The content of this page is © copyright Stephen Deas 2001 and is used here with permission.
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So, my armies were gone, and instead of the lethal victory I had planned, Ta'Wanch'n and his legions roamed free. I'd escaped from Yrka's treachery, and so afraid he was of the retribution I surely planned for him, he was already in full retreat. Although not before making a hurried peace with Ta'Wanch'n. I suppose he hoped the Blue Legions would find me and thus save him. Well, I'd shatter both of them and their peace soon enough.

My escape spell drew me out of Yrka's trap before it's jaws could fully close. Whether it's retribution strike had reached him, I had no idea, though I suspected he would be saved by sorcery of his own, even if it did. I hoped he would be. The death I had in mind for Yrka would be far more prolonged and personal. But now, I was in a place I didn't know. A place of still, musty air, dark and gloom, towering trees as old as the world, their trunks as thick as castles, their leaves and branches a mile above me.

Nothing else lived in the perpetual twilight around me. Nothing except for monstrous fungi, of all colours and shapes, blooming from the ground and from the impenetrable bulk of the trees. Whenever I as much as brushed one with foot or finger, the air thickened with its spores. I conjured a sorcerous light and cast it far around me, until the forest floor was lit as though by the same brilliant sunlight bathing its canopy, far above, but all I saw was more of the same. Endless monstrous trees in a sea of rot and decay. I knew this place then. The guides I had found to aid my conquest had told me of this place, what little they knew. The Death Forest of Zenkatar. All who ventured here would die, they had told me. Well, I still had my wits and my armour, my spells and my sword, so I saw no reason to fear their superstitions, though the forest was clearly inimical to their simple life. No game to hunt, no fruit to eat, save, perhaps, in the unreachable branches above.

I vanished my light spell, and settled down instead to cast a scrying, so I might see what had become of Yrka and my armies, and of Ta'Wanch'n and the Blue Legions. I had no doubt the Legions would be hunting for me, and perhaps, then, the forest would be my ally, its reputation deterring them from entering. Or better yet, they would assume I was dead here, though Yrka had no means to know where I had come.

I had to scry far before I reached the edge of the forest. Many days, even on horse. When at last my eyes reached the sunbound borders, I found the Blue Legions easily enough, camped by the forest edge, riding in sweeping arcs, bands of thirty or more at a time. In numbers enough to cause me a challenge, even with the Shadowblade at my side. Although I had little doubt they would have long gone and given me up for dead or fled before I reached them. Instead, I sat and thought about how much food and water I had with me - none - and how far I had to travel before I might find some provisions. Thought for not long before concluding I would die of hunger and thirst before I ever left this place unless I could find some source of provisioning. The fungi, I quickly discovered, were vile, nauseating things; even the taste of them on my tongue made me retch and burn with thirst. The trees, I soon learned through my scrying, would serve me no better. Even if I could find some way to climb their spiring trunks, they offered no fruits, only thick, leathery leaves. No birds nested within their branches. No creatures climbed and scurried between them. For all its lush greenery, the forest canopy was as much a desert as the brown rot beneath my feet.

I set my scrying in all directions, then, conjured a lesser demon to seek with it and report on any sign of habitation or life, and settled down to sleep, for the evasion of Yrka's attempt on my life had cost me much of my strength.

When I awoke, the forest seemed exactly as I had left it. The same gloom, the same still air with it's dirty, smoky, musty smell. The demon, too, had fallen asleep, it seemed, for while the scrying spell remained, it stared blankly at a single spot.

I kicked the demon to rouse him, but it simply rolled over, exposing it's hideous face, made ten times worse by something - I knew not what - that had transpired while I spelt. For it's face had withered and sunken into its skull, it's eyes were wide and covered with a film of skin, it's mouth open, the skin drawn tight around it's pointed teeth, patches of its fur already missing, the rest disintegrating at my touch.

My hand rested on the Shadowblade. "What has done this to you?" I asked. The demon made no answer. Cautiously, I reached out and touched it's stiff, dead body, for it is the nature of demons, being unlike us, for their souls to remain with their body even after death, until some sorcerer or other demon plucks it out and places it in a new vessel.

It's soul was gone.

I had slept, and something had stolen the soul of my demon, without my spells of warning raising the alarm. For the first time, the forest chilled me.

Instead, I turned my attention to the scrying. Since the demon hadn't awoken me, and since I had means to ask it what portion of the forest it had seen while I slept, I would have to start again, and the night was wasted.

Or not. For the demon had left the scrying spell staring over the ruins of some great palace. And in front of the palace, figures moved. Hazy and dark, like shadows. And as I looked, one of the shadows paused in front of my eyes, and turned, and stared back at me with two pinprick eyes of white light, and it's shadow arm reached out, and it's shadow hand stretched through the scrying, and touched my skin, and I felt the coldness of it, and an unreal wind blew up, blowing from behind me, towards the image of the shadow, blowing harder and harder, whipping not at my flesh, but at the corners of my soul, seeking to rip and tear it from my body. I saw, now, what had happened to my demon. His scrying had stumbled on these souldrinkers, and they had found him, and drunk.

They would not have me so easily. I drew the Shadowblade, perhaps made of the same stuff as these creatures, and sliced off its hand. I felt no resistance as shadow cut through shadow, but the cold was gone at once, the wind with it. The shadow creature hissed and recoiled, and then made to reach again, while the shadow hand I had severed dissolved into a tiny black cloud, and began to float away through the air, it's movements full with purpose, not driven by any wind.

