Dark Sahale

by Sam Ferguson

  “Show yourself,” Njar repeated. “I will not tolerate this much longer.”

  “You have no choice, old friend,” the voice said.

  The mists parted and Njar saw a man walking toward him, hovering over the water of the pools below. He was a large man with dark, nearly black skin. His eyes were brown and fixed intently on Njar. He wore red silk robes and a pair of green velvet shoes that had long, up-curled toes. In his hand, he carried a brown staff. Njar recognized the shadowfiend at once. It was Dremathor.

  “This can’t be, you’re dead,” Njar said.

  “Death can be overcome,” Dremathor replied evenly. An evil grin parted his lips as he folded his thick arms. “I have come for revenge,” Dremathor stated dryly. “You owe me, you back-stabbing goat.”

  Njar bristled. It was one thing to be called a trickster or a meddler, but it was quite another to be called a goat. For satyrs, calling them a goat was one of the most denigrating things a person could say.

  “What have I done to offend you, Dremathor?” Njar asked hotly. “We came to an understanding. You agreed to the plan!”

  Dremathor shook his head. “You know, death has a way of changing a person’s mind. Seeing the things I saw, feeling the things I felt.”

  “How did you return to the plane of the living?” Njar asked.

  “How I did it is not important. It is what I intend to do now that should concern you.” Dremathor’s voice was as ice, stabbing into Njar’s heart. “I am coming for what I am owed, and I am going to repay you for everything you did to me, goat.”

  Dremathor stepped toward Njar and pulled a spear of sick, wicked blackness out of the mists.

  Njar tried to raise his hands and perform a counter spell, but his limbs were frozen at his sides. He glanced at his arms only to see strange, dark creatures writhing in the mist. There were several of them swirling in the waters below, but two had managed to approach undetected and grab Njar’s arms.

  “Wights,” Njar grunted as their paralyzing magic flowed through his body.

  “Yes, well, I made a few new friends too,” Dremathor said. “I suppose I forgot to mention that part.” He stepped forward and stabbed the spear through Njar’s chest. The satyr felt his skin rip open as the tip of the weapon bit into him. It forced its way between two ribs and then bit into Njar’s heart. A sharp coldness shot out from Njar’s chest. He tried to scream, but no sound came out of his mouth.

  The spear was ripped free and then Dremathor laughed again.

  “Nonac is next,” Dremathor said.

  Njar’s eyes shot wide. If Dremathor could get to Nonac, the sacred tree that guarded Viverandon, then none of the others would be safe from his wrath. Njar tried to will himself into action, but the strength left his body, and drained from his mind. He slipped into the waters below as the mists disappeared and Dremathor vanished.

  The satyr chief’s body floated toward the bank of the Pools of Fate. For a while, he lay upon the dirt barely breathing as his legs bobbed up and down with the water. Then, as the feeling started to return to his arms and legs, he opened his eyes. He was confused. Hadn’t he just been stabbed? He weakly struggled to push himself up onto his side so he could examine his chest. He was wet, but otherwise unharmed. There was no hole in his chest. Encouraged by this discovery, he forced himself to sit up and inspect his arms. There was no damage there either, as there should have been if he had been attacked by wights.

  It must have been a vision.

  Yes, that was it. The Pools of Fate had shown him what was to come. A future encounter with Dremathor. But how could that be? Dremathor was dead. There was no way to conquer death and come back into the world of the living, especially in Dremathor’s case. The shadowfiend had voluntarily allowed his powers and strength to be absorbed by another. As far as Njar knew, Dremathor would have no powers left. How could he have escaped to the plane of the living?

  Had Dremathor tricked him all along?

  Njar patted his wet, but otherwise intact chest and shook the loose water from his body. He was a target, now. He would have to watch his back. The symbols in the tea cup were becoming clearer. He looked up into the sky, now void of clouds and bright as the moment he had stepped out of his home. The satyr then realized that his staff was gone.

