The Kingdom of Shadow

by Richard A. Knaak

  The instinctive reaction had done more than save Mazi; it had also created an imbalance that had ripped the soul of Ureh free from the mortal plane, but, instead of sending the realm to Heaven, had left it in a shadowed, timeless limbo. With the aid of the rest of the kingdom’s sorcerers and priests, Juris Khan might have been able to correct the matter and complete the quest for holy sanctuary, but his spell had done to them what it had failed to do to Gregus Mazi.

  The one exception proved to be Tobio, whom providence had saved virtually unscathed. Lord Khan had decided that this had meant the priest had been chosen to live, and it pleased the monarch to know that one old friend of his had remained true. With Tobio, Khan had immediately worked to find freedom from their endless prison, but all plans had failed. The people had begun to panic, to fear that they would be trapped forever.

  Juris Khan raised the dagger over Kentril as he talked, drawing invisible patterns. “And then, when our hour was darkest,” he added with a grateful smile, “the archangel came to me in my dreams again. As you already know, he could not alter what had happened, but he could, at least, guide and—more important—assist me in fulfilling my people’s destiny. The Heavenly One showed me how to open a door of sorts, let his power flood into me, let his wishes and mine mingle . . . and from there touch my children.”

  However, when he found out about this new gift, Tobio had proven to be a most jealous priest—at least in Khan’s eyes. He had confronted his old friend, had claimed him to be not the recipient of holy powers but tainted by infernal ones. The priest had even had the audacity to attempt to restrain his lord, but Juris Khan had easily overwhelmed the misguided clergyman. With saddened heart, he cast Tobio into the ancient dungeons below, hoping that someday the priest would shake off the sinful thoughts and return to the fold.

  Unhindered now, Lord Khan had acted upon the archangel’s dictates, creating spells that would help preserve his precious children while he sought a more permanent remedy. The archangel showed him how to keep the people calm, how to open up each to the subtle ministrations of other angels, one for each person. He had Ureh’s trusting ruler bring into the fold his own daughter, reveal to her the glory of the archangel and the gifts she would gain by helping her father and her people.

  Pulling back the dagger from over Captain Dumon’s chest, Juris Khan extended one arm to Atanna. The crimson-tressed princess came to her father, letting him envelop her in that arm. Atanna gave Kentril a loving, knowing smile, one filled with the certainty of the righteousness of her sire’s cause.

  “She was scared, my good captain, scared because she did not understand the blessing he wished to give her.” The weathered but noble face beamed down at his loving offspring. “I had to be forceful. I had to insist . . . despite her unwillingness. It took much perseverance, even on the part of the archangel, but at last she opened herself up to him.”

  Atanna wore an enraptured expression. “It was so childish, my love! I actually feared what Father wanted! When the archangel entered me, I actually screamed, can you believe it? It all seems so silly now!”

  To the captive mercenary, who had seen what such a blessing had created of Atanna and her father, it hardly seemed silly at all. Whatever their angelic benefactor had sought to accomplish, it had resulted in an abomination of everything holy.

  “I believe I’m nearly ready, my lord,” Quov Tsin suddenly announced. “There are but a few minor patterns to cast.”

  “I’m gratified, master sorcerer. Without your effort, this could not come to be.”

  Kentril chose to use the distraction as a chance again to test the mobility of his body. Unfortunately, even despite the Vizjerei’s numerous tasks and Lord Khan’s horrific reminiscences, the sorcery keeping the captain prisoner had not faltered in the least.

  Atanna came to his side again, rubbing what would have been a soothing hand on his forehead if not for the fact that she used the same appendage that had earlier been mangled to pulp. The rich emerald eyes gleamed but did not blink. “You’ll feel so silly yourself when this is all over, darling Kentril. You’ll wonder just as I did why I made so much of a fuss.”

  He could not meet her gaze, not while the memory of how she had looked when she entered the chamber still burned harshly in his mind. Instead, the captain glanced past her at Juris Khan, who seemed to have finished with his tale and now intended to do the same to Kentril. “What did happen to Gregus Mazi?”

