Shadowblade

by Tom Bielawski

  Finally the knock on the door that he had been expecting came.

  “Your Majesty,” called the page. “Your presence in the coronation room is requested.”

  Cannath did not answer but rose from his resting place on the couch. He walked over to the mirror and surveyed himself. His ceremonial armor had been polished and his great sword gleamed from its sheath on his back. He wanted to be viewed as a warrior-king, and it seemed to him that his image had been crafted well.

  When he stepped out into the hallway, Gavinos and Erriagabyn were there waiting for him with a squad of the men he had once cursed as murderers and thieves. At the urging and cajoling of Cannath’s old friend, Gavinos, the Spiders became a legitimized militia whose loyalty had been formally given to the Thayne of Hybrand. Cannath had not been happy about granting that concession, but he did believe that the Spiders had done their part in the liberation and deserved to be rewarded for it. But something else made him stop in his tracks.

  “Gavinos, what are they doing here?” he demanded, nodding his head sideways at a group of four highly decorated warriors of the Hurkin Horde.

  “My liege,” began the elf placatingly, “they are the honor guard of King Ognadrog, of course.”

  “I see that, Gavinos,” said the monarch, testily. “But why are they here, now? Why do they not honor their own monarch?”

  “The king sent these men as a gift of his gratitude for the invitation. You cannot refuse them, Your Majesty. It would be a great dishonor to our guest.”

  “Guests?” he said harshly. “Why is it I must or must not do anything if these are my guests? I get the feeling, Gavinos, that there is more going on which you are not telling me. I will not ask you now what more surprises lay in store for me, simply because I do not care to know of the things I can do nothing about at this moment.

  “But when I am Thayne Cannath, you may be sure that I will be looking into the legality and necessity of these alliances and treaties very closely. I will not repeat the mistakes of my ancestors.”

  Gavinos nodded, but said nothing, which only made Cannath more suspicious. But he pushed the matter from his mind for he knew that he could do nothing about these things now. He only hoped that when he truly was in the position to look into these matters, that more surprises would not be thrust upon him.

  Indeed, he thought wryly. How will the people look upon me if I cast out the Hurkin Horde engineers who are helping them rebuild their city? Will they understand that this help comes with a price?

  Prince Cannath entered the grand ballroom to a roaring of applause and shouting and his pride was soothed. He saw the gathering of his Cklathish generals, high ranking Nashian nobility and military advisors; all were applauding him. Even King Ognadrog himself, ironically resplendent in his own black and crimson royal regalia and wearing his crown jewels. It was a good feeling. His moment had in fact come. He was finally getting the respect and power he deserved. No longer would he be known as Cannath, a mere lord of the Arnathian Empire.

  He would forever more be known as Thayne Cannath I, Thayne and ruler of Hybrand!

  C H A P T E R

  13

  Power.

  Zach had indeed found a new apartment near the waterfront. His room was on the second floor, and his balcony overlooked the main entrance to the building. He lived under the identity of Levius, an Arnathian merchant who spent weeks at a time in the city of Powyss. When he wasn’t sleeping in his apartment, he would sometimes get a room in an inn elsewhere in the city where he hoped Morloth would give him a clue to the location of Harfour’s heir. And while he was at it, he never missed an opportunity to indulge his blade and test out its powers upon the witless Red Dragons.

  Zach was at the waterfront again this night, having just finished throwing the bodies of a pair of Red Dragons into the frigid waters, and replaced Morloth inside his coat as he walked back up the pier to the waterfront road. The late hour and the power of his dagger to cloak him in shadows had ensured that no one saw him commit his dark deeds.

  Strangely, Morloth had not picked up the trail of Harfour’s heir again. He wondered whether he had simply been misreading the weapon’s agitation, or if perhaps having its thirst abated quenched its interest. In any case, the blade was back to normal now and he was no closer to breaking the lich’s curse.

  He found himself visiting The Siren’s Call more and more. After the harrowing events of the past few days, he was looking forward to talking with Siren in a quiet room; even if he had to pay her for that talk. He always pretended to take one of the girls back into a room and paid her, but he never indulged in any of the services of the brothel. He was there for appearances and to collect information. And though only the invisible voice would admit it aloud, he really enjoyed the time he spent with Siren.

  “And why not?” the voice would always say. “Look what she does for a living!” But that did not bother Zach, and neither did the crudeness of the voice’s comments. Though he found it oddly amusing that the voice was no longer referring to her as a “snitch.” The ever-present voice began to snicker in his ear, suggesting that Zach was soft. He scowled as he walked, ignoring the odd looks from passersby. He wondered how it was that other people seemed to hear the voice when it spoke but attributed it to him.

  Siren was in fact a very beautiful woman and she was about his age. She was wise, too, and had her finger on the pulse of what was happening in the big port city. But Zach dared not let himself get too close to her. He could not afford to get attached to place or person. Not now, not when he was so close to embarking on the journey that would bring him the power he always wanted. And so Zach, much to the chagrin of his annoying companion, kept the woman at arm’s length even as she pulled him in with her mesmerizing eyes and tantalizing figure. It was clear that Siren enjoyed Zach’s presence too and the two would spend a good deal of time talking while Zach was supposed to be with a girl.

