John Fultz - Seven Princes

Wayudi paused to drink deeply from his wine cup. Iardu and Khama shared a silent glance.

“These things… they flowed through the streets like a flood of dark water… or black smoke… finding men, women… even children. They tore at them, lapping at their blood like hounds. It was their screams that roused the watch… Commander Ulih ordered us into the streets with spear and sword… I headed the cavalry. They ripped our horses to shreds beneath us… then tore into men like jackals. One leaped on my back, biting me here.” He pointed to the bandage on his shoulder, spotted with seeping red. “Our metal was useless… Spears, swords, knives… we conivs. One uld not touch them… They were… they were ghosts… muraki… evil spirits.” He set the goblet down and put a hand on his shoulder. “Gods, how it aches.”

“You will rest soon, Wayudi,” said Umbrala, her tone motherly yet firm. “Only tell the rest of it first.”

Wayudi’s eyes scanned the table, as if he might find some belief there, or some comfort that did not exist. He breathed deeply. “We could not count their numbers – there were far too many. The town died and the men of the fortress died… We died trying to protect the people. Ulih… they pulled off his limbs, drank his blood like all the rest. I know I am a coward, but I fled… I was not the only one. Five or six of us fled through the shattered gate of the garrison. We rode hard along the North Road. One by one they picked us off our horses until there was only me riding north to the capital. I don’t know why the one that bit me flew away. I have a coward’s luck.” Wayudi bowed his head, ashamed. He gulped more wine. “Zaashari is fallen,” he said, looking at Khama. “They are all dead. It belongs to the shadows…”

His head nodded slowly forward until it touched the table, and he grew still. Beyond the tall windows, stars glimmered against the black.

“Khama,” said the Queen, “what can you tell me?”

Khama’s grave face met the Queen’s. “The Dwellers in Shadow, ancient things that I have seen in my visions, they gather in the south and serve the Usurper.”

The Queen looked upon each face at the table, a wordless apology that her pride would not allow her to voice. She quietly ordered two servants to carry Wayudi to a bed. They lifted the soldier to his feet, his arms about their shoulders, and he stumbled away to rest.

“He knows we are here, Khama,” said Iardu. “We have lost the element of surprise… if we ever truly had it.”

“And so the treaty is broken,” said Umbrala.

“Yes,” said Khama. “Knowing we would come, Elhathym struck first. Next his shadows will come north, to the gates of Mumbaza and into its streets.”

“Only the sun will stop them,” said Iardu. “His living legions will ride into Zaashari at sunrise and take control of the fortress, now that all in it are dead.”

The Queen turned to Andoses. “We will join your Alliance of Nations,” she said, “but we cannot now send legions to Khyrei, for we must go to war against Yaskatha.”

“I am sorry for this slaughter,” said Andoses. “But I am glad for your allegiance. You can serve the Alliance by restoring Prince D’zan to his throne. While Mumbaza battles Elhathym, we in the east can march on Ianthe’s kingdom. When the tyrant is vanquished, send your legions to join us in Khyrei.”

The Queen nodded, her fine mouth set into a grim frown.

Iardu looked at Andoses. “You do not know the power of Elhathym,” he said. “Or Ianthe. This will not be a war of sword and shield, but a clash of forces you can scarcely comprehend.” p› ‹p height="0em" width="27"›‹font size="3"›“We three go now to drive back the sorcerer and his demons,” said Khama. He faced the Queen. “Assemble your legions to retake Zaashari and march on Yaskatha.”‹font›

D’zan broke his silence. “Great Queen, I will fight with Mumbaza this day. Tyro and his warriors ride with me. The people of Zaashari will be avenged, and the usurper will pay for this peace-breaking.”

The Queen’s look changed from troubled to impressed as she eyed D’zan. “You will ride with my generals, Prince D’zan. And you will sit upon your father’s throne.”

Tyro gave Lyrilan a devious smile. Lyrilan licked his dry lips, coughed, pinched his nose.

“I would stand with you as well,” said Andoses, “if circumstances were otherwise. I must still depart this morning.”

“The King understands your need, Prince Andoses,” said Umbrala. “You have his blessing and eternal friendship. Once we have smashed this usurper and his army of shadows, we will support you in Khyrei.”

“Your Majesty is both wise and gracious,” said Andoses with a bow.

“I must meet with the King’s advisors now,” said Umbrala. “My servants will see to all your needs.”

The assemblage rose from their chairs, all but the Queen. A line of worried officials came through the doors to replace them. The sun was about to rise.

“Let us go at once,” said Khama.

“Wait,” said Iardu. “We must look in on poor Wayudi first.”

“Yes,” said Khama. “We must…”

Sharadza followed them to the room where Wayudi slept. He lay on a bed below a window overlooking the dark sea. A cool wind blew through the casement, but Wayudi sweated and groaned as if in a fever.

“Is it poison?” asked Sharadza.

“Of the worst kind,” said Iardu. “Not a physical poison, but a spiritual one.”

Wayudi’s spasms grew worse as the far sea warmed with pink light. The sun was coming.

Khama bent over the suffering man, mumbling a chant.

“What were those things?” Sharadza asked. “The Dwellers in Shadow you spoke of?”

“There are many kinds of shadow spirits,” said Iardu, “but the Spirits of Vakai are the most deadly. When living men die, most move on to the World of the Dead, manifesting there the illusion of their own afterlife. Yet those whose souls were consumed by hatred, avarice, or cruelty often cannot find their way into the Deathlands, so they linger in the dark and forsaken corners of the world, or haunt the places where they died. When such entities spill the blood of the living, they consume its essence and gain power… but this power eventually forces them into the void, an Outer World called Vakai, wheledhen re there is nothing more to feed on. A formless place of eternal hunger and torment.”

Wayudi tossed and turned, his chest heaving, yet still unconscious. His teeth gnashed as if he were chewing a piece of leather. Khama sang and waved a hand over his shivering body. The first sparkles of sunlight danced on the ocean, and the tip of the sun-orb rose above the waves. Wayudi cried out like a dog in pain, then growled.

“These Spirits of Vakai can slip back into our world at times, or someone like Elhathym may summon them. They cannot abide the sunlight, so they roam at night. When dawn comes they sink into the depths of the earth and its very stones, where no light can penetrate. Yet at night they emerge into physical forms like wolves, reptiles, or flying beasts, to seek the blood that gives them power and substance. The essence of blood, torn from the living, is their only concern. Those they drain but do not kill – like Wayudi – bear their curse.”

The first sunray fell through the window and Wayudi fell still. “It is too late,” said Khama. “I cannot save him.”

Brightness grew on the pristine walls and ceiling, and Wayudi grew dim before Sharadza’s eyes. His flesh and clothing became transparent, and he flowed like water into the sheets, then into the stones of the floor. A black shadow bearing his shape lay on the floor, then that too faded.

“At nightfall he will rise and haunt the palace,” said Iardu. “Unless we bind him to this room.”