The Kingdom of Shadow

by Richard A. Knaak

  “Humbart, tell me once more what you see when you stare at the platform.”

  The skull did, recounting the furious forces and the glaringly bright and vivid runes. He told of the swirling energy, wild and monstrous, gathered over it. Humbart Wessel described a virtual maelstrom of sorcerous powers at play above and as a part of the stone structure.

  “I don’t see any of that,” Gorst commented when the skull had finished.

  Nor did the necromancer, and that interested him very much. He could sense them, yes, but not see them as Humbart did.

  And from the skull’s vivid description, it sounded as if the forces at play grew more alive, more violent, with each passing moment. They had to be building up to something, something Zayl could only imagine very terrifying.

  Returning Humbart to the pouch, the necromancer stepped to the platform. Although he saw no life in the various runes, the feeling that they had been brought into play remained with him, so much so that when Zayl ran his fingers over several, he could swear he felt them pulsating.

  “What is it?” Gorst asked.

  “I do not know . . . but I must try something.” Inspecting the runes, Zayl touched three he recognized for their power. He muttered a spell under his breath, creating ties between himself and those runes. Raw forces charged through his system, causing the necromancer to gasp.

  The giant started toward him, but Zayl shook his head. Still struggling to keep the forces in balance, the spellcaster drew forth his dagger. The blade gleamed bright, and as he held the weapon over the platform, a rainbow of colors arose from various markings etched in the stone, creating an almost blinding display of power.

  “Let the truth be known!” Zayl shouted to the ceiling. “Let the mask fall away! Let the world be shown as it is, our eyes uncovered at last! Hezar ky Brogdinas! Hezar ke Nurati! Hezar ky—”

  Suddenly the necromancer felt a sense of displacement so great that he could not maintain his link. He fell back, his eyes seeming to lose all focus. He saw the entire chamber doubled—and yet also very different. While one version held Zayl and Gorst, the other revealed a different, barely visible scene with three figures standing very near him.

  As Zayl stepped farther back, Gorst came forward. “I see him! I see—”

  He got no farther. The room—all sense of reality—shifted again for the pair. The giant fell to one knee, and it was all the necromancer could do not to do the same.

  The other version of their surroundings began to fade. Zayl struggled forward again, determined not to lose it. The vaguely seen figures did not even notice what happened around them. They appeared engrossed in something concerning the platform. One of them looked like Juris Khan, and another had hair the color of his daughter’s. The shortest of the three put Zayl in mind of the Vizjerei, although what Quov Tsin would be doing here he could not say.

  Planting his hands on two of the runes, Zayl barked out his spell anew. He summoned the forces to him. Something else sought to draw them away, but the necromancer persisted, certain that if he did not, it would result in disaster.

  Again everything shifted. The two variations moved closer into sync.

  A fourth form coalesced on the platform, the arms and legs spread as if bound.

  The startling addition almost caused Zayl to lose his concentration a second time. Everything began to fade again, but he managed to keep it from disappearing altogether. For a third time, Zayl shouted the words of power while he demanded that the forces inherent in the runes obey his dictates.

  The figure trapped on the platform came into focus. Zayl recognized Kentril Dumon, who did not yet see him. In fact, the captain stared wide-eyed at something above him, his expression so intense that the necromancer had to look himself.

  Juris Khan loomed over them, eyes wide with anticipation. His hand had just begun a swift plunge toward Captain Dumon’s chest—and in that hand a wicked blade sought the mercenary’s heart.

  TWENTY

  A simple spell had left Kentril unable to protest any longer, Juris Khan proclaiming that he needed the silence in order to cast the spell accurately. He actually apologized to his captive, assuring the captain that when all had been accomplished, he would make it up to him. Atanna had come before the spellwork to stroke his forehead and kiss him gently on the lips. Now her mouth felt cold, dead, and the eyes looked glassy, a parody of life. Had someone long ago told the mercenary that the offer of a beautiful princess and immortality would someday revolt him, he would have surely laughed.

