The Dragons' Legacy

by Dan Zangari & Robert Zangari

  Part way through Iltar’s recounting of events, the host opens the door and steps out. “Sir, your table is ready.”

  Glancing to the host, Iltar responds, “Good, and there will be one more joining me.”

  The host nods and the two mages walk into the tavern together while Iltar continues to speak. They walk across the large room and move to a secluded booth in the corner of the main dining hall.

  “There are others we need to find,” Iltar says as he finishes telling the lie. “With you that will make four of the seven members we need to rebuild the Order.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Gwenyth rests the smooth skin of her cheek against her hand. “It’s sad to hear Alacor fate, but I suppose it was for the best.”

  “You don’t care for him still, do you?” Iltar asks, leery of the answer.

  “For a monster? No, I haven’t felt like that since we were pupils at the Order. Besides, hearing what he intended to do to everyone sickens me. I suppose he always had it in him… I can see it.”

  Hearing Gwenyth’s recollection of Alacor’s character gave Iltar pleasant reassurance. His lie had been accepted. However, her admission of not having romantic feelings for Alacor was not what he expected.

  Iltar follows along her thoughts, saying, “Finally the Order can be back where it should be. Now that you know the details of these recent events, will you take that seat on the council?”

  Flattered, Gwenyth stares at the table and smiles, “Why me?”

  Iltar pauses, thinking how to answer the question. “First, I know you. We studied the illusionary arts together. Second, from what I remember you were very skilled. You had a… delicate finesse that… made spells, mystical. Like they should be.”

  Gwenyth grins and her hazel eyes slowly look at Iltar, intently studying him. “That’s a strange way of giving a compliment, Iltar.” Her face shows she reconsiders labeling him a boy. She glides her hand toward his and gently clasps his.

  Smiling, Gwenyth says, “Yes, I will.”

  Iltar sits still, unnerved by Gwenyth’s flirting gesture. For years, he had given up on romance and only sought to further his own power.

  Within one day Iltar had successfully recruited three other members to the council; it was enough ensure his deception until the time came for him to resume his search for the Au’misha’k.

  15

  Clues

  “Is there any further business to bring to our attention?” Iltar asks from the head of the council table. He sits in his throne like chair in a serious and commanding manner. His sapphire eyes look to each of the men and women in the room.

  “I have none,” Baekal answers from the right side of the table.

  “No,” Gwenyth states plainly as she leans back in the chair to Iltar’s immediate left.

  From Iltar’s right, Arintil responds with the shaking of his head. His hair is completely gray, both atop his head and covering his face. He looks almost identical to his younger brother; however, this older Aramein was mentally sound and wise.

  “I do not, Grandmaster Iltar,” an older man sitting next to Gwenyth states in a mild voice. He has dark red hair with highlights of gray, and a beard of the same coloring. His complexion is light with wrinkles on his cheeks and around his eyes.

  “Then we are finished. Good evening,” the head of the Order states and leans back in his chair.

  One by one, the members of the council rise from their seats and walk toward the doors. Baekal is the first to leave, exiting the room in a hurry.

  “I heard you gained six more students, Akrin,” Arintil states as he walks around the table.

  “Yes,” the old red haired man answers stands, the top of his head reaching only partway up Arintil’s chest. “I was one of the last transmuters left in Soroth, and now in just over two months’ time there are sixty of us.”

  The two men leave together, speaking calmly to each other about the progress of their students.

  Meanwhile, Gwenyth also stands but she stops as she looks at Iltar still sitting in his chair; she studies the necromancer and waits for him to notice her.

  Once their eyes meet, the female illusionist breaks the silence, “Are you just going to sleep there?”

  “No… I’m thinking. That’s all.”

  “You’ve been working hard, Iltar, you deserve a break. Look at what you’ve done! Three months ago you were the only mage to walk these halls, and now there are hundreds of students here.”

  “Yes… but there’s more to be done,” Iltar grunts as he rises from the chair and ambles toward the doorway.

  Following after the necromancer, Gwenyth quickly comes to Iltar’s side and wraps an arm around him.

  “You really are different, Iltar,” Gwenyth observes as they walk out of the council chambers and to the stairs. “Whatever happened on that island changed you. I think it was for the better, but I just wish the new you would take interest in me.”

  Suddenly, Gwenyth presses her lips against Iltar’s cheek, then walks around him to the right and continues down that corridor, glancing over her shoulder as she walks.

  Smiling, Iltar watches as Gwenyth enters another room, pleased that his deception has paid off and those of the Order trust him completely.

