Cathexis: Necromancer's Dagger

by Philip Blood

  The Tchulian mercenary looked at the dagger curiously. Everyone had heard of cathexis metal, but few had ever seen one of the nineteen objects made from the rare substance. He contemplated the perfect mirror surface of the silvery blade curiously and wondered if all the stories were true, was this simple dagger made from cathexis truly more valuable than a kingdom? Suddenly his gaze returned to the nobleman and he asked, “And how are you so sure you can kill a Kirnath sorceress?”

  The nobleman sniffed and adjusted the fur at his collar, but instead of answering directly he turned his amused gaze on the cadaverous necromancer. “While you are availing yourself of the late Jatar’s body and throne, I will have the sorceress and her son killed by assassins." He quickly held up a hand to forestall the mercenary's outburst. "My men are well trained for this task and they will be armed with a poison that disrupts the powers of a sorceress. With her mind clouded the Kirnath witch can't focus and use her aura powers.”

  At that revelation, the Major sat back into his chair, and then said, “And when we are successful, then what happens?”

  The nobleman shrugged, “After CAracusS is in control of the ruler’s body everyone will take his orders as if he were Jatar. Then you, my good Major, will assist with the purge of Jatar’s loyal officers and take command of the military.”

  There was a brief silence as the major smoothed his slim mustache and goatee with thumb and forefinger. He leaned forward placing his callused right hand on the table and the ruby eyes of his Death’s Head officer’s ring glinted in the torchlight. “How do I know you two will keep our bargain after the Ardellen family is dead?”

  “Unless you have changed your mind since the last time we spoke, all you desire is the destruction of the Kirnath,” the hooded necromancer whispered, “Of that you have the best assurance of all, it is in MY best interests. The Kirnath have repeatedly attempted to eradicate the necromantic arts; they don’t ‘approve’ of our methods. This time, we will purge the sorcerers and all their kind from the earth. We will take their precious school and burn it to the ground.”

  The Tchulian Merc raised one hand with the index finger extended to make his point, “Just remember, I am to be there when the Kirnath Adepts and their school are finished.” For once his emotionless face showed a squint of intense hatred.

  “As you wish,” rasped the necromancer and waved his liver-spotted hand in dismissal of the petty detail.

  The Tchulian major’s face returned to an iron mask and he leaned back in his chair. “The day cannot come too soon.”

  “You hate them, hey?” the nobleman said in a soft voice and a knowing smile spread across his handsome face.

  “I have my reasons, and that is all you need to know,” spat the Tchulian major, his back straight with military formality.

  The nobleman raised one lace-cuffed hand and tapped his index finger repeatedly against his lips while staring at the major. Finally, with a chilling smile, he pushing his chair back and stood. “Then it is agreed, one year from today, on the first birth celebration of the Lindankar heir, Lord Jatar Ardellen’s soul will be destroyed, his body and kingdom stolen and his wife and child killed. Then we will be in control of the most powerful kingdom in the north.”

  CHAPTER ONE - JATAR

  Though other scholars might begin their chronicle of the Final Battle in ancient times, or much later when the boy killed his friend and came of age, or perhaps at the time of the Sundering... I contend that the turning point in history was that fateful day during the first week of spring in the year 3012 AG. It was on that day that Michael Ardellen turned one year old and the world shuddered with foreshadowing of the epic events to come. On that day of summer, the Ardellen family took the first step off a cliff and plummeted into the maelstrom of history. It was on this exact day that the three conspirators: a nobleman, a mercenary major and a necromancer culminated their plan to steal the throne of Lindankar.

  - Headmaster Lucent Margraves

  It was a hot sultry day without the slightest breeze; even the wind seemed to hold its breath waiting for the events of the day to unfold. The brightness of the day was in stark contrast with the darkness of the deeds to come. The land of Lindankar was poised to celebrate but destined to mourn. Merchants, with their long mule trains of fabulous goods, flocked like birds to seed, enticed by the scent of profit that floated in the very air of the celebrating capital city. Fancy coaches trundled in through the city gates followed by their full entourage as all the nobility came to attend the festivities. Ruling Lords and important Ambassadors from surrounding kingdoms arrived with great pomp and self-importance while the common folk poured into every inn and tavern to talk about the big event. It was the eve of Michael Ardellen’s first birth celebration and his official recognition as heir to the throne.

