“Hmm,” was all Zach would say in response. Judging by Morloth’s behavior, Zach had to admit the possibility that this weapon could extend the length of its own blade and easily reach a vital organ from almost any strike. He tossed Morloth onto the bed and decided to examine the dead man’s body. It was becoming drier and more brittle by the second. Zach had to be very careful when moving the man, for pieces of his flesh seemed to wither and flake off before his eyes.
He found a pair of charm necklaces in the man’s pockets. They were odd, one was jet black and carved in the shape of a ram’s head while the other was a pentacle made of jade or perhaps lapis; he could never remember which was which. Doubtless these were charms or amulets of power, but Zach had little trust of such arcane objects for they often led to the demise of the wearer. He decided, however, that these items might earn him some money if he found the right place to sell them.
The only other interesting thing that Zach found was a small, leather-bound book that had been tucked into an inside pocket. He opened it and flipped through the book realizing that it, too, was arcane in nature. Was it a spell book? He didn’t know, but it was a very strange little book. He would not sell that.
“Magic would make you a truly powerful adversary!” spoke the voice. Again, Zach didn’t respond. He had in fact been contemplating a new profession, one in which his awesome new talents would serve to make him a wealthy man. He had never before entertained the idea of using magic in the way a magic-wielder does, having always relied on his own steel to survive. He had to admit that the potential to enhance his own talents with magic spells would make him a force to be reckoned with, should he decide to learn that deadly and mysterious craft. Though true magic-wielders were very few in number, there were a number of differing ways in which each variety harnessed their magic. To Zach the most fearsome were those rare few whose magic came as a reward for the fervor of their devotion to one of Llars’ few deities. He wondered if this was one of those men.
But that was a question which would not be answered now. And as he began to wonder how he would rid himself of the body, the problem seemed to solve itself. Because at that moment, the body of the corpse simply disintegrated into a pile of odd-smelling dust and black robes on the floor. Zach very carefully pushed as much of the dust pile into the cassock as he could manage without making a mess, and tied it into a ball. Then he opened the window above the alleyway and hurled the balled-up sack of dust as far as he could. He was happy to see in the dim light that the remains landed on the roof of the building next door.
“We need each other,” said the ever-present voice.
“We do not,” he replied aloud. But it bothered him that the voice had been responsible for warning him of impending danger and he wondered if the voice was somehow connected to the powers of the dagger. He had to admit the voice was right, but he didn’t like having to rely on something other than his own senses for survival.
“You see the truth!” said the voice, accusing.
“I don’t suppose you can read magic?” Zach asked his invisible voice companion. There was no response. Zach sat on his bed and realized that the time had passed very quickly during his encounter with the intruder. It was dawn, and it was a new day.
C H A P T E R
2
Experiments.
Shalthazar pushed aside the missives and notices that were piling up on his desk and sent a mental command to one of his apprentices. In moments his door opened and the apprentice removed the mundane business from his presence. Since the campaign for the Northern Continent had come to a pause in this former principality called Creals, the wizard had begun delegating the business of running his fledgling country to his generals and advisors. In fact, Arman Sul, the ruler of Old Nashia across the sea, had sent one of his administrators to help the Prophet-General with the cumbersome issues of running a country. But, the wizard thought irritably, the man had only just arrived in New Nashia. He was setting up his affairs in the new capital city back east, near Vaardlund, and was of no use to the wizard here.
Nonetheless, he resolved not to concern himself with matters of property rights, homes and land damaged by his troops, or crops lost to his soldiers and the harsh winter. Those were matters for his underlings, for he had far more important concerns.
Shalthazar stood beside the large table in the middle of the room which displayed his papers, scrolls, and books in neat stacks. Beakers and jars with bizarre contents lined the shelves and tables in the vast laboratory. The wall along the right side of the rectangular laboratory was lined with shelves bearing jars of items necessary for the weaker form of arcane magic used by witches and warlocks on Llars. This was the form of magic that Shalthazar was used to practicing, one that required special components to trigger or activate the desired spells. Yet here on Llars arcane magic was weaker, muted, in comparison to the world which the wizard came from. Shalthazar felt that his powerful intellect could decipher the mystery that made arcane magic inferior to that of the Sigils and had been collecting everything he could that might help him unlock its power. Very recently the wizard had conducted several successful experiments with his apprentices that helped him isolate the problem to the dialect of magical language in use on Llars, something he had long suspected was a factor. But he had to put those experiments on hold for something of greater importance.
On the left side of the chamber was a row of high backed wooden chairs, each bearing an inert humanoid form. These were his latest creations using the Shadow Sigil. Shalthazar was proud of the work that he and his new apprentices had conducted in secret and considered each macabre form a masterpiece, an instrument of death to be used in the coming campaign. The dark magic that he was involved in had to be kept secret from his Nashian underlings who believed that their god, Ilian Nah, was truly the Lord of Justice. In fact, the Nashian people, who hailed from another part of the world, have unknowingly worshipped Umber for thousands of years believing him to be Ilian Nah.
The time was not right for the foreigners to learn the true nature of their god.
