Shadowblade Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  CF

  Map

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Tayban

  The Sigil Disk

  The Dragon Writers Collective

  About Me

  More From Me

  Contact Me

  The Chronicles of Llars

  Volume Three:

  Shadowblade

  By Tom Bielawski

  Shadowblade

  Tom Bielawski

  Copyright Tom Bielawski 2012

  Published by Tom Bielawski Publishing

  Cover art by Ronnel D Porter

  Editing by RW Jensen

  Cystic Fibrosis (CF)

  I am a CF Dad and someone I love needs a cure.

  Cystic fibrosis is an inherited chronic disease that affects the lungs and digestive system of about 30,000 children and adults in the United States and 70,000 worldwide. A defective gene and its protein product cause the body to produce unusually thick, sticky mucus that:

  -clogs the lungs and leads to life-threatening lung infections; and

  -obstructs the pancreas and stops natural enzymes from helping the body break down and absorb food.

  This disease used to be a death sentence. Now, more and more people with Cystic Fibrosis are living into their 30’s, 40’s, and beyond. And that is thanks in large part to organizations like the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation (CFF) and others who have supported and driven the research community with awesome fundraisers, studies, and media attention.

  Please support CFF.org, Cystic Life (cysticlife.org), Boomer Esiason Foundation (esiason.org), or any other great organization that is helping to fight this terrible disease.

  C H A P T E R

  1

  Of Two Minds.

  Zach stalked angrily away from the group, cursing Carym for a fool. It was high time he went his own way, but now that he was alone he wasn’t certain of the wisdom in leaving the safety of numbers. He doubted himself in those early moments leaving behind his friends. The cursed wood of the Black Baron was a dangerous place to be with an army, but alone it could turn out to be his death.

  But as the man walked away from his friends and fought back the unnatural fear that pervaded this haunted land, he was somewhat relieved to note that he did not seem to be in danger of being attacked. There were no signs of any orok patrols and for the moment at least, there did not seem to be any demons or undead knights wandering about. His senses were keen, and his warrior’s instinct strong, and those very things had kept him alive before. He trusted them now.

  His mind wandered back to the terrible decision he had just made, and the deed that accompanied it. Had he been right? He was certainly on a path that led to permanent enmity with his closest, and lifelong, friend. His steps faltered then, thinking about the friendship he was leaving behind; about the adventures they had together; about the dangerous missions they had endured.

  He stopped. Was it worth all this? Was it worth losing the friend who had truly been a brother to him? Carym had helped Zach unquestioningly throughout their lives, even in dire circumstances, more times than the man could remember. They had each risked their own life to save the other’s, more times than he could count. Did friends really walk away? Did friends steal precious artifacts from other friends? He felt guilty about taking the device from Carym, but he reconciled his guilt by telling himself he had been driven by a powerful force, stronger than he could comprehend. He wondered whose guiding hand made him cross that line, he wondered if he had stepped too far across to return.

  The tiny voice that embodied his upbringing and the values he was raised upon sounded in the recesses of his mind then. He stood still, remembering the times spent together after Carym lost his own family in their youth. They had been inseparable, just like brothers. Zach’s own family took Carym into their home. They lived together, ate together, worked together, and held common faith in spite of Arnathian animosity.

  Zach laughed ruefully, faith was something he had lost a very long time ago and yet it was something that Carym seemed to possess strongly. He wanted to feel that same sense of faith again, longed for it. He knew that if he returned to the group his friend would forgive him, if not the others. Isn’t that what mattered?

  With his heart in his throat, Zach turned around and began walking towards his friends, picturing each of them in his mind and how they might react upon his return. And when his mind recalled the face of the Keneerie woman, Gennevera; Zach froze in mid-stride. In his mind her face was a mask of hatred and condescension. She would look upon his return with scorn, she would poison the others against him. Then Carym would hate him too; and that was something Zach just could not face. That tiny voice that reminded him of better times, slowly and purposefully drifted into the obscurity of conflicting emotions. Anger, envy, fear, shame. His pride could not allow him to ask forgiveness for fear of shame.

  He gripped the pommel of his dagger in frustration; torn, as he stood on the road. He glanced each way, seeing his future play out in drastically different fashions. This was a pivotal moment from which there would be no return, no matter how he chose. And then it felt like his insides turned to stone; his emotions slowly evaporated, gone as though they were a distant memory. Then the pain was gone too. His vision was now clear, as was his purpose. He could not go back, not ever. He would not be welcome, they had made that clear to him in the Underllars. He remembered the scorn on the faces of the companions when he returned to the group after his discovery of the lich prince’s treasure. He had sensed their displeasure, and perhaps their jealousy. They had wished he hadn’t returned!

  Damn them! he thought. I don’t need them.

  Zach turned away from his friends, away from his old life, and away from the light. His road was going to be a better one, more profitable, more pleasurable, and now that he had met the lich prince of Lordsdeep, he was going to become far more powerful.

  The fools! he thought to himself. They have doomed themselves. Without their bellyaching, I have at least a chance to escape this cursed wood.

