The captain’s expertise shows through his face. This reaffirms to Iltar that he made the right choice when placing Kenard in charge of the vessel.
“All right, I think I have it, they ar-”
Iltar interrupts the captain by handing him a small sheet of crisp parchment, two numbers are all that rest upon its face. With the waxy sheet in the captain’s hand, Iltar rises from his chair and walks to the door.
Captain Kenard looks at the small sheet and laughs, “Typical.”
“Well?” Iltar asks before opening the door.
“They’re about right. Almost spot on,” the captain replies, still leaning over the maps from his chair.
Iltar partially chuckles with an arrogant smile then quickly opens the threshold and strides out the doorway.
* * * * *
It is early on the seventh day since the Farling raised anchor in Soroth. The morning of this eventful day is clear, and the ocean surface spreads as far as the eye can see.
Atop the highest mast of the ship a crewman from Captain Kenard’s previous crew nestles in for a shift that he deems will become long.
After several hours past sunrise, a faint speck appears in the distant sea. The crewman who had previously taken the roost that morning leans forward. He pulls a steep cone-shaped cylinder made of a gray metal from a pocket in the small lookout, a spy glass. He rotates the large end of the magnifying lens and presses the smaller end to his right eye. Through the misty lens a span of dark gray rock can be seen in the distance.
The seaman quickly puts down the telescoping glass and roughly calculates the appropriate course change. After several seconds he shouts down to the upper deck of the vessel.
“Captain! Land twelve degrees to port!”
On the upper deck, Kenard’s first mate is at the wheel; he turns to the captain behind him, anticipating the order.
As the words reach Kenard’s ear he turns to the log book on the small bench near the helm’s wheel. After finishing the notation, Kenard nods to his first mate at the helm, saying, “Go ahead, Cadru.”
Over the next several hours the ship nears the island with slight turbulence. As they approach the island in the distance, pockets of air erupt beneath the ship, causing the vessel to rock from side to side.
In response to the turbulence, Iltar and many of the other mages come topside. The necromancer walks to the starboard side of the ship and tightly grips the rail. With his right hand steadying himself, Iltar glides to the slightly raised forecastle of the ship.
Hagen and Hex follow closely behind their old friend. After a moment, the three mages reach the short steps to the forecastle and ascend them.
“Incredible,” Hex remarks at the sight before them. He turns to Hagen and raises his brow in pleasurable surprise.
“Now that we’re here Iltar, are you going to tell us what is going on?” Hagen’s voice squeaks out, looking up to the necromancer; the illusionist stands almost half a head shorter than Iltar.
A burst from beneath the ship rustles the three men, and Iltar waits for a calm to speak. “Not yet. When we get ashore.”
“The air around the island is unusually warm for the sea this far north,” Hex comments as the ship presses forward.
The island in the distance is fairly large, and the southern tip, an area covered with black jagged rock, heralds a grand view from the passengers’ vantage point. Just beyond the rocky landscape the land rises. The eastern side of the island is walled with trees which prevent any view beyond the shore. Further ahead of the woodland are grayish-white towering peaks.
Iltar pushes past the two mages and walks back along the starboard rail. Looking to the upper deck he shouts, “Captain, a word!”
The necromancer walks toward the stairwell to the lower decks and descends it into a small hall which leads to the captain’s quarters.
Iltar walks into the cabin, but stumbles slightly from the rocking of the vessel. He makes his way to the wall on his left and steadies himself before continuing to the charts on the far table.
“Yes?” Captain Kenard asks as he walks into his quarters and shuts the door. He knows what Iltar has to say is for his ears only. Through his experienced sea gait he walks across the room with no trouble.
“I’ll tell you more about this island, come closer.”
Once the captain reaches Iltar’s side, both men look down at a different hand drawn map under Iltar’s hands.
