From the Depths of Evil: Book Ten of the Thulian Chronicles

Contents

From the Depths of Evil

Isle of Wailing Souls

The Liberator and the Lion

The Legacy

The Old Man and His Cat

The Guardian

Earthfall

The Curse of the Cat

The Devil to Pay

The Day the Gods Wept

The Usurper

Footnotes

From the Depths of Evil

In the 41st Year of the Reign of Arka-Dal

The Kalahari.

One of the most foreboding and hostile wastelands on the Earth. During the First Age, a race of short people known as the Bushmen dwelled here. In those days, one could actually survive the desert if one knew how. Once, long ago, there was water, plant and animal life. Then came the Great Disaster and all of that vanished along with the Bushmen.

Today a solitary figure walks among the dunes and scrubby vegetation. He passes a long dead river and tall, weather-eaten rocks. During his travels, he has heard no birds, not an insect. The Kalahari is silent save for his labored breathing and the crunching of the dry sand beneath his feet.

His journey took him from Thule to the kingdom of Kush and down into southwestern Africa. He has come here on a feeling, if you will. A feeling of dread. It forced him to come to the desert and search, even though he wasn’t sure what he searches for. After many days of travel and walking many miles, he came at last to a flat, sandy valley secluded between three rocky cliffs. The valley is on the southern edge of the desert. Beyond this, a grassy plain stretches several miles to the south and east. Beyond the plain lies the Zulu Empire.

Merlin took a drink from his never-empty canteen and wiped his lips as he surveyed the valley floor. Like the rest of the Kalahari, it, too, was quiet.

Unnaturally so.

What draws me to this place? he wondered as he descended into the valley. Why am I here?

He saw nothing out of the ordinary, yet there was something about this place that made the end of his nerves tingle.

That’s when he heard it . . . 

The air became filled with a deep droning sound that brought to mind images of thousands of men chanting a single note. The sound caused the hair on his back of his neck to stand up. He sat down on a rock and watched in silent disbelief as the sand on the valley floor stirred in countless places. The movement became more pronounced with each passing second and made it appear as if the entire valley was liquefying in some manner.

Then it stopped.

Merlin was about to breathe a sigh of relief and leave the valley when he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. He turned and watched open-mouthed as one muscular, dark-skinned arm after another punched its way up through the sand. This strange sight continued until the entire valley floor looked as if it had been planted with some weird, terrifying crop.

Then, one-by-one, tall, lean and muscular warriors with long, braided locks, clawed their way to the surface. As each man escaped from the sand, he snapped to attention and faced north. Within an hour, every square foot of the valley was covered with them. They neither moved.

Nor breathed.

Or opened their eyes.

They just stood there at attention as if awaiting orders to march.

But from whom?

Whoever it was, was powerful enough to summon them from the Abyss of Hell and bind them to his will.

For what purpose?

There was nothing within hundreds of miles, save crumbling temples and abandoned ruins that had almost been reclaimed by nature. Why would anyone raise such and army in this miserable place?

He obviously wanted to keep his intentions secret and away from prying eyes until the right moment. Anyone who would dare to raise such and army surely had sinister plans in mind.

It was now up to Merlin to find out what those intentions were and who was behind this. He decided to return to Thule. To conserve energy, he walked back the way he’d come. As he trekked across the desert, he telepathically made contact with Gorinna. The Red Witch was, at that time, investigating a similar situation some 3,000 miles to the north in the region known as the Frozen Wastes.

What did you see? he asked.

The same as you. There were thousands of them. They rose from beneath the frozen tundra and stood there without moving or breathing, Gorinna replied.

Interesting, Merlin thought.

Very, Gorinna agreed. Any idea what they are or who is behind this?

Not yet. It’s safe to say that whoever’s behind this is not of peaceful intent. We must proceed with caution until we find out what’s going on. Have you heard from Peace?

Not since he went into the Libyan Desert last week. Merlin, this worries me. Every fiber of my being is tingling. I fear that a great evil is behind this. There are enough Black Warriors to overrun every major empire on Earth, Gorinna warned.

Indeed, Merlin said.

We’d better warn Arka-Dal, Gorinna urged.

I will leave that to you while I investigate this matter further. I’ll see you in Thule when I know something more, Merlin replied.

Be careful, Gorinna said.

I shall. You do likewise, he said as he broke contact.

Arka-Dal looked up at Gorinna.

Thousands you say? he asked.

Countless thousands. Both groups cover at least two square miles. One is gathered about 2,000 miles north and east of Iluk. The other is in the middle of the Kalahari, she replied.

Both are far beyond our jurisdiction. Which of our allies is closest to Iluk?Arka-Dal asked.

Leo thought for a moment, then sat back and folded his hands over his ever-widening belly.

That falls within the territory of the Huns, he said. The Vandals and Aryans are also nearby—but each is still nearly 1,000 miles from the ruins.

The Frozen Wastes belong to no one. Those lands are said to be cursed. Only the most foolhardy dare dwell there, Gorinna reminded them.

That makes it the perfect place to conceal an army, Arka-Dal said. Who controls the Kalahari?

No one. There is no water in that region. It can’t sustain life. Not even lizards live there, Leo replied. The closest to it are the Kushites but even they hardly bother with that place.

Again—a perfect place to hide an army, Arka-Dal said.

He rose and walked over to the large map on the wall. He picked up two red pins and stuck one in the Kalahari and the other in the Frozen Wastes. He then stepped back and studied the map.

