Vosper's Revenge

by Kristian Alva

  Tallin remained seated. “My intent is not to lecture, only to observe,” he said calmly.

  “Tallin is dedicated to the security of Parthos,” said Rali, “but he cares deeply for his dwarf kin, as well. These talks have been derailed repeatedly by Bolrakei, who seems only to care about herself.”

  “That’s preposterous!” she said.

  “Bolrakei should focus on the needs of her people, rather than her own greed,” said Tallin. “It’s time that everyone knows the truth of her refusal to cooperate. I’m talking about blackmail.”

  Bolrakei’s eyes grew wide. “What do you mean by that? I have no idea what he’s talking about!”

  A collective gasp went up from the table. Hergung paused, his face grim. “These are serious accusations, Tallin.”

  Tallin faced Hergung, his face expressionless. “Lady Bolrakei has vowed to block all treaty negotiations until she is given a living dragon stone. She specifically requested the emerald dragon stone carried by Elias Dorgumir.”

  Another gasp went through the room. Bolrakei’s face went pale. “That is a boldfaced lie!” she screamed. “How dare you accuse me of this crime!”

  Tallin ignored Bolrakei’s outburst and continued speaking calmly. “It is true. She admitted it to me, and to Thorin.”

  King Hergung turned to Bolrakei, who was shaking with embarrassment and rage. “Lady Bolrakei, how do you respond to these accusations?”

  “These are lies! All lies! This interloper—Tallin—he has no proof of anything. How could anyone possibly believe him? He’s not even one of us! He’s a half-breed!”

  A few of the other men at the table shook their heads with disapproval, but said nothing. Tallin didn’t flinch at the insult. Hergung frowned. “King Rali, do you have any proof of these accusations?”

  “No, your highness,” said Rali. “But if you search Bolrakei’s chambers, I believe you’ll find a collection of dragon stones, albeit damaged ones.”

  “These are all lies! Falsehoods! I can’t believe I’m hearing this!” she screamed, pounding her greasy fist on the table.

  Hergung spread his hands out and looked down. The room fell silent. Bolrakei remained standing, trembling with anger. “I refuse to dignify this preposterous accusation with an answer. I am the clan leader of Klora-Kanna. What is the word of this half-ling and this human against mine?”

  “I would like to believe you, Bolrakei,” said Hergung, “but it’s no secret that you collect rare gems. And what is rarer than a living dragon stone?”

  “B-but my lord, I would never…” Bolrakei said, but she didn’t get the chance to finish.

  Tallin interrupted her by holding up his hand. “Wait! I’m receiving a message from Sela,” he said, staring off into the distance. Rali, sitting across from Tallin, felt the pull of the spell as he was caught up in the telepathy.

  Tallin heard Sela’s plea. Her voice was very weak. “Tallin… don’t speak… just listen… we were ambushed… Thorin and Floki are dead… Vosper took the oath; he is one of the undead… I am gravely wounded… we go… to the Elder Willow…”

  Sela’s communication cut off abruptly. Tallin sat silent for a moment, disconcerted by the message.

  “What news, dragon rider? How goes Sela’s mission at Ironport?” asked Hergung.

  “Badly, your highness,” said Tallin. “Thorin and Floki are dead.” Hergung’s mouth dropped open. Thorin was Hergung’s dear friend and favorite cousin. “There’s more. Sela is seriously injured. She and Brinsop are flying to the Elder Willow in hopes that Elias and Chua will be able to save her.”

  “Elias? The mageborn boy?” asked Hergung. “What can he do?”

  “Elias is a gifted healer,” said Tallin. “And Chua is a powerful spellcaster in his own right. But that’s not the worst of it. Vosper has taken the Necromancer’s Oath.”

  Worried murmurs rose from the table.

  Rali, clearly shaken, stood up. “King Hergung, in light of this news, I’m going to excuse myself and Tallin from this banquet. I must confer with Tallin in private and decide our next course of action.”

  “Of course,” said Hergung quietly. “I understand. I too, must prepare a memorial for my cousin Thorin. He was like a brother to me. This is a sad day for us all.”

