by Dan Zangari
“Whoa!” Tilthan blurts while eyeing the sheet in Iltar’s hands.
Ignoring Tilthan, Iltar silently reads the sheet:
“My dearest son, it gives me great pleasure to know you are ruling the human realm with honor, dignity and selflessness. You are truly meant to be a king and ruler over this people. I will see you soon, but I write this address not only for you but for future generations to come.
“Ilnari, my father and myself are leaving Merda. Barlyn has relinquished control of the activating scroll to us. And we will arrive in Alath in several days. However, I send this ahead of our arrival. A messenger will deliver this address, and two others like it, for your safe keeping. I suggest placing it somewhere within the Inner Depths of the Estate. Perhaps a transmuter can reorganize a room or two so as to create a vault of sorts.
“Your people have proved themselves worthy, my son, especially the men and women of Alath. Ilnari has suggested that the Guardians of Kalda be revived and Alath become its headquarters. With that thought, I charge you with a sacred duty;
“When we arrive we will deliver the activating scroll into your hands. You and your posterity will be its caretakers. Enlist others you can trust my son, for protecting this portion of the Amulet of Draconic Control is of the utmost importance; without it, the metal jewelry is worthless. Guard it with your life, and never let it fall into the hands of evil. For in the amulet is the power to strip the most precious gift of life, freewill.
“And now, I write to you, future generations. In my days, a resurgence of the ancient abominable empire crept into humanity. For nearly two hundred years it went unnoticed, its architects turning the hearts of men against one another.
“As you most likely know, this conflict escalated to war throughout the human realm. But unknown to many, its masterminds were not human; they were in fact a lineage of Cheserith, the great red dragon who ruled Kalda for almost a thousand years.
“I, myself, was the first to discover this, thus I rallied any man that would hearken to me. Eventually, my rebellion was victorious, but I and others like me fear that a remnant of Cheserith’s descendants still live on in our world.
“I will continue to hunt them down as long as I live, but I am not immortal; thus I charge you who hold this record to be zealous and ever watchful for a time which would require reassembling the Amulet of Draconic Control.
“If the Amulet needs be re-forged, we have hidden a record within the subterranean war room on Dalgilur, within a Meridin box. This record will tell you where each piece of the Amulet is located and how to retrieve them. The box’s key, which I possess, I will pass to the grandmaster of the Mages of Alath.
“I end this address, my son. I will be with you soon, may you always be the kind and wise ruler you have been these last few years of your reign. Remember the teachings of Ilnari. See that every man who has devoted themselves to the protection of your kingdom adhere to his wisdom. Ensure that all men and women placed in positions of power within your kingdom walk after the same manner as you. Instruct them to be faithful to the principles of our ancestors, lest Cheserith’s seed seizes their hearts.
“Farewell, my son, know that I love you, and miss you dearly.”
As the last of the five companions finishes reading the letter, Tilthan asks, “Who on Kalda was that?”
“Lith,” Dendra answers. “And he’s referring to Dorin, the Mage-King.”
Iltar slowly re-rolls the sheets and hands them to Nemral who quickly puts the rolled pages back into their case. All the while, Tilthan, Nath and Dendra converse about the address.
The dark necromancer ignores them and opens the next scroll case and finds a long roll. He hands the case to Nemral and briefly scans the scroll. It’s written in the common language of Kalda, detailing information about the Tethering Stone, written by Dorin, the Mage-King.
Iltar re-rolls the scroll and hands it to Nemral, who places it in its case. The necromancer reaches for the last of the three scroll cases, and briefly studies the scroll inside it.
“Well that’s just mind shattering,” Dendra remarks. “Red dragons are walking among us and we don’t even realize it. That’s frightening.”
“Uh huh,” Nath nods. “But I can guarantee you that this is only the beginning. Once you join us, you’ll never see the world the way you did before.”
“Let’s go,” Iltar says while placing the third scroll back into its case. “I have what I need.”
