What hidden detail did he miss? What could he have done differently? Maybe it was always going to end this way. And the final question came to him as a whisper...Should they have just remained dead?
The mage buckled and fell to the ground, hard dirt scraping his knees and elbows. He groaned beneath a breath and removed the cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around Auralyn, leaning over to embrace her, still screaming for the necromancer’s laughter to stop. For a moment, Kylan swore he heard it, too.
PART TWO:
Necromancer’s Curse
Kylan’s wrists bled from shallow cuts, worn raw by the shackles holding him against the wall of the cave. The crunch of dirt beneath the padding of heavy footsteps moved closer from the darkness. Kylan pushed himself up onto his feet trying to keep his hanging bodyweight from inflicting any further damage to his wrists. He glared from beneath his hood, allowing his vision to focus in the shallow light. A man stood in front of him.
Kylan spoke first.
“So you manipulated me to get me here, and are somehow keeping my magic suppressed. I’ll admit, when I met with you in that temple in Aurendale, I thought your offer to trade me the information I seek in return for helping you rescue your daughter would help us each get what we wanted.” Kylan shook his head. “You told me she had been taken by coastal marauders, and we needed to rescue her before they could take her back to their ship.” The man in front of him didn’t speak. Kylan shifted his weight against the wall. He tossed aside his frustration, his next words honed with a sharp edge.
“How did you get tangled up in the webs of the necromancer, Drun’el? You’re a priest of Namai, after all. Aren’t you supposed to hold all life as sacred, yet find yourself a puppet of one who practices dark magic that goes against everything you believe?”
The priest’s voice slid from his mouth like a serpent’s hiss. In the temple this man was the image of kindness. Kylan found him praying with those afflicted with bone rot and offering medicinal potions to families without the means to be treated properly. But the man that stood before him now hid daggers behind his smile.
“Oh, but I do hold life sacred, Kylan. Even yours.” Drun’el said, stepping forward. He held a priest’s beaded necklace wrapped around his knuckles, a length of the copperspun beads hanging loose against his robes. He reached up with his other hand, tugging at the thin cerulean fabric, and loosened the leather ties of his collar. Kylan looked the priest over with narrowed eyes. His hair was cropped short and his bronze skin was shaded darker in the low light of the cave. His beard was long and knotted at the end and each ear had two silver rings around the helix. He spoke again, his deep voice carrying a sinister undertone. “The goddess Namai teaches us to live off the land by eating what’s provided. That’s all my brothers and sisters do, we eat what is provided by Everscia herself.” Drun’el looked away towards a set of long wooden tables surrounded by braziers. In the glow of the fires, several others sat, eating the meat from a man’s body carved in front of them. Drun’el glared back at Kylan, his eyes fixed in an intense gaze. “We just prefer the meat of men and women to that of animals.”
Kylan gripped the chains hanging from the stone wall. His mind drifted as he tried to piece together his thoughts like an unfinished puzzle. He recalled the night at the necromancer’s cottage and the discovery of her journal, which had provided more information than Kylan realized he needed. It offered the spell to transfer his wife to the necromancer’s body, but required further assistance to permanently separate their souls.
Written within the pages was information on the embershards, remnants of an ancient celestial crystal that had been discovered in the mountains of Everscia by ancient monks. The crystal’s surface was a multitude of colors, each with a different texture, as if many separate jewels had been forged together as one. They found the sections of the giant crystal had loosened and chipped off, its shards scattered on the ground. The monks called the crystal the Emberstone due to its pulsing with an otherworldly glow, as an ember in a fire. They gathered the embershards, each with its own power, and separated them amongst themselves. Those monks became the first mages of Everscia due to the magic held within each shard. They all agreed their secrets needed to be protected and so their order split, with each monk taking a group of followers to a different region of Everscia.
Kylan remembered reading the pages over while Auralyn slept, entranced in his dreamspell, committing the information to memory. He wondered how long it took her to track down all of the locations and history of the shards.