  Now Kentril could only pray for a miracle.

  Quov Tsin continued to ignore the obvious, continued to aid in this abominable plan. The Vizjerei began the first part of the spell, summoning forth forces locked in the runes and intertwining them with the raw powers emanating all around. Beside him, a blissful smile on her face, Atanna murmured words in what sounded like a backward version of the common tongue. She had her arms spread apart, the palm of one hand facing Tsin, the other facing her father.

  Lord Khan himself presided over the prone Kentril, the sinister dagger held high and seemingly ready at any moment to strike. The monarch of blessed Ureh spoke in a combination of understandable and unintelligible phrases, both of which lent further fear to the prisoner.

  “Blood is the river of life!” the elder man shouted to the ceiling at one point. “And we drink gratefully from the river! Blood is the sustenance of the heart . . . and the heart is the key to the soul! The soul is the guide to Heaven . . . and the guide to mortality . . .”

  The dagger edged nearer, then receded as Khan started speaking in one of the cryptic languages again. Kentril wanted to faint, but knew that he if fell prey to such an escape, he might never wake up. Whether that would be preferable to the monstrous existence offered to him, the captain could not yet say. If he stayed conscious, at least some hope existed, however meager, that he would still find a way to free himself before it was too late.

  But no avenue of escape presented itself to him. As Kentril watched wide-eyed, Juris Khan finally leaned forward and raised the dagger high above his captive’s heart. The look in the elder man’s eyes told the mercenary that this time, the blade would be plunged into its target.

  Swirling tendrils of pure energy arose around Kentril, causing every fiber of his being to go completely taut. Quov Tsin guided the tendrils, from which Lord Khan then seemed to draw strength.

  “Great servant of Heaven above, Archangel Mirakodus, hear this humble one! Blood, the harbinger of the soul, opens the path to the true world! Let your power guide! Let at last the might of Heaven undo what has been done! Undo the shadow’s binding! Let the sun serve not to give death to your children! Let Ureh return to the mortal plane, and from Ureh let your children go forth and bring to their fellow men and women the truth you so dearly wish all to know!”

  It all sounded so mad, but Kentril could do or say nothing to prevent the sacrifice.

  “Blessed Mirakodus, with this blood, I, Juris Khan, do humbly beg this boon!”

  The dagger came down—

  A hand suddenly appeared out of nowhere and clutched Captain Dumon’s right arm. Kentril paid it little mind, expecting that Tsin had simply wanted to make certain that the mercenary did not somehow manage to shift position. Shutting his eyes, Kentril waited for the agony, the emptiness of death . . .

  “Captain, you must move quickly! I fear we may have little time!”

  His eyes flew open. “Zayl?”

  Sure enough, the necromancer leaned over him, one slim hand clutching the right arm. Farther back, Gorst watched them, his expression caught midway between relief and mistrust.

  Of the other three, he could see no sign. All else in the chamber looked exactly as it should, but Khan, Atanna, and the Vizjerei had all vanished.

  “What—?” he began, only belatedly realizing that the power of speech had been returned to him.

  The necromancer cut him off. “Hurry! He may realize at any moment that I have usurped his spell. I must
get us away from here before then!”

  Zayl took his dagger and quickly passed it over each limb. As he did, Kentril felt the ability to move return. He needed no more urging from the spellcaster to leap free of the sacrificial platform.

  “I am going to try something,” Zayl informed him and Gorst. “With so many sources to draw power from, it may work. It may be our only chance!”

  Not liking the thought of just standing around and hoping that the necromancer could save them, Kentril asked, “Can we do anything?”

  “Indeed you can! Gorst, give the captain a weapon. The two of you must watch out for me in case our esteemed host realizes what I am now doing.”

  Kentril took the sword the other mercenary offered him, realizing at the same time that Zayl fully expected Juris Khan to return from wherever he had been sent at any moment. The two wary soldiers kept guard while the necromancer swiftly drew a complex pattern over the runes.

