A Tide of Shadows

by Tom Bielawski

  Shalthazar noted that room had become more populated since he entered. Everyone who had been seated was now up and about, socializing and mingling, and many more had filed into the audience chamber. The court chamber, known as the Chamber of the Sun, now more resembled a ballroom as refreshments were served and food was wheeled in on carts of sterling silver.

  “Enough,” commanded the Sul nearly an hour later; the room fell silent immediately. “Chamberlain, show the Prophet-General to his quarters. I am certain he will want to get settled in before tonight’s banquet.”

  Shalthazar was in fact ready to find his chambers and mumbled a grateful reply to the Sul as he was led through the palace. He would be spending little time here in advance of the invasion, and he was eager to begin establishing his information web. If there was one thing the dark elf enjoyed other than the quest for power it was exploitation of the vices of others; it was just so darned profitable!

  ***

  Shalthazar entered the massive banquet hall and admired the high vaulted ceiling, soaring arches, and stained glass windows. A long table had been set in the middle with fine wares and wonderful food. Although this was the palace banquet hall, it was customarily decorated with personal items belonging to each of the former Suls. It was apparent to Shalthazar that this leader was fond of hunting as he surveyed the heads of a myriad of beasts mounted on the walls; some of which he recognized and others not. There were furs on the floor of the dining area, and on the walls, and a roaring fire in the hearth. He sighed when he saw that blazing hearth at the far end of the hall, he simply couldn’t understand the affinity for heat held by these Nashians, and was pleased that his Acclimation Sigilspell allowed him to tolerate it.

  “You have met the Supreme Commander of my forces, now I would like to introduce you to the rest of my advisers,” said the Sul, guiding his Prophet-General to the long, lavishly set banquet table. “This is Admiral Maynar, Commander of the Fleet. He has been serving Nah honorably for me, and my father before me!” the Sul pointed to an elderly Keneerie resplendent in a scarlet and gold uniform with high collar, and decorated with medals. The admiral was another hard-looking man with deeply tanned skin from many long days at sea under the harsh Nashian sun. He had thin flowing mustaches and wore gold rimmed spectacles. His eyes were sharp and he peered intently at the elf, weighing his measure.

  “Well met, Admiral. May the glory of Ilian Nah be yours!” Shalthazar said, nodding to the Admiral. He was pleased at how well he had adapted to the culture of this realm and at the acceptance he saw in the faces of the gathered advisors. He smiled heartily, thrilled with this masterful ruse and deception.

  “Well met, Prophet-General.”

  “And here is General Nox, Commander of the Armies. General Nox has been serving me for twenty years and he is a veteran of many campaigns.”

  The general was a human dressed in a highly decorated uniform similar to that of Admiral Maynar, though the base coloring of his uniform had more green and black than it did blue. The general was not typical of the Nashians he had met thus far, although he understood that the Suldom of Nah covered vast tracts of land and many differing cultures. Nox was a rather swarthy looking fellow; slim of build with closely cropped hair without beard or mustache. He had eyes lined with hardship, the whites radiated in stark contrast to his nearly black skin.

  “Well met, General Nox. May the wisdom of Ilian Nah lead us to victory over our enemies.”

  “Thank you Prophet,” the general saluted Shalthazar as was proper, however the elf noted a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Ordinarily, Shalthazar would not have taken note of such a trifle; it isn’t unusual for a high-ranking commander to feel jealous of a new rival or apprehensive at the possibilities of change brought on by a new commander.

  A careful eye for that one, he thought.

  “And last, but certainly not least, is my truest adviser, Archbishop Terian Manchaster. The Archbishop is, as you must certainly know-”

  “The Overseer of the Church of Nah,” Shalthazar interrupted.

