Once Iltar finishes answering the dragon’s questions he speaks up, “Now, Oh mighty lord of metal, will you answer my questions from before?”
“Lord of Metal?” the dragon chuckles in a pleased tone, “Interesting use of terms, my pet, but as you desire; I will answer you.”
Intrigued, Iltar fights to hold back his thirst for the dragon’s knowledge and stills his composure.
“This place,” looking around before continuing, “Is a sacred land. Thousands of years ago a great battle was wrought in the skies. Crimson and Platinum clashed, and their bodies littered this valley’s floor. It was a battle that crippled the true rulers of dragonkind.
“Platinum dragons come here to this island when they are old, to die along aside those that fought valiantly… usually.”
Iltar tries hard to keep his composure at this point and ponders to himself, “They come here to die? So the scroll was correct. This is the dragon burial ground, and the story of the battle did in reality happened.”
“Usually?” the conspiring necromancer interrupts, “What do you mean by that?”
“That’s not why I’m here. If I had come here to die of old age I wouldn’t have been here for over three hundred and fifty years now would I?”
“Then, why are you here?”
“I’m a prisoner just like you, albeit for different reasons. I was exiled here. Exiled and cursed because I sought what the draconic leaders, the Ril’Sha, had deemed forbidden.”
Intrigued, Iltar nods his head and thinks, “Perfect. Perhaps I can maneuver the beast into telling why he was exiled and if I stir up his anger at his fate, he might slip a clue about the amulet.”
“I didn’t know dragons did that sort of thing, exiling and cursings I mean.”
“They don’t,” the words spit from the dragon’s tongue, “I was an exception. Dragons should rule the world, like we did anciently. The Ril’Sha, believes that we need to stay aloof and not directly interfere in human and elven affairs; they cower in their frozen caves, cut off from the rest of Kalda.”
“We are the strongest beings on this planet! It is our right to govern!” the dragon states, raising himself upon his hind legs to full height. He then lets out a loud, sharp, bellowing cry.
The other two dragons stir from their slumber, glancing at the large younger dragon with annoyance. They nestle themselves back upon the rocky ground almost immediately thereafter.
“Do you see what I mean? I can’t even get these pathetic excuses for dragons excited when I call out a rallying cry!”
“So why don’t you just fly away?” Iltar asks innocently. “Go somewhere else, some place they can’t find you.”
Chuckling, the dragon opens his wings and shows Iltar their inner surface: Scars run across both wings.
“Do you see these scars? They removed certain muscles, muscles that a dragon needs to fly. I have limited use of my wings. I can’t fly off this island.”
“That’s terrible! So you are right, you are trapped here just like me,” Iltar feigns indignation.
“Yes I am. But now I have you to keep me entertained,” the dragon lies down and rests its head next to the necromancer. Silence settles over the two malevolent beings and the day continues.
After a short time Iltar muses aloud to get the dragon talking about the amulet. “So this is the dragons' graveyard? And what’s that monster for, the others said it was a guardian and caretaker? Why would the scrolls we found indicate that the amulet is on this island, Draco Isola? It was written in a way that made it seem like the amulet and some ruby were meant to be found again, or so I was told.... That doesn’t make sense,” Iltar continues with frustration, partially heartfelt.
“It makes perfect sense,” the dragon chuckles, “And I’m amused by your persistence in the matter.”
“What do you mean?”
Turning his nearest eye to the necromancer he unfolds his meaning, “First of all. If you were really trying to hide something would you record where it was really located? Or would you lead someone on a chase that took them to the least likely place?”
“Hmm,” Iltar sighs then thinks to himself, “Why does he believe the scrolls are not true? Perhaps he is right, but no; there is something on this island, there must be! After all, he was exiled.”
“I get it,” Iltar shouts and raises a hand in the air then thinks to himself, “Now to play along with him…”
“Whoever wrote the scrolls wanted no one to find the amulet. They left false clues so that if anyone tried to find it they would be led here and killed, a trap.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying…You are not so dumb, for a human.”
