Prologue

Jerusalem 1187 A.D.

The catapult releases its load and it soars overhead, screaming toward the target. It crashes against the wall with a crack that sounds like thunder, sending a spray of stone shrapnel outward and upward. The men gathered on the ground, their armor and swords glinting in the late afternoon sun raise their hands and cheer as another crack in the formidable wall before them appears.

It is only a matter of time.

I stand on the rise overlooking Jerusalem as the mighty siege engines continue to pound the high, thick walls of the city. The light of the day is slipping away, casting the sky in a deep, vibrant red hue. Much like the blood that will flow in the streets of the city when the walls finally fall. And they will fall. It's inevitable. I've seen humans warring with one another more times than I can count and it always ends up the same way – walls crumble and many people die.

But what humans choose to do with and to one another is not my concern. It is not my place to dictate how they exist together – or choose not to. My only concern is defeating the creatures of the night. The evil that lurks in the shadows. Although they are unseen, reduced to little more than whispers and folklore, it is those dark beings who are the real threat to humanity.

“Master Mytel,” came the voice behind me.

Saladin, the esteemed Sultan of Egypt and Syria – and leader of the Muslim forces arrayed before the city of Jerusalem -- strides up to me, a warm smile upon his face.

“Simply, Mytel, if you please,” I reply.

“As you wish,” he says and turns to watch his siege engines battering the walls of the city, a light of pride in his eyes – but also blended with a hint of despair.

“For many days this has gone on,” he says softly. “Many lives have already been lost.”

“And many more will be lost once the walls come down.”

He nods, his expression turning grim. “This is not what I wanted,” he says. “This is never what I wanted.”

“I know,” I reply.

“Balian has proven to be a formidable adversary,” he says. “Cunning. Intelligent. Devoted. And very stubborn.”

“I've only had the occasion to meet with him once, and my impression of the man is much the same,” I say. “But he also strikes me as a pragmatic man. Surely he can see the inevitable and will take measures to prevent it.”

Saladin's grin is rueful. “He has threatened to destroy all holy sites – Christian and Muslim alike. He says he will raze every building in the city and kill every soul within its walls,” he says softly. “Those do not seem like the words of a man who wishes to take measures to stop the madness before it begins.”

There is a thunderous crack followed by a wave of cheering as a load from a catapult takes a large chunk out of the wall, high up, near the ramparts. Saladin nods to himself. He is an intelligent man and knows how this is going to end – in blood. Lots and lots of blood.

But I also know this is not what he wants. He wants to reclaim the Holy City without bloodshed, if at all possible. But as I've learned, human nature, being what it is, made that an impossible task from the start. Pride and ego – mixed with a healthy dose of religion and greed – makes for more conflict and war than anything. Perhaps, it's the only reason for conflict and war.

“My hope is that Balian chooses to do the right thing for his people,” he says. “And surrenders the city. My wish is to stop the bloodshed before it begins.”

I shrug. “If there is one thing I've learned about humans,” I say. “It is that they posture. They attempt to give themselves leverage when it appears they have none. Balian is in an impossible situation. He has no army. Very few knights. He has been left in charge of the defenses of a city facing an army as grand as yours. In his mind, the threats he has made are his only bit of leverage. He is not a stupid man, great Sultan. He doesn't want to destroy Jerusalem and kill every being within it any more than you want that.”

He is silent for a long moment before finally giving me a small nod. “Perhaps,” he says. “I hope that you are right, my friend.”

He casts a look to the eastern sky and as he stares at the swirling mass of dark clouds in the distance, I see the unease upon his face.

“Is that –”

I nod. “It is a true sign,” I say. “The Rites of Ascension heralding the coming of the Ba’Chul are being performed.”

He nods and forces his eyes away from the storm in the east. We stand together for a long moment, watching the scene unfolding before us, each of us absorbed in our own thoughts. While I'm endlessly fascinated by humanity and the things they do, I am standing on that rise outside the gates of Jerusalem for a reason. And as I look into the eastern sky and see a mass of dark clouds swirling high above the earth, that reason is only reaffirmed in my mind. It is a true sign of what is to come.

The time is coming close. Too close.

“How go the preparations?” I ask.

Saladin nods. “If Allah is willing, you will have your entry into the city tonight.”

I nod. “Excellent,” I say. “Your aid is appreciated and you will be well compensated for it.”

