The Dragon Writers Collection

by DragonWritersCollective

  “You see, Zach? I saw him standing over a body,” said Carym, standing with Willam. “You were mistaken about him.”

  “That remains to be seen. How can he prove it?”

  At that moment the man removed a stilton from inside his cloak and handed it to Saera. She examined it with a smile, turning it over and finally offering it to Zach who simply nodded and stalked into the tunnel. It was the stilton of one of the Qra’zim, one of Qra’z’ holy warriors would not give up the symbol of their power by any means short of death. It couldn’t have belonged to the one Zach had killed, for Zach had taken it as a trophy.

  “Come, the Master awaits us,” Saera said as she turned and followed Zach into the darkness. Zach avoided Carym’s eyes and turned to follow the woman down the passageway.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Prophet-General.

  A Nightmare.

  Shalthazar stepped out of the dim light of the magical portal and saw bright sunshine and greenery. He was now in the mouth of a cave on the side of a mountain, the bottom of which appeared to be located in a semi-tropical forest. He sighed regretfully at his luck; heat and humidity always seemed to foul his usually stoic facade. The cacophonous sounds of exotic birds drifted up the mountainside, echoing off the rocky bluffs and peaks. He knew, and dreaded, the heat and giant mosquitoes that awaited him below.

  As he descended the rocky trail, sparse shrubs and spiky mountain laurel gave way to palmettos and ferns. As he descended, the cool mountain air was gradually replaced by warmer and more humid conditions. Finally, he detected the sound of a stream. Driven by thoughts of a cool drink, Shalthazar diverted off the main path toward that sound. After a short but treacherous walk over a natural finger on the hillside, the wizard located the source of that sound, a small waterfall. The water spilled out of the side of the mountain from a spring hidden deep beneath the surface and cascaded gently down over some rocks and into a pool.

  Dripping with sweat, Shalthazar swatted at some giant bugs and briefly cursed the bargain he made with that dark god, as he made his way to the spring. The heat and humidity were rapidly sapping his strength, while the thin mountain air made him feel lightheaded. Shalthazar used his newfound powers and cast a Sigilspell allowing his body to quickly adjust to the conditions here; he dare not risk being exposed as an outlander fraud. Shalthazar shifted his vision so that he could see the natural ebb and flow of the magical Tides around him. He watched the multicolor waves of energy slithering across the ground like serpents and focused on the darkest one. The Shadow Tide was the faintest of the Tides he could see; nevertheless, it was the strongest of all the Tides. It pulled at him, powerfully addictive; he felt like he had to have it just to survive. He traced the image of the Sigil in the air above him and called the Sigil’s name in the language of the Shadow Sigil, a language near in power to the languages of the gods and the immortals.

  Shalthazar watched as the Sigil he traced in the air, Acclimation, came to life and glowed with dark energy. The magical glyph shifted and slithered in the air like a snake before drifting slowly to the ground. The Shadow Tide slithered to him and began wrapping itself around him, beginning at his feet and working its way to his head. Shalthazar did not panic, though. He had been through this before and was now quite familiar with the nature of Sigilspells. Finally, the magic imbued the elf’s body with its dark power and Shalthazar began to feel the intoxicating effects. Regretfully, the pleasurable feeling was over just as soon as it came on, and the wizard had to bring his mind back to the task at hand. He felt different now. No longer sweating, Shalthazar felt like he could run a marathon in this stifling humidity and not bat an eye over it.

  He waited near the area of the waterfall for a few moments to be certain there were no hostile creatures that wished to share his water and observed the town below. It was a medium sized city and from this vantage point appeared to be bustling in typical fashion. When he was reasonably sure there were no thirsty creatures nearby, the wizard made his way to the water and drank deeply to quench his thirst. He stripped off his clothes and secured them in a palmetto bush with his pack and his belongings. Then he waded chest deep into the cold water. He contemplated his first moves as he basked in the cool water, absently studying the colorful flora and fauna around him.

  Magic as he had known it all his life, was weaker here. The once powerful magic-wielder could now only perform the more simple spells and charms he had learned centuries ago with any great effectiveness. The more powerful and complex spells required an abundance of magical energy to draw from and it simply was not available here, the effects of arcane magic were thusly muted.