  “This should do it,” Zayl suddenly remarked. Without explanation, he pointed the dagger first at himself, then at each of his companions.

  A sense of extreme lightness touched Kentril, almost as if he had lost every bit of weight. The mercenary officer almost expected to begin to float away, much as a cloud might. He opened his mouth to ask what the spellcaster planned—

  The chamber vanished.

  A wind-tossed mountain ridge materialized around him. Kentril reacted to this abrupt change of venue by planting himself against the rock face as quickly as he could.

  Zayl had transported them to the most precarious edge of Nymyr.

  The wind howled ominously, and thunder rumbled. Kentril looked up, saw that the sky had transformed. The nightmarish colors of his earlier visions had returned. He quickly glanced down at Ureh, to see now only a few sinister lights below. Captain Dumon could only imagine the scene within the city, the demonic denizens of the once-holy realm now stripped of any pretense of humanity.

  “This was not where I planned to send us,” muttered Zayl, his expression quite frustrated. “With the power I usurped from the runes, I should have easily been able to transport us to somewhere beyond the confines of this cursed shadow.”

  Kentril recalled the image of the false archangel. “Maybe that’s not allowed. Maybe there is no escape from Ureh.”

  The necromancer eyed him closely. “Captain, what was Juris Khan doing when I appeared?”

  “He said he had to cast a spell to ensure that Ureh would remain on the mortal plane, a spell that would allow his children to go forth into the world.” With a deep breath, Kentril quickly went into what details seemed relevant. He described the monarch’s clear madness, Tsin’s entranced betrayal, the horrific incident involving Atanna, and the discovery that Lord Khan’s archangel had been anything but Heaven-sent.

  “This begins to add up, although not in any way I find comforting,” Zayl remarked when Kentril had finished. “I think I understand. My friends, I think that Juris Khan did not nearly send his people to the sanctuary of Heaven . . . but instead all but condemned them to Hell.”

  The news did not surprise Captain Dumon nearly as much as it once might have. Such an answer would explain much of what they had confronted and certainly explained how he had felt simply staring into the eyes of Khan’s interpretation of the mysterious archangel.

  Zayl peered around carefully, almost as if he expected other ears to be listening on the godforsaken ridge. “This is my thought. In the days when Ureh stood above all others as a symbol of purity, that which spellcasters and priests knowledgeable called the Sin War took place. Little is known about its true form, but the powers of darkness were most active then, and such a place as the holy kingdom suffered many insidious attacks. Some of the legends you know hint of this, but hardly explain the full depth of the danger present to the mortal world back then.”

  “Demons attacked Ureh?” Gorst asked, his brow furrowing deeply at such a monstrous notion.

  “Not as an army, but rather as forces seeking to corrupt those within. Generations of rulers worked endlessly to keep the corruption out, to protect the innocents from the Prime Evils . . .” The necromancer suddenly knelt and began drawing symbols on the ridge with his dagger. “Forgive me. I must work while I explain, or else we are all lost . . .”

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Providing us with some protection from the eyes of our host, I hope, captain.”

  He drew a vast circle, then in the center put in place a series of runes. Although the necromancer appeared quite untouched by the harsh wind, both mercenaries had to continue to press against the mountainside to garner even some minute bit of security.

  “Your tale fills many of the gaps in my own,” Zayl went on. “I fear that while Juris Khan so carefully guarded his flock, he did not himself remain wary enough of the wolf. I believe that, as you indicated, something taking the semblance of a warrior of Heaven seduced the good ruler into believing that what he did would be best for Ureh. I believe, as you do, that this may very well have been Diablo himself!”

  “But surely it can’t be!” Kentril protested, not wanting to believe that he had seen the truth. “That would be just too outrageous!”

  “Hardly. Ureh was the greatest prize of all. It would demand the effort of the greatest of demons. Yes, captain, I think that Diablo came in the form you saw, corrupted Lord Khan without him realizing that fact, and twisted everything good the man desired into worse and worse evil. Instead of Heaven, he would have sent them to Hell, and only the timely action of Gregus Mazi prevented that. However, even limbo could not save them forever . . .”