The two stones he discovered in the necromancer’s cottage were black, smooth as polished obsidian, and crimson with purple veins stretched over its surface. The death stone, gave the owner power over souls -- no doubt a highly sought after artifact for necromancers, and the heart stone, giving the owner power over blood, the ability to control another person’s mind. There was information about the other embershards, but Kylan was most interested in just one of them. This final embershard was unique in the fact that it was not only two colors, emerald and amber, but it gave the owner the power to move dirt and stone.
Kylan pictured the ink-scrawled pages of her journal, the ancient secrets revealed in the necromancer’s own handwriting. He recited the words in his mind, unsure why he allowed his mind to wander at this moment. He just knew that he had to get free, get what he needed, and get back home to help Auralyn. The priest continued speaking, giving the mage time to collect his thoughts. Drun’el’s voice echoed in the silence of the small cavern.
“We, those of us within this coven, graciously accept the blessings of our goddesses.”
Kylan’s eyes raged and he spoke, sharp and menacing.
“You’re cannibals. Your perversion of the goddess’s blessings is disgraceful.”
The priest ran a hand across a pocket in his robes, fingers lingering over a small, odd-shaped bulge. Kylan noticed but didn’t speak.
“Says the man who practices science and magic in an attempt to become a god himself.” Drun’el barked out his words and then composed himself, his voice taking on a smoother tone. “We all have our vices, our flaws, do we not? I wear the robes of Namai and believe in her teachings, but that is just my persona during the day, in the light. As for me and my kind, we do give thanks for the meal, but our offerings are to our lady, Archaina, daughter of Neveraak, the god Kiraak’s firstborn. She is the matron of death, of darkness and shadow, and it is her glory that we honor with our prayers.” Drun’el folded his hands in front of him. “Do not be naive, mage. There are those that hold high positions across Everscia who worship her in private, away from the judgment of others. She has many followers. Many powerful followers.”
Drun’el paused, allowing those last words to hang in the air a moment. His words whispered a subtle threat.
“I sought you out seeking information on the necromancer’s rebirth spell. She mentioned you by name, that you could help me.” Kylan lied. “Why go through all this trouble? If you didn’t want to help me, why not just turn me away at the temple?”
“Ah, yes. The rebirth spell. A reanimation spell, to transfer the soul of one into another’s body. I am familiar with this ritual. By now you must be aware that Morluna has lived a long time, and when the body begins to wither, the necromancer simply transfers to a new host. And her life continued, again and again.” Drun’el spread his hands, the warm glow from behind tracing the outline of his features in soft light. Kylan’s eyes strayed to the tables set in the cavern’s lower level, where people were feasting on a body, the rib cage broke open, entrails spilling over the sides. Their mouths and chins were bloody, hands full of raw flesh. He glanced at the fire flickering in the braziers nearby and it lit a spark within him. Kylan allowed the spark to fill him as the priest continued. “There’s more to that spell, I’m sure you know by now. In order to be reborn, one must die...be buried. The ground must be opened and the body willingly given to it, then closed back up. Morluna is one of us, Kylan. She
has spent time here in our sanctuary, away from the eyes of those that do not understand. We have shared meals and worshipped together at our shrine.”
He waved an arm to a far back corner of the cavern, completely dark except for the candles surrounding a statue of Archaina. Kylan stared for a moment, his eyes falling over the intricate details carved into the stone. The upper part was that of a beautiful woman, long hair falling over bare breasts. Her spider’s abdomen was bulbous and stood on four segmented legs holding her high above her prey, a woman draped in thin robes with her neck bent as an offering. Archaina’s human arms were extended, holding her victim’s head in her palms, while the other four spider legs, crooked and spiked, curved around the woman in a dark embrace. The stone goddess’s mouth was open with fangs bared, poised over the woman’s neck.
