Dark Sahale Read online

  DARK SAHALE

  By

  Sam Ferguson

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Dragon Scale Publishing, 212 E Crossroads Blvd. #119, Saratoga Springs UT 84045

  DARK SAHALE

  Text copyright © 2017 by Sam Ferguson

  Illustration copyright © 2017 Dragon Scale Publishing

  All Rights Reserved

  Front cover art by Bob Kehl

  Contents

  Other Books by Sam Ferguson

  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

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  EPILOGUE

  About the Author

  Other Books by Sam Ferguson

  About Terramyr

  Other Books by Sam Ferguson

  The Sorceress of Aspenwood Series

  The Dragon’s Champion Series

  The Wealth of Kings

  The Netherworld Gate Series

  The Dragons of Kendualdern series

  The Fur Trader

  The Haymaker Adventures

  Flight of the Krilo

  The Lost City of Alfarin

  Winter’s Ghost (Novella)

  The Moon Dragon

  The Beast of Blue Mountain

  The Dwarves of Roegudok Hall comic Episode 1

  Other Books by Dragon Scale Publishing

  The Protector of Esparia by Lisa M. Wilson

  Kingdom of Denall Series by Eric Buffington:

  The Troven

  Secrets at the Keep

  The Changing

  Tales of the NoWhere and NeverWhen by Jason Hauser

  Codex of Light by E.P. Stein

  Also available exclusively on the

  Dragon Scale website:

  Tharzule’s Tome of Wishes by Malinda Smiley

  Orcs and Elves by Bethan Owen

  CHAPTER 1

  Lady Arkyn pulled the forest green hood back around her pointed ears and looked around. It was night, but the darkness didn’t hamper her vision as it would a human’s. She surveyed the back alley leading up to the manor house and then stole across to the back door. A large dog’s carcass was lying in the grass some fifteen yards away from her. Its head was cruelly twisted around its body and the long tongue was hanging limply out the snout.

  Whoever had been here before her had been driven by pure rage to do such a thing. More than that, they were strong. She slipped into the back door, careful not to disturb the broken glass along the floor from the slim window nearby that had been smashed to gain access to the back of the house. In the rear parlor were two more bodies. One male, the other female. The butler had had his throat ripped out. The woman had been hit with something large and heavy alongside her head. Their crumpled corpses were stacked atop each other, suggesting a very quick-moving assailant.

  Arkyn silently walked through the parlor and into the kitchen. Nothing was disturbed in that room. An onion sat upon a cutting board with the knife carefully placed next to it. A pot of water was on the stove, but the fire below had not been started yet. Two fresh pieces of wood were placed inside, with a bit of kindling and paper in place to make the ignition easier.

  She passed over the marble floor and pressed the swinging door open. She walked through a velvet carpeted hallway and into the dining room. She closed her eyes and shook her head as she sighed in disgust. Four guests and another servant were dead in that room. She moved past them and out into another hallway. She walked around a large staircase and to another parlor room. She stepped down three marble stairs and surveyed the room. Two additional guests were there. One of them was still upright in a high-backed chair with a tea cup held in his right hand. The tea had spilled during the moment of attack, staining the man’s brown pants and the arm of the chair. His brown eyes were open, forever frozen in a stare of terror.

  Arkyn moved forward and gently closed the man’s eyes. Then she looked to the woman who was lying face down on the floor. She couldn’t see the wound from this angle, but the large pool of blood surrounding her body told her all she needed to know.

  She turned around and went across the entry foyer and into the drawing room. There were three slain guards there, each wearing platemail. One was missing his head, another had been run through with a large spear. The third was missing his left arm and his helmet was quashed in at the top, with streaks of blood that had dried to the outside of the visor.

  “Very strong indeed,” she commented wryly as she studied the wounds. It would have taken superhuman strength to run a spear through the armor the second guard had on, not to mention how powerful a strike would have to be in order to nearly flatten a steel helmet.

  In the back of the drawing room, a bookcase had been hurriedly pulled aside. Books lay strewn about the floor around it, attesting to the frantic escape attempt. She went into the hidden passageway. Stone surrounded her on all sides, and the dank odor of mold and earth flowed into her nostrils. She had to turn sideways to avoid bumping her shoulders on the walls. Such a narrow hallway would have made a rushed escape nearly impossible, as she was an elf, built slender and lean. A man with wider shoulders would have struggled a fair amount more than she to get through the twisting hall.

  She followed it down a spiraling path until she came to a large entryway. A mess of tangled and broken iron bars greeted her. She inspected them carefully, using her elf-vision to see in the darkness. She realized that what she was looking at, had at one time been a portcullis. Whoever had tried to escape had managed to make it this far and then seal the way behind themselves. She turned around and ran a hand over the stone walls. She felt scratches and gouges in the rock. The pursuer had been big, but strong enough to force himself through the narrow passage and then barrel through the portcullis as if it was nothing more than thin planks of pine.

  Lady Arkyn stepped into the large chamber and looked around. An underwater stream babbled softly in the distance, and another tunnel led out, likely to the sea.