  Rali and Tallin rose from the table and exited the great hall, with Aor following closely behind. Bolrakei crossed her arms and finally took her seat.

  As they walked back to their chambers, a great horn sounded through the caverns.

  “What was that?” asked Rali.

  “The Mourning Horn,” said Tallin. “It signals to the clans that someone in the royal family has died.”

  “Thorin was dwarvish royalty?” asked Rali. “I never would have guessed.”

  “Thorin and Hergung weren’t just cousins; they were close friends. During the Dragon Wars, Thorin ran reconnaissance missions between Mount Velik and Morholt. He gathered intelligence for the king. Unlike most dwarves, Thorin spent years outside the mountain. He had a lot of interaction with humans and many contacts throughout the empire. I’m sure Hergung feels his loss in more ways than one. There is no one who can take Thorin’s place.”

  “Thorin’s death is a serious blow, not just to the dwarves, but to everyone. He was really helpful to me and Sela. Now that he’s gone, I don’t think we’re going to make any more headway with these talks. Hergung needs time to grieve, and my mother’s message concerns me deeply. I am going to the Elder Willow,” said Rali. “I want you to stay here and continue the negotiations any way you can.”

  Tallin nodded. “All right. Perhaps after you leave, the clans will consider negotiating with me. Maybe the leaders were uncomfortable speaking out in front of an outsider. I may be a half-ling, but I was raised here, and most of the dwarves still consider me one of them.”

  “Please notify Miklagard about everything that’s happened,” said Rali. “The High Council should know.”

  “Agreed. I’ll see if I can contact someone there tonight. I might get lucky and catch Sisren outside the shield. I’ll send a bird messenger, too, just in case.”

  Rali turned and addressed his guard. “Aor, ready my belongings. We’re leaving for the Elder Willow tonight. Book us a passage down the Orvasse River. Once we get far enough south, we’ll finish the rest of the journey by horseback. I’m sure Hergung will lend us a few of his horses.”

  “As you command, my lord,” said Aor, who turned and immediately began packing their belongings for the journey.

  Tallin composed the message to Miklagard. He decided to address the letter directly to Sisren. Tallin read the note aloud to Rali, who nodded his approval.

  Sisren: A treaty between Parthos and the dwarves is not forthcoming. Sela and Thorin were attacked by Vosper’s necromancers. Thorin is dead. Sela is seriously injured. Rali is leaving for the Elder Willow tonight. Vosper has taken the Necromancer’s Oath. Notify Komu and the rest of the council. War is imminent. ~Tallin.

  “Gloggr-vel,” said Tallin, placing a minor glamour on the scroll. The runes slowly faded and disappeared. Once he was satisfied that the spell was working properly, he rolled up the tiny parchment and stepped outside the chamber.

  Duskeye slumbered quietly near the exit. Tallin went up to his companion and tapped him on the nose.

  “Duskeye, I need you to fly me outside the mountain. I need to call a bird messenger; plus, I’m starting to feel claustrophobic. I need to get out of here for a few hours.”

  Duskeye stretched lazily. “A claustrophobic dwarf? Wonders never cease.”

  “Funny,” said Tallin, cracking a rare smile. “It’s been a long time since I’ve spent so much time underground. I’ve gotten rather used to living outdoors. I have to admit that I prefer it.”

  “You and me both,” said Duskeye. “Hop on, let’s get some fresh air.”

  Tallin climbed on Duskeye’s back. Within minutes, they were flying high above the dwarf kingdom. Duskeye’s sapphire-blue scales shimmered against the
reflected sun coming through the mountain’s crater. They exited through the caldera. Tallin closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “The air’s thin up here. Let’s go down the mountain a bit.”

  They flew downward for a while, and then Duskeye landed in a nearby forested area. The trees were sparse, but there was wildlife there. Tallin whistled, and within minutes a dozen birds responded to his call.

  Tallin chose a beautiful male eagle, strapping the little scroll to the eagle’s enormous clawed foot. After listening to Tallin’s brief instructions, the bird flew north, disappearing on the horizon.

  “The message should arrive at Miklagard in three or four days. I’ll try to contact Sisren telepathically, but if she’s within the city walls, I won’t be able to reach her.”

