by Dan Zangari
“Yes Grandmaster,” Griffith steps forward and grabs the magical device and bows his head.
“Give my regards to Gareth when you see him,” Almar says and motions for Griffith to follow him out of Dorith’s office.
“I will,” Dorith says as he grabs a thick charcoal-colored robe which is slung over his chair. The robe’s openings are lined with a thick dark grey fur, as well as much of the inside.
Dorith then moves around his desk and with his other hand grabs his staff which is leaning against the wall to his left. With his staff and his robe in hand, he walks toward the open doorway and leaves the office, closing the door behind him.
The grandmaster of the Estate strides through the hallway and moves eastward to the small foyer which opens up into the southeast gardens around the Main Hall. He proceeds through the gardens and out onto the roadway which runs between the Main Hall and the various schools of magic. Dorith follows it several hundred phineals north where a caravan is preparing to deliver Iltar to the prison castle.
Six beautifully crafted carriages, each nearly fifteen phineals long, are facing east, lined together one after another. At the front of four carriages are magically composed steeds which are tied by transmutive tracings to the carriages’ shafts with similarly composed reigns resting on the coachman’s seat.
As Dorith approaches the caravan, an armor clad member of the Kingdom Guard steps up to the grandmaster.
“We are almost ready Grandmaster Dorith,” the guardsmen states. “Delidurn has already started ahead of us and is in possession of your address to Duke Gareth.”
“Good,” Dorith nods his head, “I will be riding with Iltar, where is he?”
“In the third carriage.”
“And Nath?” Dorith asks.
“Secured in the fourth carriage.”
“Very well,” Dorith states then walks toward the center carriages.
Several mages are busily securing the rest of the transmutive steeds to the two rearmost carriages as Dorith reaches the side of the fourth vehicle. The grandmaster taps on a pair of doors near the rear of the carriage and after a brief moment one of the doors opens up.
“Grandmaster Dorith,” another armor clad guard states from within, “How may I help you?”
“I am just checking on the prisoner,” Dorith says as he leans forward and sticks his head into the carriage.
Sitting around the inside of the carriage are eight guards. Each of them are stalwartly holding their fanisars in an upright position. At the rear of the carriage is a mage clad in battle armor; he is intently focused at the front of the carriage.
Secured at the front and bound with magically composed cords, Nath angrily sits in silence. The thief’s facial hair has grown and small stubbles of hair cover his cheeks, chin and around his lips.
“Nath,” Dorith beckons from the opened doorway, yet the thief doesn’t stir in response. “You are quite talented. As you wait for the next ten years, I exhort you to reflect upon what more you could be. After you emerge from the prison, return to Alath and if you are willing I will help you turn your talents into something far more rewarding than a petty thief.
“You know much about the secrets our world holds, and such a man like you can be a great asset to our Kingdom if you choose.”
Once Dorith finishes speaking he carefully examines Nath, but the thief does not respond and only turns away slightly.
Dorith solemnly retracts his head and steps away from the carriage and toward the vehicle in front of it. He opens the doors and steps inside where Iltar is still encased in the crystalline substance; the mystical imprisonment is laid in the carriage so that Iltar is facing upward.
The grandmaster looks about the rest of the cabin, which is devoid of any others, then takes a seat at the forefront of the carriage and places his thick robe on the seat next to him.
“Your friends are cunning Iltar,” Dorith mutters as he stares at the magically composed imprisonment and leans his staff against his chest. “But we will find and capture them. Your quest to re-forge the Au’misha’k has ended.”
Just as Dorith finishes his brief monologue, one of the guards shouts a command from outside.
“Caravan Ready! Prepare to depart!”
* * * * *
As the caravan moves down the roadway and toward the eastern gates of the Estate, Maurin and Alnese quietly watch from a distance, near the mouth of the Masters’ Aisle. There are many mages sparsely moving about the roadway which lines the Main Hall and the paths which branch from it.
“I don’t understand why my son let Iltar live,” Maurin whispers to Alnese. “It is the fate of all men who seek the Au’misha’k to die. Those with that ambition are too dangerous to be kept alive.”
“He is Ulk’Sha,” Alnese mutters and looks to Maurin, “He walks a fine line, more so than any of us, or you for that matter.”
Just as Alnese finishes speaking, sharp sounding words penetrate both her and Maurin’s ears from behind them; both women’s faces show signs of tension but neither of them move.
“You’re too late,” Alnese swallows hard, “He’s already gone, and most likely half way to Merdan by now.”
A low grumble emanates from beneath a veil of invisibility behind the two women followed by further sharp sounding words.
“Do you fools not know how to speak the common tongue?” Maurin sarcastically asks. “You are in the human realm after all.”
“You dare mock us?” a deep male voice demands, still cloaked in invisibility magic. “We have blades to your throats. And for your defiance, we would gladly sever your heads from your necks.”
“You must be a hatchling,” Maurin retorts with a smile, “If you think you could easily slay us in such a public place.”
“I know you were attempting to force him to return to Merdan,” Alnese speaks up. “But he is already on his way; your task here is finished. Leave, now.”
“You dare command us?” another deep voice demands.