The necromancer motions for Nemral to hand him the two other cases, then Iltar secures them within his pack, and removes the small rogulin crystal.
“Wait!” Tilthan shouts and disappears behind the nearest bookshelf. Not long after, shoveling sounds echo from the vault’s center.
Both Nemral and Nath laugh and shake their heads, while Dendra sighs, “He lives up to his reputation.”
Iltar secures his pack, waits for a moment, and says, “Hold on to me.”
With that said, he extends his hand, slowly uttering the words to open a conjuration portal.
“Don’t leave without me!” Tilthan shouts and darts around the bookshelf. He stumbles and bumps into Nath, slightly jarring the others holding onto the necromancer.
As Iltar finishes the transporting incantation, the rogulin crystal glows with a golden light. It grows brighter, but dims out with a flicker.
“That’s not what happened last time,” Nemral says warily. “Why didn’t we go anywhere?”
Agitation smears across Iltar’s face and recites the incantation again. The crystal glows but dims out in a similar fashion.
“See!” Tilthan throws his hands up in the air. “I told you we needed an escape route!”
Iltar recites the incantation a third time, now with flaring frustration tainting each word.
“You wanted one in case this failed,” Nath frankly gazes at Tilthan with a raised brow. “Because you thought Iltar would be caught before we would even get this far.”
“That’s beside the point,” Tilthan waves his hand across his face, walking toward the doorway. “The mages are obviously on to us. Rinden’s confiding in you was probably meant to bait us into coming here. Now they’re most likely waiting outside the archives for us!”
“No, they’re not!” Iltar angrily shouts. “I can see through my illusions. No one’s waiting.”
“Maybe the mages have something preventing us from using conjuration magics,” Nath suggests. “Dith was telling me he couldn’t summon anything when all of you fought the vampires. Well, after that statue made that magical barrier.”
“Oh so you’re saying we’re stuck?!” Tilthan blurts angrily. “Trapped?! Doomed for The Castle?! Because, you know that’s where they’ll send us!”
“Silence, Tilthan!” Iltar barks. “Nath might have a point. Let’s get out of the Estate and try again.”
“We can’t just go out the front doors,” Nemral remarks.
“We’ll leave the way we came in,” Dendra says. “Use the ropes to repel down, then climb over a wall. Let’s meet in the east park, near the pond’s southern dock. It’s secluded enough at this time of night.”
“Fine,” Iltar says then demands, “Nemral give Dendra your lenses. I don’t want her getting separated from me, and I don’t want to use a rope in case we run into someone while we’re running.”
“Really?” Tilthan sighs, and chuckles. “Whose going to be out this late at night?”
Grumbling at the thief’s flippant attitude, Iltar shakes his head while walking to the vault’s doorway.
Once in the corridor, the five companions hastily run to their right, following the course Nath and Tilthan initially took.
17
Narrow Absconding
An hour later, Iltar and his four companions appear from their invisibility along the bank of a large pond in the Inner City’s eastern park.
“Here we go, again,” Tilthan sighs sarcastically, cocking his head. He looks to Nath and asks, “Care to wager it won’t work? A dorin?
”
Nath nods and sighs.
“What’s your problem, Tilthan?” Dendra shakes her head. “Do you want to be stuck here?”
“I just know when to spot a winning bet,” the thief winks.
“Not true,” Nath chuckles.
Dendra shakes her head and puts her hand on Iltar’s shoulder.
“Get close,” Iltar grumbles.
As the others gather around the necromancer, Iltar pulls the rogulin crystal from his tunic’s pocket and utters the words of the transportation spell.
The rogulin crystal glows with a golden light, but dims with a flicker.
“No!” Iltar growls, fighting back a rage induced yell.
“Pay up, Nath!” Tilthan laughs, extending his hand to the thief.
Nath shakes his head and pulls a dorin from his pouch.
“Now what?” Nemral asks with a concerned worry.
“I don’t see any barsion magic,” Iltar mutters in confusion, examining the sky. “I don’t understand why it’s not working.”
