Tenebroum

Chapter 67: The Shadow of Dishonor

It was on the night of winter’s first full moon while he was bathing deep in the pits of warm mud in the place of honor he’d earned that Tsson’vek saw what the darkness had done to the drake he’d killed years before. Its once-mottled scales of emerald and olive green had been transformed into a shimmering coat of inky blackness, and its wings had multiplied, but he was still sure of what he saw.

The fearsome hunter that had been a living embodiment of grace and death was gone. In its place was a strange mockery of those characteristics. It flew neither as fast nor as far as the original drake had, and that saddened the lizardman.

He thought about it often for weeks and then months, both when he lay with his kin and when he went off to hunt for food. There was no joy anymore when he looked to the top of their totem and saw the image of the drake’s head that had been carved in his honor.

For years Tsson’vek had endured the secret shame of knowing that it was the poison gifts the darkness had given him that had killed the monster and not his own spear, but he’d lived with that decision. Seeing it alive once more, though, was too far, and day by day, it ate at him.

His only joy was in looking at his mate and his own hatchlings and seeing that they were perfectly happy and healthy. He was glad that the darkness was not something that passed in the blood or through touch and contact. It was a choice, and Tsson’vek had chosen poorly.

He was preoccupied with these thoughts for a long time, but it was only when he saw the abomination once more on another spring night that he flew into an inconsolable rage though. There were no greater creatures left to prove to himself that he was strong enough to merit his undeserved honor, and he gnashed his teeth and howled at the sky. That was when he decided he would have to start killing if he wanted to cut this cancer out.

Tsson’vek waited until the light of day so that the darkness that dwelled within him all the time now was at its weakest, and then, during a hunt, he challenged Tsgrun and Vz’lasst each in turn. The two of them were the next largest and most tainted hunters of the tribe, and Tsson’vek could no longer bear to look at their black, mottled scales that were so similar to his own. They might not have had the crooked bones or as many of jagged scars, but they still stank of the unnatural corruption that he was surrounded by.

The hunter fought his first rival with spears and parried the deadly blow that aimed for his heart before he impaled Tsgrun through the throat. He left him there choking on his own blood even though he knew that probably wouldn’t be enough to kill him in the face of the dark gifts that they all had, but he had no time to finish the job properly as he was suddenly matched claw for claw and bite for bite with Vz’lasst.

Fights for dominance within the tribe were not uncommon, though they were rarely fatal. This was not about dominance, though. This was about fixing a terrible mistake. Even as he used his unnatural strength to rip the head off of his opponent while the smaller lizardman struggled feebly, he felt nothing but revulsion about what he’d become. They’d conquered this land and made it their own, but at what cost?

Lost in thought for a moment, Tsson’vek was brought back to reality as his other opponent recovered enough to stab Tsson’vek in the side with an obsidian dagger. He quickly broke it off inside the wound, which would make healing harder, but it wouldn’t be enough to turn the tide here.

Staggering, Tsson’vek turned back to the mortally wounded Tsgrun and yanked the spear in his throat in the other lizard man’s throat out before he ripped it out with his teeth. Even then, the strength that the darkness had lent them was still strong enough that Tsgrun struggled weakly until Tsson’vek’s spear was lodged in his heart.

Wounded, Tsson’vek turned to fight other members of the tribe that were showing signs of the corruption he now hated. The juveniles from last year’s hatching had seemed particularly vulnerable, and Tsson’vek knew that if he didn’t expunge such a stain now, then soon it would envelop the whole tribe.

He would never get the chance to complete that task, though. Partway through his bloody purge, the darkness woke and turned its eye on him long enough to understand that this wasn’t about bloodlust or ambition but about rejection. As soon as it discovered that fact, Tyson’vek found himself unable to move. He collapsed bonelessly by the main firepit and lay there looking up at the totem pole he hated so much while the remaining members of the tribe restrained him.

He didn’t live in fear of what was going to happen to him. After all, Tyson’vek was happy to die in exchange for the cleansing he’d unleashed for the good of the tribe. In time he hoped that they would heal completely. After all, now their valley was largely safe. What need to have any of them for the gifts of their dark master?

He didn’t have to wait long to find out what was going to happen to him. It was only just after sunset that he was bundled to the shore of their lake by four strong warriors and set upon the ferry that he’d seen so often after they’d brought down a particularly large creature that the darkness wished to feast upon.

This time the juggernaut was not here, but there was no need for it. Even without the vines that bound him hand and foot, Tsson’vek could not move. All he could do was watch as the skeletal hooded bargeman poled out into the deeper waters.

