The Kingdom of Shadow

by Richard A. Knaak

  Unfortunately, that gift had also shown them that Zayl had not been able to send them as near to the Key as they all might have wished. The two fighters had been left with quite a climb.

  “We’re probably gonna need some rope along the way,” Gorst muttered.

  Another thing Kentril had not gotten to mention prior to the necromancer’s spell, and this time one that Zayl had also failed to anticipate. Kentril eyed the path above, trying to find a better route, but the ridge upon which they had been set offered only one direction.

  “We’ll just have to try, anyway,” he finally replied.

  Gorst nodded and said no more. If his captain intended to try to make the ascent without equipment, then so would he.

  With the utmost caution, they began to wend their way up. Kentril had no way to estimate the hour, but if they suffered few mishaps, he suspected that they could reach the top with some time to spare. Of course, that also depended on whether or not Zayl could keep Juris Khan occupied long enough.

  He tried not to think of the necromancer’s potential sacrifice. The odds seemed very low that Zayl would survive. Kentril had witnessed the power of their treacherous host too often to believe that. Zayl would do what he could to keep Khan at bay, but sooner or later Ureh’s mad monarch would kill the Rathmian.

  Kentril could only hope it would be later . . . otherwise, they had all lost.

  Up and up they climbed, and still no attack came. The captain had little time to think of much else, but as they drew nearer to the top of the peak, his thoughts went back to Atanna. Despite what she had proven to be, Kentril found some of his earlier memories too precious simply to discard. Perhaps if things had been different, if he had not learned the truth beforehand, he might even have willingly accepted her father’s offer of immortality—but then he would have had to live with the results.

  Pausing, he took a deep breath and tried to clear his head. It made no sense to keep thinking of Atanna. He had seen the last of her, the last of—

  A robed figure stood atop a tiny ledge farther up. Even as distant as the figure was, Kentril could tell that he did not stare at Lord Khan.

  “Atanna!” he shouted.

  The wind blew dust in his face. Turning away, the mercenary brushed his eyes clear.

  When he looked back, the figure had disappeared.

  “What was it?” Gorst called from behind. “You see something?”

  “I thought I saw—” But Kentril stopped. If it had been Atanna, surely she would have either come closer or destroyed him from the ledge. She would not have simply gone away. That made no sense whatsoever.

  “Nothing,” he finally answered. “Just my imagination.”

  They pushed on. Despite constant fears that they would eventually reach some spot that could not be overcome without equipment, the mercenaries’ route continued to offer some avenue. Had Zayl somehow managed to send the pair to the easiest area upon which to climb? If so, then he had managed more with what power he had drained from the runes than he had given the fighters to expect.

  “We’re almost there,” Kentril dared finally mutter to his friend. “Almost . . .”

  Gorst grunted. Almost still meant quite a climb to go.

  Reaching up, Captain Dumon seized hold of a promising outcropping, only to have the part he had taken crumble in his hand. Momentarily out of balance, he leaned toward the rock face. At the same time, his gaze went from upward to deep down.

  Far below, something that resembled a swarm of ants moved with incredible swiftness up the side of the mountain.

  The captain gaped. “Gorst! Can you see that?”

  The giant stretched. “I see it. What is it, Kentril?”

  “I don’t—” So quickly did the shapes move that even in the short time in which the pair had talked of them, they now could be seen with a bit more clarity. They were large, each easily the size of a man and, in general, built like men. They had a grayish tone to them, although he saw bits and pieces of other colors on their backs, their arms, their legs.

  Kentril swallowed. “It’s Ureh’s people. They’re coming after us.”

  He pictured the hundreds of gaping mouths, the withered, cadaverous shells of what had once been human. He imagined those talonlike nails and the hungry faces. The captain could well imagine what had happened to Albord and all the others and understood that now the same fate rushed toward them.

  “We have to get to the top, and quick!” But they could only move as fast as their surroundings permitted, and although the pair struggled mightily, it seemed that the voracious horde moved at more than ten times the pace.

