The necromancer listened closely, saying nothing, revealing nothing with his eyes. Yet, despite the silence, Kentril did not feel that Zayl thought the mercenary insane. Rather, the tall, pale figure listened as if he took every single word with the utmost seriousness. That, in turn, enabled Kentril to relax more as he told his tale and thus allowed him to recall even more specifics.
Only when he had finished did Zayl finally question him, and to Kentril’s surprise, the necromancer asked first not about the demonic horde, but rather about the two women.
“You described the one wearing a revealing golden outfit much like what might be found in Lut Gholein. You also gave ample detail of her friend’s rather generous charms, captain. More than enough detail, in fact, to make me most curious.”
“I’m not the first man to fall prey to a woman’s honeyed words, Zayl, and they both made it sound credible that they could lead me to where you were.”
Kentril’s companion nodded. “And I am not trying to insult you. Rather, I would commend your memory. I did meet those two as they claimed, Captain Dumon. I met them when they were celebrating with one of your men, the one called Brek.”
“Brek?” Kentril’s episode of madness became a secondary concern. One of his soldiers had been in the company of a pair of conniving wenches who had clearly tried to do away with the captain. “As far as I know, he never came back from the city. Neither Gorst nor Albord, both of whom keep track of the others, has seen him since he initially stepped out with the rest.”
“A point to be investigated . . . one of many, I think.”
“What does that mean?” Kentril cautiously asked.
“Captain Dumon, it was no mistake that I came upon you. I needed to find you in order to discuss a disturbing encounter of my own.”
“And what’s that?”
The necromancer frowned. “I will not go into my own story now, but I have reason to believe that what we have been told concerning Gregus Mazi might not be the entire truth.”
“Entire?” blurted a voice from Zayl’s side. “It’s all a blessed lie!”
Kentril, in the act of finally sheathing his sword, suddenly drew it anew. “What in the name of Heaven was that?”
“An unruly and far too vocal companion.” To the pouch, Zayl added, “I am warning you for the last time, Humbart. Cease these careless interruptions, or I will remove the spell animating you.”
“Hmmph . . .” came the reply.
Suddenly, every bizarre and vile rumor that Kentril had heard concerning the mysterious followers of Rathma seemed to come true. He backed away from Zayl, disregarding the fact that the necromancer had only been of aid to him so far.
“Captain, that is not necessary.”
“Keep back from me, spellcaster! What is that in there? A familiar?”
Zayl glanced with annoyance at the pouch. “Much too familiar at times. Humbart forgets his place and the danger he presents to me every time he feels the need to voice his opinion.”
“Hum—Humbart Wessel?”
“What remains of me, lad! Listen! As one old soldier to another—”
“Silence!” The necromancer rapped hard on the side of the pouch. To Kentril, he said, “Captain, I have lived near the ruins of Ureh most of my life. I watched and waited for it to appear as we know it now, but never did the right conjunction of shadow and light bring it back. Yet that does not mean that I did not have any success in my quest in the meantime.” He reached into the bag. “One day, I found this.”
The empty eye sockets of a battered skull stared unblinking at Kentril. The jaw bone was missing, and some of the upper teeth had been broken. Near the back of the cranium, a great crack indicated a likely blow, either intentional or accidental, he could not say.
“The final remains of Humbart Wessel,” Zayl quietly announced. “Soldier, mercenary, adventurer—”
“And the last man to see Gregus Mazi before he vanished into the shadowed city to try to complete his foul plan.”
From the direction of the skull, a hollow and exasperated voice retorted, “Old Gregus would’ve never harmed another soul!”
Kentril barely held onto his sword. He had known that Zayl’s kind could raise the spirits of the dead, but a talking skull was just a bit too much even for the hardened soldier. “What’re you up to, necromancer? What’s your plan?”
With a frustrated sigh, Zayl answered, “My plan is to find out the truth, Captain Dumon, as it relates to the balance of the mortal plane. In attempting that, I went in search of something to use to summon the spirit of Gregus Mazi so that I could perhaps find some way to help break his spells.”