Though the wizard was proud of his creations, and confident in their ability, they were as yet untested. He could not allow the Nashians to learn of his new weapons, nor could he simply take them into battle in their untested state. There was too much at stake. That was the main reason why he had ordered the creation of this underground laboratory. The presence of this great laboratory was indeed known to the Nashians, but its exact location and its contents were known only to Shalthazar and his apprentices.
Shalthazar gazed at his creations, wondering what he would call them, when a knock on the door indicated that another of his apprentices had come. With the slightest push of his powerful mind, the laboratory door opened. Urelis and Zerelis entered the chamber and waited for their master to acknowledge them.
These two promising apprentices were twins, and had been dabblers in magic before the coming of Shalthazar and his army. Shalthazar’s minions were always on the lookout for magic-wielders among the enemy. The wizard knew that use of magic in nearly any form was a tie that could bring magic-wielders of warring factions together. Even those who practiced different forms of magic found a commonality with each other in a world that was rife with anti-magic bigotry. Shalthazar himself would determine what path his new wizards would take. Some of them would train in the use of the Shadow Sigil, strengthening Umber’s growing number of Shadow Sigilists. Others would become binder-mages, those whose very souls would be bound magically to that of a powerful immortal Cjii who would grant the binder-mage a portion of his powers. It was a risky process for the mortal, but one which would enhance his or her powers greatly and further Umber’s cause. And still others would become clerics of the Dark Lord, Umber, and gain special powers granted directly from the King of Darkness.
Shalthazar was a generous - but strict - master and his apprentices had the best clothing, supplies and mounts. In return for his knowledge of the Sigilcraft, the apprentices did much o
f their master’s arcane bidding, and performed many of the experiments he wished he had time to do on his own.
And so these two young men, magic-wielders in the employ of a recently dethroned petty monarch, had quickly offered their allegiances to the great wizard, the Prophet-General of Ilian Nah. These young men possessed extraordinary talent for the Shadow Sigil and had grown in the use of their new powers quickly.
“Your rapid progress in the use of Sigils has been well noted. I have urgent missions for each of you.” Shalthazar knew these men were ambitious, all of his apprentices were. However, unlike many of his comrades, Zerelis was shrewd and possessed of a strong sense of duty. He believed that his zeal would be rewarded in its own time, which made him more trustworthy than some of his backstabbing comrades.
Urelis, was another matter.
“You have heard of the Glacier Palace of Erestonin, yes?” the wizard asked Zerelis.
Zerelis nodded curtly, revealing no hint of his inner thoughts to his twin. Shalthazar had no need of such physical indications, he read the young man’s mind plainly enough. Zerelis knew that this was the palace of the monarch of the Frost Elves. The Frost Elves were a mysterious and fearsome race of elves living in the frozen wastes. They were hardy folk who could survive amidst the harshest of conditions. Deviously intelligent, few who ventured to their wondrous and mysterious lands ever returned. And those who did, returned changed for the worse, tortured by the horrors inflicted upon them.
Yes, he knows of them, Shalthazar said to himself with a grin, letting the mental connection falter. He was amused by the man’s well-founded fear of Erestonin.
“You will travel there and deliver this message.” The elf held out a jet-black scroll case inlaid with silver and rubies. He need not reassure his apprentice, all knew that harm made to those under Shalthazar’s protection would be repaid tenfold, even to the Frost Elves. “Remain as long as is necessary to return with their reply.
“You may go, now,” intoned the elf. Zerelis relaxed a moment, allowing himself to reach out to the Tides. A talisman hanging from a leather strap at his hip gleamed in the light of the dark wizard’s laboratory. The talisman appeared to be little more than a block of obsidian, a substance highly valued among the new Sigilists for its ability to store vast amounts of Tidal energy in the form of ready-to-cast Sigilspells. The master wizard required all of his apprentices to carry one, and to keep it charged with as much power as they could. And the only Sigilspell he required them to possess at all times was called travel. This was a potent form of magic which allowed a person to travel anyplace on Llars in a matter of moments, using the elemental plane of Shadow as a go-between.
Zerelis made the appropriate Sigil in the air before him and spoke the command which unleashed the magic. Then the very shadows of the room raced to the center, swirling in a clockwise vortex. The apprentice stepped inside the vortex and slowly disappeared.
Shalthazar gave a satisfied nod, sensing that the spell was properly done and turned to face the twin, Urelis. The two were not identical twins, yet their talent for the use of the Shadow Tides appeared to be. The blond-haired Urelis, while respectful, always seemed to have a barely perceptible smirk on his face that was just shy of being disrespectful; something which the more conservative Zerelis would never dare. Urelis was extraordinarily confident, and that is precisely the reason why the elf chose him to carry out the next order.
But the wizard sensed that his remaining apprentice wished to speak. “What is it, Urelis?”
“I have a question, Master. My brother and I are having a disagreement on the nature of the Dark Disciples. We cannot find agreement as to their true nature. Are they mortal beings gifted with special powers; or are they immortal beings in the service of the Dark Lord?”
