The Kingdom of Shadow

by Richard A. Knaak

  “Seek not to mollify me with empty flattery.”

  Ignoring the dangerous expression on the bearded face, Kentril continued. “The second reason I can appreciate more. We came to Ureh for glory and riches, Tsin. My men and I want gold and jewels—”

  “Paltry notions!”

  “Aye, but you came for riches of a different sort, didn’t you? You came for the accumulated magical knowledge gathered in this kingdom over the many centuries, rare knowledge lost when true Ureh vanished from the mortal plane.”

  Tsin began tapping on the table with one hand. His gaze briefly shifted to the magical staff, then back to the mercenary, as if measuring options.

  Kentril defiantly met the baleful gaze of the Vizjerei. “Lord Khan has offered you all that you can carry off if you succeed, hasn’t he? That would mean books and scrolls worth a kingdom each, I imagine.”

  “More than you can imagine, actually, cretin. If you could understand one iota of what I’ve discovered here so far, it would leave you astounded!”

  “A shame, then, that so much else will be lost again.”

  The spellcaster blinked. “What’s that?”

  Resting his knuckles on the table, Captain Dumon leaned forward and in conspiratorial tones whispered, “What could you accomplish if given a year, even two, to further study this collection?”

  Avarice gleamed bright in the sorcerer’s bloodshot eyes. “I could become the most powerful, most adept, of my kind.”

  “Juris Khan intends to open the way to Heaven again.”

  “He lacks the assistance he had the first time,” Tsin commented, “but I must admit from listening to him that I think he has some notion of how to get around that. I’d not bet against him that once he is free, he will succeed with his holy dream in short order.”

  “And with him goes this entire library.”

  Kentril saw then that he had Quov Tsin. More than the mercenaries, the Vizjerei had known that the riches of the fabled realm would only return when the city once more breathed life. Tsin had not even attempted to inspect the library before the coming of the shadow because he had known that there would be nothing. The Vizjerei had pinned all his hopes on the legend, and now that same legend threatened to take from him much of that for which he had worked so hard.

  “So much lost again,” the wrinkled spellcaster muttered. “So much lost and for no good reason . . .”

  “Of course, you could fail to find a solution to Khan’s own curse, but then he might eventually suspect and send you away. If you tried to steal all this—”

  Tsin snorted. “Don’t even blather on in that direction, Dumon. Even if I would stoop so low, there are wards in this library that only our good host can unravel, or else why do you think I stay in here save when I must heed personal needs?”

  “So there’s no hope, then.”

  The robed figure stood straight. “Quite obviously, you do have a suggestion, my good captain. Kindly tell me what it is right now.”

  “A clever mage like yourself could find excellent reasons why it would be to Lord Khan’s benefit to make Ureh a permanent part of the real world.”

  Quov Tsin stared silently at Kentril, so much so that the captain began to question the worth of his notion. What if Tsin could not convince the ruler? What if it only served to make Juris Khan angry at the adventurers? He might demand that all of them be escorted out of the kingdom. The Vizjerei might be skilled, but against a squadron of trained warriors such as now guarded the palace, he would quickly lose.

  “You have—the core—of a possibility, I must admit,” the sorcerer grumbled, seating himself again. “And, curiously, you may have come at just the right moment.”

  Now it was Kentril’s turn to wonder what the other meant. “What do you mean, ‘the right moment’?”

  With a sweep of one thin arm, Tsin indicated the mountain of notes he had compiled. “Look there, Captain Dumon, and gaze in wonder! Stare at what only I, Quov Tsin, could have wrought in such short notice. I have done it!”

  “Done it? Done—”

  “Aaah! I see by your gaping mouth that you’ve realized what I mean. Yes, Dumon, I think I can release our good host from Gregus Mazi’s foul but quite masterful spell!”

  Conflicting thoughts rushed through Kentril’s mind as he absorbed Tsin’s announcement. On the one hand, they would have the gratitude of Ureh’s monarch, but on the other hand, that would mean time would be at even more of a premium should Khan decide to go on with his holy mission.

