The Kingdom of Shadow

by Richard A. Knaak

  A brief, muffled squeal escaped the creature . . . then a pile of brown ash dropped near the spellcaster’s boot. Zayl released the cloak and focused on the other attackers.

  “They must serve Gregus Mazi!” Kentril called. “That thing that screamed was meant to alert him!”

  Zayl did not answer. Instead, the necromancer now shouted incomprehensible words at another group of fluttering terrors. At the same time, he drew a circle in their direction with the tip of the dagger.

  The winged imps he had targeted, five in all, suddenly turned away and, to Kentril’s surprise, began attacking their fellows. Two unsuspecting fiends perished under shredding talons before others began to assault in great numbers the traitors in their midst. In moments, the five ensorcelled demons had fallen, but not before taking two more with them.

  An imp raked the captain across the cheek, splattering Kentril with his own blood. The wound stung so greatly it made his eyes water, yet he managed to catch the offending demon as it flew away, impaling it.

  Unfortunately, even another death seemed not to deter the massive flock.

  “There’re too many!” grunted Gorst.

  “Captain Dumon! If you and Gorst can fend them off me for a moment or two longer, I may be able to rid ourselves of this trouble!”

  Seeing no other option, Kentril battled his way back to the necromancer, Gorst doing the same from the other side.

  As the pair shielded Zayl, the cloaked mage again spoke in the unknown language. With the dagger he draw another glowing image, this one resembling to the mercenary officer an exploding star.

  A haze suddenly filled the chamber, a noxious-smelling but otherwise seemingly harmless fog that rapidly spread to every corner, every crack, leaving no place untouched.

  Yet if the haze did nothing to the trio save to irritate their nostrils and obscure their vision some, its effect on the winged demons proved anything but harmless. One by one, then by greater and greater numbers, the taloned fiends suddenly lost control. They collided with one another, crashed into the walls, even simply dropped to the floor of the chamber.

  Once on the ground, the savage imps shook as if in the throes of madness. Gradually, their hisses and squawks became more feeble. Finally, they began to still, first a few, then more and more.

  Soon all lay dead.

  “Zerata!” called the necromancer.

  The haze instantly faded away, leaving no trace.

  Zayl suddenly staggered forward and would have dropped if not for Gorst’s quick reflexes. The spellcaster leaned against the giant for a few seconds, then seemed to recover.

  “Forgive me. The last took much out of me, for I had to say and control it perfectly, otherwise the effect would have been different.”

  “What do you mean?” Kentril asked.

  “We would be lying there with the imps.”

  Gorst kicked at a few bodies, making certain that none pretended, then took a peek down the passage from which they had come. “Don’t hear anything more.”

  “There were quite a few attacking us.” Zayl joined the other mercenary near the passage. “It is quite possible that we destroyed the entire flock.”

  The giant nodded, then asked, “So where’s their master?”

  That had been a question on Kentril’s mind as well. Were these creatures all that Gregus Mazi had been able to send after them? Why had he not attacked with some spell while the three had been distracted? Even the most basic tactician understood the value of such a maneuver.

  Another thing bothered him. Turning back to the Key to Shadow, he stared at the artifact, wondering why Mazi had not simply removed the black crystal and shattered it on the floor. While it was perhaps possible that such a deed would have required far more effort than it appeared, Juris Khan had given every indication that his former friend had been a sorcerer of tremendous skill and cunning. Gregus Mazi should have been able to reduce the crystal to shards . . .

  So why had he not destroyed the gemstone?

  Any hesitation likely had nothing to do with the Key’s monetary value, although Kentril knew of several dukes and other nobles back in the Western Kingdoms who would have paid him enough for the stone for the mercenary to retire in wealth. One could scarcely believe that it had been created from magic, so real did it look. Still, he had heard of few stones so perfect. Each facet seemed almost a mirror. In some, the captain could see himself reflected back. In others, he could make out the vague forms of his companions or even some of the dead imps. Captain Dumon could even make out details of the macabre sentinel’s face . . .

