Finally lifting his head from the scrolls, the Vizjerei announced, “It is time.”
Like a plague of black ants, the shadow spread faster and faster. A sense of unease once more enveloped Kentril, but he held his position. Soon, very soon . . .
“Basara Ty Komi . . .” chanted Quov Tsin. “Basara Yn Alli!”
Kentril’s body tingled, as if some powerful force had spread over him. He glanced at the others and saw that they, too, felt it. To their credit, however, none moved from his location.
Together, the party formed a crude, five-sided form, with the sorcerer in the very middle. Both the pattern and the unintelligible words spoken by Tsin had been gleaned from the works of Gregus Mazi, and with them the ancient spellcaster had supposedly reopened the corridor by which he had finally joined the other blessed inhabitants of the city. None now desired to take that same path to its ultimate conclusion, but if enough earthly belongings lay scattered along the trail, so to speak, every man would feel very, very blessed indeed.
“Gazara! Wendo Ty Ureh! Magri! Magri!”
The air felt charged with what could only be described as pure magical energy. Clouds began to form over the shadowed kingdom, dark ones that did not remind Kentril so much of Heaven as of that other realm. Still, if the words had worked once, they surely would work again . . .
Arms stretched toward the ruins, Quov Tsin shouted, “Lucin Ahn! Lucin—”
“In the name of the Balance,” someone broke in, “I charge you to cease this effort before you cause great calamity!”
Tsin faltered. The mercenaries turned as one, some reaching for blades. Kentril bit back the yelp he had been about to make and glared at the fool who had interrupted at such a crucial moment.
A slim figure clad completely in black eyed them all with the arrogance reserved for those who did not just believe themselves superior in all ways but knew it to be truth. Plain of face and younger than the captain by more than a few years, the intruder would not have disturbed Kentril if not for two things. One had to do with the slanted eyes, so unearthly a gray color that they seized the attention of all who looked into them. Yet almost immediately those same eyes repelled, for in them Kentril sensed his own mortality, not something any mercenary desired to come to know.
The second had to do with the garments he wore, for while many folk favored black, the dark robe and cloak of the stranger had upon them tiny patterns, markings of which Captain Dumon had some past knowledge. Each symbol represented an aspect of the afterlife, including those shunned by most.
As the intruder marched toward him, Kentril also caught glimpses of a dagger at the other’s belt, one unlike those the mercenaries carried. This dagger had been carved, not forged, and even from where he stood, Kentril could guess that it had been made from the purest ivory.
The man was a necromancer, the most feared of spellcasters . . .
“Take good sense and leave here now!” the black-clad figure cried out. “Only death awaits in those troubled ruins!”
Oskal started to retreat, but a look from the captain put him in his place again.
“Ques Ty Norgu!” replied Quov Tsin with a sneer. Ignoring the warnings of the necromancer, he gestured a final time at the remains of the once proud city. “Protasi! Ureh! Protast!”
The sky rumbled. The wind swirled and roared, changing direction each second. Kentril saw the necromancer fall to one knee, a hand touching the ivory dagger. Despite the gathering clouds, the shadow that had been enshrouding the fabled realm seemed, if anything, stronger, more distinct.
Lightning flashed . . . lightning from places in the heavens where no clouds yet floated.
“Ureh!” screamed the wrinkled Vizjerei. “Ureh Aproxos!”
Three bolts shot forth, striking one another simultaneously over the ruins. The men cringed, and one or two even let out gasps.
And when the lightning ceased and the rumbling faded, Kentril stared at last at what Quov Tsin had wrought, stared at the culmination of the weeks of sweat, even of blood. He eyed Ureh, the legendary city, the Light among Lights, and finally blurted, “Well?”
The ruins had not changed.
FOUR
“I don’t understand!” Tsin fairly shrieked. “I don’t understand!” Ureh remained untouched, the same crumbling skeleton that the party had first come across. The clouds, the lightning, the wind—all had died or faded away. Only the immense shadow cast by Nymyr still lay claim to the ancient kingdom, and with each passing second it tightened its grip, sinking Ureh deeper and deeper into darkness.