  While Siren did not actually know for certain that Zach was the Shadowblade, it was clear that she seemed to understand that it was him. But Siren never mentioned she knew this, and Zach was grateful. He knew it was probably time to move on to another information source, but he was simply enjoying himself too much. He just hoped that the Red Dragons wouldn’t make the connection between him and the Shadowblade and make Siren pay for his actions.

  Zach decided to stop in a bakery to pick up a dozen “hole-cakes” as a present for the girls at the Call. When he first overheard the patrons in the bakery marveling over the baker’s latest invention, he couldn’t understand what was so great about a cake with a hole in it. There were times when folks stood in line outside the bakery, rich merchants mostly, just to buy some. Then he saw the variety of these cakes and began to understand. As a child, Zach always had a fondness for sweets and was enticed by the sight and smells of these delicious looking treats. The baker had several shelves lined with the little cakes made from differing ingredients and with different toppings. Some had a pasty sugar topping, others were glazed with fruit and the most popular variety had a brown syrupy topping the baker called sheeohclaid. Whatever it was, the baker couldn’t make enough of it.

  Zach purchased a variety of the cakes and left the bakery, smiling with thoughts of the reception his cakes would receive. A few minutes after leaving the bakery the familiar green and pink pastel building that was The Siren’s Call appeared ahead of him. The street was thronged with people until he neared the Call.

  No one stood outside on the street, no one went inside, and the few who passed by gave the building a wide berth. The hairs on the back of Zach’s neck rose and a dreadful feeling came over him.

  “Something’s wrong,” whispered the voice, confirming his suspicions. Zach grimaced and continued to walk toward the Call, one hand on Morloth. The door was open.

  Zach walked past the building as though he had no intention of stopping there and glanced at the open door as he passed. On the door was red and white sign, bearing the emblem of the Red Dragons.
When he saw that sign, and noticed the door was hanging askew, he became angry. Fury and rage channeled through him like powerful torrents of energy and he seized them with his will, channeled the hate he felt for the Red Dragons into purpose.

  He ducked into the alleyway beyond the Call and followed it around the backside of the building, tossing the bag of cakes to a beggar as he went. He was looking for the back way into the building. Zach unsheathed his sword from its place beneath his long coat and held it ready, with Morloth in the other hand. He found the nondescript door that led into the rear of the building, it was also open. He passed through the door cautiously but confident that he would not be seen, unless there was a werewolf waiting for him inside. But he doubted that something as powerful and clever as a werewolf would align itself with the clumsy and amateurish Red Dragons.

  The doorway was situated at the end of the main hallway. It was silent, the only sound was from the breeze that occasionally caused a broken door to creak in protest. The hallway was dimly lit by flickering oil lamps and the client rooms were located on either side. The far end of the hallway led to the main room in the front of the building. The first door he came to on the right side had been forced open. When he peered inside his fears were confirmed.

  He looked closely at the body of the woman atop the bloody bed but did not recognize her face. It was apparent that the soldier who killed her had enjoyed himself before killing the woman. Zach felt his body temperature rising and he was sure that if it were possible his blood would be boiling in his veins.

  He turned away from the grisly scene and continued to the next room, it was empty. There were other rooms that were not empty and Zach had to exert every ounce of willpower he possessed to maintain his self-control. Three of the six rooms bore the massacred bodies of the girls who worked for Siren, one of them he was certain had been Kella.

  He reached the end of the hallway and the broken doors that led into the main room. The fire in the hearth was still lit but the draft from the open doors drained away the heat. A male customer lay slumped over the counter at the bar, his throat cut and his face laying a pool of his own blood. Another customer lay on the stone floor next to the hearth, his stomach flayed open and his insides lumped in a pile beside his hands. His anguished expression revealed that he had died slowly.

  He stalked over to the bar and smashed his sword against a stool over and over in frustration. The stool exploded into splinters but it did nothing to ease his rage. And when he walked behind the bar and saw the crumpled form of the woman he had grown fond of, it seemed that his life had left him. He bent down then to look at her face, holding her head in his hands, to try to remember what it looked like before it had been so battered. It was then he saw that there was a note affixed to the side of her head. He hadn’t seen it from the way her head had limply hung to the side. He reached over to pull the note away but it was stuck. Gently moving her head to the side he saw why the note would not move and the last vestiges of emotion and feeling drained away.

  The note had been nailed to the side of her head.

  He pulled the note away from the nail angrily and held it up to the light of an oil lamp beside the bar.

  Consorting with enemies of the crown, was all it said

  He stood there for a while, surveying the carnage, Morloth in his hand. He was deeply disturbed and saddened by the tragic losses, these were just people who had gotten between him and the Dragons. Then it bothered him that he even felt anything all, he was a killer after all.

