The Dragons' Legacy

by Dan Zangari & Robert Zangari

  * * * * *

  After a quarter of an hour, Iltar, Brandir, and four other members of the City Watch, arrive at the governor’s manor; a grand estate that comprises the main capitol building of Soroth and the governor’s home. The capitol houses all the highest ranking officials’ offices for each of the Sorothian branches of government, including the City Watch.

  The government complex sits in the south central part of the city, elevated from the streets around it by a manmade mound.

  Around the borders of the Governor’s Manor, galstra walls tower eight phineals above the raised ground. Their height added to the mound equals sixteen phineals along the northern border, and even higher along the other three sides, due to the sloping landscape of the city down to the shore.

  Along the northern wall of the complex is the entrance: a gateway made of metallic rods and rests at the bottom of a gradual slope, whose base shares the same elevation as the street.

  At the outer and inner areas of the gate stand four guards. They are members of the Guardians of Soroth; an organization responsible for protecting civil officials and many government structures. They are clad in thick brown-plated armor that covers their entire bodies. Multiple pieces shield their more vital parts, allowing unimpeded mobility with their limbs. Their helmets are oval, round in the back and pointed in the lower front section.

  Each of the four guards stalwartly hold long staff-like weapons, much like a halberd, called fanisars. At the weapon’s top is a thick curved blade with etchings of Soroth’s culture engraved on its sides. At the bottom is a long metal shaft that rounds out at the base of the weapon. These weapons were of elven origin, but throughout time the rest of Kalda adopted these tools of war to be wielded by men who act as sentinels.

  “We’re here to see Governor Riner,” Discerner Brandir informs the guards at the gate.

  Without speaking a word, the two outer sentinels nod their heads and reach for the gate, pulling each of the large gates open. While their counterparts open the gate, the guards behind the metallic rod threshold stand in their still sentinel positions.

  Passing the guards, Brandir and the other watchmen silently escort Iltar up the sloping path toward a circular roadway, wide enough for two side-by-side horse-drawn carriages to rest beside each other.

  In the center of the circular roadway, a large round fountain towers with female figures climbing a blossoming tree, spouting water from their mouths.

  Directly beyond the circular road is the capitol building; it is rectangular in shape, with curved corners protruding on all four ends. The structure stands six stories tall, the last three within a smaller rectangular shape above the larger base floors. The building is elegant in architecture with beautiful galstra columns and decorative carvings of trees and leafs.

  A towering ornate portico, rising three stories high, protrudes from the building. On either side, two rows of three columns, four phineals thick, support the portico’s barreled ceiling and lead to the building’s main doors.

  Eight guards stand watch within the portico, stationed by each of the columns and by the doors.

  At the right of the circle, a single roadway is paved in front of the building and wraps around to the estate behind the edifice on the southern side. The rest of the grounds are open, spreading in all directions from the buildings; the entire government compound covers twelve city blocks, four across and three deep.

  As Iltar and his captors reach the portico, the guards stationed there move to open the doors.

  Brandir simply nods to the guards, grabbing Iltar’s arm to escort him through the opened doorway and into the capitol building’s enormous foyer.

  The room spans the entire depth of the building and towers three stories tall with each floor above expanding the foyer’s openness. Several rows of halls line the sides of the room, each separating to various offices of a single branch of Soroth’s government. Guards stand on either end of the openings along the room, clad in the same brown armor as the sentinels outside the capitol building. The interior of the room is filled with dark wood, gold trim and polished galstra. Four golden leafed stone pillars are placed midway between the center of the room and the outer edge of the first floor. The stone floor is a polished dark gray and gives a dim reflection of the room and its occupants.

  At the southern end lies two curving staircases, wide enough for large amounts of traffic going to and from the second floor. They meet at their middle points and then curve in opposite directions to long landings that connect them to the second floor balconies. Walkways line the edge of the second tier balconies, and beyond them are straight stairwells leading to the third floor, rising from the north to the south. The third floor balcony is identical to the second, but its stairs lead to the fourth floor following an opposite direction.

  “Let go of my arm,” Iltar snarls as Brandir escorts him across the foyer.

  “You are in no position to make demands,” the discerner retorts, leading Iltar and the other watchmen up the right circular staircase to that side of the three-story foyer.

  After a short while, they ascend the stairs to the fourth floor; once upon the fourth floor, they enter a wide corridor with a stairwell leading to the fifth story on the opposite side of the hallway. The stairs’ base is aligned with the top of the stairwell leading from the third floor.

  Discerner Brandir quickly leads Iltar and the other City Watchman across the corridor and to the base of the stairs, ascending it in like manner.