“Excellent question,” said the master. “They are mortals, like you and I, although many of them have been alive for centuries if not longer. The Dark Disciples are also called the Thirteen, as there are always that many in number. The source of their power comes from the Shadow Tides. The Dark Lord knew that Zuhr was going to banish the use of the Sigils, so he took steps to prevent the loss of the Shadow Sigil to his father’s anger.”
“What steps did he take?”
“He took the source of all Shadow Tide forces on Llars and split it into thirteen pieces. Then, he bound each of those pieces to one of his Shadow Hunters hoping to never let the followers of Zuhr learn of it. Each piece is a talisman, an object of great power. By destroying each of the thirteen talismans, it is conceivable that the Shadow Tides could be eliminated.”
“That is why Balzath and the others are so powerful!” exclaimed the apprentice. “They have the raw power of the Tides at their disposal.”
“Indeed. That is why they are so well protected, and favored, by Umber. Now, we must make our preparations.”
“What is it you require of me, Master?” asked the apprentice, an eager gleam in his eye.
“We are going to conduct a test of my newest pets. I need you to make preparations for a journey,” said the elf. Shalthazar told the apprentice what was required of him and the man disappeared in a puff of smoke to do his master’s bidding.
The wizard walked over to his nearest creation and placed his hand on the thing’s waxy cheek in a tender manner.
“Soon, my child of death, you will taste the blood of innocents!”
Shalthazar smiled broadly in anticipation of the torment and death to come!
Shalthazar was eager, very eager, to unleash his new pet golems on the unsuspecting people of the nearby Cklathlands. But this must be done in secret, and far from the bustling town of Fort Ogrewall.
He ascended the narrow stairwell that led to his chambers above, dwelling on the progress he made and the setbacks he had endured thus far. Overall, the military campaign had gone incredibly well. After the conquest of the Vaard, the army had virtually walked across the Northern Continent conquering every small city-state and principality that stood in its way. The majority of the city-states surrendered voluntarily, asking to be accepted into the great new kingdom that was called New Ilian Nah, or New Nashia. The campaign proceeded along the timetable that he had expected and came to a natural pause at the foot of the Ogrewall Mountains just as winter was setting in. This gave him time to prepare for the next phase of his military campaign: dealing with the mighty Ogre Tribes and the powerful Cklathish nations. During the winter he had been hard at work sowing the seeds of discontent among the Cklath and a number of the smaller Cklathish leaders had aligned themselves with the Prophet-General. In the greater picture of the Cklathish nations, the number of those on his side were militarily insignificant but the effects of their defection would certainly help to undermine public opinion and morale in the larger and more powerful kingdoms. The military campaign could not be going any better.
Shalthazar picked up a magical staff that had been recovered from some insignificant city his troops had conquered, and shouldered a backpack. Today the arch-mage was not dressed in his usual robed attire. Instead, he was wearing the military uniform of a general in the army, brown and black leather armor with the adornments of his rank pinned in black metal to his epaulettes. Fort Ogrewall was his home now, and would likely remain so for the foreseeable future. A capital city was being formed back in the east and a grand fortified palace upon a hill was being constructed for the Prophet-General. But Shalthazar’s goals were loftier than that. He didn’t care about palaces or the dominion of nations. What Shalthazar wanted was far greater. He wanted the power and magic that was supreme over all others, more powerful than even the Sigils.
He wanted the power that came with immortality.
He emerged from his laboratory and then traversed the halls of the great keep, his polished black staff making a resounding crack each time it struck the hardwood floors. The light of oil lamps ensconced on the walls only seemed to enhance the fact that this staff was a tool of vileness and evil. When the staff had been given to him by the gen
eral who recovered it, he had been unable to determine the nature of its powers. While he still had much to learn about it, he did know that it acted as a repository for the dark magic that Shalthazar employed. He had wondered how it came to be in the treasure vault of the nameless monarch, but assumed that the fool had simply not known what it was that he had.
The great Prophet-General was beginning to sense that his Nashian military officers were becoming aware of the practices of his apprentices, and they were becoming aware of the dark wizard’s own experiments. Perhaps the Nashians did not know exactly what he was up to, but they certainly suspected that something was amiss with their Prophet-General.
He was becoming far more detached from his command responsibilities, finding such mundane tasks beneath him, and more absorbed in the practice and mastering of the Shadow Sigil. All of this seemed to be fostering an air of discontent among his officers and morale was beginning to suffer. But Shalthazar was on the verge of something greater, something that would propel him to the immortality he so desperately wanted. Very soon he would not care what became of his newly carved empire or the fools that inhabited it.
Shalthazar made his way through the keep to the portcullis where his mount, the nightmare he had summoned from the realms of the abyss and cloaked with a spell to change its distinctive features, and his entourage waited. He handed his staff and pack to a waiting apprentice in black robes who bowed deeply to the master wizard as he vaulted up onto he sleek black steed. The nightmare was pleased to have her master upon her back and eager to go forth to wreak havoc and spread fear upon the mortals of this world. It had been far too long for both master and mount since either one had been in the thick of a battle, but that was about to change.
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