* * * * *
“Humph,” Iltar grumbles within Cornar’s tower study. “I wondered how long it would take them to dispel my illusion.”
Letting out a heavy sigh, Iltar rises from the only chair in Cornar’s study and turns to the circular staircase at the room’s edge. The warrior had since converted the small tower to a private chamber, but in earlier times it was home to a mage’s study to conduct arcane research. Needless to say, the circular room was charred and damaged from his experiments.
A moment later, Iltar quietly descends from the study. He walks into the small lounge where Nilia is sitting on a couch near a window, biting her nails and lost in thought.
“Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning?” the necromancer questions the maid.
“Master Iltar!” the young woman jumps at his presence. “Master Cornar said you were meeting with the council. I thought…”
“I was,” Iltar diabolically grins then walks toward the foyer. “And soon they’ll be dead.”
Squirming at the thought, Nilia struggles to muster the courage to ask another question before Iltar leaves the home, “So does this mean you’re going to fix the Order? Like how it was before?”
Standing at the doors, Iltar turns back toward the lounge and his vibrant sapphire eyes stare at the young maid; she timidly looks down near the necromancer’s feet in response.
Recalling the maid’s childhood desire to be a conjurer, Iltar sees an opportunity to further his plans of obtaining power.
“Yes, spread the word that the Necrotic Order of Soroth is no more, and old ways are being restored. What they were doing was dangerous, and they used a false expedition to fuel their own designs.” Feeding the lie to the innocent mind Iltar continues, “Tomorrow marks a new dawn, the Sorothian Magical Order is reborn!”
With that said, the necromancer opens the wooden and glass doors, stepping out into the fall afternoon air.
Still lost in thought, the young woman bites her nails and watches Iltar walk down the path; the necromancer covers his head with his cowl once he reaches the gates of Cornar’s estate. Nilia’s eyes continue to follow him until Iltar disappears from view behind the estate’s wall.
Within the quiet streets of Soroth, Iltar walks to the hall of his Order. The thoughts of triumph fill his mind prematurely as he envisions himself building a grand Order that will one day be at his disposal, if need be.
After several minutes he arrives at the open gates of the magical complex; the courtyard leading to the main doors is empty and silent.
Once at the doors, Iltar’s aged hands reach for the large handles and opens them. A deathly silence lingers in the air as he enters the building.
Iltar proceeds into the grand foyer, mimicking the path his personal illusion walked over an hour ago. His quick gait takes him across the red velvet carpet and up the stairs. As he ascends the right section of the grand stair, Iltar looks to the opened second story lounge. Raising his hand, he signals for Tilthan and Kalder.
Once atop the second floor, Iltar strides through the corridor containing the offices, following it as it curves; however, he stops at the doors to Alacor’s chambers.
After several seconds, Iltar hears the rushing sound of footsteps.
“Kalder, Tilthan, do your job, then meet the others above on the fourth floor. Kill any guards if they discover you and we will dispose of them privily.”
With his instructions given, Iltar walks down the corridor, leaving the two men to do their work.
“Understood, Master Iltar,” Kalder whispers underneath his borrowed cloak as the necromancer walks away.
After a short while, Iltar ascends the stairwell to the fourth floor, seeing the members of his expedition busily maintaining the hold on the doors to the council chambers. At the sight of his companions, Iltar lets out the signaling whistle used among his band.
The necromancer walks past Nath, who is standing at the corner where the north and west corridors intersect; the thief briefly glances to Iltar then resumes his scanning of the northern hall and the stairs Iltar had just ascended.
Nearing his companions, Iltar removes his cowl and casually steps toward Cornar, who is pacing back and forth between the warriors and the mages securing the door.
“Finally you decide to show,” Cornar says as his friend draws near. “I was beginning to wonder if you were just going to watch through your illusion.”
“They took a while to dispel it…” Iltar chuckles. “But I wouldn’t miss killing them for anything.”
With that said, Iltar glances near the doors where Hagen, Hex, Tinal and Renal are completely focused on maintaining the magic sealing the doors. The three wizards have pooled their magical prowess together to form a dense sheet of ice that has encased the doors and frozen them shut. Magical ice has seeped into the cracks of the doors and sealed the threshold to become air tight. The illusionist is assisting by using a spell to hold the hinges and knobs in place. Their focus is intensely honed on maintaining the door until they receive the word that the men inside are dead.