Both places are too far away for us to send scouts. For now, we’ll have to rely on information that you and Merlin gather, he said as he turned back toward Gorinna. As a precaution, I’ll send letters to the Huns, Aryans and the Kushites to alert them to the possible threat these armies may pose.

He walked over to the bar and poured himself a glass of wine. He then picked up the bottle and two extra glasses and returned to the table. Leo and Gorinna helped themselves to the heady blue liquid.

You don’t seem all that worried about this, Gorinna observed.

There’s no sense in worrying about it until whoever’s behind this tips his hand. For now, we watch—and wait, Arka-Dal said.

Four days later, Peace, the wandering grandson of Arka-Dal, arrived at the palace of Queen Hetshepsut in Memphis. Both the Queen and her son, Crown Prince Arkaneton, greeted him warmly and insisted that he join them for dinner. As they dined, he related some news that was both interesting and disturbing.

I was in the Libyan Desert about 450 miles south and west of Carthage. I was exploring a most ancient ruin known as Harmarta to try and learn what went on there during the First Age. As I walked through the deserted streets, a loud droning sound caught my ear. I followed it to its source about 25 miles south of the ruins. There, on a flat, sandy plain, I saw something that both chilled and amazed me, he began.

What did you see? asked Arkaneton.

"The ground opened before my eyes. I watched as countless numbers of tall, dark skinned warriors rose from the earth. They stood there, row upon row upon row with their eyes closed. They neither moved nor breathed. It was as if they were waiting for something," Peace continued.

Waiting? For what? asked Hetshepsut.

That I don’t know, Peace replied. From the looks of them, they were brought to this world for no good.

Who would raise an army way out there? asked Arkaneton’s wife, Idut.

Someone who does not wish to be seen, Arkaneton replied. Hamarta is over 1,000 miles from here. That army poses more of a threat to Carthage than to Egypt. I’ll send a letter to the king and warn him to be on the alert. Any idea who controls this army?

None. One thing I do know—those soldiers are neither alive nor dead. Someone summoned them forth from the dawn of Time—someone very powerful and of evil intent, Peace warned.

This sounds bad. Early this morning, I received a radio message from Arka-Dal. He told me of two other such armies. One is in the Kalahari. The other is in the Frozen Wastes. From a purely military standpoint, I’d say it appears as if someone is preparing for a major strike against all of the great nations of the world. If these soldiers are as you say, how do you propose that we fight such an enemy? Arkaneton asked.

If they are indeed supernatural beings, they will fall before any weapons edged with silver, Peace said.

Arkaneton smiled.

"Good. We still have entire arsenals filled with the silver weapons we used against the demons from the Abyss¹ a few years ago. I’ll have our arms masters issue them to our soldiers immediately," he said.

Excellent. I’ll go to Timbuktu. From there, I can keep watch on our friends. I’ll contact you as soon as anything happens, Peace said.

That’s for later. Of course you’re staying for the Feast of Isis? Hetshepsut suggested in a tone that told Peace his aunt would not take no for an answer.

As they dined on roasted oxtails and various steamed vegetables and fresh baked bread, Hetshepsut told Peace of her ambitious plans to restore most of the great works, temples and monuments that were built by Egyptian kings of the First Age. They had already completed the restoration of the temple complex of Queen Hatshepsut and were halfway finished with Karnak. Once that was done, Hetshepsut said she planned to restore the Sphinx.

We couldn’t undertake such projects before. We simply didn’t have the money for them. Egypt is wealthier than it has ever been before thanks to our great trade networks. That’s why I decided to do this, she said.

Isn’t the labor cost quite high? Peace asked.

I borrowed an idea from great pharaohs of the past. I asked for volunteers to labor on the projects in exchange for food, housing and medical expenses for them and their families. Egyptians are always willing to donate their sweat and blood to our great building projects. Many believe it is their way to achieve a measure of immortality. As long as the monuments stand, their spirits will live on in the Afterlife, said the Queen.

Our engineers and architects oversee the work crews. As of now, we have 10,000 laborers, stone cutters, carpenters, sculptors and painters working for the government—along with cooks, brewers, doctors, weavers and other support people, Arkaneton added.

We’re using old drawings and paintings of the ruined monuments as guides to help restore them. I want to make Egypt the jewel of Africa again, Hetshepsut said.

That’s quite a goal. Let’s hope that whoever is in charge of those dark troops doesn’t try to ruin it, Peace said.

In the middle of the night in a deserted region of southeastern Egypt, a solitary figure sits huddled near a fire. He is tall, gaunt in appearance and has dark hair and a beard flecked with gray. His steely blue eyes are piercing and his demeanor is world-weary and sinister.

Despite his dusty, ragged appearance, he was quite wealthy. He made his living as a scholar and dealer in antiquities, most of which he’d stolen from ancient tombs and ruined cities. He sold some to private collectors, most to dealers on the black market. He didn’t care which, as long as they paid well.

As he watched the embers soar skyward, he drew his heavy cloak tighter to keep the bitter cold air from his body. Fate had brought him here.

Fate and a strange, almost crumbling map.

He had no idea how old the map was. He couldn’t read the strange tongue it was written in and it had taken him years to fit the area depicted by the map into the modern world. Even then chance had aided him.

