“It took me all night?” Iltar chuckles and rests his head against the soft fabric of his high-back chair. With that said, his strength leaves him and Iltar suddenly falls asleep.
2
An Uprising
Several hours later, Iltar is awakened by the sound of repeated pounding on his study’s door. Jarred from his sleep, the necromancer wearily rises and crosses to the door. Iltar smacks his lips and tiredly leans his shoulder against the hard surface, then asks with groggy caution, “Who is it?”
“Cornar! There’s trouble in the city. It’s the acolytes. They’ve started a rebellion!”
“What?! What are you talking about?” Iltar pauses and sighs, “Get in here!” the necromancer growls and swings the door open.
Standing just beyond the doorway is his guest from the night before, but without his beard. Cornar is dressed in a light gray garb with two weapons sheathed at his waist.
Iltar takes a deep breath then turns from the door. His head hangs from fatigue as he walks back toward his seat. The necromancer slumps back down and while resting his head against the padding of the high back chair resumes the questioning of his friend, “Start from the beginning. I’m still waking up…” the words trail off as Iltar adjusts his back and narrows his eyes at Cornar who is walking across the room.
Cornar stops next to the chair he occupied the night before and says, “As you know, my home in the city is near the hall of the Necrotic Order. This morning I was up early, getting ready for a horseback ride with my wife. We left our home and we rode toward the northern gate, passing the guild hall. As we rode closer to the compound I heard the sounds of battle. I told my wife to go back to the house then I got off my horse and crept near the gate, where I could see the front of the hall. The guards were being killed by the acolytes and hired mercenaries in the courtyard between the gate and the entrance to the building.
“I wasn’t about to interfere but I continued to creep over to see what was happening. Another set of mages and mercenaries were pressing their way through the main doors.
“After the rebelling apprentices killed the rest of the guards I got on my horse and came straight here.”
“I should have killed them!” Iltar’s anger shows through his waking state. “It’s pretty stupid of them to attack the guild and defy the council.”
“Well we ought to get over there and figure out what is happening. There’s no telling what damage they could do. Are you just going to sit here and rest?” Cornar asks impatiently.
Looking up at Cornar with tired eyes, Iltar responds, “I was up all night reading these scrolls, I’m in no mood to deal with those children.”
Cornar sighs and replies, “Well they killed all the guards going into the building, they must have a sizable force.
“If we have to I’ll organize my men, but it will take a while and by then it could be too late. I say it will work better if the two of us go in there, like old times.”
The thought of battles of their youth brings a sense of excitement to Iltar, “Well you’ve convinced me. And the council would be suspicious of me not appearing this morning when there was an attack... But first we need to secure the treasure you delivered. It will take a while, especially with this scroll,” pointing to the parchment laying in pieces in the center of the table.
With that said, Iltar rises from his chair, and Cornar moves closer to the table. The necromancer painstakingly examines the elven literature in front of him, attempting to see the best way to re-roll the scroll.
Meanwhile, Cornar turns his attention to the world map in front of him. He leans forward, examining it before carefully re-rolling it into the case it had been delivered in the prior night.
“Interesting, I’ve never seen this island before,” Cornar remarks
“Which?” Iltar asks without looking up from the aged material on the table.
“The one in the northern hemisphere with the red dot…” Cornar says in a trailing voice
“Ah, Draco Isola. Yes, it was new to me as well,” Iltar says as he carefully rolls the edge of the scroll nearest to him.
The two men continue to store the scrolls within their individual scroll cases, and after an hour of meticulous labor the relics are carefully tucked away.
Once finished, Cornar briskly walks to the window of Iltar’s study and shouts down to the guards at the entrance to the tower, “Delrin, Jalim! Make ready Iltar’s horse! And be quick about it!”
Amid the shouting, Iltar busily places the old cases into the chest under the table. Upon opening the chest, its contents reveal the most sacred belongings of the necromancer.
Turning from the window, Cornar glances at the various items within the knee high lockbox. Several of the objects catch his attention, and he is briefly taken back to a time when they were discovered by himself and his friend; as the thoughts linger in his mind, Cornar moves across the room and to its entrance.
With the lid in hand, Iltar gently shuts the chest, turning a dome-shaped dial, the locking mechanism for the container. He takes one final step of precaution and casts a quick spell that seals the chest from any outside probing.
As Cornar reaches the door of the study, Iltar rises to his feet and follows him. With haste, the two men descend into the lower floors of Iltar’s barren tower, and out into the brisk late summer morning.
“You know, this could be beneficial,” Iltar says with an evil grin as the two men pass through the gateway separating the tower’s grounds from the rest of the estate.
“I don’t see how,” Cornar says with doubt, shaking his head he continues to speculate on Iltar’s words. “If you wanted to become head of the council perhaps,” Cornar says as he climbs on his horse, which had been tied to the gate of Iltar’s tower.
The groomsman who had met Iltar the night before stands quietly near the gate, holding the reins of the necromancer’s black horse.
In a casual manner, Iltar climbs atop his steed.
