The Tomb of the Dark Paladin (2 page)

With the room heating nicely, Medov walked to his desk, passing his armor and devices of rank, and sat down. He rubbed an area below his ribcage. Covered by a piece of steel magically grafted to his side, the deep burning was a harsh reminder of the price he paid for his powers. The steel piece in his side came from the blade of a dagger belonging to a long dead, and long forgotten, evil High Elf sorcerer. Medov didn't know the elf's name, and he didn't care, but the ancient sorcerer's spirit made itself known to him from time to time. It was as though the spirit took over his body and Medov was unaware until after the possession had passed. Fortunately, the spirit never did anything untoward during these episodes and seemed to simply enjoy having a physical form for a while. These episodes were his only misgivings about the deal he had made, for the dark powers that the dead sorcerer once wielded were now his. Nevertheless, Medov had sacrificed more than just a portion of his flesh; he had sacrificed his loyalty to his country and his god. When he made his deal with Devoricus, he thought the Cjii would force him to serve Q'raz more boldly, perhaps at the front line of the warrior-god's fighting forces as they raced into glorious battle behind their horrible golden dragons. But such was not to be; the cost of his deal was steeper. Spying in the Palace of Erestonin was his charge, and was no small feat.

Erestonin had been a place of conflict for a long time. Each of the Frost Elf tribes that inhabited the cold world above, and the dark world below, was fiercely territorial and hostile toward the others. A few times in history, the militant tribes of Erestonin had united under a single leader and had come down from the glaciers to wreak havoc on the world of men. It was only within the past few years that the tribes had become united under a single leader, only this leader was not an elf. This leader was none other than the Raven Queen, an ancient disciple of Umber's who was, ironically, human. Medov had witnessed her powers and found them to be terrifying even to him. And one of those powers was her ability to wake the sleeping guardians.

The palace had been inhabited by rulers of various tribes, but it had not been the symbol of a united Erestonin for centuries. The Raven Queen had taken over the palace and brought in powerful warlords from all the tribes to be her advisers and generals. The Frost Elves were united again and the glory of war was not far off; they were planning to come down from the glacier very soon and wage war. Medov suspected that Alfheym, the homeland of the Crimson Elves, would interfere. However, that was a matter for another time as it seemed that his own position in the coming war had changed.

A scroll case of solid blue topaz inlaid with silver and gold seemed to stare at him from the surface of his desk. It bore the seal of the Raven Queen and could only mean one thing. The ancient runic High Elvish script, still used by the ruling classes of Erestonin, crawled across the surface of the tube in the flickering light like a live thing. He was the general of the First Scouts, the most feared and respected unit of his tribe's fighting forces. Among the fighting forces of the rest of Llars, the Frost Elves were feared above even the infamous Hurkin Horde.

He opened the scroll case and unfurled the parchment within. As he suspected: new orders. General Medov was to report to Shalthazar's fortress, where the foreign elf who recently arrived at the head of a mighty host from a far off continent had established his headquarters. He had heard much about this elf and knew that Shalthazar was also a mighty wizard at the head of an order of his own creation. He seemed to have been wildly successful in his conquest of the Northern Continent. But now, it seemed, the foreigner's usefulness had run its course. Odd, considering how much he had accomplished in so short a time. He wondered if Shalthazar would suspect the truth of Medov's assignment and if the foreigner would be prepared.

The timing of Medov's change of orders was serendipitous. Having made his sacrifice for power at Umber's expense, the old assassin expected to find a powerful ally in this foreigner. He had no informants within the elf's circle of confidence; there was no reason to believe that the elf was in any way disloyal. Yet, many men had been known to change sides when the cold steel of a dagger was pressed to their necks. It was something he might be able to use should Umber learn of the general's betrayal. This was a quandary that he must find a way out of. Disobedience to Umber would certainly earn him a death sentence, and death would not save him from eternal suffering at the hands of one such as Coronus, the master of death magic. And Devoricus would be furious at this turn of events too, the Cjii desperately wanted to maintain the general's vital connection to the palace and the Raven Queen's ear. Medov knew that Devoricus himself had recently abandoned Hybrand and would probably find any intelligence garnered there to be of little import. He hoped that the Cjii would leave him alone now but it was more likely that the Cjii would find some other way in which to force the general to risk his life and, in all likelihood, his afterlife in service of Q'raz.

Medov shoved the scroll back into the case and smiled. Even considering this new change of circumstance, the power he now wielded was worth sacrificing his loyalty to Umber. The dark god had offered him nothing in his long years of service but indifference and spite. He longed for the chance to see his enemies running before him, terror driving them to their deaths at the end of his Elvish blade, his hand wreathed in 
darkfire
 as he ripped a person's very soul from their body. 

A pair of Keneerie slaves arrived at his door to begin preparing his effects for the journey. The slaves that toiled for the Frost Elves were controlled by skillful Elvish magic and would ensure that the general's effects were properly transported to his new duty station. The Frost Elf masters did not tolerate anything but utter devotion and compliance from their slaves.

General Medov donned his armor, gathered his weapons, and left his office. The tall Frost Elf wasted no time on farewells, marching straight to his departure point. Frost Elves were not known for their compassion, neither were they given to shows of affection. Their lives were sterile, their living conditions generally as austere as the harsh northern tundra in which they resided. Frost Elves were raised from birth to be cold, calculating, self-serving.  

