be consumed by another, in the hopes of aiding a younger, troubled soul. At the time, I thought Dremathor’s actions pure, but now it appears as though he had ulterior motives all along that I failed to see.”
“I’m sorry,” Deringer started, “I don’t follow. What do you mean he allowed his essence to be consumed?”
“A young shadowfiend had lost his way in this world. He was being manipulated by a coven of witches. They used his thirst for revenge to twist him and control him. They promised him great power, but did not fully inform him of the repercussions of his actions. The boy’s name is Eldrik Cedreau.”
“Eldrik is the one who murdered my father,” Erik said.
“Dremathor?” Deringer asked, obviously struggling to keep up.
Erik shook his head. “No, I do not claim Dremathor as my father. He is a disgrace, and was not the man who cared for me. I speak of my true father, Trenton Lokton.”
Deringer nodded. “So Eldrik murdered Lord Lokton. Then how did he come upon Dremathor?”
Njar sighed. “That was my doing. I have ever been a meddler. I have often sought out wayward souls and worked to bring them back into balance with the natural order. Many years ago, I worked with Dremathor. Eventually it appeared as though I had gotten through to the human part that remained deep within the shadowfiend. He ceased preying upon others, and began to live a reclusive life, taking an oath to set things right at some point if the opportunity ever presented itself that would allow him to atone for his sins in some degree. That opportunity eventually came, when Eldrik, already turned to a shadowfiend by the cunning witches, wandered into Dremathor’s lands. Dremathor sent the boy to me, and made the boy swear to work with me.
“I worked hard with Eldrik, who had taken to calling himself Aparen by that time. It was not an easy feat, but eventually I managed to show him the error of his ways. He made a grand recovery, and even proved to tip the balance in the war against Tu’luh the Red.”
Erik nodded. “Eldrik helped me defeat Tu’luh at Fort Drake.”
“You worked with a shadowfiend?” Deringer asked. “But, I have never heard of that before. Why is it not widely known?”
Erik scoffed. “Those who write the history of our kingdom de
emed it unseemly to give a shadowfiend credit for saving the realm. Those who survived the battle, which were few, were led to believe that Eldrik was a magical illusion used to distract Tu’luh while I alone engaged the dragon in battle. The truth, is that without Eldrik, we might have very well lost that fight.”
“Yes,” Njar said. “Men are often apt to omit the true method of victory if it would tarnish their own glory and perceived honor.”
“Where is Eldrik now?” Deringer asked.
“Far to the west,” Njar replied quickly. “He sought a life of peace after the war, and has established a small community where people of all kinds can find rest. Were we not in such a hurry to find Dremathor and stop him now, I would call upon him for help, but he is too far away to summon.”
Deringer nodded. “Very well, so how did Dremathor give his life essence to Eldrik?”
Njar nodded solemnly. “As part of Eldrik’s final rehabilitation, there was a last ritual and test. Dremathor offered his power to Eldrik. I assisted with the transfer. Eldrik had turned from evil by then, and was dedicated to helping Erik fight against Tu’luh the Red. At the time, I thought Dremathor was offering himself for the good of the cause, and to help atone for the wrongs he was guilty of by giving his power to Eldrik. It appears I overlooked something, however, for Dremathor has found a way to cheat death, and he has returned as strong as ever.”
There was a silence in the room then for many moments. Erik looked to Njar, and then to Lady Arkyn. The satyr would not meet his gaze, and Lady Arkyn could only shrug helplessly.
“You know,” Deringer said. “It is said that the greatest trick the devil ever performed was to convince the world that he did not exist. Perhaps there is something to that in this case.”
“Yes,” Njar replied sourly. “It would appear so. Thank you for the golden wisdom of men.” The tone in his voice was enough to convince Deringer to sit down and keep his mouth shut.
“What will you do?” Arkyn said, pointing to Njar’s sword.
“I have had a change of heart,” he said. “Once, I sought balance, but now I seek justice.”
“Are the two not the same?” Lady Arkyn replied.
“No,” Erik answered for Njar. “They are not. Balance requires mercy. True justice does not understand the concept of mercy.”
Njar nodded. “I am going after Dremathor, and I am going to stop him.”
“Where is he?” Erik asked.
Njar replied, “I located him in the south, at his old tower. I will go there, and hunt him.”
Erik grunted. “Should we go with you?” he said. The idea was a stark departure from their plans to travel northward to find the Cult of Zammin at the base of the Impassable Spine mountain range, but Erik was starting to connect a common thread. “If my sahale blood comes from Dremathor, but Dremathor himself could never change into dragon form as his gift was latent, then could it be possible that he is the one who murdered the thirteen sahale in Winter’s Beak? Perhaps he is trying to awaken the gift in himself by taking it from others.”
“It is possible,” Njar said. “However, I did not sense that kind of power within him. Though my gift is not as advanced as yours with regard to discerning a person’s full powers, I am fairly talented in my own right, and I would like to think that I would know if he had consumed sahale essence.”
“We could aid in defeating him in either case,” Erik offered.
“And what of Alkantar?” Njar asked.
“We slew Alkantar,” Erik reported. “While in Pracheloor Cave, we have discovered clues that will lead us north to find the Cult of Zammin.”
“You believe they are involved?” Njar asked.
Erik nodded. “I don’t know how deeply, but it would appear that the magic used to keep sahale from shifting into their dragon forms originates with the Cult of Zammin. But, if Dremathor is the Dark Sahale…”
“The Dark Sahale did you say?” Njar echoed as he reached up and tugged gently on his goatee. “Where did you hear that expression?”
