by Philip Blood
“I’m so happy to see you!” she exclaimed. “The longer I waited the more I imagined things that could’ve gone wrong. I was so afraid. Fats has had the soldiers looking for me, they’ve searched this stable twice now. I’ve only managed to avoid them by slipping out a loose board in the back and hiding across the street until they were gone."
“It’s all right; we’re going to escape together. The soldiers are looking for me as well, I escaped from their dungeon the day you first met me,” G’Taklar explained, “My real name is G’Taklar.
“G’Taklar? G’Taklar,” she said, sounding out his voice, “I like it, it’s exotic. You’re not from around here either, are you?” she asked.
“No, I was far from my home when they abducted me,” he explained.
“This isn’t necessary right now, you ought to start saddling up the horses, quickly,” Jatar advised G’Taklar.
“Come on Rachael, we’ll have time to talk later. Let’s saddle up the horses and get out of here before they miss me. The recruits will be woken up any time now,” G’Taklar said, accepting Jatar’s advice without argument.
“How many horses should we take?” Rachael asked.
“Take two apiece and two pack horses. Load as many water skins as you can find on the pack horses,” Jatar immediately advised.
G’Taklar repeated his instructions.
“I knew I could trust you to know what to do, G’Taklar. That’s why I couldn’t have made it without you,” she said, then placed her hand on his shoulder as she leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re here, G’Taklar.”
He was too flustered to answer.
The third chamber of the Ice Tower of Shadow Keep was dimly lit by purple light from glowing crystals mounted in eight places along the curving wall of the round room. The lights supplied an even low level of light and illuminated an oval shaped shining black onyx table. Red stone was inlaid at the center forming the image of an open hand; a solid black circle lay in the center of the palm. Two small red points stared from the center of the blackness like the twin eyes of an evil snake.
Beings who had once been fully human sat in eight of the nine chairs that surrounded the black table. None of them wondered why the ninth member was missing; they knew the reason for his absence.
The head of the Necromantic council spoke, “CAracusS has succeeded in destroying Jatar and taking his body, as many of you already know,” SKartaQ began, his raspy voice sounded like rough wood drug slowly across coarse sandpaper.
SKartaQ wore a red hooded cloak, and as he spoke he pulled the hood down to his shoulders. His bald head was a motley mix of red, pink and white lines, crisscrossing the bumpy surface. Scars overlaid scars as if someone had whipped his head unmercifully with a barbed, metal stranded, multi-whip.
“Then why have you disturbed me with this unscheduled meeting?” a stunning woman exclaimed. She was seated across the black table and two seats to the left of SKartaQ.
At first glance, her face was beautiful, with brilliant red hair curling down the firm line of her high cheek, but her beauty ended when you noticed that the left side of her head had been sheared off by a blade, taking her ear, skin and a large piece of her skull. Through the hole in her skull, you could see the contours of her brain covered by a thin translucent layer of scar tissue. Each time she breathed you could see blood pulsing through the dark network of veins that branched like a spider web over the nearly exposed brain. Her name was RIveK, and she too was a necromancer like all of those seated around the black table.
RIveK waited impatiently for SKartaQ to answer her question.
“As I was trying to say, CAracusS has taken the body of their ruler, but all has not gone according to plan. Jatar’s wife, the Kirnath Sorceress, has escaped with the heir to the throne. Her child is rumored to possess at least his mother’s potential of aura power, therefore representing a danger to our plans,” SKartaQ finished.
“CAracusS has failed, so he should pay the price of failure! I say we strip his powers and let the Darknulls claim him,” RIveK demanded and slammed her hand on the onyx table, her blood red painted nails shown bright against the perfect black of the table.
“I agree, his failure has complicated our plans, but he has accomplished the takeover of Lindankar, and the Sorceress is on the run. If we strip his powers we’ll lose control of Lindankar. Remember that the Tchulians are involved, their man would step in and take control if CAracusS was removed,” SKartaQ answered.