“And did you?”
The sound of revelry passed nearby. Quickly putting the skull back into the pouch, Zayl waited until the merriment faded away. Then, beckoning Kentril to look toward Nymyr, he continued, “In the mountainside sanctum once used by the sorcerer, I retrieved that which I could use to call him back. I cast a spell that I have cast a hundred times and more, all without failure.” His countenance grew grim. “This time, though, no shade from beyond answered.”
The captain found this entirely unimportant. “So you failed at last. One dead man escaped your power.”
“He escaped because he was not dead in the first place.”
Zayl let his words sink in. Kentril frowned, not certain he understood and, if he did, not certain that he wanted to know such news. “But Juris Khan told us plainly that he and Mazi fought, and after Mazi trapped him, Khan still managed to destroy the villain before any further harm could be done to Ureh.”
The shadowy spellcaster nodded sagely. “Yes, Juris Khan did say that.”
“Then Gregus Mazi is dead.”
“He is not. I know this. The only reason for my failure is his continued life.”
Sheathing his sword at last, Kentril turned toward the palace. Sudden fear for Atanna had replaced his uncertainty about his own sanity and even his distrust of the necromancer. “We’ve got to warn them! There’s no telling where Mazi might be.”
Zayl, however, clamped a slim but strong hand onto the mercenary’s shoulder. Leaning near, he whispered, “There is . . . and I have performed that spell. Gregus Mazi is still in Ureh, captain.” His gaze also shifted to the grand structure atop the hill. “And I fear that he is in the palace itself.”
ELEVEN
If Zayl had told Kentril that Diablo himself resided in the palace where Atanna lived, the veteran soldier could not have been more horrified. Gregus Mazi, the man who had cursed a kingdom and lusted after Khan’s daughter, not only lived but lurked near enough to do her harm. Never in his life had Kentril wanted so much to slay a person, not even after so many campaigns. During those, he had been performing a duty for which he had been paid, nothing more. Here, though, the task had a personal nature beyond any he had ever confronted. “Where in the palace?” he demanded of Zayl as the duo worked their way to the hill. “Where?”
“Below it, actually. As for a precise location, that cannot be ascertained. There are forces in play the likes of which I have never come across. Spells I cast that should work to delve deeper are twisted and turned, rendering them useless. If I get closer, perhaps that will change.”
“They’ve got to be warned,” Kentril insisted. “They have to know the danger’s right below them.”
At the base of the ancient steps, the necromancer forced his companion to halt. “Captain Dumon, have you noticed anything amiss in the palace so far?”
“Only that some of my men haven’t returned.”
“But neither Lord Khan nor his daughter seems at all at risk.”
The soldier did not like the way Zayl spoke. “What of that?”
“You have fought in many battles, in many wars. Do you announce to the enemy your intentions, or do you instead try to trick him, to leave him unsuspecting?”
Kentril’s eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to tell me we should say nothing to them?”
“Not until we at least discover more—or un
til we sense some danger to them.”
“And what would you suggest, necromancer?”
Zayl glanced around, making certain that no one stood near enough to hear. “We find out what lies beneath first.”
A part of Kentril thought Zayl’s suggestion foolish, that the right thing to do would be to alert Atanna of Gregus Mazi’s return. Another part, though, feared that the corrupted sorcerer would also find out. Surely Mazi watched Khan and his daughter closely to make certain that they did not know of his hidden presence. Alerted, he would most likely strike and strike to destroy.
But the odds were good that the villain also watched his old master’s guests. If they simply went in hunt of him, he would surely lay traps designed to kill all.
“We won’t tell them just yet,” Kentril finally agreed. “But we’ll need some sort of distraction that would capture his interest so much that he won’t pay any mind to searchers.”
“He’s got a point there,” came Humbart’s muffled voice.
Zayl tapped the pouch, then nodded agreement.
