Shadowblade (30 page)

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.

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.