“I’m going in,” Iltar says as he walks toward the anteroom south of the council chambers. “When they’re dead I’ll emerge from the secret passage.”
Upon entering the passageway, Iltar sees Nordal standing watch near the door. Behind the warrior, Amendal and Dith are poised in concentrating postures on the floor opposite the wall of the bookshelves and the hidden doorway. Clodin stands just in front of them and glances to Iltar with a simple nod of the head.
“Stop your conjuring,” Iltar commands coolly. “I’m going in there to finish them off myself!”
“Toroth and Velkor are already dead,” Amendal says through his trance-like stare.
“How pathetic,” Iltar disgustedly comments as he steps through the doorway.
A hellish pandemonium reaches Iltar’s ears as he moves through the secret passageway. The hidden door is swung wide open and Iltar can see the mages’ parasites attacking the remaining necromancers and their own conjured minions.
The council’s minions are somewhat humanoid with reptilian features, including a tail. They stand shorter than the average height of a man and have a strong ivory exoskeleton that lines their limbs. The bones along their arms are jagged and come to razor-sharp points. Beneath the exterior bones is a dull red scaly skin.
Scattered about the room, the table and chairs have been tossed aside and wildly propped against the walls of the council chambers.
Several of the mages’ parasites conjured by Amendal are lying dead on the floor, cut in pieces from the razor-like minions summoned by the two necromancers. The mage’s parasites’ purple blood fills the cracks in the floor and runs along the grooves between the stone slabs.
On the far north side of the room, Jalel and Alacor are quickly casting acid spells. Several of the conjured minions of the other two necromancers act as a barrier between them and the parasitic monstrosities.
As the acidic bolts fly through the room, the mage’s parasites swat the magics out of the air with their tentacle tongues, absorbing them through the large pores in their slithery organs. Once the magic is absorbed, the conjured creatures faintly glow with a yellowish-green hue that increases as they further absorb more of the magic.
After consumption the magic, the mage’s parasites unleash the re-purposed acid through the slits in their palms, flinging it at the conjured minions; however, their skin continues to glowing.
While observing the battle, Iltar seethes the black magical mist from beneath his pores and his necrotic sphere of protection takes shape.
“That’s surprising,” Iltar laughs as he steps into the council chambers. “I didn’t think he was intelligent enough to attempt to overload them.”
Iltar’s attention is drawn to the doors, where Kallan continues to focus on bringing additional creatures through the golden portals.
Seeing this, Iltar raises both of his hands to eye level and splays his fingers
in a wide gripping gesture; without incantation, the black magic from within his body swirls above his palms into two globes of darkness. Once they form, Iltar hurls the dissolving magic toward Kallan and the usurping necromancer utters an incantation.
With incredible speed, the globes of darkness collide with the summoning necromancer’s green protective barrier, which is a form of barsion magic mixed with acidic and pestilent mystical energies. The protective sphere flickers as Iltar’s magic breaks apart the barsion-bound particles, distracting Kallan briefly from maintaining focused control over his conjured minions.
In that moment, one of the conjured parasites breaches the wall of the summoned minions. It wildly darts through the opening and reaches Kallan and his magical barrier.
Once in arm’s reach, the mage’s parasite flails its tongue across the protective magic and absorbs part of it. Almost immediately after it digests part of the acidic barsion, the conjured parasite unleashes similar magic through its palms, further weakening Kallan’s protective sphere.
At this same time, two of the mage’s parasites breach the minions protecting Alacor and Jalel. They dash forward and thrust their arms into Jalel’s protective barrier, siphoning the magic and weaken the protection. Each of the creatures’ slits in their torsos open, exuding a putrid stench, crippling Jalel.
Having finished another incantation, green magical tentacles rush from Iltar’s dark sphere. The magic races toward twelve of the thirty-some-odd minions guarding Kallan and Melnor, grasping the creatures and pulling them toward Iltar’s decaying barrier.