  He performed the spell that summoned it, but nothing happened. He snorted angrily and recited the spell aloud. Still, nothing happened. A third time he tried to summon his staff, and then he heard a faint laugh carried upon the soft breeze. He looked out to the Pools of Fate and saw a soft, golden glow coming from below the waters.

  The liquid cleared enough for him to see that his staff was now chained to the lake bed, in exactly the same place he had been imprisoned. His heart nearly stopped in his chest. The encounter was not wholly metaphysical in nature. Something had assaulted him, and it had seized his staff. Njar felt a deeply-rooted fear gnaw at his soul.

  Dremathor had said that Nonac was next.

  The great tree, the barrier to Viverandon, was in danger.

  Abandoning his staff, he turned and ran from the Pools of Fate. He could hear the laughter growing louder behind him, but he didn’t stop. He had to make sure the tree was safe. Whatever it took, Njar had to protect Nonac.

  He ran through the village and across the fields until he came to the edge of a lush, dense forest. A mighty oak tree stood tall and proud. The massive sentinel reached out to Njar with its energy. They did not communicate in ways that most people understood. There was no exchange of words or sharing of thoughts. Rather, it was an ebb and flow of essence and life energy that the two utilized. Nonac sensed the turmoil within Njar, but assured the satyr chief that all was well.

  Njar sighed in relief, happy that for now they were still safe. He knew that should Nonac ever fall, then Viverandon would be unable to move itself. Worse than that, the doorway into the magical realm would be thrown open wide for anyone to enter. Since most humans despised their kind, Njar couldn’t allow that to happen.

  He walked up to the tree and placed his hand on the thick, rough bark. “I am glad you are well, my friend,” Njar said. “I can remember sitting in your shade as a youngling, and I would that you should be standing still when my youngling’s youngling’s youngling come to seek refuge beneath you, old friend.”

  The energy flowed back and forth, communicating the message Njar wished to send.

  The tree responded with warm, clean essence.

  Then there was pain.

  Njar cried out as his right hand merged with the tree. His skin fused to the bark, and a great channel was opened between them. Something dark and evil stirred within Njar’s bosom. It felt as though a sharp-spined hedgehog were walking backward through his body, striking and stabbing at everything in its way. The ball of twisted magic burrowed its way through Njar’s arm as the satyr chief screamed in pain and struggled to pull himself free of Nonac. A great pressure built in Njar’s hand, and then there was a sensation of sharp pain followed immediately by a sensation of release and emptiness.

  Nonac quivered, and Njar was released.

  The great tree sent out angry energy and shook Njar to his core.

  “What?” Njar asked. “No, I haven’t betrayed you!” he shouted. Nonac quivered and the earth around the massive sentinel shook with it. A thick root emerged from the ground, slowly pulling up bits of turf and popping as smaller offshoots broke free of the main root. The tree’s anger flowed into Njar again. “But I haven’t betrayed you!” Njar protested. “I only…”

  He looked down at his chest and smoothed away some of his fur. There, he saw a line of scar tissue over his heart. He had never been wounded there before. Somehow, the spear that had gone through him was real. A dark spell had assaulted him, and infected him with something terrible. Njar looked up at the quaking tree. His mouth fell open and he gasped as one of Nonac’s leaves turned gray and fell from the branches above.

  Nonac was in trouble.

  A great gust of wind came at him fr
om behind, bringing with it the laughter he had heard earlier.

  “You tricked me,” Njar said aloud. “You infected me with something, knowing I would rush to protect Nonac, and thereby used me to slay my greatest and oldest friend.”

  Dremathor laughed again, and then the wind disappeared.

  Nonac shuddered violently. The lifted root swung through the air and batted Njar several yards toward the grassy field. He tumbled to a stop, coughing and gasping for air. The blow Nonac had given him hurt greatly, but not nearly so badly as the knowledge that he had been used as the instrument of Nonac’s death. The bruise on his body would heal, but not the scar across his heart.

  “I am sorry, my friend,” Njar said as Nonac withdrew its energy from him. “I didn’t know. I promise.”