  What made the Shadow Sigil the most dangerous and fearsome of all the Sigils was the unthinkable and despicable power of soul stealing. This dark power was so black and evil that Zuhr banned it from practice on Llars after it corrupted His most stalwart and faithful follower, infamously known as the Dark Paladin.

  Umber, the dark god for whom Shalthazar now worked, revealed to the wizard that a group of his followers, known as the Dark Disciples, had been charged with the protection of the lore of the Black Sigil since its banishment by Zuhr. Its members were battle-hardened warriors and assassins and had been protecting the Sigil lore during the centuries following the fall of the Dark Paladin. These would be Shalthazar’s generals, his masters of chaos and destruction. They would also help propel him to the lofty goal which he thus far had shared with no one else.

  Umber, or Ilian Nah as he was known here, had equipped the wizard with knowledge of the customs of this foreign land upon which Shalthazar now stood. In this part of the world Keneerie elves were considered equals among men, and such was to be Shalthazar’s disguise. Keneerie were a race of elves who were physically stronger and stockier than their Crimson and Frost elf cousins, yet they were still decidedly Elvish. Thus, Shalthazar’s new identity, that of a monk of Ilian Nah who had returned to the world from decades of solitary service to the god, would not be too far removed from his true physical persona and simpler to maintain. In this way his strange accent and uncertain ways would be attributed to being from the mystical monastery known to exist only in legend and lore.

  Shalthazar again shifted his sight so that he could see the Shadow Tides. His eyes focused on the rivulets of colored energy blazing around him. Finding what he sought, the dark wizard traced the Shadow Sight Sigil in the air and watched as the spidery tendrils of dark energy swirled and raced into him. His mind believed he was going on a journey, yet he knew he still had his two feet firmly on the ground. He felt like he was racing along a raging river, yet it was his mind’s eye following a path in the river of Shadow Tides. From shadow to shadow, his awareness ebbed and flowed, shifted and swirled; from tree to tree, rock to rock, until he found himself in the shadows of buildings in the town below him.

  With his awareness traveling across the town, moving from shadow to shadow, he was able to get a clear picture of the city he meant to visit. It was a city not unlike human cities in his homeland. There were streets radiating out from a castle mount based at the city-center. There were shops and bazaars, merchants and patrons, peasants and lords. He now focused his mind on the castle, which was quite large and appeared to be a city in and of itself. The wizard watched the comings and goings of the people in this city for some time, but learned nothing of particular importance. He reveled in the experience of traveling through the portals that linked the Realm of Shadows to this one. Any shadow was an open door to the dark wizard, nothing was beyond his reach now.

  Shalthazar stroked his chin in thought as the images faded from his mind. He had learned a great deal from studying Umber’s tomes, yet he had learned little from viewing the city that he had not already known. He removed the clothes from his pack and donned the drab robes of the order to which he would profess membership. There was one more detail to attend: his appearance. He had to look more like the Keneerie elves of Llars and less like those slender elves that shared his blood on his own far off wo
rld. But a simple illusion spell would eventually wear off, giving away his true identity.

  “No,” he thought, “I need to permanently alter my appearance somehow.” The wizard opened the Sigilbook Umber had given him and turned to the first section listing magical powers. Transformation. A Sigilspell which would allow the wizard to permanently alter his genetic structure to suit his desires. It was a powerful Sigil, but not too powerful for this sorcerer. The wizard traced the Shadow Sigil in the air before him, speaking the command words that would call forth the Shadow Tides and bend them to his will. A sudden blast of wind assailed Shalthazar shrouding him in darkness. Intense pain washed over him, and he felt as though his bones were being ripped from his flesh and his body was nothing more than an amorphous mass. When he was close to passing out, the pain began to subside. Then he began to grow stronger, more rigid, his bones and muscles now firm. As the darkness lifted, the wizard’s strength returned as well as his power. He felt it surge through his new form, invigorating him, lifting him, driving him. Shalthazar felt his purpose renewed.

