Troy Denning - The Cerulean Storm

Most men called it shadow, that dark stain visible only as an absence: the cold gloom cast upon the ground when their bodies blocked the light of the crimson sun. Wiser minds referred to it as the Black, and they knew that it separated everything that existed from everything that did not. It lurked just beneath the surface in all things, like the leathery shell of some great egg, buried shallow and about to hatch. Outside lay the barren mountains, the endless sand wastes, and the bleak, windswept plains that were the world of Athas. Inside lay the Hollow, filled with the languid albumin of nothingness.

Within this colorless ether floated the bones of an ancient skeleton. It lay curled into a tight ball, its shoulder blades fused into a large hump and its gangling arms wrapped around its knees. The skull seemed remotely human, though the slender jawbones, drooping chin, and flat cheekbones insinuated that this was not entirely true.

The skeleton filled the Hollow completely, but it would have been wrong to call the thing huge. In this place, size had no meaning. Only existence mattered, and by the mere fact that it was , the skeleton occupied all of the vast emptiness inside the egg.

The skeleton scratched at the murky shell with long, barbed talons, dreaming of the day it would be reborn. For the first time in an eternity, it felt confident of escaping its timeless prison. Forks of lightning circled its misshapen skull like a crown. Sparks danced in the empty sockets, where once it had possessed eyes.

Beneath the scratching talons appeared a pair of blue embers and a long slitlike mouth. The features were all the skeleton ever saw of its servants. The shadow people were part of the Black, as trapped within the dark shell as their master was, inside the emptiness of the egg.

We felt your summons, Omnipotent One .

The servant used thought-speech to report, for sound did not exist within the skeleton’s eternal prison.

I have been thinking, Khidar , the skeleton replied. It slowly twisted its oblong skull around to stare more directly into the shadow’s eyes. The sorcerer-kings must be near when the Usurper frees me .

That’s too dangerous! The servant’s eyes grew larger and brighter. The six of them have grown stronger than you know, Rajaat. They’ll destroy us!

A ball of lightning formed above Rajaat’s head. They won’t destroy me! he snarled. If you hesitate to sacrifice a few lives so I may return Athas to its greater glory, perhaps you should remain in the Black .

Khidar winced, his eyes and mouth sliding down the inside of the black shell. Our fates are bound together , he said, with more regret than enthusiasm. We have no concern except the future of Athas .

Never forget that , Rajaat hissed, the blue rays in his empty eye sockets flickering in ire. Think of all that I have sacrificed to return the world to your people, and follow my example .

We are most grateful , Khidar assured him. We’ll see to whatever you wish .

Good. It would be best to avenge the sorcerer-kings’ betrayal before proceeding with the Restoration , Rajaat said. The lightning began to crackle more steadily and calmly over his head. After that, we’ll cleanse Athas of the most profane strains of the degenerate races. The half-breeds shall die first .

Which ones? asked the servant.

All of them: half-elves, muls, half-giants, every filthy abomination produced through an unnatural union. We must kill them as soon as possible .

As you wish .

The New Races come next , Rajaat continued, knotting the barbed talons of both hands into tight fists. There are so many! It may take us a century .

We must expect opposition , Khidar warned. Sadira and Rikus-

Are half-breeds. They’ll die with the others! the skeleton pronounced. I’ll destroy them as soon as I finish with the sorcerer-kings .

What of the Usurper? asked Khidar. Will you make him a sorcerer-king?

Yes, I’ll keep my promise, provided he honors the cause of the Pristine Tower , Rajaat answered.

And if he betrays us like Borys and the others?

My new champion will never do such a thing , the skeleton replied. After he witnesses the fate of the other traitors, he will not dare .

King Tithian of Tyr gnashed his teeth in vexation, accidentally crushing the sweet chadnut upon which he had been sucking. The pulp filled his mouth with sour, peppery seeds that burned his tongue and made his eyes water. He swallowed the kernels in a single gulp, hardly noticing the fiery aftertaste that chased them down his throat.

“It’s a whole damned fleet!” His old man’s voice was hoarsened by the spicy chad seeds.

The hunch-shouldered king stood behind a low stone wall, peering through a curtain of swirling dust. A thicket of masts had just appeared in Samarah’s tiny harbor. While the thick haze prevented a reliable ship count, Tithian could see so much billowing canvas that the flotilla looked like a cloud bank rolling in from the Sea of Silt.

“Why should the fleet anger you, Mighty One?” asked Korla, clinging, as always, to Tithian’s arm. She was the fairest woman in the village, with ginger-colored hair and a sultry smile. That did not mean she was beautiful. A life of heat and dust had framed her brown eyes with deep-etched crow’s-feet, while the sun had baked her skin until it was as creased and rough as a man’s. Korla clasped the king’s elbow more tightly. “Your retainers wouldn’t dare come for you with anything less than a dozen ships.”

Tithian pulled free and straightened his shoulder satchel.

She frowned. “Soon you’ll show me the wonders of Tyr-won’t you?”

“No.” Tithian fixed a disdainful glare on her weather-lined face.

“You can’t leave me behind!” Korla objected. She glanced at the small crowd of villagers gathered behind the wall. “After what I’ve been to you, the others will-”

“Quiet!” Tithian ordered. He waved a liver-spotted hand toward the harbor. “That isn’t my fleet. Rikus and Sadira will come by land, not ship.”

Korla lowered her eyelids and sighed in relief.

“Don’t be too relieved,” said Riv, Korla’s brawny husband and Samarah’s headman.

An elf-tarek crossbreed, Riv had a square, big-boned face with a sloped forehead and a slender nose. Standing so tall that the village wall rose only to his waist, he cut an imposing figure. Normally, Tithian would have killed such a rival outright, but the headman had taken pains to make himself indispensable as an intermediary to the villagers. Besides, the king enjoyed flaunting Korla’s adultery in front of him.

“Your reign as whore-queen will end soon enough.” Riv glared at his wife.

“Why’s that?” Tithian demanded, shuffling around Korla to confront the huge crossbreed. “Is there a reason I should fear those ships?”

Riv shrugged. “Everyone should fear Balican armadas. But I see no reason they should concern you especially,” he replied. He raised the thin lips of his domed muzzle, showing a mouthful of enormous canine teeth. “I only meant that Korla shouldn’t expect to go with you when the time comes. I’ve seen enough of Athas to know she’d only be an embarrassment in the city.”

“You may have seen the brothels of Balic, but you know nothing of life in Tyr’s royal court,” Korla spat back. She regarded her husband suspiciously, then continued, “Now answer the king’s question. We haven’t seen a Balican fleet for more than a year. Why now?”