  Another leaf fell to the ground.

  “Dremathor, I will find you, and I will kill you,” Njar swore as he struggled to his feet. “I shall not let this evil stand!”

  *****

  Erik had shifted into his human form four miles outside of Winter’s Beak. Although he was anxious to answer Lady Arkyn ’s summons, he was apprehensive about being spotted flying over the several smaller villages that lined the road leading out of Winter’s Beak. As it was, the few farmers that did see him coming were quick to get out of his way, glancing nervously at the large sword he carried and shewing their children indoors. He had once seen townsfolk react to Master Lepkin in a similar way. Back then, he had never thought he would be headed down a path that would have others treating him that way.

  He hurried along to the city. Rows of tall trees closed in at the edge of each farming village, pressing the sides of the road until the next grouping of grain fields or ranging area forced the forest to open up again. It would have been a pleasant walk, if not for the Night Hawk’s message constantly playing in his mind. He increased his pace, jogging in the long stretches between villages and slowing to a quick walk when he came upon people. By doing so, he was able to cross the entire distance to Winter’s Beak in less than forty minutes.

  When he arrived at Winter’s Beak, he could feel that something was not right. The salty sea air carried with it the cold fingers of death. There was no smoke or sign of battle that he could see, but he could feel its lingering effects. He slowed as he walked into town through the main road. Tall row-houses loomed over him on the right, while shorter, square homes and shops stood on the left. There was a decent number of people moving about outside, oblivious to the aura of gloom that hung over the town. As the buildings on the left gave way to a thoroughfare, Erik saw down the sloping hill and out to the docks. Only a couple of ships were in the waters, but that was not unusual for Winter’s Beak. While it had once been a thriving port, it was now little more than a rest stop for weary seamen who lost their way in the many storms of the northern seas. Even from where he stood Erik could tell that two of the warehouses were no longer in use. Their boarded windows and sagging roofs plainly told of the town’s fate.

  Still, for all of its hardship, Winter’s Beak was home to several lesser noble families. Some of them were new nobles, having earned titles in the war against Tu’luh, while others were more established, wealthy families that despite the overall downturn in the area, still had enough gold to live on for generations to come.

  Erik had often wondered why families like that didn’t offer more to the communities they resided within. Having spent his early childhood as an orphan, and then somehow becoming the adopted son of a nobleman himself, Erik could see that there was clearly enough to go around for all. While he didn’t condone the theft of money or forced redistribution of their wealth, from his father’s example he had learned that very rich men could offer much to their communities, and be all the better for it.

  He himself was now a landed lord, but he didn’t hoard his inherited wealth. He used it to employ people who worked the lands, provided for their protection, and had over the last few years, used large sums to invest in various development projects throughout the kingdom. He made a mental note to send a letter to Braun and ask him to identify some project worth funding in Winter’s Beak, and then he continued walking through the town.

  He went another four blocks before he heard a whisper coming from an alley on his right. He moved toward it, recognizing Minrielle Arkyn’s call. As he left the view of the main street, she stepped out of the shadows and removed her hood. Her delicate, yet strong features were as beautiful, if not more so, than the day she had left nearly four years before. Her ears were pointed and regal, her eyes the color of jade, twinkling as she offered him a warm smile. He felt his heart flutter when she spoke.

  “Hello, stranger,” she said.

  “Hello,” he replied. He had missed her even more than he had anticipated. “I got your message.” He wanted to go in for a hug, but under the circumstances, he figured that might be a bit out of place. He had a job to do. They could embrace later, assuming she still felt the same way as he did after all this time.

  Lady Arkyn’s smile disappeared. “I’m sorry we couldn’t meet under happier circumstances,” she said.

  Erik recalled seeing the bodies through the Night Hawk’s message. “Do we know who did this?” he asked.

  Lady Arkyn shook her head. “The city guards are involved now. They have searched the manor and boarded it up.”

  “Do they know that the others were sahale?” Erik asked.

