A Tide of Shadows

by Tom Bielawski

  Out of the corner of his eye Zach spotted the faint outline of a glowing figure. Quickly he rounded on it and unleashed the fury of his attack. The harder he pressed his attacked the more visible his foe became. Soon he could see that he was facing what appeared to be an ancient warrior, garbed in a breastplate and a kilt of steel panels with a great helm topped by the horns of a massive bull. Zach parried a blow from the sword hand of his foe and followed through with his other sword, landing a blow to its throat.

  The ghost vanished with a terrifying shriek that must have come from the Netherworld itself. Zach stepped back, swords out, breathing hard and expecting a new attack.

  “You fight well with your new powers,” a voice filled the room, echoing eerily, and sounding quite pleased with itself.

  “Where are you? Come out and face me!” he demanded, breathlessly, looking around.

  “You are a skilled warrior, Zachyrya Von Reese. I mean you no harm,” the voice chuckled in a ghostly whisper. “I am your patron, Zachyrya my son.”

  Zach looked intently about the chamber trying to find the source of that voice. It seemed to come from a chamber at the far end of the room. Warily he made his way into the chamber, noticing the floor was coated in a thick layer of dust; untouched by living beings for a very long time. Was there nothing alive, of flesh and blood, for him to face here?

  Zach wasn’t afraid of the dead, rather he felt a deep anger toward them and those who employed the dead. Yet, he reasoned, it might be profitable to suppress such feelings for the moment. At the far end of the room he could see what appeared to be an altar draped with a crimson colored cloth, decorated with the badge of a white dagger surrounded by blue flame. On top of this altar was a dagger with a blade of shining blue steel, and a sliver chalice. The blade gleamed in the dim light, holding his gaze.

  Zach felt giddy, he knew his strength was failing him. The wounds he had sustained fighting earlier were now taking their toll.

  “Ah, yes. You fancy my dagger. It is a fine weapon isn’t it? A fine weapon for a fine warrior, hmmm?” the voice chuckled, echoing eerily through the tower.

  “Who are you?” Zach asked, wearily. He was getting weaker by the moment from loss of blood and his vision was now blurry; he wanted to face his foe before he became unable to fight. “Are you the god who has been calling me here?”

  “A god?” the voice paused for a moment forcing Zach to wonder what exactly it was. “Oh, the irony. Once, I longed to hear my worshippers call to me, pray to me. Many long centuries endured, did I, to hear those words from my flock,” the voice chuckled.

  “You see, now I can appreciate the irony. The days of being worshipped as a god are long behind me Zachyrya Von Reese. And, in fact, the centuries-long journey that brought me to my god-like powers was the curse of my existence! My followers lived and died, civilizations lived...and died. But I did not. Still here am I. No weaker, no stronger for the thousands who worshipped me. For the thousands who died for me.

  “Prince Royel am I, of the Throne of Dalcasia, and it is my home you have found. My prison, as it were.”

  An apparition appeared before Zach in the image of a decayed human dressed in the opulent garb of a prince. Although flesh seemed to being falling off in places, and white bone was evident in others, the apparition commanded respect and Zach felt compelled to kneel before him.

  “But you seem so much more than a simple prince, your majesty. I apologize, I meant no disrespect,” he said. He was grateful for the opportunity to rest, even momentarily, in case he was forced to fight again.

  “How very astute, you are. Although I have the command of your simple language, I shall endeavor to speak with your peculiar colloquial dialect. Is that better?”

  The change in speech was lost on Zach, he was becoming weaker. He hadn’t really had any trouble understanding the creature anyway.

  “Once, I aspired to be much, much, more. I have opened a rift in the fabric of creation allowing the denizens of the underworld to enter here and exploit the inherent wealth. Treasure, worshippers, wealth; all mean nothing to me anymore. But power, power is everything!”

  “I intend to cross that rift into the underworld where I will take my place among the powerful Lords of the Shadows!” the spectre laughed with pleasure at the thought of his long sought greatness. Then it became wistful and angry. “Alas, I cannot. I have tried! Tried for centuries to break this curse! The curse that I now know I have brought upon myself for daring to become a god.