  And so Zach walked down the seemingly ancient road, away from his friends and his former path, his sword in one hand and his wondrous dagger in the other. The dagger seemed to have a personality of its own, forceful and strong. And since the moment he laid his hand on that blade, he could sense when the blade was thirsty and needed to feed. But the dagger also imparted its frustration to him more than once, frustration aimed at the perceived lack of respect from his old friend and new companions. The dagger was proving to be a trustworthy friend, more even than Carym could be.

  But as he wandered along, he wondered if there would come a time when the dagger no longer needed him. Would it betray him and lead him into a trap? Would he become too reliant upon this man-made device and forget his own skill? He shook his head and hoped that day would never come, for then he would be at the mercy of this powerful weapon. He shook his head again and banished such thoughts, his dagger was new and it was all his. Such a day when he needed to be concerned about these things would not come.

  Now, for the first time in a very long time, Zach was keenly aware of every creaking branch and rustle of leaves coming from the woods around him. There was little doubt in his mind that time passed in a different manner in this part of the enchanted wood. The time was deep night where he walked now and the moon was nowh
ere in sight. There was no fog, and best of all, no hissing of oroks skulking about the trees to indicate pursuit.

  The farther away from his friends he traveled, the brighter his mood became as he realized that he was leaving the haunted lands of the Black Baron behind. It was a bizarre thing, for as the bothersome bard that had only recently joined Carym's quest had said - no one ever made it out of the cursed woods alive. And though Bart the bard was well-traveled and knew the land of Ckaymru well, Zach didn't trust him. As he continued to walk, he pondered how all these people conveniently joined Carym and his grand quest as they went. To what end?

  It didn't matter. His friends were likely being herded toward their doom even now, as sheep herded to the slaughter, he found it hard to pity them. He had warned them, after all.

  Zach trudged along though the night, stopping along the side of the road often to listen for sounds of pursuit and finding none. By dawn he found that he had indeed left the haunted lands of Baron Tyrannus far behind. For reasons that Zach could not even begin to fathom, that dark spirit had allowed him to leave the haunted lands unscathed. He felt energized, alive, and determined he would make his own way in the world. He decided that he would forget the business about seeking the Everpool. Perhaps he would even abandon the group which had sent him and Carym on this fool's errand in the first place. The Spiders, as they were known in Hybrand, seemed to have abandoned him. And yet, should they learn that he was indeed alive, he would be expected to complete their foolish mission, and likely die in the process. He knew his own potential was far greater now than what he could ever reach working as a slave to the Spiders in Hybrand.

  I have more talent in my little finger than many of the Spiders combined, he thought with a smile. Why should I settle for being a pawn when I can be a king?

  As he walked he let the limitless possibilities of his future lift his spirits. Perhaps he would start his own band of mercenaries, or perhaps he would join one of the legendary guild houses that ran much of what happened behind the scenes in Arnathia. That thought intrigued him, rumors abounded of the destabilization of the mighty Arnathian Empire, the empire that had stood for a thousand years. Perhaps Hybrand would be successful in expelling the weakened Imperials from their homeland forever, it was certainly best to strike while the iron was hot. Many believed the Arnathian Empire was just too big for its own good now, requiring more personnel than ever to defend it. Its forces were stretched impossibly thin, even for the mighty Arnathian Army. Yet the greedy emperor had always striven to attain more power and land and the control of trade routes, straining the glue that held the myriad cultures and peoples of the empire together. According to reports the Spiders were gathering from their own sources around Arnathia, it appeared the empire was being forced to quell uprisings in three or four regions at once. Zach smiled at the thought of the empire breaking apart. He enjoyed the thought of the smarmy Arnathian citizens wailing pitifully for mercy from those whom they had oppressed for centuries and had mercilessly killed for sport. The prospect for accumulating wealth amidst the chaos of nations emerging from that once-mighty empire was delightful to Zach and kept his spirit cheerful through the cold night.

  Dawn was breaking now and the sky began to lighten, and though he had been walking throughout the wintry night he found that he wasn’t at all tired. Despite the frosty air he was not the least bit uncomfortable. In fact, it seemed very little in the way of uncomfortable conditions bothered him at all.

  As the morning sun crept higher, sending beams of light through the branches of the leafless and snow covered trees, Zach was overcome with the feeling that danger was approaching on the road ahead. He dashed to the side of the road and stopped beside the bole of a large tree, where he could hide and yet look in both directions of the road. Fortunately there had been little snowfall of late, and so the rock strewn road would reveal little in the way of Zach’s footprints to those who were not actively looking for them.

  He drew his new dagger from inside his coat and looked at his own reflection on its blade, noting how dark and hollow his eyes had become and how ghostly pale his skin seemed to be. His head snapped up as he heard footsteps, confirming his precognition of trouble. Even though the travelers were some distance away, he could somehow tell from the footfalls that there were three of them. All of them were men, and two were definitely armed, though he had no idea why he should be able to sense that from the sound of their footfalls. The other was a magic-wielder of some variety, and he was thankful he had that understanding before he encountered the trio. He realized, too, that the land he was in now was still dangerous even though he had passed beyond the borders of the evil Baron Tyrannus sometime during the night.