  Shrugging the thought off, Iltar descends the stairs to the first floor of the Order’s main building, contemplating how to find a way to escape to Merdan.

  Once he reaches the first floor, the sounds of chatter echo along the corridor leading to the main doors and the grand foyer of the guild hall. Hearing the people, Iltar dons his cowl.

  As the necromancer reaches the opening to the large welcoming room he can see the students of the Order socializing from just beyond the edge of his hood. The lone necromancer turns his back on the scene and walks to the entry where two guards on the inside of the doors pull them open, and Iltar steps through. Over the last several months, with the help of Cornar and his warriors, they had recruited able men and women to provide security for the growing Order.

  It is a cool and cloudy winter evening outside, prompting Iltar to wrap his thick black robe around himself. The climate on Soroth and its neighboring islands hardly cool enough to allow snow to fall, but the humid air is enough to chill a man to his bones.

  A moment later, the necromancer mounts his black stallion races toward the gates of the magical Order, uttering an incantation. Upon reaching the metal gateway, the necromancer rears his steed upon his hind legs and thrusts the forming green magic onto the gate. Dark green tendrils latch onto the metal rods while flying toward the stone wall, violently pulling the gateway open.

  Once open, Iltar kicks the sides of his horse and bolts through the gateway toward the city’s northern entrance. Cold air seeps through his robe as he gallops through the streets of Soroth and onto the highway leading to his country estate.

  Upon reaching his home, Iltar looks up to the tower, and sees the lights in the third floor study shining out into the evening. He was not fond of people freely admitting themselves to his private study, other than Cornar, who always sent word to him beforehand. Seeing the lights, Iltar angrily leaps off his horse and stomps across the cold ground to the gates of his tower. He pauses only to opens it abruptly, which causes the gate to swing wildly.

  “Master Iltar,” Jalim, the guard at the tower entrance calls out, “Midal of the Order of Histories has come to visit you. He is waiting within–”

  “I can see that!” Iltar spits out as he pushes the doors open.

  Iltar quickly ascends the circular stairs of the first floor muttering, “Perhaps I should have put a welcoming room here… No matter, I won’t need this tower for much longer.”

  Once atop the third floor, Iltar thrusts the door to the private study open, menacingly glaring at Midal sitting in the chair opposite of Iltar’s favored seat.

  The old historian turns in alarm and his eyes widen as he sees Iltar’s angered expression.

  “I
did not touch, nor look at anything, Grandmaster Iltar.”

  “Good,” Iltar quickly walks to the chair and pulls it out from under the table. He swiftly sits down and leans forward saying, “I assume you have everything answered?”

  “Yes…” Midal says hesitantly, breathing a sigh of relief that Iltar did not berate him, or worse. “And what interesting requests! Why do you want this information, Grandmaster?”

  “I paid you to find answers, not question me!” the necromancer angrily stands, using his hands to brace himself as he leans forward. “Now… did you write everything down as I instructed?”

  “Yes,” Midal leans back and nods his head. “However, there were some answers that eluded me. For instance, I couldn’t find anything about a “Devourer” in Merda or in any other places in history. I even checked for mythical references to it and still I found nothing. Where ever you heard that title, it has no historical backing by my understanding.

  “As far as an ancient organization of humans that held secret knowledge, I could not find any reference to them.”

  “I also could not find the sure cause of the fall of Merda. There are rumors, but nothing solid that would point to firm evidence. Werewolves and vampires were two of the legendary causes; but still there was no record in any books of history as to its true abandonment, only that it occurred around four hundred years ago.

  “It seems that there were werewolf sightings after the elves re-settled on the western side of the island; but no elves ever gave an explanation to any humans concerning it. Perhaps if one were to go to Keth, they could find an answer.”

  “I suppose three unanswered questions are better than all of my inquiries,” Iltar grunts turns to open a small chest. “You can go now,” the necromancer hands a bag of coins to the scholar in front of him.

  “Thank you, Grandmaster Iltar,” Midal rises from the table and bows to the necromancer before leaving the room.

  “Remember, Midal, do not speak of this to anyone; especially members of the city watch.” Iltar’s eyes burrow into the man’s back as reaches the door.

  Glancing over his shoulder, Midal replies, “I’m sure whatever you’ve involved me in is serious. Any confession on my end would be seen as aiding your cause… whatever it is.”

