Shadowblade

by Tom Bielawski

  With a sigh he pushed away the new firesteel box, knowing he would not make it open today. Even if it did not open, it was a rare treasure worth far more than the small fortune in coins he now possessed. Zach picked up the ring again and placed it on his hand. Being an item of apparent Elvish make, Zach thought perhaps the ring might be enchanted with special abilities for the wearer. He turned the ring left, then right, then all the way around his finger hoping to trigger a reaction of some kind. Nothing happened, perhaps it was not magical at all.

  The book and the charms that he had taken from the Red Dragon assassin were also on the table. He picked up the pentacle charm and examined it but saw nothing more than he had before and placed it around his neck. Then he picked up the ram’s head charm and a most remarkable thing happened, he found that he could actually read the Tayban script!

  He put the charm down, blinked his eyes, and picked it again to see if his eyes were playing tricks on him. The result was the same, the Tayban script was as legible to him as any Cklathish language or Arnathian, the tongues that Zach was fluent in. Perhaps reading Tayban wasn’t quite the right way to look at it, he thought. It was more like the script formed words in his mind and he understood their meaning, rather than a literal translation. Intrigued, he picked up the leather-bound book and opened it; he could read it too!

  “The ring,” he mused aloud, looking at in wonder again. When he removed the ring from his fingers, the Tayban script was nothing more than illegible scribble to him. What a remarkable ring! He wondered what else the ring would enable him to read. He picked up the book again and decided that it was just what Baldric had thought it would be. The book seemed to be a holy book of sorts, outlining the basic tenets of...

  “Baelor,” he whispered. “But Baldric said the Red Dragons were followers of Tartarus.”

  “Yes,” answered the voice. “Baelor represents another faction of Umber worshippers. In Powyss they are the Nyzyr. Much like Tartarus, he required his followers to bind with him.”

  “When did you learn so much?” he asked the voice caustically.

  “You would be surprised to know what I know.”

  Zach did not answer, instead he continued to peruse the book. In addition to the brief history of Baelor, seemingly a prophet of sorts, there were instructions regarding the ritual necessary to ask the great being for the blessing of its presence. There were also rituals which detailed ways to ask the dark immortal to lend its inestimable power to the devotee, and rituals for binding the devotee to the immortal being. The manner of that binding was not lost to Zach, the mortal would be bound to the immortal. Was that a risk worth taking? He thought perhaps it might be.

  “But what was the Tartarus Monk doing with Baelor book?” he asked aloud, more to himself than to elicit a response from the voice.

  “Does it matter?” came the harsh reply. “It’s ours now, we should use it to our fullest advantage!”

  “No, it’s too soon. We should study it more.”

  “Bah, you’re an old woman!”

  But Zach was beginning to think the voice had the right of things. Perhaps the book was being delivered to him for a reason. Was he meant to use it? Did Umber want Zach to join his forces and become one of the dark god’s great lieutenants? Zach shook his head. He was ready to attain power, but he wasn’t sure he wanted it to come from Umber.

  “How can you not be sure?” demanded the voice, reading his thoughts. “Isn’t this what I’ve had to listen to you whining and sniveling about? Where else are you going to attain the power you desire, if not from the Dark Lord?”

  “Maybe you have a point,” he admitted. “What harm could there be in trying? Umber does seem to reward his followers well. How bad can he be?”

  “Something comes,” hissed his invisible companion. Then Zach heard what he swore could only be the sound of a four-legged creature padding down the hallway outside his door. Zach knew it was unlikely the proprietor would allow anyone to bring a dog into the inn and he gripped Morloth tightly. The sounds of the creature’s feet stopped by his door and he saw a shadow pass back and forth through the crack underneath. Then he heard sniffing and he thought the sound was like that of the great hounds used by some of his kin to hunt game back in Hybrand. He moved silently to the side of the door, hoping to flank whatever intended to enter his room and surprise it.

  The door was not locked, and Zach cursed himself. What kind of fool had he become? He was sure he had locked it behind him when he entered, but it was certainly not locked now. The door did not possess a knob, rather it had a flat handle that simply needed to be pushed downward to release the catch and open the door. If something was preparing to enter his room it would be a simple thing to open this door.

  How could I forget? He berated himself silently.

  Slowly the handle depressed and the catch was released. The door burst open violently, slamming into the wall as it did. Even though Zach had prepared himself for a violent entrance, he had still been taken aback by the noise and the appearance of the foul thing that entered his room. The thing was somewhat manlike in its shape but had a coat of shaggy fur. Its head was something of a cross between that of a wolf and a man. Its upper body was a mass of rippling muscle and power and its arms ended in hands with long, razor like, nails. The lower half of the body suggested a much stronger resemblance to the hind end and legs of a wolf or a great dog, he decided it must be a werewolf.

  Whatever it was, Zach was certain the beast was here for him. So Zach lunged at the werewolf but, inexplicably, the thing seemed to sense his attack and sidestepped, but not before Zach grazed its belly with Morloth’s tip. The beast let out a fierce yelp in response to the pain, and returned with a slash of its own. Zach having had the advantage of action over reaction was able to dodge the devilish claws.