I bite back the words that pop into my head – the words I would really like to say. It's not God or Allah or whatever other deity the humans believe in who is going to save this world. The only thing that will save this world from the very real evil threatening to destroy humanity is me and my kind. I know that on some level, Saladin understands this – which is why he agreed to help us in the first place. But I also know that humans, being who and what they are, must also cling to the notion of powers greater than themselves.

And I chastise myself internally for my thoughts. It is not my place to judge them. Not my place to disabuse them of their ideas and beliefs. My place – my only place – is standing between them and the genuine evil that seeks to eradicate or enslave them.

The evil that lurks beneath the Holy City.

“There are some among my advisors who question your motives,” he says. “Who question your words.”

I nod. Of course, there are. There always are.

“But I have shown myself – my true self – to you, great Sultan,” I say. “You know what I really am.”

He nods. “I do,” he says. “Though, I must admit to having my own skepticism – in the beginning. These men have not seen your true essence. And they have difficulty believing that Allah would create such a –”

He bit off his words, but I know what he was going to say.

“Monster,” I finish for him.

He looks away, his face tight and his expression one of remorse for thinking such a word – something he undoubtedly believes is a high insult.

“Do not trouble yourself, great Sultan,” I say. “Words have no power unless you give them that power. The word monster does not trouble me. Believe me, I have been called worse.”

He turns his eyes to me, his expression conveying both his sorrow for thinking it and his gratitude for my understanding.

“Would it set their minds at ease to see me in my true form?”

Saladin looks at me with an expression that says he isn't sure. Personally, I do not know if it will either. It very well might drive them the other way and lead them to acting out of fear and irrationality. It was one reason we very seldomly revealed our true nature to humans – most did not have the capacity to grasp what we were in our true forms.

Which never failed to amuse me, given their complete lack of hesitance to believe in and embrace their religious symbols – entities they could neither see nor touch. But again, it's not my place to cast aspersions.

“Bring your skeptical friends,” I say. “I will meet you down in the flats beyond the hill.”

Saladin gives me a nod and a thankful smile before turning away and walking back down the rise to gather his men. I take another look at the dark clouds in the eastern sky and as I see bolts of lightning lancing down from the middle of the maelstrom, I feel that familiar sense of foreboding pressing down on me.

Time is running short. Very, very short.

There really is not time for this – or the foreseeable discussions that will follow in its aftermath – but I have no choice. Although Saladin knows and understands the threat facing the world, his men do not. And he is smart enough to know that he will need their support – not just in this campaign, but long after my work here is done.

I stand at the bottom of the gully, waiting. A few moments later, Saladin and his men appear on the lip of the gully, staring down at me. This is a display for them only – the ones who need to understand the peril they are facing. To show my true self to the rank and file fighters of Saladin's army would only confuse and frighten them all. It would likely lead to chaos in the ranks. Defections. Warring with one another.

And that is the last thing I – or Saladin – need right now. While my interest in Jerusalem is not the same as his, we have at least agreed that saving the world is a worthy enough goal that we can work together.

With the thunder of the catapults battering the walls in the background, I looked at the men staring down at me. I see the open skepticism in the eyes of some. Open hostility in the eyes of a few others. I know they don't trust me. Don't like the fact that Saladin and I seem as close as we are – or that he apparently trusts me more than some of them. But then, they don't understand the enormity of the situation we're all facing.

“You – we – all face an evil far greater than you can ever imagine,” I say. “It has nothing to do with Christianity, Islam, or Judaism. It has everything to do with the end of humanity as we know it.”

“And what is this evil you speak of?” calls one man.

“It is the coming of a being who will destroy this world,” I reply. “Those who are not consumed in flame will be enslaved – doomed to forever serve this new, dark master.”

“I do not believe there is an evil we cannot conquer,” another man calls out. “Our war machines can lay waste to any enemy.”

“Not this one,” I say.

“And you believe you can defeat it?”

I nod. “Yes, I can,” I reply. “Me and my kind are not like you. Your vast armies and war machines will be powerless against it. This evil I speak of is one of my kind. And only we can defeat it.”

“Perhaps,” Saladin calls out, his voice echoing around the gully. “You can show these men your true form. Perhaps then, the questions will cease and understanding will take hold.”

I nod and quickly remove my clothing, dropping my breeches and tunic atop my boots on the ground next to me. The men at the top of the gully exchange looks with one another, some of them looking – embarrassed – by my nudity.

But the feeling of embarrassment that seems to permeate the small gathering quickly changes to one of astonishment and then fear as I begin to shift. As I begin to assume my true form. I feel the bones sliding beneath my skin. My limbs elongate and my skin begins to turn to armor.