  Kentril spun around, gaze fixed on the eyes of the horrific figure. Of all the features of the monstrous sculpture, they showed the most precision, the most care.

  They were the most human.

  “There’s no need to worry about looking for Gregus Mazi,” Kentril called to the others. He tried to will the eyes to look his way, but they did not move. “I think I’ve found him.”

  THIRTEEN

  “I think you must be correct, captain,” Zayl quietly answered after studying the figure in detail. “Now that I have had a chance to cast a few spells of detection, I can swear that there is life in it.” “But how?” Kentril wanted desperately to know. “How could this be? How can this have happened to Mazi?”

  The necromancer did not look at all pleased. “I can only assume that Juris Khan has not been forthcoming in his tales.”

  “That can’t be! Lord Khan would never do anything like this. You know that.”

  “I am as deeply troubled as you by this discovery . . . and just as confused. I suppose it is quite possible that Lord Khan is also unaware of the true fate of his former friend, and, therefore, one must assume Khan’s daughter is unaware also.”

  “Of course she is!” the captain snapped.

  Gorst shook his head. “Can you do anything? Can you make him human again?”

  “Alas, I fear not. This is far more complex than the curse upon our host. What I have been able to determine is that Gregus Mazi is more than just sealed to the stalactite. He is, in essence, a very part of the mountain. Such a spell cannot be reversed, I’m afraid.”

  “But he’s still alive, you said,” persisted the giant.

  Zayl shrugged, to Kentril quite clearly disturbed more than he tried to show. “Yes, otherwise my spell to summon his shade would have worked the first time. If it is any comfort, I suspect that if his mind survived after the transformation, then it has long since fallen into total madness. I daresay he suffers no longer.”

  “I want to see,” demanded a voice. “Take me out so I can get a good look at him.”

  From the pouch, Zayl produced Humbart Wessel’s skull. Gorst looked on with some slight unease but overall more interest. Kentril realized that he had forgotten to tell his second of the necromancer’s unique companion.

  Holding the skull up high, Zayl let it examine the ghoulish display. Humbart said nothing save to direct the spellcaster to point the empty eye sockets this way or that.

  “Aye, ’tis him,” he remarked rather sadly. “ ’Tis old Gregus come to a more ill end than myself.”

  “Did you sense anything?” the necromancer asked. “Any hint of who might have done this?”

  “This is powerful sorcery, lad. I can’t tell. Believe me, I’m sorry. You’re right on one thing, though; this can’t be changed. There’s no way to make him human again.”

  Kentril tried hard not to think of what it must have been like for the man. Had he suffered much? Had it been as Zayl had suggested, that perhaps Gregus Mazi had been cursed to this form with his mind still functioning? All those centuries trapped like that, unable to move, unable to do anything?

  “But why?” the captain finally asked. “Why do this? It looks like more than punishment. You saw what happened, Zayl. He let out a scream that alerted those winged beasts!”

  “Yes . . . apparently he is part of some method of warning.” The necromancer turned toward the Key to Shadow. “I am wo
ndering if perhaps he did so because we were too near this.”

  “That makes no sense! We’d be the last ones to want to touch the crystal! Ureh needs that in place, too, or else it won’t matter that we set its counterpart atop Nymyr.”

  Zayl reached for the artifact as if to pick it up, at the same time watching to see how the monstrous figure would react.

  The all-too-human eyes suddenly widened, almost glaring at the presumptuous necromancer. However, this time, no scream alerted guardians, perhaps because there might not have been any left.

  As Zayl withdrew his hand, they saw the eyes of the sentinel relax, then close again. The mouth remained open in mid-scream.

  “He does guard it. Interesting. I recall that when you walked up to him, I shifted position slightly, which would have placed me about as near to the crystal as I was just now. That must have been what caused him to react.”

  “So what do we do now?” asked Gorst.

  Kentril sheathed his blade. “There doesn’t seem much at all for us to do. We might as well make our way back. There’s no telling how far along Tsin might already be with the spell.”

