The Dark Necromancer

by D. J. Zangari

“I suppose we need some wooden stakes to kill them,” Iltar hands his guest the tea and sits in the chair to Cornar’s left. “But why wood? Watch, they’ll die just as easy to our magic.”

  “Who knows,” Cornar takes a sip of the messel tea before continuing, “Maybe the wood does something to them. I’ll start acquiring some stakes. What about Merda?”

  “The fortress sits atop a plateau above the city. Nothing Kilan wrote said how to get up there. We really don’t have too much information about the layout. I assume we will end up scouting the area for a day or two before we actually advance.”

  “Have you figured out how we will slip away?” Cornar asks as he continues to sip on the warm drink. “And does the governor suspect something?”

  “No, we will have to put that at the forefront of our attention,” Iltar leans back as he verbally ponders the situation.

  “As for Riner, he is a fool,” Iltar continues with a sigh. “By the time he realizes the truth we will be far from here. He was so gullible when we met last. The governor really believes that the scrolls were written to kill treasure seekers. I just had to interject some of my own fraudulent analysis to convince him.

  “And our escape, perhaps we will be lucky enough to have it drop into our laps.”

  * * * * *

  Unknown to Iltar, it would literally drop into his lap. Almost a month and a half later, at the dawn of spring, the leader of the Sorothian Magical Order is quietly reviewing reports at his desk within his private chambers atop the second floor.

  Iltar had kept his original quarters, mostly out of his distaste for Alacor.

  The room is windowless and is lit by a single globe-like chandelier hanging in the center of the space. All the furniture and the décor in the room was old but had a typical affluence of Sorothian craftsmanship. Beside the working table and its chair, there are two other chairs and several shelves of books on either side of the room.

  A loud resounding knock resonates against the door to the private chambers, jarring Iltar from his reading.

  “Who is it?” Iltar barks and turns his head toward the door.

  “Midar,” the warrior-guard states from beyond the door and the necromancer rises to open it.

  “Hex and Hagen have just moored in the southern port,” Midar says as he calmly stands just beyond the door. “They sent word ahead that they want to meet with the council immediately.”

  “Good, I will head to the council chambers,” Iltar states and steps past the warrior. “Notify the others.”

  One by one, each of the members of the council enter their communal chambers. Baekal is the last to enter and apologizes for her lateness in an aloof manner. After which, the two mages who requested the summons enter the opened doorway, which shuts behind them by the two guards securing the council chambers.

  “Masters of the Order,” Hex stands at the far end of the table and addresses the men and women of the governing body of magic. “We come before you to report and discuss a matter of importance concerning our mission. During our travels we were able to gather five other men to act as teachers for the Order and two potential candidates to fill the Arpranist seat on the council. But that is not why Hagen and myself asked to summon you here.”

  The illusionist steps forward as he addresses the Sorothian Magical Order’s council, “My friends we have located one master of the Barsionary art, but he refused to join us. All others of that school of magic have either died or we could find no trace of them. After several weeks of investigating Master Brantilis’ whereabouts we traced him to Keth.”

  Iltar attempts to hide his excitement but his brow raises and his eyes widen as Hagen speaks.

  “We spent a day with him in the city and he refused to come back with us. He insisted that the leader of the Order come directly. It seemed he thought it could have been a way to entrap him here on Soroth, somehow. Just the idea of returning to Soroth seemed to fill him with trepidation. I believe we need to convince him it is safe to come back here, having Iltar speak with him directly is just one part of that.”

  The other members of the council sit in silence as Iltar addresses Hagen’s report. “So you want me to go to Keth? And convince this master to return to Soroth. If he’s going to be that pompous we don’t need him. Forget it!”

  “There are no others skilled in that art of magic,” Hex pipes up only a step behind Hagen. “Unless you want to go to a city like Alath, we’re not going to find someone to fill that seat.”

  Furrowing his brow, Iltar sits back in his chair and folds his arms, attempting to act aloof from the idea of traveling to Keth.

