* * * * *
Midar and Cordel run out of the gates to Cornar’s city estate, their weapons bouncing against their thighs. They run for three Sorothian blocks before nearing the mages’ guild hall.
Once near the Necrotic Order’s northeast corner, they see a familiar figure shrouded robe and cowl. The warriors stop as they notice Iltar’s sapphire eyes sharply staring at them, having heard their weapons clanging.
“Master Iltar!” Midar exclaims, feigning astonishment. “I’m surprised to see you.” He motions with his eyes back toward Cornar’s residence.
“Escort me to my Order’s hall my, young friends,” Iltar calmly beckons beneath the shadows of his cowl.
The two warriors nod and walk ahead of Iltar toward the Necrotic Order’s main entrance. The gates are open, with two guards stationed at the main building’s large doors. All is silent, except for Iltar and the others’ footfalls that sound against the stone path.
“Inform the council that I have returned,” Iltar shouts to the guard on the left, who quickly opens the door respective to him. “And with grave news.”
The guard nods and quickly steps through the doorway, moving toward the grand foyer.
“I’ll relieve you,” Midar says to the other guard and opens the other door, allowing Iltar and his invisible companions to enter.
Without a word, the guard nods his head and enters the building, making his way to the grand foyer and the guard’s barracks.
Alone with his coconspirators, Iltar stops at the entryway, glancing over his shoulders, then to Midar and Cordel.
“I must attend to something in my office. Then I will see the others. Make sure no one leaves.”
“Yes, Master Iltar,” Midar and Cordel say in unison.
With that said, Iltar walks inside his Order’s main hall, moving down the corridor to the grand foyer. The aforementioned space rises three stories and is lined with the same granite-like stone as the outside of the building. Pillars surround the edges of the gigantic room, supporting the upper floors and the rails of the balcony of the northern second story lounge. Crimson furniture lines the northern corners of the room. They are positioned around two pairs of double doors on either side of the northern walls of the grand foyer. Once those seats were occupied by students eager to learn the magical arts of Kalda; however, they had since become empty and silent over the years leading to Alacor’s predecessor’s ascendency to the guild master’s seat of the Sorothian Magical Order; a name which had since been stricken.
The shrouded necromancer quickly walks across the center path, lined with a red carpet that shares a similar texture and shade as the furniture.
Straight ahead, on the south side of the foyer, a wide stone stairwell rises several steps short of one story and leads to a landing; the landing sprawls half the width of the foyer, with two short pairs of steps on either side that lead to landings adjoining corridors on the second floor. The area under the stairs and the landing are exposed, supported by four pillars, larger than the ones that line the walls of the foyer. Along the southern wall are towering glass panes, both above and below the stairwell. At the top and center of the wall, a single circular glass window houses the Kaldean equivalents of the letters “N”, “O”, “S”. The “S” and “N” over lap each other within the “O”.
Iltar moves up the stairs, turning to his right and walking across the landing, and the subsequent steps before entering an adjoining corridor.
“We’re close,” the necromancer whispers.
Several steps inside the corridor, Iltar passes a small hall on his left but continues forward. Immediately after, the corridor curves. On the left side of the larger circular wall are a pair of double doors.
“That’s Alacor’s chambers,” Iltar points as he passes the doors. “Plant the text wherever you see fit.”
Without hesitation, Iltar continues forward down the hall, which straightens out. After passing several doors, he turns to the left down a short hall that intersects the corridor lining the west walls of the building.
Turning north to his right, Iltar walks straightway for the series of stairs, the same he and Cornar ascended when saving the council.
Once Iltar reaches the stairs, he stops and points to his right down another intersecting corridor. “There’s an area where you can wait. It’s a lounge. You’ll be able to look here and down into the grand foyer, go.”
He waits, hearing Kalder and Tilthan’s faint footsteps moving fading down the hall. Once the hall is silent, the shrouded figure ascends the steps.
Atop the highest floor, Iltar sees two members of the council: both Alacor and his younger brother, Jalel, hurriedly walk to the council chamber’s doors.
The elder necromancer opens the door and allows his younger brother to enter; onlookers might see this as brotherly affection, but Iltar knew Alacor was not one to enter a room before another, especially after this most recent revolt.
As Alacor holds the door open, he glimpses the shrouded figure quizzically narrow his eyes..
“Iltar,” Alacor calls out. “What happened? You look miserable.”
Approaching the doorway and the Order’s grandmaster, the plotting necromancer keeps his head low, averting his gaze from probing eyes.
“It was terrible… I-I will tell you when the others gather,” Iltar mumbles as he slides through the doorway, careful not to brush against Alacor or either of the doors.
Still at the doors, Alacor’s brow furrows as he watches Iltar walk to his chair. The grandmaster then looks to his brother, who has already taken his seat.
“I was told you are the sole survivor,” Alacor says sternly while entering the council chambers. He walks around the table and takes his seat. He demands, “At least preface what occurred.”
Still covered by his cowl, Iltar stares at the table without a response. He forces his physical features to convey a sense of horrified shock.
“It must have been horrendous for you,” Jalel says mockingly. “I can’t believe I would have lived to see the mighty Iltar seized by fear,” he laughs lightly.
Alacor looks at his brother with an irritated gaze, then back to Iltar with a more intrigued expression. He’d never seen the man like this before, either. The three necromancers sit in silence, waiting for their fellow member of the council to speak.
After the space of an hour the last member of the council arrives, Kallan. He walks into the room, looking at Iltar, then to the other five men. Still at the doors Kallan asks while closing, “What’s happened? What did you encounter that was so powerful to leave you the sole survivor?”
The door shuts and silence fills the council chambers.
Raising his head, Iltar looks up to Kallan then to every other member of the Necrotic Order’s presiding authority. “Sit Kallan… and I will relate the plight.”
The Dragons' Legacy Page 26