by Dan Zangari
Iltar chuckles nervously as they pass Vedrin’s illusion, who saunters back to the classroom.
After a moment, they arrive at a stairwell leading to the lower levels of the building, but before Iltar descends it he glances back to his classroom; he notices Idina standing in the doorway, gazing at him with a concerned, yet probing stare.
The necromancer raises his brow, intrigued by her demeanor. He smirks a smile then descends the steps; all the while, he hears his students accusing Idina of cheating.
While descending the stairs to a landing, Rinden asks, “So, what is on your mind, Iltar?”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about Griffith and Regas last night. The other night I dreamt they were captured by Alacor and his soldiers… I suppose it is because they haven’t returned yet… Or have they?”
“No. They haven’t,” Rinden answers as they arrive on the second floor. He turns to his left and descends another flight of stairs. “But it should be any time now. In their letter from Klath, Griffith stated they would leave within two days. Bredan had left that morning on a vessel bound for Soroth, but I doubt he will have arrived. He’s probably still in open waters.”
“I see,” Iltar sighs, still feigning worry. They descend the stairs to the first floor and he asks, “Where are we going?”
“To my office in the Main Hall. We can talk privately there, without anyone overhearing us.”
“Alright…”
Without any other exchange, Rinden leads Iltar out of the Illusionary School; they walk to the southwest gardens along the Main Hall, treading across a pathway to a side entrance on the southern wing’s west side. The leafs on the trees have since changed color, heralding the winter months.
Both mages move toward the western side door and enter a small foyer; a stair leads to the upper floors to their left while four chairs comprise a sitting area to their right. Opposite the doors, a corridor leads to the Main Hall’s grand foyer.
“This way,” Rinden says and walks toward the corridor. “My office is on the second floor on the far side.”
They quickly tread across the corridor and toward the grand foyer, their boots squeaking against the marble beneath them.
While crossing the grand foyer, a feminine voice echoes in the enormous space, calling the mages’ by name, “Almar! Rinden, wait!”
Both Iltar and Rinden stop beneath the glass rotunda and turn, seeing a short slender woman jogging across the foyer toward them. Her skin is fair, with long blonde-almost-white hair reaching to her waist.
“Anula,” Rinden smiles as she nears. “How are you? We saw your opening performance at Beglar’s. It was wonderful!”
“Thank you,” Anula says and bows her head. She glances to Iltar then Rinden and asks, “Are you busy?”
“I need to speak with Iltar. But we can spare a moment.”
“Iltar?” Anula quizzically remarks. “Oh, I thought you were Almar. But you’re not wearing a grand mage’s robes…”
“He’s Almar’s brother,” Rinden says. “Iltar’s one of my instructors.”
“Oh,” Anula says with excited intrigue. “So, you’re like us? An illusionist?”
“Yes,” Iltar replies solemnly, still composed in his anxious ruse.
Noticing Iltar’s demeanor, Anula observes, “Whatever you need to talk about seems serious. I better let you go. I just wanted to stop by before my troupe leaves. We’re performing in Gastrim.”
“That’s wonderful!” Rinden exclaims. “When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow. I was hoping you and Lydana would be available for dinner tonight? I’m staying at the Round Wellspring, and they have an excellent dining hall.”
“Well,” Rinden tilts his head toward Anula, “I have a better idea. Why don’t you come by our home for dinner.”
“Great!” Anula grins and hugs Rinden. She kisses her mentor on the cheek and says, “I’ll see you then. And, it was a pleasure to meet you, Iltar.”
“Yes,” Iltar solemnly nods. He watches as Anula turns and briskly exits the grand foyer.
After a moment, Rinden motions with his head for Iltar to follow him and both mages enter the corridor containing Dorith’s office. They pass it and come to a small foyer identical to the one they had entered, then ascend a stair to the second floor.
“It’s the first room on the right,” Rinden motions to a corridor to their left. “And… pardon the mess.”
With that said, Rinden fumbles with the key and opens the aforementioned door, ushering Iltar inside.
