The Tomb of the Dark Paladin

by Tom Bielawski

  "Ah, there are our friends now," whispered Shalthazar, a smile playing about his lips. The Ayersmen patrol, hidden from view but not from powerful magic, could be heard cheering as their volley hit home. Although the creature could feel no pain, the arrows did cause it damage. Then, another volley of arrows thrummed through the air and buried themselves in the creature's soft hide. It dropped to its knees, slapping at its head as though it were trying to rid itself of a cloud of angry wasps. Arrows struck the creature in the head again as well as in the shoulders, upper back and thighs. Finally, enough arrows penetrated the creature's head that the enchantment was broken, the creature simply disintegrated into a pile of dust. The Ayersmen patrol crept cautiously from their positions of safety to see their handiwork up close.

  Shalthazar nodded, as though expecting exactly what had happened. He smirked at the bold Cklathmen. They had seen this type of horrific monster before and they were becoming confident now in their ability to slay it. That would soon change.

  "What did you see, apprentice?" the dark elf chuckled as he turned to face Zerelis.

  "Our creation is as unfamiliar with its body as a newborn babe. It cannot think for itself, it cannot negotiate obstacles well, and it is susceptible to physical attacks. Perhaps there needs to be a training regimen before we can deploy the creations, Master."

  "We need to adjust the spell one final time."

  "Why does it turn to dust?"

  "That is by design. It is a mechanism intended to prevent the enemy from learning how to control and use our creations against us. In addition, we can design the spell so that when the creature is destroyed it will do more than just turn to dust." Shalthazar watched as the rambunctious Ayersmen collected up their arrows and inspected the dust pile that had been a deadly monster. "Now we understand its basic limitations and we can properly prepare the next soldier."

  "And with the Cauldron of Bones there will be no limit to how many we can make!"

  "We will have to send word to Arawyn, he should be able to apply these principles to even the simple spells that animate corpses."

  "I shall make the notification myself, Master."

  Shalthazar nodded and turned away from the scene, walking deeper into the woods.

  "What about these Ayersmen? They have seen two iterations of this corpse golem. Shouldn't we finish them now?"

  "Yes." Shalthazar turned his hooded head toward Zerelis. "Dispose of them." Then a shadowy opening appeared amidst the trees and the dark wizard slipped into the realm of Shadows, leaving Zerelis to wipe out the enemy village.

  The darkness was stifling, yet comforting. The dank smell that permeated the room was powerful and reminded him of home. And in the darkness he was home. He was reminded of the many accomplishments of his long, long, life on his home world. There were times, even now, when the dark wizard questioned the wisdom of his bargain with the foul god of Llars. He thought of his palace and hundreds of servants and rooms full of treasure and gold. He thought of the peasants that worshiped him as a god in the old world, and the nation he built that proclaimed him a holy monarch. At times he longed to return to his home and take his revenge upon those of his kin that had cast him out of his beloved homeland, for a cast out elf was marked and doomed to a life of drudgery and crime. In all his long centuries, Shalthazar had never returned to his homeland. He still dreamed of exacting his revenge upon the proud and united elves.

  What he needed, what he wanted most, was the power to break them. He wanted to subjugate and enslave his people, make them acknowledge him as their god on bended knee. This was to be the reward from Umber for his labor. The god-like power that Umber himself wielded would be more than enough to conquer his home world and proclaim himself their god. It was a feat that had been attempted before, on his home world and on this one. Yet each time it was attempted, the attempt ended in failure. But the prize was close now, tantalizingly close. The military campaign could not have gone better, but the campaign for that which Umber truly desired had been riddled with failure. He shuddered involuntarily as he recalled his last visit with the vile god. Shalthazar knew that Umber was planning to cheat him of the reward he deserved; how could the god of deception and lies do otherwise? And now that Medov had arrived, the dark wizard knew the manner in which the god's betrayal would come. He knew the limits of Umber's power and exactly how he had beaten the all-powerful Zuhr's ban on the use of the Sigils; he was using that knowledge to devise his own plans.

