by Sam Ferguson
“Marlin,” Dimwater said flatly. “You didn’t answer me.”
He nodded and walked out onto the overlook. He reached out to the wooden handrail and pulled a parchment from the rail, tearing it free from a small nail that had held it in place. “I received this letter earlier today, before I went in for my shift with Lepkin.”
Dimwater walked up to him and squeezed out onto the overlook with Marlin. She held her hand out expectantly. “What is it?”
“I could not read it,” Marlin said. “It is not written with magic, like the books in our library. I had our chief messenger, a neophyte of two years, look at it.”
“It is from the king,” Dimwater said as she took it in hand and looked over its contents.
“The senate chamber has been laid to waste,” Marlin said. “At least, that is what my messenger told me.”
Dimwater nodded. “So, the seats of white have been destroyed,” Dimwater said.
“The king’s account is not overly detailed,” Marlin continued. “But it is enough to see that Erik and Al are not esteemed as enemies of the king.”
“That is good,” Dimwater noted as she continued to read the letter. “King Mathias is asking for volunteers from the temple to prepare to be transferred to Drakei Glazei,” she said as she neared the end of the letter.
Marlin nodded. “Specifically, he asks for half of my warriors.”
“Do you intend to send them?”
Marlin sighed and leaned forward on the handrail. “Traditionally the warriors of Valtuu Temple do not engage in political conflicts. Since our foundation, we have let the nobles see to themselves while we take care of the temple. Our duties have ever been somewhat autonomous from the kingdom, as we serve the Ancients and distance ourselves from the affairs of men. However, it does not appear wise to deny the king his request. Before Erik destroyed the senate, perhaps we could have abstained, but not now.”
“It would be seen as standing against the king,” Dimwater noted with a decisive nod.
“It would,” he agreed. “While we are certainly not against the king in any respect, we can’t afford to allow others to think that Valtuu Temple would defy the king. I will send him more than what he has requested, just so others may see our overwhelming support.”
“The temple will be more vulnerable then,” Dimwater said.
“I know,” Marlin replied. His shoulders slumped and he tapped his fingers on the rail in front of him. “To deny the king could spark a feud that we cannot afford, and to deliver what he asks is to invite those who seek the book to throw themselves at our walls until they break through.”
“The letter did not mention what Al and Erik were doing now,” Lady Dimwater said.
“Well, it wouldn’t mention Erik,” Marlin said with a finger up in the air. “The king believes it was Lepkin.”
“Yes, but you know what I mean,” Dimwater countered. Her tone conveyed she was not in the mood for pointless debate.
Marlin shrugged. “I had my chief messenger write back asking about them, but we have no response as of yet. I don’t expect one for some time.”
“Well, for our sakes I hope they are making the return journey,” Dimwater said.
“As do I,” Marlin agreed. “But we must plan as if they will not be back for some time. With Al going to get the scale from his brother, it may take quite a while yet before we see them emerge from the forest.”
“Now I see what weighs upon your heart,” Dimwater said. “I may not be able to see your aura, but the expression on your face is plain.”
“I assume you will stay with us until Erik returns,” Marlin said.
Dimwater smiled and looked back over her shoulder longingly. “I lost Lepkin once,” she said. “I will not leave his side again in this life. I am here until Lepkin wakes and is recovered, no matter how long that may take.”
“That lifts a bit of the burden from me,” Marlin said. “It will be good to have you by my side if the demons come looking for the book.”
“I will be here,” she promised. “When do your warriors leave?”
“They leave at first light,” Marlin said. “It is the soonest they could prepare for the journey. I want the kingdom to know that Valtuu Temple stands firmly with the king. A slow response would have been only marginally better than no response at all.”
Dimwater nodded knowingly. “Then, knowing the Blacktongues, I should expect we will see them the day after tomorrow, just after your warriors are far enough away not to be recalled quickly.”
Marlin nodded. “I thought the same thing.” He turned and placed a hand on her shoulder. “We will still have some warriors here,” he said. “And with you here it will not be so easy to overtake us.”