  Shalthazar did not bow to this man, either. The Overseer was dressed in ceremonial white and gold robes with a conical hat, which, Shalthazar believed, looked ridiculous. The Overseer also held a curiously long staff with the likeness of a ram’s head perched atop the symbol of Ilian Nah. As Prophet-General, Shalthazar and the Archbishop held equal station to that of the Sul, and with as much power and influence in the Church. He eyed the man, curious what powers the Dark Lord had granted this man. Shalthazar noted that the Overseer was feigning indifference to the whole matter, as though this Prophet-General was not nearly as important as himself; he had been warned by the Dark Lord that there would be some who would not welcome him with open arms. Umber’s warnings came not from a sense of protectiveness of the wizard, far from it, rather from a sense of protectiveness of the god’s plans; one did not undertake any paths likely to thwart Umber’s will.

  “Please, Prophet-General, sit beside me. We have much to discuss,” the Sul did not appear to notice the darkness surrounding his holy adviser.

  The dark elf reveled in deception and this was deception on a grand scale; an entire kingdom fooled into believing that he was the savior sent them by their just god, Ilian Nah. It was a game to the dark elf; a game he thoroughly enjoyed though he was keenly aware that he now had some deadly opponents. Yet he would play this game with enthusiasm and he would play to win.

  For several long hours, Shalthazar mingled with the men and women of the Sul’s court. He partook of a generous feast of local game, participated in strategic discussions with military officers and theological discussions with pragmatic clergymen. He delivered enough truth with his recipe of deception and lies that none questioned his veracity but lacked enough substance to bring unnecessary questions. Indeed, so few in the past centuries had ever met one of the elusive monks of the order from which Shalthazar purported to be that most - including the ruling class - knew little to nothing about them. Men and women, elves and humans, all of whom were nobility or warrior elites of varying titles introduced themselves to him in hopes of catching a view of their destiny. A small part of the dark elf - a very small part - felt pity for these ridiculous people, for the day would come when their Lord of Justice revealed his Truth to them. How would they handle it? He suspected that the pragmatic nature of the Nashians would likely discount such evidence as resentful rejection and continue on in their old ways; he secretly scorned their simplicity.

  “So, Prophet. It is true. At last you have come to lead us to victory!” the elderly Sul smiled broadly. The lands of Nah had once been spilling over with wealth and trade. Of late it had descended into economic recession, and there had been uprisings in some parts of the Suldom. The neighboring states, which once feared and paid tribute to the powerful Sul, had begun encroaching on the traditional lands of Nah, sparking conflict. This was the spur the Sul needed to fire up sentiment against the encroachers and to display the power of his Suldom.

  “The Archbishop has been granted a vision by our Lord. He has been shown that you will sail with Admiral Maynar and General Nox to lands far to the West, a place called Iceplain. The godless barbarian people living there are fierce and proud warriors. They are brutal, ruthless in their ways, and deadly fighters.

  “Nonetheless, you will defeat the forces of their Chief-King and the other, weaker, kings will swear fealty to you. Some may need to be beaten back from time to time, but they will obey you and the will of Ilian Nah. They might even call you king!” the Sul said heartily.

  “Remember, though, the power of the Suldom of Ilian Nah will be what secures these new lands for you, and your troops will remain loyal to me unto their own deaths.”

  The Sul did not speak in a threatening manner, rather he was merely stating fact. Shalthazar marveled at the man’s willingness to loan him the troops of his mighty army.

  “The Archbishop has foreseen this?” he asked, uncertain. The elf lusted after power and wealth and the sound of Ki
ng Shalthazar was truly endearing to him, but he felt somehow uncertain that the Archbishop could be trusted.

  “Indeed,” replied the monarch, with much reverence.

  “Then, the Archbishop would understand that titles matter naught to me. I seek only the glory of Nah and the conversion of souls to his holy house.” The elf, wisely, took a position of neutrality on the subject. “What is to be my task following the subjugation of this realm of godless heathens?” he asked.

  “You must send me prisoners from the lands you conquer and a steady stream of new recruits who will train with our veteran troops here. We must replace the forces that you will be taking from us. In addition, we must have resources! Trade routes must be established and money must flow to our coffers.”

  The elf nodded wisely.

  “Following that, more resources will be available to you. And perhaps, colonists will venture forth to reclaim what once belonged to our people millennia ago.”

  “I have already prepared my armies and recalled non-essential units from far away fronts. We have scouted the mainland of the realm called Iceplain. Admiral Maynar will provide you with the details.”