  “No,” Gwenyth speaks up from next to Iltar, “You should go. Don’t let your pride get in the way. You’ve come so far rebuilding this Order. This man will help ensure that we become complete.”

  “Master Gwenyth is correct,” Arintil speaks up on Iltar’s other side. “You need to go.”

  “Well is that a motion?” Iltar asks with a raised brow, looking at the two mages on either side of him.

  “Yes,” Gwenyth states emphatically with her sultry voice.

  “And I second,” Arintil responds.

  “Is there any rejection beside myself?” Iltar bluffs his hesitation to go; he had lied almost perfectly until now, but seeing the means of escape so readily available almost makes his anxiousness apparent.

  The other two members shake their head in the negative, and Iltar looks only at his two coconspirators. They hide their expressions with silent determination to fulfill their mandate to rebuild the Order.

  “Fine,” Iltar sits back and looks away, not looking at anyone around the table. “We will leave in five days. Hex, visit the keeper of the treasury and inform Captain Kenard he will take the both of you and myself back to Keth.”

  “See,” Gwenyth reaches out her hand toward Iltar; her long fingers crawl along the stone table top. “You’ll accomplish everything you’ve set out to do. Soon, this Order will be complete.”

  In response, Iltar looks down at her hand and laughs lightly, mostly out of her naïve but accurate prediction and partially at how perfectly his deception has played out; however, Hex jars him from his mental musing.

  “If that is all, we will take our leave of you,” Hex states as he bows and Hagen follows. “Good day masters.”

  As the two reporting mages turn to exit the room, Iltar calls out, “I almost forgot! Cornar wanted you to stop by his home for drinks when you returned. I believe he is still there, he usually doesn’t make it to his country estate until later in the spring.”

  “Very well,” Hex states facing the door and then opens it. “Thank you for relaying the message Iltar.”

  With their guests gone, the rest of the council returns to their duties of teaching and overseeing the instruction of the Order’s students.

  Iltar is the last one in the room, still sitting in his chair. He takes a deep breath and rubs his hands along the armrests of the grand seat.

  “It has been fun ruling this council; something I’ve always wanted,” Iltar thinks to himself. “But now I have a power to grasp and worlds to conquer.”

  A grim smile spreads across the necromancer’s face as he sits in the chamber that housed so much bloodshed six months ago.

  * * * * *

  Later that evening, four of the five leaders involved in the overthrow of the Necrotic Order are all sitting in the upper bedroom of Cornar’s city manor.

  Hex is the last to enter the room. As the wizard shuts the door he apologizes for his tardiness, “Sorry I’m late. I was just giving Kenard instructions for our next trip.”

  “No matter my friend, sit down,” Iltar calls out from the window sill he had sat on in their first and subsequent meetings. This was their fourth meeting since their first they had the day of the magical revolution. “What I want to know is, was the story you told legitimate or fake?”

  “Parts of it,” Hagen squeaks out between sips of the alcoholic hospitality Cornar had provided.

 
“There was a Master Brantilis in Keth,” Hex says as he sits on the bed next to Amendal. “The key word, ‘was’. He had died several months ago. However, no one here has any ties to him. Once we found out we came back here. On the way we made up the story of him wanting to see you in person. This was not an opportunity we could miss. We were gambling on whether you had the information on Merda. Do you?” Hex asks and raises his brow in interest.

  “Yes I do. A month and a half ago and then a month before that I received information about Merda from two scholars I hired from the Order of Histories.”

  “That was risky,” Hagen hiccups as he speaks, “Are you sure you can trust them? I mean with the whole story being public about the scandal the council pulled.”

  “They know not to betray me. I’m sure they suspect something but they accepted payment and now they are as guilty as we are. Just the typical Sorothians,” Iltar shrugs as he says the last words.

  “What did you find out?” Hex asks in an intrigued tone.