  “No. The people of Winter’s Beak have no experience with such things, and there are no outward signs of their true nature, except for the birthmarks, which aren’t likely to cause any major alarm. Each of the bodies found were in their human form. Njar did give me a lead to investigate.” Lady Arkyn glanced over her shoulder. That was when Erik realized she didn’t have her bow with her.

  “Where is your bow?”

  Lady Arkyn shrugged. “I was attacked several nights ago. It was lost in the battle. Listen, we need to hurry. There is a shadowfiend that Njar believes may either be responsible, or at least know where else to look for clues.”

  “A shadowfiend?” Erik asked. Those were dark creatures. Every shadowfiend had been human once, born without magical powers, but driven by their insatiable lust for magical power they made pacts with demons to acquire magic. Worse than that, they could feed upon their victims and absorb their power. “If a shadowfiend killed these sahale, then he would be very powerful after absorbing their strength,” Erik whispered.

  Lady Arkyn nodded. “That is why we have to hurry. For now, we have the element of surprise on our side, and we have you,” she said with a gesture toward Erik. “You are the most powerful sahale. There is no one else I would rather track this murderer with. Njar said he is in Pracheloor Cave, nestled in a set of three mountains some three hundred miles east of Far Point.”

  Erik felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

  It wasn’t often he wanted to shy away from a fight. He had willingly thrown himself at Tu’luh the Red on multiple occasions, as a fourteen year old he had once stabbed Tukai the warlock with a fork, and he had slain the warlock Gondok’hr at Lokton Manor, but this was different. If Erik could defeat demons while in his dragon form, then what could a shadowfiend with the power of several sahale running through his veins accomplish?

  Lady Arkyn must have noticed his hesitation, for she stepped forward and wrapped him in a warm embrace. “It’s good to see you,” she said again, although her voice was not as happy as it had been when she had first greeted him. “I am glad to see you are all right.”

  Erik smiled and hugged her back. The momentary nervousness left him and he resolved himself to finding the culprit responsible and bringing him to justice. Shadowfiend or not, Erik was the Champion of Truth, and he had more than a few tricks of his own. “I am glad to see you are well too,” Erik said.

  He paused then and thought of the raven. Now that he knew Lady Arkyn was alive and well, who among his friends had the raven marked for death that night at Erik’s window?

  CHAPTER 6


  Erik and Lady Arkyn traveled the two hundred and thirty miles north to Far Point in two days, camping and resting during the day and flying by night as Erik was easily able to carry Lady Arkyn on his back while in dragon form. Only after they had flown sufficiently far from Winter’s Beak did she tell Erik about the strange necromancer that had attacked her.

  When they arrived in Far Point, they were greeted at the gates by a pair of shabbily dressed men wearing leather hauberks and carrying spears. They were not professional soldiers, but Far Point was known for having a sizable number of volunteers working the city guard since the end of the recent war, as they had supplied most of their professional guards to bolster the army at Ten Forts and Fort Drake.

  “State your business,” one of the men said as he scratched the side of his face.

  “We are traveling through,” Erik said. “Just need to purchase some supplies.”

  “Your name?” the other guard said as he leaned on his spear and smiled at Lady Arkyn.

  “I am Lady Arkyn.” She turned and gestured to Erik. “And this is Lord Erik Lokton.”

  The guard stood up straight as a pole and quickly moved to salute Erik. “Sir! It is an honor to have you here.”

  Erik looked to Minrielle, but she only shrugged.

  The other guard took a step forward and examined Erik from head to toe. “This is Gerald Kigsel. You saved his life once, at Fort Drake.”

  Erik turned to Gerald. “You fought at Fort Drake?” he asked.

  Gerald nodded. “Yes, sir, I did. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. My left eye went blind after the battle, and my right eye doesn’t see as well as it used to.”

  “You can relax,” Erik said as he moved close enough for Gerald to see him return the salute. “I am just a man, same as you,” Erik said.

  “But you’re not,” Gerald said. “I saw what you did in that battle. Everyone there saw it.”