  He opened the Sigilbook again and thumbed through it until he found what he was looking for, soul destroyer. There was no power with which this diabolical wizard was familiar that could rival that Sigilspell. It would rip the soul of a being from its body, instantly killing the shell, and turning the soul itself into the purest form of energy to be used by the Sigilist. A person with a sense of due caution would have realized the inherent dangers of daring this advanced use of power. Yet Shalthazar cared little for caution, his ambition and drive for power had served him well through his long years and he wasn’t about to change now.

  And true to the dark wizard’s ambition, he would settle for no ordinary victim. To exploit the soul destroyer’s true parasitic powers, he would need an extraordinary subject, one with something that would enhance the wizard’s own powers and reputation among the Cjii.

  Shalthazar cleared a circular area on the ground, and cast a series of wards to protect it. Each ward he cast began as the smoky image of a Sigil hovering in the air above the ground, then as he spoke the command word, each ward shifted into the shape of a smoky dagger and slammed into the ground! Then he made a second circle surrounding the first, and protected it with more wards. In the center, he traced the form of another Sigil in the dirt. Finished, he examined the concentric circles for a long while, ensuring the perfection of the magical wards. Then, he repeated the process creating a second and third set beside the first.

  Shalthazar stepped into the first set of circles and began the spell. A swirling vortex of shadow magic surrounded the wizard, and another formed in the center of the other set of circles. The air crackled with dark power as the swirling masses of energies dissipated, leaving Shalthazar to face the immortal creature which he had just summoned.

  Flames and darkness swirled around the feet of the summoned, leaving only beady red eyes visible to the summoner. Shalthazar held still despite the sudden assault on his senses. Flames began to dance around his own feet! The wily wizard had dealt with these creatures before, however, and he was no fool. A simple illusion was all that could penetrate his magical wards. With a laugh he dispelled the illusion and the creature before him hissed in anger. Then, as the shroud of darkness finally lifted from the opposite circle a figure appeared. It was an ordinary looking woman dressed not unlike a serving wench with hands clasped before her, and her gaze cast demurely at her feet. Ordinary looking to be sure, yet deadly.

  Shalthazar smirked, and callously stepped to the edge of his circle of protection. His smirk evolved into a righteous smile as the elf brought his gaze to bear on the demon.

  “Cjii-” the wizard began, then stopped interrupted by the beast.

  “Spare me, elf,” the being said, exasperated. Shalthazar looked on, his expression deadpan. “I prefer demoness, thank you!”

  “And I prefer to believe that I am in charge. Do not interrupt me again,” he responded with quiet confidence.

  The demoness sighed as her demeanor changed from shy to bored. Realizing that the wizard had not fallen for her trick, the demoness blew her hair from her face in a pout and sat down on the ground cross-legged, her head resting on her hand.

  “Well...master?”

  Shalthazar caught himself staring at her ample bosom and forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

  “Who are you?” he asked, realizing he now had the upper hand despite the immortal’s sarcasm. The fact that she said “master” at all was a statement of her acceptance of his authority, but only just. Her preference of the term demoness over Cjii amused him. Demons and angles were Cjii, just like old Nephalzubit, the Pathway Watcher. Some of them took the titles given them by their patron deities quite seriously, angels the worst among those.

  “Demoness,” he added with a sly smile.

  Shalthazar was shrewd and enjoyed the contests of will that were such an intrinsic part of summoning magic. Witchcraft, Necromancy, Binder-Magic, and Summoning magic were atop the list of dark practices and were he to be discovered at this moment, the entire plan would be in jeopardy. But the wizard knew there was little chance of any of the pitiful magic-wielders of this world breaking through his wards.

  “I am Tureva of the Lower Hades. What business does an Elvish monk of Ilian Nah have with me?” she asked with a bemused smile, all immortals were aware of the true nature of Ilian Nah.

  “My business is my own. I will make it your business when I am ready,” he replied firmly.