This part of the journey had always confused the lizardman, for there seemed to be no navigable waters between their high mountain valley and the swamp they’d left below. There were streams that connected the two, it was true, but they were full of rapids and waterfalls that would make a vessel of this size dangerously impractical.

Still, it didn’t seem to matter. They spent the next hour going deeper and deeper into a fog bank, and then suddenly, the mist had cleared, and they were somewhere else entirely. They were now poling down a small canal toward a dark tunnel entrance, though there seemed to be no sign of the swamp he remembered. Instead, there were only tilled fields and distant mountains. It didn’t seem possible that they’d come so far from the place he’d called home so quickly, but he wasn’t aware of any other mountains in the area, so surely magic was at work here as well.

The canal continued underground for a few minutes, and when it finally came to dock at its tiny stygian port, the ferryman waved his hands over the vines, and they shriveled into dust as it gestured for its passenger to proceed through a large verdigrised door.

The inky darkness of that place was almost absolute when the ferry docked. The whole area was lit by a single brazier that burned with blue fire. As soon as Tsson’vek walked toward that light, it began to dim, and another one further down the hall proceeded to light in its place, guiding him ever deeper into a labyrinth of twisted stone hallways from which it knew it would never escape.

The lizardman followed the light as it moved, unable to resist the compulsion. His limbs were no longer his own, and all he could do was walk helplessly toward his ultimate fate; he did not know what that would be, but he still felt no fear. The only sensation left was the painful feeling of the knife twisting in his guts with every step, but there was nothing for it.

The walk took longer than the ferry ride had, and the twisting path that he was led through seemed almost impossible to map or even traverse without a guide. It was only after almost half an hour of walking that he found a ramp that descended to a lower level. Here the tunnels were just as twisted and claustrophobic, of course, but they were also bustling with activity. In every room it passed, something was being done. Strange surgeons were splicing corpses together in one, and forges were being worked by dead men in another. Here was a room full of golden treasures, and there was a storage room full of nothing but rank upon rank of dead warriors who’d been riveted inside their armor.

Tsson’vek couldn’t understand many of the details or purposes behind them, but he didn’t care. All of this only reinforced his view: he’d made the correct decision. None of the zombies that crossed his path carrying this or that tried to stop him, and it was only when he reached a small, quiet room with a strange golden idol that he felt he could finally stop.

Here the walls were gold, in strange patterns that reeked of magic to him, but that wasn’t what caught Tsson’vek’s interest. In front of those odd walls were fellow lizardmen. Or rather, corpses of them. They were so old and so still that they had a layer of dust on them. Tsson’vek knew that they were no mere trophies or decorations, though. They were warriors with cruel bronze blades that could easily hack him to pieces.

Was this how he was to die, Tsson’vek wondered. That was when he heard the deathless voice in his mind.

“You disappointed me, Tsson’vek,” the darkness whispered. “You were such a diligent warrior until today, but now you will be made to suffer for your betrayal.”

Tsson’vek growled, casting his gaze around before he looked again at the strange golden lump in the center of the room. Was that the darkness? Was that what he’d feared all this time? It was nothing but a screaming drizzled in molten metal. There was nothing to fear here, he realized, and he tensed his muscles, trying to break free of the control that had been placed on him so that he could rip the heart out of the thing that was polluting his people and save them once and for all.

“You will get the chance to save them,” the darkness whispered. “After all, I’ve finally figured out where your confused ferocity can be put to the best use in my plans.”

The words came with an electric jolt of pain that brought the lizardman to his knees, but with that pain came clarity, and he slowly pushed himself back to his feet as he reached his clawed hand down to his wound.

“Impressive,” the darkness crooned in his ear, “Even after all that, you think a traitor like you could ever hope to strike me down?”

As the darkness spoke, Tsson’vek pulled the jagged piece of obsidian from his side and raised it high. He would end this. Even as the pain blossomed into agony and those agonies multiplied until every single one of his scales was on fire, he fought it and took another step forward.

He never got the chance to strike, though. While he dragged himself toward his goal an inch at a time, one of the lizardmen behind him that had stood there for uncounted years strode forward, and with two quick strokes, it severed Tsson’vek’s head from his body and then split that body in half from neck to nail, leaving its corpse a bloody ruin on the ground.

No death came for him, though. Not even unconsciousness came to grant him mercy. Instead, the darkness let his severed head sit there and watch as the blood pooled before it finally whispered. “Soon, you will serve me as loyally and as long as your forebearer who just ended your miserable life, for at last, I have found my shadow dragon.”