Necromancer’s Sorrow: (Series Finale)

by Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla

  She felt another presence. Even with her eyes closed, she recognized Mojak’s peaceful energy. Then she felt two other energies joining his. She decided that one was the elf. The other was more opaque, presumably the Naevas Aedán.

  She opened her eyes. In front of her were Mojak, Flóregund, and Alaris. The two men were staring at her in wonder. She had never seen an expression like that on Mojak’s face. It was a paternal look, almost tender. On Flóregund’s face, on the other hand, she glimpsed an expression she had seen in most of the boys in the school who had fallen unwillingly in love with her. They had fallen in love with her physical qualities and guessed that it was the same with the elf.

  Although she was used to masculine attention, she did not know what to do with that of an elf. The youth was very handsome. She had never come across anyone with such delicate features, golden hair, and blue eyes. But her unalterable love for Manchego kept her steady and true to her mission. She clenched her fists and went on.

  No more moments of weakness, she told herself. From now on, I’m going to do everything in my power to avoid letting myself be overwhelmed by the horrors around me. Her gaze seemed to emanate radiant energy. Her gaze was like a lantern of piercing energy.

  Flóregund lost himself in her eyes. Mojak studied her.

  “Right, then,” she said. “Let’s go on with our journey. Where to now?”

  “I’m not the one to ask,” said Flóregund, excusing himself as though he were answering a general. “We’ve come to a world that, apparently, belonged to my ancestors but I have no idea why we’re here.” He pointed at Mojak. “Ask him.”

  “Mojak,” Luchy said. She did not have to say anything else. The Wild Man began to walk into the Temple.

  “And now where’s he taking us?” the elf said. “He’s rude, that’s what I think. He doesn’t have the decency to answer when I speak to him.”

  “They cut out his tongue when he was a prisoner of the demons.”

  Flóregund blushed. “Oh… I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, I’m horrible.”

  “Shut up and follow him,” Luchy replied grimly.

  ***

  When they reached the center of the temple, an entanglement of hundreds of roots as thick as those they had seen at the pillars twisted in a knot toward the sky where it burst into a mass of flower stems. It was obvious they had come to a more important area.

  “A tangle of roots,” the elf said ironically. “This seems to be perfect, the solution to our problems. And now we’re going to get to Allündel because the great Wild Man has found the most important tangle in the temple.” The Wild Man gave him such a look that the elf fell silent. Luchy watched the exchange, annoyed by the elf’s impertinence, and gave him a similar look. It silenced him for a good while.

  Mojak began to search among the tangle of roots. The structure was so solid that it looked impossible to move. Luchy sat down on the ground and waited while the elf tried to hide his shame.

  They were all quiet as an echo built up in the space. Luchy and the elf were watching Mojak keenly, noticing that the huge Wild Man had his left palm in contact with that tangle of roots. The tattoos on his arm shone bright blue and gave out such a brilliant light that it blinded them.

  A powerful croak was followed by a sweet ringing. The tangle of roots began to unravel through some arcane magic and after a few minutes, it had formed a perfect, round dome. Outside it was a vortex of blue light.

  “A portal outside the Interim!” the elf shouted. “By Ÿ, how incredible! Mojak, you’re a genius! How did you know?”

  Mojak took Luchy’s hand and guided her to the portal and the next moment, they disappeared. Flóregund, annoyed at being ignored, turned to Alaris and said, “How was I to know the big guy would manage to find a portal outside the Interim!”

  Without further ado, the elf and the seraph crossed the portal and vanished. Behind them, the dome began to close, the roots entangling themselves once again to seal Nimyaya’s secret.

  Chapter XVI — The Unpredictable Airs of Love

  Mérdmerén swallowed the last piece of coffee cake. It was one of the specialties that his daughter Ajedrea, together with her husband Lombardo, had created at her home. Her idea was to start a confectionery business in Háztatlon.

