The Dragons' Legacy

by Dan Zangari & Robert Zangari

  * * * * *

  In the south-westernmost port of Soroth, Captain Kenard, and some of his crew rowdily enjoy a late afternoon meal and the intoxicating beverages of a tavern. Through many of the southern windows a peaceful view can be seen of the southern sea and a small island in the distance.

  Along the tavern’s south wall, Kenard is sitting at a table with his first mate, Cadru, and an additional guest who did not embark on the voyage with Iltar. The trio is feasting on a large fish, baked in spices native to the islands around Soroth.

  “Come now, Kenard,” the third man who is short and quite over weight says doubtingly, “You know just as well as anyone. There are no islands up there! People have sailed those seas for hundreds and even thousands of years. You would think that someone would have stumbled on this little island of yours.”

  In response, Kenard drunkenly looks at the fat man who is stuffing his face with the filet of the fish. The seasoned flakes rub off the fat man’s lips onto his auburn facial. His ruddy beard is long and has become messy during the meal.

  “It was there,” Kenard slurs his words and looks at his friend. He rolls his eyes and reaches for a piece of the fish in front of him. “Do you believe we’re all delusional? There was my crew and twenty two others that returned.”

  “Nah…” the fat man responds and waves his hands. “It just sounds so farfetched. If it was that far northward why would there be tropical warmth or sea lions. You know those beasts don’t live in anything but tropical waters.”

  “Like I said before, I –”

  Kenard is interrupted as the door to the small tavern opens and the room abruptly falls silent. The captain notices the men drinking at the bar have stopped their cheery conversations and are looking toward the entrance with steins in hand. Several of the others who were loudly enjoying a game of cards silently hold their game hands close.

  “He’s here,” Cadru whispers to Kenard.

  The sound of leather boots squeak against the wooden floor and Kenard hesitantly turns to face the tavern’s entrance. The captain drunkenly swallows hard as he watches his nefarious employer, Iltar, step across the tavern and toward him and his two friends.

  Once Iltar reaches Kenard’s side he leans forward and whispers, “Come with me, I have some unfinished business with you.”

  Kenard wobbles to his feet as he rises from his chair and Iltar straightens in a firm posture. The necromancer’s vibrant blue eyes scan the room. Each of Kenard’s fearfully silent, shocked by his presence and wary that he might assume they have spoken about the voyage.

  Smiling inwardly, Iltar turns, leading Kenard out of the tavern, who stumbles as he follows the necromancer toward the door.

  Once the captain and necromancer are outside, Iltar asks without looking back, “Do you have a horse?”

  “Nope,” Kenard answers, stumbling across a the pier connecting the tavern to the shore.

  “Fine, we’ll wal–”

  Iltar is interrupted, pushed forward by Kenard bumping into him from behind.

  “I guess I still have my sea legs,” Kenard drunkenly quips and hiccups. The strong smell of liquor leaves his lips, tingling Iltar’s nostrils.

  “I suppose… but you’re in no shape to ride as it is,” Iltar disgustedly retorts and strides toward to the nearby road, Kenard following closely.

  After several minutes of walking, the two men arrive at the Port Affairs building, the main offices for the shipping industry of Soroth. It covers an entire city block and is made from a light brown brick and cement-like material, rising three stories high. Due to the island’s sloping elevation, the southern part of the building is raised to be level with the street to the north. Stairs mark the middle of the southern boundary, leading up to a small garden with trees on either side, and flow toward its entrance.

  Both men walk through the manicured area and to the doors, which are raised one step above the garden.

  The necromancer and the captain are silent as they enter the foyer; it’s a wide hall spanning the length of the edifice, with rooms on either side. At the end of the hall is an opened area with a straight stairwell against the far wall leading upward. On the second floor there is a similar hall to the first, and an open area just like the one below that houses the stairwell. The only difference is that there is not a second flight of stairs.

  On the opposite end of the second story hallway, against the southern wall is a circular staircase that branches off into two directions.

  Seeing the deliberate elongated lay out, Iltar shakes his head as the two men walk to the aforementioned stairs.

  Atop the third level of the building is a large foyer that stretches away from the stairwell towards the north, with hallways branching off on either side of the space. Dark red walls with golden trim line the room, with similar colored furniture. At the northern end of the foyer are two large doors, carved from dark wood; above the wooden slabs is a metal plate with the words engraved upon its surface, “Office of the Port Magistrate.”