  And yet, Zach just couldn’t shake the raw emotion and the knowledge the Red Dragons must come to regret what they had done here. He crumpled the note up in his hand and held it, crushed, in his grip. Then he pulled his hood over his head, casting his face in shadow and calmly walked out of the Call through the front door onto the dockway.

  “It is time to kill,” hissed the voice. And Zach agreed. The Red Dragons were going to pay dearly for this.

  Over the following weeks news of the assassin known as the “Shadowblade” spread quickly through the Port of Powyss. Everyone had heard of his legendary assaults on the Red Dragons whose duty it was to keep the peace of the city. Most of the attacks had occurred at night along the waterfront, but more and more of the Red Dragons were being murdered in broad daylight and in other parts of the city, many of them were found drained of blood.

  The citizens of Powyss seemed to enjoy the Shadowblade’s attacks on the Red Dragons, as most viewed the red sashed militia with contempt and felt that their city would be better off if the thieving soldiers were all dead. The Red Dragons had begun to limit the number of their impromptu checkpoints and special “tax days” as these seemed to draw the most attention from the Shadowblade. Rarely did the soldiers patrol in numbers less than twelve now and with at least two Tartarus Monks to support them. But the Shadowblade still struck, picking them off when they were inattentive or lagging behind a group.

  Zach was pleased with the reputation that the Shadowblade had earned, many estimated the number of the Shadowblades’ victims to be near one hundred. Zach had smiled when he heard that because the number was actually higher.

  But Zach was becoming bored with the Shadowblade. Certainly his accomplishments were something to be proud of, but he was not attaining the power and influence he so desired. He was simply killing, and with no apparent purpose the killings were not giving him a sense of accomplishment and did nothing to ease the anguish he felt for the loss of the only woman he found himself attracted to in many years. The only satisfaction he gained from it all now came from his attacks on their tax checkpoints, one of the reasons why he targeting those operations.

  He had not been visited by the werewolf again and wondered if it had left him to track down Carym and the others. He shrugged at the thought, he did his duty by sending Trelwigger back to Obyn to warn them of the danger. Whether the old man could even find them again, or if they listened to him, was of no concern to the Shadowblade.

  Zach had expected the Nyzyr to find him at some point. But the more he thought about it, why would they? He was doing their work for them and doing it for free. They had not claimed him and would not be held accountable for his actions.

  Zach did seem to enjoy living in the big port city, and though he was not gaining the power he wanted he was accumulating a good deal of wealth. Springtime would come soon and the good weather would bring a renewed season of trade which would bring possibilities for enhancing his wealth even more. But he also knew that the criminal organizations that ran the underworld of Powyss would not tolerate the Shadowblade for much longer. Either he would be found and forced to join one of them, or he would be killed.

  Zach decided it was time to find the Nyzyr.

  Nighttown was that part of Powyss where the more powerful criminal enterprises enjoyed a measure of autonomy, even from the Red Dragons. And while he had visited there often enough, he had never been able to find the actual houses from which the guilds and organizations operated from. This didn’t surprise him, as anonymity was a criminal’s best friend.

  Nighttown was considered to be neutral ground among the nefarious groups of the Powyss underworld, allowing each to run its particular enterprises without interference. The Red Dragons were well aware of the neutral status of Nighttown. During their time as one of the respected guild-houses in Powyss the Red Dragons came and went with the same freedom afforded members of all the criminal enterprises. After their rise to power however, the other guild houses banded together against the Red Dragons and burned their headquarters down. It was a message to them that they were no longer welcome in Nighttown. The Red Dragons led several assaults on Nighttown, but each sortie met with such fierce guerilla resistance that the group was forced to abandon the district altogether.

  Tonight Zach found himself in Nighttown spending the right amount of money in the right places, and earning a measure of acceptance from the other town-goers. During his early visits, he had been accosted by a few would-be muggers he
was forced to kill. The sheer savage nature of his attacks, along with his incredible fighting skills marked him as one to avoid among the street urchins who preyed upon the weak and weary. Zach had expected this sort of reception but he was not troubled by it, he was here to obtain information and prices had to be paid.

  Ever since that day on the docks Zach had begun to wonder if he should leave Powyss for the Steel Empire, where the lich had said the old bloodline might still be found. He had nothing to go on, no descriptions, and so he simply waited to hear of any visitors or merchants arriving from the nearby Steel Empire. Then he would see if Morloth alerted him as it had before.

  It was another blustery day in Powyss and it seemed thick, wet, snowflakes were falling in buckets. But Zach did purchase an expensive coat said to be made from the hide of a great aquatic beast with huge fangs that lived in Vaardlund and feasted on unwary sailors. Having been a sailor in the fearsome Arnathian Fleet, Zach was aware of most of creatures of the seas. His jacket was most likely made from the hide of a walrus, a beast that rarely, if ever, preyed on people. Despite the unsavory reputation of the beast from which this coat was made, he was very pleased with it. It was warm and, as promised, water proof and had a hood that could be rolled up and tucked away in a flap on the inside of the coat. With his hood pulled low, Zach made his way through the streets of Nighttown to a tavern called The Sultan Khel.