The head illusionist’s office is fourteen phineals square with windows lining the northern wall opposite the door. A dark red and gold rug covers most of the floor. An oval desk is angled in the far left corner, with a chair in front of it facing the corner. Immediately to the left of the door sit two high back armchairs, angled side by side.
“Let’s sit here,” Rinden motions to the armchairs and closes the door. He locks it, then utters a magical spell. White magic spreads across the room and lightly falls to the floor, much like snow.
“Why are you casting a dispel?” Iltar asks and sits in the nearest seat.
“Just a precaution,” the illusionist answers.
“Has the council said anything else?” Iltar asks as Rinden sits beside him.
“No. We haven’t discussed the matter since we received Griffith’s letter. But, I can assure you, Iltar, after receiving that address those who had doubts concerning you have come to see the truth.
“The White Duchess’ arrival ahead of the Sorothian Navy was proof enough that they are working together.”
Pleased by the success of his deception, Iltar asks with feigned confusion, “But why would they go to Klath? They were going to Merda…”
Rinden folds his arms and studies Iltar for a moment. “How much as Almar told you concerning the Amulet of Draconic Control?”
“Its history, its function and that the Mages of Alath were charged to keep its secrets. For what reason, he didn’t clarify.”
“I see,” Rinden takes a deep breath. “I can tell you this. Griffith and Regas are not in any danger. We as a council believe Alacor has already gone to Merda, and that’s why the White Duchess and the Sorothian Navy moored in Klath. Alacor is coming here.”
“Why?!” Iltar blurts, feigning ignorance. “What’s here?”
“A piece of the amulet,” Rinden replies. “You see, we’re not just keepers of its knowledge. We protect a scroll, written in the draconic tongue, which activates the amulet. When the words are spoken, the scroll transforms into a key which activates the amulet. In order for Alacor to succeed, he needs to come here, but we’re prepared.”
Iltar silently retreats into his mind. After a moment, he asks, “What is the council doing about it?”
“We’ve bolstered Alath’s defenses. The mage guard is tripled around the city, several fortifications around our borders were built, and we’ve enlisted mages to constantly cast dispelling magic at every entrance. While within the Inner City we’ve doubled the guards in the fortresses near the four gates.
“Initially, the council was preparing an army to attack Alacor. But after hearing about the moorings in Klath, we decided to re-purpose our forces.”
“Okay,” Iltar sighs, then shakes his head. “But I still don’t understand how Alacor would know to come here.”
“There was a clue kept with the amulet in Merda. It clearly points to Alath as the resting place for the activating scroll, or key, as some of the council has come to call it. Keepers of the Key seems to have a better ring to it than the Keepers of the Activating Scroll.” Rinden chuckles.
“Sorry, I digress… I suppose whoever hid the amulet never thought Merda’s fortress would be breached. From what I’ve heard, the clue was with the amulet. I think if the elves were still in charge, Alacor wouldn’t have had a chance.”
“What do you mean?” Iltar asks, leaning forward and feigning intrigue.
“I can only guess that the battle four hundred
years ago weakened the fortress.”
“Are you talking about Merda’s haunting? Stories of vampires and werewolves?”
Rinden silently nods his head.
“I see,” Iltar sighs, feigning overwhelmed emotions. “But what if the council fails? What if Alacor gets the scroll?”
“Well,” Rinden shrugs, “Unless he can read and speak draconic the amulet will be useless. And he still needs the Ruby of Lish, but that’s not on Kalda.
“However, if he obtains the amulet there are beings in this world that could complete it. There are some beings other than the platinum dragons that know the draconic tongue.”
“Like what? Who?” Iltar asks with genuine intrigued.
“Some people call them vampires, but they are more than that. One text cites them as, Dragonbane. But, the elven name for them, and the name we Mages of Alath have adopted, is, Abalimyr; they’re immortal and rumored to have walked Kalda since the dawn of the ancient Dragon War. But no one’s seen an Abalimyr since the war with Karthar.”