  Diablo, so the spellcaster suspected, had managed at last to touch once more the mind of his pawn. Slowly, he had made Juris Khan give both his people and his daughter to the demon lord. Ureh had become a corrupt nightmare, where the few who had perhaps resisted had become sacrifices or worse.

  But the Lord of Terror had not been satisfied yet. Perhaps it had initially occurred to him when Ureh had first momentarily returned to the mortal world. Perhaps then Diablo had seen the opportunity for a true gateway through which his evil hordes could spread out into the world, unchecked by any barrier whatsoever.

  “But Diablo required blood, untainted blood, to do this. Unfortunately, in his madness, Juris Khan had slain all other available spellcasters. He needed someone to aid him, someone of knowledge and skill. By either chance or fate, your party provided him with both.”

  “But you rescued me. We’ve stopped him.”

  Zayl arose, his solemn gaze meeting the captain’s own. “Have we? The spell seemed quite advanced when I finally reached you.”

  “But he never drew any blood from me.”

  The necromancer nodded, but clearly took no comfort from that fact. “He still has Master Tsin.”

  Kentril gaped. Tsin had become Lord Khan’s puppet, but, like the mercenaries, he had not been touched by either the original spell upon Ureh or its subsequent corruption. “But is that possible? Won’t they need him for the rest of the work?”

  “The Vizjerei has aided them in binding the forces that they need. It would be risky still, but I would not put it past our host and his true master if they grow desperate. Tsin’s blood will do, if necessary.”

  Then, even though he had been rescued, Kentril and his companions had still failed. They had left behind them a demon-corrupted kingdom that would soon no longer be trapped under the shroud created by the mountain’s shadow.

  And when that happened, the horrors that had been visited upon Kentril would be delivered unto the rest of the world.

  “No . . .”

  “No, indeed,” agreed the pale figure. “But I believe there is still a chance to prevent this horrific thing from coming to pass, a chance to send Ureh to its long-overdue and proper rest.”

  “But how? If Tsin’s blood is already spilled, doesn’t that mean that the city’s already a part of our world again?”

  “In order to work, the spell must be tied into the two Key
s. It is my suspicion that they must still be in place when the sun touches the one atop this peak. Only then will the spell of blood tie itself to darkness and light and grant those within Ureh the ability to step freely beyond the shadow.”

  Gorst put the matter into simpler terms. “If the stones’re in place, the demons can go free. If they’re not, then Ureh turns back into ruins.”

  “Correct . . . but if the latter occurs, this time it will be permanent.”

  That made their path quite clear to Kentril. “Then use your sorcery to transport us to one of the Keys. We smash it, and all’s done.”

  “Alas, captain, that would be unwise. I tried to use the power of the runes to send us to your original encampment, just beyond the shadow, but”—he spread his hands—“you can see where we ended up.”

  “So what do we do, then?”

  Zayl toyed with the knife. “I have not entirely given up on using the vestiges of the power I usurped from the runes to transport us at least part of the way. I believe I can send you and Gorst near enough to the Key to Light to give you a chance. In the meantime, I will descend toward the Key to Shadow. One of us may succeed. That is all we need to do to stop this horror from expanding beyond Ureh.”

  That plan had been tried before, though, and for Gregus Mazi and the priest Tobio, it had failed miserably. Kentril pointed that out.

  The necromancer, however, had an answer ready. With a grim smile, he explained, “I shall make myself much more noticeable. I suspect that Juris Khan will believe me the greater threat because of my skills. Besides that, he will have every reason to believe we all travel together.”

  “Illusion?” It hardly seemed likely to Kentril that Khan would fall for so simple a spell.

  “Hardly. Captain . . . may I have a bit of your blood?”

  After nearly having had it spilled already, the mercenary was surprised by the question. Still, he felt he could trust Zayl, especially under the circumstances. The man had saved his life.