Beneath Kalder and the other four leading warriors’ feet the ground shifts in shape. Some of the debris which they had cut through and tossed aside vanishes, clearly part of the illusion which had just been disabled. The ground also gives way, causing the men to fall a very short distance and lose their footing. That which had once been full of dirt and tropical weeds was now a pale gray stone-like surface. The vegetation around the edge of the stone-like substance are repelled, and signs of it show in how the plants and their extremities lean away from it.
In the eastward and westward directions of the pylon the stone-like path spreads, with identical pylons marking the way about twenty phineals apart. Between each of the pylons are solid rectangular sections of the gray stone-like material. Further west, the path turns toward the northwest.
“I wonder what other surprises we’ll encounter,” Cornar remarks.
Ignoring the speculation, Iltar looks toward the western running path. His eyes narrow and he steps forward, pushing his way past the warriors in the middle of the ancient elven roadway. As Iltar presses forward, Kalder with Cornar close behind, race toward Iltar’s side. The other seventeen members of the party step onto the elven mystery and slowly, while admiring the path, follow Iltar and the two other men of war.
Ahead and out of earshot of the rest of the expedition, Cornar comments on the twist of events, “Don’t you find this strange that this path exists Iltar? It looks like it was only constructed days ago…”
“Well the elven scrolls did elude that their purpose was to restore the amulet, not hide it,” the necromancer reminds his friend. “The elves must have put this here for easy access to the tunnel through the mountains, but when, I don’t know,” Iltar remarks and then points to the ground. “Look at the plants…”
After following the path for the space of an hour and a half, the three leading men emerge from the dense trees onto a large plain which stretches out before them. In the distance are the mountains that run east to west. The stone majesties stretch across the far side of the plain and go on and on in either direction.
Once everyone has emerged from the forest, the group stops at the woodland’s edge to eat a small lunch of cold food.
While the rest are eating, Iltar rechecks the map against the landscape before him: The towering grayish-white mountains in the distance spread in both directions, as per the map.
After studying the mountains, Iltar glances back to the path, which ends exactly on the tree line.
With the map in hand, Iltar treads to Cornar, who is sitting with the rest of his men along the tree line.
“I’m not sure where we are on this map,” Iltar says as he crouches with a sigh. “Nor where the cave might be… Although something inside me says the path is the key.”
“It could be,” Cornar nods his head. “I say we should keep our heading in line with the path’s end. Perhaps it’ll get us close to the cave. If not it’ll be a start, let me see the map,” the warrior reaches out and grabs the unrolled parchment from the necromancer. After a moment Cornar continues his speculation.
“From the distance we have traveled so far and the distance across the plain, that is if this map is drawn to scale, we have another half day’s journey ahead of us.”
“Yes it looks that way doesn’t it?” Iltar queries then wonders. “What do you think? Stay here in the shelter of the trees tonight and send scouts throughout the afternoon?”
“We still have some time before dark. The sky is clear and there was one full moon last night. Hopefully tonight will be clear and we should be able to see during the night. I wonder…”
“Well spit it out man!”
“Okay…” Cornar smiles. “We should rest here until dark. Rotate guards and have everyone else sleep. Get up after dark and cross the plain at night. There should be enough moonlight to make the plain visible and to illuminate the mountains so we won’t get turned around. I don’t like to move over an open plain in broad daylight, especially if there’s any possibility of dragons watching the plain from the mountains. Our clothing is dark enough so we won’t be easily seen at night. Then once we reach the foothills we can rest until morning.”
“That sounds like a good idea. I’ll let the others know,” Iltar moves so that the rest of the expedition can see him.
“Everyone listen. Cornar has a plan on proceeding further. We will sleep here the rest of the day and cross the plain at night. We will rotate guards two at a time, for three hour shifts.”
Soon after Iltar’s announcement, the majority of the expedition finishes their cold meal. Cornar’s men clear areas in the dense forest edge on either side of the elven pathway. Due to the compact sized pockets of leveled land the camp is spread across the tree line. Cornar and Kalder both volunteer to take the first watch.
Within a matter of minutes most of the expedition is fast asleep. The change in weather was enough to sap the strength of the mages and some of the warriors; however, Tilthan and his fellow thieves are enjoying a game of chance. Their light laughter can be heard by the two warriors sitting as sentinels near the pylon marking the elven pathway.
Kalder and Cornar sit quietly, each lost in thought. They stare into the distance as if gazing through the light-colored mountains and envisioning what is beyond them.
* * * * *
Late in the evening, Cornar is awoken at arm’s length by one of his men. The aged warrior snaps awake, pushing himself up with one hand and the other grasping his serrated dagger. The warrior who had woken his teacher and leader steps back with a grin on his face.
“Grasil,” Cornar grunts and blinks once and looks at the warrior.
“The sun went down about half an hour ago,” Grasil calmly informs Cornar.
The sky is black, and as Cornar looks around, both moons of Kalda illuminate the ground, just as he imagined. Each are spread apart in the night sky, and the one nearest over head is full and shines bright. Cornar takes in a deep breath of cool tropical air before addressing the warrior.