“Him!” The Vizjerei poked a gnarled finger at the necromancer. “It was him! He caused it all to go astray! He interrupted at the time most crucial!”
“My interruption,” responded the studious-looking figure, “did nothing, I regret to say.” Despite his dire warnings and his clear attempt to get the others to flee, to Kentril even he seemed a bit disappointed by the lack of any fantastic change in Ureh. “I am as mystified as you.”
With no apparent reason remaining for them to stay in position, the mercenaries swarmed around the necromancer. Even Gorst, who found the Vizjerei sorcerer fascinating, studied the other spellcaster with little enthusiasm. All knew how the necromancers trafficked with the dead, blurred the lines between the mortal world and the afterlife.
His own sword drawn, Captain Dumon confronted the arrogant intruder. “Who are you? How long’ve you been spying on us?”
“My name is Zayl.” He stared down the length of Kentril’s blade as if unconcerned. “This is my home.”
“That doesn’t answer my second question . . .” The mercenary leader hesitated, his mind suddenly racing. Necromancers toyed with the dead. Could that mean—
Suddenly certain he knew the truth, Kentril put the tip of his blade just under Zayl’s jaw. “It was you! You sent Hargo’s ghost into our dreams, didn’t you? You sent that warning to get us to leave!”
At this, the other fighters grew incensed. Tsin, standing slightly back, cocked his head, studying his rival spellcaster with more interest.
“I did what had to be done . . . at least, I thought so at the time.”
“So!” announced Tsin. “You, too, felt certain that the path opened by Gregus Mazi could be reopened this day! I thought so!”
Kentril heard a slight chuckle, but one that did not seem to come from the direction of any of his men. Zayl’s hand slipped momentarily to a large, bulging pouch at his side, which looked as if it contained a melon or some similarly shaped object. When the necromancer noted the captain’s interest, he casually pulled his hand away.
“I had my confidence in that fact,” Zayl reluctantly agreed. “As unfounded, it seems, as all your research.”
“So there’s no gold?” Benjin asked mournfully.
Kentril scowled at the other mercenary. “Shut up. As for you”—he tapped Zayl’s throat with the sword tip—“I think you know even more than you’re saying.”
“Undoubtedly true, captain,” added Quov Tsin. “It would be best if you kept this creature under guard, even bound, perhaps. Yes, that would be the right course, I think.”
For once Kentril found himself in utter agreement with his employer. Everyone knew that necromancers could not be trusted. Zayl might already have a poison or potion just up his sleeve.
In the course of their brief conversation, the shadow of the mountain had continued to stretch forth, so much so that now it even began to blanket the party. A chill wind arose as the shadow settled on them, one that made some of the mercenaries shake. Zayl’s cloak began to flutter wildly, and Kentril had to tighten the collar of his shirt.
“Nymyr has a cold touch,” the necromancer commented. “If you plan to stay near Ureh, you had best be better dressed.”
“What’s the point?” Oskal muttered. “Buncha rocks and empty tombs! All this way for nothin’ . . .”
“We’re gonna need more than cloaks,” agreed another fighter. “This gets any darker, we’ll even need torches
!”
Indeed, the mountain had caused the area to turn almost as black as night, truly a contrast when one saw the sun shining but a few yards farther. Ureh lay in such darkness that one could barely even make out distinct shapes in the city, and the longer the band stood where it was, the more the shadow covering them thickened to the same murkiness.
“Let’s withdraw to the camp,” Kentril suggested. “And that includes you, too, Master Zayl.”
The pale necromancer bowed slightly and, under guard by four of the captain’s men, started off. Gorst quickly helped Quov Tsin with his scrolls and talismans, following after the Vizjerei like an obedient puppy. Kentril himself stood his ground until everyone else had departed, then took one last sweeping survey of the vicinity in order to make certain that nothing had been left behind.