  The werewolf was definitely looking at him, its eyes alight with hatred. It breathed hard through its canine like maw and its razor sharp teeth glinted in the flickering light. Zach was not pleased to learn that this thing could in fact see him while he was holding his magical dagger. But the sting he gave the werewolf had affected the beast enough for it not to attack without caution.

  Zach knew that the creature’s greater reach, and probably greater speed, would overcome his ability to fight with the dagger. He could not flee, for the beast would certainly catch him and maul him to death. What he needed was his sword, which was lying across the room near his bed. Sensing that its prey was beginning to understand the futility of a fight, the werewolf eased closer Zach.

  “I smell fear in you!” the voice was an odd throaty mixture of a canine growl and human whisper. “Come closer, let us play!”

  As if in response to Zach’s unspoken desire for a sword, Morloth’s blade grew in length and appearance to match that of his own sword. With a grim smile Zach stepped in and slashed at the creature, aiming for its dagger-like claws. He struck the creature’s hand as it tried to swipe him and one of the wicked claws skittered across the floor. The pair circled each other then, the werewolf snorting and growling as it held its injured paw-hand, Zach looking for a way to maim the thing further.

  Finally the werewolf lunged and Zach almost succumbed to its lightning speed, but he had been able to make a vicious swing and sidestep at the same time striking the creature along its forearm. He could not, under any circumstances, allow the beast to close with him, for he would fall to the larger creature’s greater reach and strength. And so Zach remained on the defensive, content to keep the stalemate going, while he awaited the perfect opening. The creature lunged at him again, and again Zach managed to sidestep and strike a glancing blow on the beast’s forearm.

  “I can do this all night, beast!” he hissed. “Can you?” Zach wasn’t sure what he was trying to accomplish with the taunt but he suspected there was some sort of limitation to the creature’s power. He had heard all the legends that said werewolves only came out at night and during a full moon. Well it was night but the moon was certainly not fu
ll, and so he did not trust the legends.

  The creature responded with a bizarre expression which Zach assumed to be a condescending smirk. He had also heard that werewolves could not be injured by mortal weapons, but this one had definitely succumbed to Morloth’s enchanted blade. Finally the werewolf had Zach near the corner of the room and instead of allowing the circling game to continue, the beast used its quickness to gain an advantage. As Zach moved to the left, the werewolf darted left, as he tried to move right the werewolf darted to the right. Zach knew he had been effectively cornered and the great beast would close the distance soon enough.

  Zach mentally prepared himself for the pain that he was about to endure as the beast lunged at him. The attack was so fast that Zach could not swing his elongated dagger with any significant force, but he had been able to move it slightly. As the beast descended through the air it rolled slightly, to avoid being skewered, but Morloth did slice open a great gash in its side. Blood trickled from the wound and down the edge of the enchanted blade as it carried the werewolf to the ground, and Zach felt the power of the creature enter his own body.

  And though Zach didn’t think the he had scored enough of a hit to really hurt the beast, he was grateful when it suddenly leaped away from him allowing him to scramble to his feet and out of the corner.

  He looked upon his foe and he was surprised to see that the wounds he had inflicted were still bleeding profusely. Indeed, it seemed as though the werewolf was weakening before his eyes and it was becoming more man-like as he watched.

  “Why are you here?” he demanded of the werewolf.

  “Bah!” it growled, looking as though it wanted to attack again but didn’t. It was breathing heavily and its face was now completely human. “You and your friends are lucky! But next time you won’t be, we will catch you!”

  Friends? he thought to himself. My only friends are dead.

  Then, sensing the confusion in Zach, and too weak now to fight, the creature decided it was time to leave. Zach stood with Morloth held before him as the still formidable being made its way to the window, opened it, and then climbed outside. Zach hurried to the window and saw his attacker, partially naked and partially covered in fur, running impossibly fast down the waterfront and leaving a trail of blood in the snow behind him.

  Zach closed the window, bolted the door to his room, and returned to his table. He took a minute to catch his breath and wondered how that thing had found him.

  “I’m going to have to find another place to stay.”

  The next morning Zach arose early and had an excellent meal in the inn’s dining area. As much as he liked this inn, it was time to move. Last night’s attack by the werewolf left no doubt. Mortal beings he understood and could fight, but notoriously hardy -and harder to kill- werewolves were another matter. He slung his backpack with his few belongings and strapped on his sword. He paid the innkeeper enough money to cover the damages without asking questions and set out to find an apartment, or at least another inn, somewhere else in the city. He fervently hoped that the werewolf wouldn’t find him again.

  He found a place in another neighborhood that dealt in fireore and sold the firesteel box to the shopkeeper for half of what it was worth. If the man recognized the work of his deceased competitor, he didn’t show it. And Zach assumed the man was probably happy that there was one less fireore dealer to compete with, and probably afraid that someone would target him next. But Zach didn’t care, even at half its value the box brought him a small fortune.

