Shadowblade

by Tom Bielawski

  The Sultan Khel was the place that Siren had told him of before she died. It didn’t seem much different than other taverns he visited except that the barkeep and many of the patrons were of Karbander descent. During his frequent visits, Zach had listened to the varied stories of the Shadowblade and his exploits against the Red Dragons. With the seeming demise of that group looming on the horizon there was much suspicion among the gangs and groups of Nighttown that a rival might just try to usurp the place of the Red Dragons. Zach knew that such an occurrence would lead to war among the criminal houses and would be bad for all parties involved. He wondered how long it would take for them to realize this and make a treaty among themselves.

  Zach had been to this tavern several nights in a row, listening, hoping to hear someone mention the Nyzyr. Zach even engaged a few of his fellow patrons in conversation, always steering the topic to the Shadowblade and how he was ridding the city of the Red Dragons, one by one. But his fellow tavern-goers never took the bait, and none mentioned the Nyzyr. And though many significant murders were attributed to the mysterious group, he was beginning to wonder if the Nyzyr existed at all. Zach had even paid another visit to Baldric in hopes of learning more about the Nyzyr but the old man insisted that one did not seek the Nyzyr, the Nyzyr would seek him. Whenever a person mentioned the infamous assassins by name, word would eventually reach the group that a potential customer was seeking to hire them. Always, they studied their clients from afar and never did a client see the Nyzyr’s face.

  Zach unbuttoned his coat as he entered the tavern and placed it on a rack with a few others. The tavern was busy this night, as usual, and there were but a few seats free. As luck would have it, a pair of patrons near the fire had completed their evening and left the tavern as Zach was coming in. He moved swiftly to the table and sat down close to the hearth amidst a cluster of other patrons.

  Nearby, an older Karbander man played an exotic tune on a strange looking instrument. The instrument was pear shaped with a bent handle on the top and had a number of strings which the musician plucked in a pleasant and harmonious manner. The music and the warm fire provided a very relaxing atmosphere, but Zach knew better than to let his guard down here.

  Zach shifted his attention from the minstrel to the task at hand. He was seated at a long table with a few other patrons. The server, a dark haired exotic beauty, recognized him from his previous visits and ordered his usual fare; Zach always paid the serving girl well. Soon the serving girl brought him a plate of steaming chicken that had been cooked in yogurt with a heaping pile of rice and warm flatbread.

  Finally, he pushed his plate away and relaxed, listening to the conversations of the other patrons. Invariably, the subject of the day’s killings had been brought up. This time by a man whose face was wrapped in a loose green and white plaid scarf.

  “...a pair of them dead as doornails,” said the man. “Their bodies dried husks when the Shadowblade was through!”

  “Thieving bastards,” agreed another. “Deserved what they got.”

  “Seems that this Shadowblade is something of a hero,” commented Zach for the first time. The others were used to his presence in the tavern and so readily included him in the conversation.

  “Doing us all a favor, he is,” said the first.

  “Maybe he will single-handedly kill every one of the Red Dragons,” offered Zach. A few others grumbled a ready agreement.

  “And good riddance too!”

  “But who would the Rhi send in to take their place?” Zach frowned as he spoke. “If Tywiss Rhi is capable of having these louts police our city, what would he do after they are defeated? Certainly the Rhi must know that his pet Dragons are dying in scores?”

  A few others nodded wisely. “Does it matter? So long as they die.”

  “But who could rival this Shadowblade? Surely there are others as good as he.”

  “Oh, there are,” said another. “This ‘Shadowblade’ is being watched very closely.”

  The fire crackled and popped as the men enjoyed its warmth. The door opened and oil lamps flickered as the cold breeze cut through the room. When the couple who entered closed the door, it only took a moment for the cool air to warm up again. Zach stared into the fire, thinking of how to prolong the conversation. Perhaps bluntness was the best course.

  “Who is watching him? I’ve heard rumors of another organization, one that is far superior in skill than these pathetic Dragons. Perhaps this Shadowblade is one of them?”

