by Inlo, Jeff
"Then that is what we shall do. For the moment, we have other matters that require our attention. Our spies indicate the dwarves have sent messengers to certain human towns. If the wizard leaves Connel, as we expect he will, we must be prepared to put the next phase of our plan in motion, and I have work to do in the desert."
Chapter 8
Neltus didn't mind the hot, dry wind. He actually enjoyed the desert. It allowed him to feel closer to the red magic that burned at his core. There was little else in the way, nothing to interfere with his connection to the land. Despite the harsh conditions, the elements brought him a sense of belonging. He loved to feel the blowing sand against his face and the hard rock under his boots.
What Neltus did not like was the purpose of his visit. Desiv had ordered the spell caster to teleport them both out into a specific region of the desert. They were very near an elaborate and picturesque range of sandstone cliffs, and the region served as a gathering point for the algor race.
The algors—tailless, lizard-like beings that walked upright—used the hollows within the sandstone cliffs as a central gathering place, a sanctuary and shelter. Just like Neltus, they were comfortable in the desert. The vast wasteland served both their conflicting innate desires. They could come together in the cliffs, join with the algor community and become part of the greater whole, or they could wander off into the emptiness of the surrounding dunes, seek isolation and feed their desire for independence.
Neltus knew that he and Desiv were there to rouse the algors, to remind them of past conflicts. He held no reservations in that regard. He didn't mind agitating creatures. He actually enjoyed it. It was the manner in which they were about to proceed which gave him pause.
"I'm not comfortable with this," Neltus admitted.
"Has the wizard of crimson power suddenly developed a sense of ethics?" Desiv wondered aloud, "...a moral compass?"
Neltus wasn't quite sure if ethics or morals had anything to do with it. He usually had little use for either. Still, he believed certain things should be left alone, and he proclaimed as much.
"I don't think you should mess with the dead."
The serp appeared genuinely surprised by the assertion.
"You disturb the dead all the time. You are a master of red magic, the power of the land. What do you think is within the dirt that moves at your whim? You think it's just rock? You know better than that. The ground is filled with the dead... dead plants, dead animals, dead everything. Rich soil is nothing more than decomposed material."
"There's a difference. When I call upon the land, I work with the soil. I bring out its infinite power. That's not what you want me to do. You're asking me to deliberately disturb a grave site."
"So?"
"So, it's different. I'm not really focusing on the land, I'm focusing on the corpses buried in the ground."
"Just think of it as a purge. The land is not ready to receive all the remains. All you're doing is rearranging things."
"And that's what I'm talking about. I'm disturbing the dead."
"Don't be so dramatic. I assure you the algors buried here will not be the slightest bit inconvenienced."
Neltus grimaced. He didn't like the thought of forcing algor remains from the ground, and he wasn't sure it was going to accomplish anything of real benefit. It all seemed like a ghoulish and unnecessary act.
"It still gives me the creeps," Neltus revealed. "I don't even understand the reason for it."
"Come now, that's not true, either. All six serps of the council—actually only five now—have a slice of your magic inside. You know what we're thinking. You know the plan."
"I only know what you're thinking if I look, and I don't like to look."
"You're just full of inconsistencies today. We know when you look. We can feel it."
"Then you know I don't look very deep."
"Deep enough to understand what we are trying to do here."
"I only understand that you want me to dislodge the remains of countless algors from a mass grave. You want to remind the algors of some battle, but it doesn't make sense."
"No?" Desiv questioned.
"No."
Desiv recognized a hint of sincerity in the spell caster's response. He sensed not only Neltus' reluctance in disturbing the graves but also a very real confusion. The serp decided to explain, if for no other reason than to expound upon the brilliance of the serps' scheme.
"How much do you know of what happened out here?"
Neltus drew on what he could glean from his connection with Desiv and from his own recollections of tales he heard from other humans.
"I know an army of dwarves dug tunnels into the algors' sandstone home and slaughtered them. The surviving algors buried the dead in one massive hole in the desert."
"Do you know why the dwarves attacked in the first place?"
"Some crazy dwarf queen blamed them for the death of her son."
"That's right. That crazy queen was Yave Folarok. She led a band of dwarf separatists. Her rebellion caused much pain and suffering. They attacked humans, elves, and most viciously... the algors."
"That's why almost everybody knows the story," Neltus acknowledged. "Dwarves attacked Connel and Burbon and everybody wanted to know why. It almost started an all out war."
"Yes, but not everyone has the same distaste for war. War can be very profitable. Those that have to fight the battles might not feel that way, but those that know how to manipulate the struggle can gain much."
"I get that, but why are you messing with the dead algors?"
"You have to understand the full scope of what happened. Yave gained power because her husband—the rightful king of Dunop, Bol Folarok—vacated the throne. He simply abandoned his responsibilities. If he didn't, Yave would have never gained authority over the dwarves of Dunop."
"What does that have to do with the algors?"
"Yave was destroyed by the wizard Enin, but Bol still lives."
"So?" Neltus questioned.