“In the literature that accompanied this map, it made a note that there was only one way on to the island.” Pointing midway up the small island and on its right, the necromancer continues, “There’s a stretch of beach, approximately two thousand phineals wide.” (Now a phineal is, by our understanding, a little under a foot and a half, or seventeen inches or forty three centimeters.) “The text I read said it was the only safe place to anchor a ship, and by this turbulence I expect it will get worse as we come closer to the island.”
Joselin nods his head in affirmation, “Yes, its increased in frequency and intensity since we spotted the island. I wouldn’t be surprised if the forces beneath us would tear the ship apart.
“It makes me wonder, with this increased heat, if we are atop a volcano, or at least pockets of one.
“I’m going to slow the ship, I’d hate for us to snap apart trying to reach the island and I’ll inform my crew of the beach.”
With that said, Kenard steps away and carefully walks to the doorway of his cabin; however before he leaves Iltar calls out to him.
“I will be taking this with me, I need to plan our trip ashore,” Iltar grabs the maps and wraps them into a roll.
Kenard nods in response, all the while looking ahead and focusing on keeping his balance.
For the next several hours, the Farling slowly follows the eastern coastline; the black rocks initially seen cover the entire southern tip in the form of crags which spire from the surf all along the eastern shore.
Dusk approaches when the lookout sights the beach mentioned by Iltar to Kenard. It was just as Iltar had described: A sandy beach only two thousand phineals long. The paradise looking surf is nestled into a bay, where the rising forest ridge and the rocky crags meet. As the Farling glides into the shallow bay the turbulence ceases.
Members of the crew and the expedition alike come on deck and gather on the port side of the vessel. The calmed water and warm air are a welcomed sight from the week long journey.
At the helm, Kenard guides the ship into a suitable spot and lowers the anchor into the crystal blue water. There is a certain peace about the scene, a serenity that echoes from the vista. The feeling is mutually felt among all those on board.
“Captain,” one of the crewman calls out from the port rail, “Mind if we take a few of us to the shore?”
“I’d counsel against it,” Cornar quickly interjects, “There’s no telling what inhabits this island, and whether that pretty picture ahead of us is dangerous.”
Within the crowd, Iltar fights a similar excitement but is holding in the urge. He thinks to himself, “Cornar is right, with nightfall approaching fast there’s no telling what dangers we would incur by simply being there. Any injuries would just draw more attention when we would arrive back at Soroth, whenever that will be.”
Kenard hollers back to the crowd, “Cornar’s right, there’s no telling what’s out there and I don’t want to lose anyone.”
Disappointed, the crewman and several others lean against the rail and gaze off into the tropical scene.
“Cor,” Iltar leans toward the warrior, “Let’s plan out the land excursion tonight so we can get underway in the morning. I don’t want to waste any time.”
“Very well,” Cornar answers and continues gazing at the awe-inspiring view. “I’ll be down to your quarters shortly. I assume that’s where you want to meet?”
“Yes.”
* * * * *
After the space of half an hour, Cornar joins Iltar in the necromancer’s cabin below deck. It is a small room, large enough for
a bed and small table with a chair. The low ceiling rises just above Iltar’s head. The décor is sparse and the tiny chamber is windowless. Both men stand over the table, containing two maps, one of which had not appeared in any of the audiences with the warrior.
“Here is what we know,” Iltar says as he looks at the two maps. “This is the only point of access to the island’s interior, and there are mountains surrounding the entire northern half.”
The second map, that covers the right half of the atlas of Kalda, is a larger picture of the island just beyond the ship’s hull. It is hand drawn and is sketched in a similar manner as the depiction beneath it.
Cornar looks at the second sheet of parchment, squinting at the drawing, “Where is this from? Oh wait, isn’t that from the second book I delivered to you?”
“Correct, there wasn’t much about the geography of the island in the books. Just this map and an account of the battle over the island and why the dragon’s hold the place sacred.”
“Did the scrolls say what is beyond the beach?” Cornar asks in a hopeful tone.
