Shadows seemed to emanate from and then peel off of Sivash Surekeel as he stood over the corpse of his former lieutenant in the nondescript warehouse. The black bladed dagger he held dripped blood and seemed to pulse with darkness. The dead man still clutched an arming sword in his fist and had a very shocked expression frozen on his face. It was an expression the other six men facing Sivash tried to rid themselves of, lest they look weak. They knew how Sivash hated weakness of any kind.
“Take a good look at how I reward treachery,” Sivash said coldly.
Sivash had six guards in chainmail armor standing behind him with weapons drawn, but not one person in the room had even the smallest desire for conflict with him after the masterful display of prowess, both mundane and magical, that Sivash had just given them. Sivash didn’t look like a hugely muscled man, but the strength he wielded was superhuman. It wasn’t something any of the men wanted to experience directed at themselves.
“Skarn, you have been the most loyal of my lieutenants of late. Goram’s territory is now yours to do with as you please.”
“Thanks, boss,” Skarn grated out with a raspy voice. He smiled through brown teeth.
“I have a use for the body. Put it in the dung cart and deliver it to my house tonight the same way you’ve made the last few deliveries.”
“With pleasure, sir.”
Sivash glanced down at the corpse, then addressed the rest of the men. “With certain notable exceptions, things are going very well with my business presently. Make sure it stays that way,” Sivash said forcefully.
Sivash wiped the blood off of the dagger with a handkerchief that he dropped carelessly into the growing pool of blood, then sheathed the black bladed dagger. He said something in a language that made the men’s skin crawl, and the shadows receded back to a normal level. These were hardened killers, every one of them, but even they had trouble disguising their reactions to this form of magic. Sivash looked to one of his guards and gestured to the bags of money on the warehouse floor, then turned to leave. The guards hurriedly put the bags into a small, nondescript crate that the burliest of them hefted in his arms, and then they hurried to catch up with their master, who was almost at the outer door. He paused for a moment to allow a pair of guards to open the door and exit first, then he strode out into the sunlight with a pleasant smile on his face. He was late for an appointment and set a quick pace through the city back to his home.
His manservant was waiting in the foyer when Sivash entered, and the servant bowed deeply. That movement brought the scent of dreamweed to Sivash’s nose. The other five guards stayed outside, but the burly guard who carried the crate walked past his master and strode up the stairs to a place he obviously knew well.
“The Sage awaits in the sitting room, sir,” the servant said.
“Very good. Find my son and Raynold and send them to the basement.”
“They’re already there, sir. Would you require refreshment?”
“No. Just the payment I set aside for my new tool,” Sivash said curtly, already dismissing the servant from his thoughts.
“As you command, sir.” The servant bowed and went upstairs.
Sivash walked to the sitting room feeling like a child who knew he was getting the exact birthday gift that he asked for. The Sage reclined in an armchair on the far side of the room, which also happened to be the place furthest from a light source. As many times as he had used her services previously, Sivash still didn’t know the Sage’s true identity. He only knew that she was favored by his benefactor in Fellton. That placed her very highly, indeed, and as such, he would never consider betraying a bargain he made with her. The Sage wore her dark cowl low over her face at all times, leaving her entire face in shadow no matter how brightly lit the room was. It was a very subtle magic that she employed to do this. She rose with a slight rustle of her dark robes when he entered the room. He couldn’t help but notice her very pleasant figure even through the thick robes she wore.
“Greetings. I trust your journey was a good one?” Sivash asked politely.
“Pleasantries are wasted on me, Sivash. You have my payment?”
“My servant is bringing it. May I see it, please?”
The Sage said nothing but reached into a hidden pocket on the inside of the loose sleeve of her robe, then brought forth what looked like a large spider made of onyx. Its black legs appeared to be curled under its abdomen in death. If the spider were alive, it would have a diameter of around four inches when its legs were spread. Wedged between a couple of its legs was a small piece of parchment. The Sage gave Sivash the spider statuette with hands that were very pale, long fingered, and dexterous.
“The command words are on the parchment.” the sage said. “He commanded me to tell you that you have his blessing in your endeavor.”
Sivash didn’t need to be told who she was referring to. He turned the spider in his hands this way and that, admiring it from every angle. It was finely polished and appeared to have no flaws. The servant entered the sitting room with a small bag on a silver tray and waited behind his master. Sivash simply nodded to him, and the servant presented the bag to their mysterious visitor. The Sage took the offered bag from the tray and briefly opened it to see the gems within.
