“I thought it was a much greater threat; besides, I didn’t want to get in your way,” Cornar laughs and shrugs his shoulders as he pushes himself off the mast, then steps toward the stairs leading below deck.
“Wait my friend,” Iltar calls out then motions to the raised forecastle. “We need to discuss the makeup of our shore party.”
In response, Cornar silently nods his head and glances over his shoulder, seeing Hagen and Igan ascending the stairs to the main deck.
“Hagen, Igan,” Iltar calls out, “Come with us.”
The four companions in adventure move across the main deck and arrange themselves at the bow of the ship; sitting on several sacks of dry beans and rice, food that had been moved on deck earlier that morning to prepare for the expedition’s departure.
Looking around to make sure none of the crew is in earshot, Iltar quietly speaks up, “We will need to leave some of our party aboard to guard the ship from any attack. Who knows what other beasts might be nearby. You three, along with Hex and Amendal are the only ones I trust with the details of our quest. But, I want to bring one other mage, I don’t care which.”
“What are we to expect?” Igan asks with impatience. “We’re obviously not searching for apprentices.”
Iltar looks around again and sighs before answering in a hushed voice, “Dragons.”
“What?!” Hagen squeals, his eyes widen and his jaw drops slightly.
Igan looks at the illusionist, then to Cornar and finally Iltar. He notices that the warrior has no reaction to the answer and logically deduces that he has already known the dangers.
“I think Lorith will do,” Igan states calmly.
“Good, now Cor, how many men do you want to leave behind?”
Cornar stops for a moment and rubs his hair covered chin, passing through the short bristles; it is silent enough for the warrior’s companions to hear the sound. “I’ll take Kalder, Nordal, Aron, Hemrin, Shen, and I’ll see what others are willing to go.”
“Twenty should be enough. I’ll have all the thieves accompany us as well, that leaves five more of your men Cornar,” Iltar looks at the warrior as he speaks the last.
“We have already lost part of the morning. When should we go ashore?” Hagen the illusionist asks, in his high squeaky voice. The mornings have always been cruel to the illusionist in that way.
Cornar winces at the sound and looks at Iltar for an answer while both mages stare intently at the necromancer.
“We need to leave today. We cannot waste another day onboard this ship. Let’s get our provisions ready and be off within the hour,” Iltar says then stands and walks away from the forecastle, “I need to pack some things.”
* * * * *
In an hour and a half, the entire party is gathered on the main deck near the starboard rail. Beyond the rail are two long boats hoisted alongside the Farling; each are filled with food, tents, armor as well as an assortment of bows and close quarter weapons for Cornar’s men.
The crew lowers the long boats then the mages, warriors and the three thieves descend into the vessels by way of rope netting. Once in the boats, the warriors push them away from the ship and row ashore.
Meanwhile, aboard the Farling, some of the mages and warriors left behind silently watch their comrades drift toward the beach. While others keep a watchful eye on the sea lions across the bay; however, the beasts do not seem to take notice of the long boats gliding across the water.
In one of the boats, Cornar barks his orders as they near the sandy surf, “When we land, grab the nearest supplies and provisions then pile them on the beach. Hagen divide the supplies accordingly!”
As the long boats break upon the surf, the warriors, mages and thieves disembark the vessels from their bow, each carrying supplies. One by one the members of the expedition drop the provisions and supplies in a cluster several phineals past the surf; once relieved, they return to the vessels they had come from and continue to unload them.
Amid the unloading, Iltar climbs out of the second boat with only a small brown pack at his side. The necromancer walks along the beach and past Hagen who is dividing the supplies.
Iltar removes the map of the island from within his pack and studies the area surrounding the bay. As he looks at the cartography an imaginary dotted line runs from the beach towards the mountains. Once inland the line turns due north. The necromancer shakes his head, and the line disappears.
Watching the necromancer, Igan steps next to his long time friend and looks at the partially opened map. He then looks forward into the dense tropical forest beyond the shore and speaks up, “We’re here. Do you care to elaborate on what the plan is?”