“Well, I don’t know what is between here and the mountains,” Iltar looks up at his friend next to him, “However, I do know that the scroll mentioned a cave that leads through the mountains. Yet, I worry that there could be a collapse or some other deformation since the scroll was written. That would end our journey short. But either way these mountains are shielding the northern half of the island. That must be where the amulet, or pieces of it, are located.”
Studying his friend’s determined look, Cornar remarks, “Let’s hope your worries are ill founded; regardless, we are walking into a very dangerous place. Which reminds me, have you told the others the real intent of our little expedition?”
“Not yet Cor,” Iltar scowls at his faithful friend, “I am waiting until we get ashore.”
“You’re stalling… why? Why not just tell them we are looking for an important artifact you found out about when you were studying these scrolls?” Cornar points at the trunk on the floor next to the bed, the same which contains the scrolls, their copies and other precious objects.
“Holding back the truth, huh Cornar?” Iltar smiles.
“Of course. You will tell them everything eventually anyway. Those men are loyal to you, well perhaps not the thieves, but the others are and they definitely are not power hungry. Hagen by far is the least of your worries,” Cornar chuckles as he stares at Iltar whose gaze is lost in the distance beyond the hull of the ship.
“True,” Iltar’s eyes narrow in thought. “What about you Cor?”
“Ha! I’m one of your most loyal friends. Well, maybe your only true friend, right?” the warrior eyes the necromancer and slightly tilts his head toward Iltar, seeking for some reaffirming gesture. “I have nothing to lose from following you and everything to gain.”
“Hmm, you may lose your life to any one of the dangers we face, or if we are caught before we can secure the amulet. Also we have never talked about afterwards have we? What do you expect?” Iltar asks the last in all seriousness.
“To your first point, we have endured much together and I don’t think we will be caught. However, if we are I know you well enough to rest assuredly that you will be able to talk yourself out of it. If not, we won’t fail like the acolytes.
“As to what I expect in return. Nothing much, just some principality I can rule myself. I’m not an overly ambitious man. I realize I don’t have the savvy to rule a large kingdom, but a duchy would be nice. That’s all really.”
“And you think I would be able to do that for you?” Iltar chuckles softly.
“Sure, you want to control the red dragons to rule the world, don’t you? In the aftermath, there should be a place I can lay claim. And it will be easy being your friend. I can always threaten the disobedient with retribution from the crimson terrors if they don’t obey or pay me what I ask.”
“You have it all figured out, don’t you Cor?” Iltar chuckles then the soft humored sounds turn to laughter. “All right, that’s just fine with me. I was hoping you would want to be my chief general. But ruling your own land works too. Of course, before we day dream too much, we need to accomplish the task at hand.
“Before you go, tonight, think over what the best course of action would be once we get on the island. Tomorrow will come soon so off to bed with you my roguish friend. We set off early.”
“Very well Iltar, good night.” Cornar smiles again before silently leaving the cabin.
As he stands alone in his quarters, Iltar muses on what his friend had to say, more on what was not said.
“If we get caught it would undoubtedly end in a horrific battle. I know what the council must do. They will have to kill me, or try, to assure their safety and make me an example to others. That’s what I would do. The risks are great, but the reward is even greater. So I am willing to risk my life for this chance. After all, that is what I am doing here on this island, risking my life.”
5
Draco Isola
Angry shouts, rapid footfalls and an abrupt rocking of the ship awaken Iltar, causing the necromancer to sit up in his bed within his small dark cabin. More rapid footfalls echo from the main deck above the quarters and Iltar hastily jumps out of bed. As he does so, the door to his cabin swings open.
“Quick!” Cornar shouts as he briefly sticks his head in the cabin, “To the main deck! We’re being attacked!”
In response, Iltar darts through the door and quickly follows after Cornar; the warrior gracefully draws his weapons as he leaves Iltar’s cabin. The deadly duo runs through the corridor and ascend the steps to come onto the Farling’s main deck.
