Finally, Shalthazar had discovered the world known as Llars.
But the wizard was wise enough to know that if the gods of this place went to such great lengths to hide it, there must be good reason. He spent decades studying this new world from afar and seeking what made it so special. He had been ardently careful to avoid detection by the creators of its powerful magical shield though, and would only use his scrying magic for brief periods of time over the decades. He did learn that this world was rich in natural resources, specifically gold, but such things were typically above the desires of gods.
Having learned as much as he could from afar, the time had come for closer inspection. The powerful wizard had hoped that he could slip into this world undetected and live among its people, using his magic to blend in and learn more. In fact, based on years of observation of this planet, he had chosen to live in the land called Canaria. Canaria was a collection of islands and home to numerous wizards and magical guilds, which seemed to benefit from a thriving trade in occult items and supplies. Canaria was also the home of several pirate clans and had no effective national government. Instead, each island ruled itself, yet each considered its own people to be Canarian. An ideal place for the rogue wizard to establish himself, or so he thought.
Aside from the obvious reasons of an environment favorable to magic-wielders, Shalthazar’s main purpose for coming to this region was to study the magic-wielders themselves. He was intensely curious as to why those who were considered powerful wizards on Llars, would have been considered of mere average ability elsewhere and hoped he would find the answer to this mystery among the significant population of sorcerers, sages, and magic-wielders. Once this mystery was solved, the dark wizard would then begin exploring this new world, eager to find a way to begin the next phase of his plans.
Pondering the turn of events that took him from his chosen destination, the shrewd wizard had been certain his course plotting had been precise. His chart had been as accurate as any that could be had. He had studied the magical fabric surrounding Llars at length and in great detail, he had catalogued its properties quite well over time and had been able to define a specific set of rules for how it functioned; there was little guesswork. The Pathways should have taken him to Canaria as he had planned; something or someone must have altered his spell at the last moment. While he admired the incredible feat of timing and mathematics necessary to alter his spell at the precise moment necessary to fool him, he was fairly annoyed.
He began to suspect that the dismal Cjii, Nephlazubit, had been behind this turn of events and surveyed the chamber for some method of mundane escape. Going back to the Pathways now would only prove to Neph that his little trick had worked, and the wizard would be at the immortal’s mercy in the Pathways; never let it be said that Shalthazar was at anyone’s mercy.
Continuing his examination of his surroundings, the wizard saw murals depicting battle scenes and other occasions in what he assumed must be the history of the strange land he was now in. Many of the scenes were what one might expect in most any culture, heroes battling monsters and valiant armies vanquishing superior forces. However, other images were far more sinister; entire nations becoming enslaved by superior foes, mass sacrifices and, intriguingly, depictions of apparently dead warriors fighting alongside living people. In most worlds, such an event would portend great calamity. Yet here, in these depictions, it seemed to the wizard that those in command of the dead warriors were honored leaders.
Fascinating.
The common thread among these paintings, murals, and other artwork, he noted with decided interest, was that the triumphant were elves. Yet these Elvish conquerors were unlike any other race of elves he had seen in his many centuries of life. These amazing warriors were taller than most of the humans in the depictions and they had patchy, bluish-white skin. Those traits, along with hair that matched their skin, gave these elves a distinctly frosty and cold appearance.
So, he must be in the home of the Frost Elves. From his studies, he knew that they were a powerful race which had held dominion over other races of Llars during various times in the world’s history. Due to the small numbers of their kind, the Frost Elves did not now enjoy the level of greatness this race had known throughout its history.
Shalthazar marveled at the workmanship and he sensed that powerful magic had been used to preserve the perfection of this chamber over the course of many long centuries. It really was a beautiful chamber, oddly warm and comfortable with ornately carved pews, beautiful tapestries and powerful artwork. It was a work of perfect irony, he thought with pleasure. The room truly was deceptively inviting, which stood in stark contrast to the abysmally evil being that this room was dedicated to. The wizard was not a believer in coincidence and now rightly understood to whom this temple belonged; and that he had had a hand in Shalthazar’s magical detour. He would not need to seek revenge on Neph after all; not yet anyway.
Shalthazar drew his attention back to the altar area and saw an ancient looking tome suspended above it. Dark and foreboding, it loomed large over the altar. The tome easily reached the same width as Shalthazar’s outstretched arms.
The wizard was overcome with curiosity. He knew he should have been cautious, but he was beginning to understand something of this divergence from his chosen destination. The wizard did not generally believe in chance or random occurrences; someone or something must have played a hand in his detour. Before he knew it, Shalthazar was standing at the altar with his hands hovering over the suspended tome. His perception of the magical energy stored within caused his senses to tingle and he felt giddy. Perhaps the answer lay within.
True power was contained within those pages, of that he was certain. Perhaps there would be a clue that would enable him to master the magical shield surrounding Llars. Shalthazar had studied much of the culture of the Frost Elves who inhabited Llars and he was passably fluent in their language. Yet the characters on the pages of this tome were like nothing he had ever seen. Each elaborate character appeared to be a word, or possibly an entire phrase unto itself and each radiating its own sense of power. He studied them all, turning the pages and examining the images too.