  “You came here to my home seeking treasure, and treasure I will give you. You have certainly proven your mettle. There is a price, though,” the apparition seemed appeased by Zach’s display of humility. The Cklathman’s strength had given out and he was now on his knees before the creature. He did notice that small pieces of rotten flesh were falling off the bony spectre as it moved around the room before him.

  “You may rise, young man. Long ago, I ruled this city. Even before the Council of Kings crowned my surface cousin King Harfour I, Emperor of the North, I ruled these lands. When Dalcasia was but a gleam in the eyes of the King Ellure, the first Great Overlord of Uta Milla, I ruled Dalcasia.

  “I was greedy. I was jealous of the grand titles that others possessed, and I was determined to become as powerful as kings and emperors. However, I had taken up the study of the arcane arts. I had learned and accomplished many things my pragmatic cousins could never do with their mighty armies.”

  The apparition appeared very real to Zach now, but he could not tell if the image was an illusion or reality. He thought it wise to humbly listen to what the ghost had to say, as he greedily eyed the shining dagger.

  “While my cousin was off fighting wars I was raising the dead from the grave, and commanding the souls of the damned to do my bidding. I became so obsessed with my cousin’s successes that I ignored the rising threat from Uta Milla, the growing power in the Underllars. It proved to be my own undoing. I blamed them for my own faults and, ultimately, I created that dagger. I bound the metal to the soul of the dead assassin, Ak Rypoor, so that the bearer of this dagger would never fail. Yet, fail it did. Not due to any flaw of workmanship, or flaw of my powers. Rather it failed because I failed to notice the time pass. The one whom I was so eager to see dead, died of old age.

  “These many, many, centuries I’ve wondered what would free me from this cursed existence of mine. And I’ve come to understand the answer to that question. This very dagger will free me and you will help me. This dagger is so powerful that only the most sound of mind and body may wield it, else the blade may turn on the wielder. It is a hungry beast, and it loves to kill. It can and will kill anyone the bearer targets, and the souls of the dead feed the strength of the spirit of Ak Rypoor.

  “When Uta Milla annexed my principality and my lands, my followers and heirs begged me to take action, but I was indifferent. There was so much to be done! I abdicated my throne and my followers attempted to resist the Uta Millans, but they failed. I was quite a powerful wizard, even then, and my help may have saved my lands from the brutal early Uta Millans. But I had become so intent upon gaining power and godhood I didn’t care what was happening around me, I knew I could protect myself. Indeed, even the Uta Millans feared me so much they never tried to take my tower, declaring it sovereign territory within their empire. Ha! It was my own prison and the bastards knew it!

  “I pursued my ends with more vigor. I thought that I could attain my goal through my magic and abandoned the pursuit of all else. I demanded my guardsmen to secretly round up undesirables from the city. After taking their lives with this dagger I raised them from the dead to do my bidding. It was not long before some people began to worship me as a god; oh, the feats I could perform. If my cousin could have seen me!

  “I had devoted so much energy in my ambition for power that time had no meaning for me. I saw the sons of my foes, and their sons’ sons, grow old and die as well. I attained the godlike power I wanted, but what a heavy price! I have been damned to
eternal life here in this very building; never to leave again, forced to watch my people become enslaved by the mighty Uta Milla. Then, when Uta Milla mined all the precious silveryl they could find, they left and the oroks came. Vicious, nasty, little oroks.”

  The dead prince stopped talking for a long moment and Zach was not sure why it was even telling him all this, but he was too weak and too scared to ask. The eyes of the long dead prince were alight with fire, burning with hatred and venom.

  “I am not a god, as I had thought so long ago. I have communed with the Mighty One, Umber, and I have learned what it will take to free my soul from this prison. You must take my dagger with you, and use it for its intended purpose: to kill one who is of my blood. Only when this is done will the Lich Curse which binds me to this spot be lifted, and I can take my place in the underworld on Umber’s Council of Darklords.”