  “You’ve got to convince him to end this quest, Tsin!”

  A cunning expression spread across the wrinkled countenance. “Yes, and for something far more worthy than your dalliance with his daughter. It’ll take me two more days’ work, I suspect, to be positive of my calculations and phrasings, but I am almost completely certain that I walk the right path, so much so that I’ll begin the effort to turn his mind to our thinking within hours. First, however, I shall need time to clear my thoughts and prepare myself for an audience with him.”

  “Should I come with you?”

  This brought another snort from the sorcerer. “By all means, no! He sees you, Dumon, and he’ll think that this is all for your sake. The lust of one paid fighter does not balance well against the glorious sanctuary of Heaven!”

  Nor does the greed of one very ambitious mage, Kentril could not help thinking . . . but Quov Tsin did have a clever tongue when he needed it and knew well how to deal with those of breeding. Surely he would be able to do far better than a base-born mercenary.

  “Well? Why do you still stand here, Dumon? Do you want me to succeed or not? Go, so that I can organize everything.”

  Nodding quickly, Kentril immediately left the Vizjerei to his own devices. He knew that he could trust Tsin to attack this with the same obsessiveness with which he had attacked all that concerned the shadowed kingdom. With the endurance and determination of a predator, the sorcerer would somehow convince Juris Khan.

  And then Captain Dumon could press his own suit for Atanna.

  “You’re still alive,” Gorst commented as Kentril left the library. “I think the magic man’s beginning to like you.”

  “Heaven forbid that should ever happen. We came to an understanding, that’s all.”

  “He going to try to keep you from losing her?”

  Kentril’s brow furrowed.

  The giant gave him a Gorst grin. “Only thing’d make you go to him is her. Only thing he’s interested in is magic. Ureh vanishes, you both lose.”

  Even Kentril sometimes let Gorst’s barbaric appearance cause him to forget why he had made the ebony-maned fighter his second in command—and his friend. “That sums it up.”

  “He’ll do it, Kentril. He’ll convince Juris Khan.”

  The captain grunted. “You see any sign of Zayl lately?”

  “Not for a long time.”

  Kentril did not trust the necromancer on his own. Someone of Zayl’s ilk could bring out the distrust in the most trustful of people. While he harbored no dislike for the easterner and actually found Zayl’s presence more tolerable than Tsin’s, Kentril worried about the other spellcaster wandering among the locals. Perhaps it was time to make certain that nothing else happened to endanger his hopes.

  “I’m going for a walk, Gorst.”

  “Down into the city?”

  “That’s right. If Zayl shows up, tell him I want to talk with him.”

  The decision to hunt for the necromancer did not sit well at all with Kentril. He would have preferred his original plan, which had entailed telling Atanna of his success with Tsin, thereby ensuring some reward from her. Now, instead of the beauteous company of Khan’s alluring daughter, he sought that of the dour, formal Zayl.

  No one challenged the captain as he left the abode of Juris Khan. In fact, the armored guards stood straighter, and some even saluted him as he passed. Truly their master had given the mercenaries the run of the kingdom.

  That made him think about
his own men, including the pair who had not so far returned. There had been no reports of unseemly behavior, but Kentril wanted nothing to undo the good will they had gained.

  The moment he touched foot at the bottom of the long, winding steps leading down from the palace and entered the city proper, Kentril found himself surrounded by merrymakers. Under the ever-present lamps and torches, women in bright, exotic garments of silk danced to the music of guitars, horns, and drums. Children laughed and ran between celebrating throngs. A table of local men hard at work on flagons of ale waved for the captain to come over, but with a smile and a shake of his head, Kentril excused himself.

  There had to be people asleep somewhere in Ureh, but Captain Dumon would be damned if he could find any evidence of that. Several of those out now must have slumbered when he had, or else they surely could not have been up and about at this moment.