"The algors still hold a very big grudge against the dwarves," Desiv explained, "and they blame Bol Folarok almost as much as Yave for their losses. They also worry what might happen if Bol Folarok returns to the throne that is rightfully his."
"If that's true, then why do we have to come out here to disturb the dead?"
"Consider it an attitude enhancer. It's important at this time for the algors to be reminded of what happened here. I want the memory fresh in their minds. It will come in handy in the very near future."
"You serps are making this pretty complicated."
"If it were easy, everyone would be doing it. Now, it's time for you to cast your spell and see if we can gain the attention of the algors."
Enhancing the attitude of the algors might have been Desiv's intention, but getting a bunch of lizard-like desert dwellers very angry about a past battle was not a riveting idea for the spell caster. Neltus realized they were closer to the algors than he would have liked. He began to worry about what they might do if they found him desecrating a resting place for their dead. He and Desiv stood out of sight from the sandstone cliffs, took refuge behind a tall sand dune, but it hardly seemed like sufficient protection.
"I thought you were going to keep me out of any battles," Neltus reminded the serp.
"I never made that promise."
"Macheve did."
"Take it up with her. Besides, there's no battle here. We just need to use your magic. No one is going to attack anyone. We are pressed for time, so let's get on with this."
"Are you sure this is the spot?"
Desiv sighed heavily.
"We had rock beetles check the area. The remains are exactly where I said they would be. Stop stalling and cast the spell."
Neltus grumbled but did as he was told. Concentrating on the surrounding sand and rock, Neltus chose to create a backlash force. A ring of crimson magic formed around his hands as he clasped his fingers together in front of him. He thought of uniformity and then
pressure. He envisioned sand and rock coming together, pressing foreign objects out of their way. The very ground would condense before him but the same force that brought the sand together would view the remains of the algors as inconsistencies. It would spit out all of the foreign particles, force them to the surface.
Neltus released the spell and the magical energy poured into the ground. The sand swirled and raged like a stormy sea. The turmoil raised a cloud of dust that blew high into the air. The land rumbled with fury. As if retching, the ground opened and cast a giant wave of algor remains into the air.
Most of it was bone, but many corpses remained surprisingly whole. Some of the scaly skin of the algors dried up into a leathery hide that kept the skeletal remains intact. Several of the algor carcasses flew up from the ground with arms and legs attached, full bodies as opposed to scattered bones.
With the spell complete, the ground was littered with indescribable horrors, a bone yard sprinkled with dehydrated corpses held together by thick algor hides.
"Well done," the serp congratulated Neltus. "This is better than I expected. Quite a few of the remains actually still look like algors. Lots of bones to be sure, but the scales fought off decay better than I projected."
Neltus took no pride in his work. He coughed once and looked away. He scanned the skies and revealed a growing concern.
"Any algors nearby would have felt that, and this cloud of dust is going to bring them right here."
"That's exactly what I want, but do not fear. You may leave now. I do not want to take the risk of an algor spotting you."
"What about you?"
"I still have work to do."
"Are you going to hide? Do you need me to cast a spell of concealment? I can create a mirage to keep them from spotting you."
"That won't be necessary. I will try to stay out of sight, but if I am spotted, I doubt there will be any harm of it. Algors are used to serps. In a way, we share the same heritage. You, however, will raise a great deal of suspicion. Leave now, but be ready to teleport me back to Portsans when I call."
Neltus simply nodded and cast a spell of teleportation that whisked him away from the desert and back toward the coast. The magic caster was not noticed even as algors began to trek toward the dust cloud from every direction.
Desiv could sense them coming and he waited silently like one more snake in the desert.
The algors moved with both resolve and trepidation. They could not ignore the disturbance, or the significance of its location. There had been no markings in the sand—no headstones or towering monuments—but the algors remembered where they had buried so many of their dead, and they could not forget the circumstances surrounding the tragedy.
They never viewed the burial site as a mass grave, never viewed it as a necessary evil to deal with so many corpses. Each algor buried within the massive pit had been viciously attacked by dwarf warriors. They had all died in the same battle, and the algors saw wisdom in keeping the victims together. They allowed the desert to swallow up the victims in total. No, it was not a mass grave, but a monument to both the algors' collective spirit and the manner in which the dead perished.
The tall lizard-like creatures encircled the massive debris field, looked upon the pile of bones and dried out hides with astonishment and sadness. They had no idea why the site had been disturbed. They sought comprehension in the silent and unmoving remains, but the ghosts of the past would not speak.
Desiv reached out with his mind, carefully probing the collective awareness of the algors. He made no attempt to seize control of any individual, he did not invade a single algor's consciousness. Instead, he focused on his link to the collective knowledge of the algor community and let his connection to their thoughts bubble to the surface.
Serps were originally offshoots of the algor race, a tribe that used twisted magic to break the bonds of the algor struggle between group belonging and individualistic desires. Serps became creatures of superior will bound by magic, but they did not suffer the inherent conflict which simultaneously forced algors together and apart. While they succeeded in separating themselves from the community, serps still held within their ancestry a small link to the algor race.