  Shalthazar nodded his head approvingly. He was impressed at the god’s foresight and preparation. These people - although scorned by their patron deity - were in fact efficient and powerful warriors. Their dominance over their continent was considerable, excepted by a few strong allies and a smattering of holdouts in the mountainous regions called Asaya. The Nashians were fair and just when dispensing justice and maintaining order. Order was revered above all things and severely enforced by the Nashians who, ironically, unwittingly worshiped the Lord of Deception.

  “The initial invasion force is ready. You may sail when you see fit, however the Archbishop informs me that Ilian Nah is eager for his vengeance,” the Sul continued, his own voice exuberant. “The rest of your forces will arrive here in a week and will be prepared to sail a week later.”

  “Very well, Arman Sul. I am pleased with your foresight and preparation in advance of my coming. I, too, am eager to begin the conquest of the rest of Llars!” the elf responded passionately.

  He was a master of deception and his natural charisma aided his believability. The elf stood and the gathered advisers and generals stood with him. “The glory of Ilian Nah awaits! Hail Ilian Nah!” he shouted.

  “Hail Ilian Nah!” came the enthusiastic reply.

  C H A P T E R

  7

  A Prince of Hybrand

  A Bargain for Freedom.

  “How long must I keep up this ruse, Gavinos?” asked the lord wearily as Gavinos appeared seemingly from nowhere; Cannath had grown accustomed to the elf’s mysterious appearances. Gavinos was a dapper looking man, richly clad, with high leather boots and a wide brimmed leather hat. He also carried a beautiful rapier with a richly worked basket that Cannath assumed was the style preferred by elves.

  “As long as it takes, my lord prince. You must give neither the Arnathians reason to suspect your treachery, nor your countrymen reason to suspect your patriotism. My contacts in the north have assured me that a bargain has been reached.”

  The elf was allegedly of the blood of the noble Crimson Elves, though you could not tell by his pale skin, and he was an old and trusted friend of Lord Cannath’s. Cannath had tasked Gavinos with seeking alliances from the Sargan Duchy, Brythyn, or even Alfheym - the land of the Crimson Elves. Thus far, he had returned unsuccessful. The elf did, however, find a benefactor in the person of one powerful Prophet-General; Shalthazar.

  “You understand my hesitation towards optimism, old friend. The last time one my kin bargained in secret with outside forces, it did not go well for us...”

  “Yes, my lord prince, I am aware of your family’s dark past. But this time will be different! You are about to avenge the death of your great uncle and restore the honor of your family,” Gavinos said passionately. The elf had taken to calling Cannath “Prince,” of late. “You will be Thayne Cannath Du Val Hyr, King of Hybrand!”

  Cannath said nothing as his mind processed this information. Candles flickered about the dim room and a small fire had been lit in the hearth. Finally, Cannath spoke.

  “Tell me, Gavinos, about this Lord Shalthazar and why should I want his help?”

  “My lord, it is as I have said. Thayne Connor of Brythyn has refused to send you help. I have been told that he refuses to recognize you as rightful heir, suggesting instead that his own nephew should be Thayne of Hybrand. It is absurd that a man whose only claim to your throne lies with a woman who is both insane and said to be cursed.”

  Gavinos paused, allowing that to sink in. He smiled inwardly as Lord Cannath growled. Connor’s nephew, Willym, was married to a woman named Syndra who claimed to be of the line of Cannath’s murdered great uncle, so a cousin of sorts. It was a convoluted connection as Gavinos well knew, but such was not the elf’s concern.

  “There are rumors in the Sargan Duchy that the Arch Duke and his Earls are extraordinarily dissatisfied with the actions of the Prince of Amberlou, and they may be planning to annex that principality. The Duchy claims Amberlou has been plotting with Arnathia to interfere with Sargannish shipping lanes. ’Tis pure fancy, of course. However, between Amberlou and Arnathia, we should expect no help from Arch Duke Yerkses.”

  “About Shalthazar?” he asked again, his ire beginning to show to his long-winded friend.