They kept silent about their goals as they reentered the palace some time later. Neither had yet thought up a manner by which the attention of the hidden spellcaster might be diverted, but both knew that they could not wait long. Surely Gregus Mazi had some imminent mischief in mind.
Thinking of that, Kentril sought out Albord. He found the younger mercenary just preparing to set out with two others for the city, which fit in directly with the captain’s plan. Pulling Albord aside, Kentril whispered, “Don’t ask why, but I have orders for you.”
Although his body revealed no reaction to his commander’s surprising words, the blond fighter’s eyes let Kentril know that Albord understood the seriousness. “Aye, captain?”
“I need to cut short the men’s celebrations for the time being. I want you three to go down and collect the others you find. I want everyone up here and accounted for. Anyone who can’t be found, let me know. Above all else, don’t split up, and don’t let any of the locals know what you’re up to . . . and if anyone offers to help you find someone missing, refuse that help.”
This at last brought some reaction. “Just how serious is this, captain?”
Kentril recalled his own encounter, when the city had been transformed into a nightmare straight out of Hell. He had finally come to the conclusion that the two women had used some exotic potion that had not only weakened him but also caused his horrific hallucinations. It had been said that some assassins used such potions on their nails and that only a touch might be needed to affect a victim. “Serious enough. Beware especially of two women, one in gold and both far too eager for your company.”
As he sent Albord and the others off, Zayl rejoined him. “What did you tell him?”
“Enough to be wary. It won’t look out of the question that I would be checking up on my men, necromancer. Mercenaries have a tendency to wear out their welcome quickly in times of peace, and having them all called in will just seem like a simple, honest precaution.”
“Do we tell Master Tsin as well?”
Kentril shrugged. “I don’t know. I do want to tell Gorst right away, though, and he’s near the sorcerer.”
They quickly hurried to the library but found, to their mutual surprise, that it was empty. The table where the Vizjerei had sat for so long still lay all but hidden under a cluttered pile of books and scrolls, but Tsin and the mountain of notes he had made had vanished.
The captain noticed one other thing missing: Gorst. The giant might have simply followed Tsin in order to keep track of him, but the considerable pile of parchment missing coupled with the difficulty the short spellcaster would have had trying to carry all of it around made it obvious that Tsin had commandeered Gorst into helping him with something.
Barely had Kentril and Zayl turned back when from down the corridor Atanna appeared. She saw the two, and her expression, already bright, seemed to the fighter to positively glow.
“Kentril! You’ve done it! You’ve done it!”
Utterly ignoring the necromancer, she threw her arms around the captain and kissed him passionately. Kentril momentarily forgot the sinister danger below as he accepted Atanna’s gratitude. That he knew not what she thanked him for he did not care.
Gradually, he became aware of a bemused Zayl watching him from behind Lord Khan’s daughter. At first annoyed by this intrusion, Kentril finally recalled what he and his companion had been trying to accomplish. With gentle force, Kentril pushed away Atanna, reconciling himself with at least being able to gaze at her up close.
“And for what am I being thanked so well?”
“As if you didn’t know!” She almost kissed him again, but noticed his reluctance. A playful smile spreading across her perfect features, she allowed Zayl to join in the conversation. “You might find this of interest, too, sir.”
“I suspect I might, my lady.”
Atanna graciously accepted his courtesy. “At this moment,” she informed both, “the Vizjerei sorcerer Quov Tsin has an audience with my father.”
“Already?” interrupted Kentril. He had not thought Tsin would begin trying to persuade Lord Khan for some time yet. Surely the Vizjerei’s greed had much to do with this sudden development. Kentril only hoped that by rushing in, old Tsin had not ruined everything.
“The good sorcerer has told Father that he thinks in a day or two he can help remove Gregus’s curse! It will take hours of preparation and at least as much spellwork, but he feels certain it will succeed!”