  The pleasant smile on the robed monarch’s kindly face became not at all pleasant. “I told you of the Keys, their making, and our earlier attempt to lock the shadow in place just as you eventually did for us. I also told you how Gregus came again to do the unthinkable, to betray us again. In all this, I did not lie, good captain. What I omitted, though, was that he had help . . . in the form of the misguided Tobio.”

  Gregus Mazi had secretly returned to Ureh and had learned of the crystals just as Lord Khan had previously said, but in the process he had also come across the still-imprisoned priest. Seizing on Tobio’s madness and pretending to believe it, the sorcerer had informed his new ally that they had to remove or destroy the two Keys so that the holy kingdom could not remain on the mortal plane. It was decided that their chances would be double if each went in search of separate stone. Then, if only one of them succeeded, Ureh would again be cast into limbo.

  But although he had entered the city unnoticed, Gregus Mazi did not escape his former master’s attention when he sought out the Key to Shadow. The sorcerer had almost succeeded in stealing away the crystal, but Lord Khan had managed to catch him in the midst of the act.

  They did battle, but the traitorous spellcaster did not know of the powerful gifts the archangel had given. Mazi fell swiftly, and in order to make certain there would be no repeat of such betrayal, Khan transformed him into the sentinel Kentril and the others had discovered. Before that happened, however, the lord of Ureh had wrung from his former friend the fact that Tobio had already started for the other crystal.

  “You see, my dear captain, the Key to Light had indeed been set in place by brave martyrs. However, when I learned from Gregus that Tobio had gone to destroy my hopes for our eventual release, I admit I grew furious. Summoning the powers granted to me by the archangel, I transported myself to the shadowed side of the peak, there to find the misguided priest seeking to wrest the Key to Light from its anointed place.” Khan paused, eyes momentarily closed in what appeared to be a moment of renewed mourning. When he opened them again, he told his prisoner, “I still cry for poor Tobio, corrupted by Gregus. His death I could not help. I gave him one good opportunity to see the errors of his way, to break free of the madness and come back with me to Ureh . . .”

  Suddenly, Kentril recalled the grisly discovery he had found all but buried in the cold, hard soil atop sinister Nymyr. “But he didn’t, did he?”

  “Alas, no. Instead, foolish Tobio tore the Key free and stepped back into the first rays of the day. I admit I reacted without thought, only aware that he had stolen my children’s freedom.”

  The weathered bone Captain Dumon had found had belonged to the determined priest, not one of the so-called volunteers. Uncorrupted, Tobio had been able to step into the sunlight, but it had not saved him from Juris Khan’s wrath. Fortunately, the crystal had fallen to where even the lord of Ureh could not reach it. The madness that had consumed the shadowed kingdom had been kept in check.

  That is, until Kentril and his men had come along.

  “Even if the good Tobio had failed, I admit I would’ve still required the aid of a worthy sorcerer such as our friend Quov Tsin here,” concluded Atanna’s father, “but that would’ve been so much easier with the kingdom set in place, not resurrecting only once a day or two every few years.” The smile returned. “But come! Time is fast approaching, and I’ve likely bored you with so much talk of the past. Now we must prepare for the future, when my people—my children—enlightened by the angels and no longer fearful of the sun, can go out into the world of
men and spread the archangel’s word to others.”

  But Kentril had seen those “children,” the ghoulish creatures that now filled the city. The ghostly forms he and the others had first witnessed had been illusions to mask an even greater horror. Khan had played on the sympathies of the mercenary officer—and because of it, Captain Dumon had sent most of his men to terrible, monstrous deaths.

  The vision he had seen twice had been no delusion caused by a thief’s drug, no bite from a savage insect. It had been the truth, the reality of Ureh. The holy kingdom, the Light among Lights, had been transformed into something diabolic—demonic. All this time, Juris Khan had been manipulating him, preparing the way so that his horrific subjects could spread beyond the confines of the shadow, spread throughout the mortal lands . . .

