The Dark Necromancer

by D. J. Zangari

  Each of the four guards are stalwartly holding long staff-like weapons, much like a halberd, called fanisar: At the weapon’s top is a thick curved blade with etchings of Soroth’s culture engraved on its sides. At the bottom is a long metal shaft that rounds out at the base of the weapon. These weapons were of elven origin, but throughout time the rest of Kalda adopted these tools of war to be wielded by men who act as sentinels.

  “We’re here to see Governor Riner,” Discerner Brandir informs the guards at the gate.

  Without any word of acknowledgement, the two outer sentinels nod their heads and reach for the gate, pulling each of the large gates open. While their counterparts open the gate, the guards behind the metallic rod threshold stand in their stilled sentinel positions.

  Passing the guards, Brandir and the other watchmen silently escort Iltar up the sloping path toward a circular roadway, wide enough for two side by side horse drawn carriages to rest beside each other.

  In the center of the circular roadway, a large round fountain towers with female figures climbing a blossoming tree, spouting water from their mouths.

  Directly beyond the circular road is the capitol building; it’s rectangular in shape, with curved corners protruding on all four ends. The structure stands six stories tall, the last three within a smaller rectangular shape above the larger base floors. The building is elegant in architecture with granite-like stone columns and decorative carvings of trees and leafs.

  Placed squarely in the center of the building is a towering ornate portico, rising three stories high; on either side, two rows of three columns, four phineals thick, support the portico’s barreled ceiling and lead to the building’s main doors.

  Eight guards stand watch within the portico, stationed by each of the columns and by the doors.

  At the right of the circle, a single roadway is paved in front of the building and wraps around to the estate behind the edifice on the southern side. The rest of the grounds are open, spreading in all directions from the buildings; the entire government compound taking up twelve city blocks, four across and three deep.

  As Iltar and his captors reach the portico, the guards stationed there move to open the doors.

  Brandir simply nods to the guards, and he grabs Iltar’s arm, escorting him through the opened doorway and into the capitol building’s enormous foyer.

  The room spans the entire depth of the building and towers three stories tall with each floor above expanding the foyer’s openness. Several rows of halls line the sides of the room, each separating to various offices of a single branch of Soroth’s government. Guards stand on either end of the openings along the room, clad in the same brown armor as the sentinels outside the capitol building. The interior of the room is filled with dark wood, gold trim and granite-like stone. Four golden leafed granite-like pillars are placed midway between the center of the room and the outer edge of the first floor. The stone floor is a polished dark gray and gives a dim reflection of the room and its occupants.

  At the southern end lies two circular staircases, wide enough for large amounts of traffic going to and from the second floor; they meet at their middle points and then curve off in opposite directions to long landings that connect them to the second floor balconies. Walkways line the edge of the second tier balconies and beyond them straight stairwells that lead to the third floor rising from the north to the south. The third floor balcony is identical to the second but with its stairs leading to the fourth floor following an opposite direction.

  “Let go of my arm,” Iltar snarls as Brandir escorts him across the foyer.

  “You are in no position to make demands,” the discerner retorts, leading Iltar and the other watchmen up the right circular staircase to that side of the three story foyer.

  After a short while, they ascend the stairs to the fourth floor.

  Once upon the fourth floor, they enter a wide corridor with a stairwell leading to the fifth story on the opposite side of the hallway; the stairs base is aligned with the top of the stairwell leading from the third floor.

  Discerner Brandir quickly leads Iltar and the other City Watchman across the corridor and to the base of the stairs, ascending it in like manner.

  Atop the fifth floor is an open room, with two circular staircases at the north end, just wide enough for three men to walk abreast. The steps are covered in a crimson lavender and guarded by four sentinels, their weapons crossed in front of the stairwells’ bases.

  Large windows line both north and south walls of the room. The mid-afternoon light shines through the northern panes, causing the stairs leading to the highest floor to cast a shadow.

  Walking toward the stairs, Brandir boldly states, “I am taking this man to see the governor. Move aside.”

  “By what order?” the guard to their left demands with his deep voice, his face concealed by his helmet.

  “This man has committed a heinous crime, and the situation is delicate enough to require the Governor’s assistance,” Brandir’s voice rises, attempting to intimidate the guard. “Now let us through!”

  The questioning Guardian of Soroth lowers his head toward Iltar and asks without retracting his bladed staff, “What has Master Iltar done?”

  Although his identifying physical features are covered, his voice stirs the memory within Iltar’s mind. “Menal! Yes, Menal Asterin. I’ve known him since he was a child.” Iltar smiles amid his mental recollection as well as how Cornar’s former student is treating his captor.

  “You’re not the governor!” Brandir barks, “Now get out of our way or I will have you imprisoned for obstructing due justice!”

  Menal pauses for a moment then pulls back his extended weapon allowing them to pass.

  Without hesitation Brandir ascends the stairs, with Iltar still in his grasp; the necromancer grins widely as he looks to Menal but is quickly pulled up the stairs by the discerner.

  Atop the circular stair is a vacant hall with two double doors leading to a concealed room.