  Lady Elizabeth Ardellen stood directing events in the elegant banquet hall. She was near the long dining table that was set to seat thirty-two honored guests during the evening’s celebration dinner. At this very moment, Elizabeth was thinking that not all of these `honored’ guests were necessarily honorable, but this dinner for the visiting rulers, ambassadors and other sundry notables was traditional and therefore, nearly unavoidable.

  Tapestries draped the walls and depicted single and family portraits of past Ardellen generations. Servants flittered around like flutters making a nest, cleaning, placing dishes and adjusting tablecloths.

  Elizabeth watched over the proceedings from the center, giving a helpful hand here and a good suggestion there, wherever her guidance was needed. She noticed a spot on a crystal glass and began polishing it when a household servant approached; it was Gavin, a stiff and formal long time servant of the Ardellen family.

  Gavin's immaculately clean white and gold uniform hung from his thin frame as if his bones were a set of connecting hangers. The old servant spoke stiffly to Elizabeth, “Milady, Lord Jatar requests your presence in his private chambers.”

  Lady Elizabeth straightened up and turned to face Gavin. She liked the old man and decided to tease him a little. With a twinkle in her eye, she said, “Does he? Well, Gavin, I’m too busy right now so you can tell him to come down here,” she replied. She hoped to get a reaction from the somber servant and wasn't disappointed.

  Gavin looked confused and puzzled, but he replied as diplomatically as possible. “Milady, he seemed very adamant about obtaining your personal attention on a question about his wardrobe. He has just finished his bath and is not sure what his attire should be for tonight’s festivities.”

  Elizabeth turned back to her crystal glass as if unconcerned and answered, “Tell him he’ll just have to wait.” She continued to polish the glass while watching the servant in the reflection of the clear crystal.

  He remained standing while shifting his weight back and forth from foot to foot, nervously. Still trying not to smile, Elizabeth held the crystal up to the light while inspecting the shine and said, “Is there something else I can help you with, Gavin?”

  Resigned to his fate, the servant prepared to leave and said in a heavy tone, “No, milady.”

  Elizabeth waited until he started his turn to depart and finally said, “You look positively morbid with your shoulders slumped down like that Gavin. Cheer up, Jatar won’t do anything to you, though come to think of it,” she added, taking hold of her chin thoughtfully, “rulers have been known to kill the bearer of bad tidings.”

  Gavin stopped, and if possible his expression grew even more pitiful.

  Elizabeth suddenly smiled warmly at the old servant as she said, “Would it make you feel better if I came back to see Jatar with you?”

  With a look of relief the servant nodded and said, “A great deal, milady.”

  “Well then, let us depart immediately, but in return, I will require your aid in a little plot.”

  With an all-new rueful expression, the servant asked resignedly, “Plot, milady?”

  “Oh yes,” she said with a mischievous little smile, “there is always a
plot.”

  Gavin addressed Jatar nervously and recited the words Elizabeth had told him, “Milady bade me inform milord, and I quote, `If you wish to see me immediately then come down to the dining room dressed as you are, otherwise, don’t bother me.’ ”

  “She said WHAT!” The nearly naked Lord Jatar Ardellen exclaimed in a shout.

  Gavin dutifully started to repeat Elizabeth’s message, “If you wish...”

  “If that’s what she wants, fine,” Jatar interrupted and stomped toward the door in his undergarments. The angry ruler of Lindankar grabbed the door handle and flung it open, and then his body started forward a half-step before he saw Elizabeth in front of him leaning on her shoulder against the doorframe with a smile peeking out of her eyes.

  She raised her eyebrows as she gave his body the once over from the top of his head to the toes of his feet and then commented, “Isn’t that outfit going to be a little drafty for the dining hall?”

  Jatar’s expression changed rapidly from anger to surprise and then to understanding and finally back to anger again, but this time, there was a hint of playfulness, “Oh ho, my little prankster thinks to amuse herself at her husband’s expense!”