  Yet all the time his captor spoke of the wondrous archangel, the Heavenly figure who had come to guide him and his flock to the ultimate sanctuary. Again, Kentril wondered how everything had turned out so horribly. When had the archangel’s word become twisted or usurped?

  Or had there ever been an archangel in the first place?

  Lord Khan had already taken his place, Atanna and Quov Tsin following suit. The towering monarch raised the dagger and opened his mouth—

  “My lord!” blurted Kentril. “One last question, to ease my mind and enable me to accept this glory you offer! May—may I see what this wondrous archangel looked like?”

  The Vizjerei, obviously eager to continue, only snorted at this abrupt question, but Juris Khan accepted it with pleasure, clearly believing that the fighter sought to understand. “Why, bless you, Kentril Dumon! If it makes all the difference, I can try to show you. You must know, of course, that I draw from memory, and so what you see, however magnificent, is but a dim, human representation of a being perfect in all manner. In truth, even I never saw him fully, for what mortal could stand the blinding glory of one of Heaven’s guardians?”

  Giving the blade to his daughter, he held his hands up high and muttered a spell. Kentril tensed more, although he could not be certain exactly why. Lord Khan would only be summoning a representation of the archangel, not the true being. The mercenary could hardly expect any aid from an illusion.

  “Behold!” Juris Khan called, indicating an area well above the platform. “Behold a warrior of Truth, a guardian of the Bastion of Light, a sentinel of Goodness watching over all! Behold the Archangel Mirakodus, the golden-haired defender of mankind! Behold Mirakodus, he who has protected Ureh from the evils seeking its soul!”

  And as his words echoed throughout the chamber, a figure formed for all of them to see. Atanna let out a raptured gasp, and even the jaded Tsin fell to one knee in homage. Juris Khan himself had tears in his eyes, and he mouthed silent thanks to the image of the one he had called his people’s greatest protector.

  Kentril stared in awe, too. Clad in glorious armor of the brightest platinum, intricate runes and sculptured glyphs decorating his breast plate, the tall, angelic form glowed as brightly as the sun. One arm held in it a flaming sword; the other reached out to the onlooker, as if beckoning him to come nearer. From the archangel’s shoulders radiated a display of crackling, writhing tendrils of pure magical energy that in their continual frenzy created the illusion of massive, fiery wings.

  The carved images that the mercenary had grown up around had always depicted the angels as hooded, faceless beings, but not so this one. The hood had been thrown back, revealing a visage of perfection surrounded by cascading golden hair. Captain Dumon at first felt some guilt for even gazing upon the heavenly features of Mirakodus, as if somehow the mercenary had not yet proven himself worthy to do such a thing. The broad jaw, the heroic cheekbones, the impossibly commanding visage—Kentril could never quite make out the specifics of any feature, but the overall impression left him momentarily speechless. No human being could ever hope to match such beauty, such perfection. Lord Khan had only managed to catch an earthly indication of Mirakodus, but even that proved enough to overwhelm the senses.

  And then Kentril looked into the eyes and felt his awe suddenly supplanted by an entirely different sensation.

  The eyes drew him in, snared him. He could not identify their color, only that they were dark, darker than even the most perfect black. Like a horrific vortex, Kentril Dumon felt as if Mirakodus drew in his very soul, pulled it into some bottomless pit. The urge to scream arose, yet at the same time the vision the mercenary beheld kept him in silent fear. An unreasonable panic such as Kentril had never suffered shook him. He wanted to rip his gaze away, but the eyes would not permit him that escape.

  The captain felt himself dragged deeper and deeper into the archangel’s eyes, deeper and deeper into a horror impossible to define yet in some way innately familiar. His skin tore from his flesh, and his bones danced free. Kentril felt the death of the grave and the unending torment of the damned soul.

  Something within, some desperate push for sanity, for hope, at last enabled the fighter to tear his eyes from the figure above. As his mind slowly pieced itself together, Kentril tried to come to grips with what he had witnessed. Outwardly a messenger, a guardian of Heaven, but within, recognized perhaps even by the subconscious of Juris Khan, a thing that could not in any manner be associated with the archangels or their realm. Behind the facade that no one else seemed to see past, Captain Dumon had recognized a monstrous force, a thing of pure evil.