  Zach knew he struck a chord then as his companions remained studiously quiet, involved in their fireside contemplations. Was this a silent acknowledgement he was on the right track?

  Suddenly, he wanted the truth to be known. He wanted to take credit for the killings, for what had he gained by them thus far? But what fool would so openly announce that he was the serial killer known as Shadowblade in the common room of an inn? Only an amateur would make such a mistake, and he did not want the Nyzyr to think that of him.

  He was bursting at the seams to say something, anything, but he held his tongue and realized he was being stonewalled. Zach tossed a few coins on the table and left the Sultan Khel and wandered out into the cold winter night.

  Zach sat in his room with his head in his hands, his very bloody hands. Morloth lay on the table, its eyes gleaming in the flickering light of his oil lamp. The Shadowblade had killed and killed until he finally felt as though enough Red Dragons had died to pay for the deaths of the women at the Siren’s Call. He saw Siren’s bloody face each and every time he killed a Red Dragon and remembered that it was his own business that had taken her life.

  The Mayor ordered that the Dragon’s travel with no less than forty men, a platoon, anywhere they went. Shorter now in their numbers, their presence was further reduced when leaders were forced to withdraw from their areas and to join larger platoons.

  Finally, Zach decided that enough blood had run in the streets of Powyss to make up for the death of Siren and her girls. He was done killing them for now, and he was beginning to feel as though he were done with Powyss. At first he had thought that he might make a go of staying in Powyss, it seemed so ripe with potential. But now that things had spun out of control, and Siren had been killed, he didn’t want to stay anymore.

  So why bother continuing as the Shadowblade? It had gained him nothing. He was no closer now to the Nyzyr than when he first arrived in Powyss. He did not think that he could kill in such numbers much longer before being discovered by the authorities or a rival. Certainly it would not be long. Already there were pretenders popping up, claiming to be the Shadowblade. But whenever he heard about one of those who dared to claim his kills, Shadowblade would strike and wait for another to make the claim.

  He was angry that the Nyzyr seemed to take no interest in him, though Baldric had told him otherwise. Why had they not sought him out? Surely the Shadowblade had proven himself capable? Perhaps the Nyzyr didn’t even know who Shadowblade was, but that seemed unlikely. Baldric seemed to think the Nyzyr knew absolutely everything that went on in Powyss and he wondered if the old man was involved with them in some way.

  Zach got up from the table and poured himself a glass of water from a jug that he had been chilling on his window sill. He looked out onto the city he had made his home as the icy water slid down his throat into his stomach. It refreshed him and helped him focus his mind. Then he walked over to the cabinet where he kept the items which he had taken from his kills and picked up the small black book, the Book of Baelor.

  He had visited Baldric’s shop a few more times, and each time he learned something new of the major denominations that followed Umber, particularly of Baelor and Tartarus. Even though Zach’s ring of firesteel was enchanted and allowed him to read the magical Tayban script in which the Book of Baelor was written, the man had chosen to learn it on his own. What he found was that Tayban was not truly a language unto itself, rather it allowed a person to empower the words of their own language with magic.

&n
bsp; The cover of the Book of Baelor was etched in silver Tayban script and the spidery letters seemed to crawl across the cover in the light. He had been studying the book for some time now and had learned of the dark powers that were contained within it. For days now, the incessant voice that accompanied him everywhere had been urging him to use the magic of the book. He was tempted but had resisted believing that he must not jump into something so dangerous if he were not ready. But the voice had taunted and cajoled him enough that he finally decided to do it.

  Tonight.

  He had taken to wearing the lapis pentacle charm of late and pulled it from under his shirt. Then he went to another cabinet and removed a large stoppered jar and horse-hair brush. He dipped the brush into the contents of the jar and began to paint a large pentacle on the floor of his apartment. Since he began his studies of the book and realized he would need a great deal of blood to perform the rituals, he began collecting blood from Red Dragon victims. He used that blood to make a large circle on the stone floor of his apartment.