Her eyes widened in hope and anticipation. Kentril prayed that Tsin would not let Juris Khan down, if only for Atanna’s sake. “I’m pleased to hear that, but—”
“And more important for some,” the red-haired princess added, her gaze especially fixed on Captain Dumon now. “Master Tsin has already accomplished one miracle. He has convinced Father that Ureh should be a part of the world again, that the quest for Heaven is one we should undertake in the manner of any other mortal, through the trials of life itself.”
Kentril hesitated to respond, hoping he had correctly understood her. “Juris Khan won’t try to recast the spell? He won’t try a second time to claim the sanctuary of Heaven?”
“No! Thanks to the Vizjerei, Father now believes that we’ve a role here. He thinks that we may be needed to help guide the rest of the world toward the proper path. Father even wonders now if this was meant to be from the beginning!”
It all sounded too fantastic to Captain Dumon, but in Atanna’s face he read only truth. Lord Khan had changed his mind. Tsin had actually succeeded, and far sooner than Kentril could have ever imagined possible.
“My congratulations on this news, my lady,” Zayl politely said.
“Thank you,” she replied, giving the necromancer a momentary smile before returning her full attention to Kentril. “Father is so thrilled, he would like to honor you and Master Tsin shortly with a private dinner. You, too, if you wish, Master Zayl.”
The pale figure shook his head. “My kind are not known for their social behavior, and besides, I have really done nothing to deserve such recognition. However, I certainly agree that Captain Dumon and the sorcerer should be so honored.”
“As you wish.” Atanna seemed to forget the necromancer from there on. “Kentril, I hope you’ll say yes.”
What else could he say? “Of course. The honor’s mine.”
“Splendid! It’s all settled, then. A servant will be at your quarters before long to help you dress.”
“Dress?” The mercenary did not like the sound of that.
“Of course,” interjected Zayl innocently. “One must always be properly attired for a state dinner, captain.”
Before Kentril could protest, Atanna kissed him once more, then hurried away. Both men watched her alluring form swiftly vanish down the hall.
“A unique woman, Captain Dumon.”
“Very much.”
The necromancer swept closer. “This dinner could also be to our benef
it. With Lord Khan and his daughter occupied with you and the Vizjerei, I can try surreptitiously to investigate our likely route to below. There must be some detailed outline of the palace’s design and possibly even mention of the caverns Khan hinted of even deeper.”
Kentril continued to eye the direction down which Atanna had disappeared. “I still don’t like not at least telling her.”
“Remember that Gregus Mazi once desired Khan’s daughter. He has not touched her so far, but if he realizes she has been alerted, he may decide to steal her away. Her ignorance is her safety.”
“All right,” the captain snapped. He glared at the tall, slim figure beside him. “Just make certain that you don’t get caught. That would be hard to explain.”
“If I am, I shall make it known to all that I acted on my own. She will have no reason to lose her trust in you, captain.”
With a slight bow, Zayl departed. Kentril frowned, still not quite certain about this pact he had made with the necromancer, then headed to his quarters to see what could be done about making himself presentable for this no doubt elegant dinner.
He would have rather been fighting a pitched battle.
A crisp black dress uniform with gold ornamentation had been laid out on his bed, a uniform with long, sleek pants and a jacket with sharp tails. Epaulets decorated the jacket’s shoulders, and the stylized image of a crown and sword had been sewn onto the left breast. The gleaming black leather boots rose knee-high, completing a rather dashing image.
Kentril felt foolish in the outfit. He was a soldier, a mercenary. The uniform should have been worn by a commander, a general, not someone of his lowly station. Still, he could not appear at a formal dinner with Lord Khan and Atanna dressed in his tired, oft-mended garments.
That the uniform fit perfectly did not entirely surprise the captain. Atanna would not have bothered to have it set aside for him if she had not known it would serve perfectly. He wondered whether it had once belonged to someone else, or if she had somehow simply conjured it up.
Although he knew the way to his destination, Kentril found two armed guards outside his door waiting to escort him. With much ceremony, they marched down the halls with him, leading the fighter at last to where Khan waited.
The Kingdom of Shadow Page 15