  A sound from above penetrated the inky blackness. Footsteps echoed along the damp spiral staircase, softly at first, then louder. Shalthazar, power enhanced by the darkness and shadow, was able to see far beyond his own limits and knew that the visitor was Zerelis. As captain of Shalthazar's Wizard Corps, Zerelis was a formidable sorcerer in his own right. He was one of the few that Shalthazar had sensed the power of the Shadow Sigil in very early on. The man was an adept student and absorbed much of the secrets of the Shadow Sigil simply by observing his master. He excelled in practical application of magical theory, had improvised existing spells, and had even created a few of his own. There were none among his apprentices who could rival Zerelis in power, except perhaps his brother, Urelis.

  As he awaited the arrival of his underling, he returned his thoughts to the most pressing matter, that of the foul-willed Umber. He knew the conniving god would be difficult to defeat, but not impossible. Umber's orders for the little device were explicit, perhaps overly so. It must be deposited in the Everpool at all costs, therefore the Everpool must be located at all costs. Umber claimed that the box would destroy the waters sacred to another of the First Six, and that its destruction would weaken the others of the First Six. But Shalthazar knew a great deal of the so-called gods of Llars, and he doubted very much that the destruction of the pool of sacred water would do exactly what Umber promised. There had to be another reason. Umber had made no mention of the fact that there was a being trapped inside the device. Shadowblade learned that himself. It was far more likely to the dark elf that that the powerful magic of the water would destroy the enchantment that was holding the evil being that was trapped within. Umester.

  The door to his chamber opened and the blue elf from the northern glacier walked in. Medov seated himself before the dark elf and placed a small crystalline ball on the desk. With a whispered word that Shalthazar did not understand, the crystalline ball flared with multicolored light and suddenly an image appeared in the air above, neither elf spoke. Images of demons and angels and gods came and went before their eyes, telling a story that the dark wizard was not pleased to learn.

  "Well," he said when the images ceased. "That was a rather dire story."

  "The world as we know it is doomed, Shalthazar."

  Shalthazar was silent for a long moment, pondering. Then, "In all my centuries of life never have I been inclined to align myself with the cause of those who claim virtue."

  "It would seem there is little choice, Shalthazar. While I do not care for the idea, I care even less for the idea of becoming food for a demon."

  "Erestonin is to suffer the same fate as the rest of the world?"

  "Not entirely, no. We Frost Elves will be little more than the servers in charge of managing the demons' food supply."

  "What need have we to meddle?" he asked pointedly. "We are, all of us, powerful enough to escape this madness. We could flee to the moon, Hastor, and live in luxury at the expense of the primitive savages who live there. There are many other worlds to explore and exploit." Even as the wizard spoke the words, he was loath to simply give up what he had worked so hard to attain. And, he reminded himself, Hastor was rumored to be home to dwarves and a lost race of elves. Perhaps it was not such an appealing escape.

  "Do as you will, wizard," said the assassin. "I made my own bargain with one of the gods of Llars, and I have come to regret it. I have betrayed my country and my people. I do not care what becomes of Erestonin, they are mindless automatons who only do the bidding of the Dark Disciples and of
the filthy demons of the nether realms. I have far greater ambition and desires than they, and I will not let them throw it all away."

  "What do you suggest, General?"

  "You have a formidable corps of wizards and two powerful assassins to work with. Arawyn will soon have the Cauldron of Bones. Zach and Urelis will reach the Ogre Tribes -and now you have a dragon."

  "A paltry army in the face of Umber's demons, General."

  "These gods are petty and small, they can be killed."

  "Indeed?" asked the wizard, eyebrow raised slightly. "How?"

  "In the mortal realms, the gods are vulnerable to physical attack."

  "It has been tried before, and it ended in failure. Umber won't be so easily fooled."

  "He won't have a choice," replied the blue elf.

  Shalthazar smiled. Perhaps things could work out after all.