“Always a pleasure doing business with you, Sivash. Oh. I almost forgot. He said he expects great things from you.”
Sivash turned a steady gaze to the Sage. “He will see my worth.”
“No doubt.” The Sage said a magic word and disappeared with a little whooshing sound.
Sivash hardly noticed her departure. He could feel the dark energy within this token, and he knew exactly what he wanted to use it for first. The little piece of parchment unrolled easily once he drew it from under two of the legs. Sivash memorized the command words quickly, then clutched the token in his left fist as he walked to the basement.
There was a heavy door at the top of the stairs and a second door at the bottom of the stairs that opened to the remodeled basement. The last thing he wanted was for sound to be transmitted to the house above, and he had taken extra precautions in lining the ceiling with sheets of cork to deaden the noise. For his plans to work, he needed secrecy. The old wine cellar was completely gone now, and in its place was a much-expanded single room dominated by a dais on the wall furthest from the stairway. On that dais was an altar dedicated to the ancient ones, and even now Sivash could feel the dark power coiled within. It was fitted with iron manacles in all four corners with steel slots that protruded in such a way that the chains fit into them so the bonds could be made tight no matter the size of a person. There were tunnels carved into the left- and right-hand walls that stopped when they hit the stone blocks of his neighbors’ basements. There was also a chamber to the right of the dais with a heavy, iron-bound door that would be used for his “special guests.” Both Kromwell and Raynold were sitting at a table that was temporarily set up in this smaller chamber. They were reading in the dim light of a single lantern, each absorbed by the lessons held within their books. Neither of the young men seemed to notice the six corpses laying on the stone floor near the table, though the stench of death was nearly overpowering. Sivash smiled in satisfaction. The boys looked up when he closed the door.
“How are your studies coming, boys?” Sivash asked as he strode towards them.
Raynold looked to Kromwell, who answered. “Well, father. The speech of the ancient ones is becoming easier for me.”
Sivash handed his son the small parchment. “Demonstrate.”
Kromwell unrolled the parchment and said all four words, though he stumbled over two of them. Kromwell saw the look on his father’s face and tried again, this time pronouncing the words without trouble. He looked up to his father again to see Sivash smiling this time and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Good. You make me proud, son.” Kromwell sat straighter in his chair and smiled thinly. “And what about your studies, Raynold?”
“I’ve come to understand much, Lord Surekeel,” Raynold said.
“Has your control over the undead improved?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve been practicing.”
“Demonstrate.”
Raynold stood and faced the six corpses. He chanted in a fell, raspy tongue until a greenish light sprang from his open hand and struck the closest of the corpses. That dim light then clung to the body briefly before fading away. The corpse moved its shoulders and hands but remained lying down. Raynold spoke a command in that dark, raspy language and the corpse slowly climbed to its feet. It started to collect itself for a lunge at Raynold, but he spoke a word, and the corpse stood at attention instead. Raynold gave it a few more commands, making it walk backwards, forwards, and then hop on one leg.
“Excellent, Raynold, excellent!” Sivash said, smiling. Kromwell’s smile vanished. “And will your concentration be required to control each body at all times?”
“No, my lord. They will continue doing what I last commanded them to do.”
Sivash considered briefly, then turned to Kromwell. “Do you understand the words you spoke earlier, son?”
“Yes, father. Spider, attack, stop, and come.”
Sivash revealed the onyx spider he had clutched in his hand. “Very good. Those are the command words for this weapon. Take it.” Kromwell obeyed, holding the onyx spider in his open palm. “Now command it to attack that animated corpse and return it to its inert state.”
Kromwell said the first word in the tongue of the ancient ones, the guttural syllables coming from his mouth more easily than before. The spider wiggled its legs and rolled over quickly, ready to obey. He said the next word, and the spider sprang off his palm, took a couple of running leaps across the floor, then sprang onto the corpse’s hand. The spider seemed to be biting the corpse without effect. Kromwell dutifully gave it the next two commands, whereupon the spider jumped off the corpse, skittered across the floor to Kromwell, and then jumped into his outstretched hand. One last command made the spider roll over and adopt its deathlike, inert posture.
“Very good, son. This weapon will be your responsibility. Its purpose is to deliver a paralyzing magic to its target that should last two or three hours. I trust I don’t need to explain to either of you the details of my plan.”