  “Coffee grows very well in the northern regions,” Lombardo added as he savored the freshly-brewed coffee. “The temperature and the altitude in the mountains near Devnóngaron provide fertility and the right conditions for the plant. It has aromas and flavors I’d never tasted before. It’s a delicious harvest.”

  “So I see,” Mérdmerén commented. He felt his stomach to remind himself that he was gaining weight in the absence of action and adventure. He felt once again for the belt that fastened the Dagger of Stern to his chest, remembering that he had a very important meeting with Balthazar that day. The existence of Nordost, a dragon with metallic scales, had attracted his attention since the day Empress Sokomonoko had mentioned it months back when he had met with her in one of the Towers of Lis located in Iris, the capital of Grizna.

  Lombardo smiled broadly. “It seems to me that coffee could be to the taste of the leaders of foreign worlds.” The young man was keeping himself in shape. It was obvious that he still practiced with his double sword. “How about exporting it to other worlds? Do you think we could establish trade with other cultures?”

  “I bring some really important news,” Ajedrea said with a smile. She took Lombardo’s hand. His son-in-law and daughter glanced nervously at the sovereign. Mérdmerén shivered at the thought of what they were going to tell him.

  “I’ve missed my period twice already,” Ajedrea said. “The midwife assures me I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a grandfather!”

  This said, Ajedrea fell on the king and covered his cheeks with kisses. Mérdmerén was left breathless from so much love, then he felt flooded by a strange emotion. A tear ran down his cheek.

  A grandchild in these murky times? Well, of course, that was how it should be, he thought. Life goes on and the species needs to multiply or else there’s no doubt we’ll perish.

  It had never been more important to stop the advance of the Times of Chaos than now. A child, like so many others all over the world, who would one day come to know all the worlds. He would do everything possible to make sure that this world would offer him the chance to flourish. He regretted having let himself be carried away by the lure of leisure, but he knew that there was still time for him to train. He would involve Leandro in it, and in the process, the general would be invited to shed his excess weight as well.

  “Congratulations!” was all the king could say in a choked voice. He hugged them both and added, “I know you’ll be excellent parents. I know. I’m so happy you’re together. And you, Lombardo, from being a farmer to surviving the Massacre of San San-Tera, to burying the Cursed Pit, you’ve been a top-class warrior. You helped us defeat the evil army during the Battle of Háztatlon. You’re worthy of your position as a nobleman.”

  Lombardo smiled, then shed a tear. The tear was not just because of his feelings on becoming a father, but also because of his memories of the estate where he had grown up, the village he had left behind, and all the friends of his who had perished.

  ***

  Balthazar’s choice for the meeting place surprised Mérdmerén and he saw that Sokomonoko was surprised too. They were in the Kings’ Square, the park in front of the Imperial Palace, where several noblemen and bureaucrats were enjoying the sunny day. It was past noon.

  The delightful scent was unusual at this stage of the year. It smelt of spring when it should have been winter. The snow stopped falling early. The South was enjoying this since they were the least accustomed to cold weather. But everything was topsy-turvy these days. It had been caused by the death of the Gods, Balthazar had claimed, and Mérdmerén did not doubt it.

  The king, Balthazar, and the empress were accompanied by the king’s escort, which included Greyson. Like a good watchdog, the we
ather-beaten, mustachioed thief was scanning their surroundings for possible danger.

  The people seemed to have grown accustomed to the strange events, for very few of them reacted with distaste to the presence of the Wild Man with his golden skin, white hair, and eyes blue as sapphires, and tattooed chest and hands that were incomparably massive and well-muscled. On the other hand, nobody seemed to have much of an opinion about Empress Sokomonoko, who wore a long black dress and had her hair gathered high like a flower. In Háztatlon the nobility was in the habit of dressing showily and perhaps for this reason, the Empress made no more impression than any other noblewoman.

  “The pieces are beginning to take up their positions on the board,” Balthazar said. “And as our strategy develops, so does that of evil. It won’t be long before Mórgomiel finds out what we’re doing, and at that point, evil will waste no time coming to this world. He already has spies infiltrated among us.”

