The Dragon Writers Collection

by DragonWritersCollective

  Shalthazar found himself at the end of the richly decorated hallway lit with flickering oil lamps. Standing before a beautiful wooden door was a Keneerie man dressed in highly polished ceremonial armor full of swirling designs, and richly worked in gold and silver. On most of Llars, Keneerie were considered a race below that of the other more reclusive Elvish races and existed in vast numbers across Llars. Keneerie males were known to be successful soldiers and they had an innate understanding of tactics and warfare. They were commonly found among those human societies who considered them more human than Elvish. In the lands of Nah, Keneerie were considered equals in society to humans. They held positions in the noble classes, the warrior classes, and the peasant classes alike. In fact, several generations of Keneerie generals had claimed the title of Sul and ruled Nah over two hundred years ago.

  The Keneerie officer dropped to one knee before Shalthazar and held his sword before him, head bowed low. “My Lord, for five centuries the people of Nah have awaited your coming. I am Graphus of House Harkendu, Supreme Commander of the Forces of the Suldom of Nah. Please accept my sword on behalf of my own lord, Arman Sul.”

  “Very well,” said Shalthazar as he received the sword from Graphus. He brought the pommel of the man’s sword to his forehead, saluting Graphus, then lowered the tip of the blade to Graphus’ head, as was proper.

  “Graphus, I accept your service in the name of Most Holy Ilian Nah.” Shalthazar then commanded Graphus to stand and returned the sword to him.

  “Prophet-General, if you will please follow me I will present you to the court of Arman Sul.”

  “After you, Supreme Commander,” the elf smiled and marveled inwardly at how efficiently Umber’s plan was going. Supreme Commander Graphus opened the massive door with reverence and stepped inside. He then positioned himself at attention and announced, “The Prophet-General of Ilian Nah!”

  A quiet but respectful murmur rippled through the crowd of assembled dignitaries, nobles, and generals.

  Shalthazar was impressed at what he saw here. The room was paneled in dark wood, not unlike a rich cherry. At regular intervals along the walls were large wooden pillars beautifully worked with silver and gold swirling designs. The floor was black marble with a deep red carpet that led from the door to what could only be viewed as a throne. Alongside the carpeted pathway were several rows of individual high-backed chairs, richly worked with those swirling designs and thick cushions. Between the rows of chairs and the throne was an open area with two ornate wooden tables, each with two high-backed chairs. The table on the left was occupied by a pair of commoners, while someone who appeared rather lordly sat at the table to the right. The throne was occupied by a man in armor very similar to that of Supreme Commander Graphus. This man was clearly human with deep lines on his face, hard eyes that had seen much battle and death, angular jaws that were bulging with muscles developed from too much clenching. His gaze commanded respect, and he cast that gaze at Shalthazar and his escort. Off to one side of the room were two rows of raised seats. To the elf, each appeared to be quite like the throne upon which the Sul was seated and their occupants quite lordly in their demeanor.

  “Thank you, Supreme Commander,” Shalthazar said as he returned the Supreme Commander’s salute.

  Graphus and Huhl turned away from Shalthazar and dropped to one knee, fist raised to forehead in salute to their Sul. Shalthazar strode down the scarlet and gold carpet that covered the walkway between the sections of chairs and stood before the Sul. A simple golden circlet adorned with three small rubies rested atop the Sul’s brow, his armor was adorned with intricate designs of silver and gold and a few more well-placed rubies. The power of the Shadow Sigil enhanced Shalthazar’s already keen senses and allowed him to see the magical currents of energy flowing around him; the armor the Sul was wearing glowed like a beacon to the wizard.

  As Shalthazar approached the throne the murmurings continued, yet Arman Sul remained silent; waiting, assessing whether this strange man was really the prophesied Prophet-General. Shalthazar’s station as Prophet-General would be considered equal to that of the Sul of Nah, although he would have no power over the Sul and he would have no power to govern the people. After a tense moment, the Sul stood and smiled warmly at Shalthazar reaching out his hand to the elf. Interestingly, the wizard noted that for one brief moment, this most imperturbable and unflappable being centuries in age was glad - actually glad! - that the Sul dropped his stern gaze and smiled at him. Irritably, the dark elf decided he would have to go and kill or torture someone later to gain back his emotional balance.

  “Welcome, Prophet-General! Ilian Nah has blessed us with your arrival. The glory of our land is at hand!” The Sul turned and faced the visitors to his court seated in the rows of high backed chairs near the entrance. Shalthazar saw that among them were minor nobles and commoners, Keneerie and humans, military men and those who were clearly civilian. The one thing that they all had in common was not lost on the dark elf: zeal. All of these people were devoted to their Sul and faithful to their god. Even the dais where the major nobles sat in judgment appeared respectful and loyal to the Sul; there would be little trouble from this lot. A conservative round of applause with a scattering of cheers came from the courtiers.

  “Those across the sea shall finally pay for the wrongs they have done to us over the centuries!” the Sul shouted, encouraging his people.

  Shalthazar was somewhat surprised at this sentiment. As far as he knew, the other peoples of Llars (but for a few learned sages) had forgotten the existence of the land of Nah. The gathered nobles and officers cheered with the Sul. Then the grizzled war leader began introducing Shalthazar to some of his gathered advisers. Lower level advisers of little import, the elf thought to himself. A palace chamberlain who ran the day to day affairs of the palace and could get the Prophet-General whatever supplies he needed; the Constable General who was in charge of internal security and keeping peace and order throughout the Suldom; a few of the Constable General’s command staff; the mayor of the capital city; the palace treasurer, who may be useful to know; an ambassador from the Azomite Autonomous Region; the Chancellor General who acted as the official representative of the Sul while on diplomatic missions; and others not worth recalling although the elf put on a masterful show of interest and enthusiasm.

  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 King 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.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  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.”