  Atop the fifth floor is an open room, with two circular staircases at the north end, just wide enough for three men to walk abreast. The steps are covered in a crimson carpet with lavender designs, and guarded by four sentinels, their weapons crossed in front of the stairwells’ bases.

  Large windows line both north and south walls of the room. The mid-afternoon light shines through the northern panes, causing the stairs leading to the highest floor to cast a shadow.

  Walking toward the stairs, Brandir boldly states, “I am taking this man to see the governor. Move aside.”

  “By what order?” the guard to their left demands with his deep voice, his face concealed by his helmet.

  “This man has committed a heinous crime, and the situation is delicate enough to require Governor Riner’s assistance,” Brandir’s voice rises, attempting to intimidate the guard. “Now let us through!”

  The questioning Guardian of Soroth lowers his head toward Iltar and asks without retracting his bladed staff, “What has Master Iltar done?”

  Although his face is covered, his voice stirs a memory within Iltar’s mind. Menal! Yes, Menal Asterin. I’ve known him since he was a child. Iltar smiles at Cornar’s former student, grateful for his hesitance with Brandir.

  “You’re not the governor!” Brandir barks. “Now get out of our way or I will have you imprisoned for obstructing due justice!”

  Menal pauses for a moment, but then pulls back his extended weapon, allowing them to pass.

  Without hesitation Brandir ascends the stairs, Iltar still in his grasp; the necromancer grins widely as he looks to Menal but is quickly pulled up the stairs by the discerner.

  Atop the circular stair is a vacant hall with two double doors leading to a concealed room.

  Tugging on the necromancer, the discerner briskly leads his captive along the wall and down a hall on the outer edge of the sixth floor. At the end of the hall is a small waiting area on the south west corner of the floor.

  Within the waiting area, a middle-aged man sits at a desk perusing a ledger, the governor’s aid.

  Clearing his throat, Brandir jars the aid’s attention, who looks up at the five men. His eyes narrow at Discerner Brandir, then they shift to Iltar.

  “What are you doing here?” the aid demands.

  “I have come on a matter of urgent business concerning the emergency at the Necrotic Order,” Brandir responds.

  “Very well. I’ll inform the governor you’re her
e.” The aid rises from his reception desk and walks into a hall that runs along the northern wall of the small waiting area.

  Iltar glances down the corridor as he leaves; the aid walks halfway down the hall before turning to a pair of doors on the southern wall, which he opens and steps through. Further down the hall, Iltar can see an identical room to the one he’s standing in on the opposite end of the hallway.

  Soon after, the aid emerges from the room and motions for the others to enter the governor’s office.

  Brandir forcefully tugs on the necromancer’s arm, and the five men follow the aid into the office.

  The governor’s chambers are large, and rectangular in shape, just like the rest of the building. On the southern wall three large windows allow a view of the city and the harbors along the coast. Just in front of the panes is an ornate desk where Governor Riner sits.

  He is a middle-age man dressed in a fancy formal tunic of greens and browns. Slightly overweight, his neck is thick and his cheeks slightly puffed. Neatly trimmed brown hair covers his head, with the same color of thin eyebrows and a thick mustache that spreads the entire length of his upper lip. With both hands on the desk, he looks up to the six men entering the room. His dark brown eyes narrow and wrinkles form around his lids as he examines each of the men. He glance back and forth between Iltar and Brandir.

  “I’ve only received a brief explanation of what occurred,” Governor Riner cautiously states as the watchmen and their captive approach the desk. “Please, enlighten me.”

  “Governor Riner,” Discerner Brandir lets go of Iltar and steps forward. He bows then states, “Iltar murdered his fellow members of the Necrotic Order’s council. He claims it was out of self-defense and to help save Soroth from impending doom.”

  “Interesting,” the governor chuckles then asks skeptically, “What was this doom?”

  “Release me, and I’ll explain,” Iltar snarls impatiently. Brandir’s method was unorthodox, and Iltar knew he was overstepping his bounds by keeping him restrained.

  “That is not likely,” Brandir glances over his shoulder to the necromancer and continues. “He said they were after an ancient power to control dragons. We did find some scrolls and books in Alacor’s chambers, but I left before my men could fully examine them. Those texts do appeared to be ancient. However, Iltar also claims he’s–”

  A loud thud interrupts Brandir, and the discerner turns to face the sound. The bindings holding Iltar’s hands lay on the floor, partially eroded by his dissolving black mist.

  More of the black magical particles flare from Iltar’s wrist and wrap around his body. He sternly suggests to Brandir, “Next time, you should listen.”

  Each of the watchmen slowly back away from Iltar, lowering in defensive postures as he is bathed in a black hue. In an instant, the magic violently erupts into a necrotic sphere of protection.