“Well then tell me this, oh wise lord of metal, if the amulet is so well hidden why did whoever wrote the scrolls feel the need to plant false clues?”
“Do you realize what language the scrolls were written?”
“Elvish?” Iltar asks with some uneasiness, “But how did you know?”
“By the name you called this island. Now do you understand?” the dragon asks as he leads Iltar down his logical path.
“The amulet was hidden by the elves then? Some place where the elves either live or lived.”
Laughing at Iltar’s logic, the dragon asks “Hidden by them? No… but you’re doing superb Illusionist. Now what are the places where the elves either live or have lived?”
“Hmm, they live in their secluded cities on the western coast now. But they used to live all over, they even had a stronghold on the Isle of Merdan, right? I have heard that the place is haunted now,” Iltar hopes that the mentioning of the other location on the elven map might prompt further insight into the truth of the scrolls.
“Ah, yes I remember it like yesterday, the great metropolis of Merda and its majestic pyramid fortress. The elves were very proud of that city and its fortress. Impregnable they thought. It was,” the dragon sneers, “Until their pride was stripped away.”
“You obviously don’t like the elves.”
“No I do not. They elevated themselves above men and us dragons. Now what has become of them? Sniveling cowards, trapped inside their towering tombs.”
“What happened to the city?”
“Undead rule the city now. The elves and their arrogant naivety,” the dragon grumbles at the statement. “They thought they were invincible, but they were brought to their knees. Now the conniving creatures are slaves, and that island nation is no more, ruled by a Ma’lisha; a being that was once a man. He lives on in a twisted form of immortality, worshiping a deity which is as demented as he.”
“Huh?” Iltar genuinely queries, “A mali-what?”
Chuckling, the dragon responds, “That is what his kind are called in the divine tongue of dragonkind. You humans commonly misconceive them as vampires; the latter are merely lesser beings of their creation.”
“Oh,” Iltar slowly nods his head, “So are you telling me the amulet was hidden with the elves at Merda?” Iltar asks casually, trying to hide his excitement.
“Did I say that…?” the dragon smiles grimly. “No, I didn’t say that.”
“No, you didn’t, but I guessed it. Am I right?”
“You may be right, or perhaps you are dead wrong,” the dragon replies menacingly.
“I guess it really doesn’t matter does it? But what about the monster, isn’t it guarding something important?” Iltar hopes that prodding at the tarrasque’s purpose will prompt some answer about the island’s importance, “I’m stuck here with no way off this island. It would be nice to know before I die if I am right or wrong about this place and the amulet.”
“Ha! You are a crafty one illusionist. That thing guards nothing concerning the Au’misha’k. Maybe one day before you die I will let you know those answers.”
“Very well, you win,” Iltar replies in a sullied tone. “I’m tired anyway. I need some sleep; after all it’s getting dark.”
With that said, Iltar removes a blanket from Hagen’s pack. Using the sack as a
pillow he lays down to sleep. All the while looking toward the dragon and the vista beyond the great serpentine.
An hour passes and Iltar pretends to drift into slumber; in that time, the two dragons who had first approached him move back near the spots where they were initially resting when Tilthan spotted them.
As his captor lets out heavy breathing, Iltar watches the dragon, ensuring he is asleep. Once satisfied, Iltar slowly gets up and motions for Cornar to stand down whatever assault he has prepared then proceeds to the cave.
Meanwhile, from within the tunnel’s mouth, Cornar emerges with bow in hand with an arrow strung. He patiently waits and watches his long time companion in adventure stride up the switchback path.
“You know,” Cornar whispers as Iltar nears him, “I almost misread your actions earlier… but then I remembered you’re not one to be sloppy with your signals.”
“I know where the amulet is hidden,” Iltar’s face beams with excitement and anticipation. “It’s on the Isle of Merdan.”