  Zayl looked to the ceiling. “I still sense great forces at work, but you are correct. He may be done soon . . . and, as you said, there remains nothing of value for us to do here. We will retire to the palace and discuss this among ourselves in more detail.”

  “Hold on there!” called Humbart Wessel’s skull. “You can’t leave him like that.”

  “Now, Humbart—”

  But the skull would not be silenced. “Are you good men or the kind of villain you thought old Gregus to be? Captain Dumon, what would you do if one of your fellows lay trapped and bleeding badly on the field of battle and you couldn’t take him with you? Would you leave him for the enemy to do with as they pleased?”

  “No, of course not . . .” The veteran officer understood exactly what the ghostly voice meant. You never left a comrade behind to be tortured by the foe. You either let him take his own course of action, or with your sword you did it for him. Kentril had been forced to such action more than once, and while he had never taken any pleasure in it, he had known that he had been doing his duty. “No . . . Humbart’s right.”

  Drawing his weapon again, he approached the ensorcelled Gregus Mazi and, with much trepidation, started tapping at the torso in search of a soft enough spot. Unfortunately, his initial hunt revealed nothing but hardened minerals. The spell had been very thorough.

  “Allow me to do it, captain. I think my blade will better serve.” Zayl came forward with the ivory dagger, but Kentril stepped in front of him.

  “Give the weapon to me, necromancer. I know where best to strike to kill a man quickly and cleanly. This has to be done right.”

  Bowing to the soldier’s experience, the cloaked spellcaster turned over the dagger to Kentril. The captain studied the rune-inscribed blade for a moment, then turned his attention once more to Gregus Mazi.

  As he raised the dagger to strike, the eyes of the limestone-encrusted sentinel suddenly opened, focusing upon Kentril with an intensity that made the fighter’s hand shake.

  On a hunch, he moved the dagger slightly to the side.

  The eyes followed the weapon with especially keen interest.

  There and then, Captain Dumon realized that the mind of the sorcerer remained intact. Insanity had not granted Gregus Mazi any escape from his tortured existence.

  For just a short moment, Kentril hesitated, wondering if perhaps there might be some way yet to free the man, but then the eyes above his own answered that question, pleading for the soldier to do what he must.

  “Heaven help you,” the captain muttered.

  With a prayer on his lips, Kentril thrust the dagger into the chest area with expert precision.

  Not one drop of blood emerged from the wound. Instead, a brief gust of hot wind smelling of sulfur burst forth, almost as if Kentril had opened a way to some volcanic realm deep within the mountain. It startled the mercenary so much that he stepped back a pace, withdrawing the blade as he retreated.

  He expected another hellish cry such as had brought the imps to attack, but instead only a tremendous sigh emerged from the frozen mouth. In that short-lived sigh, the captain heard more than just a death; he heard Gregus Mazi’s relief at being at last released from his terrible prison. The eyes gave him an almost grateful look before quickly glazing over and closing for a final time.

  “His curse is ended,” whispered Zayl after a time. “He has left this terrible place.” The necromancer gently took the dagger back from Kentril. “I suggest we do the same.”

  “Rest well, Gregus,” the skull muttered.

  Much subdued, the trio completed their ascension through the caverns in silence. They had gone in search of an evil sorcerer and found a fellow human being in torment. Nothing they had assumed had proven to be fact, and that bothered all of them, Kentril most of all.

  Exiting through the shaft by which they had first entered the mountain, the fighters separated from Zayl, who advised that it might not be wise for the three of them to return together.

  “I will spend some more time out here, then return as if from the city. We need to meet again later, captain. I feel we both have questions we wish answered.”

  Kentril nodded, then, with Gorst trailing, headed back to the palace. Although the unsettling events in the caverns remained an important part of his thoughts, Kentril could not help but think more and more about the outcome of Tsin’s work as he neared Lord Khan’s abode. Had that, too, gone awry? Was nothing to be as he had assumed it would be?