As the entangled minions are dragged toward Iltar, several of the mage’s parasites dart through the opening and thrust themselves into the magic protecting the two summoning necromancers. The conjured parasites siphon the mingled barsion and acidic magics, and then re-purpose the destructive energies as acidic orbs, hurling them at the summoned minions.
While the fray intensifies at the doors, Iltar turns his attention to Alacor and his brother. The usurping necromancer quickly brings his left hand toward his chest and utters another incantation.
All the while, each of Melnor and Kallan’s entangled conjured minions are quickly pulled toward Iltar’s necrotic sphere of protection. The nearest minion hits the black barrier and turns to dust. Seeing this, the other entangled conjurations shriek and struggle to break free of Iltar’s hold to no avail.
Meanwhile, more green tentacles lash out from Iltar’s palm and grasp a majority of the minions protecting Alacor and Jalel. He pulls his newly entangled victims around the mage’s parasites and into his dissolving barrier.
With his free hand, Iltar raises it above his head and utters another incantation. Yellow-green magic wisps together, coalescing into a large sphere of acidic magic that presses against the inside of the necrotic sphere of protection.
As Iltar’s magic coalesces, several of the glowing mage’s parasites rush toward Alacor.
However, the grandmaster of the Necrotic Order unleashes a flurry of acidic orbs that strike Amendal and Dith’s conjurations. The parasites glow brightly and stumble to the ground, overwhelmed by Alacor’s magical assault.
At this moment, Iltar notices the barsion magic around Jalel fading. He hurls the large swirling sphere of acid toward the younger council member; the sphere is much larger than the one Jalel flung at his illusion earlier.
Iltar’s magic crashes against Jalel’s fading barrier and parts of it break apart and fly onto the younger necromancer’s leg.
Jalel lets out an agonizing scream, and he gives way before the spell, collapsing to the stone floor.
Just before Jalel lands on the ground, the nearest of the mage’s parasites lowers itself and reaches forward with its large tongue; the slithery organ swiftly wraps around his chest and partially around his neck.
In complete terror and pain, Jalel screams and thrashes about as he tries to break free of the towering gray horror.
Once Jalel is in its grasp, the conjured parasite’s straightens up, dangling the necromancer above the floor; the creature gently slides the forked pars of its tongue along the necromancer’s neck and jaw, leaving warm secretions upon his skin.
Further scanning the battle, Iltar quickly glances to the doors, where Amendal and Dith’s conjurations have stripped the magic protecting Kallan and Melnor. Both necromancers are grasped in similar manner to Jalel; the mage’s parasites holding them have their backs turned to the doors, using Kallan and Melnor as shields from the conjured minions.
“Perfect!” Iltar practically purrs, then he swiftly and elegantly utters the words of an incantation. White-blue magic dances between his opened palms. However, as the magic gathers, Iltar can hear Alacor mustering forth a spell much akin to the one unleashed by Igan before his demise on the Dragon’s Isle.
Iltar glances to his right, noticing a plethora of small acidic orbs dancing around Alacor; they grow in intensity with each passing second.
“Impressive,” Iltar mutters, unleashing the magic in his hands.
Streaks of magical lightening instantly dart from Iltar’s palms and into his necrotic sphere of protection, gathering black particles as it moves. The magical lightening, mingled with the dissolving particles, instantly flies across the room and strikes the two summoning necromancers in the chest with a thunderous roar. In an instant, the lightening penetrates their parasitic captors.
Kallan and Melnor become limp without a cry, and Iltar’s black magic erodes their chests, dissolving their clothes, skin, and other bodily tissues, spreading out in a pattern from the point of impact. With their demise, their conjured minions fearfully disengage from the mage’s parasites battling them.
At that same moment, the mage’s parasites holding the limp necromancers glow a white-blue hue; they drop the lifeless corpses in their grasp and rapidly extend their arms. With twisted smiles upon their five pointed lips, the parasites aim their hands toward the uncontrolled reptilian minions and release Iltar’s perfectly repurposed magic.
The usurping necromancer grins and cackles at the sight of his former brethren’s lifeless corpses, but his diabolical glee is cut short. The black magic around him flickers as a plethora of Alacor’s acidic projectiles impact upon the necrotic sphere.
“Amendal! Dith!” Iltar calls out frantically, stretching his hands toward his protective barrier.