“Maybe it’s the crystals,” Dendra ponders aloud. “Could the spell not have been cast correctly?”
“No,” Iltar answers, pacing toward the dock. “I saw it enchanted and bound to the conjuration anchor. I don’t understand…”
“Well,” Tilthan folds his arms, “Who bound it?”
“Amendal.”
“That figures,” the masterful thief laughs. “He’s senile.”
“Perhaps it will work outside the city,” Nath speculates, then interjects, “The Inner City is quite different. There might not be that blue magic, but maybe there’s something else preventing us from opening a portal. This is the city of mages after all.”
“Shall we go to Tilthan’s escape route?” Dendra asks.
“That’s where I’m going,” Tilthan says while dawning his shimmering cloak. “See you there!”
Iltar paces back toward his three remaining companions and puts the crystal back in his tunic’s pocket. He looks at each of them with an aggravated expression before for a moment, then commands, “Give me your lenses Nath.”
“Sure,” the thief complies and hands the magical spectacles to the necromancer.
“I’m going to enhance us with magic so we can run faster. Once you feel it within you, go.”
Immediately thereafter, Iltar utters the words to the hastening spell and white magic surrounds them. Both thieves re-latch their cloaks and disappear while the necromancer veils himself and Dendra with his concealing magic.
As they vanish, the sounds of rapid footfalls trail off toward the east of the large pond.
* * * * *
Golden magical light gathers in a room atop the fourth floor of the Estate’s Main Hall; the room is long, with its northern half rounded, measuring twenty phineals wide by thirty phineals deep. The golden light gathers on the room’s southern side, between two dwarfed-potted trees, and in front of a recessed niche eight phineals wide.
Within a moment, the golden light forms a portal, and Griffith, Regas, and Balden emerge; the half-elf stumbles forward but steadies himself, his face contorting in disorientation.
“So, this is Alath,” Balden remarks and looks around. He sees circular hallways branching from the right and left, with windows allowing a view to the Main Hall’s rooftop gardens.
“This way,” Griffith says, running towards the northern part of the room, toward a wide circular stairwell descending to the third floor. “We need to find Dorith!”
Regas darts behind Griffith, and both mages swiftly descend the stairs; however, Balden takes a deep breath, regaining his composure from the transportation spell, then follows the mages.
Balden trails behind as the mages descend another circular flight of stairs beneath the ones from the fourth floor; he glances down an adjoining hall, but quells his curiosity.
As the trio reaches the second story of the Main Hall, Regas asks warily, “What about the Mage-King? You don’t think that magical essence was really telling the truth, do you?”
“Maybe Dorith will know,” Griffith speculates while darting from the stairs. “We’ll check his office. If he’s not there, we’ll try his home.”
As Griffith says the last, Balden reaches the second floor; the stairwell room is circular, with two corridors branching off from its center; he notices the mages running down the left hall toward a landing to a stairwell leading to the main floor.
Balden quickens his pace, and as he nears the stairs he demands, “How are we going to confront Iltar?”
“I don’t know,” Griffith answers from near the bottom step.
Once on the main floor, the trio darts through the outer curving corridor of the building, then hurry to the grand foyer toward Dorith’s office.
Without hesitation, Griffith abruptly opens the door. Moonlight from Kalda’s moons spill into the office, faintly illuminating it. He scans the room, noticing Dorith sound asleep in his lounge chair. An opened book lies upon his chest while his head tilts over his shoulder.
“Dorith!” Griffith shouts while nearing the grandmaster. “Wake up!”
“Hmmm?” Dorith pleasantly sighs and smacks his lips. He slowly opens his left eye, groggily studying the agents.
“Grandmaster, wake up!” Regas shouts. “Mathal was right!”
“Calm down, Regas,” Dorith tiredly says while gesturing with his hand, then sits upright. “What do you mean?”
“Iltar is the necromancer,” Griffith exclaims. “We learned so in Merda.”