“Can you be sure Iltar? This dragon could be playing games with you.”
“I’m sufficiently sure; however, I would like to get more information from him. I still haven’t unraveled the mystery of the ruby, nor have I brought up the activating spell for the amulet and the means to travel to the other worlds…
“But after conversing with that beast, I think I misread or mistranslated part of the elven scroll; yet there has to be something here. Why else would there be a dot on the map?”
Without a word, Cornar simply shrugs.
“Gather the rest and get ready to attack,” Iltar says in an impatient tone. “These two in front are old and we should dispatch them first. Then we can concentrate on the larger one. He can’t fly so it shouldn’t be too hard to take him but I want him alive, Cornar. Also, be careful of his spit; it’s acidic and very corrosive, or so he says.”
“Understood, I’ll get the others and we will surprise these hapless beasts,” Cornar nods his head and vanishes into the tunnel, leaving Iltar alone at its mouth.
Once Cornar has traveled almost a hundred phineals into the tunnel he reaches the rest of his and Iltar’s band; each of the warriors, mages and thieves anxiously look at Cornar and the aged warrior addresses them.
“Iltar has finally finished conversing with the dragon. There are still only three near here, all fast asleep. We can kill the two nearest us but Iltar wants the larger one, the one he’ll be standing by, to be kept alive. If any of you kill him, I’m sure Iltar will find a painful way for you to endure the rest of your days.”
8
Battle
Twilight falls upon the now peaceful island of dragonkind. The night sky is dimly lit by the two moons and a cool breeze descends from the mountain tops, filling the valley with a comfortable temperature.
Meanwhile, standing at the cave’s mouth, Iltar folds his arms and comments in a whisper, “This is an evening to remember…”
From within the tunnel, Cornar and the other thirteen members of the expedition can be heard and Iltar turns to face them. Each of them have expressions of anxiousness smeared across their faces.
Once outside the cave, Cornar nods to Iltar, then turns to face the others. The aged warrior raises his hand with his forefinger extended. After a brief pause he motions his finger toward the dragon on the left side of the path, who is slightly further up the mountainside than earlier that day.
Cornar raises his hand again, with two fingers extended, then waits and points toward the dragon to their right, who is further down the foothills.
After receiving their orders, the men separate themselves into two parties, with Cornar and Iltar as exceptions. The deadly duo walks side by side down the switchback trail and then the straightened path.
Just as before, when the duo had taken on the rebel apprentices, Iltar prepares them for the coming battle: They stop midway between the dragon and the tunnel’s entrance. In a whisper Iltar utters the words to bring forth a greenish protective aura around Cornar. The dark green hue swirls in two directions around the warrior, spreading all over his body.
Iltar utters another magical incantation and gray particles jump from his palm then quickly rotate around the warrior before striking his body, painlessly penetrating Cornar’s skin.
Lastly and without incantation, Iltar musters a black mist from within his pores. The black magic swirls into the quiver strapped upon Cornar’s back, magically enhancing the arrows. In like manner, both of the weapons at Cornar’s side glow with the same demonic light.
Sufficiently enhanced, the warrior draws an arrow by the notch, and rests it in his bow; its tip glowing with a black magical light.
Iltar then turns his attention to himself. His seething black magic pours from his skin and envelopes his body. As his necrotic sphere of invulnerability takes form, two black orbs take shape in both of his palms. Once whole, the globes of darkness leave his hands and circle his body. Just as they take orbit around the necromancer, the water-like sphere violently blossoms into full fruition. A soft hum accompanies the small dancing orbs of dissolving power.
Meanwhile, the rest of the expedition is broken up almost evenly: Kalder, Nordal and Tilthan stand next to each other in front of Hagen and Hex, who are focusing on the dragon to the right of the cave. The brash warriors and the cunning thief notch their bows, their tips aiming at the dragon’s eyelids which have lost their protective scales. Tilthan pulls four arrows from his quiver, each have small fletching that prevent any of the arrows from touching each other while notched in the thief’s bow.