Alacor’s magic continues bombarding Iltar’s necrotic sphere of protection, causing it to flicker and weaken.
With a snarl across his face, Iltar seethes black magic from his pores to reinforce the barrier. As the mist leaves his body, four of the eight surviving mage’s parasites come to his aid. However, the assaulting spell from Alacor shatters Iltar’s protection, despite their help.
Surprise, Iltar instantly throws himself backward reflexively. As he falls, the four mage’s parasites around him swat the acidic orbs, catching most of them. However, two of the acidic magical projectiles race past the parasites and down upon Iltar.
With the black dissolving particles in his grasp, Iltar quickly throws his hands toward the whizzing orbs, catching them against his eroding mist.
Iltar lets out a rage-induced yell as he fights the push of the acidic magic. In that moment, more of the black mist seethes from every pore of his body, bathing him in a deathly hue.
Amid his defensive efforts, Iltar glances to his right and notices several other orbs plummeting just a fraction of a phineal above the stone floor. The magic veers, flying toward him and weaving between the mage’s parasites’ legs.
Just as the weaving projectiles come within arm’s reach of Iltar, the mist around his body violently expands; each of the orbs penetrate the mist and rapidly shrink in size, but not before striking Iltar’s robe. The acidic magic pierces his tunic and burns his skin. All this happening within a second.
Iltar lets out a pained cry as the wave of black mist continues forming into a new necrotic sphere of protection.
Meanwhile, each of the fo
ur mage’s parasites around him brightly glow a vibrant putrid-green and wobble before collapse.
“How dare you?!” Iltar yells and rises to his feet, immediately looking toward Alacor.
The grandmaster of the Necrotic Order has fallen to his knees, heavily gasping for air.
Iltar quickly glances to the fallen mage’s parasites with narrowed eyes. The large pores along their body uncontrollably twitch. Purple blood drips from the slits in their palms onto the stone floor, the flow gradually increasing and it pools beneath the dying conjurations.
“I didn’t know you had that in you,” Iltar angrily snarls. He opens his right hand and seethes his black magic, swirling it around in his palm to form a globe of darkness.
Once it takes shape, Iltar walks across the room toward Alacor, stepping over the bodies of the dead conjurations that decay in the wake of his dissolving sphere of protection.
Throughout the rest of the room, the melee between the mage’s parasites and the conjured minions ceases; the last of the summoned reptilian creatures is struck down by two of the conjured parasites.
With their foes vanquished, both surviving mage’s parasites wildly dash across the council chambers, leaping over the dead bodies and past Iltar. They swiftly dart to Alacor, still kneeling upon the stone floor.
“I’ll enjoy killing you,” Iltar states as he stops in front of Alacor’s fading protective spell, siphoned by the mage’s parasites. “But not before you see your pathetic younger brother wither before my power!”
“Please, Iltar,” Alacor begs and tiredly blinks as the magic fades about him. “We… can serve… you.”
“How pathetic!” Iltar condescendingly growls to Alacor, then gently flicks his right hand toward Jalel.
The globe of darkness glides to Jalel’s face and slowly dissolves the outer layer of his skin.
“Hold him,” Iltar commands the creature then turns to Alacor and sinisterly barks, “Do you see that? I’ll let you watch how his tanned complexion turns a dull gray, then how the magic will eat away to his sinews and finally his skull.”
Looking up to Iltar, Alacor tiredly mutters as he struggles to rise to his feet, “Iltar… Cho’k su’za… Cho’k!” He falls to the ground, laying almost prostrate before the dark necromancer.
“What?” Iltar angrily furrows his brow. He recalls the strange words, shouted by Anken’mar during their bout on the Dragon’s Isle, but quickly dismisses the recollection.
“Please, Iltar!” Jalel cries out from the loosening grip of the magical parasite, “Let me go! Let me live, I’ll do anything to serve you! I will help you with whatever you need!”
“Silence, fool!” Iltar shoots a glance to Jalel.
Jalel’s plea only strengthens Iltar’s hatred for him and he mentally pushes the globe deeper into his face. The younger necromancer screams in agony as the magic slowly rips apart his flesh.