  “What do you mean?” Mérdmerén asked uneasily. Sokomonoko was troubled as well.

  “Spies, assassins, malefactors, all kinds of vermin will be coming at Mórgomiel’s orders to sabotage our efforts. Némaldon used to be an important center of concentrated malice. But it’s not the only place where the shadow is spreading. There are corners where there are still evil beings working on behalf of the God of Chaos; particularly in Kanumorsus where the Interim is still dominated by his demons.”

  “And how do we prepare for the spies and the assassins?”

  “That is why we have only created a single Portal to other worlds,” Balthazar replied. “It won’t be difficult to guard the only one we have. Besides, it’s of extreme importance that you keep a guard of absolutely trustworthy people. The times will turn somber when the God of Chaos moves and takes an interest in us.

  “There’s another problem,” he continued. “As with any portal, this one too attracts the attention of the creatures which inhabit the Interim, including Mórgomiel’s demons. That’s why the creation of Maggrath was crucial. The mages must be trained. But I don’t think it will be enough. We need more allies.”

  “Which brings us to the reason for our little meeting,” Sokomonoko put in.

  “Why in the park?” Mérdmerén asked.

  “I suspect the palace has already been infiltrated by the enemy’s spies,” Balthazar said. “And although we certainly want the enemy to find out some of the details of our plan to lay siege to the Meridian, there are other details of our strategy which must remain hidden.”

  A shiver ran down Mérdmerén’s back at the mention of possible spies in his palace. Most of the guards, soldiers, cooks, waiters, carriage-drivers, porters, and so forth were the Baron’s thieves. But there were another hundred or so servants who might very well be spies for evil.

  “What’s your plan, then?” he asked.

  “Summon Nordost, one of the many dragons who have no connection with the essences of the Great Alliance,” Sokomonoko said. “Nordost has great powers that could counter Mórgomiel’s advances when he sets foot in the Meridian. With Nordost on our side, there will be a fiery beast to oppose Górgometh.” She spoke sadly as if she had suffered under his attack.

  Mérdmerén was absently fingering the Dagger of Stern. “Summon Nordost, the dragon with metallic scales…”

  “You have the one thing you need to summon him,” Balthazar said. “The Dagger of Stern, made from one of his scales—the only one missing.”

  “By the way,” Mérdmerén asked, “where exactly is this dragon?”

  “It’s not a place,” Sokomonoko told him. “It’s not a planet. It’s not even a place in our universe. Nordost is the guardian of a magical dimension held in an artificial world called Tempus Frontus or the Frontier of Time.”

  “How the hell am I going to get there?” the king asked.

  “Nobody knows,” Balthazar replied. “And yet we know that he can be summoned in times like these when the Times of Chaos have been fully unleashed.

  “Only another dragon can lead you to Nordost,” he concluded. “And for the moment, we don’t know of many who are on our side,”

  “So,” the sovereign said. “You know some dragons that might be contacted, it’s just that they haven’t taken part alongside us.”

  “Exactly. Mégalath, the dragon of the Goddess of Night, did not take part in the Summoning. I have tried to reason with him, but understandably the Dragon of Night hates everything and everyone. He won’t help us.”

  “In that case, how the devil am I going to summon Nordost?”

  “It remains to be seen, Lion’s Fist,” Sokomonoko said. “But let one thing be clear: Nordost must be summoned at the time when the Times of Chaos are unleashed, otherwise nobody will be able to oppose Górgometh.”

  “My goodness!” Mérdmerén muttered.

  ***

  on’t be stupid, Turi told himself as he prepared for the long journey. There was not much to pack. Besides his trusty dagger, his feline movements, and his magnificent clothes, he was not sure whether he ought to take a second or third change of outfit. Perhaps after every journey, they would return to the Meridian so that the travelers could change into new clothes.