CHAPTER TWO
Gondok’hr stepped into the room. The smell of charred wood and flesh assaulted his nose, but he didn’t flinch. He walked by the bodies on the floor, searching each one as he passed. Occasionally he would point to a corpse and a little green kobold would scamper over and place a golden dot of paint on the body’s forehead with his long, crooked thumb. The others were not disturbed.
The warlock stopped in front of one body and turned it over with his foot. A mangled, half-burnt face stared up at him with eyes frozen in horror. “This one too,” he said. The kobold grunted and sauntered over, sloshing a bit of the gold paint out of the jar he held in his left hand. “Be careful, you fool!” Gondok’hr chided. A quick slap to the back of the kobold’s bald head drove the point home.
“Sorry, master,” the creature hissed.
“Your casualties were high,” a low, dark voice grumbled from behind.
Gondok’hr turned to see a man standing in the doorway dressed in long, flowing blue robes. The robes bore no design at all, yet to call them plain wouldn’t be accurate either. They were made of fine silk that shimmered with even the slightest of moves. The warlock knew at once who the visitor was, despite the low hanging cowl that covered the man’s face. “Master Gilifan, my thanks for your quick response,” Gondok’hr said.
“You left me little choice,” Gilifan hissed. He reached up with bony, yet strong fingers and pulled back the cowl to reveal his long, narrow face under a thinning mass of neatly oiled gray hair. “Do you know how tiring it is to raise an army for you, only to have you carelessly waste my work?”
Gondok’hr folded his arms across his chest. “You are more than welcome to take control of the battles if you disagree with my strategy,” he snarled.
Master Gilifan narrowed his eyes on Gondok’hr and wagged a bony finger at him. “Be mindful of what you say to me, or have you forgotten our arrangement?”
Gondok’hr bristled, but he relaxed his tone considerably. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“See to it that you don’t,” Gilifan warned. “I am willing to reward those who are faithful, but I will not suffer insolence.”
“The fact remains,” Gondok’hr began. “If you disapprove of my strategy, you are free to assume command of the army. It would allow me to concentrate on other avenues.”
“Ah yes, you would go directly for the boy,” Gilifan said with a smile. He pointed to the bodies on the floor. “You have already missed two opportunities.” Gilifan strode into the room, stepping over a pair of bodies in his way. “I will raise the army once more, but do not expect me to rescue you if you should fail at Lokton Manor.”
“I will not fail,” Gondok’hr said. “I have others joining in the assault. We shall prevail.”
“Good,” Gilifan said.
“Once the manor falls, and the boy is slain—” Gondok’hr was cut off by Gilifan’s upraised hand.
“Yes, yes. Once you have delivered Erik’s dead body then I will bring your family back from the dead.”
Gondok’hr nodded.
Gilifan motioned for him to leave the room. “I have work to do, and you are only going to hinder it. I assume you want me to raise the bodies of those who challenged you as well?”
Gondok’hr nodded. “
All with the golden dot.”
“Very well,” Gilifan said. “Now leave me to my work.”
Gondok’hr walked to the doorway and stopped abruptly. He turned and stared directly at Gilifan. “I know Master Tu’luh favors you, but if you fail to uphold your end of our deal, I will destroy you. You are not the only one who has powers beyond the grave.”
Gilifan stopped and regarded Gondok’hr for a moment. The two locked eyes, engaged in a wrestling contest of wills. Gilifan won. He watched the warlock disappear out the door and down the hall before turning back to a body at his feet. He placed a hand over the gold dot on a female’s forehead. A small spark of lightning jumped from his hand to the dot. The dot burned and turned black.
The kobold squeaked nearby and turned to leave the room.
“Hold still,” Gilifan commanded. The hunchbacked figure stopped dead in its tracks, visibly trembling. “I have no intention of hurting you,” Gilifan promised. “Who is this person with the charred face? Why does he have a dot?”