  “Ah, yes,” Gavinos continued. “He is said to be the eleventh Prophet-General of the god called Ilian Nah and he comes from a land far across the ocean. Ilian Nah is a just god, compassionate and beneficent, and bestows favors upon those who follow him. In addition to being a devout follower of Ilian Nah, the Prophet-General is a powerful wizard and would make a formidable ally. Shalthazar will convert the fools who still cling to the old god, Zuhr.”

  “Zuhr is not the fool god with whom I quarrel, Gavinos.”

  “Yes, my lord prince. You may be sure the followers of Qra’z will suffer greatly unless, or until, they choose to convert to the glory that is Ilian Nah.”

  “What will I owe this Prophet-General for his assistance, and what does he gain by providing it?”

  Cannath was no fool, as Gavinos well knew. But Cannath was becoming desperate and, as Gavinos also well knew, desperation was but a step from foolishness.

  “My lord, the Prophet is on the eve of beginning a great campaign, which will undoubtedly result in the subjugation of the Northern Continent. Eventually, Arnathia will become a problem for the Prophet-General, and he will undoubtedly call upon our assistance to fight Arnathia when that time comes.”

  Cannath was getting hungry and the elf had just baited the hook. Cannath smiled at the thought of fighting Arnathia, and relished the thought of personally ousting General Craxis from the Royal Palace, his own rightful home.

  “And, of course, he desires your conversion to the Great Lord, Ilian Nah.”

  “Naturally,” Cannath remarked wryly. He had lost faith in gods long ago and cared little which one these newcomers claimed to follow, so long as it wasn’t Qra’z. “And what of the troublesome Spiders, Gavinos?”

  “They, too, have allied themselves with Shalthazar, my lord prince. They will not interfere; they may even prove to be an asset to your cause.”

  Cannath was not so sure.

  “Take heart, my friend. By spring, we shall see the end of the Arnathian occupation and you will be seated on your great-uncle’s throne!”

  Cannath allowed himself a small amount of pleasure at that thought. He was eager to begin and spring seemed such a long way away.

  “My lord prince, do you expect your carpenters to report for duty in the square?” Gavinos asked unexpectedly.

  “No, Gavinos. I do not. In fact I would be sorely disappointed if they did,” Cannath replied calmly.

  He was amazed at how this very intelligent elf could, at times, be such a dullard. Why on Llars would they accept such a job when Arnathians had just razed their village?
Cannath had expected some sort of rebellious act on the part of his countrymen in response to the “commissioning” of Hybrandese men to do the bidding of the church. He even expected the church and the Imperials to retaliate, but he did not expect the swift and severe retribution which was laid out by General Craxis.

  By the Seven Hells I will make Craxis pay!

  “What do you believe they will do, my prince?”

  “Gavinos, truly, I wonder what makes you elves tick,” he said with a small amount of ire. “They will probably flee to Dockyard City and secure passage north, across the sea to Brythyn. It’s what I would do were I in their shoes.” Had Cannath not been preoccupied with thoughts of liberation he would have realized that the elf’s questions had not been asked from idle curiosity.

  “Send word to this Prophet-General Shalthazar thanking him for his most gracious offer of assistance. Let him know we accept and await a conference with his advisors.”

  “It shall be as you command, old friend. You are making the right decision. I will dispatch a runner right away.”

  The Elvish merchant left Cannath’s office and closed the door. Cannath, lost in his own thoughts did not seem to notice. He wondered why, exactly, this holy man of Ilian Nah would ally himself with a would-be monarch and a group rebels like the Spiders. And what was he going to do about the Spiders after he secured the freedom of his country?

  C H A P T E R

  8

  Conquest.

  The Vaard.

  Shalthazar stood on the prow of the massive sailing ship that commanded his invasion fleet, the Silver Dragon. He looked to his left, the port side, pleased to see the rest of his fleet spread out across the horizon. Then he looked to starboard and saw the sun shining brightly on the cool northern waters. Schools of flying fish, disturbed by the ship’s movement, skimmed across the surface of the water alongside the Silver Dragon, seemingly pleased with their own ability to soar long distances in the air before diving back into the water.