“Please… stop this Iltar!” Alacor cries between panting breaths. “You’ve already won. You bested us, please let us live… we… we can arrange something!”
“Arrange something?!” Iltar yells, incredulous. “I, I am in control here. I say when I want to arrange something!”
Iltar reaches down toward Alacor and lessens the density of his black destructive protection. With its dissolving power eased, the demonic sphere envelopes part of the grandmaster’s body, including his arm nearest Iltar. The dominant necromancer grabs the slowly withering arm as Alacor cries out in agony.
Holding the decaying limb by the wrist, Iltar leans forward and shouts, “I am the council! I decide your fates! Today I am your god!”
Hatred fills Iltar’s face as he menacingly glares at Alacor who is facing away, still in pain.
“Look at me!” Iltar bellows, “Look at me!”
As hate rages across his face, Iltar rises from the ground and rips Alacor’s withered arm from his body. The Necrotic Order’s grandmaster howls as Iltar moves back.
The dark and demented necromancer, filled with rage-induced pleasure, holds his former superior’s decayed left arm, which has been reduced to bone and a few rotting sinews.
With a pleased expression upon his face, Iltar tosses the limb, watching Alacor rock back and forth on the ground, as if shaking the pain from his body. The left side of Alacor’s torso and part of his leg are decayed from the dissolving barrier. Tears stream down his face as he looks to his brother, who himself is in great agony.
“Before I let you die, I will give you the privilege of watching your pathetic brother slowly fade away at my hands. But first I want to give you something… something I wanted to give you since we were boys.”
Iltar stretches out his palm and a small swirl of yellow-green magic gracefully forms. He lets it loose, and it continues to grow and take shape. It floats near Alacor and rests over his waist. Fully formed, the ball of liquid slowly loses cohesion and drips. A droplet falls below Alacor’s waist and splashes against his robe as he continues to roll from the pain. The acidic magic slowly eats away at the fibrous material and rolls along his bare skin down to his groin. The added pain only builds the old necromancer’s pleading screams. He attempts to roll away from the hovering orb, but Iltar catches view of the attempt.
“Stay!” Iltar shouts at the top of his lungs and he yells the words to another incantation. Swirling green magical particles wisp from his hands and wraps around Alacor; the magic fully forms and the green tentacles grip Alacor and bind him to the ground, placing his most delicate parts beneath Iltar’s torturing magic.
“That’s better,” Iltar sneers in a sinister tone. He then turns to the grappled younger necromancer, who barely stands on his feet in order to avoid suffocation from the mage’s parasite.
“Now for you…”
13
Consequences
Several hours have passed since Iltar secretly entered the chambers where the last members of the council would meet their demise. In the hallway outside, the men who had helped lay siege to the inner sanctum of Sorothian magic hear the last dying wail of Alacor, the former leader of the now dead Necrotic Order.
Once it’s quiet, the four mages who were sealing the doors take deep breaths of relief.
“Finally, it’s over,” Hagen gasps as he slumps down against the wall across from the doors, exhausted from both the toll of wielding the magic as well as the weight of his emotions. He hides in the shadow cast by the lower part of the wall beneath the windows.
“Iltar hasn’t come out yet,” Cornar turns to the illusionist.
“Yes…” Hagen sighs. “But he’s dead. Just like the last one we heard stop screaming, it was exactly the same.”
“Well…” a sly voice calls out from Cornar’s right, toward the northern part of the hall. “We all know Iltar. He’s probably caused the man to pass out and we’ll hear more screams shortly.”
“You sound like you’re looking forward to that, Tilthan,” Cornar turns his head and looks at the thief standing alone at the far end of the corridor.
Tilthan shrugs at Cornar’s accusation of sadism, then quips, “That’s what happens when you work for a guy that’s twisted and sadistic; it rubs off on you.”
Cornar shakes his head while some of the others chuckle at the remark, but they are interrupted by footsteps from behind them.
Iltar emerges from the anteroom adjoining the council hall, and strides toward the warriors and mages in the hallway. Nordal, Clodin, and Dith follow close behind him.
“Someone get the guards to clean up that mess!” Iltar exclaims, exultant.
“Midar,” Cornar says while looking over his shoulder to Iltar. “Go get the captain of the guard. Tell him it’s finished.”