  Some distance ahead, he spotted Orlif and Simon playing a game of dice with some of the locals. Kentril started toward them, then decided that it was unlikely that they would know where Zayl was. Both men had probably just returned to the city after some recuperation in the palace.

  Leaving the duo to their entertainment, the captain wandered deeper into Ureh. Wherever he went, merriment seemed to be in full swing. The citizens of the legendary kingdom celebrated with such exuberance that Kentril found it somewhat difficult to believe that this had been the most revered, the most pious of realms. Still, he supposed that they deserved such harmless pleasure after suffering as they had.

  “Are you one of the heroes?” asked a melodious voice.

  Turning around, Kentril found himself facing not one but two enticingly clad young women. One wore a fanciful golden outfit that reminded him of the harems an older mercenary had described to him, while the other, blessed with the curves men desire most, smiled under long, dark lashes. Either would have at one time been a prize greater than Kentril could have ever imagined, but now, although he still found them most interesting to look at, they offered nothing he wanted. Atanna held sway over him.

  “He must be,” said the one with the curves. She smiled. “My name is Zorea.”

  “And I’m Nefriti,” added the one in gold, bouncing prettily.

  “My ladies,” Kentril returned, bowing.

  This action caused both of the women to blush and laugh lightly. “A true gentleman!” exclaimed black-tressed Zorea. She let her fingers caress his right arm. “And so strong!”

  “Will you celebrate with us?” asked Nefriti, pursing her full lips as she took his left arm.

  “It would honor us to honor you,” said her companion. “Ureh wishes to offer you all the reward you deserve.”

  He carefully and politely pulled away from them. “I thank you for your kind offer, my ladies, but I’m in search of someone at the moment.”

  Zorea brightened. “One of your friends? I saw two strangers playing dice with some of the men.”

  “Yes, I saw them. I’m looking for someone else.” It occurred to him that Zayl would certainly stand out among the people here. Perhaps this unexpected encounter would turn out to be of some use to him after all. “Maybe you’ve seen him after all? Tall, pale of skin, with eyes more like yours than mine. He would’ve been dressed mostly in garments of black.”

  “We’ve seen him!” chirped Nefriti. “Haven’t we, Zorea?”

  “Oh, yes!” she responded, her reaction almost identical to that of her friend. “We even know where he is.”

  “We’ll take you there!”

  The captain allowed himself to be guided on by the pair. He would not have thought this celebrating of much interest to the necromancer, but perhaps he had misjudged Zayl.

  With great perseverance and more than a little strength, the two women pulled him along through the throngs. Zorea and Nefriti each held a hand—out of fear of becoming separated, so they claimed. The women clearly knew where they were going, expertly turning here and there and moving among the other celebrators with ease.

  The crowds gradually began to thin, and as they did, Captain Dumon’s suspicions arose. He had believed the women when they said that they knew Zayl’s whereabouts, but the situation now resembled one far too familiar to any seasoned fighter in a strange land. The area toward which they headed looked fairly deserted. More than one mercenary had ended his career with a dagger in his back thanks to such charming decoys. A holy city Ureh might be, but Gregus Mazi had already proven that even the most devout of lands had their personal demons.

  Before they could lead him any farther astray, Kentril stopped in his tracks. “You know, my ladies, I almost feel certain that my friend has left wherever you saw him last and now heads back to the palace to meet me.”

  “No!” gasped Nefriti. “He’s just ahead.”

  “Not far at all,” insisted Zorea, sounding like a twin of the first girl.

  Kentril gently but firmly twisted free of both. “I thank the two of you for trying. The people of this kingdom have been most kind.”

  “No!” insisted Zorea. “This way.”

  Nefriti nodded. “Yes, this way.”

  They gripped his arms anew and with such force it brought a slight sound of startlement from the captain. He tried again to pull free, only to discover that the two women had surprisingly powerful holds.

  “Let me go!” He managed to get away from Zorea, but Nefriti held on as if she were a leech.

  “You must go this way. Please!” she demanded.