Without disturbing any of the algors, Desiv's mind entered the flow of communal being. The serp reveled in what he discovered. There was very little work for him to do. The algors understood the significance of the grave site.
As he expected, they did not forget the circumstances which caused so many deaths. He would have to remind them of nothing, nor would he have to coax them toward certain emotions. He could feel their anger and their fear, and there was no need to feed either. All he had to do was give them both focus.
Carefully, the serp sent out a single consideration. He placed it in the flow of consciousness and then withdrew from the thought. He didn't wish any algor to trace it back to his presence. It was only a name.
Bol Folarok.
Every algor knew the name. Not one could forget, as they shared information through their collective connection. What one knew, they all knew. Bol Folarok might not have been the leader of the separatists that caused the slaughter of so many innocent algors, but they knew he was the king that shirked his responsibilities. His failure to lead allowed for Yave to exact her unjustified revenge. Algors died because of Bol Folarok.
The algors could not fully understand why the name of the dwarf king flowed through their collective consciousness. They stared at the remains of their dead expelled from the ground and wondered if it was a sign they could not, should not, ignore. Ghosts may not speak, but memories of the dead can still influence the thoughts of the living.
The algors decided not to question the event any further. They all began digging with their claws. They would make another pit and carefully place the remains back into the desert sand. They would wail in sorrow once more over the memory of their dead.
When they were finished, most would return to the sandstone cliffs, but many would venture off into the barren wasteland... alone. Those that traveled off into the desert would seek comfort in isolation, hoping the temporary break from the community would heal the reopened wounds.
But whether they set out alone or remained with the group, every algor would remember what happened in the desert. They would recall the past battle with the dwarves and then wonder why the remains of their dead were forced from their resting place. They would also remember the name of Bol Folarok.
Desiv smiled. His connection to the algors' awareness remained just at the fringe. He was not noticed, but his link remained strong enough to gauge their response. He knew he had succeeded. The seed was planted.
Chapter 9
Ryson walked with heightened expectations toward the center of town. He kept a brisk pace but did nothing more to blatantly arouse attention. He was a delver, and the citizens of Burbon knew him well. As long as he didn't go sprinting through the streets, no one would question his intentions, even if his pace seemed slightly faster than usual.
He had been summoned to Sy's headquarters where he was to meet with Enin and Holli Brances. He was not surprised to hear of their arrival. The wizard and the elf guard sought an audience with both him and the captain of the guard, and the delver was happy to oblige. It actually brought him a sense of relief. He hoped their appearance might shed some light on his own strange misgivings, for even as everything appeared quite normal in Burbon and the surrounding lands, Ryson could not quell a growing unease within his soul.
Despite the peace and serenity of that crystal clear day, he continued to believe something was not quite right. It was so very odd. The air was crisp and clean, the sky blue, the sun shining brightly, and yet a thickening gloom seemed to hang around him like a heavy, wet blanket. There was nothing specific, and it was nearly impossible to explain. He couldn't even raise an alarm with the town guard, for there was nothing of substance, no evident danger.
As he made his way to Sy's office, the delver could not help but study th
e expressions of the citizens he passed. Their near disregard for his activities was in direct contrast to his own reflections. The people of Burbon appeared at ease. They showed no anxiousness, and for good reason. They were all settled into their daily activities, found comfort in their normal routines, and delighted at the absence of any chaos.
Their serenity calmed the delver, but only to a degree. The seemingly baseless apprehension that gnawed at his insides filled him with both curiosity and confusion. He wanted to understand it, but answers eluded him.
It all seemed so out of place. He had not heard of any unsettling rumors. Visitors from other towns made no reports of disturbances at home or on the road. There was not a single conflict in all the land that Ryson might view as the source for his restlessness.
There was, of course, the incident with Okyiq, but that situation was being handled by the half-delver, Pru Fallow. Ryson had found no further sign of the large goblin on subsequent scouts. He saw no reason to believe Fallow would fail in his mission, and thus, Okyiq was no longer a concern.
Still, the delver sensed a building despair. It was very much like feeling a slight ache from an old injury or hearing a distant rumble of thunder before angry clouds of some massive storm even appeared on the horizon.
His delver senses, however, failed to catch even the slightest hint of suspicious activity. Ryson didn't see any unexplained shadows in the forest, nor did he catch some disturbing scent in the breeze. He didn't hear any unnatural rustlings in the distance or even feel an unsettling wind across his face.
Quite simply, Ryson had no idea what was causing the unease within him, but he could not discount the sensation. It was like a premonition, as if all his senses came together, each one picking up a small vibration at the same time. There was not enough for him to understand the underlying cause. He just felt as if something was very wrong, and he hoped an answer might wait for him at Sy's office.
Once at the guard's headquarters, Ryson was directed to a room where Enin and Holli waited with Sy. He wondered if his friends sensed the same hint of misfortune in the air, if he might see it in their faces, but he was welcomed with smiles. Though he knew their visit was no trivial matter, the purpose did not weigh on them with any great burden. The wizard even began the conversation with a topic of great delight.