For the better part of his life, Balaam had been searching for the lost tomb of an ancient Egyptian wizard known as Armenopur. According to the legend, the wizard had stumbled upon one of the few existing copies of a certain tome. After many years, he had learned to read the strange text and he began to delve deep into its secrets. The deeper he delved, the more corrupt and twisted Armenopur became.

It was said that he learned the Spell of Summoning and used it to call up mighty armies from the bottom of the Abyss. But he could not command them until he was granted such power by the mythical sleeping god. To get that, he’d have to decipher the Spell of Awakening and bring him forth from his ancient crypt.

He never got the chance.

His plot was discovered. Armenopur was tried, convicted and sentenced to be buried alive. The book was interred with him and he was placed in an unmarked tomb. Then all references to him were expunged from the official records. It was as if he’d never existed.

Balaam knew that Armenopur existed. That’s why he’d spent most of his life searching for his tomb. He wanted the book that was buried with him and the dark powers it might confer upon him.

It was to be the first step in his bid to take over the world.

Until a year ago, his search had been fruitless. He was getting old and tired. He was about to give up the search but a voice inside his head kept urging him to go to the library in Alexandria. After weeks of trying to ignore it, he finally gave in to the voice and made the long, arduous journey to Egypt.

He was in the Great Library of Alexandria going over maps in ancient, almost forgotten Atlases. He had been there for days. Had gone over thousands of maps. Still the region depicted on his map eluded him.

Frustrated, he was about to throw in the towel. He closed the cover on the last of the Atlases and stood up to leave. As he did, he ran straight into a tall, dark clothed man who happened to be passing behind him. The man was carrying several leather bound tomes, which he dropped when they collided. He recalled apologizing to the man for not looking where he was going. The man said it was quite all right. No harm done.

He helped him gather up the books and carry them to a nearby table. The books, he recalled, were ancient—older even than the Atlases he had perused. The task done, the two shook hands.

That’s when he felt it.

A sudden, sharp jolt that shot through his brain. He sat down to clear his head and shut his eyes. When he opened them again, the stranger was gone.

He shrugged and checked his map. To his astonishment, he discovered that the veil had been lifted from his inner mind. The series of meaningless symbols he had tried without success to decipher now made perfect sense to him. He was now able to read the strange tongue as easily as if he’d been born to it.

Elated, he sat back down to read.

That’s when he also found the note.

It was written on a piece of parchment in the same language as that on the map. As he read it, his heart raced wildly. And it contained but a single word.

Armenopur.

At last he knew that the map would guide him to the long lost, legendary tomb of the Accursed One. His lifelong quest was about to come to fruition. He folded the note and put it into his pocket and returned to his research.

It still took him several more weeks to find a match. Even then, he wasn’t sure. Not really. Over the millennia, names had changed. Landmarks had come and gone. Empires had risen and fallen. In the back of his mind, he wondered if the legend had any truth to it.

Was the Accursed One real?

Or was he a fairy tale intended to scare small children into being good?

The story dated to the dawn of the First Age, a time when myth and fact merged into legend.

It was yet another chance meeting that finally put him on the right trail . . .

It was a few months after his encounter in the library. After weeks of searching the high deserts of Libya, he grew disgusted with his quest and headed for the nearest town. One night, he was in a local tavern, his mind clouded by beer and hashish, when a tall, darkly dressed man walked up and sat beside him.

How goes your quest, Mr. Balaam? the stranger asked.

He turned to say something but the man’s demeanor instantly disarmed him. But something about his charming appearance also seemed disturbing. Balaam felt there was more to this stranger than met the eye.

Have we met before? he asked cautiously.

As a matter of fact, we have, the man replied with a smile.

Where? asked Balaam.

Alexandria. In the library. You helped me pick up some books after we collided, the man said. In return, I put you on the path toward that which you desire most.

Oh. Are you a wizard? Balaam asked.

"No. But I do use magic when the need arises," came the reply.

What are you then? asked Balaam as he took another sip of ale from his tankard.

You will know the answer to that soon enough. I am he who makes wishes come true for those who summon me, the man said.

I summoned no one, Balaam said. I don’t even know your name.

He was beginning to think the man was a con artist or crazy. The stranger smiled.

"It was not by name that you summoned me but by intent, he said. I know what is in your heart. I know your deepest desires and ambitions. That which you want most is right at your fingertips, but you need to know how to look for it."

You speak in riddles! Balaam said in disgust.

Life is a riddle. You seek the tomb of the Accursed One and that which is buried with him. Without my help, you would not find it even if you searched a thousand lifetimes, the man said. So I have come to help you.

Why would you do that? If you already know where it is, why don’t you just go there yourself and use that book? Balaam asked.

"I prefer to work through others, such as you. Think of me as a puppeteer of sorts," the man said smugly.

Balaam was growing irritated with him now.

"You want to use me as your damned puppet?" he asked.

"I prefer to think of you as my assistant. I can help you achieve the power and wealth you desire—but there is a price. My services do not come cheaply," the man said.

And what do I have that you could possibly want? asked Balaam.

Nothing that you have not already forfeited. In fact, you’ll hardly miss it at all, being the way you are, the man said.

And just what are you referring to? Balaam asked.

Your immortal soul, the man said as he reached into his coat and took out a tri-folded parchment.

Balaam watched as he unfolded it before him and handed him a quill. He stared at the document in disbelief for a long time. After a while, he blinked and looked up at the stranger.

You want my soul? he asked.