  And in his mind, Kentril could only imagine one creature, one being, who could invoke such fear, such terror. The name thrust itself unbidden from the hardy fighter as he sought futilely to push himself away from Lord Khan’s illusion.

  “Diablo . . .”

  “Yes,” his captor said with an enthralled smile, seemingly ignorant of what Kentril had cried. “Mirakodus in as much his glory as an earthly mind can comprehend!” The image suddenly vanished as Juris Khan clasped his hands together in outright pleasure, his smile now turned toward the still dumbfounded soldier. “And now that I’ve shown you the wonderful truth, shall we begin?”

  Zayl studied the chamber he and Gorst had so desperately sought to reach, the chamber where the necromancer had felt with complete certainty that Captain Dumon would be found. He stepped toward the center, all but unmindful of the massive, rune-covered platform as he tried to fathom what had gone wrong.

  “Where is he?” asked the huge mercenary, eyes shifting warily from one part of the chamber to another. “You said he’d be in here.”

  “He should be.” Zayl consulted the spell again, but the result came up the same. Everything pointed to this being the captain’s whereabouts.

  Yet, quite clearly, it was not.

  He put away the medallion, trying to see what the dagger itself might reveal. Unfortunately, a full sweep indicated nothing.

  Gorst wandered around, peering at every corner no matter how unlikely. “Think there’s another door somewhere?”

  “Possible, but not likely.”

  “Could he be below or above us?”

  An astute question from the giant, but the necromancer had worked to focus his search spell in order to avoid that error. According to his results, their companion should have been right before them.

  Shutting his eyes briefly, Zayl let his senses expand beyond his body. He suddenly became much more aware of the fearsome and wild powers at play and the fact that they most gathered near the stone platform just before him.

  “You notice something?” Gorst asked hopefully.

  “Nothing that clears up the question of what went wrong. I feel certain that he is supposed to be here.”

  The gargantuan fighter mulled this over for several seconds, then suggested, “Maybe Humbart could help.”

  A suggestion Zayl should have thought of himself. The skull had proven without a doubt its value, yet the necromancer ever hesitated. Zayl’s instructors had always taught him the importance of independence, but when a tool such as Humbart Wessel worked, why not make the best of it?

  He pulled the last
bit of mortal remains of the older mercenary from the new pouch and showed Humbart the chamber. The skull made small, thoughtful sounds, but did not otherwise speak as his wielder let him view everything.

  “I can’t see hide or hair of him,” Humbart announced when they had finished. “A real puzzle, that!”

  “You see nothing?”

  “Oh, I see a lot! I see a damned hodgepodge of colors and lines and other shapes and forms all swirling madcap about that big block of stone there. I see just about every rune on that thing glowing like lightning. I see enough signs of raw, earthly, and unearthly energy wrapping itself about that thing to make me wish I had feet again so I could hightail it out of here. But I don’t see Captain Kentril Dumon anywhere!”

  The necromancer grimaced. “Then my spell went awry after all. Despite my best efforts, it sent us in the wrong direction.”

  “It happens to everyone, lad. Maybe if you tried again?”

  “I have tried enough. The results would be the same, I promise you.”

  This did not please Gorst at all. “But we can’t give up on him!” the behemoth roared, slamming a fist on the nearest table and nearly upsetting an entire shelf of specimens nearby. “I can’t!”

  “Easy, boy!” snapped Humbart.

  Fearing that the giant’s growing rage might end up recreating Zayl’s own near disaster in Gregus Mazi’s sanctum, the spellcaster quickly said, “No one is giving up, Gorst! We need simply to think this through. Something is wrong here, something that I must consider carefully.”

  Somewhat mollified, the mercenary quieted. Zayl only hoped that he could live up to his words. He studied the various parts of the sanctum again, trying to find anything amiss. He stared at the shelves, the tables, the stone platform, the jars full of—