“For instance, they allowed themselves to be captured. I heard that several of them were napping when the incident occurred, and the acolytes with their mercenaries burst right into their chambers and bound them. Does no one keep their doors trapped anymore?!” Amendal shakes his head at the thought, still speaking to the others.
“If that were fifty years ago, the council members would have posted guards in and outside their rooms, plus have their doors magically locked. And even if they could get in, it would proof fatal. In those days the masters of magic kept many spells actively in motion about them, even as they slept!”
“So Iltar,” Hex looks toward the man who has said little all night, “What has the council decided?”
Iltar can’t help but smile and chuckle. “They’ve put me in charge of leading an expedition to seek out new acolytes. It was my idea of course, naturally I was given the charge.
“I have been thinking of the details as we’ve sat here, and as Amendal was speaking,” gesturing to the eldest mage, “It dawned on me! If we are to rebuild the Order, I don’t mean recapture its former glory, but to just survive as a body, we need to diversify our teachings.”
Hearing this, the four other men nod their head, catching Iltar’s point.
The necromancer looks carefully at each of them before continuing, “I need the four of you to come with me, to help me rebuild our Order–”
“An adventure!” Hagen gasps with drunken excitement.
“Not quite,” Iltar tries to suppress the enthusiasm, knowing it will only fester more within his friend.
“I can use an Arcanist,” Iltar looks to Igan then to Hex, “And an Elementalist. You both represent the wizarding arts and are quite expert in your disciplines. And another illusionist,” Iltar says and looks to Hagen. “New apprentices will need to see someone such as yourself, Hagen. And of course,” the necromancer glances to Amendal, “We must show off our best conjurer.”
“In one week I will appear before the council with the details of the journey. If I have to, I will authorize a share of the expenses of the trip to go to you,” Iltar’s seriousness shows through his face, and the others buy the tale.
“I don’t need a new apprentice,” Amendal raises his voice, as if the thought of a new student provokes strong emotions of anger within him.
Turning to his friend, Iltar says in an attempt to pacify him, “You don’t have to have an apprentice Amendal, just help us find new students.”
“I have had two apprentices for forty years! Even though they are masters of conjuration, they are still my apprentices, and I will not take anymore!” the old man stubbornly folds his arms and furrows his brow.
Slightly annoyed at his friend showing instability, Iltar replies, “That’s fine, but will you come with us?”
“I might…” looking Iltar in the eye, Amendal’s green emeralds stare deep into Iltar’s sapphire eyes, “Scare them.”
“Then you scare them. Consider it a way of filtering out the weak,” Iltar twists the old man’s words then looks to his other three friends. “What about the rest of yo–”
“More brandleberry wine?” the waiter interrupts.
“Yes,” Iltar looks at the boy with disgust, and extends his glass past Amendal.
Hagen, Hex and Igan ponder Iltar’s request as the boy pours the wine for them. After he leaves, they look at each other. The thoughts of traveling with Iltar again are enough to push them to answer positively. For many years, from their youth to just a decade before, each of them had the privilege of exploring some part of the world with Iltar. The necromancer had left a legacy behind him, and it was this memory that provoked their answers.
“Yes,” Hex replies, looking at Iltar with a sense of loyalty.
“Count me in,” Igan states, putting his hand on Iltar’s shoulder.
“I guess so,” Hagen says with a smile.
Iltar turns to Amendal, who is still folding his arms. Sometimes Amendal was childlike, stubborn, rude, sporadic, impatient and full of surprises.
“Well?” the necromancer asks slowly and nudges the old conjurer with his elbow.
“Fine, I’ll go.”
“Then it’s settled,” Iltar says with a smile. “I don’t know when we will leave, I will probably give that task to Cornar. He–”
“Cornar’s coming!” Hagen interrupts with his drunken tone, “Aw, this is going to be great!”
“Yes he is as well as several of his men; and it will be great,” Iltar remarks with a smile.
* * * * *
Later that evening, as Iltar is retiring in his study within his tower, he hears the galloping of a horse. The necromancer rises from his chair and pulls the curtains of the only window aside and looks beyond the stone wall surrounding his tower.
The two moons of Kalda, still in their full phases, shine down and illuminate the grounds of Iltar’s estate. A lone man gently gets off his horse, and Iltar’s groomsman takes the horse into Iltar’s stables. The man, dressed in a dark brown garb briskly treads across the stone pathway from the wall’s gate to the tower’s entrance. Iltar can see him salute, undoubtedly to the guards posted as sentinels. The sound of the tower’s doors opening and closing reach Iltar’s ears and he slowly paces back to his seat.
Moments after relaxing himself against the soft velvet high back chair, a firm knock raps against the door to the study.
“Come in,” Iltar shouts.
The door opens, and Cornar steps through the threshold of the doorway. He closes the wooden door and takes the seat in front of Iltar. The table which held the contents discovered by Cornar is all cleared away, and the inlayed stone surface dully reflects the light of both magical orbs in the room.
“I apologize for being late,” Cornar says as he leans forward, “Karenna was keeping me busy.”