  Tugging on the necromancer, the discerner briskly leads his captive along the wall and down a hall on the outer edge of the sixth floor. At the end of the hall is a small waiting area on the south west corner of the floor.

  Within the waiting area, a middle-aged man sits at a desk perusing a ledger, the governor’s aid.

  Clearing his throat, Brandir jars the aid’s attention, who looks up at the five men; his eyes narrow at Discerner Brandir, then to Iltar.

  “What are you doing here?” the aid demands.

  “I have come on a matter of urgent business concerning the emergency at the Necrotic Order,” Brandir responds.

  “Very well. I’ll inform the governor you’re here,” the aid rises from his reception desk and walks into a hall that runs along the northern wall of the small waiting area.

  Iltar glances down the corridor; the aid walks halfway down the hall before turning to a pair of doors on the southern wall, which he opens and steps through. Further down the hall, Iltar can see an identical room to the one he’s standing in on the opposite end of the hallway.

  Soon after, the aid emerges from the room and motions for the others to enter the governor’s office.

  In response, Brandir forcefully tugs on the necromancer, and the five men follow the aid into the office.

  The governor’s chambers are large, rectangular in shape just like the rest of the building. On the southern wall are three large windows that look out over the city and into the harbors along the coast. Just in front of the panes is an ornate desk where the governor of Soroth sits, Governor Riner: He is a middle-age man dressed in a fancy formal tunic of greens and browns. Riner is slightly overweight; his neck is thick and his cheeks slightly puffed. Brown hair covers his head with the same color of thin eyebrows and a thick mustache that spreads the entire length of his upper lip. With both hands on the desk, he looks up to the six men entering the room. His dark brown eyes narrow and wrinkles form around his lids, examining each of the men, then gaze back a
nd forth between Iltar and Brandir.

  “I only received a brief explanation about what occurred,” Governor Riner states as the watchmen and their captive step closer towards the desk, “Please, enlighten me.”

  “Governor Riner,” Discerner Brandir lets go of Iltar and steps forward. He bows then states, “Iltar murdered his fellow members of the Necrotic Order’s council. He claims it was out of self defense and to help save Soroth from danger.”

  “Interesting,” the governor chuckles then asks skeptically, “What was this danger?”

  “Release me and I’ll explain,” Iltar snarls with a tone of impatience.

  “That is not likely,” Brandir glances over his shoulder to the necromancer and continues. “He said they were after an ancient power to control dragons. We did find some scrolls and books but I left before my men could fully examine them. However, those texts appeared to be ancient. Iltar also claims he’s–”

  A loud thud interrupts Brandir, and the discerner turns to face the sound; the bindings that were holding Iltar’s hands are laying on the floor, partially eroded by a dissolving black mist.

  “Next time,” Iltar states as more of the black magical particles flare from around his wrist and wrap around his body, “You should listen.”

  Each of the watchmen slowly back away from Iltar in defensive postures as the mist envelopes the necromancer’s body, bathing him in an evil hue. In an instant, the magic violently erupts into a necrotic sphere of protection.

  From within the magic, Iltar furiously stares into Brandir’s eyes, causing the officer of the City Watch to freeze in movement temporarily.

  At that same moment, Iltar utters the words to a magical incantation; he moves his hands forward where green particles swirl in his palms. The necromancer quickly thrusts the forming spell toward Discerner Brandir and once the particles reach the watchman, magical tentacles wrap around him. Immediately thereafter, Iltar quickly flicks his left hand, causing the magic to attach to the wall; in reaction, the magic pulls Brandir and binds him to the wall.

  “Back away and you won’t wither in my presence,” Iltar says as he looks toward the Governor; however, aiming his remark to the four watchmen behind him and at his sides. “Now!”

  Iltar turns to face the ones on his left and they hurriedly back away from the raging necromancer.

  “Good…” Iltar oozes as he walks forward and the black protecting sphere of magic fades and wisps back into his body. “Show respect for your savior.”

  “You are out of line Iltar!” Brandir shouts from the wall, tightly entangled by the necromancer’s magic.

  “Don’t talk discerner,” Iltar pauses and stretches his opened left hand to Brandir, then slowly grasps it shut, “It’ll only make things worse.”

  The green magic tightens around the discerner’s body causing him to scream out in pain.

  “Now,” Iltar states while in front of the desk, “Governor Riner, I will tell you what occurred.”

  Nodding in the affirmative, the governor sits back and listens to what the necromancer has to say.

  “Almost a month ago the members of the Necrotic Order’s council received scrolls and books from an expedition that had just returned. This was the night after the acolyte’s rebellion.

  “After long study that night we discovered that the texts confirmed many of the old legends about the war among the various breeds of dragonkind. It also gave details about ancient artifacts used to win the war, an amulet with a ruby and a stone to travel to other worlds. This device had the power to control dragons and banish them.

  “With the acolytes’ rebellion fresh in our minds, it put some of the members of the council at a decision. Rebuild the order, or go find this artifact. Alacor and the other three of his supporters on the council voted to go in search of the amulet, myself and Kallan did not agree. Alacor proposed that we organize an expedition, and since I had the most ties to individuals that would be vital to this journey, I was put in charge.”