  Turi had seen Othus the Benevolent fall to his knees to propose to Meromérila, anxious to make her his queen and wife. The leader of the land of iron and stone had been amicably rejected and left in a huff over what he felt to be an insult.

  Several nobles and dukes had also proposed in a thousand different ways. Even Philip Góndola, the Duke of Érliadon, had offered to dress her and make her up in the most up-to-date style in the Empire. He too, like all the other politicians who wished to entertain the queen, had been respectfully rejected. It was clear that the queen, who would soon occupy the land of the Old World, was much in demand since her physical attributes were attractive and her sonorous voice enchanted everybody.

  There were three knocks on the door of his room in one of the towers of the palace. It must be his cousin, Cail the Intrepid, who had recently been there with him to say goodbye and wish him a good journey. They had talked for hours with Cail describing the adventures he had had with other youths from the Dungeon of Thieves. He hoped it would not be Cail at the door. They had already spoken enough and he had no desire to prolong a conversation that would only make him jealous and anxious to go back to the simple life of a thief of the Dungeon.

  When he opened the door, he was left speechless. It was Meromérila. She wore a semi-transparent dress of purple tulle that went perfectly with her eyes. Behind her was a man in a green toga named Katalio.

  “Queen—” Turi could not finish his sentence. Meromérila put a finger on his lips and pushed him back into his room, followed by Katalio.

  “The queen is fertile!” Katalio announced in whispers, following the religious protocol. “The queen has found a mate! The queen has chosen!” Meromérila nodded and with that, Katalio smiled, winked at Turi, and left the room hastily, leaving Turi alone with this remarkable woman.

  “Um… Um, Mero—”

  “It is part of our culture. A priest must declare my fertility to my chosen mate. In our culture, it is women who choose and the men refuse or accept.”

  Meromérila stepped out of her translucent dress of purple tulle, revealing her body: slim-waisted with sensual hips and a pair of supple breasts the size of melons. Meromérila came close to Turi, who was open-mouthed and speechless with his eyes focused on the queen’s breasts. Part of the thief told him that he ought not to be staring at her, but his manhood sent his imagination reeling.

  Meromérila took the young man’s hands and placed them on her breasts.

  “The queen has chosen. I have chosen. Do you accept?”

  Turi began to mumble as he fell headlong between the queen’s breasts. She raised his face to her own and they came together in a fierce kiss.

  “I accept,” Turi managed to say between sighs.

  The youth put his hand between the queen’s legs. In a matter of seconds he was naked, t
hen the next moment he was inside her. They made love with great passion. Turi was unable to believe it was really happening.

  When the intense intercourse ended and before she left, the queen said, “From this day onwards, you are my mate. I carry your seed in me and we will continue our sessions together until I become pregnant with your child. Travel safely, my brave man, for when you return, your seat will be waiting for you beside me in New Gardak in the Old World.”

  Meromérila left. Outside the room, Katalio was waiting for her with a cloak to cover her body. There were no guards anywhere, which made Turi suspect that the queen had managed to convince them not to be around at this time.

  He was under a spell. When the trance of what had just happened faded, he dressed as fast as he could. What on earth had happened? A couple? A seat beside the queen? Child?

  Turi felt dizzy. His head was spinning. He had been sexually entrapped by the woman who hours ago had been the love of his life, but he had never before been seduced in such a way. It was as if he were prey.

  He was used to making the moves, flirting and wooing the women, then going away forever. This was completely different. He felt unpleasantly used by the woman he most desired in this world. It was as if he had signed an implicit contract, and he had not the slightest idea what it would mean for his future.

  A seat beside her in the Empire of Gardak? That would be on the other side of the world. Suddenly, he felt stupid and manipulated.

  Annoyed, he left the room as fast as he could. He must find Cail, or someone, to tell him what had just happened. Would they believe him?

  “The king is looking for you,” he heard behind him once he was out in the noisy corridors of the palace. Waiters and the princess’s retinue were coming and going, including cooks and other servants.