Then, something materialized before the wizard. It was as though all of the shadows in the room raced toward one spot and coalesced into a man-like form. If Shalthazar was dark, this man was worse - the epitome of darkness; radiating pure evil as the sun radiates light. Black and dismal and despairing, he commanded respect and projected fear. Ordinary mortals with good sense would have cowered before his dark majesty, yet Shalthazar was no ordinary mortal.
This deity appeared to be somewhat human, and somewhat monstrous at the same time - if such a thing were possible. And, although the newcomer’s visible skin was pale as alabaster, he was as black as they came. He wore simple trousers of brown and black, which matched his simple shirt. The hood of his brown cloak was drawn low, shrouding the face of the newcomer in shadow but not completely hiding the hint of a skeletal visage peering at him from its depths. A long black mace, topped with a wicked skull, hung from his belt. And Shalthazar thought he saw the eyes of that skull watching him while its jaw worked slowly, silently; perhaps anticipating a meal. Shalthazar bowed low in respect, and then he stood upright, meeting the newcomer’s gaze.
“Your Dark Majesty,” said Shalthazar.
Indeed, this dark elf wizard of the Far Worlds understood his predicament perfectly now. Here was the hand that diverted him from his course. Here was one of the gods of Llars!
“I have a deal for you,” the god stated simply, not waiting for the mortal to ramble on with useless praise.
His voice was smooth and cold, commanding in tone, and powerfully intelligent. This was a god who was not ostentatious and cared little for appearance or flair. From what he had learned of the very few gods of this world, he rightly suspected this was Umber.
“I am eager to hear it, O Dark One.” Shalthazar was intrigued. “I have long been fascinated by your people,”
he thought it best not to waste his time with compliments that the dark being clearly did not care for.
Umber was a deity who existed for power, exploited the vices of others, and took great pleasure in being a vehicle of deception. He was not driven by a desire for opulence and wealth, caring only for the consolidation of his power and the joy of executing well-crafted exploitations.
“You were correct in your calculations, mortal,” the god said bluntly.
Umber had an angry demeanor, which, the wizard assumed, meant he was always angry.
“I manipulated the Fabric, to alter the appearance of your Destination Portal. You stand in the Temple of Umber, deep within Voscown, the capital city of the Frost Elves, the most devoted and capable of my children.”
Shalthazar looked respectfully at the god but said nothing. He felt the tingle of godly magic in the air about him and knew the god was studying him. Clearly, the god knew much more about him than he had anticipated and, apparently, had known Shalthazar had been studying Llars from afar; much to the dark wizard’s chagrin.
“I brought you here because of your shrewdness and your powerful command of magic.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Do not mistake my compliments for kindness; you are but a mortal and as bothersome as a fly!” rebuked the dark figure.
Shalthazar swallowed the insult and bowed low, saying no more as he looked at the figure silently; he was in the presence of a god after all.
“Your choice of Canaria makes me doubt your wisdom. The powers of those coven mongrels are little better than that of the pitiful rock-worshipping wretches of Far Reach compared to what I have to offer you,” the god went on angrily.
The dark god took a deep breath and continued. Breathing? Having dealt with gods in the past, Shalthazar was inwardly amused by the lengths to which these petty gods sometimes went in order to appear mortal. The skull atop the god’s mace worked its jaws silently, angrily.
“I am worshiped by many here as Umber, the Dark Lord, the Harbinger of Doom, the Lord of Disasters, the Dealer of Diseases, and the Lord of Death.” He sounded as though he were bored at the lack of imagination of these titles. “However, there are some who know me as Ilian Nah, the Lord of Justice and the Keeper of Might,” the dark face sneered at the mention of these monikers, yet he continued.
“It has suited me well to allow this facade to continue over the centuries, for I knew that one day it would provide me with an opportunity to exploit entire populations of mortals.“
“Forgive me Your Dark Majesty-” Shalthazar began.
The dark one, ever so slowly, turned his powerful and malevolent gaze back to the wizard. “Do not interrupt me, drau!”
Shalthazar bowed low and said no more.
“That book contains an ancient and powerful form of magic lost to this world five centuries ago. Over the past centuries the only magic available here has been arcane sorcery; very similar to the type of magic with which you are familiar, but far more limited. You have already noticed this lack of power, I am sure. And as you have probably deduced it is due to the Fabric, the magical shield protecting Llars from unwanted discovery. Although I do not especially like my siblings, or my father, we are in agreement that our world remain hidden from prying eyes, like yours.”
Shalthazar bowed humbly at the compliment veiled as a rebuke.
“Arcane magic, in any world, is an inferior form of magic and hardly worth the study.”
Shalthazar thought to take exception to this but wisely held his tongue.