Yes, came the reply. As I’ve said, you pretty much forfeited that the moment you summoned me. This contract is simply a formality to help us avoid any misunderstandings as to its disposition. You’ll never miss it anyway. It’s not like you’ve ever really used it.

Now Balaam understood exactly who and what this stranger was. He’d always believed him to be a myth but here he was, seated across the table from him, smiling as only he could.

He picked up the contract and read it. He found it to be cut and dry. He’d always been drawn to the occult and the dark power it represented. Until now, he never thought he’d get the chance to realize his grandest ambitions. Now those dreams were within his grasp. He looked at his companion.

Only a fool makes a pact with the Devil, he said.

And only a fool passes up the chance to attain his wildest dreams, the Devil said with a grin. Would you abandon all your desires, your one chance to achieve the power and glory you crave for the sake of such a useless commodity as your soul?

Balaam laughed.

You have a point, he admitted. You’re offering me all I ever wanted for something that has no real value to me. I’d be a fool to turn this down.

Then we have a bargain? the Devil asked as he held out a quill.

Balaam nodded and took the quill from his hand. Then he chuckled as he signed his name to the contract.

You’ll help me become the ruler of all mankind and all I have to do is relinquish my soul? This sounds like I’m getting the better part of this bargain, he said as he handed him the contract.

The Devil smiled as he folded it and stuck it back into his pocket. Then they shook hands.

As they did, he felt a wave of deep revulsion pass through him. The Devil looked into Balaam’s eyes and suppressed the urge to shudder. Balaam reeked of evil. Deep, nearly overwhelming evil.

Now, where is this tomb? asked Balaam.

Not so fast. Because of the nature of my profession, I cannot reveal its location outright. But I am allowed to provide you with a series of clues and riddles that should eventually lead you to it. Once you locate it, you’ll know exactly what to do, the Devil replied.

He stood to leave. As he did, he smiled down at Balaam.

It is not often that I come across someone who is more foul and heartless than myself. You are quite a piece of work, Mr. Balaam. Our association should prove to be most interesting, he said as he vanished before his very eyes.

Pope Leo had been researching the legend of Armenopur ever since he found a reference to him in the crumbling pages of an ancient, worm-eaten book he had bought from an antiquities dealer in the Thulian market. The reference was sketchy and parts of the page it was on were missing. His curiosity piqued, he wrote to Queen Hetshepsut and asked what she knew about this ancient wizard.

She claimed she had never heard of Armenopur and that she could find no records of him in the Egyptian archives.

I doubt he ever existed. He is most likely the creation of some ancient fantasy writer, she wrote back.

But Leo had a hunch she was wrong. He was aware of the ancient Egyptian censorship methods. They had a habit of expunging the names of their most detested criminals from all official records.

Could that be what happened to Armenopur?

If so, why?

Leo had an uneasy feeling about him. That’s why he and Medusa decided to delve deeper into the archives to try and turn up more information. But when no further information was found, the portly pope began to think that Hetshepsut was right.

Gorinna had insisted on checking out the strange army in the Kalahari. Merlin didn’t bother to dissuade her. Instead, the two journeyed into the wastelands and stood upon a hill overlooking the soldiers.

Gorinna studied them carefully.

Each stood nearly seven feet tall and was well proportioned and muscular. Their features were dark—nearly pitch black—and their faces were pointed. Each wore a loincloth secured at the waist by a wide golden belt, golden sandals and a gorget to protect his neck from edged weapons. Heavy bronze greaves protected their shins and each wore a strange, ornate bronze helmet with a face guard. Their weapons, mostly pole arms and wide-bladed swords, featured strange varieties of points, ax heads, blades and blunt ends. Gorinna scratched her head.

I don’t recognize the armor or weapons they carry, she said.

As well you should not. These soldiers are from a time and place that predates the coming of Man. Their race has long since passed into oblivion, Merlin said. Care to get closer?

Let’s, she agreed.

They walked slowly down the hill toward the army.

They look similar to the ones I saw in the Frozen Wastes but their weapons and armor are different. The ones up north are dressed more suitably for a cold climate, she said as they drew closer.

They walked slowly among the ranks of the silent army. Every once in a while, Gorinna placed her hand against a muscular chest to try to detect a heartbeat or listened carefully for the sounds of breath being drawn. But the soldiers remained as cold and lifeless as statues.

She also got the oddest sensations of being watched. Somehow, someway, the soldiers knew they were there. She heard Merlin come up behind her and turned.

For now, they pose no threat to anyone. If I wanted to, I could easily destroy this entire host with a single spell—and you know it, she said.

Merlin grinned.

You think so? he teased.

"I know so," she insisted.

Then try it, he challenged.

They returned to the top of the hill. Gorinna stretched out her arms and recited a spell. Merlin watched as ribbons of light leapt from her fingertips and ricocheted through the ranks of soldiers. Each time a ribbon struck a soldier, it fell to dust. Within minutes, the entire army was gone.

Gorinna smiled.

See? she asked.

Watch, he advised.

To her dismay, the piles of dust quickly reformed themselves into row upon row of dark skinned troops. Within minutes, the entire army had reappeared. Gorinna emitted a long string of epithets.

Merlin laughed.

How did you know this would happen? she asked.

I already attempted that spell—and several others—to no avail, Merlin replied.

Why didn’t you tell me? she asked, more than little peeved at the wizard.

You didn’t ask, he said. Whatever magic was used to summon these beings from the jaws of Hell also makes them impervious to any spells cast to destroy them. The only way to get rid of these soldiers is to find and destroy the person who summoned them.