To SKartaQ’s left sat a necromancer with little left of a burnt face. It looked as though a concentrated blast of heat had struck him low in the face. His lips were melted off and a gaping hole was the only evidence of a missing nose. Blackened exposed teeth looked like a permanent death’s head grin.
He spoke and though his speech was slurred from his lipless mouth the other necromancers had no trouble understanding SCorcH; they were used to his impaired speech.
“I say we let him live, for now. If his continued actions outweigh his errors, he can redeem himself. If not, he dies,” the hideously burned man counseled.
SKartaQ stood and held his hand up, palm out, fingers spread.
“Those in favor of SCorcH’s proposal, please stand with me.”
All except RIveK stood and held up their spread hand, she placed her hand down on the table to indicate disagreement.
“Then let it be understood that this is the council’s choice,” and he looked at RIveK as he added, “any actions opposing this will be met with by the destruction of the guilty party.” He re-seated himself and the others followed.
RIveK’s hands clenched, the tips of her nails cut into the palms of her hands until blood dripped onto the table. She said nothing, but she thought, One day CAracusS, I shall see you defenseless, then I shall feed you to the Darknulls and reap your power; until then rest uneasy my husband.
SKartaQ addressed them again, “Our next piece of business is the destruction of the Sorceress, Lady Ardellen and her child, Michael Ardellen, the heir to the Lindankar throne. Who will accept this task?”
RIveK stood quickly and spoke, “Since CAracusS cannot clean up his mess I will do it. What man could know a woman’s mind as well as a woman? I say we send a woman to catch a woman. I will find this sorceress and I will destroy her, it’s that simple,” the red-headed necromancer said, her long white robe hanging in straight folds from her shoulders to the floor, red hair and nails standing out in bold relief like blood splashed on a clean sheet.
“What of your troubles with the bandit gangs in Autrany?” SCorcH asked, his black teeth clicking, his words slurring and hissing from his lack of lips as he spoke.
“Autrany is subdued; it is under my complete control. The bandits you speak of are negligible, I can destroy them whenever I choose,” RIveK said scornfully in reply to SCorcH.
“How, may we ask?” the hideous voice of SCorcH inquired.
“That is my affair,” RIveK responded haughtily.
“It is a legitimate question RIveK, it concerns the council’s plans,” SKartaQ interjected.
“Very well, I have an underling who leads the largest band of the worthless refugee scum. He is destroying the smaller groups or absorbing them. Soon, very soon, his work will be done. At that time, he will gather the largest of the remaining bands together for an attack. They will think they are uniting to attack their mutual enemy, Paridine, the man they call the Usurper. As you all well know, he is my puppet. In truth, they will be entering a trap where they will all be massacred. Does this meet with your approval?” she asked SCorcH sarcastically.
“A good plan, but with this in the works it seems a delicate time to be away hunting a sorceress,” SCorcH stated.
“Nonsense, I only need to send a few messages. My involvement is finished as an active participant. Remember, no one outside this room knows that a necromancer was involved in the takeover of Autrany. Letting my puppets do the actual deeds helps keep me, and therefore the council, out of the pu
blic eye,” RIveK finished, and looked at SCorcH, daring him to refute her logic.
“Accepted, but I offer my aid in the destruction of the Kirnath woman, just in case things do not go as planned with your bandit scheme,” SCorcH replied.
“I don’t need your meddling presence to jog my aim,” RIveK replied, glaring shards of ice from her green eyes.
“I think it’s a wise idea,” SKartaQ interposed.
RIveK started to say something, but paused and considered for a moment. “Fine, if that is your wish, SCorcH and I will handle the sorceress together.”
SCorcH didn’t look pleased when RIveK suddenly gave in to his suggestion, it usually meant she had thought of some other way to get what she wanted, but he said nothing.
“Then it is decided, RIveK and SCorcH will hunt and destroy Lady Ardellen and her brat.”