  “Topography, legends, some facts. It seems vampires and werewolves were involved in Merda’s destruction. Nothing we can’t hand–”

  “Vampires!” Hagen spits out the liquor into his clear glass. “See! I told you that place was haunted!”

  Amid the interrupting outburst, the four other men look at the illusionist with some degree of annoyance. Silence falls on the room as they stare at their short friend who looks at each man before speaking.

  “Wake up!” Hagen cries out, “Vampires! Does that mean nothing to you?!”

  “We killed three dragons with fourteen men,” Iltar answers Hagen’s question indirectly. “This time we’re going in with more than double that. Vampires will not stop us.”

  “Well,” Hagen sighs, “It was a nice six months worth of traveling to places all over the world…”

  “Quiet Hagen,” Amendal calls out from the bed, he’s laying down with his head propped under a pillow. “Vampires are nothing more than humans that can live a lot longer. This will be like one of our old adventures we had years ago.”

  “How long do we have?” Cornar asks from the wall.

  “Five days, and when we leave I only want to see Hagen, Hex and myself on board. Everyone else will need to be invisible. In fact if you sneak on at night it might be better. I want to leave as early as possible.”

  “Great plan,” Cornar states then ponders aloud, “We need to decide on a place to meet. The only problem will be my two men at the Order.”

  “Easy,” Hagen hiccups again, “Have Iltar take them as guards or escorts.”

  Hex raises his brow as he turns to face Hagen, “You’ve been drinking too much. When does Iltar ever have an escort besides going on an adventure? Going to Keth to visit a master doesn’t require guards.”

  “I will just discharge them from service, we’ve hired plenty of new guards as it is. It’s simple,” Iltar states as he leans back against the casing of the window. Smiling crassly he continues, “I can say Cornar needs them for an expedition he is planning in the next month, it’s not a lie is it?”

  “Not like one more lie would matter…” Hagen mutters.

  “That will work, discharge them in two days. In the meantime I can think of something,” the warrior replies as he rubs his bare chin.

  “Cor, I want you to inform Tilthan and his gang about the details of our departure. I want them to slip on like the rest of you.”

  “What about my apprentice?” Amendal asks and sits up, looking at Iltar.

  “Do you mean Nilia?” Iltar asks as he furrows his brow.

  “Yes, Nilia, who else?!” the old conjurer flabbergastingly shakes his head. “I’m not going to just leave her here, am I? She knows we meet up here, and who knows what they will do when they capture her. She’s not strong enough to battle an entire battalion of the City Watch!”

  “Bring her,” Cornar says, “She’ll help I’m sure. Just a week ago she summoned a monster that was able to pin me to the ground. Granted I allowed her to summon it, but still she is gifted.”

  “Fine bring her along,” Iltar waves his hand and shakes his head.

  “But her training isn’t complete! She might die in Merda!” the old conjurer almost shouts. “I’m not losing another apprentice.”

  “Now you’re the one who needs to be quiet…” Hagen smirks as he takes one last swig of the alcohol in his glass.

  The other three men laugh at the illusionist’s intoxicated whit and Iltar speaks up, “Then leave her on the ship. You can continue to develop her magical abilities while we go and between the other trips we are sure to make.”

  “I suppose this is our last week in Soroth,” Hex states calmly. “Do you have any idea where any of the other things are located?”

  “No, but I’m sure Merda will have clues. If the dragons were hiding the amulet there, we might be able to find other records. Perhaps we’ll find out if the elves knew anything about the details of traveling between worlds,” Iltar attempts to reassure his cautious but willing friend.

  “I thought you mentioned needing to find someone else?” Hagen asks while looking at the necromancer with a drunken stare. “I believe his name started with a ‘B’…?”

  “Yes, Balden. He is the last piece to our puzzle. I will need to figure out a way to free him from the Baron of Sereth.”

  “Good luck with that,” Hagen sarcastically states then asks in a serious tone, “Cor, do you have anything else to drink?”