Are these Acherons? she asked as they walked away from the field.

No. Acherons are undead soldiers. These beings were never alive. They have been formed from the earth and air itself. They will not live until the final controlling spell is cast, Merlin explained.

What book contains such a spell? asked Gorinna.

There is only one such book that I know of, he replied.

Gorinna nodded. She knew exactly what he was referring to and the thought made her uneasy.

Ever since its inception, that book has caused nothing but trouble, she said.

Indeed. Although it was meant only to be a source of information, it always seems to fall into hands of those who want to use the knowledge contained within it for their own evil purposes. I have spent a good portion of my years on Earth trying to find those books so I can keep them out of the wrong hands. Each time I think I’ve located the last, another one appears somewhere. It is almost as if the book is designed to reproduce itself, Merlin said.

They quickly returned to Thule. When they arrived, they found the Emperor and his usual lineup of friends seated at the long table in the dining room having supper. Gorinna slid into the vacant seat next to Kashi and helped herself to some of the food on the platters. Merlin went to the bar and poured himself a strong drink before he joined them. Arka-Dal took a swallow of wine.

Did you find out anything? he asked.

Gorinna told him what had happened in the Kalahari. When she finished, he emitted a low whistle.

That’s not good, he said as he sliced off a bit of the roast before him.

Not good at all, Merlin agreed.

Any idea what’s going on? Arka-Dal asked.

I have a good guess, nothing more, Merlin answered. But I think I’m on the right track. It has something to do with a very ancient legend. I found a reference to it in one of the more mysterious tomes in my library. It’s very obscure and I doubt that anyone alive today has even heard of it.

I’m listening, Arka-Dal said.

Merlin nodded. He took a deep drink from his glass and cleared his throat.

Have you ever heard of the Accursed One? he asked.

Arka-Dal shook his head.

You mean the insane magician who attempted to take over Egypt? Leo asked.

Merlin nodded.

"According to the legend, in 5,117 BCE of the First Age, a power mad royal magician of the Egyptian royal court named Armenopur, managed to get his hands on a very ancient book that had been concealed in a vault deep within the bowels of the Earth. After reading through several pages, he decided that the world needed to be refashioned in his image, beginning with Egypt itself. To do this, he needed to overthrow the ruling dynasty and make himself king.

Armenopur, hereafter known as the Accursed One, realized he needed help—big time help. He decided to summon forth the Elder Gods and try and convince them to aid him with his mad plan. He wanted to make a pact with them. He’d open a gate into our world and allow them to plunge the entire universe into darkness and chaos. In return, he would be given an army large enough to enable him to achieve his dream.

Fortunately, the pharaoh’s police discovered his plot. They arrested Armenopur and dragged him before the pharaoh. After a brief trial, he was declared guilty of high treason and abuse of magical powers. The pharaoh ordered that his eyes be plucked out so that he couldn’t see his way through the Underworld. He also had his tongue cut out so he couldn’t utter the necessary spells to allow him to pass into the Afterlife.

Once this was done, the Accursed One was wrapped in unclean linen and placed into a crude sarcophagus with more than a thousand scarabs. The coffin was sealed and he was buried, along with the ancient tome, in an unmarked place. His name was then stricken from all records so that no one would ever find his grave or speak his name again.

But nothing remains hidden forever.

The sudden appearance of the black armies is proof that someone may be searching for or has already found the Accursed One’s tomb and might be willing to broker a deal with the Elder Gods in exchange for personal power.

We must find this madman before he can fulfill the prophesy. If he finds the spell to summon the Sleeping God and awakens him, all Hell will break loose—literally!" Merlin explained.

Arka-Dal sipped his ale as he let this sink in.

What is the name of this book you speak of? he asked.

The Necronomicon, Merlin said.

"Just how many of those books are there?" asked Leo.

No one knows. In the beginning, there was only one. It was supposedly written by a High Priest of the Elder Gods. When he completed it, he went mad and committed suicide. All the other books are merely copies and translations of that original, Merlin said.

The name, Necronomicon, was coined by a writer in the early 20th Century of the First Age. It’s simply Greek for Book of Dead Names". The original book had no title but it was translated into several now-dead languages. Of course, those translations often left a lot to be desired. Some things were twisted and their true meanings were lost. Others were accidentally—or purposely—omitted and with dire consequences," he added after a brief pause.

Like all those who came before him, Armenopur didn’t even suspect what would happen to him and everything else once he gated in the Elder Gods. One cannot summon nor control the Dark Ones. One can only become a conduit between their terrifying realm and ours, Gorinna said.

Merlin nodded.

Once they are allowed into this universe, no power of man or god can force them back into their realm, he said.

Arka-Dal smirked and nodded.

If Armenopur’s grave is so well hidden, how will this fool find it? he asked.

I suspect he has help. Something supernatural must be guiding him every step of the way. Something dark and sinister. Without such help, he could never find it, Merlin said.

You think he has the same help that the last of the Dragon Lords had?² asked Kashi.

Probably, Merlin replied.

Arka-Dal poured himself another ale as he allowed Merlin’s comment to sink in.

"Why is that bastard fucking with us?" he asked.

When you established Thule, you brought about an age of light and reason. You dispelled the very darkness and chaos he needs in which to thrive. Light and reason are his enemies. Since Thule represents both, he seeks to bring about its fall and bring an end to the Second Age, Merlin said.