  Near the doors is a desk with a short man deeply engrossed in perusing a ledger and other clerical paperwork. He doesn’t notice as Iltar and Kenard ascend the stairs and walk toward him and the doors.

  As Iltar walks past the desk, the clerk finally realizes he has two guests and fumbles with the sheets in his hands while attempting to climb out of his seat.

  “Wait! You can’t go in there!”

  Ignoring the clumsy clerk, Iltar pushes the two double doors open; all the while, the clerk is shouting to Iltar and the captain, “Wait! Wait!”

  Bookshelves full of books and rolled parchments line the office walls and corners nearest the doors. Luxurious furniture is positioned around the bookcases that square off those sections of the room.

  At the far end of the office is a desk with two short armchairs in front of it, both occupied by men dressed in the garbs of affluent traders.

  Behind the desk sits the Magistrate Rosten, a man of average height with light brown stubble covering his face. He has brown hair that hangs down to his shoulders in a neat and straight trim.

  “You don’t have an appointment, do you?” the clerk asks in a hushed tone as he hurriedly walks up to Iltar’s side. He tugs the necromancer by the sleeve of his tunic and demands, “You need to wait!”

  “I won’t wait for an appointment!” Iltar snarls as he menacingly glances to the clerk; the man rises midway up his chest. The necromancer grabs the hand tugging at his left sleeve and throws it aside.

  “You better watch it, Shorty,” Captain Kenard says in a slightly drunken tone. “He’ll kill you in an instant.”

  With a surprised look on his face, the short clerk steps back and quickly snaps a response, “You can’t threaten me, I’m a public official!”

  Hearing the exchange, Rosten looks across the room at Iltar and Kenard; as he sees the captain he shakes his head in annoyance.

  Noticing their host’s shift in focus, the two traders turn to face the intruders.

  “I’m busy, come back later,” Rosten says in an irritated tone and returns his gaze to the affluent traders in front of him. “Now where were we?”

  The two traders turn in their chairs to face Rosten; all the while, Iltar and Kenard continue to walk forward with the short assistant close behind them.

  A scowl spreads across Iltar’s face and he stops several steps behind the two chairs, glaring at the port magistrate. His sapphire eyes jar him from his conversation with the traders.

  “I thought I told you I’m busy,” Rosten huffs, flicking his wrist at the intruders. “Now leave!”

  With that said, Magistrate Rosten returns his attention to the traders in front of him.

  “Don’t ignore me…” Iltar snarls and pulls his right hand back, uttering a magical incantation. Orange magical light gathers in his palm, and he quickly thrusts his hand forward, flicking his wrist. The orange light coalesces into an uncoiling cord of life draining magic, pulses a
s it races toward Rosten.

  Shocked by the assault, Rosten hastily rises and stumbles backward, knocking over his chair; however, his escape is in vain. The cord swiftly wrapping around his neck. He attempts to pull it off but the necromancer quickly steps back with his right foot, pulling his extended arm backward.

  Magistrate Rosten flies over his desk and lands at Iltar’s feet, gasping for air and struggling to loosen the cord.

  “It’s no use,” Iltar gloats.

  The trader on Iltar’s right quickly stands, twirling around his chair. He speedily draws a dagger at his side and lunges toward the necromancer.

  With narrowed eyes, Iltar quickly utters another incantation as the trader leaps toward him. The trader quickly closes the gap before Iltar can finish the incantation and he thrusts his dagger toward Iltar’s stomach. Iltar steps backward as it pierces him, shallowly puncturing his skin.

  Amid the stabbing, white-blue magic quickly clouds together in Iltar’s left hand as blood drips from his tunic, and the trader recoils to strike again.

  Enraged, Iltar thrusts his left hand out to the advancing trader’s shoulder and a streak of lightening races from the magical cloud in his palm.

  The lightning strikes the trader as he comes within weapon’s reach of Iltar and he is thrust backward; he twirls in the air as he flies over his chair, landing on the ground near the port magistrate’s desk.

  The second trader leans away from Iltar and stammers, “P-please powerful mage… don’t harm me.”

  “You ignore me, then you grovel? How pathetic!” Iltar shouts and flicks his left hand toward the trader. A second bolt of electrical energy streaks from the magic in his palm to the trader’s shoulder, dissipating the cloud in the necromancer’s grasp.

  The magic jolt quickly knocks the trader out of his chair and he bounces against the front of the desk where he slides to the floor.