Both boys shook their heads no.
“Good. I think we’re going to pay Mr. Mason and his family a visit. It’ll be nice to catch up with the neighbors, don’t you think?”
Stolen story; please report.
-----
The house next door to the Surekeels was owned by Tahal and Potur Mason. The stone industry wasn’t very lucrative in Stonekeep, and his home showed it. The place was far from dilapidated, but it was lacking in the fine furniture that Kromwell was used to having in his home. That said, it was still a home any laborer in the city would be comfortable with. Kromwell smiled politely, trying not to sneer as he stood next to his father in the Masons’ living room.
“Are you sure you won’t reconsider my offer, Potur?” Sivash asked pleasantly. “My last offer was for twice the current value of properties like yours. It was most generous.”
“For the last time, Sivash, the answer is no. My family’s been in this home for five generations,” Potur said firmly. He was a man in his fifties, and he had the hairline and strong forearms of a man half his age. His thick mustache bristled, and his brow furrowed as he spoke. “I was born in this house not two paces from where you’re standing, and I’ll never sell my family’s legacy.”
“I’m not surprised, but I am saddened to hear that,” Sivash said as he turned to his son. “Kromwell, show Mr. Mason the payment we have arranged.”
Kromwell took the onyx spider from his pants pocket and said, “Gruagot.” The little statue spread its legs and rolled over in Kromwell’s palm.
“Hey, what is that?” Potur asked, peering intently at the spider.
“Brotag.”
The spider pounced from Kromwell’s outstretched hand and easily leapt the four feet of distance between Kromwell and Potur, landing on the man’s face. Its fangs pierced the man’s cheek just under the eye.
“What the…” Potur said as he tried to slap the spider but collapsed in a heap on the floor instead. He couldn’t even move his eyes of his own volition.
“Potur, dear?” Tahal asked from the kitchen. She came to the doorway of the living room to see what the noise was. “Oh, my! Potur!” Tahal hurried to her husband’s side.
“Brotag.”
The onyx spider leapt from Potur’s face to Tahal’s bare arm with ease and sank its fangs into her skin. Mrs. Mason collapsed across her husband’s legs.
“Very good, son,” Sivash said cheerfully. “Go upstairs and handle Podell and Konla. I wouldn’t want them to miss this evening’s festivities.”
“Hortuug,” Kromwell commanded.
The spider leapt from Tahal’s arm to Kromwell’s hand. His breathing quickened with the prospect of having Konla under his power. She was older than he was by two years, and he fantasized about her often. Kromwell crept up the stairs as quietly as the stairs allowed, an evil grin on his face.
Sivash stood over Potur and gloated. “You should have taken my offer, neighbor. You will soon know just how badly you erred.” Potur couldn’t even give voice to his despair.
Sivash made his way to the Masons’ basement to survey his acquisition. The Masons used it to store food, tools, and some personal belongings, but the place was nearly empty. It would suit his purposes very well. He walked over to the stone wall that was closest to his own house and started pounding on the wall here and there with a spare hammer he found. After a moment or two, he heard the pounding of sledgehammers on the other side of the wall near the middle. The blocks bulged and dust sifted out of the mortared cracks with each blow. As his men tore down the barrier, he examined his fingernails and thought about how well his plan was going lately. His narcotics business had reached new heights and the brothels he owned were flourishing. He had his wife to thank for that part. She had a very good eye for talent.
It only took a few minutes for the wall to be breached and the men to start flooding in. They already had their orders, and they carried them out very efficiently when he was around to watch. He kept men who were unquestionably loyal to him, which was made easier because he was able to get them all addicted to his narcotics. They did sloppy work sometimes as a byproduct, but they would do anything he asked because he controlled their addictions. Every now and then a demonstration was necessary, but it was rare that he had to get his hands bloody these days. Sivash wished he could teach those kinds of lessons more often, but he needed all the men he could get. Still, it gave him great pleasure to take a life, and the more painful the death the better.