Looking around at the group still gathering the supplies together, Iltar whispers to the man at his side, “Grab the other mages.”
In response, Igan turns to the others and lets out a whistle. While he does so, Iltar walks toward the tree line, still clutching the map in his hands.
Once several phineals away, Iltar turns around and waits for the other four mages to join him; Hagen is the last, having traded positions with Lorith in portioning out the rest of the cargo.
With each of them gathered around, Iltar takes in a deep breath, “It’s finally time I can let the four of you in on this mission and it’s not from the council. Prior to the acolytes' rebellion a matter of great importance came to our attention; knowledge of an ancient artifact had been uncovered. In fact it was Cornar and Krindal who unearthed the information,” glancing at the warrior in the distance as he speaks the last.
“Intriguing,” Amendal strokes his neatly trimmed gray beard.
“So the artifact is here?” Hex asks flatly, motioning to the island.
“A piece of it. There are two locations noted, but this was the nearest to us. I hope that we’ll find some answers to the mystery,” Iltar states in sincerity. “Then we will know exactly where to look.”
“What sort of artifact are we talking about?” Igan queries then continues, “You mentioned there were dragons here.”
“Dragons?” Hex slowly queries with wide eyes.
“Possibly,” Iltar answers Hex then continues. “Something that turned the tide of the ancient war between the three great races of our world,” Iltar lets the words sink in before continuing. “We are looking for an amulet and a ruby. Combined, their power controlled red dragons and enabled the wearer to exercise complete dominion over them.”
“You’re kidding,” Hex gasps with doubt in his voice, “Iltar have you lost your mind?”
“He’s even worse than Amendal!” Hagen shakes his head as he speaks.
“No one is worse than me!” the old conjurer retorts with a flare of jealousy.
“So there are dragons and artifacts here?” Igan asks in seriousness. “Is this where they went all those years ago?”
“That I don’t know, but this is a tomb,” Iltar muses then plays the scholar, “I know that for certain. The elven map, which was discovered, and the scroll with it identified this place as the dragon’s burial grounds. What that entails exactly, I don’t know.”
“So what does the council want with this… artifact,” Amendal asks, motioning with his hands, “There are no red dragons here, nor anywhere on this world. Every breed is said to be extinct except the platinums, but even they are said to be gone.”
“It’s not just the amulet we’re after; the scrolls explained how that fabled war ended. Exile to other worlds; the red dragons were sent to the stars. Part of the other reason we’re here is to find out what we can concerning a magical stone which can open a portal to another world.”
“Iltar,” Hagen steps closer, “What have you been drinking? Because I want some!” the illusionist bursts into laughter, which draws the others’ attention across the sandy beach.
The three other mages look at Hagen with annoyance. Their faces show that they’re receptive to Iltar’s belief in the story though it seems farfetched for them.
“Well, Alacor wants the a
mulet for his own reasons. Most likely political in nature. We all know that man doesn’t value relics or true power,” Iltar continues with disgust, “There’s no telling what he would do with it. The other members I’m sure have their own ambitions.”
“If that Menthak gets it he’ll destroy more than just our precious Order!” Amendal shouts with strong disgust then flails his hands in the air while growling, “Why did you have to save him Iltar?!”
“Quiet down Amendal,” Iltar motions an opened hand toward the old conjurer.
“What are your intentions, Iltar?” the question whispers from Hex’s lips.
“I intend to get it before they do. You all know me. Of course I’m power hungry, but am I always selfish with it?”
The mages each shake their heads and Iltar continues, “Alacor would most likely bring the dragons to our world and destroy it, shifting every which way. Turning on his allies when he sees a gain and then saving those who were his enemies just moments beforehand. That unsteadiness will only do irreversible damage.
“Order, stability, consistency. If someone were to have that power they need to exercise those qualities.”