I ended the scrying and made my decision. The ruins would not be far away, certainly much closer than the end of the forest. This cloud of shadow-stuff would lead me to them. Then we would see. I had little hope these shadow creatures would hold food and water, or indeed, anything but hostility, but perhaps they would have some knowledge. Perhaps by threat or barter, I would learn something to lead me from here. They were, after all, creatures of shadow and darkness, and while once, perhaps, I would have fled in terror, I had acquired more than a little experience in dealing with their ilk in this world.

The shadow-cloud led me through the giant tress for perhaps half a day before I saw the first signs of the ruins I had seen in my scrying. Stones, nearly buried in leaf-mould and fungus, nothing but a few sharp, bone-white edges penetrating the surface, traces of carvery remaining. Ahead, scorned by the trees, a small hill rose , and on it, more stones, larger ones - or less buried, I couldn't tell which - lay, stumbled and fallen about the place, as though a palace had been built, and then a giant hand had swatted it down. And among the stones, I began to see shapes. Dark shapes. Shadows. The cloud quickened it's pace, stretching, eager to return from whence it came. A cold breath touched the back of my neck...

I spun around, the shadowblade already naked in my hand, and swung, cleaving one of the dark things in two, though how it had come to be behind me, I didn't know. It screamed, split in two, although again, I felt no contact of the blade on anything solid, and withdrew, it's two parts knitting quickly together. Another approached me. I raised the blade and it stopped, raised a hand.

"Cease, mortal." It spoke softly, it's words like the whispering of a gentle wind.

I waited, poised.

"Why have you come here?" it asked.

"I am a sorcerer. I have fled those who would kill me, and arrived in this place with no food or water. I seek to leave."

"Then leave," it said.

"I will die before I reach the edge of the forest."

"Then die."

"I have no intention of dying," I told it. "I have seek your aid, willing or otherwise."

"Your blade may cause us pain, sorcerer, but you cannot kill us. Stay and we will have your soul."

"My soul is mine, thank you. Who are you?"

"We are the wraiths of Zenkatar," it said, and the breeze of its voice fluttered with sadness and distant memory.

"What holds you here?" I asked, for I knew these creatures had passed through death and beyond already.

"A curse."

"I, too, have been cursed. I broke that curse. Perhaps I can break yours."

"It is unbreakable."

"Then you will suffer here forever and I will die for want of food and water. Surely this suits neither of us."

"It is your fate."

Had these wraiths been creatures of flesh, supplied with the food and water I needed, I would have continued our conversation with the Shadowblade instead, but as things were, I could only press on.

"Tell me about this curse."

"A thousand years ago, the Empire of Zenkatar was vast and glorious and spanned half the world. Then came the Blue Legions. In battle after battle, they defeated us with sword and spell, until we were reduced to this, this forest, which then was the heart of our Empire, our capital, our most fertile lands. When the last battle was lost, we knew the city would fall, and Zenkatar would be at an end. In our desperate haste, we raised a spell, to protect us, for all time, a barrier against all things living, to preserve us while we recovered out strength. But it was miscast. Some rune was out of place. Instead, a great forest rose up, this forest that you walk in, destroying what was left of our city and our lands. All were killed save the sorcerers who had raised the spell."

"And what became of them?"

"We became of them. Three hundred and thirty three of us. Dead but not dead. Cursed to roam this place, never again to taste the pleasures of the flesh."

"Then you are sorcerers - can you not leave?"

"We cannot. In casting the spell to protect our land, we invested our power, into a rod, which now lies buried beneath the stones. All our power is trapped inside it. And while it remains so, we cannot leave, for if we stray too far, we begin to fade. So we are trapped here, forever."

"Is there no way to release your powers from this rod?"

"Aye, simply break it."

I stared at the wraith, the bitterness in its breath, well aware of the irony of its insubstantial fate.

"Show me this rod, and I will break it for you."

The wraith coughed a dry laugh. "You, a mortal sorcerer, would free us? I think not. I think you would take the rod, and command us. We prefer to suffer here alone than bear the indignity of becoming your slaves."

I could not argue it's case, for certainly, had circumstances been different, I would have done as the wraith said. But commanding a few hundred impotent wraiths would make not a speck of difference to me when I was dead of thirst.

"You forget, I have no provisions to leave this place, nor any spell to do so. If I do not break your rod, I will die anyway."

"Yet you will not break it, because you fear our power if freed. What will stop us from destroying you and doing as we please?"

"I doubt you would find it so easy. Would you risk final death so soon after reaching your freedom? Tell me, what grudge do you bear against the Blue Legions."

"The most bitter hatred."

"And if I were to free you, what would you do?"

"We would hunt them out and destroy them."

"I think, perhaps, there are too many. But I have not told you how I came to be here, for it was by treachery of one of the commanders of my army. An army I had brought to shatter the Blue Legions. They are my enemy also."

The wraith's eyes glittered.

So I broke the rod and freed the sorcerer-wraiths of Zenkatar, and in the battles to come against the Blue Legions, they fought with the rage and fury of a thousand years. And when the Blue Legions were no more, the wraiths howled in victory, and raged back and forth with gleeful wrath, and then, when their energy was spent, quietly returned to their forest to continue their ceaseless studies, striving to learn what manner of being they were, and how they may become mortal again.

The content of this page is © copyright Stephen Deas 2001 and is used here with permission.
It may not be reproduced in any form whatsoever without the permission of the author.