“Wake those on the other side of the path,” Cornar instructs Grasil.
Both men creep away from Cornar’s opened air bedding. The elder warrior turns eastward and proceeds from tent to tent, waking the inhabitants.
After several minutes, every member of the expedition is awake and disassembling their camp. Cornar’s men act efficiently and swiftly as they repack their tents and other sleeping gear.
Iltar joins Cornar’s side at the mouth of the pathway, where the warrior is holding a circular compass; it is illuminated by the night lights, and Cornar adjusts the heading to be aligned with the stone path.
While Cornar is plotting their course, Iltar silently stares at the shadowy mountainside.
“Do you see that peak?” Cornar asks and points directly in front of him and Iltar. “We want to go just to the left of it.”
Cornar steps in front of the necromancer, noting the heading in a hushed whisper to himself. After a moment the warrior turns around and whistles to the others, gathering the rest of the party together and informing them of their heading.
“Nordal and Shen, I want both of you carving directions in the ground alongside the main group,” Cornar’s tone is full of seriousness and leadership. “The rest of you will follow myself and Iltar. We will be keeping with the heading of the elven path. That peak,” turning and extending his arm towards the same mountain top the warrior had shown Iltar, “Will be our other guide. Aron, you are in charge of watching that peak. I believe the exact heading of the path leads just to the left of that mountain top; but we can adjust our course to the left once we get to the foothills of the mountain. And someone mark that pylon.
“Let’s go.”
With compass in hand, Cornar turns, checking the heading, and then strides forward. As the party moves, Shen and Nordal carve directional arrows in the ground, their swords start together at the point and then spread out.
Throughout the night the group travels in silence. Many of them had been o
n previous expeditions that required stealthy travel and crossing this plain did not differ from any of those other occasions.
Several times Cornar stops the group and motions for one of the thieves to scout ahead into the dips and small craters that dot their path to the mountainside. The discoveries are uneventful, and the party presses onward to the rising peaks.
After four hours of traveling, the party reaches the rising foothills of the towering mountains. The two moons of Kalda are still high overhead and shed light on the southern face of the mountains.
Amid the moonlight, and almost exactly to the left of the peak they had been following, the darkened silhouette of a large cavern marks the rocky towers. The gaping hole is just above the foothills, and at the base of the steep surface. At this distance, which is over two grand phineals, the cave looms large.
Iltar moves forward several steps ahead of the party and up along the rising ground. Satisfaction and anticipation smear over his face as he thinks to himself, “The cave, it’s here! Those scrolls truly are a treasure map of sorts. This amulet wants to be found, and that cave must house a great drago–”
“Iltar,” Cornar calls out in a hushed voice, “We need to wait. Many of us are tired from the trek. Let’s find a place to hide out for the night.”
Standing above his companions, Iltar turns back with hesitation.
“Why not go into that cave?” Tilthan asks; the thief and his compatriots had been kept in the dark, thus their ignorance prompted the question. “It seems strange that you want us to camp out here Cornar… Surely it will be safer in there than being out in the open.”
“I doubt that,” Cornar responds and turns from the thief to survey the area.
The foothills of the mountains are lined with large gray boulders, the size great enough to conceal one or two men. Around the foothills the land is devoid of trees or any other large vegetation that could conceal them. There is also a beaten path leading up to the cave and strange markings depressed within it, resembling tracks of an enormous creature.
“These rocks should do,” Cornar addresses the rest of the expedition. “Everyone settle in and try to stay quiet.”
* * * * *
The next morning, sunlight beats upon the party’s faces as the Kaldean sun rises from the west. The light rustles many from their rest, including Iltar. Cornar is still fast asleep, but one of his men warily awakes their champion leader.
Tilthan and Nemral are among those woken by the sunlight and both walk toward the path to examine the large prints in the dirt.
“Enjoy your meal but be quick about it,” Iltar snaps at the men camped around him then strides along the foothills to join the two thieves examining the tracks.
“Iltar…” Tilthan looks up to the necromancer. The thief points to the strange prints in the ground and continues with a sarcastically quizzical tone, “What is that?”
In the daylight the tracks give a more prominent distinction. The prints, each unique and separate, have a contouring feature to them. From the onlookers’ view, the tracks are moving away from the mountain.
“Whatever created these must be huge,” Nemral remarks as he stands and continues to survey the tracks. “Doesn’t it seem strange that these two different types of tracks are so close together?”
The tracks themselves are over seven phineals in length. The nearest of the pair is bulky, with three individual toe marks protruding from what would be the heel and arch of the creature. Ahead and slightly to the side are another type of track, more shallow than the other. At first glance it looks like a palm of an average human, just enlarged many times; however, only four finger-like-impressions spread from the palm section of the print.
“That one almost looks like a deformed giant hand,” Tilthan remarks at the set with four separate finger-like indentations. “I’ve never seen anything like this…” the thief looks back and forth at both of the pairs of prints and continues to speculate. “I wonder if this is one creature. If you look at it, the prints seem to be consistent for quite a way to go,” Tilthan points off into the plain from where they had come. “Like it was running from the cave.”