  As he walked down the waterfront he thought about the ends he was hoping to achieve. In truth, he wasn’t entirely certain. The Red Dragons seemed an easy option for him to pursue. It was unlikely that any would be able to identify his misdeeds and doubtless he would quickly rise to prominence in their ranks. Yet there was something about the Red Dragons, a level of incompetence due to their sheer size and numbers, that deterred him. He certainly wasn’t impressed by much of what he had seen from them.

  Then there were the mysterious Nyzyr, sworn enemies of the Tartarus Monks and their Red Dragon benefactors, and a powerful force in their own right. There was an attraction about the way in which the Nyzyr struggled against a superior foe that was oppressing them; it wasn’t entirely different from the struggles of the Spiders against their Arnathian oppressors in Hybrand. Only Zach suspected that the Nyzyr brought a very different set of skills to the table.

  He paused in his musings as he passed by the shop which he burgled last night and glanced at the open door. Sometime during the night when the storm abated, someone must have discovered the state of the shop. The door was now closed and boards had been nailed across it. A sign bearing the image of a Red Dagon was affixed to the door, claiming possession of the abandoned shop and its property. Zach wondered if that would really deter anyone from breaking in again. They probably didn’t really care, though, and Zach assumed the Dragons just wanted to confiscate what was left. In their defense, the Red Dragons did seem to have savage enough response to crime to serve as an effective deterrent.

  He shrugged and walked on. The sun was shining and last night’s snow was starting to melt, leaving the road full of muddy slush. He had decided that he would indeed stay in Powyss for the time being. He had not forgotten his commitment of retrieving a vial of water from the Everpool and returning it to Hybrand, but he decided that particular quest could wait. He did have a more pressing requirement after all, and that was using Morloth to break the curse that bound his lich benefactor to the dark and lonely Underllars. There would be time for that too and he felt that staying in Powyss might yield the information he needed to track down one of the ancient royal bloodline that would free the lich from his curse, and bestow the lich’s treasure upon him.

  He continued to weigh his options, wondering where his greater rise to power would come from. The Red Dragons had tried to kill him, but he didn’t take that personally.

  “They want you dead!” growled his voice companion. “How can you consider working with them?”

  “I think that the assassin that broke into my room was angry for the way his patrol had turned out on the street leading to Powyss. He wanted revenge, that’s all.”

  “Fool,” grumbled the voice. “We should kill every Red Dragon you see!”

  “That does sound like fun. But we would be forced to flee before long, and I’m not sure that I’m through with this city yet.”

  The voice did not reply and Zach continued walking toward The Siren’s Call, and he realized then how much he looked forward to his meetings with the proprietor. She was a beautiful woman, and she knew so much about the goings on in Powyss.

  “That’s why you want to stay here,” snarled the voice. Zach could almost see the condescending sneer on its face, if it had one.

  “You need to be quiet when we are inside the Call. Understood?”

  “What’s there to understand? I am you, you are me.”

  Before Zach could ponder that notion any further, Morloth began to vibrate in its place on the inside flap of his jacket. He gripped the dagger’s pommel and the vibration grew stronger.

  “That’s new,” he whispered in wonder.

  “The bloodline of Harfour,” said the voice, in answer to his unspoken suspicions. “It is telling us that one of the lich’s descendants is here.”

  Zach looked about but there was nothing unusual in the presence of the crowd milling about the shops and docks of the waterfront. He realized looking would be futile. He had no idea what the mark would look like. So many centuries later, the person with Harfour’s blood could be a king or a peasant, or of blood mixed with another race, an adult or even child. There was no way to know other than letting the dagger lead him.

  He was standing in front of the The Siren’s Call and was tempted to just go inside. Siren probably had the time she needed to obtain the information he needed.

  But, he decided, that can wait.

  He turned toward the docks, keeping his hand firmly on Morloth�
��s handle, and walked to the water’s edge. There were a number of ships at port and still more anchored farther out. Merchants and businessmen from all over Llars went to and fro, and the gulls were circling in the air waiting for scraps from fishing vessels.

  He walked among the ships and piers at the waterfront, examining the names and the faces, but the dagger’s vibration did not grow any stronger or weaker. He hoped he was reading its signs right. The lich had only told him that the dagger would let him know when one of the bloodline of Harfour was near, but never said how.

  He walked to the end of the longest pier and looked out to the sea beyond. A fishing vessel had just docked along the side of the pier to his right and a trio of Red Dragons, presumably patrolling the docks, were there to greet the captain.

  “Yan Trelwigger?” asked one of the Red Dragons as the captain stepped from his vessel to the dock.

  “Aye, that be me,” he said, reaching into his pocket. Zach smiled, knowing the man would try to bribe his way out of trouble.

  The Red Dragon pocketed the proffered money and said, “You are under arrest for treason!”

  “Treason?” demanded the older man. “What the blazes fer? I done nothin’ but run me fishin’ boat across to Obyn and back! Didn’t I give you enough money?”

  The Red Dragon stared blankly at the captain who reached into his pocket and handed a bulging sack of coin to the man. The Red Dragon took that bag of coins and handed to one of his companions. “As I said, you are under arrest for treason. You knowingly accepted passengers who are wanted by the crown and helped them to escape the crown’s justice!”