  “How unfortunate,” Iltar growls and touches his wound with his left hand, then glances to Magistrate Rosten. “I suppose you owe me for this wound.”

  The orange cord pulses twice and Rosten cries in agony. Orange magic ripples from Iltar’s hand and wisps to stomach, regenerating his wound.

  “You can hold your associate responsible for that,” Iltar chuckles and looks at the man on the floor in front of him. “Now, get up, Magistrate!”

  Rosten doesn’t stir, but continues to gasp on the floor, reaching to pull the magical cord from his neck.

  “Humph,” Iltar growls then pulls the life draining rope by flinging his hand high into the air, pulling Rosten to his feet. The magic leaves Iltar’s hand, floating in suspension in the air.

  “Now, remember this feeling,” the necromancer’s face glows with pleasure while staring at Rosten, whose features contort in dread and pain. “You will do exactly what I say, or else you and everyone you love will suffer a fate far worse than this. My good friend here, Captain Joselin Kenard, needs something you took from him. Do you know what that is?”

  Struggling to stand and avoid the magical cord from suffocating him, Rosten nods.

  “I couldn’t hear that… you don’t know?” Iltar’s twisted sadistic question is followed by a tightening grip with his right hand that squeezes the port magistrate’s neck, but not enough to fully suffocate him to death.

  “Yes…” Rosten softly squeaks.

  “Good…” Iltar flicks his hand in dismissal, and the cord slips away from the port magistrate’s neck, slithering back into Iltar’s palm.

  Magistrate Rosten collapses to his knees and gasps for air. He warily looks to Iltar and Captain Kenard, both standing over him.

  “That was amazing!” Kenard shouts and puts his hand over his head as if containing his excitement.

  “You will give the good captain his ship back immediately,” Iltar demands. “Do whatever you need to, but I want his ship back in his hands before the sun sets, or else you will regret it. And don’t even think of going to the authorities over this matter, or I will expose you for the fraud you pulled with the good captain. Do you understand?”

  “Y-yes…”

  “Well… why are you still on the floor?” Iltar puts his hands on his hips. “I hardly drained any of your precious life. Move!”

  Frightened, Rosten struggles to stand. When he finally does, he turns to the two traders who were conducting business with him.

  “B-but… you killed them.”

  “Ha! Why would I do such a foolish thing? They’re merely unconscious from the jolt,” Iltar shakes his head at the businessman’s naïvity concerning magic.

  Rosten stumbles back toward his desk, and his legs give way, causing him to kneel in front of the furniture. He pulls a piece of parchment from the top of the desk and scribbles some writing. After a moment, the port magistrate calls out to the captain as he removes a seal and presses its inked surface on the parchment.

  “Kenard… here. Take this to the impound,” Magistrate Rosten motions the hand-written document to the drunken captain who is wobbling forward.

  “Thank… you!” Kenard grabs the parchment, rolling it together while walking back to Iltar’s side.

  “If you dare try anything like that again, you will regret it, Rosten” Iltar threatens menacingly as he turns around toward the doors.

  The short assistant clerk catches Iltar’s eye, cowering behind one of the sofas in the room.

  “As for you, keep your mouth shut!” Iltar points at the clerk, who lets out a squeal as he wildly nods his head in the affirmative. “Or you will suffer the same fate as the port magistrate!”

  With that said, Iltar briskly walks toward the office’s doors.

  “Pleasure doing business with you… as always!” Kenard sarcastically laughs then quickly rushes to catch up to Iltar who is already through the doors and midway to the stairs.

  Within minutes the two men are outside the building walking back along the open street to the tavern.

  Captain Kenard walks alongside Iltar and examines the parchment, carefully reading and rereading the words. He rubs it, feeling the seal stamped on the parchment.

  “I don’t believe it… Iltar, you are amazing!” Kenard calls out and gives the necromancer a tight, drunken hug. “I’ll take you anywhere you need to go!”

  “Enough!” Iltar attempts to shake off the second hug he’s had in many days, but Kenard tightens his hold.

  “You’re the best employer a sailor could ask for! Thank you, thank you!” the captain finally lets the necromancer go and the two continue to resume their walk back to the tavern in silence.

  Once they arrive, Iltar quickly walks to his horse and unties the reigns. He watches Kenard walk toward the door of the tavern and once the captain enters, Iltar can hear the muffled sound of Kenard’s announcement followed by subsequent cheers.

  Chuckling, Iltar shakes his head and climbs on top of his black steed.