  How could I possibly know all that from the sound of their feet? he wondered, looking at the eyes of the skull leering at him from the pommel of his new dagger.

  “It is a gift from the lich prince, you fool!” came a voice right beside him. Zach jumped to his feet with his sword in one hand and his dagger in the other just as the travelers came into view from around the bend, a mere dozen yards away. Then he heard that voice again.

  “Ahh, what excellent reflexes!”

  Zach turned this way and that; whirling, ready to fight. Where had that voice come from? Was there another invisible demon nearby, toying with him as a cat toys with its prey before the kill? Had he been followed by Tyrannus’ minions after all? He grimly recalled the demon that manifested itself before him and Carym in the haunted woods of the Black Baron.

  “You there!” shouted one of the approaching men. Zach focused his attention on the foe he could see and, for the moment, forgot the unseen voice. “You are under arrest, brigand!”

  “Brigand?” he said, genuinely perplexed. Then he called, “Who in the Seven Hells are you?”

  “Who are we?” asked the first man, laughing. “Everyone knows and fears the Red Dragons!”

  “Right,” Zach said, warily. He wasn’t sure he should fear the soldiers at all. To Zach’s trained eyes, these armed men seemed little more than brigands themselves. Each carried a handheld crossbow strapped to their sides and a small spiked targe. They carried swords but they were sheathed revealing a lack of experience on their part that Zach knew he could exploit. Their armor was mismatched and shoddy, little more than padded leather with random plates attached in different places. The man in the middle wore a jet black robe and carried a ram’s head staff, not unlike the one carried by the dark priest he and Carym met in Dockyard City so long ago; each of the three wore a red sash. Zach smiled as he lowered his sword blade, but did not sheath it. Slowly he moved closer to the armed men.

  “I’m no brigand,” he said, indignantly. The armed men didn’t seem convinced. “I’m just a traveler, on my way to Powyss.”

  “Aye, and I’m the Rhi of Ckaymru!” quipped the fighter. “Where is your gang? You’ll not rob us!”

  “I have no gang,” Zach replied casually, now within a few feet of the men who still pointed their crossbows at him. “I’m on my way to Powyss, alone.”

  It was at that very moment Zach heard an impossible sound. He heard, with incredible clarity, the sound of a human finger as it squeezed the trigger on a crossbow. If he hadn’t been facing his own death, that incredible perceptiveness might have stopped him cold. As it was, Zach was a seasoned warrior and his body instinctively reacted with speed to any threat. And so, when he heard the very faint sounds of a finger brushing the wood of a trigger, and of the trigger sliding in its metal housing, Zach had instinctively raised the blade of the sword in his right hand. The metal tip of the crossbow bolt struck the blade of his sword, ringing loudly. With his other hand, Zach then threw his dagger at the other armed warrior; the blade buried itself to the hilt in the man’s neck and he dropped to the ground.

  The first warrior dropped his crossbow and backpedaled, reaching for his still-sheathed sword. But Zach had the advantage of already having his sword in a striking position and lunged at the man, striking him hard in t
he upper thigh. The man couldn’t walk backward any longer now that he had an injured leg and he fell down, eyes begging for mercy.

  But mercy was something that Zach no longer possessed in any significant quantity; so he advanced on the man and slashed his throat with the dagger’s wicked blade, gleaming red in the morning sun.

  The third man stood, his slick black staff held before him. It was then that Zach realized he had not retrieved the blade from the first corpse’s throat, it had simply reappeared in his hand!

  “A fine blade you carry,” said the black robed man in a sibilant voice. “You do not yet know its full potential, do you?”

  “I know enough that you would have struck me dead by now if you could have,” returned Zach, advancing on the man. “Which means you can’t. So, I’ll just kill you now.”

  Just then, the man’s image shimmered before Zach’s eyes and it seemed the shadows of the trees around him detached themselves from their former hosts and raced across the road to the cloaked man, wrapping him in a shroud of shadows.

  “Have a care,” a voice called out from the cloud of darkness. “We will meet again!”

  Then the cloud of shadows became naught but a wisp of smoke and then was gone completely. Zach shook his head, annoyed that he had not had a chance to kill the man, angry with himself that he might have to face him again. He paused for a moment to be certain there were no other surprises in store for him. Sensing no more threats, Zach sheathed his weapons and returned to the bodies of the dead men with plunder on his mind.

  The men possessed little of interest to Zach, other than some local currency which he could use in Powyss. The soldier's Arnathian Crowns might or might not be accepted but would surely mark him as a traveler, someone to be taken advantage of. But Arnathian Crowns had an excellent reputation for having the purest gold content, and that could prove useful in a bargain. He stuffed the coins into his pack before dragging the corpses to the side of the road and pushing them down the hill far enough to be hidden from casual sight.