Rachael and G’Taklar slipped their small train of horses out the door of the stable and headed down the alleys toward the edge of Headwater. It was still early, but G’Taklar figured that the Tchulians would soon wake the recruits and then his absence would be discovered. He was not sure how long it would take them to respond when they found out that he had deserted. He and Rachael moved through the silent streets quickly and soon found themselves on the road west, paralleling the muddy river.
Throughout the rest of the day, G’Taklar kept looking back over his shoulder expecting to see a dust cloud that signaled pursuit, but nothing disturbed the hot rising air of the desert.
“Keep to the road for as long as possible, that way you can water and feed the horses along the river without wasting your supplies. I’m not sure why, but that fat Sergeant Herms hasn’t taken out after you yet. It puzzles me, I was sure he would hunt you to the Dark Plane; they can’t afford to allow deserters to escape. If coerced recruits were allowed to desert easily the whole barracks would bust out,” Jatar thought to G’Taklar.
“Perhaps he’s just glad to get rid of me. From the way he treated me I’m sure I didn’t fit his idea of the perfect soldier,” G’Taklar thought back.
“Nonsense, you were one of the best men he had. You don’t get good recruits from the pickings in tap rooms. This particular Tchulian outpost’s location in a hot desert dust pit doesn’t leave the recruiters with a high caliber of men from which to choose. He can’t let you go this easily. There has to be some reason he hasn’t pursued, but he will,” Jatar predicted.
“I’ll keep an eye out for pursuit. We should see a cloud of dust; otherwise, they wouldn’t be traveling fast enough to catch us anyway, right?” G’Taklar asked, looking for confirmation.
“Unless they are just keeping pace, then they could speed up under the cover of dark and take you,” Jatar reasoned.
“All right, we’ll speed up after dark as well, and then rest through the day tomorrow, on high ground where we can watch our back trail. What do you think?” G’Taklar asked, and it was obvious that he was proud of his plan.
“Good thinking, ‘Tak. It’s best to rest in the day and ride at night in the desert anyway,” Jatar commended the teenager.
“I read about a similar chase in ‘Furnian the desert Rin’,” G’Taklar explained.
“He escaped by moving at night?” Jatar surmised.
“No, he rode by night to get ahead and then buried himself in the road. When the souldead reached him the next day he sprang out of the ground at their feet. Surprise and the Gingga Moon sword gave him the advantage; he single-handedly annihilated all of them,” G’Taklar explained.
“I see, well I don’t suggest we try the same thing,” Jatar said.
“Definitely not,” G’Taklar agreed.
“What was so special about the Gimppa Mood sword?” Jatar asked with amusement.
“Gingga Moon sword,” G’Taklar corrected and pulled out the old dagger he had found in the caverns. “Well, when either moon was in the sky Furnian could twist the pommel, like this,” he said, using the round pommel knob on the dagger to demonstrate, “causing the sword to... hey, this pommel comes off!” The young man exclaimed, interrupting his story when his dagger’s pommel actually moved.
“It shouldn’t move,” Jatar said, puzzled.
“Maybe this is like the Gingga Moon sword!” G’Taklar exclaimed, excitedly.
“More likely it’s a broken dagger,” Jatar noted dryly.
G’Taklar continued unscrewing the knob. “No, look, it’s meant to come off! There’s something inside!” Tilting the dagger to point up, G’Taklar poured a handful of gold round out of the hollow handle of the ancient dagger.
“Oh, it’s just gold,” G’Taklar thought, in disappointment.
Rachael glanced over and spotted the handful of gold. “By G’lan, you’re rich!”
“I just found the coins; they were in the handle of this dagger. At least we won’t have to worry about round metal when we reach Myrnvale,” he answered, consoling himself.
“That’s quite a bit of gold,” Jatar noted, “you won’t have to work in any taverns now. Whoever the dead man was in the cavern he must have used that dagger to hide his personal treasure from thieves.”
“He won’t need it anymore, so I guess it’s ours.” G’Taklar decided, putting the gold back into the dagger and sealing it up.
“What do we do with our fat sergeant friend?” Rasal asked Becaris as they waited for the sun to set.