On the other end of the switchback path, Aron, Shen, and Grasil are accompanied by the two other thieves who are standing in front of Igan.
As the warriors and thieves stand ready, white particles lightly rest upon each of them; enhancing magic from Hagen.
Igan and Hex both whisper the words to muster forth a variation of barsion magic, a magic which has purely protective properties. Both wizards enshroud themselves in magical barriers imbued with defensive arcane and elemental properties; similar to Iltar’s necrotic sphere of protection.
Once the protective magics take shape, the two wizards utter incantations to their devastating spells and the warriors pull back their arrows.
Amid the preparation, Amendal sits in deep concentration at the cave’s mouth. His hands are tightly pressed together, and his eyes fixated to the ground. The old conjurer mouths the words of multiple spells, causing three shimmering portals to form near each of the sleeping dragons.
It is at this moment the silence of twilight turns to pandemonium.
Arrows sing through the air toward the sleeping beasts as the mystical gateways become fully open. The dragon on the party’s left is woken abruptly by the arrows’ music and raises her head away from all but one of the metallic shafts; however, her counterpart is not so lucky.
The assault from Kalder and his companions’ arrows pierce the old dragons eyes, rendering him blind. In reaction, the majestic beast thrashes around and lets out a bellowing roar as his front claws reach towards his face.
Behind the warriors and thief, Hex finishes his spell, bringing forth a ball of fire that hovers over the first group’s heads. With both of his hands above his head, Hex hurls the flaming magic toward the thrashing dragon. Streams of flame pour from the orb of fire as it flies through the air. Within seconds it crashes against the dragon’s scales, and the burning heat consumes the hardened serpentine skin on contact.
Tilthan, Nordal and Kalder continue their barrage of arrows. Some of the metallic projectiles bounce off the dragon’s scales, but others penetrate its exposed skin, where scales had fallen off from old age.
By this time the portal nearest the old male dragon is fully formed and a gargantuan creature steps through it. As the conjured creature emerges, it takes its first step on the draconic isle, which rumbles the ground. Once fully through, the monolithic conjuration looks at the withering dragon. The creature is formed out of solid and h
eated magma, standing over twenty phineals tall. Its form is humanoid, with rippling magmatic muscles. Between its creases which line its body are hot liquid streams that let out fire as the conjured creature presses its molten sections together. The magma elemental moves forward, with slow motions at first, toward the thrashing dragon.
Aware only through hearing, the dragon rolls over on his belly and pushes himself from the ground. Sensing the conjuration from its heat, the dragon opens his gaping jaw, utters a strange sharp sound, then lets lose his breath.
Blue magical fire rushes from the dragon’s open maw and hits the conjured monstrosity. The freezing breath cools part of the creature’s stomach, but the chilling vapor doesn’t stop its advance. The elemental pushes forward, moving faster than at first and crashes into the great serpent, tackling the dragon to the ground.
Both dragon and conjuration reel to and fro in a struggle. The conjured creature’s iced side and torso slowly melt, further fueling its fiery rage. As they wrestle on the ground for control, the elemental grabs hold of the dragon’s neck with one of its flaming hands; it swiftly punches with the other, crashing the magmatic fist into the side of the dragon’s head.
Amid the bout, Hex finishes another incantation, unleashing a dozen fiery bolts into the air. They race toward the dragon, arcing around Amendal’s conjuration. Each of the fiery projectiles penetrate the dragon’s scales, burning through the metal-like covering and further weakening the old dragon; thus allowing Amendal’s conjuration to overpower the platinum serpent.
Fearlessly, Kalder and Nordal drop their bows and draw their swords. They both race forward, side by side, toward the dragon and the towering conjuration; their abilities are greatly enhanced by Hagen’s magic. They dash to the wounded dragon, who is now lying at the conjured giant’s feet.
The Dark Necromancer Page 16