  From within the magic, Iltar furiously stares into Brandir’s eyes, causing the officer of the City Watch to freeze temporarily.

  At this same moment, Iltar utters the words to a magical incantation. Green particles swirl in his palms and he quickly thrusts the forming spell toward Discerner Brandir. Magical tentacles wrap around the discerner while Iltar flicks his left hand, causing the magic to stretch to the wall, swiftly pulling Brandir and binding him in place.

  “Back away and you won’t wither in my presence,” Iltar says while looking at Riner, yet aiming his command to watchmen. “Now!”

  Iltar turns to face the ones on his left and they hurriedly back away from the raging necromancer.

  “Good…” Iltar sighs, and the black protecting sphere of magic fades swirling back into his body. “Show respect for your savior.”

  “You are out of line, Iltar!” Brandir shouts from the wall, tightly entangled by the necromancer’s magic.

  “Don’t talk, Discerner,” Iltar pauses and stretches his opened left hand to Brandir, then slowly grasps it shut. “It’ll only make it worse.”

  The green magic tightens around Brandir, causing him to suck in his breath.

  With Brandir subdued, Iltar turns his attention to the governor.

  “Now, Governor Riner, I will tell you what occurred.”

  Nodding in the affirmative, the governor warily sits back and listens. He knows Iltar’s reputation. Though his actions are overstepping legal bounds, enforcing a punishment now would only ensue chaos that could threaten his life.

  “Alacor was seeking to bring war to Soroth, and commit acts of treason. But, before I say more I need to retell the events that have transpired.

  “Almost a month ago the members of the Necrotic Order’s council received scrolls and books from an newly returned expedition. This was the night after the acolyte’s rebellion, mind you.

  “After long study that night it was discovered that the texts confirmed many of the old legends about the war among the various breeds of dragonkind. It also gave details about ancient artifacts used to win the war, and an amulet with a ruby and a stone to travel to other worlds. This device had the power to control dragons and banish them.

  “With the acolytes’ rebellion fresh in our minds, it pushed some of the council members to a decision. Rebuild the order, or go find this artifact. Alacor and the other three of his supporters voted to go in search of the amulet, myself and Kallan did not agree; I thought it absurd. Alacor wanted an expedition organized, and since I had the most ties to individuals vital a journey like this, I was compelled by them to prepare the expedition.

  “Everyone was gathered under the guise of recruiting new apprentices. Then we set sail for the island identified in the scrolls as Draco Isola, or the dragon’s burial grounds. Captain Kenard, the man who commanded the Farling, was given secret orders he was instructed to open and burn. Him and I are the only two to witness what he did.

  “Shortly after we arrived on the island, we lost several men to a tarrasque, a wild magical beast. We made it past the thing, though, finding safety in the island’s interior, or so we thought,” Iltar pauses, preparing to discount the validity of the texts found in Alacor’s chambers.

  “We stumbled across creatures that looked like dragons, but they were unintelligent, nothing more than animals, albeit strong animals at that. We searched the island for a day and found nothing, no ancient hiding place of ancient relics, nothing.

  “I believe,” Iltar parrots Anken’mar’s words, “That those texts were a wild story; crafted by elves to lure treasure hungry-men to that island to face their doom. Those dragons showed no signs of intelligence. In fact, having gone to the island makes me question the validity of the dragon war legend. Perhaps it was just a tale spun by elves or men to create an image of superior beings. There was no amulet, there is no amulet as far as I’m concerned. And the idea of traveling to other worlds is absurd!

  “While on our journey, I told the other senior mages that came with me what the trip was really about. After fleeing the island, we all decided that we needed to bring to light the truth about this ordeal; however, we knew that the council would kill us in secret. Once we were out of the way, they would send more men, and continue to do so until they got their way.

  “We arrived back in Soroth today. I reported to the council and brought my men with me, but kept up the guise that they had perished to protect them. All of us, the twenty-two that survived, having lost seven, were there waiting outside the room to stand as witnesses of the pointlessness of the expedition and to attack if need be.

  “Unfortunately, but not completely unexpected, the meeting became ugly. None of them believed me, and those that were leery of Alacor’s plot now embraced it. I stood alone.

  “Alacor declared I would be imprisoned within the Order and tortured until death, along with everyone who went with me. Then he confirmed what I feared, another expedition would be sent to the island. It was then we attacked, preemptively. I knew that if they couldn’t be swayed it would be the only alternative to e
scape with our lives.

  “Eventually, I did torture them to find out where the information was hidden, but Alacor never revealed their location. They were too dangerous to be left alive; attempting to try them under the law would have only brought greater destruction to our city and its people.”