Iltar gives a chuckle, still leaning back, “Does she suspect anything?”
“She always knows when I’m about to embark on an adventure,” Cornar shakes his head, “I don’t know what I do. Perhaps she can just sense it in the air.”
The two men stare at each other, both tired from their labors.
“So how do you plan to find more apprentices?” Cornar breaks the silence as they sit at the table.
“No,” Iltar shakes his head and snarls, “I have no intention of looking for more young would-be-rebels.”
“What? Ah, I see, a ruse–”
“Cornar no interjection,” Iltar interrupts his loyal friend. “Let me speak. You just listen.”
Scowling, Cornar sits sullenly in his chair.
“Oh my friend, don’t be angry. I am just impatient to get going, and it has been a long evening. You are the only one I trust with the details of our journey.”
“What is that, pray tell?” Cornar leans back in his chair.
“The Dragon’s Isle is the key. While we waited for those fools to kill themselves I continued my research within the texts you delivered. From what I could deduce from the scrolls, and by reading both of those books, the amulet must be there or at least part of it. Either the amulet or the ruby. The elvish scroll said there was a protector or a guardian on the island. I don’t know what it is, but there is something there. It was only referenced in the scroll. The books said nothing other than the island was not only the dragon’s burial ground, but also the site of a great battle during the dragon wars. The place where the amulet was first used. And who knows what other artifacts could be there.
“Perhaps we shall find a caretaker, or some other dragon there that will give us a clue. The guardian might in fact be a platinum dragon. Whatever it is, we will extract from it the secrets of the amulet, and how to travel between worlds.
“Whatever we find there will help us complete the amulet. There is also Merda, but I will turn my attention there once we are done with Draco Isola.”
Cornar sits up straighter in his chair and looks at Iltar with wide eyes. “That’s quite ambitious. Do you think you can keep that hidden from the
council?”
“Of course,” Iltar retorts arrogantly. “I have recruited only mages loyal to me, they don’t know the truth yet. I have masked their assistance by a false story of needing their aid to find new students of the arts, not just necromancy. And the others going along won’t know what we are doing until we get to our destination, including your men. Once we return no one will be able to do anything about it.”
“The only problem is nowhere does it state in any of the scrolls we have where the stone to travel between worlds is located. A piece of the amulet appears to be on the dragon’s island, but nothing about the stone.”
“Doesn’t that concern you?” Cornar asks with sincere concern, “That we may find the amulet but without the red dragons it’s worthless, right?”
“Yes that is true. But if the stone is not on the island there should at least be a clue to its whereabouts. These scrolls seem to hint that the amulet and the magic to travel between worlds was not broken apart to be hidden forever; we are being pointed to a secreted treasure that wants to be found.”
“I hope you are right,” Cornar shakes his head as he speaks. “Otherwise the council will get wind of this and when we return with no apprentices, then with the crew and passengers telling tall tales of dragons? How will you deal with that?”
“When and if that time comes,” Iltar waggles his finger. “Those sniveling fools are no match for my power. For now we need to outfit this expedition.”
4
Voyage
Seven days later, on an evening much clearer than the last recounted, Iltar rides through the woodland path toward the city of Soroth. His horse canters at a pace that would be enjoyable for scene watchers; but for Iltar it is a way for him to recount the pseudo plan to rebuild a dying Order. The necromancer is dressed in a dark dull black tunic, and matching pants. Black leather boots and gloves shield his extremities.
As the city comes into view, Iltar pays no attention to the vista but presses forward along the dirt highway. From there the Necrotic Order’s guild hall can be seen towering above the rest of the buildings.
Waiting near the gates of the city is the familiar face of his life-long friend, Cornar. The warrior sits comfortably in the saddle of his brown stallion and as Iltar approaches, Cornar turns his steed to follow his friend.
“Greetings Iltar,” Cornar says and brings his horse to a canter which matches Iltar’s.
“Are all the preparations finished Cor?” Iltar asks while aloofly looking straight ahead.
Following his friend’s demeanor the warrior replies, “Yes, my men are ready. However, we will be short one; my nephew cannot make this trip, but you already know that.
“And our friend Kenard will gladly pilot the ship. It took some convincing but the owner of the Farling will let us use it, at least for this voyage.”
“Farling will do, I suppose,” Iltar ponders the thought a little within his mind as Cornar continues. “But why aren’t we using the White Duchess?”
“Well,” Cornar sighs, “It’s impounded.”
Taken aback, Iltar angrily shakes his head, “What happened?”
“He didn’t say,” Cornar turns to Iltar, “Perhaps he’ll tell you.”
“And what of the crew? Is Kenard bringing his men?”
“Not all of them, some of them booked passage away to other places when he lost his ship.
“And our usual band of thieving misfits is joining us,” Cornar’s enthusiasm for this last lot is quite lacking. Their ringleader had often bashed head’s with Cornar, especially in prior adventures.
Iltar’s mood lightens as he watches Cornar struggling to say more, then he asks, “Tilthan and Nath? I know Sharon is with your nephew?”