So he’s thrown down the gauntlet, has he? Well, he’ll find us more than ready to accept his challenge, Arka-Dal said. And where is this Tomb of the Sleeping God?

According to the legends, it is everywhere to be seen and nowhere to be found, Merlin replied.

"What in Hell does that mean?" asked Pandaar.

It means we must wait until the location reveals itself to us. Once it does, we can act. If the time is right, we’ll find it before our mysterious adversary does and awakens the Sleeping God, Merlin said.

What happens if he gets there before we do? What happens if he awakens this god? asked Gorinna.

If the Sleeping God wakes, we can bend over and kiss our asses good-bye. No power on Earth can stop him from plunging this world into darkness and chaos. No power on Earth can prevent him from gating in more of the Elder Gods and restoring them to their awful power, Merlin said.

What does our adversary get out of this? asked Arka-Dal.

He gets to command the Sleeping God’s legions and serve at his right hand in his bid to trample all of the great empires of man into dust. In short, he gets power. Power enough to feed his already bloated ego and sense of self-importance, Merlin answered. According to the prophesy, ‘He who awakens the Sleeping God shall be rewarded with command over endless numbers of Dark Troops. In the names of the Elder Gods, he will trample all of the world’s great empires beneath his sandals and the wealth of the world shall be laid at his feet.’

Does the Necronomicon offer any advice on how to prevent this? asked Gorinna.

It does, but it, too, is shrouded in riddles, Merlin said.

As usual, Gorinna remarked.

Indeed. According to the text, ‘when that which burns brighter than the sun reveals itself, all will be as before’. This poses quite a conundrum. First, what burns brighter than the sun? And third—what is meant by the phrase ‘all will be as before’? Merlin said.

Does the book say we have to put out this thing that burns brighter than the sun? asked Kashi.

No. It’s quite vague, Merlin said. Purposely so, I believe.

Then we might have to put it out? asked Gorinna.

I don’t know, Merlin replied honestly. To put it out, we must first find it.

But by putting out this light source—if it is indeed a light source—we might actually return the universe to the way it was when the Elder Gods ruled. It could also mean that we might force them to stay in limbo and keep things as they are, Gorinna mused.

"Now that’s as clear as mud!" Pandaar remarked.

Indeed, agreed Merlin. Perhaps the true meaning of the phrase will be revealed to us when the time is right.

Or perhaps not, Arka-Dal said. If we decide right, the world will remain safe. If we decide wrong, the entire universe plunges into chaos. It’s nearly impossible to figure out!

Sounds like fun. When do we start? asked Pandaar.

Arka-Dal walked over to the large wall map and studied it carefully.

If the hammer falls, it will fall hardest on Egypt and Kush since two of those armies are in Africa. Each is less than a week’s march from their borders. The one to the north is in the middle of the Frozen Wastes—a full month’s march from our frontier. Since they have no cavalry, they can’t move very fast—not even on a dead run, he said as he pointed to each spot where the armies were located.

"Why not attack them before they move?" suggested Pandaar.

In their current state, no Earthly weapons can harm them. Even if you chopped them to bits, they would simply reform within moments. A pre emptive strike would be futile at best, Merlin explained.

"Can we actually kill them?" Arka-Dal asked.

All supernatural beings can be destroyed by silver edged or bluesilver weapons and magical swords. The problem lies in getting close enough to use them. That would also involve suffering large numbers of casualties, Merlin said.

We could be facing a potential bloodbath, added Gorinna. Any of their losses can easily be replaced. Ours cannot. In a war of attrition, they hold the upper hand.

I’d rather not risk open warfare. I don’t want a million widows and orphans wailing throughout Thule, Arka-Dal said. We must find this madman before he locates Armenopur’s tomb and uses the book to activate his armies. Any idea where that tomb might be?

Since Armenopur was Egyptian, his tomb is somewhere in Egypt, Libya or ancient Nubia. It would also be unmarked and heavily guarded with a variety of deadly curses and traps. Ancient Egyptians often buried their hated criminals in remote, almost inaccessible places to avoid contaminating sacred ground, Merlin advised.

Do you think our madman knows where it is? asked Kashi.

Not yet. But I do believe that someone is guiding him to it indirectly so as not to make his quest seem too easy, Merlin replied. "That’s the way he usually works things."

Balaam stirred the ashes with a stick as he thought about his strange deal. He hadn’t seen his sponsor—if one could call him that—for several weeks. The map and riddle he was given led him to a small, narrow cave halfway up the face of the ancient peak called Jebelbarca which marked the border between Egypt and Kush. During the First Age, both Egyptian and Kushite kings believed Jebelbarca was sacred because of the odd promontory that once jutted upward from its base. The promontory resembled the asp on the front of a pharaoh’s crown. It was gone now. Age and weather had reduced it to a pile of rocky rubble scattered on the desert floor.

Balaam had made the very difficult climb up to the cave. Inside, he found a single earthen jar which he kicked at with all of his might. When the jar shattered, he found a strip of papyrus amid the shards bearing the instructions to read it aloud from the top of Jebelbarca at the height of the full moon. He was to repeat this incantation three or four times, making certain to pronounce each and every word correctly. He realized the parchment was inscribed with a spell of summoning.

Once he was finished with the incantation, he was instructed to slash his left palm with a knife and allow the blood to fall onto the parchment. Then he was to burn it.

Balaam did all of this.