“Its weakness is its dependence on material components which are oft ridiculously rare or difficult to prepare. There are no such limitations to our superior form of magic, harnessed by the power of the Sigils; a unique power that belongs to the essence of the planet itself. It flows and ebbs in strength like the tides of our oceans, it waxes and wanes with the phases of the moon, and it can be manipulated. But, it can control or consume those too weak to master it. If you know how to look, you can see the Tides of the Sigil Magic all around you. The Sigils are descended from the very language of creation itself, and as such it commands god-like powers, though only just so. If you learn, you can see waves of the Sigil Tides ebbing and flowing around you in response to disturbances elsewhere. You can see tornadoes of the Sigil Tides on land, whirlpools of it in the oceans and veritable hurricanes of it in the Southern Reaches. And the Tides will tell you things if you know how to listen. My father, Zuhr, had taken the use of this power away from Llars in response to an abuse, by one of his followers.”
The dark wizard did not miss the god’s tone or his sentiment. Surely this mortal Sigilist must have been supremely powerful if the chief god of Llars banned its use over his misdeeds.
“There are several languages of Sigils, each commanding its own mystery. The most powerful of these is the Sigil of Shadows. Though the secret of the language of the Shadow Sigils has been lost these many centuries, I have discovered a way to release the power of the Shadow Sigils beneath my father’s very nose!”
The god was silent for a moment. Although Shalthazar could not truly see the god’s face, he knew from the god’s emphasis that there must be an expression of hate and loathing hiding within that dark hood. The elf instinctively wondered if this god’s familial dynamics presented a weakness to be exploited. But he was distracted from these thoughts as the deity’s face suddenly flickered in and out of the shadows of his hood, alternating between a fleshy man-like face and a shadowy, skeletal, visage.
“There is a secretive society among the Crimson Elves, the sworn enemies of my Frost Elf children, who have guarded the secrets of the Sigil of Flames, awaiting its return. They may yet prove troublesome should my father see fit to release the power of the other Sigils back into the world.”
Umber paused a moment, scrutinizing the wizard. ”When you study this Tome, you will understand why and how this has happened. For now, know that its tremendous power will be yours to command. I cannot teach it to you overnight; in fact, it will take you some time to master its taxing ways. Rest assured that once you master the Sigils, you will find this far more powerful than the ways of the inferior arcane magic you are accustomed to.”
This talk of power was more than Shalthazar could stand; he was almost drunk with the prospect already.
“I will assist you with your studies as I see fit. When you are ready, you will begin the conquest of the miserable filth that inhabit the Western Havens. You will become a powerful and mighty ruler while expanding my influence over the lands. You will lead an army under my banner! People will flock to my standard! The Sul of Nah will grant you his troops, so long as you don’t allow him to know your true heart. Those you conquer will convert and worship me as Ilian Nah; pay them well and they will fight in your army. Command respect and dispense justice severely but swiftly; the people will respect this.
“Once you have established your new kingdom in the Western Haven, you will forge an alliance with King Ognadrog the Merciless, of Hurkromin, and commence the next phase of my plans.”
The dark god turned back to the wizard and stared at him. The force of the gaze was more than even Shalthazar could stand and the dark wizard fell to his knees.
“My perennial enemy, Ulrych, must be removed from the pantheon. He, and his pathetic followers, must be destroyed! I have already begun this process with a very clever deception that will cripple his precious knighthood. In fact, the goodly knights of Zuharim now serve me!”
Shalthazar knew Ulrych was Umber’s own brother, and another petty god of this world. And from his studies he knew that the powerful order known as Zuharim venerated Ulrych and Zuhr above all others. Umber must have a very powerful trick up his sleeve, indeed. The wizard delighted in the prospects of using his enemies own servants against them! This would prove to be a fruitful relationship. Yet, he wondered in the deepest recesses of his mind, if this plan to replace Ulrych would interfere with the dark wizard’s own grand scheme for supreme power.
“You will add sheep to my flock, you will bring coins to my coffers, you will strengthen me for a fight fast approaching. You will bring destruction to my enemies, and your soul will serve me forever.”
Ah yes, he thought. The catch. Shalthazar was a powerful elf who had been alive several centuries, and he knew that there was always a way to escape a god’s hold on a mortal’s soul.
“You may consider it a catch if it pleases you,” said the god as he read the surface of the wizard’s mind. However, the mental slip was by design; the wizard was skilled at hiding his true thoughts from mind readers. “But you have little choice. Accept, and greatness awaits you. Refuse, and your life is forfeit. What is your answer?”
Shalthazar buried his thoughts deeply within his mind, knowing that the god could not read them there. He knew that in a matter of seconds his Ring of Returning would free him of the influence of this deity; although he did not quite know what affects the intense magical presence of this god, and the magical Fabric, would have on the magic that resided within that ring. There was a chance that god-magic could drastically alter the way his magical ring worked. And, for now, the prospect of power and wealth seemed very attractive.
“It appears that my decision has been made, Your Majesty. I swear my allegiance to you,” the wizard prostrated himself before the god.
Umber nodded and another figure materialized next to him. It was an Elvish woman with blue and white skin and blue-black hair. Her features were sharp and her eyes were deep and dark. She was intensely beautiful and wore an alluring robe of silver and blue silk with a crystalline dagger at her hip. In her hand was a plain black staff, topped by a large sapphire, and across her back were strapped two curved swords.
The Dragon Writers Collection Page 13