  “That’s an interesting story, Iltar…” Governor Riner responds, leaning back in his chair. “But I fail to see treason, or the willful intent?”

  The governor asks the last in reference to Sorothian law, where willful intent to commit treason is punishable by death and deemed on par with the act.

  “He wanted to over throw our nation’s government by using the dragons to take control by force. Soroth would be their test. After conquering our island he wished to expand his empire across the rest of the world. And those complicit with him were promised to rule over their own kingdoms under him.”

  The explanation sinks in as Governor Riner thinks over Iltar’s allegations. With a worried expression across his face, Riner stands and walks to the windows behind his chair.

  As the governor looks out over the southern part of the city, he mutters, “That seems likely…”

  Riner knew Alacor was a cunning man that often attempted to interfere with political matters. As the head of the Necrotic Order, Alacor was afforded a position on the region of Soroth’s ruling council. He was a guest to the political meetings held in the chambers opposite the governor’s office. He had voiced his opinions in political matters at every meeting.

  A moment of silence passes before Iltar puts forth his intentions to Riner. “Now that they’re gone, I plan to reconstitute the old mage’s guild. As the only surviving member of the Necrotic Order of Soroth, I plan on restoring it to its former institution as the Sorothian Magical Order. My first task is to rebuild the council with masters from each discipline. Second, we will gather those skilled in those specific arts to become teachers of the Order. Third, and last, we will open the doors of the Order to the citizens of Soroth and its neighboring islands.”

  “You’ll what…?” Governor Riner asks, turning from the window in shock. He looks to Brandir who is still pinned against the wall. “You really are looking out for the best interests of the guild and the people of Soroth?”

  For now, Iltar thinks to himself. A stable guild is not a requirement for Iltar’s plan, but rebuilding it helps solidifies his deception.

  From the wall, Brandir speaks up, “Perhaps I misjudged you… but you still need to put me down.”

  Without looking at Brandir, Iltar waves his hand in a dismissing motion. Each magical tentacle binding the discerner loosens and then break apart into particles of light, causing Brandir to fall to the floor.

  As the magic vanishes, Governor Riner returns to gazing out the large window, thinking over what the necromancer had told him while Iltar patiently waits for a response.

  After several minutes of silence, the governor speaks up, “Iltar, I dismiss the accusations of murder.”

  Riner turns around to face the necromancer, “I will let you go, for now. That evidence,” the governor looks to Brandir, “I would like to see it. And bring someone that can read Elvish.”

  “Thank you, good governor. I’ll take my leave of you, then,” the necromancer turns and walks back toward the doors, passing the four other city watchmen who quickly recoil away from him.

  “Wait!” Governor Riner calls out. “I’ll have you watched, Iltar. If you do anything that deviates from what you’ve told me you intend to do, or if these texts you said have anything different in them, I will have you punished.”

  “Very well,” Iltar says while standing at the doors. “You can send for me after you’ve studied them if you wish. And as far as that spot Alacor occupied in the political table, strike me from it; I hate politics.”

  The necromancer pulls the doors open and steps through, leaving them to sway on their hinges.

  Behind him, Iltar can hear the voices of Governor Riner and Discerner Brandir discussing the incident and his tale. Their voices fade as Iltar enters the small waiting room with the governor’s assistant.

  Perfect, Iltar thinks, pleased as he retraces his steps along the hall outside the governor’s office. With his ruse is set, all he needs to do is wait before he can slip away to Merda. He’s sure that after his tale has been spread no one would want to head to either of the places on the elven map. Knowing Riner will summon him again, he begins to make plans to continue with this deception at the subsequent meetings, thereby thwarting other attempts to find and re-forge the amulet.

  Dusk has settled in over Soroth as Iltar reaches the circular staircases that descend below the top floor of the capital building. As he reaches the bottom of the stair, Iltar turns to the familiar guard on his right.

  “Menal,” Iltar addresses the armor-clad man, “Will you escort me to the gates?”

  “Yes, Master Iltar,” the guard relaxes from his sentinel stance and waits for the necromancer to walk between him and the other guard before joining Iltar’s side.

  As the two men walk back through the capital building, Iltar relates the same false story he had just told Riner. Menal quietly listens to the details of the adventure on the Dragon’s Isle and the subsequent usurping by Iltar. Once they reach the long road between the fountain and the outer gates the necromancer gives Menal a suggestion.

  “You should talk with Cornar. There is another matter of importance he will want to discuss with you,” Iltar stops speaking as the two men come into earshot of the guards at the gate.

  “I will,” Menal responds and halts, “I must return to my post. I am glad you and Cor are unharmed. Travel home safely.”