  The top beckoned yet was still too far up. Exhausted, Kentril and Gorst finally had to pause on a small ridge barely wide enough to accommodate both of them.

  Gazing down at their pursuers, Kentril swore. “They climb as if born to the mountain. At this rate, they’ll catch us just below our goal.”

  Gorst nodded. “We can’t make it . . . but you can.”

  Kentril eyed the other. “What does that mean?”

  With absolute calm, the giant began freeing his ax, which had hung on his back. “This is the best spot around. I’ll hold ’em off here. You go on.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Gorst! If anyone goes up there, it’ll be you. I’ll hold them off.”

  The other mercenary shook his head. He stretched one long arm out, the ax extended well beyond it. The weapon would have taken his friend both hands to wield. “You see? I got twice the reach you do, Kentril. We need that. I’m the best choice to stay, and you know it—besides, I owe you for the last time we climbed up here.”

  “Gorst . . .” Captain Dumon knew better than to continue to argue. Of all the men he had ever met, Gorst had to be the most stubborn. They could have argued until Ureh’s abominations overwhelmed them, and still the wild-maned warrior would have stood his ground.

  Taking one last glance down, Kentril nodded. “All right—but if you find a chance to save yourself, do it. Don’t worry about me.”

  “I’ll do what I can. You better get going.”

  Kentril put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “May your arm be steady.”

  “May your weapon be sharp,” Gorst returned, finishing the old mercenary litany.

  Steeling himself, the captain started up the final leg of the mountain. He pulled himself toward the top, trying not to think of what the giant would face and hoping somehow that they would both get out of the chaos alive. If he could make it to the top before the creatures reached Gorst, perhaps Kentril could yet save him. All he had to do was destroy the Key . . .

  The encouraging thought pushed him to renewed effort. Closer and closer he came to the plateau. Rising above it, Kentril could make out the crystal’s resting place. Such an irony that he now had to undo what he and his men had struggled so hard to accomplish earlier.

  A hissing sound arose below him.

  Cursing, Kentril pushed harder. The edge lay just a few yards up. Only a little longer.

  Gorst let out a battle cry.

  Despite knowing better, the captain had to look.

  The giant stood at the edge of his small perch, swinging away with his ax at the first of the demonic creatures to reach him. With little room to maneuver, the abomination could not avoid the attack. The ax bit hard into its head, cutting deep.

  The creature let out a horrific sound, then toppled backward off the ledge.

  Wasting not a moment, the giant shifted his grip and used the very top of the ax to shove a second adversary off.

  Despite those two rapid successes, though, a hundred more moved up, each trying to beat the rest to the lone defender.

  Nearly frantic now, Kentril struggled to reach the plateau. However, each yard seemed a mile, and he felt as if he were climbing through molasses.

  A very human roar of pain from below shook him to the core and made the fighter look down again.

  The ghoulish creatures harried Gorst from every direction. Two had managed to get u
p on the ledge, and another sought a handhold near the giant’s feet. A dozen others maneuvered for position around the lone mercenary.

  Gorst landed a strong blow against one ghoul still wearing the battered remains of a breast plate and chain mail. The blade severed the upper part of the fiend’s torso, but that upper portion still managed to wrap bony fingers around the upper part of the weapon’s shaft.

  Although he shook the ax as hard as he could, Gorst could not dislodge the determined ghoul. The effort also hampered his struggles against the others. The second demon leapt onto his back and tried to sink its horrific mouth into Gorst’s neck.

  Spinning around, the giant threw his ax down upon the one seeking a handhold. Both that creature and the one still clinging to the weapon plunged earthward, taking the ax with them.

  Now unarmed, Gorst reached back and seized the monster latched onto his back. Unfortunately, it would not be as easily removed as the others, and while Gorst battled with it, four more made their way up to him.

  Kentril continued his ascent, but with each step, his gaze flashed back to his friend. When next he glanced, it was to see the giant now hampered by three of the horrors, with more only seconds away. Gorst’s shoulders were stained with blood, and despite his strength, he clearly had trouble standing.