His gaze froze as it fell upon the ruins.
A glimmer of light flickered in one of the distant towers.
He blinked, thinking the sight simply a momentary trick of his imagination—only then to see two lights, the second far to the right in another part of the city.
And as every nerve tingled, and every hair on his neck stood on end, Captain Kentril Dumon watched a dead city blossom with illumination. Light after flickering light burst to life, transforming fabled Ureh before his very eyes.
“Tsin!” he shouted, gaze still fixed on the fantastic display. “Tsin!”
Now more visible, the ruined city also proved not so ruined anymore. The gaping hole in the wall had vanished, and what had been a crumbling watchtower again stood proud sentinel. From the top of the battlements, Kentril almost swore he even saw banners fluttering in the ever-increasing wind.
“It’s true . . .” muttered a very familiar voice to his side. Kentril glanced down to see the wizened Vizjerei, the latter’s expression akin to that of a child who had just received the greatest toy, staring at the wondrous sight. “It’s true . . .”
Around Captain Dumon, the rest of the party quickly gathered, many of the veteran mercenaries gazing slack-jawed at Ureh. Even the necromancer Zayl watched the city with something akin to astonishment. That no one at the moment guarded the black-clad spellcaster did not bother Kentril in the least, for clearly Zayl had no intention of flight. As it had done with the rest, the miracle before them had ensnared the necromancer.
“The legends spoke truth,” Zayl whispered. “You were right, Humbart.”
“What are we waiting for?” Tsin suddenly demanded. “This is why we came so far! Why we struggled so long! Dumon! Your men were promised gold and more! Well? There it is for the taking!”
This finally stirred the mercenaries. “He’s right!” laughed Benjin. “Gold! A city full of gold!”
Even Kentril found the lure of treasure enough to push back the anxiety he felt. Ureh had been a kingdom said to be among the wealthiest in the history of the world. Tales had been told of other hunters who had come seeking its riches, but none of those tales had ever left any belief that the searches had been successful. That meant that enough might be found to make each man here as wealthy as any king or sultan . . .
“You cannot be serious,” Zayl interjected. “Ureh’s riches are for Ureh alone. You rob the dead.”
“They’re not dead, remember?” Kentril pointed out. “They departed . . . and if that’s the case, anything they left behind they surely didn’t want. That means that Tsin’s right. It’s ours.”
The necromancer looked as if he wanted to argue further but clearly had little with which to counter the captain’s claim. He finally nodded, albeit with much reluctance.
Turning to the Vizjerei, Kentril asked, “Those lights. Does that mean any trouble?”
“Nonsense! The story clearly indicates that the people left the mortal plane in the space of but a few minutes. If we see Ureh as they abandoned it, surely many lamps and torches were left lit. Beyond the mortal plane, time is but a word. Why, we may even find food left in bowls and good ale for your men! What do you say to that?”
The other fighters cheered at this possible bonus. Something about the sorcerer’s logic briefly troubled Captain Dumon, but, unable to decide just what, the mercenary officer shrugged off the slight concern. Even he could not help feeling much enthusiasm.
“All right!” he cried to the others. “Get what each of you needs! Bring rope and torches with you, too—I’m not going to trust those lights alone! Don’t forget sacks! Hurry!”
With far more eagerness than before, Kentril’s men went into action. Quov Tsin also prepared himself, retrieving his magical staff and placing about his neck three amulets he had been carrying in a pouch at his belt. Despite their many disagreements, the captain planned to search alongside Tsin once they entered Ureh. Kentril felt certain that wherever the Vizjerei sought his magical artifacts and tomes they would also find great riches.
To everyone’s surprise, when the small troop reassembled, the necromancer stood waiting for them. In their eagerness to ready themselves, the mercenaries had more or less forgotten to guard him, but it seemed that Zayl, too, continued to be drawn by the possible offerings of the magical kingdom. Once more he had one hand on the bulging pouch, but as Kentril approached him, the slim figure let the cloak cover it.
