The Dragon Writers Collection

by DragonWritersCollective

  Tureva abandoned any thoughts of testing the powerful Sigilist further, and eyed him with fear, if not respect.

  Finally Shalthazar found his treasure. With a great heave, the wizard ripped a glowing cord of silver and black from inside the demon’s chest and yanked it free with all his might. As the cord came free of the demon its pain-filled thrashing ceased. The magical cord wrapped itself around the wizard’s arm like a snake, slithering its way to Shalthazar’s head where it was simply absorbed by the wizard. Unceremoniously, he let the husk that was now the demon’s corpse drop; where it promptly turned to ashes. Swooning with the power he stole from the pit-demon, Shalthazar brought his gaze to bear upon the figure of Tureva.

  “I need a mount,” he said simply. The demon looked at him curiously. “One that is strong, impervious to mortal magic, and will strike fear in the hearts of my foes.”

  “It seems a Lord of the Shadow Sigil should need little help in that arena.”

  “Nevertheless,” he continued firmly.

  “What did you have in mind, my lord?”

  “A nightmare,” he snarled.

  “Hmm. I see,” she said placidly. “There is but one small matter to attend, my lord.”

  “Very well.”

  Shalthazar handed the demoness a pouch containing something he knew she would value very highly. Even though he could destroy this demoness as he did the pit-demon, such an endeavor would be far more dangerous and would not serve his purposes. The demoness opened the silky black pouch and her face split into a wicked grin. Inside the pouch was a collection of things beloved to this demoness who thrived upon the lives of weak-willed men. Umber had planned for the bargain as the cost of dealing with demons and provided Shalthazar with the necessary information he needed to acquire what she wanted. This salacious demoness prided herself on seducing pious men, making them partake in reckless debauchery and lustful behavior with herself or one of her many beautiful concubines. She was skilled in reading the minds of men and using their fantasies against them. Once the man had abandoned all that was dear to him, and gave in to her seductive ways, she would make him her pet and torture him by tempting him with more of what he would never have again. Finally, she would have one of her concubines separate the wretched slave’s manhood from him, reminding him of all he had given up before sending his soul to an eternity of damnation.

  The powerful energy released in such a hideously evil act upon a righteous man empowered her and had an intoxicating effect.

  “How is it, my lord Shalthazar, that I am to be certain these souls were obtained in the proper fashion?” she asked slyly, giddy with anticipation.

  “Do not be coy, Tureva.”

  The demoness cringed upon hearing her own name from mortal lips, reminding her how vulnerable she was to him at this moment.

  “My word is good and it is backed by Umber!” he said with anger. Shalthazar was pleased to see her cringe again at the name of the Dark Lord. “You have been paid far more than such a task is worth. After all, nightmares only reside in Lower Hades.”

  “Your wish is my command, Evil One,” replied the demoness sullenly. It was clear to Shalthazar that the demoness thought his request foolish, or perhaps wasteful, he could have bargained for something of far greater value. Yet a nightmare he required, and a nightmare he would have.

  A moment later a sleek black horse with glaring red eyes stepped out of a shimmering magical portal. The undead horse snorted and smoke flared from her nostrils, her eyes were red as flames. She stood eighteen hands tall and her shiny black form was truly magnificent to behold; no mortal beast could compare to the might of the nightmare. She sauntered to the wizard and stopped, head lowered affectionately.

  “I am pleased, Tureva. You may go.”

  The wizard waved at the demoness with an air of indifference and she promptly vanished into another portal. Shalthazar paused a moment to be certain the demon was truly gone. Then he destroyed his magical circles so she, or another, could not attack him by surprise. The dark beast watched him closely with intelligent eyes as he approached, proudly looking down upon him. One flick of the horse’s sharply pointed hoof would slice him open, if it had chosen to do so.

  “I am your master now, Noirilo-nah,” he said using the Shadow name for the nightmare. Cautiously, he laid his hand on the mare’s sleek black flank; the heat radiating from her was intense. He was pleased with his new mount. Properly disguised by the Shadow Sigil, she would pass for a large warhorse but in battle she would strike fear into her master’s enemies, breathing fire and slashing with sharp hooves.