Unsettled by the tracks, Iltar thinks to himself, “Were these prints of a dragon? None of us have seen one, and the artistic renderings of the beasts were based on pure speculation. But these look different than any dragon claw I’ve ever seen. If they do belong to a dragon, why are they leading away from the cavern?”
Shaking the thoughts aside, Iltar returns to the main group which is spread among the rocks of the foothills.
The necromancer’s sapphire eyes scan the rest of the party, many of whom are eating their cold morning meal. Hagen and Hex are huddled behind a rock eating their food together. Iltar looks past them to Igan, who is sitting alone.
Without a word, the necromancer strides to the lone wizard and sits down next to Igan.
Once Iltar sits down, Igan offers him some food from the sack he was carrying.
Without hesitation, Iltar takes the bowl of ground rice and beans; meticulously placing the food in his mouth.
“So are those dragon tracks?” Igan asks in seriousness while the two mages eat and look out over the plain they crossed the previous night.
“I don’t know,” Iltar unsettlingly replies then looks down at his bowl. “It could be but the tracks are leading away from the mountains not to them.”
At that moment, Iltar remembers a passage from the elven scroll, “The guardian.” The necromancer’s eyes widen but shakes his head, regaining his composure. “That was the one line I had paid little attention to and brushed over. Substituting it for a simple answer due to the missing pieces of the scroll. Attributing the guardian to be a dragon to watch over the secret knowledge, but was–”
“Your food isn’t going to get any colder,” Cornar’s voice calls out from the boulder next to the wizard and necromancer.
Jarred from his thoughts, Iltar looks to his friend who is cleaning out his bowl and putting it back into his pack. Once his pack is secure, the brawny warrior leans forward and stoops in his gait to the two mages.
“I think we should let Tilthan and his friends do a little work,” Cornar looks back to the thieves who are still examining the prints. “Say, did you figure out what that was? Are those dragon tracks?”
“No,” Iltar shakes his head, “Tilthan thinks it was a creature running from the cave.” Looking up at his friend he continues, “Wouldn’t a dragon just fly out?”
“You have a point there Iltar,” Igan responds from alongside the necromancer. “Tell me, what else haven’t you told us about this island that you know?”
“Nothing.”
“Then I agree,” Igan looks up to Cornar. “Send in the thieves.”
With that said, the warrior briskly steps away from the two mages who return to eating their food in deep thought; each thinking of what lurks behind the shadows of the cave.
Once down the path, Cornar steps up to Tilthan and Nemral, addressing them in a quiet tone, “It’s time for you two to scout out that cave. I suggest you use your cloaks.”
“You don’t think what made these,” Tilthan points to the tracks, “Is still in there, do you? Is that why you didn’t want to stay in there last night?”
Grinning grimly, Cornar chuckles and shakes his head then steps away from the thieves saying, “Just check it out and return to us with what you find.”
“Well,” Nemral says as he looks to Tilthan. “It’s what we’re getting paid to do.”
As he speaks the last, Nemral reaches for his small pack and swings it around in front of his waist. The thief opens the sack and pulls a shimmering cloth from within which glistens in the early morning light; one end is gathered with a golden cord running through the fabric. At the tips of the cord are a latch and binding. The thief takes his cloak into one hand then pulls a pair of silver rimmed spectacles out and places them on his face.
Nemral readjusts his pack then wraps the shimmering cloth around
his shoulders and latches the golden cord together; in an instant he disappears from sight.
“Why don’t the mages go in,” Tilthan complains and opens his pack to reveal a similar shimmering fabric. He reaches into the pack and pulls out a similar pair of gold rimmed spectacles then places them on his face.
“Because they don’t have our cloaks or lenses,” Nemral remarks from under the invisibility emitted from the shimmering cloak. “Besides, we’re more agile.”
“Ugh,” Tilthan spits out then wraps his cloak around his shoulders and disappears in like manner.
Both thieves silently and invisibly enter the cavern with the senior leading the way; through their lenses they can see each other’s faint outlines.
The cavern towers over one hundred phineals in height and is slightly wider. Light pours into the geological structure for quite a way inside and illuminates the cavern’s entrance and floor beyond it. As both thieves press forward, there is a deathly silence about the cavern; they notice a lack of any sort of life, plant or animal.
Tilthan leads the duo even deeper into the cavern, and their eyes slowly adjust to the darkened area. The cave still looms larger, twisting and turning, until the cavern opens into a grand space.
Upon reaching the opening, the two thieves stare at the breath taking view. Several beams of light illuminate the hollowed space, from holes in the cavern’s ceiling, with a source of light just beyond the rocky surface. On the opposite side of the earthen room the answer to their questions lies dormant.
From beneath his cloak, Tilthan’s eyes widen. In front of him lays a creature, nothing like he had ever before seen. Nearly one hundred phineals in length, the beast is spread across the cool rocky surface. Amid its slumber, heavy breathing billows the surrounding air.
One of the front arms of the creature is out stretched with four long phalanges, with one of the finger-like appendages extended; the phalange twitches, causing the large claw on the end to scrape across the rocky floor and the sound pierces the thieves’ ears. While the other arm is coiled near its chest.
The Dark Necromancer Page 12