“I am only suggesting,” Alnese calmly answers.
“I will count to seven,” Maurin chuckles, “And then I will force you to leave. However, I doubt the masters will be pleased to hear that you attempted to strike down a fellow pureblood in broad daylight; in a battle which would most likely result in the deaths of many human mages and possibly a half-blood.”
“So be it,” one of the deep voices states and the sound of their weapons being sheathed can be heard. “But we will still see to it that he arrives in Keth.”
“Perhaps I was wrong,” Maurin smiles and turns around, “You’re not hatchlings after all. But you are still clumsy; next time you search the ancient world be sure to return it to its dormant state.”
“What are you speaking of?” one of the invisible voices asks.
Alnese turns to Maurin with a worried expression on her face and wide eyes then mutters, “Someone else was in the trans-tubes…”
“Then we should tell Dorith,” Maurin sighs and turns back around toward the eastern part of the Estate but Alnese grabs her arm and stops her.
“After grandfather returns,” Alnese shakes her head, “If we tell him now it only delay Iltar’s imprisonment and possibly arouse suspicion. I am going to go to the trans-tubes and search the viewings.”
“You don’t think it was this Cornar, do you?” Maurin asks in a doubtful tone.
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”
* * * * *
Six days later, in the midday hours, the caravan arrives at the Prison Castle of Los. They had traveled nearly thirty five hundred grand phineals from Alath along the northern highway of the Kingdom, passing through the city of Eridan situated along the Arban river, as well as several other smaller villages and townships which dot the highway.
The carriage in which Dorith is riding in gently comes to a halt and the grandmaster steadies himself.
“It’s been quite awhile since I have been here,” Dorith softly speaks to himself and looks to his righ
t out a window with intricate bars lining the pane.
A sprawling plain fills most of the view from the within the carriage but abruptly ends further to the right in a sheer drop, where the towering cliffs divide the land from the waters nearly a hundred phineals below.
Dorith adjusts himself along the seat and leans toward the rear of the carriage, which allows a view of the outer curtain walls of the castle. The wall is made of a dark grey stone and rises three stories; its architecture is comprised of large stones cut with precision not found in the present human realm. A squared tower marks the furthest end which rises one story above the wall.
After a moment, the carriage resumes its forward movement. From Dorith’s vantage point, he can see more of the curtain wall and several of its towers, the nearest of which comprises part of the outer gateway of the castle. The view abruptly stops as the carriage passes through the gate, which is nearly fifteen phineals thick.
Once the carriage is through the outer gate, another view opens up; a slightly downward sloping courtyard spans between the outer curtain wall and the inner curtain wall, which is just over forty phineals away from its outer cousin.
The scene quickly passes as the carriage reaches the inner gates of the castle and the open view is replaced by the dark grey stony walls which comprise this inner portal.
The carriage stops once again and Dorith grabs his staff, robe and satchel. As he moves around the crystalline prison incasing Iltar he can hear the coachman and castle guards conversing.
Just as Dorith reaches the doors to the vehicle, they open up from the outside. Two guards, clad in the armor of the Kingdom Guard, stand at attention and hold both doors open.
“Thank you guardsmen,” Dorith says in a cheery tone as he disembarks from the carriage.
The grandmaster takes a deep breath and looks around; the carriage is resting squarely inside a tunnel which spans twenty five phineals wide and thirty five of the same measurement deep. The space rises two stories, and upon the sides of the upper story is a railing which hems in two archer roosts; each containing ten archers poised to let loose their arrows.
“Grandmaster Dorith I presume,” a cold voice calls out from near the front of the carriage.
“Yes,” Dorith responds and looks just beyond the transmuted steeds attached to the vehicle.
Standing just beyond the mystical horses is a tall armor clad guardsmen. He is holding a quill in one hand and a parchment stretched upon a wooden plank in the other.
“What items are you declaring?” the guard somberly asks as Dorith steps near.
“My robe, staff and satchel.”
“What is in the satchel?” the guard queries as he writes the notation down on the parchment.
“A necklace and rogulin sphere.”
“Very well. Hendus,” the tall guardsmen calls out as he finishes writing Dorith’s declaration. “Take the grandmaster’s things.”
Another guardsmen emerges from around the left side of the carriage and steps up to Dorith. The grandmaster smiles at the guard, who doesn’t return the gesture, and carefully hands him his thick robe, followed by his satchel and staff. As the guard takes Dorith’s belongings the guardsmen holding the quill and parchment speaks up.
“We had received word that one of your prisoners is contained by some rather unique methods, I understand that you will be escorting him to the Mage-Block?”
“That’s correct,” Dorith nods his head and looks at the tall guardsmen.
“You may get back into your carriage. The doors to it will open once you arrive at the entrance to the Main Keep. Do not exit the vehicle beforehand.”
Dorith grins and humouredly raises his brow as he turns around and walks back toward the carriage where both members of the Kingdom Guard are still standing at attention.
Once inside, the doors close behind Dorith and the grandmaster takes a seat next to the doorway.
“What marvelous hospitality,” Dorith jests aloud then looks at the imprisoned necromancer, “You’ll love it here Iltar.”