  What now? said Duskeye.

  “Now… we wait.” Tallin sighed deeply. “War is upon us, Duskeye. The oracles have predicted dire consequences. It saddens me that this may be the last time we come to Mount Velik.”

  Are you thinking about Chua’s foretelling?

  “Yes. It’s discouraging to think that all this preparation and planning might not matter at all. Perhaps we waited too long to act, and Vosper is already too powerful. Was Sisren right? Did we waste too many years hiding in the desert, our heads buried in the sand?”

  Tallin, how many times have we faced death? The emperor hasn’t been able to kill us yet. I don’t worry about oracles, and neither should you.

  Tallin smiled. “You’re right. There’s no sense in worrying. I just wish I knew how this was all going to end.”

  The Dark Emperor

  The air in Morholt’s dungeons was stagnant, thick with the odor of sewage and rotting garbage. The city’s sewer system ran directly beneath the castle. The emperor never bothered to do anything about the smell, because he knew that it made the prisoners more uncomfortable.

  Vosper had been forced to use the dungeons for the last few days. The stench was intolerable, but the dungeons went on for leagues under the city, and there were always rooms available.

  He needed absolute privacy for the Necromancer’s Oath. While the spell was being cast, his physical body would be vulnerable to attack. He chose a small room deep in the catacombs under his castle for the final step. He had lied to his advisors, saying that he would be traveling through the city.

  Outside the door, his two most trusted guards stood watch. Two weeks ago, the emperor and three of his most powerful spellcasters entered this room, and Vosper had sealed the door behind them.

  Days later, the spellcasters lay dead, their desiccated bodies arranged in a circular pattern on the floor. The spell had sucked every ounce of life force from the mages. Their bodies dried up like raisins in the sun. And in the center of the room, surrounded by corpses, the undead emperor slumbered while all his vital organs died within him.

  On the evening of the fourteenth day, Vosper awoke, his body forever altered. He rose from the floor and stretched. It was the last time he would ever enjoy the pleasure of sleep.

  Vosper stared at his hands. His skin was now completely white, the color of chalk. He walked to the door and tapped on it six times.

  His guards opened the door, and gasped. All the color drained from their faces. “M-my lord?” said one of the soldiers. The other guard stood still and silent.

  Vosper hadn’t revealed the true reason for coming down here to anyone—he had simply ordered his guards to remain at the door until he signaled them to open it.

  The emperor exited the room silently, shutting the door behind him and then sealing the room permanently with a spell. The bodies of the dead spellcasters would remain there forever, unburied.

  “Yes…. it is I,” said Vosper, his voice rasping, like the sound of old leaves. “You are dismissed.” He waved the men off, ignoring their shocked expressions.

  The emperor walked toward the throne room and quickly realized that walking was painful. He mouthed a quick spell and his feet lifted from the ground. It was more comfortable to levitate. In fact, touching anything with his hands or feet was uncomfortable.

  On his way back, he passed dozens of shocked onlookers. Servants dropped plates. Soldiers stepped back, afraid. Vosper heard their frightened whispers, and he ignored them all. The news spread through the palace, and it was just as well. It saved him the trouble of having to make a formal announcement—that he was now the emperor for all eternity.

  On his way back to the throne room, Vosper caught his reflection in an ornate mirror. The face looking back at him was unrecognizable. He touched his cheek. All his wrinkles had disappeared; his milky skin was as hard and smooth as a polished stone. His eyes, once tired and hooded with age, were alert. They were also completely black; no pupil was visible. He opened his mouth, revealing a gray tongue and sharpened red teeth. The overall shape of his face was the same, but his features had been transformed.

  A short while later, Vosper reached his throne room. Uldreiyn and Uevareth, his necromancers, floated silently in their favorite corner. They both looked over and observed Vosper without emotion. They had returned from their battle at Ironport just days ago.

  Uldreiyn and Uevareth still bore the scars of their encounter with Sela and Islar. Their white skin was mottled with healing sores. The wounds would heal eventually, but scars would remain. Vosper didn’t particularly care about their injuries, but he considered the necromancers his personal property, and an attack on them was an affront.