  “Why do you choose me, your majesty?” Zach made sure to take a very respectful tone, despite rapidly losing his senses.

  “I have been scouring the surface world, and other places, over the centuries for someone to help me break this curse. You are the first human I have found with the skill to wield this weapon since I discovered the secret to my salvation!” The spectre watched him eagerly. “I knew it the moment you decided to embark on that ship, the Marineer! You have the skill and the spirit required, else you would never have made it here.

  “As one of my agents I shall reward you generously and you shall be in the favor of the Mighty Umber. Should you complete your task you may return here unhindered, and claim all the treasure in my vaults, all the precious bricks of this tower or this entire city; I care naught for any of it. If you do not complete your task within one year’s time, the blade will turn on you. It will drain your life force as it does its victims, and it will teleport itself back to me. I have nothing but time, you see? There will be another like you sooner or later.”

  Dark flames in the creature’s eye sockets bored into Zach’s soul. He saw that there was little choice, yet he desired nothing less; it was what he had been seeking within the Spiders. With this weapon he could take over the Spiders from Eriagabbyn. He could take over all the Guilds of Dockyard City, or anywhere else. He could become powerful and wealthy beyond his wildest dreams! The temptation was worth the risk, he decided. And the favor of a god who was known to lavish wealth and power on his faithful; let Carym have his precious Zuhr!

  “I accept your offer, your majesty,” he said weakly. Then, as the words of that sentence stopped, he felt his strength returning! He felt just a little bit stronger. He could see clearly and the pain in his side was fading to a dull throb. Now that his mind was not distracted by so much pain and fatigue, he questioned the lich further.

  “Who, exactly was your cousin? Will not the strength of his bloodline be too polluted to save you so many centuries later?”

  “I like your mind, Zach. You are intelligent and insightful. Yes, it will be difficult to locate one of that bloodline and it may be that the victim’s blood is not strong enough to break the curse. Yet, somehow I think this will not be the case. However, we will only know for sure when the moment comes. You will know you have been successful for the blade will tell you and my treasures will be yours!”

  Zach nodded and bowed from the waist.

  “Your destination is the Sargan Duchy, yes?”

  “We seek the Everpool and the Tomb of the Dark Paladin where I must complete a quest for my commander, a leader of the Spiders. However, without the Marineer we are stranded here in Dalcasia.”

  “Ah,” the prince waived his hand dismissively. “Inevitably, you will find your way to the Sargan Duchy. Many of the Houses of Sargan, though not House of Sargan itself, can trace their roots to the House of Harfour, my cousin’s thrice grandson. But, these details are insignificant now as most of those surface humans have forgotten their roots. But the dagger will know! It can smell the blood of Harfour and it will tell you whom to strike.

  “Now, drink what is in this chalice, and rub the contents into your wounds. It will heal and rejuvenate you. The dagger will heal your wounds but only when you kill and feed a soul to the blade.”

  Zach did as he was told and immediately felt strength return and his weariness fade. He began to feel strong, powerful, like he could take on anyone. After a few moments, his wounds had completely healed; he stood up straight and tall; confident, sure that he would accomplish his task. Then the skeletal figure leaned in close, its fetid breath turning to mist in the cool air. Zach briefly wondered why the dead prince needed to breathe anyway.

  “With a special command word, which I shall teach you, the skull on this dagger will release an ear splitting shriek, which all save its wielder must yield to. Additionally, if thrown at a foe, the dagger will either sink its blade into your foe or the maw will bite and chew his flesh leaving behind a skin eating sore. It is a wonderful creation!”

  The gleam in Zach’s eyes grew brighter by the moment as he imagined the great things he could accomplish while wielding that magical blade.

  “It always hits its target in a vital area and it always returns to its master.”

  “The Mighty Umber has seen your potential. You will find your fighting, stalking, and stealth skills have been greatly enhanced thanks to him. You may find his service preferable, and more profitable, to that of those Spiders; even though they too serve Umber. Although Zach, you should know they plan to betray you.”

  “I have suspected this, Your Majesty. It was why they sent me on this quest in the first place; they expected me to fail.”