  “Yes!” called his invisible companion with glee. The voice always seemed to relish the more dark and dangerous paths that Zach chose to walk. Zach had grown accustomed to its presence and had given up trying to figure out why it was with him. He had actually begun to take comfort from it, it always seemed to help him think through his problems.

  Once the circle had been made, Zach placed a candle at each of the cardinal points on the pentacle and lit them. Then he stepped from the pentacle and opened the book. He read the instructions carefully a number of times, and then read them again. What he was about to do was something so dangerous that Baldric warned him not to try any of the spells or callings without the tutelage of one of those monks who were dedicated to Baelor.

  But Zach had tired of waiting for the Nyzyr.

  “We have nothing to lose,” affirmed the voice in his head. He nodded in agreement to his unseen companion. There really was nothing to lose. He had no family left in his life and he had already walked away from the one man who might as well have been his brother. His affiliation with the Spiders hadn’t gained him much aside from some training and some experience as a paid assassin. When they promoted that Cheval boy to the post he so badly wanted for himself, he knew that his time with the Spiders had probably ended; though he still owed them a vial of water from the Everpool.

  He had learned much of the being known as Baelor. Baelor had been a leading force among the followers of Umber and his followers were among the deadliest of all those who prided themselves on sending souls to their infernal god. After all, the Nyzyr revered him and got their powers from him. But he wasn’t a Nyzyr yet. He was excited, eager, and he knew that he was about to embark on a path to power unlike anything he had ever experienced. A bargain struck with the being known as Baelor could yield him the power he needed!

  And that was part of what prompted Zach to embark upon this dark path now. He had tried to lure the Nyzyr out by treading on their turf, but was unsuccessful. He frequented the inns and bars and neighborhoods where the Nyzyr were said to meet with clients or recruit followers, but never found them.

  It was time to do something that would draw the attention of the Nyzyr. If he could summon Baelor successfully and bind himself to the powerful spirit, then the Nyzyr would have no choice but to accept him.

  “They will bow to us!” shouted the voice. He smiled, his fists clenched.

  He laughed at the thought of the mighty Nyzyr falling under his sway, doing as he commanded! Zach could take over Powyss then, perhaps declare himself ruler. Perhaps he would declare himself king and depose that wimp Tywiss Rhi. He sensed a limitless potential for power coming from the sleek black book in his hand.

  “Do it!” urged the voice. “Do it now! You must bind with Baelor!”

  “Yes,” he murmured. “Yes, I must. I will show them all. Even Carym will bow at my might!”

  “And then we can rid the world of those wretched elves!”

  “Elves,” he whispered with a snarl, his anger rising. He recalled briefly the incident in his youth that had engendered such hatred of the elf-kind, but he banished the painful thought just as quickly. All that mattered now was revenge, nothing else. And he would take his revenge upon that filthy Keneerie woman that Carym had become so enamored of. Zach blamed that woman for turning his friend’s heart, for abandoning Zach when he needed him the most. Maybe he would forgive Carym after the woman was dead.

  Maybe.

  Zach opened the book reverently and held it before him in his left hand. He thumbed to the page upon which the spell of calling was written and began to chant the requisite words of power. Over and over he said the words as the directions indicated. Then he flipped the page and chanted another set of words walking in a clockwise circle. When his circuit was complete he stopped, facing the bloody pentacle drawn upon the floor. When the ceremony was complete, and there was one last thing for him to do, he stopped to take a breath.

  Then he spoke the final word of power and invoked the dark magic of the Shadowrealms, dark magic that would bring forth the diabolical being known as Baelor.

  “Baelor!” he cried, not caring if any of his neighbors heard him. “Baelor! Baelor! Baelor!” he repeated, once for each cardinal point.

  One by one, the candle flames extinguished themselves and an orange flickering light shimmered into view amidst the circle. Slowly, the orange glow grew brighter and brighter until finally a vaguely man-like shape took form. Flame-like appendages descended to the floor and arms extended from a more discernible torso. Finally the head took shape and the orange glow left the being that now stood in the circle.

  It was one of the most interesting looking beings Zach had ever seen.