Sivash stayed in the basement only long enough to see his men at arms carry the paralyzed bodies of the Masons through the breach and into his own basement. He noted that Konla’s unconscious form was already nude. Maybe Kromwell wasn’t quite as spineless as he thought he was. Sivash followed them through the tunnel as he considered how easily swayed people could be. He had a growing flock of worshipers to cater to tonight. He didn’t care much about the drug induced debauchery, but his followers lived for it. He gave them what they wanted in exchange for their servitude and their help during the rituals. In return, they loyally did his bidding, and they believed everything he said, even the most outrageous lie. He knew who the most dedicated of them were, and he planned to reward them each with a special blessing from the ancient ones. As his men put the Masons into the makeshift prison cell near the altar, Sivash went up the stairs to his own quarters to get ready for tonight’s ritual. His followers would be arriving soon, and this night must be perfect.
-----
Dozens of cowled, red-robed figures shifted from foot to foot as they waited in the barely lit altar room. Calling this place a sanctuary would have been a great misnomer, even though it was a place of worship. It may have been a sanctuary for the worship of a god of peace, but that which was worshiped here was anything but peaceful. There were only four torches held in sconces in the bare stone walls to provide a dim, infernal light. Incense burned slowly in their blackened iron containers, slowly filling the air with the fragrant aroma of burning herbs and dreamweed. Those most influenced by that potent narcotic gathered nearest to the incense burners, swaying to music only they could hear and mumbling incoherently to no one. The rest of those gathered there softly chanted a word in an infernal tongue over and over again. Master. Master.
The door to the stairs opened, and a plate armored figure entered the room with a stride that spoke of power and purpose. The armor the man wore was crafted to look like the body of a heavily muscled demon, painted dark red, and had horns and spikes projecting from joints in the elbows and shoulders. The man carried a large, black, octagonal shield with infernal writing painted on it that seemed to spiral around the outside going gradually in until the writing reached the black center of it. He had a large arming sword and a dagger sheathed on his belt. The figure wore a dark red cape and had a blood red aura of power softly emanating from him that was very unnerving to see. Almost unnoticed behind him, Kromwell and Raynold followed in his wake. Kromwell wore a red robe and walked with a swagger, eager for those gathered there to see the position of favor he held. Raynold fidgeted nervously with the silken cuff of his new black robe as he followed Kromwell. Kromwell caught the eyes of Sethor, Bermin and Lerg as they stood together in the audience, and he sneered slightly. They returned malignant smiles of their own, confident in their friendship with Kromwell and the benefits that friendship would convey.
The door to the upstairs slammed shut and the chanting stopped as the armored man climbed the dais to stand behind the fell altar. Kromwell and Raynold took places beside the dais facing the crowd and crossed their arms in an obviously choreographed move, and put their gazes on Sivash. The chamber got silent as everyone gave their full attention to the man at the altar.
“Our time is at hand!” Sivash boomed out with his gauntleted fist raised high.
Shouts of agreement rang out from the assembly.
“Your patience, your sacrifice, and your obedience will soon be rewarded, despite what the prince and the king desire to use you for. Is there anyone among us who is sick of being oppressed?” Sivash called out.
Many in the assembly shouted in affirmation.
“How many of you dream of the day when you can take what you want from those who would keep you downtrodden and poor?”
Everyone shouted their approval.
“I will show you the way to power!” Sivash roared.
The crowd roared its delight with fists clenched in the air. Sivash waited a long minute for the cheering to calm a bit, then he held up a gauntleted fist.
“We will gain the favor of the ancient ones by our sacrifices, and they will give us the blessings of their power, which we will use to strike down our oppressors! We will soon master this city and throw down those who oppress us with their laws and their ‘noble’ hierarchies!”
At this point, the mob was nearly out of control in their drug-induced frenzy.
“We have conquered death itself, and we will use that power to build our strength until the time is right to strike! On that day, the King himself will tremble at our power!”
The mob roared its defiance. Sivash held his fist in the air, the red glow still dimly surrounding him. The mob was completely unaware of the way Sivash used this subtle magic to cloud their minds and guide their purposes towards his will. They were like clay in his hands, and his blood sang with the ecstasy of it.
Sivash pointed at the cell door to his left. “Bring me the girl.”
Those who were inside the cell certainly heard him, and they cried out in denial. A pair of robed men unlocked the door and went inside as the mob outside looked on hungrily. A young woman’s cries were clearly heard before some meaty thumps silenced her.
“No! Sivash! Please don’t do this!” Mr. Mason pleaded from within the cell. “You’ve known Konla all her life!”