Then he rode out to the middle of the desert and waited.

He had no idea what he’d summoned or if the spell actually worked. After three days and nights of waiting, he was beginning to doubt everything. Then his benefactor appeared from nowhere, seated cross-legged on the other side of the fire.

I sense doubt in you, he said.

You should. I did as you instructed but other than the stinging in my left palm, I see nothing, Balaam said. Just what, exactly, did that spell summon?

Tis best I show you. Look into the flames, the man said.

Balaam stared into the crackling fire and quickly became transfixed by the sight of countless rows of well-armed, dark-skinned soldiers arrayed in far and desolate places. He blinked and looked at his benefactor.

"What are they?" he asked.

"They are soldiers unlike any the Earth has ever seen before. Your soldiers," came the reply.

Mine? How many? asked Balaam as visions of conquest raced through his inner mind.

One and a half million. They are poised to strike at the hearts of the world’s greatest civilizations. They are yours to command, the man said with a grin.

Balaam ran his fingers through his tousled hair and took a deep breath.

What if they aren’t enough? he asked.

The man laughed.

You can summon more. As many as you need. They are as numerous as the grains of sand in the Sahara. Lead them well and all of the great empires will be trampled into the dust and their treasures will lay at your feet. All you need do is keep your part of the bargain, the man replied.

I’ve already given you my soul—, Balaam began.

That was just the price you paid for requesting my help. There are other things you must do before these soldiers are truly yours, the man said.

Like what? asked Balaam disgusted with himself for not reading the contract.

All will be revealed at the proper time, the man said.

Are they ready to march? he inquired of his strange troops.

"Not yet. For now, they remain inanimate, lifeless hulks. They neither see nor move. In order to animate them, to get them to obey your commands, you must first find the lost tomb of Armenopur. Once you have done this, you must then locate the ancient book that was buried with him and recite three spells.

The first summons forth demon guardians to protect you from outside interference while you recite the other spells. The second sets your armies in motion, but in order to gain full command of them, you must recite the last and most powerful spell. That spell awakens the Sleeping God. Once awakened, you must vow to serve him forever. It is he who will give you the ability to command those armies," the man explained.

That’s it? asked Balaam.

"Yes. But be careful to read each word of each spell exactly as it is written. Make not a single error in your pronunciation lest the consequences be dire," he warned.

Where is this tomb? Balaam asked impatiently.

If you would find the tomb of the Accursed One, go to Meroe. Once there, go to the bazaar on the north end of the city and seek out one called Kaziri, he said as he slowly vanished from sight.

Balaam cursed.

Meroe was more than 250 miles away and the way was harsh and dangerous. He also had the sensation that he was being played for a fool. His benefactor had taken advantage of his lust for power and wealth and his deepest desires to rule the entire world. He had even provided him with enough soldiers to attain those goals—provided he was able to locate Armenopur’s tomb and some sort of ancient book.

It seemed almost too easy.

Balaam felt there had to be catch—something he definitely wouldn’t like. And just what was that second spell he mentioned?

He drew his cloak tightly around himself to ward off the night cold as he watched the flames.

He sighed.

He almost wanted to give the whole thing up. He also knew what would happen to him if he attempted to break his contract.

He had little choice but to see this game through to the end.

Sometimes I think I’m getting too old for this shit, he said to himself.

He didn’t realize that the spells he recited also released powerful energies. Powerful enough to attract the undivided attention of Merlin. It was this sudden release of magical energies that drew him to the Kalahari and caused him to contact Gorinna and Peace. The spells had opened portals that were little known and barely used. Portals into a dark, and terrifying world.

Although he knew the portals had been opened, he still had no idea who opened them or how he knew they existed. Try as he might, he simply could not pinpoint the source of power. That could men only one thing: the spell caster was shielded from him. It made tracking him virtually impossible.

He cursed under his breath as he paced the floor of the living room. Gorinna, Kashi, Pandaar and Arka-Dal were seated in the plush chairs around him, watching him pace. Arka-Dal barely paid Merlin any mind. He was too busy pondering possible courses of action he might take to find their adversary before those armies could be animated.

If they could find him before he activated his armies, all would be well. If he should find the tomb and cast the spell, they might still be able to foil his plans by solving the riddles.

But what, he wondered, do the riddles mean?

When the Devil returned to his lair on the Lower Planes, his demon captain emerged from the shadows.

It is done. His appetite has been whetted—just as I knew it would, the Devil remarked.

Will he be able to locate the tomb? the demon asked.

He will—if he deciphers the clues I will give him. His lust for personal power runs deep. It was almost too easy this time, the Devil said.

Do you not know where the tomb lies? asked the demon.

Of course I do, the Devil assured him.

Then why use the human to find it? the demon asked.

All will become apparent in due time, the Devil replied.

He smiled to himself. Corrupting the power-hungry Balaam had been almost too easy. Now that the first part of his scheme had been set in motion, he decided it was time to begin the second—and most difficult—phase.

His intended target was none other than the famed Emperor of Thule himself. He knew it would be useless to personally appear before him and offer him even more wealth and power than he already possessed. Arka-Dal was above such things and the sudden appearance of the Lord of Hell might trigger more problems than he truly wanted.

Arka-Dal was larger than life. A living legend in the eyes of his subjects. He was heroic, level-headed, noble and considered to be incorruptible. He was just the type the Devil loved to bring down.

Hard.