  “Who summons Baelor, Prince of Shadows?” asked the strong and raucous voice. Baelor’s head was that of a wizened older human and he wore a crown of rubies. His eyes, however, were like pools of inky blackness. As much as he wanted to, Zach knew he could not look away and show any weakness. Baelor wore a fine burgundy coat that was not unlike the dress coat of a military general, complete with a white shirt adorned with gold chains and a golden belt. His burgundy trousers bore a black stripe down each side and he wore leather boots that were as inky black as his eyes. And perched on the great being’s shoulders were two very unlikely creatures, a cat and a toad.

  “I am Zacharya of Hyrum,” his voice croaked first, but became stronger. “I have summoned you, Dark One, to exchange favors.”

  “What favor do you seek, Zacharya of Hyrum?” asked the dark being, a smile playing at his lips. The eyes of the orange cat perched on his left shoulder watched him, while the rust-colored toad seemed to be looking around the room.

  “Power!” hissed the voice companion.

  “Indeed,” nodded Baelor. “But, please be more specific.”

  “There is one of the blood of Harfour in this city, one whose life must be extinguished in order for me to break the curse of the lich price of Lordsdeep.”

  “I know of the lich prince,” said the demon with surprise. “He chose you to break his curse, did he?”

  Zach nodded.

  “That is quite an honor, you must have impressed him. What makes you think you have earned the right to ask me for a boon?”

  “I am the Shadowblade of Powyss!” Zach said with a grin. “I have killed scores of the Red Dragons’ soldiers and assassins, even their own Tartarus Monks who are your enemies!”

  “Tartarus,” the demon growled, his anger dissipating. “You have no doubt earned the ire of my wayward brother. I suppose that would earn you a boon.”

  “A boon, yes!” said the voice, sounding a bit maniacal to Zach. The demon raised an eyebrow slightly but gave no other indication that he had heard the invisible voice.

  “There are many of that line in this city,” said the being known as Baelor.

  Zach was bewildered for a moment. Why hadn’t the dagger warned him? Surely if there were a number of those who could claim that
lineage the dagger would have sensed it.

  “Perhaps the blood of Harfour is too weak in them, Dark One,” suggested Zach. “For Morloth has not detected their presence.”

  “There is one whose blood is strong enough to satisfy your bargain with the lich.”

  “Tell me where he is and how I can find him,” said Zach.

  Baelor nodded and flicked a bejeweled finger in the air. A cloud slowly took shape in the room between him and Baelor and a familiar image formed in its midst.

  “It cannot be him,” said Zach. “The dagger would have warned me.”

  “The dagger knows your heart, Zacharya. It sensed weakness in you.”

  “No!” shouted Zach with passion. “I cannot kill him. Anyone but him.” Baelor smiled, he enjoyed toying with the human.

  “No? Very well. How about him?”

  The cloud swirled and shift and an unfamiliar form took shape.

  “Who is that?” he asked.

  “That is Fellsmere, the leader of the Nyzyr. And he is right outside your door!” Baelor burst into laughter as Zach glared angrily at him.

  Zach waved a hand at Baelor and called out the word that would send the dark spirit back to Hades where it resided.

  “Be gone!” he called. “We will talk more, soon!”

  A haunting laughter drifted to Zach from the midst of the circle as the figure turned into orange light and disappeared. Zach tossed the book back into the cabinet and lunged for Morloth just as the door to his apartment burst apart, showering the room with splinters.

  A cloaked and cowled figure that was as dark as the shadows stalked into the room with a blade of darkfire in each hand. His head moved back and forth as he sought the one who dared move into the Nyzyr’s territory, who dared try to be Nyzyr without invitation. Zach felt power radiate from the man who looked down at the pentacle on the ground.

  Zach called upon Morloth’s innate powers and its blade extended as long as a sword and razor sharp. Then a mirror image of Morloth appeared in Zach’s other hand and he stood, shrouded in shadow. He could feel Morloth’s agitation, as the powerful call of the man’s blood made the blade come to life; he knew then that the magical blade’s powers could not fail.