  Angrily the demoness shouted a word in her throaty otherworldly language and a bolt of energy sailed through the air towards him. The wizard stood his ground, smiling. The bolt stopped harmlessly at the edge of his protective circle. Then it circled around him and dissipated, absorbed by his magical wards and transferred to himself. He felt energized, consumed by power. Demon magic was said to be only one step removed from god-magic in potency, and it was known to extend the lifespan of ordinary mortals. Shalthazar, however, knew the truth of the existence of demons and that they were really not the gruesome monsters they portrayed themselves to be. Shalthazar was not foolish enough to believe that demons weren’t every bit as dark and cruel as they let on, but he had learned some of the nature of the immortal race and the whimsical names they gave themselves.

  Reveling in the power coursing throughout his body, Shalthazar momentarily forgot the demoness’ presence; a mistake that would have proven fatal to a lesser man. The wizard came back to his senses quickly and addressed the demoness to keep her under control.

  “Tureva of the Lower Hades, I thank you for that most generous gift of power.”

  “Master elf, I see that you are powerful beyond all reckoning,” she said mockingly. “Indeed, your powers must rival that of the great Umber himself,” she swooned. “You have proven your mettle, O Great One. Now, please send me back to Hades. I was involved in a very enjoyable pursuit and I am eager to return,” the demon said sweetly, fingering the bodice of her serving wench outfit. Shalthazar had no doubt the demon was truly eager to be gone, but he also suspected that she was testing him. If he gave in to her seductive demands, he would lose status in her eyes and their next encounter could be far more volatile.

  “No,” he replied simply.

  The eyes of the demoness flashed dangerously, the air around her crackled with power, and her hair drifted away from her head like the tentacles of an octopus. She was very angry now and she was beginning to feel up to a fight.

  “You must do one thing before I release you,” he commanded.

  “No,” the demoness replied darkly. “And I don’t believe you can make me,” she was whispering now. Her eyes dared him to challenge her.

  “That is where you are mistaken, Tureva of Lower Hades. You see, I do have the power. Look at the symbol below your feet!”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” the demoness asked, yet Shalthazar detected fearful recognition in those devious eyes.

  “Hmm,” the wizard replied. He rather
enjoyed mental chess games. It was so very rare to find an adversary worthy of his intellect. Although he doubted this lower demon would be exceptionally challenging, she was powerful and extraordinarily cunning. He pointed at the second circle with his right hand and spoke the words of the language of Shadows. Black energy coalesced in a swirling black mist at the center of the empty circle beside those of the wizard and the demoness.

  The smoke cleared and another immortal being, a demon of hideous description hovered menacingly, his wings buzzing like an angry wasp. A pit demon from the Abyss, the creature bore a resemblance to a reptile with the wings of a wasp. The creature, clearly male, was enraged and demonstrated its anger at being Summoned. Howling and thrashing, the creature displayed what the wizard would later term a “demonic tantrum.” Shalthazar calmly stood in his circle watching the creature fight, futilely, against its magical bonds. When it had ceased to struggle, the wizard made his move.

  Sensing that the creature was somewhat weak from the Summoning spell, Shalthazar took a gamble and stepped from his circle of protection. He knew that an assault against him was inevitable, yet he trusted in the protections offered him by the powers of the Shadow.

  Ensuring that Tureva was watching him, Shalthazar boldly strode toward the angry demon, who was now attempting to hurl fireballs and lightning bolts at him. As each bolt of energy was caught by the wizard’s magical wards, he became stronger and almost drunk with power. The wizard reached into the circle with his left hand and quickly grasped demon’s throat. With a spoken word the black flames of the Sigilspell, soul destroyer, surged down his arm and consumed his hand. He held it aloft and momentarily admired the fiery black torch, its flames cool and powerful. Then he willed his right hand to take the form of a dagger of shiny black steel, and it did.

  Tureva looked on with concern, knowing that any Lord of the Shadow Sigil could command magic as powerful her own. Yet she was intrigued by the lesser demon’s impending doom. Suddenly, Shalthazar thrust his blade-hand into the writhing demon and flayed its chest wide open. The demon was now too weak to fight, its essence being absorbed into Shalthazar through his magical blade. The demon shrieked in pain as the wizard’s hand shifted back to a fiery appendage and he reached inside the partially opened chest with his hand, his other hand now firmly attached to the demon’s throat.