Sivash stood impassively at the altar, then set his eight-pointed shield against the wall behind him as the two men dragged a beautiful, naked young woman out of the cell and over to the altar. Konla struggled feebly as the men threw her onto her back on the altar and securely shackled her wrists and ankles to the four corners of the stone. Her eyes were wide with fear as she pleaded for release. Sivash took a moment to savor her beauty, but mostly he relished her complete powerlessness as she struggled. Her cries were easily dismissed.
“Now! Chant the prayer as I taught you!” Sivash called out.
Drummers began beating out a steady cadence. Kromwell was the first to call out the chant in time with the drumming. When it was time to repeat it, the cultists joined in. Sivash smiled in anticipation as the power began to coalesce, Konla’s continued cries for mercy falling on merciless ears. He caught one of the men by the upper arm before he could rejoin the others below.
“I choose you to receive the blessing of the ancients this night,” Sivash said.
“Thank you, milord,” the cowled cultist replied as he took his place at the foot of the altar. He removed his robe and his shirt underneath, then waited for his blessing with outstretched arms.
The chanting of the cultists slowly grew in intensity in counterpoint to the pleadings of the Mason family. Sivash smiled, knowing that their desperation only increased the potency of his diabolical spellcraft. He intoned the infernal words of his spells as the cultists chanted, channeling and binding the dark energies to his will. When the time was right, he took the black bladed dagger from its sheath and plunged it into Konla’s chest just underneath her ribcage on her front right side. Konla screamed in pain and fear. Sivash cut a deep furrow under her rib cage all the way to the left-hand side of her chest. Then with his gauntleted left hand, he reached into her body and pulled out her beating heart, showing it to the cultists in his upraised fist. Konla gasped, her wide eyes locked onto her heart in horror, unable to scream. Sivash finished his spell and the dark energies surrounding the altar flowed into the heart as the cultists chanted. Blood ran down his vambraces, channeled onto the spikes protruding from it, and spattered on Konla’s bare stomach. He held the heart towards the man at the foot of the altar.
“Consume her heart, and take the gift of the ancients, favored one.”
The man took the heart and ate it bite by bite as Konla died, her horror forever frozen on her lovely face. The darkness that rested in the heart transferred itself to the man as he ate. When he finished the last bite with Konla’s innocent blood covering his mouth and chest, a convulsion racked his body. The man screamed in pain as his hands and forearms changed shape. Dark red scales grew from the elbows down, spikes grew along the back of his forearms, and his fingernails changed into razor sharp black talons. His arms swelled in newfound strength.
“Behold the power of the ancient ones!” Sivash intoned.
“Ours is the power!” the cultists replied.
“Join your brothers,” Sivash said to the man.
The cultist descended the dais, picking up his robe and shirt as he went. Sivash pointed at Raynold.
“Now, behold our power over death itself!” Sivash said.
Raynold climbed the dais to stand at the head of the altar and stared down into Konla’s glazed eyes. He began chanting in the eerie, whispery language of the dead and hurled a little ball of green energy into Konla’s still corpse. That energy flared into life all over her, then settled into her eyes before disappearing. Konla began to move again, trying to sit up. The cultists gasped and stared. Raynold unshackled her and gestured for her to stand at his side, which her corpse obediently did. Congealing blood flowed out of the gaping wound under her ribs and ran down her stomach in three little rivulets.
“Behold! Even in death they will serve us!” Sivash declared, raising his arms triumphantly.
The cultists cheered, staring wide-eyed at the spectacle before them. Sivash gestured to Raynold, who commanded the undead abomination to follow him as he left the altar room through the tunnel that led to the Masons’ former house.
Certain cultists were tasked beforehand to minister to the crowd, which they did by putting more dreamweed into the incense burners. Sivash descended the dais and left the room through the doorway with the stairs going up into his house, with Kromwell following him.
The drums started up, beating out a rousing melody. The cultists began to indulge their baser instincts with the Masons’ mournful cries in the background. Sivash barely noticed any of this as he savored the power he siphoned off and kept for himself instead of investing it into Konla’s heart. That stolen power gave him great strength, and he loved taking it each time he’d done it. This was the first time he had murdered with so many witnesses, and what he felt bordered on ecstasy.
Turning to the young man following him, he said, “That was very well done tonight. You fulfilled your duties perfectly, son.”
Kromwell puffed his chest out in pride. “Thank you, father.”
“Before long, we will rule this city openly.” Sivash turned, then continued to the staircase up to his chambers, where he had commanded Nystara to wait.
Soon, he thought. Soon.