Once they are topside, Iltar stops briefly and Cornar rushes toward the center mast, quickly searching the skies.
Furrowing his brow, the necromancer calmly looks around the main deck: three of the crewmen, including Kenard’s first mate, are running from the raised forecastle to the portside rail with harpoons and spare lines used for the sails. Near the center mast, Dith, Tinal and Renal are laughing at the crewmen, pointing at them in hysterical amusement.
“What is going on?!” Iltar calls out and looks to the mages then the crewmen. “Cadru?”
“We’re being attacked!” the first mate answers as he knots the line to a harpoon. “A pride of sea lions just came out of the crags and they’re ramming the ship!”
Hearing Cadru’s outburst, Iltar growls and steps across the rocking main deck to the portside rail. He looks over the edge and sees a pride of large sea lions; an aquatic breed of fish-like mammals. Their skin is a silky yellow-gray, with it mostly loose around their faces and necks, which gives them a mane-like appearance. Around their mane of skin are rows of gills that allow them to breath underwater. They vary in size from two phineals to five phineals in length. Their bodies are thick with four large fin-like appendages.
The beasts are ramming the ship with the tops of their heads in an effort to break the hull.
Iltar shakes his head at the sight and several of the crewmen throw their harpoons into the water then quickly reel them back aboard the ship.
“We have to stop them!” one of the crewman cries out emphatically as he throws a harpoon into the water.
Amid the rocking of the ship, Iltar looks back to the younger mages at the center mast and with a raised brow he shouts at them, “You know they have a chance of breaching the hull! Get over here! There are too many for the crew to handle!”
The necromancer then turns around and grabs the rail with his left hand. As he steadies himself, Iltar raises his right hand into the air, uttering the words to a magical incantation.
Swirling red magic clusters around Iltar’s raised and open palm. Once it forms, he thrusts the cloud of crimson into the water at the nearest creature.
As the magic penetrates the sea lion’s silky skin, the mammal immediately succumbs to the effects. The magic stops the creature’s assault, putting the sea lion into a daze caused by the boiling magic with
in it. It becomes delirious from the effects of Iltar’s spell; its eyes rolling backwards as the heat from within slowly destroys its ability to act.
As the cloud hits the water, Tinal and Renal both launch a flurry of magical bolts and arrows at the pride, of arcane and flaming magic respectively. The creatures they strike cry out in pain, and several die from the magical assault. Among the dead are one of the larger bulls and the bulky creature floats limp just off the hull.
Amid the younger mages’ assault, the necromancer hastily utters another incantation and in his right hand a swirling cloud of black and gray particles takes shape; immediately after it forms, Iltar quickly thrusts it toward the pride. The magic makes a loud noise as it crashes into the water; causing the sea lions to panic and break off their assault.
“Leave!” Iltar snarls and waves his hand in a dismissing motion.
As they succumb to the magic, the sea lions let out horrifying squeals while hastily swimming away from the Farling.
Iltar watches as they retreat but his attention is drawn by the captain’s voice.
“Thank you for saving the ship!” Captain Kenard hollers from the first deck above the main. “We need to keep a close watch as those foul beasts will surely return. I hope you were not planning on taking all your people ashore, Master Iltar?”
“I suppose we should leave some behind to guard the ship,” Iltar calls out in reply then briefly looks across the rail. He watches as the sea lions camp on the nearby outcroppings of rock, along the southwest part of the bay where the crags and sandy beach meet.
“Sea lions won’t be too much for some of the less experienced mages,” Iltar glances at Tinal, Dith and Renal, who had lazily stood by earlier.
“Well,” Cornar calls out. “I guess you taught those beasts a lesson they won’t soon forget.”
The necromancer turns and looks sharply at the warrior, who is leaning against the center mast with his arms folded. “I didn’t see you throwing any harpoons.”
The Dark Necromancer Page 10