“I should probably enhance our horses,” Iltar says as he adjusts himself in the saddle.
“That’s obvious,” Cornar laughs and turns his steed around to face the stone path leading to the forest.
Positioned squarely in his saddle, Iltar stretches both his hands toward his and Cornar’s horses then utters the words of the magical tongue had among the men of Kalda; beautiful words strung together in an incantation. As Iltar speaks, white magic gathers in his hands; the particles of light which dance beyond his palms then wisps toward the horses.
Once the magic penetrates his steed, Cornar blazes past the necromancer, riding with sheer determination down the stone way leading into the forest from Iltar’s estate.
Chuckling and paying no thought to his servant, Iltar kicks the sides of his steed, causing the horse to bolt past the groomsman.
In response, the groomsman stumbles back in surprise and falls to the ground, all the while staring at Iltar and Cornar disappearing into the woodland.
* * * * *
The road to Soroth is a wide winding dirt path, carved through the forests of the island. Along the dirt highway many paths diverge to various estates and manors concealed in the forest. Much like Iltar’s, those residences are often home to the darker events of Soroth.
Iltar’s estate, formerly that of his parents and before that his mother’s parents, is nestled deep inside the island. A typical ride from the city to his home takes roughly an hour, but at magically enhanced speeds the trip is much faster.
Soroth, the city, is on the south eastern part of the landmass. Its port surrounds the city on two sides and is a major focal point of the mid-sized municipality. Unlike other cities on Kalda, Soroth is of smaller than average size, but is still large enough to be considered a major port on the world’s designated trade routes.
Midway between his estate and the city, Iltar’s champion steed catches Cornar and his brown beauty. Cornar’s horses were known for their almost perfect features. At a young age he had married a woman who was s
et on breeding the animals for shows on the mainland. She was not known for exerting the maximum capabilities of her and her husband’s horses.
For Iltar he found this method of breeding pointless, and in a gesture of boastfulness he pushes his horse just past Cornar’s along the Sorothian road.
Once he reaches a full length ahead of Cornar, Iltar slows the gallop of his horse slightly to come even to match Cornar’s steed. The two horses gallop side by side until the woodland’s edge.
As they break the edge of the forest, Soroth’s buildings come into view. With determination, the duo press their steeds toward the city, and onto the rebellion.
Several minutes after entering the city, Cornar and Iltar near the hall of the Necrotic Order; a complex of buildings that are interconnected and surrounded by walls that rise a story and a half from the ground.
A small crowd has formed just outside the walls of the guild’s hall and the group of people pay no attention to the two men approaching the gateway.
“Go!” Iltar shouts at his horse, who has become hesitant with the people near the gate.
Startled, the people clear a path for Iltar and Cornar, who is closely behind the necromancer.
After the onlookers move aside, both men boldly ride their horses into the courtyard. To their left a small path leads to a stable, wide enough for a single traveler on horseback. From his vantage point, Iltar can see several other horses tied to the posts within the building.
Once inside, Iltar swiftly dismounts from his steed and sternly leads him to a post near the others. With a firm hand, he ties the reins to a wooden arm protruding from the wall.
Meanwhile, Cornar moves to the right of Iltar’s horse and gently steps down from the saddle. With reins in hand, Cornar quickly ties them to the wooden post. He pads the horse on the neck and gently strokes his mane before leaving him in the stables.
As Cornar secures his horse, Iltar waits for his companion on the stone path outside the stables. He cautiously looks around, studying the abode of magic.
The Necrotic Order of Soroth’s bastion squarely covers four city blocks. Each of the structures, and the walls surrounding them, are entirely made of granite-like stone.
From where he stands, Iltar can see the main building, which houses the order’s council chambers and offices, standing four stories tall. Windows line only the upper level while a single double-door entrance marks the center of the northern side of the building. Directly in front of the entrance is a path that leads straight to the main gate of the magical complex, made of metal rods. It is there that the crowd had gathered.
Usually several sets of guards patrol from the gate to the main entrance and throughout the courtyard between the walls and the building. But not today, all is silent.
Amid his surveying, Cornar comes up to Iltar’s side and both men glance at each other; without a word, the determined duo marches across the grass then onto the path leading to the doors of the main building.
Gasping sounds fill the air behind them, and Cornar gives a simple look backward to the onlookers.
The two companions pass several dead bodies, some pooling in blood and others laying silently, killed by the deadly magic of the acolytes. An awful stench reaches the nostrils of Cornar and Iltar, but neither pay attention. Death’s decaying odor was all too familiar to them.
Side by side, both men enter the opened threshold into the main level of the necromancers and other magic wielder’s domain. Directly in front of them is an ornate foyer, with smooth granite-like walls and flooring. Toward the south of the hall is a grand stairwell which opens before them and towering windows behind that illuminate the room. A majestic crimson carpet flows from the doorway toward the wide corridor that further opens up into the grand hall and ultimately up the stairs. However, this path is not the course the deadly duo chooses.