  Shalthazar conjured a complete set of ceremonial horse armor commonly used by the Nashian military forces. Then he donned his own armor and attire and cast an illusion over the otherworldly beast giving her the image of a large yet exotic warhorse. His disguise complete, Shalthazar packed his belongings and led the dark horse down the mountainside to the town below.

  The walk down was treacherous but uneventful; the surefooted nightmare was used to the rocky and harsh terrain of Hades and led her master swiftly and safely to the bottom. When the wizard reached the main road leading into the town, he mounted the nightmare and rode the rest of the way. The demonic horse was intimidating and fearsome to behold, sure to cause ordinary horses to spook and flee. Mortal horses were prey animals, and as such, keenly aware of danger signs like the arrival of a predator animal such as a nightmare.

  Her hooves rang like small thunderclaps with each fall on the stone street leading Shalthazar from the wilderness into the town. For a moment, the elf reveled in the terror such a display would inspire in ordinary men. Men! He must not let any men glimpse the true nature of this animal. Quickly he called upon the Shadow Tides and wrapped the nightmare in them enhancing the concealment he cast upon her earlier. He hadn’t counted on the residual power that a nightmare might bring with her from Hades. In fact, her magical nature almost seemed to be fighting his enchantments! Shalthazar hopped down from the beast to inspect his work. If this plan was going to succeed, he would have to be constantly on guard. Any slips, even the slightest, could ruin everything. The wizard swore he would never let that foul demon of a god have his soul! No, Shalthazar had other, far greater, ambitions!

  After careful inspection, Shalthazar was satisfied that his Sigilspells were holding the disguise, and this time it would last. He climbed back on the big mare and continued down the road in a much quieter fashion. Finally the wilderness gave way and he began to notice small homes and travelers appeared at intervals on the road. The horse was alert, her eyes aglow, looking this way and that, wary, watchful, silently warning others to fear her from time to time as she laid her ears flat on her head. Shalthazar smiled as he watched a local man struggle to regain control of his panicked horses. The disguise he cast over the horse was good enough to fool humans, but animals knew better.

  Shalthazar had visited hundreds of towns with an array of cultures during his life. And as he arrived, he could see this one was little different than many on his home world. As he made his way deeper into the town, he saw peasants and nobility, wealthy merchants and average citizens, monks and priests, warriors and those he assumed were knights of a sort. In the poor areas of the Outer City he saw run down multifamily homes piled on top of each other with little space between. He saw the occasional lower class merchant storefront, or open-air fishmonger, or farmer selling produce. He saw many who appeared to be poor, yet he never saw a beggar or street thief. There were few citizens about and those that were appeared to be moving to and fro apurpose, eyes downcast as though hoping to draw little attention to themselves. Their attire was quite frugal, which seemed in concert with the accommodations of this neighborhood. There was no recognition on the faces of these peasants as he ambled through the Outer City. Shalthazar wondered how Umber had been able to maintain the illusion of “Lord of Justice” for so long, when the rest of the world knew otherwise. As he rode on, his mind focused on his plan, the Outer City gave way to the
wealthier Inner Mount.

  Gradually homes became larger and farther apart as the road climbed higher, people here had a somewhat better lifestyle than that of those in the Outer City. Some homes were decorated with mosaics, and murals, and others with fanciful, if somewhat modest, gardens. The people here appeared to be content, if not cheerful, and decidedly more pleasant smelling than those in the Outer City. Many of the residents in this part of town took great interest in the warrior-monk. A procession of sorts had gathered behind him and the elf heard the excited questions amongst the gathering citizens.

  “Could it be?”

  “Is that a warrior monk of Ilian Nah-Lum?”

  “Is the prophecy being fulfilled?”

  “Prophet-General!”