“What?” Iltar mumbles. “Are you saying they ruled Karthar?”
“Almar didn’t tell you about Karthar?”
Iltar silently shakes his head.
“Karthar,” Rinden leans back and sighs. “To be brief, Karthar was the reincarnation of the ancient empire that dominated our world throughout the Dragon War. And, at its head was a red dragon.”
“Wait!” Iltar gasps doubtingly and shakes his head. “Almar told me that all the red dragons were banished to another world.”
“Well,” Rinden looks squarely at Iltar, “All but four. It’s debatable, some believe those four lived in secret. Others say they were killed, but their bodies were never found. Now, let me tell you why I believe they lived.
“Our mandate concerning the activating scroll is clear. It has been handed down by Dorin the Mage-King, the first keeper of the scroll, and declares if a remnant of red dragons appear, we must reassemble the amulet.
“The record that Krindal found, that was meant for us.”
Iltar nods, and within his mind he pieces together the assumption he had had since Cornar delivered the scrolls. They were meant to be found, not hidden away.
“No one knows of the record besides us, not even His Majesty. Only if the council sees fit to inform whoever reigns.”
“Well, this is a precarious matter!” Iltar exclaims worriedly. “The king needs to know!”
“We’ve already sent word,” Rinden smiles and motions for Iltar to calm himself. “Now, let me continue my theory. There’s an obscure fable pre-dating the Karthar Empire. It claims a great dragon lived among humans she adored, but to draw closer to them she took upon her their form. Many loved her and looked to her as a guide. To some of her most devoted followers she granted one wish.
“One such man desired a son. His wife was stricken in age, and only bore him daughters. The dragon bade him unto her, and a year later she presented him with a son.
“However, once the child grew, he became violent and intolerable. When he reached eight years old, he rebelled against his father and slew him in front of his mother and sisters.
“The boy in the fable was half-human, half-dragon. And from his traits I believe his birth-mother was, in fact, a red dragon.”
Iltar studies Rinden for a moment, recalling the incidents outside the Sea Vistonia and in Keth; he then asks skeptically, “Are you saying dragons can take human form?” He pauses briefly, furrowing his brow in thought, then adds, “And bare human-like children? That seems far-fetched…”
“Yes, and the Emperor of Karthar was a dragon, a red dragon. There are several historical accounts citing this; during the final battle in Karthar’s capital, the Emperor transformed into a red dragon. He was slain and his corpse buried by rubble from his palace.”
Iltar feigns disbelief, blankly staring at Rinden.
“You don’t believe me?” Rinden asks. “There are other stories citing dragons’ abilities to take human form. Some even cite General Lith Luzdom as a dragon.”
“Really?” Iltar asks. He sighs and shakes his head, then Rinden continues.
“I’m not sure if they’re true or not, but some say Lith was a platinum dragon. The survivors of the battle witnessed several platinum dragons slay the Emperor.
“One account from a lieutenant claimed to see Lith transform into a dragon, as well as several other high ranking officers in the rebellion.
“No one knew where the dragons came from. They showed up and disappeared as soon as the Emperor fell. Lith emerged victorious. According to him, the dragons’ godly intervention saved them at the brink of defeat.”
Iltar silently leans against the chair’s arm and Rinden continues relating more ancient myth.
“Some argue Lith was a dragon based on another account, near the dawn of the rebellion. A band of rebels were battling a small army outside Kildath. Many eyewitnesses claimed seeing a dragon flying at great speeds from the north, toward Lith and a champion of the empire. Now this is where the story gets muddled: some claim the dragon descended and saved Lith. Others said it was not a dragon but a burst of light, with a man and an elf descending to aid the General. And others said the dragon’s transformation was the burst of light, and that an elf was riding upon his or her back.” Rinden pauses, noticing Iltar’s overwhelmed demeanor.
“Have I said too much?”
Silence settles over the room for a moment before Iltar responds. “No, no. Keep going.”