  “Indeed. In fact they are planning to ally with Umber’s powerful general on Llars, Shalthazar, to destroy the Everpool before you reach it. The fate of the Everpool and the Dark Paladin concern me little. Yet you should be aware of these dynamics as you continue your quest. Should you ally yourself with Shalthazar, you may find that you have common interests. Forget your quest, forget Eriagabbyn and his Spiders. They have small aims and you are meant to be much, much, greater!”

  Zach knew the lich was right. He was destined for greatness and with this new dagger he could attain it. He wanted to please his new master, and show Carym how powerful he was becoming, to make him jealous. He would return to Eriagabbyn as promised, but that reunion would be far different than the elf anticipated.

  “Mind your friend Carym,” said the lich, reading Zach’s thoughts. “He will be impressed with your skills, to be sure. He may even wish to abandon his foolish devotion to that weakling, Zuhr, when he sees how powerful you have become!”

  Zach liked the thought of that!

  “Go now. Rejoin your friends and let them lead you to your victim. Once this is accomplished, my wealth will be your wealth. I will help finance your mission to ensure your success, of course.”

  “Thank you, your majesty!” he said eagerly eyeing the blade. He looked at the ghostly prince who nodded ascent. Zach picked up the weapon then and felt its power surging through him.

  “And if I fail?”

  The lich’s eyes flared momentarily, determining whether the man was being insolent. Satisfied to the contrary he simply replied, “Do not.”

  Zach was weary and rubbed his hands over his face and saw something had formed on the palm of his right hand.

  “What’s this?” he veritably shrieked, holding his hand up for the lich to see.

  “Ahh, curse this old memory!” the lich chuckled, the sound like stones grinding together. “That mark is the price you must pay to me in return for your enhanced powers. In this way I will be able to live through your actions, feel your kills, see the sights you see, and make certain you do not betray me!”

  All Zach could do was stare at the horrible cat-like eyeball that was now embedded in the palm of his hand, staring back at him as he balanced a new found bag of gems in his hand.

  There is always a price, he thought.

  “A warning, young man,” said the lich. “While you are in my employ, you are not safe from the
hunters of the Shadowfyr. The Great Lord pursues many ends through many means, for myriad reasons to which I am not privy. Defend yourself as you must, influence your friends as you will. Your companions have made some discoveries of their own and may be aware of your new dagger. Tell them nothing, confirm nothing. Now, Begone.”

  “Aye,” Zach nodded and retraced his steps out of the tower.

  Enjoy my city! came the thought from the lich, unbidden, into his mind. He grimaced, trying to force the voice out. Be wary of the troks!

  Zach didn’t know what troks were, but he was fairly certain he wouldn’t like them.

  ***

  As the foolish mortal left, the old lich smiled in satisfaction. He was well aware of the dynamics being played out in the heavens and the hells; he hadn’t survived so many centuries without having a network of informants on all of the planes! A pittance to Umber in return for his own freedom from the Lich Curse. What Zach didn’t know was that he truly had no choice in whom his soul would serve. The lich had been called upon by the dark god to help corral this nuisance known as Carym of Hyrum and he would do it through the man’s best friend, Zach. He wondered why Umber preferred conversion and didn’t ask for the dagger to be used on Carym. Zach could simply kill the nuisance now!

  But it was best not to question the will of Umber, ever. Already the minions of Umber were at work, hunting and harassing Carym and his companions. If he could not be converted by the temptation of power, he would be captured and soul bound to a demon, thereby keeping the man’s talent for Sigils but forcing his spirit into a dismal prison where he could only watch the destruction caused by his own hand.

  Umber could call upon the lich to force Zach to betray his friend if necessary, but Zach would be far more likely to succeed in turning his friend if the dagger had time to do its work. If Zach succeeded, the Mighty Umber himself would break the curse that bound Roeyl to his prison, leaving him free to roam the Underllars while Zach sought to complete the final phase of breaking the Lich Curse. A place of honor among the god’s immortal servants in the Realm of Shadows could be waiting, thought the lich.