  “We gathered our people together, under the guise of recruiting new apprentices. We obtained a fake charter for Tor and Klis, then set sail for the island identified in the scrolls as Draco Isola, or the dragon’s burial grounds. Captain Kenard, the man who commanded the Farling, was given secret orders he was instructed to open and burn. Him and I are the only two to witness what he did.

  “Shortly after we arrived on the island, we lost several men to a wild magical beast. Then we came to the interior of the island,” Iltar pauses before continuing with the false story, and the means to discount the validity of the texts discovered by Cornar. “We found creatures, that looked like dragons, but were nothing more than animals, strong animals at that. We searched the island for a day and found nothing, no ancient hiding place of ancient relics, nothing.

  “I believe,” parroting the words of the dragon whom he conversed with and slew, “That what we found was a wild story; crafted by elves to lure treasure hungry men to that island. Those dragons showed no signs of intelligence. In fact, my going to the island makes me question the validity of those legends about that great dragon war. Perhaps it was just a tale spun by elves or men to create an image of a superior race of beings. There was no amulet, there is no amulet. And the idea of traveling to other worlds is absurd!

  “While there, I told the other senior mages what the trip was really about. After fleeing the island, we all decided that we needed to bring the truth about the ordeal to light; however, we knew that the council would kill us in secret. Once we would be out of the way, they would send more men, and continue to do so until they got their way.

  “We arrived back here today. I reported to the council and brought my men with me, under the guise that they had perished. I did it to protect them. All of us, the twenty two that survived and we left with twenty nine, were there waiting outside the room to stand as witnesses of the pointlessness of the expedition and to attack if need be.

  “However, the meeting became ugly. None of them believed me, and those that were leery of Alacor’s plot now embraced it. I stood alone.

  “Alacor declared I would be imprisoned within the Order and tortured until death, along with everyone who went with me. Then he confirmed what I feared, another expedition to the island. It was then we attacked, to defend ourselves. I knew that if they couldn’t be swayed it would be the only alternative.

  “Eventually, I did torture them to find out where the information was and then killed them, but Alacor never revealed where they were. They were too dangerous to be left alive; attempting to try them under the law would have only brought greater destruction to our city and its people.”

  “That is an interesting story Iltar…” Governor Riner responds while leaning back in his chair, “But what did Alacor want with the amulet and this stone?”

  “First…” Iltar begins, “To over throw the government here by using dragons to take control by force. Then to expand his empire to the rest of the world. He promised that each of us would rule over our own place under him.”

  The explanation sinks in as Governor Riner thinks over what Iltar had said. With a worried expression across his face, Riner gets up and walks to the windows behind his chair.

  As the governor looks out over the southern part of the city, he mutters, “That seems likely…”

  Iltar knew Alacor was a cunning man that often wanted to interfere with political matters, a truth he was counting on to exploit. As the head of the Necrotic Order, Alacor was afforded a position on the region of Soroth’s ruling council. He was a guest to the political meetings held in the chambers opposite the governor’s office. He had voiced his opinions in political matters at every meeting.

  A moment of silence passes when Iltar puts forth his intentions so he can further his furtive plot, “Now that they’re gone, I plan to reconstitute the old mage’s guild. As the only surviving member of the Necrotic Order of Soroth, I plan on restoring it to its former institution as the Sorothian Magical Order. My first task is to r
ebuild the council with masters from each discipline. Secondly, we will gather those skilled in those specific arts to become teachers of the Order. Then, lastly, we will open the doors of the Order to the citizens of Soroth and its neighboring islands.”

  “You what…?” Governor Riner asks in a puzzled tone, turning from the window. He looks to Brandir who is still pinned against the wall by magical means. “You really are looking out for the best interests of the guild and the people of Soroth.”

  Iltar thinks to himself, “Yes for a time, but only to suit my needs. I don’t require this guild, but rebuilding it helps solidify my deception.”

  From the wall, Brandir speaks up, “Perhaps I misjudged you… but you still need to put me down.”

  Without looking at Brandir, Iltar waves his hand in a dismissing motion; each of the magical tentacles binding the discerner loosen then break apart into particles of light, causing Brandir to fall to the floor.

  As the magic vanishes, Governor Riner returns to gazing out the large window, thinking over what the necromancer had told him; all the while, Iltar patiently waits for a response.

  After several minutes of silence, the governor speaks up, “Iltar, we will not condemn you for murder.”

  With that said, Riner turns around to face the necromancer, “I will let you go, for now. That evidence,” the governor looks to Brandir, “I would like to see it and bring someone that can read elvish.”

  “Good, I’ll take my leave of you,” the necromancer turns and walks back toward the doors; passing the four other city watchmen who quickly recoil away from the necromancer.

  “Wait!” Governor Riner calls out. “I will have you watched Iltar. If you do anything that deviates from what you’ve told me you intend to do, or if these texts you said have anything different in them, I will have you punished.”

  “Very well,” Iltar says while standing at the closed doorway. “You can send for me after you’ve studied them if you wish. And as far as that spot Alacor occupied in the political table, strike me from it; I hate politics.”

  The necromancer pulls the doors open, and he steps through, leaving them to sway on their hinges.