  C H A P T E R

  F I F T E E N

  ~

  "Go!" shouted Ederick. "We will buy you time!" With that, Ederick and the Jaguar Knights charged toward the oncoming menace. Bart stopped hurling blasts of lightning and vortexes of wind at the airborne beast and fled with Carym.

  The first wasp dragon, desperately wounded, finally succumbed to its wounds dropping dead to the forest floor. The second beast, red and black, and larger than the first, dived forcefully, wings abuzz, landing hard in front of the group of knights; the ground shook with the force of the impact from its spiked feet. A barrage of arrows from the half dozen Jaguar Knights welcomed the beast, but bounced harmlessly off its steely carapace. The beast's tail flicked dangerously, showing its agitation, it made its wings buzz loudly, disorienting the gathered humans.

  The helmed rider, sunlight gleaming off his silvery armor, dropped heavily to the ground, his head homing in on Sir Ederick immediately. The intimidating warrior crossed the open ground to meet the knight and left his wasp dragon in the trees, completely ignoring the arrows bouncing off his armor. Ederick knew that this man, of whatever sort he may be, was powerful. He would not be easily defeated. The dark energy reached for the knight's heart, trying to squeeze it and inject fear into his soul. Ederick knew that the enemy was trying to cow him, force him to surrender. He reminded himself that his only mission now was to delay. If he lost his life in doing that, then he would die with honor. The enemy did not return the attacks of the Jaguar archers, so Ederick waved them off. He suspected that the enemy rider might want to discuss terms. Considering that the rider already tried to intimidate him with dark magic, he would have to be on guard for trickery. He lowered his sword as he awaited the arrival of his enemy, as did the Jaguar Knights with him.

  He noticed that the enemy had unusual armor, form fitting like a second skin of shining flexible steel. The visor of the helm had no eye slits. Ederick wondered what sort of person could fight without seeing. He carried no sword, but with a muffled sound from behind the solid helm, the metal from his armor extended down over his hands transforming them into wicked blades of black steel. With no word of command from its master, the wasp dragon's tail whipped up and over its body and it lowered its head and belly to the ground. Its wings folded back and disappeared into pockets along the length of its body and its spear-like forelegs extended before it, menacingly. Then, its tail began to whip from side to side launching wicked barbs through the air, one finding its mark immediately in a warrior who had just begun shifting into the form of a great bird. The barb sank deeply into the warrior's chest, then bird became man once more and fell heavily to the ground, still.

  It was an honorless ruse, the enemy had no desire to parley and wanted only to kill Ederick's Jaguar counterparts easily. The trap sprung, the remaining warriors shifted into their various magical forms of predatory cats or large raptors in flashes amber light and leaped into the air or ran to attack the great beast. Sensing the danger, the wasp dragon leaped into the air also, but not before two magnificent jaguars latched onto its back and its thrashing tail. The flock of ravens that so mangled the first wasp dragon came now to the aid of the Jaguar fighters and dramatically swarmed the larger red and black beast. The wasp dragon shook itself like a dog trying to shake off flies, desperate to reach the safety of the air. The beast's greater strength sent many of those ravens to their deaths, but the attacks of the warriors were another matter. The beast sensed that it would not gain superiority by air, it charged across the ground to meet the knights, its great tail whipping about and its razor tipped forelegs stabbing the ground. Its wings thrummed and buzzed so loudly that Ederick feared succumbing to the sound's fear-filled projections. Ederick was grateful that, at least, the wasp dragon's attention was drawn to the Jaguar warriors in the woods. For the moment he was alone with the enemy rider.

  The knight knew that he must attack this opponent soon as the two warily circled each other. His body's own reaction to the danger of combat forced his mind and body into a higher state, one where instinct, training, and reflex acted and responded before thought. Without bothering to salute his enemy, he charged the evil warrior before him and steel rang loudly on steel. Sparks flew as his sword collided with the magical blades of his opponent. Each of the powerful men felt the force of that impact keenly, their arms jarred and stinging. They stepped back, each watching the other, inured to the fight going on nearby, focused solely on their own private battle; a battle that would end in the death of one or the other.