  As word of his passage began to spread, more and more gathered to watch the arrival of the Bringer of Glory. Crowds began to form and soon the street was lined with townspeople. It was a much different reception here where the people had a modicum of education and at least some sense of the outside world. However, in the Outer City it was much like other cities the elf had visited. The peasant classes had little care for what transpired outside of their own bleak existence; they had little reason to. Although there were plenty who watched with interest, the crowds were not disorderly, riotous, or even jubilant. But they were decidedly curious and even excited. He decided he liked the quiet reservation of these people.

  The climb became steeper as he made his way closer to the castle mount, and the farther he went he saw homes that were larger and made with much marble. These homes and buildings were far more beautifully designed with domed roofs, oval shaped outbuildings and oval shaped doors. Some modest temples appeared, each with a tall spire reaching for the heavens from the top of a bulbous-shaped roof. Of all the shrines, modest chapels and temples he saw, all served Ilian Nah. The people who resided in this higher section of the city were clearly from the upper classes of Nashian society; they wore fine silks, soft cottons, and some of the men wore cylindrical hats and pointy boots. Curiously, Shalthazar noticed that even though many of these citizens were dressed in fine clothing, none of it was ostentatious or flashy; a reflection of these conservative people.

  Looking behind, Shalthazar saw that a procession of children now followed after him. Many of the citizens, wealthy and not, lined the sidewalks and saluted him. The people of this land held their military in high regard and bringing glory to the Suldom of Nah was the highest honor a citizen could earn. It was widely believed among the people that the Prophet-General would bring eternal glory to the land and prosperity for all.

  The elf smirked; he was pleased that he would be able to use this belief to his advantage. Now with an escort of happy citizens which, he noted were both Keneerie and human, Shalthazar made his way into the section of the city he would later learn was called Gold Street. Here was where the wealthiest of merchants and businessmen dwelled alongside the members of the ruling families of the Suldom. Mansions of marble and gold with lush green gardens and large lawns lined the street. In larger squares, statues spouted running water into large bowls where thirsty citizens could drink. Even though the wealth of this section was not hidden with modesty, it was clear that the upper class here welcomed the lower classes into their midst. Even though there were differences of station, Nashians believed they were all children of Ilian Nah. Shalthazar smiled at such foolishness. The depth of the deception to which this dark god was capable was truly brilliant.

  Shalthazar brought his attention back to the matter at hand and realized he was now at the main gate leading to the Palace of the Sul. He stopped and waited as the guards, who by now had been informed of his coming, snapped to attention and swiftly raised the gate to the castle compound.

  Upon entering the courtyard, the palace guard had turned out and was waiting in formation. The guards were sharply uniformed and bore an orderly appearance. Each wore brightly polished shields and shiny leather boots and armor. With meticulous precision, each soldier stood exactly even with the man in front, behind, and to the sides; creating perfect alignment. Shalthazar marveled at their snap and polish, and their stoic bearing. These men would likely be efficient and unflappable killers in battle. The kind of soldiers he was accustomed to typically consisted of unwilling farmers and peasants who were sloppily dressed, poorly trained and equipped, and forced to protect the lands of their lords. He was impressed by the apparent discipline and purpose that was uniformly displayed by these regulars. Shalthazar knew well the advantage of having trained professional soldiers over unwilling farmers and he was truly excited at the prospect of the devastation these troops were going to impart on the peoples of the Western Havens.

  The gate slid down and locked into place with a loud echoing boom as he continued into the palace courtyard.

  “Present...arms!” barked the commander of the assembled guards. In response his men smartly saluted as one unit. Shalthazar raised his arm in a return salute as was proper, then lowered it to his side as he continued on toward the castle entrance. Here, he stopped and dropped lightly to the ground, handing over the reins to a nearby stable hand. The nightmare at first appeared as though she wanted to go with the elf and refused to budge. However, after a glance from her master, the intelligent beast silently accepted and followed the stable hand, snorting and blowing her displeasure.

  Shalthazar turned back to face the honor guard and stood face to face with a man in shining armor, fist placed over left breast as he bowed deeply. Shalthazar noticed that there was a picture of crossed swords painted in flat black below the man’s left collarbone, the rank of a captain.