Medov thought about the sleeping guardians and smirked. To most Frost Elves these creatures were far from being guardians. They were the harbingers of war, and war was something the Frost Elves were very, very, good at. And so it was that Medov now stood atop the highest tower in the palace awaiting one of those very guardians. The general waited in the harsh wind atop a large circular platform nearly fifty feet in diameter for the guardian to arrive. 

A particularly strong gust battered the tower and sent a biting breeze surging up the tower wall where it crashed into the general with icy fists. 
Thump thump
. Barely, over the sound of the incessant wind, he heard it. Again, 
thump thump
. Soon the noise became louder, and louder still. A form began to take shape in the cold air and a pair of large, evil, blue eyes appeared. Then the rest of the body took shape and soon an inexplicable terror stirred within the Frost Elf's stomach. Even the battle-hardened Frost Elves were not completely immune to the terror that these beasts could instill in the mortal races. Finally, the huge predatory eyes took note of Medov as the creature settled on the ground next to him. In a flash of blue light, the creature changed into the image of a Frost Elf in light blue robes.

"Are you ready to leave, General?" came the steely voice, dripping with condescension.

Medov nodded, unsettled by the hungry eyes of the shape shifter before him. He was indeed ready to be gone from Erestonin, but he was not certain he could protect himself from the great beast's hunger. He wondered if that had been his deceitful masters' plan all along.

On a distant corner of the planet Llars, a castle stood atop a high peak surrounded by a most unusual city. The city was Alfheym, capital of the magical and mysterious realm of the Crimson Elves. Alfheym was a place few outsiders were ever privileged enough to visit. At the very end of the Northern Continent, its remoteness and its legendary magic were powerful deterrents to potential foes. So powerful were the race of red-skinned elves that even the infamous Frost Elves were loath to fight them, and hadn't for nearly a thousand years.

Crimson Palace was a brilliant beacon of the power of the elves, its bricks of reddish gold and beams of fireore glowed with the power of the Tides that never left those favored of Zuhr, the true god of Llars. This day a council was in session deep within the confines of the brilliant Crimson Palace. It was the Council of Princes, the leaders of each of the tribes of Alfheym, and their meeting today was of dire portent.

The chamber in which the council now met was at the top of the tallest tower in the massive palace. The chamber was round and took the entire top level of the tower. One massive window overlooked the city of Alfheym and the port in which ships from all points of Llars, and even beyond the terrestrial boundaries of the world, drifted lazily in the sea.

Prince Llew stood on the balcony, his black and gold cloak rippled softly in the breeze. A number of flowering plants and vines decorated the stone pillars within the chamber and on the balcony; the flowers gave off a perfume unlike any other on Llars.

"Prince Llew," came a whisper from the Council Guard. "The Council is present."

The red-haired prince nodded gravely and exhaled. He turned and entered the council chamber. The five gathered princes stood in respect for their elder as he stopped at the head of the council table.

"It is by the graces of the Great Father that we are able to meet here on this dire occasion. We give Zuhr thanks and pray that we are in time. Please, sit."

The princes of the realms of Alfheym sat, each garbed in their chosen military attire with shirts of blood-colored firemail.

"War is soon to be upon us, gentlemen. And so it is that I call on you to raise your armies and awaken our ancient allies. I fear it may be the last time we do so."

"What is the threat we face, Prince Llew?" asked Prince Glandyr of the Drayk Tribe. His eyes burned with intensity and the air about his body shifted ominously as the Tides flowed through him, Sigils emblazoned on his sleeves flared with an intensity to match.

"Has the time come for the Tides to return to Llars?" asked Prince Owyn of the Red Wyrm Tribe.

"The heavens are in turmoil. The children of Zuhr have begun a war that even now stretches across the lands of Llars. Yerkses has given himself the title of Steel Emperor and has begun moving into the Cklathlands. The army of Ilian Nah has surged across the Northern Continent, none that have faced its might have survived. The Arnathian Empire is on the brink of disaster, civil war has erupted in a number its provinces and Hybrand has been liberated in a bloody coup."

"Surely the demise of Arnathia is good news for us, Prince Llew," remarked Princess Dalfrija, standing in for her husband the Prince of the Smok Tribe.

"Under different circumstances, Princess, I would agree. Yet the vacuum of power that had been created in Hybrand was filled by agents of Ilian Nah, or Umber as we know him. What will happen in the rest of the provinces of Arnathia? We know that Yerkses has rejected Zuhr and embraced his wayward son, Q'raz. Now the Steel Emperor has designs on far-reaching conquest, perhaps even reaching down into the Arnathian provinces. Where better to conquer than countries already embroiled in turmoil?"

"Arnathia has always been devoted to Q'raz. Why would Yerkses move against them?"

"‘Fortune favors the strong’; it is the cornerstone belief of those dedicated to Q'raz, Prince Lohik-Arme of the Flame Tribe. Yerkses is drunk with power and in possession of a formidable army and navy. The earls have all sworn allegiance to him as their emperor and thirst to take over the lands of the Cklath.

"But the worst is yet to come." Llew paused and looked each of the gathered princes in the eye. "The Shadow Sigil has returned and it is spreading like a disease across the world."

"This cannot be!" barked Prince Belmar of the Black Serpent Tribe. "Zuhr took the Tides away from them, all of them!"

"Umber is a crafty and wicked child, Prince Belmar. He imbued a dark and terrible power upon each of his Dark Disciples in the days before the Dark Paladin found salvation and turned on Umber. Each of them is connected to the dark power of the Shadowrealm, the place where the powers of the Shadow originate and spreads its wickedness throughout the universe. Through them, the Shadowtide has returned to the world.