  She doubted that the intended victim had ever gotten close to that final stretch of tunnel however, for the boat was still lashed to a pair of metal stakes.

  Lady Arkyn turned to her left and scanned the thick darkness. She saw the body prone on the floor, near a large chest.

  “Here, Lady Arkyn,” a voice called in the darkness.

  Lady Arkyn nodded and walked toward the murder victim. “You could have lit a torch, Njar,” she said.

  Wood smacked onto the stone floor and an orb of light appeared over the image of a large, black-furred satyr. “I left the light off, in case the first person to find me was not you,” he said. “I am not exactly welcome in these parts.”

  Lady Arkyn laughed. “After the last war we had, I would assume that all of the old blood would be gone by now.”

  Njar bleated and shook his head. “Humans are a stubborn lot. They are slow to forgive, and even slower to change their minds if they have decided that someone else is responsible for their plights.”

  “Not all,” Arkyn said.

>   Njar smiled and met her eyes with great golden orbs. “True, not all humans are such.”

  Lady Arkyn moved to the body and knelt beside it. “I am unfamiliar with this man,” she said. “I know this manor had been empty for many years, as has much of Winter’s Beak, but I am not aware of who ever owned this manor.”

  “His name is Willow.”

  “Like the tree?” Arkyn asked.

  Njar nodded.

  “Strange name for a human to take.”

  Njar shrugged. “He is not human,” Njar said. “Not entirely, that is.”

  Arkyn cocked her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

  Njar sighed. “I have known Willow for many decades. He used to reside not far from Viverandon, though Winter’s Beak has always been his ancestral home. He was born and raised in the forests, and so his parents named him for the tree under which they shared their first kiss.”

  “But what is he?” Arkyn asked.

  Njar looked past her. “Where is Erik?” he asked. “I thought you two were traveling together.”

  Arkyn frowned slightly and nodded slowly. “We did, for three years after the great battle with Tu’luh. Then, we parted ways.”

  “Tu’luh,” Njar said as he spat upon the ground. “That is one creature I hope rots away in the hell fires of Hammenfein. Many lost their lives because of that dragon’s stupidity. Never let it be said that humans are the only stubborn, blind race upon the face of Terramyr.”

  Lady Arkyn nodded her agreement. Tu’luh had been the cause of not one, but two great wars. First in Hamath Valley, some five hundred years prior, and more recently all along the southern parts of the Middle Kingdom. It had taken not only Erik, but many great and legendary heroes to defeat the Red Dragon. Fortunately, all of that was behind them now.

  “Where is Erik now?” Njar pressed. “He will be most interested in this.”

  Arkyn shrugged. “He is somewhere south of the orcish lands, but don’t worry, I can send a Night Hawk after I know more about what we are dealing with here.”

  Njar nodded. “As I said, Willow is no human. He is a sahale.”

  Lady Arkyn gasped. “Sahale? Are you sure?” She pulled off a long, forest-green glove from her right hand and then reached out and touched the dead man’s neck.

  “Of course I’m sure,” Njar snipped. Njar turned Willow’s head and bent the right ear down to reveal a small, crescent-shaped birthmark. “The sign of the sahale,” he said flatly.

  “Then, why didn’t he change into his dragon form?” Lady Arkyn asked. “He could have easily defeated an intruder if he had.” The sahale were a race of half-humans who could shift into dragon forms at will once they had reached their age of maturity, usually around seventeen years. The fact that Willow had remained in his human form suggested there was something more at play here.

  “I’m not entirely sure,” Njar said. He held out a fur-backed hand and slowly made a circle above the corpse. “But, I believe he was prevented from changing. I think the murderer used some sort of spell that blocked the dragon blood from performing its magic.”

  “Can such a thing be possible?” Lady Arkyn asked.

  Njar shrugged and leaned heavily upon his staff. “It’s the only conclusion I can come to. Tell me, did you recognize any of the guests?”

  Lady Arkyn rose to her feet and folded her arms, still staring at the body lying on the floor in front of her. “No,” she said flatly. “If they are of the noble class, they are not people I am familiar with.”

  “Much has changed since Nagar’s Blight chased the dragons from the Middle Kingdom some five hundred years ago,” Njar said. “Now that the curse is lifted and Tu’luh has been slain, things are shifting once more, and all of it for the better, I’m afraid.”

  Lady Arkyn nodded. She knew that many of the inhabitants of the Middle Kingdom were less than eager to have dragons return to the land. The fact that the progenitor of all dragons on Terramyr, Hiasyntar’Kulai, had only remained in the Middle Kingdom for a short while before flying back to the east didn’t help things either. Both races had respected his position, and now the loss of that buffer was keenly felt. No one knew exactly why he left, but it created a vacuum of power as other, lesser dragons came to the land and did not have the great Ancient One to look to. Most of the time the dragons kept to themselves, but there had been skirmishes. Some started by humans, of course, but a few incidents were likely the fault of adolescent dragons who were still unaccustomed to coexisting with humankind.