Iltar’s eyes narrow at Cornar’s last comment and then asks, “I take it a patrol came by?”
“Yes,” Cornar answers. “We captured them. Hagen summoned some ropes, and we bound them. Soon after that, Captain Arelo appeared. I told him to go back to the guard�
�s quarters and wait for you, then we released the guards on the same conditions.”
“Good,” Iltar approves. “I’m ready to get out of here. I’m hungry and tired of this place.”
With that said, Iltar pushes his way past Cornar and through the crowd just beyond the warrior.
The three wizards and the one illusionist look at the necromancer but he pays no attention to them.
Once Iltar passes, Hex motions for the other mages who had been helping him to relinquish the magic binding the door. As they do so, the rest of the band follows Iltar down the spiral staircases to the first floor.
Cornar notices Amendal is not with them and shouts, “Amendal we’re leaving!” He takes a sweeping glance around the corridor then proceeds to the stairs.
Just as Cornar reaches the highest step, Amendal emerges from the doors leading to the council chambers, and the warrior turns to wait for the eldest member of their band.
“I spat on their faces!” Amendal cackles with diabolical glee.
Grimly grinning, Cornar shakes his head and the two men descend the stairs; the rest of their party having already descended that flight of stairs.
Meanwhile, on the first floor, Iltar strides toward the main doors and the necromancer can hear footsteps from the grand foyer. He takes a deep breath, preparing himself for his deceptive demeanor.
As they near the intersection of the hall and the grand foyer, Iltar turns to the others and motions for them to follow him. Just as he rounds the corner, Midar and the captain of the guard almost bump into him.
“There,” Iltar points to where the two men had just come from. “I’m tired and we’ll talk while I sit.”
With no regard for the two men, Iltar pushes them aside. He makes his way to the small sitting area on his left, choosing one of several high-back chairs positioned squarely at the northeast corner of the foyer. The backs of the chairs and sofas are aligned with the runners of carpet leading to the underground guard house and the grand stairwell.
After he sits down, Iltar stares the three story tall galstra walls and focuses on the ceiling carved from the same rock.
“Captain Arelo, the council is dead. I killed them,” Iltar closes his eyes and holds out one of his opened palms toward the captain. “They were conspiring to overthrow the Sorothian government, then eventually do the same to other cities across the world.” Iltar stops and waits to see if the captain will believe his story.
After several seconds of silence, Arelo speaks up, “How do I know you’re telling the truth? You could have killed them to advance yourself to the head of this Order, which consists of only you, now.”
Still with his eyes closed, Iltar smiles and resumes, “Send for the City Watch, have them search our buildings. There is evidence here that will prove my story true. You see Captain, a matter of great attention came to the council about one month ago. There were scrolls and books discovered on an expedition that were delivered to us. Those texts contained a legend of a powerful artifact that could control dragons–”
“Master Iltar?!” Arelo loudly interrupts, “There are no dragons around, they don’t exist!”
“Quiet!” Iltar snarls, his eyes still closed. “If you would remain silent you wouldn’t be confused!
“The scrolls also told of an island; it was written in elvish, but from the translation we discovered it was a graveyard. I, along with Cornar, were tasked with putting together a secret mission, using the guise of recruiting more acolytes, to seek out the island.
“We found it, but it proved to be a dangerous place. We lost seven of the twenty people that went ashore with us and we came back with nothing to show.
“I called this meeting to inform the council what transpired, but when they learned what happened, they tried to kill me. However, I came prepared, knowing they would punish myself and everyone who was with me. We only defended ourselves.”
“Then why did you take so long up there?” the captain asks, still suspicious of Iltar’s story.
“Because I was trying to get the location of the evidence’s out of them, you fool!” Iltar abruptly opens his eyes and looks hard at the man in front of him.
Arelo sternly studies Iltar, not believing the necromancer’s reasoning.
“Look,” Iltar retorts. “Those fools were too dangerous to be left alive, and the texts should be destroyed. There is no point sending more men to their deaths over a falsity.”
Captain Arelo’s eyes narrow then he turns to Midar, “Go summon the City Watch. They’ll get to the bottom of this.”
The Dragons' Legacy Page 28