“We’ll just tie him up and leave him in that small cave behind us. He’ll have to pray nothing happens to us while we’re gone. Perhaps that will make him search his memory for anything that will help us in the keep while we look for G’Taklar,” Becaris decided.
“Good idea. What shall we do with him when we leave town?” Lasar asked.
“We can let him go a day’s walk from the edge of town. By the time he walks in we’ll be a long ride away. Besides, he'll be loath to tell his superiors that he spewed forth information like a geyser,” Becaris reasoned.
“That sounds good to me. Do you really think G’Taklar is still alive?” Lasar asked, looking out across the desert hills toward the keep.
“We can only hope, but whatever his condition we must recover the ring; we can’t fail Elizabeth or Michael,” Becaris concluded.
“We won’t fail, and something tells me that G’Taklar is still alive, we’ll find him,” Rasal stated firmly.
When darkness hid them from casual sight they rode their horses up the road toward the large stone keep that sat in vigil over the valley and town of Headwater.
The keep was dominated by a square tower sticking up into the star filled sky; lights glowed from openings, giving the tower eyes with which to stare back at the night. The whole keep was perched at the summit of a steep hill, the high ramparts, and sheer walls would keep any attacking force at bay. Behind the large rectangular wall were four interconnecting stone buildings and smoke pouring from the chimney of one spoke of dinner being prepared.
The three Knight Protectors stopped their horses part way up the hill, far enough from the summit, so their approach would not be heard. Lasar and Becaris continued stealthily on foot off the road, while Rasal approached the gate boldly on horseback a short time later.
His approach was heard by the two gate guards, who picked up their pikes and barred his way.
“Hail rider, stand fer search and inspection,” one gate guard called out.
Rasal stopped his horse twenty paces short of the gate and dismounted. He left his horse standing on the road and walked immediately up to the guards.
The two soldiers pointed their pikes at the stranger who walked up to them so boldly.
Rasal stopped two steps from the end of the pikes and spoke in a commoner’s accent, “I have a message te deliver te Capt’in Kains.”
The guard to his left had a thick black beard sprouting from below the standard Tchulian helmet which resembled one end of a giant metal egg. “Who sent the message?” The bearded guard demanded.
“Sergeant ‘erms,” he replied, again faking the lower cla
ss accent.
“Let’s see it,” the short guard on his right asked.
“It’s fer the capt’in,” Rasal argued.
“We have to inspect it anyway, besides you can’t come in the keep, so we'll have te do the deliver’in,” the bearded one said.
“All right, here,” Rasal said, handing over the message.
Bored with the whole thing, the short guard took the message from Rasal and scanned it quickly. He noticed nothing out of the ordinary since the note had actually been written by the sergeant for the Knight Protectors earlier in the day.
His boredom quickly vanished and he nudged his companion with his elbow. “Listen te this,” and then he read the note out, ‘Marthla’s been ask’in when she can see you again. She asked me te send you these... ”
“What’s it say?” Rasal said as if he didn’t already know, and tried to lean over the top of the paper as if to read it upside down.
“Hey, stand back you fool, this isn’t fer you!” the bearded guard barked and then added, “Wait here!” He grabbed his fellow guard and they moved back five paces and turned their backs, so Rasal could not hear as they read the rest of the note and chuckled about their captain seeing a tavern tramp.
Rasal quickly stepped into the shadows of the wall at the side of the stone entry. At the same time, Lasar stepped out of the bushes near the horse and started to mount up.
The guards turned and saw what they thought was the same man getting on his horse. “Hey, where do you think you’re going?” the short guard grunted, he was annoyed that he had not heard the messenger heading toward his horse.
“You said you’d deliver it fer me,” Lasar replied.
“It’s not all here, this says there was someth’in else ye’re supposed te deliver with the message.”
“Oh yulkcrap, I left the package in my room!” Lasar exclaimed.
“Well, you better fetch it before we deliver this message,” the bearded one advised as the two Tchulian guards walked out toward Lasar.
Behind them, where no one could have approached without their knowledge, Rasal slipped inside the gate.