  “When the time comes, I’ll make sure that traitor Islar…. and that infernal dragon rider ssssuffer the most horrific deathssss… imaginable,” said Vosper.

  Uevareth turned to face the emperor. “My lord. You have become like ussss.”

  “Yessss,” said Vosper. “My skin… it itches like it is crawling with insectssss. I hunger… but have no appetite for food.”

  “The itching… shall not cease. Instead, you sssshall grow accustomed to the sensation,” said Uevareth. “The hunger is normal… we feed off the life force of otherssss… when you first cross over, the feeling is agonizing, but this, too, shall pass, as you learn to feed off those around you.”

  Vosper nodded. He felt tired and incredibly hungry. The emperor floated over to the window and looked down. The city seemed darker somehow, as though he was staring through a dirty screen.

  Without turning around, he issued his command: “Go fetch me my generals.”

  Uldreiyn and Uevareth left silently. They would return shortly with his military commanders. No one ever questioned his orders, and even less so when the necromancers were involved.

  Vosper backed away from the window and tried sitting in his old throne, an ornate seat made from beaten silver and rare wood. He sat for a few seconds and then decided that the sensation was too uncomfortable. Now he knew why necromancers preferred to levitate upright. He decided to have the chair removed from the room. It was doubtful he would use it again.

  Vosper heard a cough from the other side of the throne room. He looked over, seeing the guard as if for the first time.

  “How long have you been standing there?” said Vosper, floating over to the man.

  “S-sire—I have been here since you entered the room.” The soldier was young, stocky, and muscled. As Vosper approached him, the man began trembling violently.

  Vosper examined him impassively for a minute and then reached out with one white hand, grabbing the man’s chin. The emperor felt a surge of energy as the soldier’s life force was drained into him. The soldier’s knees buckled and he screamed.

  I’ve never felt so powerful! Vosper thought, continuing to feed. Seconds later, the soldier convulsed and collapsed unconscious. Vosper decided to stop before he killed him. He left the soldier lying on the ground and went back to the window to wait.

  The sun moved across the horizon slowly—it was the only way that Vosper could tell that time was passing. Otherwise, it seemed to stand still. The seconds felt like minutes, and the minutes like hours.

  Eventually Uldreiyn a
nd Uevareth returned with three other men in tow. They were Vosper’s generals, all dressed in their finest clothing for their audience with the emperor.

  The men entered the room, and their mouths dropped open. None of them said anything.

  “What took so long for you… to respond to my ssssummons?” said Vosper.

  There was a pause, and one of the generals responded haltingly. “Your highness, we chose to dress formally for this meeting. I apologize for the delay.”

  “In the future, Ajit, do not bother changing your mode of dresssss… those things do not…. concern me anymore.”

  “As you wish, your highness,” he responded. The infantry general, Ajit, was in his late fifties, with muscular arms and thinning brown hair. Dozens of medals glittered on his breastplate, each one earned in battle.

  “Ajit, give me… a complete report on my troopssss,” said Vosper.

  The general cleared his throat and looked down at his feet, unable to meet Vosper’s dead-eyed stare. “Sire, we have 12,000 regular infantry in various stages of training. About 7,000 are currently fit for battle. Of those 7,000, approximately 4,000 are trained as horsemen.”

  “And the resssst?”

  “The others are either too old or too young. Many are untrained farmers, more skilled with a scythe than a sword.”

  “I see,” said Vosper. “Place the untrained men on the front lines. They shall act… as human shieldssss for the rest.” He turned to the second general, a tall, younger man with rusty-blond hair.

  Vosper licked his lips before speaking again. As his gray tongue swept across his lip, a faint sound like sandpaper was heard.

  “Carelo… you lead my archers. How many… are ready for battle?”

  “My lord—my archers are ready to serve,” said Carelo. “There are 1,500 males and females, all well trained.”

  “I need at least 500 more,” said Vosper.

  “By when, your highness?” said Carelo.

  “By the next… full moon,” said Vosper.

  “B-but sire! It’s impossible—that’s only fifteen days away!” sputtered the young general.