“Iltar, what do we get out of it for helping you?” Igan asks as he folds his arms. “Seeing that this secret is unleashed, I don’t see why we would not help you.”
“Straight to the point as always Igan,” Iltar smiles, “I’m not thinking of Kalda. There has to be other worlds out there. Who knows that the lights in the sky are not some distant planets with vast cultures and civilizations.”
Returning his gaze from the sky, Iltar looks at each of them and asks in seriousness, “Do you want to rule a world?”
“Twisted and generous,” Amendal remarks with a cackle.
“I can’t be on every world at once,” Iltar says, stating it as a matter of fact.
“Well that is a tall order…” Hex gasps “But you’ve never let us down in the past.”
Hearing the wizard’s statement, the others nod their heads in agreement.
“So the acolyte’s story was a farce?” Hagen asks with a bobbling motion of his head.
“Not quite,” Iltar scratches his cheek. “The council sent me out to find acolytes, but they are also planning an expedition here. The other members could have already sent their own groups of men ahead,” the necromancer says the last with a twisted smile and glances to the warriors. “No matter, we can discuss this later, we need to focus on the task at hand before we can plan our kingdoms. Seems our companions are ready.”
The partial truth was enough to settle Iltar’s mind. Using the council as he did served to his advantage if things were to go awry. He knew the mages with him would back him to death before letting Alacor or any other members of the Order’s council gain control over the amulet.
With their private meeting concluded, each of the four senior mages spread out across the sandy beach, and grab their share of the supplies, all except Iltar.
Once everyone is together, Cornar addresses the expedition in a raised voice.
“We don’t know exactly what is on this island; but we know we need to clear these trees and make a path to those mountains,” the warrior points to the peaks just over the tree line, “A credible source hints at a cave at the base, somewhere in the center of the rocky range. Since there are probably no trails or paths we will need to carve our own.”
“Aren’t you worried about any indigenous wildlife ambushing us?” one of the warriors speaks up from the crowd.
“Paranoid Nordal?” Tilthan jests from the edge of the group with a chuckle.
Nordal, the warrior who had asked the question, is slightly shorter than Cornar and is in his mid thirties. Nordal is muscular but slim with short wavy dark brown hair and brown eyes. He is also one of the more experienced warriors that have studied under Cornar and worked alongside him.
“I highly doubt any animals or other creatures are here,” Iltar interrupts.
“We won’t encounter anything until we pass the mountains,” Cornar cautions his men while looking at Iltar. “Kalder, lead the way. Spread out five men abreast and cut a path through the forest.”
The small band of men walk past Cornar and into the tropical forest. Each tree sparsely lines the beach, thirty phineals away from the waters lightly crashing tide, allowing the men to step through into the much denser foliage.
As Cornar and his men file into the tropical forest, the thieves gather their packs, saving the lightest of the supplies for themselves. The leader of the small band, Tilthan, grabs the lightest of them all. Slinging the pack over his left shoulder he swaggers across the sandy beach.
“This is perfect, like paradise here,” the master thief comments on the scene.
“Yea… and the prison of the damned to the west as your neighbor,” Nath responds to his friend’s comments with a laugh.
“Damn you! Why do you have to stifle my daydreams…?”
Hearing the conversation, Iltar turns to the two chatting thieves and gives them a glare that pierces their souls; however, Nath is the only one to glimpse the necromancer’s eyes and quickly turns, lowering his head.
Meanwhile, Tilthan ignorantly continues forward and jestingly supervises Cornar’s men, placing his hands on his hips. The thief stands behind Nordal who is several steps ahead of him, clearing the forest floor.
“Doing good Nordal,” Tilthan calls out from his cocky pose. “Keep swinging that blade.”
As he finishes speaking, a tingling sensation creeps along the thief’s neck. He cocks his head toward the sensation and notices Iltar walking towards him. Tilthan stops in his tracks and attempts to change his composure.
“Get to work, I’m not hiring you to admire the view,” Iltar sneers.