  “Five hundred years is a long time,” Lady Arkyn said. “Even to dragons. Time away can change them as well as those of us who remained within the Middle Kingdom.”

  Njar nodded. “Yes, the Middle Kingdom will struggle to find its balance once more. However, I fear that this incident will only lead to a deeper divide between the species. I mentioned the people upstairs, but what I didn’t say was that they were all sahale as well, even the guards and the servants.”

  Lady Arkyn felt the blood drain from her face. All of them? She had no idea so many sahale existed. “Who would go to such trouble to murder thirteen sahale?”

  Njar shook his head. “That is why we need Erik. I need the two of you to hunt down the killer and stop him. This travesty cannot go unanswered. If the younger dragons ever learned that so many of their kin had been brutally murdered, they would likely seek revenge. One or two attacks on villages by dragons, and the delicate peace we are trying to nurture will be ripped apart.” Njar sighed. “There is something more,” Njar added. “Look at the eyes.”

  Lady Arkyn bent back down to Willow’s corpse and inspected the man’s eyes. “No,” she gasped quietly. “This can’t be.”

  Njar stepped closer. “I noticed it when I walked in. My kind are more sensitive to the shifting of magic and the traces of energy left behind by it. I had hoped that perhaps it was part of whatever spell had prevented the victims from changing into their dragon forms and defending themselves, but as I inspected the manor, I realized I was horribly wrong.”

  “A shadowfiend was here,” Lady Arkyn said. Now that she was studying the eyes more carefully, she could see the tell-tale sign of dull, gray pupils and faded irises. “Whoever it was had not only murdered the sahale, but had drained them of their power.”

  “As you know,” Njar said grimly. “A shadowfiend absorbs the powers of his victims, making himself stronger with each kill. Often times they will prey upon wizards to gain magical advantage, but now we have something else. As the dragons return, they offer new powers to shadowfiends that have not previously been available to them in abundance.”

  “A shadowfiend is hunting down dragon-kin and taking their powers,” Arkyn whispered. “Such a foe would be nearly unstoppable.”

  “And that is why I summoned you and Erik. You are the strongest pair I know of. You have to stop the killer before he grows too strong, and, you have to do it quietly so that neither dragons nor humans learn of the danger that has come to the Middle Kingdom.”

  “Not a simple task,” Lady Arkyn said.

  “A profound understatement,” Njar replied.

  “What of Master Lepkin and Lady Dimwater? Surely they can help.”

  “If you know where to find them, then I will call upon them as well. As you know, Kyra Dimwater and I are very close, but she has shrouded herself from me. I cannot scry her location, and I have no idea where to even start looking. More importantly than that, searching for her would spend time that we likely don’t have. There are not many sahale left in Terramyr. I knew most of these. They had gone far away from the Middle Kingdom. There are a few families yet, but I imagine they will be traveling here soon. Terramyr as a whole has never been kind to the sahale folk. They have been feared and hunted by almost every race. Their only true home has ever been here, in the Middle Kingdom.”

  “We have to stop the murderer before the others arrive,” Arkyn agreed with a nod. “Do you have any clues where to look?”

  Njar shrugged. “This one
is powerful. I cannot see the event that took place here, not even with the Pools of Fate. Nor can I track the shadowfiend from this point. I have, however, uncovered other clues that lead me to believe there is a shadowfiend by the name of Alkantar hiding in Pracheloor Cave, which is a large network of tunnels within a set of three mountains along the northern shores of the Middle Kingdom about three hundred miles east of Far Point. If I were you, I would start there.”

  “You aren’t coming with us?” Arkyn asked.

  Njar shook his head. “No,” he said. “I will try to contact other sahale from my tower in Viverandon. With any luck, I can convince them to stay away from the Middle Kingdom for a while. However, even if not, there are matters there that demand my attention.”

  There was a hint of fear in the satyr’s voice told Lady Arkyn that something very serious had happened in the satyr’s home as well. “Tell me what’s wrong,” she said.

  Njar shook his head. “Viverandon is my concern. Yours is the Middle Kingdom. I have helped you as much as I can. I must return now to my people. You must hurry, the city guards will be back in the morning.”

  “I can help you,” Lady Arkyn said.

  “Not with this,” Njar replied. “Now go, and be sure not to be seen.” Njar stamped his staff on the ground and a great slit of gold light tore through the air a few feet away. He waved his left hand and the slit widened, tearing through the fabric of space. Through the rift, Arkyn could see a lush and beautiful forest city. A great tree stood at one end. She had always longed to see Viverandon in person, but had never been able to get more than glimpses through Njar’s portals through the years. “Lady Arkyn?” Njar said.

  The elf looked to her friend and waited for him to speak.

  “Do be careful, my gut tells me that the forces at play here are more dangerous than anything you or Erik have ever faced before.”

  “More dangerous than Tu’luh?” Arkyn asked.

  Njar nodded solemnly. “I believe so.” He then turned and walked through the portal.