“When you came here to our sanctuary, I had no intention of helping you. What you seek is too valuable to me personally. You see, Morluna gave me this,” Both the mage and the priest looked with eyes wide as Drun’el removed a small gemstone from his pocket, an opaque crystal of amber and emerald. It glowed in his palm as he held it there between them, their faces washed in warm light. “So that I could assist her with her experiments. I was her trusted ally. But I discovered it had more power than even she knew. I used it to carve this cave from the mountainside. I used it to create the shrine of our lady Archaina. The earth stone allows one to control the dirt and stone, manipulating it in ways magic cannot.” He placed it back into his pocket and met Kylan’s eyes with a fierce stare. “So I cannot give you this embershard. I know what it is, mage, and I’m not willing to give up its power. This is why I lured you here. This is why I have used the stone to control the gravity field around you, neutralizing your magic. You and the necromancer are the same. And because I know you will never stop in your quest to retrieve the embershard, my earth stone, I cannot let you leave here.”
The priest grinned, his lips parting to reveal several crooked teeth, tombstones on a barren field, stained red. That is why you are tonight’s guest of honor at our main table. My brothers and sisters and I will feast on your flesh, pick our teeth with your bones, and give thanks to Archaina for providing once again, what I’m sure is a most magical meal.”
The priest laughed with a jackal’s rasp. Kylan spit and rushed forward, the chains pulling him taut. He pressed against the resistance, his face drawn in anger.
“I came to you for help to save my wife, Drun’el.” He screamed. “You’re a priest, just as much a pawn as I was. Look around, you have plenty to fill your tables. You don’t need me.” Kylan offered a final desperate plea. “Let me go, Drun’el. I just want to save my wife from the horrible fate that awaits her if I fail. I don’t need your stone.” Drun’el looked at the mage with an empty expression.
“It’s not what you need, but what I need. I need your silence.” His expression hardened. “And I need this stone. My decision is made, Kylan. The mages of Silvermoth will not save you, so pray to whatever gods you hold dear and make peace with your sins because your time is near.”
The priest turned and made his way down the small path to the lower ridge of the cavern and joined the members of his coven at the tables. He glanced over the body laid atop the table. Several members fed from his flesh. Entrails fell loose over the tabletop, the stench of death wafting over the air and swelling around Kylan. The smell turned his stomach, and the sight of the cannibals eating made his chest heave. Kylan watched Drun’el press his hands into the dead man’s open chest cavity and bring up a handful of tissue and organs, stuffing it into his mouth and tearing at the sinew with his teeth, the blood running down his chin and staining the front of his robes.
Moments passed in silence, but for the slurp and wet sounds of the cannibals eating and the scrape of their knives against bone. Kylan finally gave in and knelt with his hands held above him, his shackles holding him up and digging into his skin. He couldn't help but wonder if the gods had abandoned him to be taunted and toyed with for their entertainment.
A whisper came from the shadows.
“I can help you.”
Kylan opened his eyes and heard the voice whisper again. He turned his head and looked but did not see anyone.
“I can get you out of here, mage. Just give me one--”
Kylan felt something tugging at his bindings and then the quiet clank of the chains.
“Got it.”
The slack loosened and Kylan fell forward, pushing himself to his feet. The first thing he noticed was the soft glow of the brazier’s light glinting off the curved tines of antlers. A face followed, emerging from the darkness. The horns were attached to each side of his head reaching upwards, like that of a fallow deer in the Stormvale. His hair was pulled up in a top knot with grey hair hanging down over his back. Beneath a fallen lock of hair, Kylan saw pointed ears.
An elf.
“Thank you. I owe you a debt, my friend. But, why are you helping me?”
The elf ran a hand through his long, knotted beard. Several braids of beard hung from his chin, golden rings and carved colored beads were tied into the hair. He glanced towards a tunnel ahead of them along the northern wall of the cave and looked back at the mage.