  “I am Captain Ral-An Huhl, commander of the First Company of the Sun Legion. It is my honor to escort you to the presence of the Council of the Sun,” the man said humbly. “Will you follow me, sir?”

  Shalthazar well knew the battle hardened history of the Sun Legion and its favor by the Sul himself.

  “Lead on, Captain.” It was all the elf could do to keep from swaggering, he was so pleased with himself.

  Shalthazar was led deeper into the palace through a series of passageways. Everything about the palace decor paid homage to Ilian Nah and the glory of the Suldom. The murals depicted glorious battle scenes at the moment of Nashian victory. Had he not been educated in the history of this land, he would have guessed the murals fanciful at best. Indeed, the Nashian Army was so effective in battle that they routinely destroyed enemies of vastly superior numbers. One particular painting gave the elf pause. Here was depicted a grizzly scene of gored bodies with one man kneeling among the carnage, his sword tip in a man’s chest, and his head bowed and resting on the hilt.

  “Ah, the Prophet-General admires this painting, yes?” asked Captain Huhl.

  Shalthazar nodded.

  “The Battle of Sun Pass, it is called,” the man said reverently. He was quiet for a long moment staring at the painting, welling with pride.

  “The finest moment in Nashian battle history, some say. This battle was pivotal in the formation of the Suldom of Nah as we know it today. On that day, Tassan Mo-Sul, led one hundred men to their deaths while defending the Sun Pass against an invasion by our hated enemies, the Azomites. Tassan Mo-Sul survived the onslaught and was the last man alive after killing the last soldier of the Azomites, only to succumb to his own wounds. On that battlefield, Tassan Mo-Sul died.

  “As the ravens and buzzards descended to feed on the flesh of the dead, the Lord Ilian Nah himself descended from the heavens. Ilian Nah raised Tassan Mo-Sul from the dead and proclaimed him lord of this land. Ilian Nah showed Tassan that he had in fact been betrayed by his own king. As Tassan Mo-Sul battled our hated enemies, King Baran Romana treated with the Azomites and sold the Sun Pass to the Azomite king for three of the Azomite king’s daughters. Ilian Nah told Tassan that the whimsical king was no longer fit to rule this great land and instructed him to confront and kill King Romana. With the promise of great power at his disposal, Tassan returned to the king’s palace to con
front him. The king was terrified of his general and issued a death warrant for Tassan. Tassan’s popularity outweighed that of the pitiful king and soon, many of the king’s men had flocked to Tassan’s standard.

  “Tassan and his followers gathered the corpses of all the men who died in that pass, friend and foe alike, and deposited them in front of the palace gate. They drove the points of every sword into the ground at the foot of each soldier and placed a helm atop each one, all in perfect military alignment with each other. He wanted the king to feel the cost of betrayal before he killed him. With the king locked away in the palace, Tassan assumed command of the realm. He announced a truce with the Azomites and invited them to grieve the senseless loss of their soldiers with our own people.

  “Eventually, Tassan Mo-Sul forced his way into the palace and captured the king and hanged him from the ramparts above the palace gate. The Azomites felt betrayed by their own king and they too led a bloody revolution. The Azomites have been fast friends to the Nashians ever since and have come to our defense on many occasions.

  “Tassan Mo-Sul is considered the founder of the modern Suldom of Nah and every ruler since has born the title ‘Sul’.”

  “I believe I am familiar with that tale, Captain,” Shalthazar said in a polite, but pointed tone.

  “Forgive me, Prophet-General. I have wasted too much of your time, yes? If you will follow me, sir?” Captain Huhl snapped to attention and sheepishly turned to lead Shalthazar down the hallway.

  The elf had in fact learned some of that tale but he had misunderstood the value these people placed on mortal life. He knew that in order to be successful on this mission he was going to have to adjust his views of what lives were worth to the people he commanded. Formerly, the wizard bore responsibility for no one but himself and the cost of another’s life had always been considered a necessary means to a desired end. However, in this military oriented society, he would be responsible for those beneath him. He had to come to grips with placing value on the lives of those in his employ, or at least act like he did.