  The captain nearly turned back, thinking for a second that if he joined the other fighter, they could hold off the entire horde. However, common sense quickly pointed out the futility of his thought. Gorst had remained behind to give Kentril time to do what had to be done. To turn back now would be to waste the other mercenary’s sacrifice.

  Sacrifice . . . Only now did the essence of that word truly sink in.

  At that moment, Gorst let out a battle cry so loud it echoed well beyond Nymyr. As if his strength had suddenly been renewed by some magical means, the massive fighter straightened, raising one of his fiendish foes into the air. By this time, at least half a dozen more of Juris Khan’s monstrous children had fastened themselves onto him, each ripping at his flesh, tearing away at his life.

  Still roaring, Gorst suddenly charged forward.

  “No!” shouted Kentril, his plea repeated over and over again by the mountains.

  The giant leapt off the ledge.

  Unable to let go in time, his many attackers fell with him. Gorst’s leap, far less athletic than Captain Dumon knew the mercenary capable of, barely enabled the wild-maned fighter to clear his perch. However, Gorst had obviously had that very thing in mind, for as he dropped, he crashed into one climbing abomination after another, creating, in the process, an avalanche of monstrous forms raining down upon the shadowed kingdom.

  “Gorst . . .” Kentril could not tear his eyes away from the dwindling figure. Gorst had been with the captain longer than anyone. The giant had seemed invincible, unstoppable . . .

  Tears struggled to be free, but Kentril could not let them come. Taking a deep breath, he looked away and began pulling himself up again, Gorst’s last victorious charge burned into his imagination. The sun could not be long in rising. Kentril had to make certain that he had not just let his friend, all his men, die in vain.

  Nearer and nearer he drew to the top . . . and below him, the horde closed the gap more quickly.

  Zayl screamed, and not for the first time. He screamed loud and long, but he did not give in. His clothes were in tatters, and every inch of his body seemed to be either covered in blood or pounding in agony, but he did not surrender.

  Yet neither had he come an inch closer to the Key to Shadow.

  Seemingly untouched by every one of the powerful spells Zayl had tossed at him, Juris Khan approached the battered, half-dead figure. “Your determination, if not your cause, is quite admirable, necromancer. A shame that your corrupted soul shall be lost to Diablo forever.”

  “. . . As yours is? . . .”

  “Even until the end you persist in trying to twist matters, eh?” Lord Khan shook his head in a most paternal manner, something that all of Zayl’s good training could not keep from greatly irritating the necromancer.

  “Your blessed archangel is Diablo himself, can you not see that?”

  But Ureh’s monarch could not, so thoroughly had the demon done his work. Zayl even understood how it had happened, for Juris Khan clearly had been greatly full of pride in himself. He had been lord of the holiest of kingdoms, the symbol of piety and goodness, and because of that, he had not been able to comprehend that the most evil and cunning of demons had played him for a fool.

  A powerful fool, however. He had taken everything that Zayl could thrust at him, taken it and shrugged it off. Little more remained to the necromancer save his dagger, which might have done him some good if he could have distracted his foe somehow. At least then, Zayl could have tried to circumvent Khan’s defenses and perhaps wound the other.

  What could he do, though? Every attempt had been more than met. There existed only words . . . and Zayl had few left of those, as well.

  Still he tried, hoping against hope that Juris Khan would be wrong, that somehow Kentril Dumon and Gorst had made it to the other stone. Yet, if they had, would this battle still be going on?

  “And where is your archangel, anyway, my lord? Perhaps if he were here, then we could prove once and for all whether I lie. Surely that is not too much to ask for, is it? Then again, maybe it is . . .”

  “I need not ask of Mirakodus that he prove himself to me, unbeliever, for I have seen his gifts at work, and I have faith in his word. If he would choose to speak with us now, it would be by his choice alone, not yours or mine!” Juris Khan loomed over the necromancer. “Make peace with Heaven, thief of the dead, for in but a few moments, your tongue shall still forever, and so, then, shall end your lies!”

  Zayl had no reason to doubt him. As the robed monarch approached, Zayl prayed that Trag’Oul would help guide his soul to the next plane of battle, not let Khan’s true master seize it and drag it down to Hell.