“Yes, and they are bringing someone new; a man named Nemral. Someone both Tilthan and Nath know from Klath.”
“Can he be trusted?” Iltar amends his statement, “Well I know the others can’t, but he can be bought I take it?”
“It sounds like it,” Cornar responds and continues with his explanation. “I met with Tilthan and said we were on a mission from the council; a secret mission, and that the details of the endeavor should not be discussed until we reached our destination. He made it seem like Nemral would comply.”
“Good,” Iltar oozes the word, “But does this Nemral have those items which would make him truly useful?”
“Yes,” Cornar responds, “Nemral knew Cedath; it sounded like he had bought a pair of lenses and a cloak from him just before his death.”
“Probably Cedath’s things,” Iltar nods his head then adds, “You don’t see many cloaks like that, or lenses for that matter. I can imagine it cost this Nemral quite a bit of coin.
“And our magically adept friends are bringing their apprentices, except for Hagen.”
“This will be almost like old times,” Cornar remarks.
“Yes…” the word rolls off Iltar’s tongue.
The two men continue to ride together in silence until they reach the gates of Iltar’s destination. They bid each other farewell, and Iltar casually guides his horse inside then down the path to the stables.
* * * * *
After several minutes, Iltar reaches the council chambers. Death’s stench that had lingered was finally gone and there appeared to be no sign of battle. The room itself had been repaired; the damage caused by the rebel’s errant magic was smoothed over by a substance native to Kalda that could mimic the appearance of stone. It was often used in the maintenance of many of the stone structures around the world.
Iltar takes his seat on the left of the council table; with a raised brow he notices he is not the last one to appear.
After several minutes Jalel, the youngest member of the council arrives and takes his seat across from Iltar.
With all their members at the table, Alacor rises and greets them.
“My brothers, welcome,” Alacor extends his hands toward the six other necromancers, and they each bow their heads in return. “I have very high hopes for tonight. For tomorrow a glorious new day will dawn upon our Order. Master Iltar the floor is yours,” as he speaks the last Alacor sits in his elaborate chair.
“Indeed, tomorrow will be glorious,” Iltar starts his speech. He restrains his thoughts of his own glory and power and focuses on the lie he is about to spin.
“These past few days I have meditated on the cause of our plight, and also counseled with men I deem to be wise; men whom I have often looked for solutions to other dilemmas.
“One man, who many of us know and hold a special place in our hearts for, Amendal Aramein, had brought the pages of the past to my attention. I do not mean this as a reform,” Iltar holds out his hand toward the other members, “But only a suggestion to rekindle our former glory.
“In the days before our tenure here at our Order, the council was balanced among the seven schools of magic. That is not practical for our time,” Iltar shrugs off the notion of changing the ways of the Necrotic Order. “However, it came to me that if we are to rebuild our great Order we must also include other schools of magic our posterity’s education.”
Hearing Iltar’s words, several of the members of the council fold their arms, physically rejecting the notion; however, Iltar counters with a thought process that leaves their minds open to his proposal.
“Necromancy, the source of our power is supreme. It shall reign supreme among the newer members of our Order. But they shall have other influences at first. It is by this means we can gather more, and without incurring too many followers than we can handle.
“I myself was not introduced into the magical arts solely by necromancy. The illusionary arts were my first education in the world of magic, yet I realized at a young age that true power was held in necromancy.”
Across the table, Melnor and Jalel ease their defensive composure and lean forward, intrigued by Iltar’s speech.
“Therefore, in an effort to broaden our potential, I have chosen to take several of this island’s finest mages w
ith me. To use their wisdom, and experience in choosing the right candidates for our order.
“A task I propose for the rest of you to undertake is to choose men or even women versed in the other schools of magical arts. Then when I return with a flock they shall be ready to be nouris–”
“I hope this is not a means to establish an unequal power base within the Order Iltar,” Jalel speaks up, interrupting Iltar’s address. “I would hate for this to reflect some sort of nepotism to gain control of the council.”
Deliberately hesitating, Iltar glances at the younger council member; he himself was a product of the same act he accused Iltar of plotting. For not several years before he was brought to the brotherhood of the council, on account of being the younger brother of Alacor.
“I assure you,” Iltar clears his throat, “My friends, masterful as they are at their individual crafts, have no desire for the council.”
Looking directly at Jalel, Iltar continues, “And I thought after these many years you would have known me by now Jalel. I do not operate by such cowardice!” the last an indirect attack upon the leader of the guild.
For many years Iltar had considered Alacor weaker than himself in the arts and assumed that his true strength was only in politics. His rise to the council was much like his younger brother. His meager talents were boastfully elevated by his former master. The later had been a standing member of the council for many years and had earned his right through true tests of power. It was a time before the unbalance of the council’s order among the magical arts.
Quickly recoiling from the tension Iltar continues, “I have no intention of usurping this council.” The words are the only truth Iltar has spoken. This council is too small for Iltar’s ambition, and like all other things in his life, is a mere stepping stone in his search for power.
The Dark Necromancer Page 8