  Kept in place by the one, Kentril risked being snared again by the second. Not trusting that a third partner—this one probably a male wielding a well-worn knife—might not materialize at any moment, the mercenary dropped any sense of honor and swung at the oncoming Zorea.

  He could just as well have struck one of the nearby walls. His fist hit her chin hard, but it proved to be Kentril who suffered from the blow. Every bone in his hand, in his arm, jarred. Pain shot through him, and he almost felt as if he had broken one or more fingers.

  Zorea’s grasping hands came within inches of him, but at the last Captain Dumon turned to the side, leaving her ripping at only the air. At the same time, he used his free hand to draw his sword as best he could.

  Reacting to his weapon, Nefriti flung Kentril back. Caught off guard by her astounding strength, he could not keep himself from colliding with the nearest wall.

  As the back of his head struck, the world around Kentril changed. First he saw everything in duplicate, even down to two Zoreas and two Nefritis glaring at him. Then an even more horrific transformation took place.

  A nightmare surrounded the captain. Gone suddenly were the sea of torches and the crowds of happy revelers. The magnificent buildings had not only crumbled back to ruin, but they bore a dark stain about them, a sense of foreboding and despair together. Somewhere in the distance, what sounded like the cries of thousands of men, women, and children in agony tore at his ears. Above, a horrific light with no obvious origin spread its monstrous crimson touch over everything.

  And everywhere he turned, Kentril Dumon confronted what he could only imagine were the souls of the damned.

  They strained for him, hungered for him, pleaded with him, even as they sought to make him one of them. All looked as if a great beast had sucked them dry, leaving only husks who wished to do the same to the fighter. Eyes sunken in, skin dry as dead leaves, they moved as if they had just burst free of their tombs. In tattered clothing, they strained toward Kentril, mouths gaping in anticipation.

  “No!” he shouted without thought. “Get away from me!”

  The blade free, he swung to and fro, forcing back the tide but finding no immediate escape. A sense of doom filled Kentril as he quickly realized that sooner or later, he would tire enough for them to overwhelm him.

  “Captain! Captain Dumon!”

  Ignoring the calling of his name, Kentril swung wildly at the fiends. Suddenly, they seemed fewer in number and dwindling more so by the second. Hope resurrected, the captain took a step forward,
thinking that perhaps he might yet cut a path to escape.

  “Captain Dumon! Look at me! Listen to me!”

  Someone seized his shoulders from behind. Tearing free, Kentril spun about, determined that if they now came at him from all sides, he would wreak what havoc he could before they claimed his life and soul.

  “Captain, it’s Zayl! Zayl!”

  Slowly, the necromancer’s concerned visage came into focus. Kentril stared at the spellcaster, both fearful and grateful to see the man.

  “Zayl! Do something! Don’t let them get us!”

  “Us?” Zayl looked confused. “Who, captain?”

  “Them, of cour—”

  Kentril stopped dead in his tracks. The horrifying mob had vanished. The cries had ceased. In fact, all Ureh again looked as it should have, the buildings, the people, and the sky all normal. The inhabitants themselves watched the mercenary with expressions mixing concern and sympathy.

  However, of the two women who had led him into this he could see no sign.

  The necromancer quickly pulled him away from the watching crowd. With Zayl leading, they headed back in the direction of the palace. Neither man said anything until they had gone some distance from the area of the incident.

  Guiding Kentril to a narrow side street, Zayl muttered, “Tell me what happened back there, captain. I heard your voice and came running to find you standing there in the midst of everyone, slashing with your sword and screaming as if the hosts of Hell sought your blood.”

  “Not my blood,” murmured the fighter. Kentril glanced at his hand, saw that he still gripped the sword’s hilt so tightly his knuckles were white. “My life . . . my eternal soul.”

  “Tell me about it. Everything. Describe it in detail, if you can.”

  Taking a deep breath, Captain Dumon did as requested. He told Zayl about the two females and how they had tried to trick him into a deserted area, then how, after a curiously difficult struggle with them, the entire world had gone monstrously mad.