  And, as if hearing his prayer, a voice suddenly boomed, “Juris Khan! Juris Khan! I would speak to you!”

  Both men froze. Khan’s mouth opened and closed. He glanced at Zayl again, then looked up to the ceiling.

  The voice boomed, “Juris Khan! Noble servant! ’Tis I, your benefactor, your archangel . . .”

  The weathered face contorted into an expression of reverence and wonder. Lord Khan raised his hands above his head in a beseeching manner and called out, “Mirakodus! Great Mirakodus! You bless your humble attendant with your presence!”

  Much quieter, the voice calling itself that of the archangel suddenly muttered to the necromancer, “If you’ve got anything left to give, lad, do it now!”

  Needing no more urging, Zayl dove toward his foe, focusing his will entirely on the dagger he now thrust at the robed figure’s chest.

  The beatific look upon Juris Khan’s countenance vanished in an instant, replaced by one of the darkest anger. He started to reach for Zayl, the monarch’s hands blazing with fiery energy.

  The dagger struck first.

  A blinding flash of light enveloped the chamber as the necromancer’s enchanted blade broke through Khan’s defenses. With some initial hesitation, the tip sank into the brilliant robe, then continued unimpeded.

  Gasping, Juris Khan struck Zayl a blow across the face. Fueled by both power and pain, he sent the necromancer again flying into the rocky wall.

  Zayl felt something crack as he hit. Unable to stop his momentum, he bounced twice on the floor, then rolled to a halt at the very feet of his foe.

  “You—you—” Khan seemed unable to find any words to fit his fury.

  Through watery eyes, the necromancer saw the blood dripping from the other’s wound. He had missed the heart, but certainly had come close enough to it to injure his opponent gravely.

  “Where—where is your archangel now?” Zayl managed to spout. “He seems—to have—have abandoned you, my lord!”

  “Impudent fool!” The insane ruler leaned against the shield he ha
d created for the Key to Shadow. “I need but a few moments—and then I will heal myself!” Khan bared his perfect teeth. “A few moments you yourself do not have!”

  A horribly familiar noise arose from the mouth of the chamber. Zayl heard the movement of many eager feet.

  He forced himself to turn his gaze toward the entrance.

  One of the ghoulish denizens of the holy kingdom thrust its macabre head inside. Two more quickly followed suit.

  His strength on the wane, Zayl’s bone barrier had finally given way, releasing the hungry fiends.

  Juris Khan, his breath still ragged, pointed at the sprawled necromancer. “There he is, my children! There is the one you seek!”

  Their rounded mouths opened in anticipation. The deathly gaps where their eyes had once been fixed upon Zayl. The horrific creatures reached for him, and Zayl knew that he did not have anything left with which to fight them.

  With his little remaining physical strength, he weakly held the dagger before him, hoping that he would at least stop one before the rest ripped him to bloody shreds. Despite all his teachings, despite all his training, at that moment, the necromancer dearly wanted to live.

  “Now there remains but one,” Khan pronounced, his voice already much stronger than earlier. His wound clearly bled less, and his visage, while monstrous in its own right, did not show much agony from the near-fatal blow.

  Zayl had guessed wrong. The power behind Juris Khan, the false archangel, protected well his valuable puppet. Diablo, if Captain Dumon had guessed correctly, desired Ureh to spread its gift to the world . . . and open the path for Hell’s legions.

  “Now there remains but one,” the almost demonic figure repeated. He straightened in obvious preparation for his departure from the cavern chamber. “And who knows?” Khan continued, smiling piously. “Perhaps not even one, eh?”

  And as the horde suddenly rushed to tear Zayl apart, Juris Khan vanished—to ensure, the doomed spellcaster knew, that his last question would become truth.

  Had the sun yet risen? Under the shroudlike cover of the enchanted shadow, Kentril could not be certain, but he hoped and prayed that it had not done so. With Gorst and surely Zayl now also dead, it would be the greatest shame to have come so far and yet fallen short.