“That is Master B’Dargen, he was loyal to Gondok’hr.”
“B’Dargen,” Gilifan repeated. He nodded his head. “Very well, you may leave.” He sneered as he watched the kobold rush to scramble away from him. Then he rose to his feet and waved his hand over the female body with the black dot. The air in the room grew thicker and a silver light emerged from his downturned palm. It swirled in place like an upside-down tornado over the body until it became an orb roughly the size of a large egg.
Gilifan then waved his left hand, sending a shower of silver sparks into the air that hovered momentarily before darting down to find all of the golden dots of paint. Just as before, the dots turned black once a spark entered in. “Khosum-eh, blokch’ur-eh,” Gilifan said. The silver orb responded by growing three times its size and spinning out and away from him. Small, black tendrils reached out from the black dots hissing as they connected with the silver orb. The orb sizzled and crackled and it too turned black. The walls creaked and groaned against the changing pressure in the room. Gilifan’s robes waved violently with the churning air, but he stood still and calm amidst the spell’s storm.
“Black death, I banish you for a season from these, my servants, on whom I have laid my claim under the rites passed down from Sandora, the first of our order. Take your cold grasp and be gone into the abyss!”
The black tendrils thickened, pulling out from the corpses’ foreheads and joining with the spinning orb. After the span of several minutes the tendrils disappeared into the orb and the dots faded away, leaving a faint bruise on each corpse’s forehead.
Gilifan moved quickly, pulling an amulet out from under his robes and holding the large emerald before him. “Khosum-eh, apres-ek,” he said. The amulet hummed and gyrated back and forth on its golden chain. “Rise, my servants, and pledge your obedience to your new master.”
Yellow and green flashes leapt from the emerald out to each corpse, igniting a flame no larger than that of a candle upon their foreheads. No sooner had each flame come to life than it would die and the corpse would gasp for air as if emerging from a deep pool. Gilifan smiled as the first few bodies extended their limbs and rose to their feet. Gaping wounds sealed themselves, repaired by the necromancer’s magic. Burns and scars faded away to reveal new, living flesh so that each body was restored in full.
The woman nearest him cracked her knuckles and smoothed her hair away from her face. “How is this possible?” she said.
Gilifan’s smile widened, stretching his lips thin over his crooked, ivory-colored teeth. “I am the master of death,” he said. “I have given back the spark of your life.”
The woman scrunched her brow. “And what do you ask in return?”
Gilifan bristled and his smile disappeared. He was never pleased when a soul was strong enough to regain its full consciousness. He preferred the bodies to be reanimated with just enough will to live, but not enough to question his authority over them. “I demand your undying loyalty and obedience,” he said flatly. “Unless you prefer the darkness of death.” The woman stumbled back, surveying the scene around her. Her eyes sparkled and Gilifan could see that her spirit was strong indeed. She was regaining her memory.
“Orres was right,” she muttered. “This is madness…” she turned her gaze up to Gilifan.
“Pity,” Gilifan said. He snapped his fingers and the green spark flew out from the woman’s mouth and returned to the emerald. Her body fell limp to the floor and a black tendril reached out from the orb to connect with her again. “Resurm-eh, uzum-en,” he said. He watched for a moment as death returned to the woman and seized her once more, then he turned to address the others.
“Does anyone else object?” he asked. Blank, undiscerning stares answered him. He nodded and smiled. “That is more like it,” he said approvingly. “You are all to join the army in the courtyard. The warlock, Gondok’hr, will be your new master. To disobey him is to die.” Gilifan pointed to the woman’s lifeless body. “Lest there be any confusion, the second death is permanent.” He stepped forward and patted one of the raised men on the shoulder. “However, to obey your master is to live forever. Even if a blade shall cut you down, I will bring you back so long as you are loyal. Now go and serve.” The newly raised men and women began to exit the room.
Gilifan held out his hand and stopped B’Dargen. “You shall come with me,” Gilifan said.
“As you command,” B’dargen said.