  To his further apprehension, he and Gorst discovered the gates—the entire entrance, in fact—utterly unmanned. Worse, as they entered the ancient edifice, both quickly noticed that not a sound echoed throughout the vast palace, almost as if the deathly quiet of the abandoned ruins had swept once more over the kingdom. Down an ominously empty hall Kentril and the giant cautiously journeyed, searching in vain for some hint of life.

  At last, they came across the massive doors to Juris Khan’s sanctum. Kentril glanced at his friend, then reached forward . . .

  The doors swung open of their own accord, revealing a reverent crowd kneeling before the dais occupied by the robed lord’s tall, regal chair.

  A chair now empty . . . for Juris Khan stood among his flock, reaching down now and then to touch guard, peasant, and courtier alike upon the back of the head, giving them his blessing. Near his side, Atanna followed, her expression enraptured. Utter silence filled the room, the silence of awe and respect.

  Yet it seemed that even the wonder of her father’s freedom could not withstand the pleasure Atanna manifested when she saw Kentril at the door. She immediately touched Lord Khan on the arm, indicating to him who stood at the entrance.

  “Kentril Dumon!” the elder monarch called cheerfully. “Let you and your good man come forth and be part of the celebration, for surely you are as much a reason for this glorious moment as the masterful sorcerer!”

  He indicated with one hand a very self-satisfied Quov Tsin. The Vizjerei stood far to the left side of the dais, fairly preening as courtiers both male and female moved to pay their humble respects. Tsin caught Kentril’s gaze and gave the captain a triumphant look that contained not one iota of humility.

  Urged on by Atanna, Captain Dumon strode toward the regal pair. The kneeling throng gave way for him with as much respect as they showed for their master. Never in his life had Kentril felt so awed by the simple fact that others honored him so much. He recalled all that Juris Khan had offered him and for the first time actually believed it could come to pass without trouble.

  “My good Kentril!” Lord Khan gave him a strong, comradely hug with one arm while pulling his daughter near with the other. “This is a day of rejoicing as great as when the archangel first presented to me the hope of our salvation. Truly, the rebirth of Ureh as a beacon of light in the world is near at hand.”

  “I’m very happy for you,
my lord.”

  The weathered yet noble face twisted into an expression of bemusement. “How certain I am of that. But look! Here is another more eager to express our gratitude and able to do so far better than I. If you’ll excuse me, my son, I must show myself to the people beyond the palace walls. They must know that the end of our great curse is near at hand!”

  Armored guards hurried to flank their master. The gathered throng rose as one behind Lord Khan, following him as he headed out the chamber for the first time. Atanna guided Kentril to the side so that they would not be swept away by the human flood. Gorst, grinning, let the pair be, the giant instead breaking his way through the crowd as he headed toward Quov Tsin.

  “All my hopes,” she breathed. “All my dreams . . . they come true at last, Kentril . . . and there is no one but you to thank for that!”

  “I think you might thank Tsin some. He broke the spell on your father, after all.”

  Atanna would not hear his protests. “The Vizjerei master provided the mechanics of my father’s freedom, but I know that you urged him on, you enabled him to convince my father that we would be served best and would serve best by not seeking the pathway to Heaven again.” She leaned up and kissed him. “My thanks for all that.”

  “I’m just glad it went well.”

  “That it did, but all the while I worked with them, I couldn’t help thinking of you . . . so much so I feared a couple of times that I might accidentally ruin the spell!” Her eyes twinkled as she looked at him. “Much better to see you before me than only as imagination!” A brief frown graced her exquisite visage. “Why, Kentril, you’re dusty, and your cheek is bloody! What’s happened to you?”

  In all the excitement, he had forgotten about his appearance. Kentril had not decided yet what to say about Gregus Mazi, so in the end he could only reply, “As a soldier, I’m used to training. I took a run outside, then a small climb.” He shrugged. “I lost my hold once and slid down a few yards.”

  “How dreadful! You mustn’t let that happen again. I won’t have it. I won’t lose you now!”