He knew that Arka-Dal had a strong liking for beautiful, intelligent and unusual women. Under most circumstances, he’d send one of his legions of sexy seductresses to lure him over to the dark side. He had many beautiful young demons under his command. He called them his Hell’s Belles. As alluring as they were, he didn’t think that any of them would be good enough for the job.

There was, he realized, only one real choice.

He summoned his daughter, Galya to his side. She was the Princess of the Lower Planes and her beauty was known to strike men speechless. She stood five feet, eight inches tall and had a slender, seductively perfect body, to go with her alluring and disarming smile and deep amber eyes that could make any man alive weak in the knees. Her skin was almost copper colored and looked warm and inviting. Her perfect face, with full moist lips, high cheekbones and penetrating eyes was crowned by long, wavy, jet-black hair that cascaded down her bare shoulders like an ebony waterfall. Two tiny horns protruded from her forehead and she had a long, pointed tail and leathery, bat-like wings. In short, she was temptation personified.

Irresistible.

Even her father felt attracted to her.

You called? she asked as she bowed before him.

Yes. I have a task for you. One that will require all of your considerable talents. There is a human I want you to corrupt, he said.

Another mere human? That’s so ordinary, Father. Men are no longer challenges for me. Why not do this yourself? she asked with a bored yawn.

"This man, I feel, is beyond my reach. But he does have a penchant for sexy women so you might have a better chance, the Devil replied. Even so, he may prove to be quite the challenge."

No mere mortal can resist the charms of Galya! she boasted. I have brought thousands to their knees.

"This one just might. His people consider him to be above reproach. Totally incorruptible. Hell, some even think he’s a god! That’s why I want you to find his weakness and use it to bring him down. I want his name to be dragged through the mud in such a manner that his people to lose all of their respect for him. In short, I want you to ruin him," he said.

"And just who is this incorruptible Human?" Galya asked.

He is Arka-Dal, the Emperor of Thule, he replied. Think you can handle him?

She laughed.

"He will be as putty in my hands. I’ll have him licking my feet in an hour. Every man has a price and no man has ever been able to say no to me!" she bragged.

"Don’t be overly confident, my dear. Arka-Dal has dealt with demons and devils on several occasions. He has always prevailed. You must also be on guard against his powerful friends. Merlin and Gorinna should not be taken lightly," he warned.

Merlin? The Sorcerer still lives? she asked in wonder.

He nodded.

She frowned. She remembered when she had gone to Camelot to seduce the young Arthur. She was just about to nail him when Merlin intervened. After a long battle, she found herself cast back into the Lower Planes, where she had to remain for the next 100 years. She had wanted revenge against Merlin ever since.

Who is this Gorinna you spoke of? she asked.

"The Red Witch of Wesveria. She is almost as powerful as Merlin and knows several tricks that even he is unaware of. She can be quite merciless when it comes to protecting Arka-Dal and his family. Try not to cross either of them, he said. And you might want to lose the horns and tail to appear less, er, devilish."

She smiled and left the room.

Her father’s warning had made her curious. In order to make this less of a challenge, she decided to be at her sexy best. She bathed in light, scented water, brushed out her long raven hair and donned her skimpiest, sheerest dress. And she discarded her trademark horns and tail as the Devil had suggested.

As she looked herself over in the mirror, she smiled confidently.

I don’t care who he is! He’ll not be able to resist me! she boasted.

That evening, Arka-Dal was in the bedroom dressing after a long bath. The sound of flapping wings caught his attention. He turned and watched as the strangest—and one of the loveliest—young women he’d ever seen settled gently onto the balcony. Galya smiled seductively as she folded her wings behind her back and stepped into the room. She was wearing a sheer tunic of filmy white material secured at her slim waist by a narrow golden belt. Her garb left little to the imagination. It was even risqué by Thulian standards, which really caught his attention.

Arka-Dal was momentarily transfixed by her. She was without a doubt one of the most beautiful and alluring women he’d ever beheld. But he knew immediately who she was. The warm, dark copper skin and bat-like wings protruding from her shoulder blades gave her away. But it was her deep, dark magnetic eyes that attracted him most.

He’d expected to be overcome by a wave of intense, almost nauseating evil. Instead, he felt relaxed.

At ease with her presence.

It was as if he’d known her his entire life.

Galya sensed this, too.

It was a strange reaction indeed.

That’s when he smiled and nodded, as if to greet her.

Arka-Dal’s calm demeanor nearly disarmed her.

Unlike her other victims, this one neither flinched nor fled. He simply stood there admiring her.

She said nothing for a long time as she looked him over. He was tall, muscular, ruggedly handsome and carried himself with confidence. She quickly realized that he was a man who was used to being in control of every situation.

This one was no exception.

She circled him slowly, drawing closer with each orbit. All the while, she maintained eye contact. He showed no fear. No revulsion. In fact, he even smiled at her again.

What manner of man is he? she wondered as she touched his shoulder.

She stepped closer and looked him in the eyes. He met her gaze unflinchingly. She felt the strength in his body. She heard his heart beating. It was strong.

Steady and calm.

As was his demeanor.

She reached out and touched his shoulder. She felt the determination in his heart and mind and his iron will. She also felt his compassion.

And something else she couldn’t fathom.

Something intangible.

Nobility? she wondered.

Arka-Dal studied her with equal fascination. He was especially drawn to her deep, amber eyes.

Her eyes sparkled.

With fire and intelligence.

Passion and curiosity.

And something else he sensed