  As Midal leaves the tower, Iltar leans back and opens the contents of the scroll the historian had left. The questions Iltar had given Midal and their answers had been rewritten on a different length of parchment. The first of his questions was left a mystery, but the next one referred to the actual extraordinary beings Iltar had encountered on the Dragon’s Isle. Iltar looks past his question and begins reading Midal’s written answers:

  “As it is commonly known, dragons were said to have lived on Kalda since the beginning of time, when that is I do not know. They are said to be supernatural. Having many inherent magical abilities. Some sources claim them to be the Heralds of Magic, having ushered in the use of those powers among men.

  “The most recent dragon sightings are unclear; much is hearsay and those that claim to have seen a dragon in the past hundred years have no factual basis or proof.

  “The latest historically accepted dragon sighting dates back over one thousand years ago, during the revolutionary war against the empire of Karthar.

  “Several platinum dragons were seen in the final battle over the now ruins of the grand capital of the empire. However, the surviving dragons disappeared as quickly as they had appeared. The remains of the fallen dragons, which were said to be of the crimson breed, were burned by the victors.”

  “Strange,” Iltar mutters, “I’ve never heard of that account.”

  Iltar continues to read until he comes to his second of the answered questions which concerned the elves, particularly their ways and application of magic. The path he and the others discovered on the island weighed heavily on his mind. Knowing he would have to enter Merda at some point, Iltar wanted to gain a greater understanding of how elves interacted with the world around them.

  “I found that each of various records of personal accounts kept at the Order of Histories have some commonality between them. The men and women who claimed to have seen the elvish cities described them as towering metropolises with buildings that spire high into the sky and sometimes into the clouds. Many claim that the cities of the elves glow at night with a myriad of colors, glistening by intricate light stones.

  “There are many stories, attributed as legend, most of which allude to the elves living in lavish comforts; their lives being completely automated. One man claimed to have seen an elvish device which could travel at incredible speeds, speeding through a carved tube; another claimed that elves used inanimate slaves to do their biddings. One tome, written nearly seven hundred years ago, claims that the elves had perfected magic, and embodied the functions of individual magics within devices.

  “However, none of these stories have corroborating evidences and many accounts are conflicting. I conclude that many of the stories circulated and recorded are myth, spread around to inspire the people of Kalda, to create a grander society than what we presently exist in.”

  “They perfected magic?” Iltar wonders aloud. “That sounds like what Amendal mentioned concerning the thieves’ cloaks and the tarrasque. It also could explain the path; it was able to produce illusionary magic at the simplest touch. If that is the case, how much of those other legends are true? And what powers and treasures could be hidden in Merda?”

  After a moment, the necromancer looks to the last of his questions and reads the explanation: “It is rumored that vampires have always walked upon the face of Kalda. Many sources cite that they are pale and hence have the need to drink blood. Some stories, many of which have been used as fictional entertainment, relate that they are immortal.

  “There are many accounts that retell the stories of vampires. One of the earliest known myths, a child’s fable in fact, tells of a man named Esmid and is often referred to as the Paled Man Legend.

  “According to the tale, this Esmid lived in a cave among nine-legged brown creatures with eyes circling their bodies, called hemolins. Every night, Esmid would emerge from the cave with one of his creatures, which would often rest upon his shoulder as he traveled at night in search of small children. It is commonly had in each of the Esmid tales that he used the hemolins to sniff out the children who had not bathed. He would then capture them and take him or her back to the cave, where the hemolins would feast upon their flesh; but they would leave the blood for Esmid because he had none. Many of the versions claim that the blood of the children revitalized him and brought back color to his skin, which was pale because of his lack of blood.

  “This is one of the earliest blood-drinking tales, and since then many more stories have evolved from this nightmarish-fable. Some claim that vampires can only come out at night; although some of the older texts that cite the tale tell of how the trek back to Esmid’s cave lasted many days.

  “One account, written two hundred years ago, cites an ancient passage of text found in the desolate lands and recounts the tales of the vampires being birthed by a deity. Although his name was stricken from the inscriptions, it told a general story that this deity begot them in his own image. Other inscriptions in the surrounding area gave more details about the deity, describing it as a being with two male personifications and one female personality…”

  “Incredible!” Iltar is genuinely taken aback at the words. “This confirms what that beast was claiming about the Devourer, ‘worshiping a deity that is as demented as he.’ But who is he? Who's the Devourer?”

  Looking further down the parchment, Iltar continues reading, “Of course, everyone knows how to fight one of these fabled beings: strike them in the chest with wood.”

  Iltar continues to peruse the parchment, reading more details about the vampires and the various myths and stories associated with them. Once he finishes, the necromancer rolls the scroll tightly and rises from hi
s chair with it in hand. He searches the shelves for an empty case and deposits the information within, then opens the same chest used to hide the elven scrolls and locks it inside.