  Jatar leaped forward and grabbed Elizabeth around the thighs, which elicited a startled yelp. He then straightened up and bent her over his broad shoulder while heading back into the room.

  “That will be all for the moment,” Jatar calmly told Gavin as he passed the old servant with his wife’s rump high in the air.

  “Thank you, milord,” Gavin answered without changing his normal straight-faced expression. He then turned and departed the room, closing the door behind him as he left.

  As Gavin walked away he heard a high-pitched scream and then peals of laughter. The playful royal couple would have been amazed to see the brief smile of approval flash across Gavin’s wrinkly old face before his expression resumed his normal competent and serious demeanor.

  Sometime later Elizabeth was helping Jatar dress for dinner within their chambers when she said, “Given who is attending our dinner party tonight this could turn into a very interesting evening, I feel a tension in the air.”

  Jatar watched his wife’s concentrating face as she adjusted the collar of his shirt. “Your Kirnath abilities tell you this?” he asked.

  “No, it’s my woman’s intuition. Are you prepared for the friction that is bound to commence with both the Ambassador of Amak-Ta-Dol and the Lord of Olsk in the same room?”

  “Of course, but I shall endeavor to mediate between them so that a new skirmish does not break out in our very Banquet Hall. I’m more concerned with Lord Tysol of Datoria. Frankly, I was surprised to see that he accepted our invitation; he must know that it was only sent as a token. He has made no secret of his opposition to our attempts to start a coalition of Lords. He’s been particularly adamant in opposing a united effort to free Autrany from the Usurper.”

  At the mention of Autrany, the country of Elizabeth’s birth, she stepped to the window and gazed out at the city lights. Her spirits were in anguish at the thought of her proud people under the grip of a usurping tyrant. Her powerful aura stirred in the depths of her brown eyes as strong emotion welled up in her heart.

  “When are we going to come to their aid, Jatar? They are my people as well as these,” she said, gesturing across the lights of Tarnelin. “It has been nearly a year since the Usurper’s army marched across Autrany. If only we’d seen it coming, we could have helped defend them against the foul attack,” she lamented.

  Jatar shook his head sadly, “But we didn’t know and the attack was so sudden. You were pregnant and about to give birth. It was the perfect time for the Usurper to move. We will do something about that tyrant soon, I promise. In two days I will convene the first Council of Lords. With the united support of our allies, we will be strong enough to liberate Autrany and its people. When Autrany is free of the tyrant we will place a member of the Hevarnan blood line back on the throne,” he promised.

  “If only some of my relatives survived. I was sure some would have made their way to our protection by now. I can only hope that they are living in hiding within Autrany’s occupied cities,” she replied and added a silent prayer to G’lan for their safety. “But for Michael I would have gone in search of them myself,” she told him quietly and lowered her head in grief.

  A moment later Elizabeth looked up and there was a sudden hardening in her features. “Jatar, don’t let Lord Tysol disrupt your plans. This new council could solidify the friendships you’ve created since you became Lord of Lindankar. Let’s make Autrany’s sacrifice count. We’ll turn this tide of evil around and rebuild Autrany as part of the new alliance!” she exclaimed as she got her mind back on positive things.

  “Then the first thing we’ll need to do is stifle Lord Tysol’s mouth,” Jatar noted with annoyance. “He sows the seeds of contention within the ranks of the Lords by spreading rumors and lies. His dislike for me is well known, so it doesn’t bother me all that much, but I have heard rumors of him spreading lies about you. These lies hurt our cause,” Jatar stated while fingering the hilt of his sword.

  Elizabeth was intrigued. “What have you heard?”

  “I haven’t heard anything specific, just rumors that you are ‘controlling’ me with your ‘dark’ powers. He infers that I am a puppet on the throne enthralled by an evil Sorceress. He hasn’t said it to anyone we could use as a reliable witness, he’s too careful about that; but if he ever makes that mistake in my presence I’ll call him out,” Jatar finished, gripping his sword hilt until his knuckles showed white.