“From Alkantar,” Erik replied.
Njar sighed heavily and shook his head. “I have heard whispers of such a thing, while using the Pools of Fate over the years. I…” Njar turned and looked at Lady Arkyn. “I thought I had taken sufficient steps to avoid that particular fate.”
“What do you mean?” Erik asked.
The satyr turned back to face Erik. “When I choose to work with individuals who are, let’s say, on unrighteous paths, I prioritize those that have been shown by the Pools of Fate to have far-reaching effects throughout the world. The Dark Sahale was something I worked very hard to avoid.” Njar tugged harder at his goatee, pulling all of the coarse hair taught and dragging his chin downward a bit. “No… if such a thing were still a danger, I should have known through the Pools of Fate. I…”
“What can you tell us?” Erik asked.
Njar shook his head. “No, not yet. Let’s focus on the tasks at hand. I will continue with finding Dremathor and putting an end to his treachery. It would make sense that Dremathor would have a larger network in order to pull off the kinds of attacks he has. The Cult of Zammin is a secretive bunch, and they are excellent at shielding themselves from observation. Even the Pools of Fate have never been able to pierce their veils and shadows. Though, from what I have learned of them over the years, I am surprised to hear that you believe them to be involved. I have seen them as similar to satyrs, seeking balance rather than power and dominion.”
“Times change,” Erik said. “Perhaps they have strayed from what they used to be.”
Njar sighed. “Well, then this is where we part ways for now. You should go northward. Find out what you can about this magic that can bind sahale to their human form, and whether they have any connection with Dremathor.”
“I do have a personal interest in them as well,” Erik said with a nod. “So long as you are certain you can handle Dremathor on your own. It appears they may have knowledge about the Four Horsemen that exceeds anything else I have access to.”
“The Four Horsemen…” Njar repeated as he grimaced in disgust. “That is a subject that has haunted me all my life.”
“You cannot go alone,” Lady Arkyn said.
Njar shook his head. “I am not alone. While most of the others in Viverandon did not believe me, I do have a few loyal warriors following me to slay Dremathor. I promise you, when the day is over, Dremathor will not stand victorious. Go north, discover the secrets that cult is hiding, and rid the world of that terrible spell they have. If it continues to spread, who knows what other kinds of magic can be created that would hurt not only the sahale, but perhaps other dragon kin as well. We must not allow a wedge of division to come between men and dragons. The Middle Kingdom cannot stand if it fights itself.”
“May the Gods favor you,” Erik said out of habit after living with the Monks of the Southern Light for so long.
Njar smiled. “I do not lean upon the Old Gods, young friend. I draw power from Mother Terramyr herself, and believe me, she is as wroth as I. Dremathor shall fall.”
With that, Njar stepped back through the portal and the opening vanished, leaving the three alone in the room once more.
“Why wouldn’t the other satyrs trust Njar?” Erik asked Lady Arkyn. “I sensed no deception in his words. What was it they couldn’t see?”
Lady Arkyn shrugged. “We’ll have to ask him the next time we see him. In the meantime, once we finish our business in the north, we will need to return and see if there is anything we can do for Nonac. If the old sentinel is sick, then the satyrs are in far more danger than Njar is willing to admit.”
“I see now why you two keep secrets,” Captain Deringer said with a thoughtful nod as he stared blankly at the table. “I will work on finding Lord Oswald, and I will consider myself lucky that my task is not as complicated as yours.”
“If you want an added twist, then just think on the fact that Dremathor is, in fact, the son of Allun Rha.”
Ca
ptain Deringer frowned and pointed at Lady Arkyn. “You mean, the Allun Rha?” Lady Arkyn nodded, smiling slyly. “The one who defeated Tu’luh the Red at Hamath Valley over five hundred years ago?”
“The same,” Lady Arkyn replied.
“So that makes you…” Captain Deringer turned to point at Erik. “You’re the grandson of Allun Rha?”
Erik nodded. “As you said, we have complicated lives.”
Deringer rolled his eyes and pushed back from the table. “Allow me to lead you to Rafe. I think I have had enough talking for one night.”
CHAPTER 12
Njar and his seven warriors stepped through a golden portal and out onto a tall hill overlooking a lush forest. The air was cool and soft, blowing gently from east to west.
“Where do we find the shadowfiend?” one of the satyr warriors asked.
Njar smiled and shook his head. “First, we must find his tower. It is hidden with a spell, as it was in the past when he was alive.” Njar pointed out across a marshy valley.
“I see nothing,” the satyr replied.
“Precisely,” Njar replied. The satyr chief knew that if Dremathor were still counted among the dead, then the tower would have been plainly visible, for Dremathor’s magic that hid it would have ended.
“Does he know we are here?” another satyr asked.
“If he does, then he is staying his hand,” Njar said. He hoped that the wards and charms he had cast would be enough to conceal their arrival, but he had no way of knowing for sure. He scanned the ground below the hill, looking for any sign of movement. He knew that Dremathor had been a powerful shadowfiend in life, capable of commanding hosts of skeletons and other creatures. Of course, if Njar’s experience at the Pools of Fate was any indication, then Dremathor now controlled beings even more deadly. “When the sun sets there will be a few moments when the light of dusk will help me identify where he is. All invisibility spells have reflections, you just have to know where and how to look when the sun is in the right position.”
“And then we attack?” the satyr warrior asked.