In a matter of moments, Mytel, the man that had been standing before them is gone. And in his place is me in my true form. Eight feet tall, black wings with a span twice that, four thick legs tipped with razor sharp claws six inches long, a long, sinuous tail, red armored scaling, and at the end of a long, serpentine neck is a snout filled with teeth like daggers – I feel my energy coursing through me. My body hums with power.

I raise my head and stare at the men who look back at me with stark terror on their faces. Several of them have fallen to their knees and are uttering loud prayers to Allah. A low, guttural growl escapes my throat and I open my jaws wide, giving them all a view of the fire that dwells within me – fire that I can use to consume them if I so chose.

But I did not. I wanted – needed – them to understand. To believe. To finally grasp the fact that their world was in peril.

With most of the men still standing rooted to their spots staring at me – puddles of urine beneath the feet of some – I shifted back into my human form and got dressed. As I stride up the wall of the gully and take my place beside Saladin, the rest of the men, seeming to be moving as one, take several steps back from me, their eyes wide, their faces contorted in terror.

“Now, you understand,” Saladin says. “That the threat to our world is greater than this fight we have with the Christians. Now, you understand why we are aiding Master Mytel and his companions.”

I look at the group before me, taking a long look into the terrified eyes of each man there. “Are there any questions?”

~ooo000ooo~

The tunnel beneath the wall is complete. We have our way into Jerusalem. The night is dark, the torches upon the ramparts of the city and those burning in the encampment of Saladin's army providing the only illumination. But I don't need a torch. I can see just fine in the dark.

My two men and I, armed and armored, stand behind a large stand of boulders with Saladin. He almost looks disappointed that I'm leaving – like he's losing an old friend. He and I have grown close over the last year or so, and I have to admit to being fond of the man. He's intelligent and sensitive. I believe that he is a good man with a good heart – a rare trait among some of the leaders I've dealt with in my time.

I send my two men down the ladder and instruct them to be sure the tunnel ahead is clear, telling them that I will catch up with them soon. I don't know if I'm going to see Saladin again. I honestly don't know if I'm going to survive this fight. As I look to the eastern sky, the darkened shape of that swirling mass is drawing ever closer, red, blue, and green lights illuminating the clouds from within.

The time is almost upon us. The Rites of Ascension are nearly complete and the Ba’Chul will come into its full power – soon. Very soon.

“You have made quite an impression upon my advisors,” he says, a rueful smile upon his face. “They have asked you to remain and aid us in reclaiming Jerusalem.”

“It is not my place to interfere in the affairs of man,” I say. “Your wars – and your peace – are your own.”

He nods. “This, I understand, my friend,” he says. “Just as I understand your own battle is far greater than our conflict at the walls of this city.”

He takes my hand and pulls me into a tight embrace, placing a kiss upon each of my cheeks.

“I wish you well, my friend,” he says. “And pray to Allah for your swift return. We will have much to discuss for I wish to learn more about your people.”

“And I will look forward to sharing that knowledge with you.”

I give him a smile and a nod, neither of us wanting to acknowledge the possibility that I may not return – swiftly or otherwise. I don't know what's waiting for us down there in the dark, but I know it's not good. And I know it's going to be a fight – the fight of my life.

“As salamu alaykum, my friend,” he says.

“And peace be upon you as well.”

Without another word, I turn and drop down into the tunnel. My men are up ahead in the distance, swords drawn as they wait for me. I catch up with them and give them a nod.

“Time to end this,” I say.

We stride down the tunnel and I can't help but be impressed by the work Saladin's engineers had done in creating it. It took absolute secrecy and the better part of a year, but they'd done it. And they'd done it well. The tunnel is tall and wide, we are able to walk upright easily – although, single file, which will be to our disadvantage if we get caught in a fight down here.

But I am hoping the fight can be contained to the catacombs beneath the church in Jerusalem where the Ba’Chul is performing the Rites. My hope is that we can slip in, kill it, and slip out again with nobody being the wiser that we were even there. But I know that may not be likely – or even possible.

The Ba’Chul is a powerful being. A Shadow Clan wizard who, after performing the Rites of Ascension, is connected to and fueled by the power of the Deathstone. And with that magic flowing through its veins, its power is such that very few things in this world can stop it.