Stepping cautiously, Cornar leads the pair along the right of the entry into a corridor running along the exterior of the building.
As they progress further down the hall, Cornar, with as much silence as possible, unsheathes his weapons. In Cornar’s left hand is his preferred weapon of choice; a large dagger with serrated edges, which by some standards may be called a short sword. The polished metal glistens slightly in the light of the magical orbs lining the hall.
In his other hand is a sword slightly longer than the dagger. It is smooth and razor sharp on both edges.
Iltar’s companion is skilled in the martial techniques with each of the weapons afore mentioned; in addition, Cornar has a vast knowledge of combat in general, thus making him a deadly warrior.
At the end of the hall, a tight spiral staircase, allowing only two men to walk abreast, ascends to the next floor of the edifice.
Both Iltar and Cornar quickly climb the stone stairs. Upon reaching the landing they discover more dead guards and several acolytes strewn throughout the corridor.
Taking no thought for the dead, the necromancer and warrior continue up the stairs to the third, followed by the fourth and final floor; more bodies litter the steps at the top of the stairs, and the landing just beyond them.
The landing opens up to two halls which run along the north and west sides of the building, paralleling the outer walls. Waist high to ceiling windows line both corridors, allowing ample morning light to illuminate the hallways.
Both Iltar and Cornar move down the western corridor, cat-like in their gait, carefully stepping over the bodies of the dead. After a moment, the deadly duo arrives at two large ornate, polished, wooden doors pulled shut; they are positioned midway down the hall.
Iltar leans forward slightly while Cornar presses an ear against the doors. Muffled voices are conversing beyond the beautifully carved wooden slabs, their words garbled and faint.
Cornar motions they should charge into the room, but Iltar interrupts him by stretching out his palm toward the warrior.
The necromancer shakes his head and glances around Cornar further down the hall to the south before motioning for his friend to continue in the same direction.
In response, Cornar turns and looks toward the southern half of the hall. A single door is situated close to the end of the corridor before it turns east. Seeing the doorway, the warrior nods his head once, then even more cautiously than before steps toward it.
Both companions press their ears against the carved wooden slab, then Iltar whispers, “Let’s go in.”
The necromancer’s aged hands grasp the silver knob, slowly turning it. Iltar presses his free palm against the door and pulls back slightly on the knob, ensuring that the door opens in silence.
Once opened, the master of necrotic magic leads his companion through to an anteroom, which is nothing more than a small study. A modest chair sits in the corner, along with a circular table, no larger than an average dinner plate.
As they step into the room, Cornar lowers his guard with a puzzled expression across his face.
Iltar motions for him to close the door, and the warrior shuts it quietly.
“What are we doing here?” Cornar whispers.
Ignoring the warrior, Iltar leans his ear against a bookcase close to the back of the room. He nods his head and grins.
“We need to get into the council chambers, what are you doing?” Cornar demands again in a slightly louder tone.
Still at the bookcase, Iltar pulls on several of the books. In response, the piece of furniture releases itself from the wall and moves to the left. It shifts completely in front of the bookcase to its side, revealing a narrow passageway.
With a simple gesture of his hand Iltar smiles at his companion, “This is much better than barging through the doors. I thought you would have asked me earlier if there was a secret passage.”
“You could have warned me,” Cornar retorts coldly.
“You didn’t ask,” Iltar smirks while he steps over the small lip of stone and into the passageway.
The hidden corridor parallels the southern wall of the council chambers and wraps ar
ound, ending shortly after turning. A small doorway is positioned along the wall at the end of the passageway, on the left.
Once at the door, the necromancer stops and leans closer, with Cornar directly behind him. Through the hidden door a faint conversation can be heard.
“I tell you someone will come to investigate, and what about Master Iltar? The City Watch is not stupid you know.”
“I have it under control,” another voice responds, “We needed to be quick to catch these old fools off guard. Now that we have control of the council we can dictate terms. They will not dare storm this place for fear of us killing these old fools. In addition, my father’s influence will stay their hand for a time.
“As for Iltar, he is probably off conducting some experiment as we speak, he doesn’t care about this council anyway.”
“We need to place guards at the entrance,” a third voice interjects. “Anyone, especially Iltar, can walk right in…”
“We are guarding this chamber,” the second voice retorts. “I don’t care if they have access to the rest of the building. The Council Chambers can only be entered from these main doors.”
“Are you sure? There may be a secret entrance in here,” the first queries and speculates with trepidation.
“I checked this room and I assure you there are no other entrances or exits!” the second voice exclaims with a sense of frustration for the other two.
After listening a while longer Iltar turns to Cornar and whispers, “I only hear three of them.”
“There’s bound to be more. When they rushed the main building there were at least forty men. Besides, there were no acolytes outside and only a handful of dead ones the way up here; plus several others that were not guards nor your guild’s apprentices.”
“Hmm,” Iltar ponders for a second before replying, “Maybe twenty or thirty. Let’s move back toward that anteroom and prepare ourselves.”
The Dark Necromancer Page 4