“Name’s Hechthir, and I don’t agree with what they’re doing to you. I’ve been losing faith in their methods for some time now. So we’re both getting out of here.” Hechthir crouched and moved along the wall of the cave, keeping to the shadows. He nodded to the mage. “Come on, we need to leave while they’re distracted.”
Kylan stepped forward several paces and felt the weight lift. A current flowed through his veins. Magic. He sparked a small flicker of fire from his fingertips, testing his power. He had passed through Drun’el’s gravity field that was holding him.
“I appreciate your help, Hechthir, I really do, but there is something I must do before I can go with you. I came here for something and I’m afraid I can’t leave without it. Everything in my life depends on this.”
Kylan rushed in the direction of the tables. Dark, golden flames raged in his eyes, the stain of the priest’s betrayal flooding his senses. He raised his arms with palms open. Spirals of flame slithered over his knuckles and wounded wrists. Soon flames rolled over his forearms and he threw his magic forward, casting waves of fire over the cannibals. He didn’t have time for a fight. He needed this to be over. Several men stood from the table, pulling swords. Kylan turned his magic to them, raising his hands. Fire erupted again with a furious roar. Kylan stood firm as the maelstrom of fire tore through the group, rending skin from bone. Blood boiled and thickened as flesh separated from the muscle beneath. The firelit cavern echoed with their scattered screams.
Drun’el wrenched beneath the heat, writhing in place. Kylan focused his attention on the priest. He did not see two men moving from the shadows towards him.
Something whipped past him, and he watched two glowing arrows sink into his assailants, one after the other. The two men dropped. Kylan looked back to see Hechthir holding a spectral bow, glowing purple in the dim light, a dark pink mist flowing over its surface. The elf pulled back the string, nocking another arrow and sprung into action. Kylan realized he had an ally and turned back to the priest. Drun’el laid over the table burnt and smoking, his top half burnt and charred, his lower half untouched by the flames. Kylan rushed to his side and pulled the earth stone from his pocket. He placed it into his own pocket with the two embershards he took from the necromancer’s cottage, and looked for Hechthir.
The elf was crouched over one of the cannibals, carving flesh from bone. Kylan approached him, his eyes on the elf’s dagger slicing with skill.
“Hechthir?”
“This is something I must do, Kylan. I’d hope you would indulge me after what just happened.” The elf worked his blade over the flesh and shook his head. “While I don’t condone revenge...I understand it.”
Kylan nodded and stood in silence. Maybe the elf had earned his respect and understanding after th
e display of chaos he had witnessed without a word. It surprised the mage that Hechthir had stepped in, helping to ensure Kylan’s act of vengeance was successful. He glanced at the tables, the burning wood and charred bodies still smoking. When Hechthir was done taking what he needed, he wrapped the fresh meat in cloth and stowed it into one of the two satchels strapped across his back. He stood and began walking, meeting Kylan’s eyes in passing.
“Follow me. The way out is over here.”
Kylan followed Hechthir through the maze of tunnels that carried them from the belly of the mountain out into the forest. He didn’t mention the elf carving up his former coven, they were cannibals after all, and Kylan couldn’t fault him for taking some food for the road. The elf’s actions told him more about Hechthir than his choice of food. And he was grateful for the help. They stepped outside and into the sunlight. Hechthir led the mage into the forest.
“We need to keep moving, put some distance between us and that cave. Best to stay off the main path for a while.”
“Thank you for helping me escape. I gather you were there to eat, same as the rest of them?”
“Yes.” The elf said, looking at the sun hanging over the treetops in the afternoon sky. “And you’re welcome. I had only gotten involved with them out of convenience. I’m a wood elf, and part of my religion and culture is that we eat what we kill from the forest. That includes the flesh of men and elves. And while I prefer the meat of other wood elves, I don’t let anything go to waste. Which is why I took advantage of the fresh kill back in the cavern.”
The Blade Unbroken: Magebreaker Page 4