Several minutes pass when the carriage moves again. As it exits the tunnel of the inner gate, it moves to the right and along a roadway which lines the inner courtyard of the castle.
Dorith calmly sits as the carriage moves around the courtyard and utters the words to a spell. Whitish-grey magic moves from his hands and wisps around the crystalline encasement, causing it to glow with a soft illumination. Once the spell is finished the carriage slowly comes to a stop. Immediately after the carriage stops the doors to its cabin open up.
The grandmaster of the Estate chuckles and shakes his head then casually rises from his seat and turns toward the doorway.
Just as within the inner gate, two guards are holding the doors open. Not more than a phineal beyond them are a series of seven steps that rise to a wide but shallow portico which houses the entrance of the castle’s main keep.
A slight breeze wisps through the air as Dorith emerges from the carriage. The grandmaster notices several members of the Kingdom Guard standing on the steps, but his gaze is averted by a burly voice from within the portico.
“Welcome to
Dorith looks to the covered entrance and sees a tall well-proportioned man standing just beyond the opened doors of the keep. His dark hair is wavy with flecks of grey throughout. He is wearing a formal garb of a dark crimson with ivory accents and tassels.
“I am Duke Gareth Shem, it is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Your Grace,” Dorith ascends partway up the steps and bows in respect then proceeds up the stairs.
“Come in,” Duke Gareth motions toward the entrance of the castle. “I am sure you are weary from your journey. We have prepared a banquet in your honor.”
“I would like to see to the securing of Iltar first,” Dorith states in a respectful tone as he reaches Duke Gareth’s side.
“Very well,” Gareth responds with a nod then motions toward the carriage, “Guards, retrieve the prisoner!”
“That won’t be necessary,” Dorith motions with his hand toward the carriage in a beckoning gesture.
To the surprise of the guards who are now gathered around the doors of the carriage, the crystalline encasement hovers through the opening, past them and toward the steps. As the crystalline imprisonment moves it pivots upward, orienting Iltar in a standing position.
“Sometimes I forget what you mages are capable of,” Duke Gareth chuckles and turns around, walking toward the Main Keep’s opened doors.
Dorith waits until the hovering crystalline encasement reaches his side, then follows Duke Gareth into the castle with the imprisoned necromancer in tow.
A squared foyer is immediately beyond the doorway; its dressed in crimson colors with a runner of carpet spanning the distance from the doors to an archway at the opposite end.
“Where is the other prisoner?” Duke Gareth asks from within the archway and points to the right of the foyer.
“He is in the carriage behind the one I was in,” Dorith answers and comes to Duke Gareth’s side.
The grandmaster stops briefly and glances beyond the archway, looking around at the enormous reception hall; it rises two exaggerated stories, twenty eight phineals high, with a balcony lining each of its walls, held up by ornately crafted pillars spaced every twenty phineals apart. The hall sprawls seventy phineals in both directions from the foyer. Eighty phineals away, on the far side of the grand space, floor to ceiling windows on both the first and second story allow a view of the Gulf of Los
“This way,” Duke Gareth says and leads the grandmaster down an opened hallway along the grand reception hall.
“I wish to convey my sincere condolences concerning the devastation in Alath,” Duke Gareth says in a heavy tone. “If I may ask, how many were slain?”
“Nearly a thousand,” Dorith says and glances to Duke Gareth. “Including three members of the Estate’s council.”
“And this one mage was solely responsi
ble?” Duke Gareth sighs, “I cannot fathom that.”
“Iltar is not just an ordinary mage,” Dorith responds, “He has the ability to wielding multiple forms of magic, much like a Grand Mage. Yet his powers are honed in the most destructive of magical energies; some of which have only been wielded by a select few.”
“That is most disturbing,” Duke Gareth shakes his head and points to his left toward a hallway between a wide stairwell leading to the second story and a wall with an opening partway along its surface where two guards are standing at attention.
“It sounds like he is my most dangerous prisoner,” Gareth observes as he and Dorith turn down the hallway. “The entrance to the prison is just ahead.”
Duke Gareth stops in front of the two guards and the duke motions toward the opening, which is nearly eight phineals wide.
“Here we are,” Gareth says to Dorith then states the next to the two guards, “There is another prisoner coming.”
Without a word, Dorith steps through the opening and down a short corridor which leads to the top step of a descending stairwell.
“This stairwell descends several stories,” Duke Gareth states as he quickly returns to Dorith’s side as they come to a landing not far from the top of the stairs. “It’s somewhat squared in nature. Please, watch the turns.”
“I have been here before,” Dorith smiles at the duke while he turns to his right down another set of steps adjacent to the ones they had just previously descended.
“That must have been before my tenure,” Duke Gareth observes.
“Yes,” Dorith nods his head.
“On what occasion?” Duke Gareth asks, “I apologize, but I have a fond interest in the history of this place and its occupants.”
“To deliver a prisoner,” Dorith says then adds, “This is not the first time I’ve escorted someone to the Mage-Block.”
“Who was the prisoner?” Duke Gareth asks in an attempt to further the conversation.
“No one that you would know,” Dorith states in an aloof manner.