“The elves are free?” Dorith asks with a yawn. He stretches his arms and notices Balden standing by the doorway. “I see, you brought one back with you.”
“He was Iltar’s apprentice!” Regas shouts.
“An interesting twist…” Dorith observes, sliding to the long seat’s edge. He stands, looks at Balden, and asks, “And why are you here?”
“I was asked,” Balden answers. “It is that simple.”
“We encountered a magical essence in Merda,” Griffith interjects. “He wanted Balden to help us in capturing Iltar.”
Dorith glances to Griffith then studies Balden with narrowed eyes. Silence fills the room for a moment before the grandmaster speaks up. “Iltar is quite cunning to have hidden his true identity from us. If you were his apprentice in the dark arts, surely you must have some form of allegiance to him. You must know what he’s after.”
“I don’t owe Iltar anything,” Balden responds stoically, stepping further into the room. “As for his quest, I’m not part of it anymore.”
“I see… But there is a reason Shem’rinal required your presence here,” Dorith observes, folding his arms. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“I give you my–”
“Wait!” Regas blurts, interrupting Balden. “How did you know the essence’s name?!”
“I must have read it somewhere,” Dorith replies frankly while staring at Balden.
“My word,” Balden continues. “I wield the powers of a necromancer, but I am an elf. I did not choose to become a necromancer, he took it upon himself to instruct me.”
“He sounds like a necromancer,” Regas comments. “Ready to betray the one that taught him his powers.”
“Betrayal is not my motivation,” Balden retorts tenuously.
Dorith furrows his brow, continuing to study Balden. After a moment he says, “You’ll have to do more than speak to gain our trust. Griffith, summon the council, then check on Iltar. Be discrete about it; sneak into his room and ensure he’s there.”
“Yes, grandmaster,” Griffith replies and glances to Regas. “See you soon.”
With that said, Griffith leaves in a hurry while Regas sighs, attempting to relax.
“As for you,” Dorith says to the half-elf, “Come with me. You too, Regas.”
Dorith swiftly maneuvers past Balden while Regas studies the half-elf then shakes his head. Balden narrows his eyes, and turns toward the door, watching Dorith head back toward the foyer.
&nb
sp; With no further exchange, both Balden and Regas follow the grandmaster.
They quicken their pace, and once they near Dorith, Regas anxiously beckons, “Grandmaster, Shem’rinal told us to find someone that would help us stop Iltar. Has anyone outside the council ever been told about the situation at hand?”
“What are you getting at, Regas?” Dorith asks as they reach the corridor leading to the Main Hall’s center section.
Regas reluctantly sighs then answers, “The Mage-King. Shem’rinal said he was alive, and that he could help us.”
“Shem’rinal said he knew him,” Balden interjects. “He said he was the one entrusted to watch over the activating scroll when it left Merda.”
“Dorin went missing over nine hundred years ago,” Dorith states. “Besides, no man can live that long.”
“I know!” Regas blurts. “That’s what I was saying, but Shem’rinal insisted that he’s somewhere here in Alath.”
“Shem’rinal had been sealed away for over four hundred years,” Balden remarks with a shrug. “If Dorin had been alive, then he could be dead now, and that’s why you don’t know about him.”
“You’re most likely correct,” Dorith glances to Balden. “If Iltar is to be stopped, it’ll be by us. My brethren and I are the Keepers of the Key, and it’s our duty to protect it at no matter the cost. When the council is gathered, do not speak of Dorin; I don’t want to conjure a false sense of hope in someone whose long since dead.”
With that said, the trio continues toward the grand council chambers. Once inside, Dorith leads Regas and Balden toward the raised dais.
However, Regas demands frantically, “Are we just going to wait?”
“No,” Dorith answers sternly and walks to the wall behind the council table.
Balden watches as the grandmaster whispers words in the magical tongue. Part of the wall magically compresses and slides open, revealing a small niche. Coursing magic flows through lines in the niche toward a small green-glowing square. Without hesitation, Dorith gently presses against the square.