The Shadow Clan, with the power of a Ba’Chul behind them, will be unstoppable. They will finally do what they've always wanted – conquer Chondelai. And from there, their corruption and evil will spread into the world of man. They will burn it down and kill or enslave everybody living in it.

“We should be passing beneath the walls of the city now,” Antyn says from the front of our line.

The tunnel gets us close to the church near the center of the city. We walk on for a while longer and I'm keenly aware of each grain of sand slipping through the hourglass. The Ba’Chul will be at full strength soon. And we need to stop it.

I follow my men up the ladder and we find ourselves standing in a narrow alley between the church and another building. With Saladin's army occupying the attention of the city's defenders, this part of Jerusalem seems empty. Deserted. Nobody is walking the streets and there isn't a sound to be heard anywhere.

“Let's go,” I say.

I find a door in the side of the church and pull it open, my men rushing inside ahead of me. The interior is dark, but there is a definite sense of the dark and foreboding in the air. The malignant feeling surrounding and enveloping us is oppressive.

The feelings of despair and despondency that washes over me is so powerful and overwhelming, I have to fight the urge to turn and walk out of the church. To run away and never look back. It's the power of the Ba’Chul at work.

“Push through it, men,” I say. “The Ba’Chul knows we're here and it is fighting us already.”

I can see that my men are struggling and the only cure for it I know of is to get them moving. The sooner we take this fight to the Ba’Chul, the sooner we can claim victory and be done with it.

“Follow me,” I say.

I lead them to a room behind the church altar – the priest's vestibule. It's where we are going to find the passage to the catacombs beneath the church. It's where we're going to find the Ba’Chul. We enter the vestibule and find the hole to the tunnels below.

“Be ready for anything,” I say. “There will be guardians in the tunnels.”

My men nod at me and step forward, dropping down into the tunnel beneath the floor. I join them a moment later and am surprised to find the tunnel empty. Though it should be dark, there is an illumination coming from somewhere. Though still somewhat gloomy, with pockets of shadow clinging to the walls, it's light enough that we can see.

We don't have to wait long for the Ba’Chul's guardians to show themselves. They come screaming out of the darkness at us, their voices a high pitched keening wail. They're unlike anything I've ever seen before. They're vaguely human with gray, mottled skin, elongated limbs, and large, black eyes. Their mouth is filled with teeth like needles and their hands are tipped with wicked looking claws.

And there are a lot of them.

The come at us out of the darkness in a swarm – from the front and the rear. And although the tunnel is too small for us to shift, I still have weapons at my disposal. I turn to the throng of beasts coming at us from behind and open my mouth, summoning the dragonfire within me. I unleash a thick blast of flame that engulfs the creatures. Their shrieking fills the tunnel, echoing loudly in my ears.

Some of the creatures, their bodies aflame, rush at me, their hands with those wicked claws raking the air in front of me. I slash with my sword, cutting them down. Their smoldering bodies falling to the floor of the tunnel in pieces.

My men had used the same tactic and had cleared the way in front of us. We step over and around bodies that still burn, the odor of charred flesh in the tunnel is cloying.

“We need to hurry,” I say.

Together, we start heading through the twisting, turning warren of tunnels at a run. I have no idea where we were going. I'm simply following the pull of the magical forces the Ba’Chul is drawing into itself. We encounter smaller knots of those creatures lurking in the tunnels and strike them all down. We will not be delayed or deterred in our mission.

And then we arrive. It happens so suddenly, we almost fall over each other in our haste to stop and ready ourselves. In the center of the room stands the Ba’Chul – or rather, it hovers just slightly off the ground. Its arms spread out wide, its head thrown back, a look of absolute rapture on his face, the Ba’Chul is surrounded by a green, glowing field of energy that crackles and pops.

On the surface, it looks like a man. Any other ordinary man. His long hair is dark, his skin is pale, and his body is well muscled. But its eyes glow a deep red and on its chest is a dark circle, as if it were a mark tattooed upon its flesh. The circle on its chest glows, a tentacle of black magical energy pouring into it from the Deathstone.

I look over and see a doorway to Chondelai open – it's open into a stone chamber somewhere deep within the Shadow Clan's keep. The ribbon of black energy is streaming from the Deathstone, through the doorway, and into the circle upon the Ba’Chul's chest. And it's then I realize, if we cut that ribbon off at its source, if we shatter the Deathstone, we can end the Ba’Chul. We can cut off its power at the source.

“Kill it!” I shout to my men.