  16

  The Baron of Sereth

  Four days later, the ferry that makes a daily trip between Soroth and the Island of Sereth carries an unusual troupe. At the bow of the ship sits Iltar, along with Cornar and several others of his trained warriors; Kalder, Midar, Menal and Nordal. Leaning against the rail of the ship is the seventh member of their party, the notorious sneak Tilthan.

  It is midmorning and the sea craft is partway to Sereth, where both islands can be seen off the stern and bow; the round trip between the two landmasses is almost six hours on this slower moving craft.

  All the while, the men sit silently, waiting for the ferry to reach the western port of the small city.

  Sereth, the city, is a quarter the size of Soroth with a population of roughly fifty one thousand people, including the settlements outside the city. The island itself is narrower at the southern tip and widens to almost three times in length at the northern end. About one third of the way north on the western side is a long peninsula of open land.

  Along the south eastern side of the island is a vast forest which covers the rising landscape. Near the southern part of the woodland is a raised spot of land where the stone castle previously seen by Iltar overlooks the city and the sea. From the city a curving path leads up along the rising ground to the gates of the rocky palace.

  Sereth has long since been a principality of the nation of Soroth. Its ruling position, the Baron of Sereth, has been its sole governing body. Everyone on the island of Sereth answers to the Baron, which position has been occupied by ruthless men throughout the ages and was no different at this time. The governor of Soroth and the other officials that comprise the ruling body of the island nation have tolerated his behavior; so as long as the baron keeps his subjects inline and loyal to Soroth; this is just another example of the corrupt way of life among all the citizens of Soroth as a nation and a singular island.

  “Finally,” Kalder says with anxiousness in his voice as the port of Sereth comes into view.

  “I do hope we’re going to stop to eat before we go on our way?” Tilthan asks, his hands bracing himself against the rail.

  “As long as you’re paying,” Nordal glances at Tilthan, expecting an answer.

  “That’s not funny,” the thief points a finger at Nordal and shakes his head. “But seriously, I know of a great place just off the dock. At least it was great last time I was here.”

  “If it’s not, I’ll have Iltar cut your pay in half,” Cornar leans back as he jests in a serious tone, and the ot
hers including Iltar laugh at the warrior’s words.

  As the ferry lands, Tilthan leads the small band across the pier and he swings a large filled pack over his shoulder, covering one side of his back. Nordal is right behind the thief with the other warriors in tow.

  Iltar and Cornar are the last to disembark the ferry and the necromancer dons his cowl, folding his arms; a cool breeze is blowing inland and Iltar acts as he does to shield himself from the wind.

  Just beyond the edge of the pier is a single story building, with a steep roof. It is longer than it is wide, with several windows lining its front face.

  Tilthan quickly walks up to the two double doors and swings them open. The others follow their dramatic companion inside, where he can be heard flirting with the hostess. Cornar shakes his head as he and Iltar move through the threshold of the tavern.

  Along the back wall in front of them is a long bar, with an assortment of bottles lining the wall. Throughout the room are plain tables and wooden chairs, many of which are occupied; a moment later, Tilthan motions them to follow him to a table near the rear of the room and to the right of the bar.

  After an hour the seven men finish their meal and cryptically discuss their plot. Once the table is cleared, Tilthan moves the pack to the top of the wooden furniture.

  “Well that was good, but not as good as I remembered though…” The thief looks around at the other men surrounding the circular slab of wood as if waiting for their approval of the place.

  “Not bad,” Cornar says as he cleans his teeth with a metal toothpick. He wipes it along a cloth and folds the material and the cleaning utensil into a small case, then tucks it into his tunic; the chain mail underneath rattles as he does so.

  “It was sufficient,” Iltar states coldly, “But now we must move on to more pressing matters.”

  With that said, Tilthan pounds his open palm on the table.

  A moment later, a waiter strides up to the table to take payment for the meal which all the men pay individually, dropping several small coins into a wooden platter. Once their meal is paid for, the party moves toward the entry of the building and exits the establishment.