“Yes, sir!” Tilthan swallows tightly as Iltar moves past him. Once the necromancer is ahead of him, the thief rolls his eyes and steps into the trees.
“The things I do for gold,” the masterful thief whispers to himself.
* * * * *
Kalder leads the hearty men through the lush dense jungle forest. There is very little wildlife, and the forest is devoid of most insects that inhabit the other tropical parts of Kalda.
The pace is slow through the forest, and the heat of the day slowly wares on the men clearing the path. After an hour from leaving the shore they have only traveled three grand phineals; the measurement is the sum of one thousand phineals and is sometimes abbreviated on signs or in conversation as “G.P.”
It is around this time that the band of adventures encounters an interesting secret on the island.
On the far left of Kalder, one of the younger warriors cuts the vegetation with swift strokes, exaggerating the blows far to the left. With his next stroke he swings his sword and impacts the blade against one of the larger tropical trees. The blade quickly recoils back toward Nordal, who is on the other side of him; accompanied by a resonating high pitch clang.
In response the young warrior quickly controls his blade from cutting into his companion at his right. He stops and looks at the tree which forcefully repelled his blade. The bark surface shows a single cut and the warrior turns to examine the trunk.
“Watch where you swing that thing, Hemrin,” Nordal says in a jovial tone and glances to the aforementioned warrior, “Now what was that sound?”
At that moment, the other members of Iltar’s expedition each in turn stop; the tang of Hemrin’s blade had also alerted them to the strange discovery.
“Do that again,” Cornar says seriously as he walks up the path, pushing his way through the mages and thieves in front of him.
Hemrin strikes the tree again, slightly higher than the initial gash. As he controls the recoiling blade, a second cut appears in the bark. Cornar notices the odd reaction and pauses briefly to fold his arms.
“That sounds like stone,” Kalder states in an inquiring tone from the head of the party.
“It does,” Cornar’s eyes narrow.
Iltar steps forward and peers over
Cornar’s shoulder. He looks at the tree from between Hemrin and Cornar.
“Hagen,” Iltar turns to the short illusionist, “Cast some dispelling magic.”
Clearing his throat, Hagen moves toward the mysterious tree; once near it, the short illusionist scoops his hand in the air in a circular motion. He utters the words of a greater dispelling magic, and white particles cluster in his palm. As he finishes the incantation, the illusionist raises his hand above his head and extends it toward the mysterious tree.
Once the white magic touches the bark the tree twists and contorts. The image of the tropical plant shifts in unnatural movement then vanishes. In its place is a tall pale gray stone-like pylon, a phineal taller than most of the men’s’ heads.
Iltar moves around Cornar, stepping toward the newly discovered relic and Hemrin cautiously backs away as Iltar approaches; the necromancer’s dreadful reputation was enough to cause most to stay at arm’s length.
Standing in front of the pylon, Iltar brushes his hand against the gray surface, which is cool to the touch. Several jewel-like-gems are inlayed around the mid section of the southern face. A familiar writing is also etched into the surface above each of the gems and the letters glow with a faint blue hew.
“Elvish…” the word quietly leaves Iltar’s lips.
The other members of the necromancer’s expedition look at each other and their faces reflect their imaginations racing with the possibilities of the discovery.
For several minutes Iltar stares at the inscriptions.
“Puzzling,” Iltar mutters with intrigue then thinks to himself. “Without my elvish translation texts it will be hard to accurately understand this correctly…”
“Hmm,” the necromancer strokes his facial hair then mutters, “Ecadu Rin Talim. That might be it.”
“Might?!” Tilthan cries out from the rear of the crowd, “You better be sure!”
Hearing the outburst, Cornar glances over his shoulder to Tilthan with an annoyed expression across his face.
Meanwhile, Iltar furrows his brow as he examines the rest of the texts. He hesitantly reaches forward to the gem on the right, of golden orange color, and presses against it. The gem depresses in silence, and when it does the scene around the expedition transforms.
The Dark Necromancer Page 11