“I will be going with you,” he stated firmly.
Kentril did not like that notion, but, to his surprise, Tsin readily agreed.
“Of course you will,” the Vizjerei declared. “Your knowledge and expertise will prove most invaluable. You’ll come with Captain Dumon and myself, naturally.”
Zayl executed his slight bow, his face impassive. “Of course.”
While none of the mercenaries protested the necromancer’s presence, they kept their distance from him as the band, torches already lit, headed toward Ureh. With the outer wall no longer visibly damaged, Kentril, under Zayl’s guidance, led them toward the main gate. Although the fear existed that with the city seemingly whole the gate might also be blocked, they came around to the entrance to discover it open and the drawbridge down as well.
“Almost as if we’re invited in,” commented Kentril.
Quov Tsin snorted. “Then, by all means, let us not stand around here gaping!”
Weapons drawn and torches held ahead, the group entered.
To the naked eye, it might have seemed as if the inhabitants had just stepped out or even simply gone to sleep. Buildings that on previous visits had been crushed in or at least cracking stood tall and new. Rows of high oil lanterns that had previously been rusted, crumbling wrecks now brightly illuminated the avenues. Other lights boldly shone from towers and structures deeper in the city. Even the very street upon which the band walked looked as if it had been freshly swept.
Yet not one sound did they hear. No words, no laughter, no crying, not even the calls of birds or insects.
Reborn Ureh itself might seem, but the stillness within reminded all of the stunning fates of the inhabitants.
A short distance in, the main avenue split off into three directions. Kentril studied each in turn before saying, “Gorst! Take four men down the right for about a hundred paces, no more. Albord! You, Benjin, and four more check the left. The rest of you, come with Tsin and me. No one goes farther than I said, and we all meet back here as soon as possible.”
He did not include Zayl in any of the groups, especially his own, but the necromancer followed him regardless. Kentril took the point, Oskal and another man flanking him just a step behind. Eyes darting from one side of the street to the other, the captain kept careful count of each step as they proceeded.
Building after building they passed. Light gleamed in some of them, but each time one of the party investigated, they found no sign of any life.
“Check those doors,” Kentril commanded Oskal, pointing to what looked to be a business on the left. Lit within more than any of the previous structures, it drew the captain’s attention like a moth to the proverbial flame.
Guarded by another mercenary, Oskal tried one of the doors. It
swung open with little effort. Leaning in, the veteran surveyed the interior for a moment, then, in a relaxed voice, called back, “A potter’s shop, cap’n! Stacks of fancy pieces on the walls. There’s one even sittin’ on the wheel lookin’ freshly shaped.” An avaricious look spread over his ugly features. “Think we should check to see if he left any coin in the till?”
“Leave it. It’ll still be there when we get around to it—if you even want such meager coin once we’ve gone through this entire place!”
The mercenaries laughed at this suggestion, and even Tsin cracked a rare smile, but Zayl remained almost devoid of emotion. Kentril noticed that his hand touched the large pouch again.
“What is that you’ve got in there, necromancer?”
“A keepsake, nothing more.”
“I think it’s more than—”
A shriek filled the air, echoing time and again through the empty avenues of Ureh.
“That sounds like one of ours!” gasped Oskal.
The captain had already begun to turn back. “It is! Run, you fools!”
The cry did not repeat, but now came the sounds of cursing men, the clatter of arms, and what very briefly might have been the low, sinister rumble of some animal.
Gorst and the rest joined Kentril’s men at the original intersection. No one spoke, each breath now saved only for action.
They came across tall, gangly Albord, a white-haired fighter from an area north of Captain Dumon’s own, shouting at four other mercenaries, all of whom had hunted looks in their eyes. Near Albord’s feet, a torn and ravaged form lay sprawled near the right side of the avenue. It took Kentril a moment to realize by process of elimination that the mangled, bloody mess had once been Benjin.
“What happened?” the captain demanded.
The Kingdom of Shadow Page 5