  “Jatar, you must not put yourself in danger on account of my honor. You are too important to the negotiations. If we are ever to have peace in the lands and stop this constant destructive warfare someone must take the lead and show an ability to understand and compromise with his neighbors. You’ve worked so hard over these last few years and we’re finally starting to see real progress. If we were to lose you now, besides breaking my heart, it would undo everything we have accomplished,” his beautiful wife pleaded.

  “Well not everything, we have ‘accomplished’ a beautiful son named Michael, and after our tryst this afternoon perhaps we’ve ‘accomplished’ even more! Besides, it’s Michael’s first-year birth celebration, so I refuse to be unhappy, no matter who is here,” Jatar said to try and lighten the mood. He was tired of discussing the depressing machinations of Lord Tysol.

  Picking up the flow of his thoughts Elizabeth put on a sly smile and said, “Well it’s hard to argue with that kind of statement.” She winked at him and added, “Did milord want to ruffle my clothes again, or may I be excused to don my dinner apparel?”

  Jatar stood rubbing his chin with one hand and appraised her slim rounded form with one eyebrow raised. “Hm, given that choice...”

  “To dinner, before the guests tear each other apart, besides,” she added with a teasing smile and tilt of her head, “there’s always later tonight. For now, why don’t you wait for me in the south hall alcove while I throw on some clothes? It won’t take too long.”

  Lord Trask was a large man; he stood two full hand spans over six feet. His large face was nearly covered with a thick red beard that went down and nearly touched his chest. On his way to the banquet hall, he found the slim athletic form of Jatar standing behind a chair in an alcove where he was waiting for Elizabeth. Jatar was looking out the window at a palace garden while thinking about his son and the future. Two chairs and a small table were before him facing the window.

  “Berelle, it’s good to see you again,” Jatar said and greeted his foster brother with a huge grin that proved he really meant it.

  “And you Jatar, it has been too long,” Lord Trask replied with an equally large grin, his voice a deep baritone that sounded like it had the power of the north winds of his homelands.

  Jatar stood back and took a good look at his big friend and he had to look upwards to do so. The large man was dressed for dinner in an un
derstated long jacket of thick coarse material and matching pants of dark blue. The shirt was high collared, buttoned at the neck and lacked the ruffles that were the style of the time. Berelle reached up with his right hand and pulled at the stiff collar, uncomfortable in the dress clothing.

  Jatar grinned at his huge friend as he said, “How can a man who ventures around the cold north in a rusty chain mail shirt that outweighs a small horse, look so uncomfortable in simple cloth?”

  “I’m used to good steel, but this… why is this collar so tight?” he growled, pulling forcefully at the confining material around his neck.

  Jatar slapped his friend on the back to no effect and said, “Thank G’lan you never change, Berelle. How are Pricilla and the children?”

  “She’s doing well, but she has reached the sixth month of her term making the journey here too strenuous. That is the reason I must depart immediately after Michael’s investment. Jerome and Calt are growing strong and Brelt is almost ready to learn the sword,” Lord Trask reported with a father’s pride.

  “Come now, Brelt’s what, three years old?” Jatar asked, amused at his friend’s optimistic pride.

  “Yes, but he’s another one like Calt, a hellion. His mother is about to pack it all in and become a hermit. Just before I left he got into the stable yard and managed the neat trick of rolling around in the manure; I don’t know why. Eventually, he must have tired himself out because he went to bed. Meanwhile, his mother was frantically looking for the boy. Jatar, you should have seen the look on Pricilla’s face when she finally found him by following the smell of manure. He was in bed with his clothes on, covered head to toe in excrement.” Berelle's smile was broad and proud as he recounted his son’s latest adventure.

  Jatar poked Berelle in the chest with his forefinger as he said, “He reminds me of you. Remember the four years that you, Pellev, Verdew and I were fostered together? It seems like we were in trouble more often than not. I recall one episode during the year we spent here when all four of us got into the snerg pens. Remember how we pretended to be knights on battle mounts as we rode our sordid, snorting and squealing stallions? When we were through I think there was more mud and snerg manure than boy on what walked into the palace. After they scoured us, with both water and words, I remember Grandfather putting us over his knee in hopes of beating some brains up into our heads.”