  The dark rider charged in then, blades spinning yet silent as death. The knight sensed dark magic at work for he knew it wasn't his own mind that so perfectly muted the sounds of battle that were clearly audible a moment before. Again they clashed violently, blocking and striking with skill and precision. The dark rider was clearly a seasoned warrior with skills that could only come from a lifetime of training and combat. Shadows began to form around the feet of the rider, swirling about his legs, finally shrouding his body in black mist, making his form appear indistinct and elusive.

  Ederick was no stranger to combat, magically enhanced or mundane. He knew the enemy would eventually give himself away and commit to a pattern that the knight could predict and exploit. He charged in and attacked, if only to determine his enemy's methods, and he saw that the black mist seemed to dissipate with each counter attack from his enemy. His sword found no opening at first as the two exchanged parries and strikes; the knight's incredible skill and combat experience helped him to calmly record what he saw.

  Though no advantage was gained by either foe, the knight had been able to observe a subtle telegraphing motion that he knew he could exploit. He continued to observe this pattern as the pair exchanged parries and strikes, each testing the other. While Ederick knew enough to avoid routines, the enemy continued to display the opening which the knight felt he could exploit; a very slight habit of stepping back on one foot just before launching a thrust with his left hand blade. The next time Ederick saw the man step back he knew what was coming next; he struck hard, sinking his sword into rider's armored abdomen. But his shout of triumph died on his lips as the rider simply paused his attack, and laughed. The sound of the laughter from the eyeless visor chilled him. Experience would not allow him to hold himself so close to his enemy for more than the briefest of moments. Ederick quickly turned sideways to the enemy and threw his left elbow at the enemy's head, striking a jarring blow. As the blow struck home, Ederick pulled his blade free and continued his turn away. Quickly he spun around to face the enemy again, sword before him. The elbow strike had not harmed the enemy but had the desired effect of momentarily stunning him; it was all the time the knight needed to create some distance. As the enemy shook his head, advancing again, Ederick realized with chagrin the blade of his own sword was gone! He also noted with interest that the aura of silence which had been enveloping the duelers had dissipated; perhaps the gut strike was not without effect on his opponents magical powers.

  Silently, Ederick called on Zuhr for strength, having no idea how he was going to defeat this enemy with only a sword hilt. Carym needed all
the time he could get. Ederick would fight to the last breath, the last second. The rider calmly and confidently approached, sensing victory over his now unarmed foe and Ederick knew there would be no quarter. Ederick cautiously stepped away, maintaining distance, and looking for something to fight with. Although Sir Ederick was superbly skilled in unarmed combat, it was never wise to fight with fists in a sword fight. The knight hoped that if he held out long enough he might get help from the Jaguar fighters.

  Ederick settled on an age-old tactic he learned as a new recruit facing far more powerful combatants. It was a good tactic, but it would only work once. He let the rider close on him, sensing overconfidence brimming in the man. He slowed his evasive movements just a little and stumbled, holding his head as though the dying wasp dragon's buzzing was disorienting him. Shadowy black tendrils snaked out along the ground from beneath the enemy and wrapped around Ederick's feet, forcing him to stand in place. He forced himself to remain calm, retreat was not an option. He slouched, showing fatigue and weakness, and hopefully defeat. Knowing he had only one chance, he steeled his resolve, and let the rider approach him. The rider stepped forward, both swords held high, savoring the fear he thought he was imparting into his defeated foe. The enemy even began to chortle and uttered a few words in High Cklathish.

  "No quarter," said the enemy, surprising Ederick. The wizened man knew better than to react to the gloating of the enemy, but he filed away the fact that his foe spoke High Cklathish. He knelt down in a position of surrender. Just as the enemy's blade began its murderous descent, Ederick lunged inside the effective reach of his foe's swings, taking a fist to the head for his effort. However, the knight had anticipated such a blow, far favorable to being skewered, and fought through the pain as he struggled to hold on to the rider.