“I personally don’t know if he was a dragon. I don’t think he was, if so, then our entire line of kings would be dragons, or half-dragon. Now, Lith was our first king’s father, Dorin.”
“I see…” Iltar nods his head.
“Besides the stories and our mandate as a council, I’ve got my own experience; deep within the archives is an entrance to a secret part of the Estate, what we call, the Inner Depths; only the council knows about it, and I’ll elaborate more in a moment.
“One day, I was with Dorith, tending to a vault within the Inner Depths. Along one wall was a bookshelf, filled with tomes and scroll cases.
“I had just been put on the council and was surprised at the vastness of relics and magical artifacts hidden within that secret part of the Estate. Anyway, he showed me a document that explained why all those things were there.
“It was a letter penned upon a sheet of parchment-like substance that I’ve never beheld. It was from Lith, addressed to his son, who was then a member of our Order’s council, and dated several years after the Karthar Emperor’s death. Lith claimed to have found a cult devoted to the worship of a red dragon. They kept oval tokens upon themselves as a symbol of their devotion; these tokens bore a red dragon blazoned upon its surface.
“Lith warned his son that this was the true source behind the rising evil in our world, and that such a clandestine cult must be destroyed.
“Not long after, Lith formed the Kingdom of Los and proclaimed his son Dorin as its first king. Many of the old nations prior Karthar’s reign became principalities within the newly formed kingdom. At that time, Los covered the entire Mainland.
“Dorin’s first act as king was radical. It changed the lifestyles of everyone under his domain. A vote was taken by every man, woman and child and the majority agreed to Dorin’s proposal, which has become known as the Edicts of the Mage-King.”
“What are those?” Iltar asks, finally coming out of his mental reverie.
“You don’t know what the Edicts of the Mage-King are?” Rinden asks with a tone of surprise.
Iltar shakes his head with narrowed eyes.
“They shaped the cultural regression you spoke about when you first came to the council. Dorin changed Kalda. Everyone willing gave up their magical objects, well, almost everyone.
“These objects were turned over to the mages and destroyed, mostly. We Mages of Alath have kept at least one of each of every magical device ever created. We are to safeguard them until the Edicts are lifted. When that
will happen, I don’t know.” Rinden shrugs.
“Are you saying that Dorin plunged our world into a dark age? Why?”
“You make it sound tyrannical,” Rinden chuckles. “But yes, so to speak. He did it to combat this cult. You see, those who had ties to them refused to relinquish their magical objects, and they were put to death.”
“This Dorin sounds cruel,” Iltar muses.
“It was the citizens of the kingdom that demanded blood,” Rinden states. “They didn’t want another empire like Karthar to rise again. Besides, those were different times, and I think Kalda has done well because of it. After all, there have only been two major wars in the last thousand years.
“People have learned to live without magic constantly in their lives. The Edicts have limited the ambitions of men that would otherwise prove disastrous to Kalda; Alacor is a prime example of this.”
Iltar heavily sighs, then retorts, “None of this has eased my anxiety over the situation at hand… you’ve only added to it.”
“I can assure you, Iltar, we’ll protect the activating scroll with our lives,” Rinden declares stoically. “In fact, I doubt he would even be able to find the Inner Depths of the Estate.”
“I hope you are right,” Iltar sighs, shaking his head. “But you don’t know him like I do. He’ll find a way.”
“Come with me,” Rinden says confidently and rises from his seat. “Why don’t I show you how difficult, it will be for him.”
Both Rinden and Iltar exit the former’s office and make their way to the center of the Main Hall. They enter the large circular library and descend to the basement level via a curving staircase tucked away near the northwest wall.
Near the south of the underground room, a straight stairwell descends to the Estate’s archives. At the base of the stairs, four guards stand in front of a pair of metal double doors.
“I need to access the Archives,” Rinden says as he approaches the guards.
“Very well, Master Rinden,” a guard replies.
The guards standing at the doors both reach for keys hanging at their side and insert them into the locks, turning them in unison.