“What do you remember from before?” Gilifan asked. The necromancer looked deeply into B’dargen’s cloudy eyes, looking for any speck of recognition.
B’dargen put a hand to his head. He closed his eyes, obviously struggling to think. Finally he shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “It is a dark haze for me.”
Gilifan nodded. “You remember nothing?” he asked.
“The name Gondok’hr is familiar, but I cannot place it,” B’dargen replied.
“I see,” Gilifan said with a slight smile creeping back onto his face. “You will be my servant. Come with me, there is much to be done.”
“By your command,” B’dargen answered.
Gilifan replaced the emerald amulet beneath his robes. Then, after all of the resurrected slaves were gone, he muttered a spell and summoned forth a shining yellow portal. The oblong, glowing disc grew until it stretched from floor to ceiling, then it widened as a great eye opening from sleep. A gust of wind swept into the room from the other side of the portal, carrying with it the scent of roasting pig and duck. “Ah, it is near time for dinner,” Gilifan said. “First we shall feast, and then we shall march to gather more warriors for our cause.”
B’dargen nodded.
“Come, let us depart,” Gilifan instructed. He then walked through the portal. B’dargen followed him.
Neither one of them noticed the kobold sneak in behind them just before the portal winked closed.
*****
“My lord, we have located Janik’s office,” a large man announced.
Gondok’hr turned away from the painting in front of him. “Very well. What have you found?”
“If anything was ever there that could prove his connection to you, it is gone now,” the man answered.
Gondok’hr nodded once and turned back to the painting. “Have them search Lady Dimwater’s office next. Tell them to take Hobbs and Ferl. They will need to dispel her magical wards before they enter.”
“By your command,” the man said.
“One more thing,” Gondok’hr added. The man stopped and turned back to him. “I want this painting saved.” Gondok’hr held out his hand and touched the side of the frame. “The rescue of Lady Zana, daughter of Count Reginald,” he said softly as he read the words from a brass plate in the bottom of the frame. “It appeals to me.”
“My lord?” the man asked with a raise brow.
“It calls to me on a personal level,” Gondok’hr replied with a shrug. “It embodies the truth that a man will do anything to save his family. Look at
the way the hero advances against unsurmountable odds. He defies demons with an axe.”
The man nodded blankly and looked at the image, but he said nothing.
“It also serves as a reminder of man’s greed and selfishness,” Gondok’hr added with a sneer.
“You see, the hero should have died that day, but instead he made a pact with those that had previously been his enemy.” Gondok’hr chuckled. “An odd paradox we humans are. On the one hand we are filled with selfless love, and on the other we are consumed by our own selfishness. The legends depicting great battles between good and evil are really no more than varying shades of gray on the scale between these two principles that rule over our actions.”
Gondok’hr stood for a moment more, staring at the painting. “My dear Janik,” he said to the man in the painting. Then he backed away and turned down the hall, striding past his servant. “Take it to my carriage after it has been properly wrapped. I want it in pristine condition when I hang it on the wall of my home.”
“Yes, my lord,” the man promised.
Gondok’hr walked through the mess hall, where several men were standing around a platter of bread and fruits. One of them, a man with silky gray hair hanging over his shoulders, looked up and noticed the warlock’s approach. They instantly bowed their heads as he walked by, quick to hide their food behind their backs or replace it on the platter.
“Eat,” Gondok’hr commanded. “We have much work to do, and you will all need your strength.” They all obeyed, shoving food into their mouths while continuing to nod at their master. Gondok’hr exited the mess hall and turned down a corridor to an office room he had commandeered as his own personal quarters.
The east wall was lined with book shelves, with books he recognized as treatises on the arcane. The wall opposite held several paintings of legendary wizards hanging over a credenza that held various jars of different animal parts preserved inside. The desk had been shoved up under the great windows to make room for the bed that he had ordered his men to bring inside. Next to the bed stood a short pedestal, about waist high and as large around as a small end table. Atop the pedestal sat an onyx bowl.