With swords bared, they rush forward as I head for the Dragon Door. Alert to my movement, the Ba’Chul flicks its wrist and sends me flying across the room. I slam into the stone wall of the chamber with a grunt and then get back to my feet. My men are thrown across the room by the magical force of the Ba’Chul as easily as I was. The Rites are nearing their completion and it's strong already.

The Ba’Chul settles its feet back down onto the ground, throwing his head back and speaks the magical words of the Rites in the ancient language of Chondelai. Its voice rises and rises, nearing a crescendo as its power builds. I can feel the magical energy in the room around us building, growing, and strengthening – it feels like the atmosphere outside before a massive storm breaks.

Reaching beneath my cloak, I pull out the small, handheld crossbow. I catch the attention of my men and motion for them to do the same. The Ba’Chul, so caught up in the rapturous throes of ecstasy as the energy from the Rites filled it, seemed to have forgotten about us entirely.

Or just doesn't see us as a legitimate threat. And given how easily he'd swatted us down, I can't say that I blamed him for that.

We load the pure silver bolts into our crossbows and take aim. There isn't much that can kill one of the Dragonborn -- and a silver bolt alone might not do it unless you are very fortunate and strike a direct blow to the heart – but if nothing else, it will slow a dragon down. It will hurt them and cause tremendous pain as the silver burns their flesh and muscle.

Firing as one, our silver bolts streaked across the room, each one of them hitting their mark. The Ba’Chul bellowed in pain and outrage, its voice reverberating around the room, vibrating the walls of the chamber hard enough to shake dust and small pebbles loose.

“Now!” I scream.

Moving in unison, my two fighters and I dashed across the room. As the Ba’Chul writhed in pain, swatting at the silver bolts that had pierced its flesh, we moved in. It straightens up, its eyes burning a bright red, rage twisting and contorting its face.

It raises one arm and my fighter is lifted off the ground, a look of panic and pain upon his features. The Ba’Chul clenches its fist and I hear the bones snapping and breaking even from where I am. The Ba’Chul releases him and his body falls to the floor with a wet, meaty thudding sound. He is limp, lifeless, his eyes wide and blood pouring from his nose and mouth.

My second warrior swings his sword, the silver blade biting into the flesh of the Ba’Chul's arm. The dark wizard howls in pain as the blade slices clean through, sending a gout of blood spraying across the floor and its arm – almost up to the elbow – twirling away, where it lands next to the body of the first man. My warrior, moving quickly, draws back, looking to strike a killing blow, but the Ba’Chul reacts first, clenching its fist again.

I watch in sickened horror as the head of my warrior crumples beneath the pressure of an unseen force. The sound of bones breaking and the man's momentary cries of anguish echo around the room. The Ba’Chul releases him, his broken body slumping to the floor.

While my men attacked from the front, I had managed to get behind the Ba’Chul and just as my man's body hits the floor, blood and matter pooling out of his ruined head, I drive the point of my blade through the back of the Ba’Chul. Its cries of outrage and pain shake the room around us with the force of an earthquake as I lean into it, sinking my blade deeper into its flesh.

The Ba’Chul turns and casts its red, glowing eyes at me, on its face an expression of pure and utter hatred. The tip of my silver blade protrudes from its chest and thick, black blood pours from the wound. I may not have hit the heart directly, but I know I've done enough damage to it to kill it.

The Ba’Chul rears its head back and lets out a scream that shakes the very ground I'm standing on. A shockwave radiates from it and before I know what's happening, I'm blown back against the stone wall of the chamber. I hit the wall harder than I've ever been hit before and I feel the bones in me snap.

I slump to the floor, sitting upright and look down at my battered body. I can't feel my legs. My whole body feels numb and I realize that I can't move. I look up and see the Ba’Chul has fallen to its knees, a look of absolute agony on its face. And then I see that the black ribbon of magical energy had stopped flowing into it. The Door to Chondelai has closed.

It's over. We've won. I know I'm fortunate in many ways. Fortunate that we got to the Ba’Chul before it had absorbed the dark energies of the Shadow Clan. Fortunate that it had not yet come into its full power. Fortunate that because of the aid of Saladin, we had gotten here in time.

The ground beneath me shakes and chunks of stone begin to rain down on me. As the keening of the Ba’Chul intensifies, I know that I'm at my end. But, at least, my end will be a new beginning for the world. My hope is that people like Saladin and Balian can find ways to work together – to work toward peace. And make the world a better place.

The final thing I see with my own eyes is the burst of flame hurtling toward me. And then I know no more.