by Dan Zangari
18
Assembly
Not long after Iltar’s attempted escape, ten council members of the Mages of Alath gather in their enormous chambers. Each stand around the dais, listening to the report from the two Agents of the Order and the half-elf from Merda.
“This is disturbing news,” Nemmerin remarks, pacing back and forth.
“When was the last time Iltar was seen?” Fren asks warily.
As several of the council members debate the necromancer’s last known whereabouts, Almar silently observes his brethren; he folds his arms in a disgusted demeanor, looking at his fellow mages with angered eyes.
“When Rinden shows himself, perhaps he can shed more light on this matter,” Bradeth speculates.
The gigantic doors to the council chambers open, and Dorith strides through the threshold of the enormous space.
While crossing the room, Dorith angrily yells, “The Key is gone! And the documents kept with it.”
“That’s impossible!” Thranar shouts. “How could Iltar know where to find it?!”
“There had to be a clue within Merda,” Callun hypothesizes. “That’s the only way he would know where to look. Else, he would’ve searched the Inner Depths for days.”
Angered by the news, Mathal shakes his head with disgust then scolds his fellow council members, “You should have listened to me. I said to place a heavier guard at the archive entrance. In fact–”
“We should’ve probed his mind,” Thranar interrupts. “Then we could have imprisoned Iltar and avoided this entirely.”
“We didn’t have probable cause to warrant that,” Grensil spits, then points to Griffith. “Besides, his address from Klath confirmed Iltar’s story. Iltar’s obviously been planning this for quite some time.”
“It’s only been a few weeks since he left Merda,” Balden chimes in. “He’s just that brilliant. Iltar has done and gotten away with much throughout his life.”
As the council members debate the particulars of the theft, Rinden quickly enters the enormous chamber.
“What is going on?” Rinden demands as he reaches the others. “And what’s an elf doing here?”
“He’s Iltar’s apprentice,” Thranar answers sternly.
Confused, Rinden shakes his head.
“Iltar is the necromancer we’ve been looking for,” Nemmerin interjects coldly.
Rinden’s face turns pale and his legs give way, and he collapses onto the floor.
Dorith glances toward Rinden, extends his hand toward him and asks, “What’s wrong?”
Overwhelmed by the news, Rinden bemoans, “What have I done…?”
“Yes. What have you done?” Thranar demands. “We know you spoke with Iltar earlier today.”
“He was worried,” Rinden mutters while staring at the floor. “I showed him the Inner Depths’ entrance and told him roughly where the vault was located…”
Grensil angrily grumbles, running his hand through his hair while those not in favor of granting Iltar asylum react in a similar manner.
“I told everyone that he was the necromancer,” Mathal raises his voice with a tone tainted with frustration then sternly waggles his finger at Rinden. “You should not have acted so foolishly, and without discretion!”
Dorith sternly rebuts Mathal, while Thranar and Nemmerin chime in, each heatedly debating just consequences for Rinden.
Amid the debate, Griffith leans to Regas and whispers, “Do you think Mathal is Dorin in disguise?”
Regas shrugs and shakes his head.
Intrigued, Griffith boldly interrupts, “Mathal, are you Dorin? The Mage-King? Shem’rinal asked us to find you.”
The debate ceases and Mathal squints his eyes in confusion and demands, “What?!”
“What are you talking about, Griffith?” Fren asks.
Griffith looks to each of the council members then answers urgently, “We learned in Merda that Dorin the Mage-King is alive, and has been watching over our piece of the Amulet since the beginning; he’s its chief keeper. If you’re not him, Mathal, we need to find him.”
Phendal laughs and doubtingly shakes his head while Nemmerin shares a similar sentiment, yet not so expressive.
“That’s an interesting thought, Griffith,” Grensil chuckles, “But no one can prolong their life that long through arpran magic. I could add several decades to my life but not a millennia.”
Regas raises a brow at Griffith and mutters, “That’s what I said…”
Roused by Griffith’s urging, Rinden regains his composure and speculates, “He wouldn’t have to prolong it if he were a dragon….”
“Quit with the fables, Rinden,” Thranar sharply rebukes the illusionist. “We have a serious problem on our hands, which you are primarily responsible for!”
“Thranar, stop!” Dorith barks, looking at the conjurer with narrowed eyes. He takes a breath and asks, “You said you knew Iltar was speaking with Rinden, how do you know this?”
Almar clears his throat and says, “That’s what I’d like to know. And, why is there a dead Agent of the Order in Iltar’s suite?”
Confused, Dorith raises his brow at Almar and asks, “What Agent?”
Rinden, Fren, Bradeth, Rildan and Callun each react with surprise.
“We decided to watch Iltar,” Mathal answers. “We sent Tilana to observe him. Her daughter would have been in one of Iltar’s classes, so her disguise was near perfect. None of the other students saw through her ruse. We assigned her to watch Iltar since the day after he arrived in Alath.”
Agitated, Thranar adds, “Tilana came to us earlier this evening after following Iltar. He went to a tavern in the eastern part of the city, but did not stay long. However, before that, he talked extensively to Rinden.”
Once Thranar finishes, Phendal continues, “Iltar was quite crafty with Tilana. She attempted to expose him by expressing a desire to learn greater magical powers in hopes of him revealing his true nature. He told her stories, mostly; some of which he spoke of a necromancer from Soroth that achieved the powers she was seeking after, whom we supposed was Alacor. Yet, Iltar was very careful; he never taught her a single incantation outside the illusionary arts.”
“She was intending to confront Iltar tonight,” Mathal interjects. “But, when she didn’t return after curfew we thought that she did not have the opportunity.”
“Well she did,” Griffith speaks up. “And she’s dead, stabbed in the heart.”
After the three council members’ report, Dorith sighs with disappointment. He raises his brow and asks, “What else have you done without all of our consent?”
“You better not have sent anyone to Soroth,” Almar interjects furiously, shaking his head. “If an incident has occurred with Riner, I will personally deliver you to His Majesty for collusion!”
Wary of Almar’s fury, Thranar spits, “We didn’t send anyone to Soroth. We only decided to watch Iltar, that’s all.”
Dorith glances to Thranar, then to Almar and paces back and forth. After a moment, he says, “We need to put our bickering aside and focus on finding Iltar. If Tilana confronted him at curfew that would be almost six hours ago. He might not have escaped the Inner City before I sealed–”
“He has rogulin crystals with him,” Balden interrupts. “And he has some type of anchor that can bind them. He’s probably halfway around the world by now.”
“I doubt that,” Dorith shakes his head. “A subtle field of barsion magic lines the Inner City. Portals cannot be opened, beside on the fourth story; but that’s only inbound travel.”
Intrigued, Balden raises his brow while Dorith continues.
“If Iltar is here, he will try to escape. And, I propose we present an exit for him.”
“How?” Thranar asks.
“Evacuate the city,” Dorith raises his forefinger. “Send criers through every street proclaiming an evacuation. We’ll guard each of the four gates, casting dispelling magic upon everyone exiting the Inner City. No one will leave without our ap
proval. Besides, no one can open the barsion at the gates beside us twelve.”
The council members study Dorith, each wondering about the mysterious magical barrier encasing the city. Several open their mouths to speculate, but Fren is the first to speak.
“How’s that possible? And why just us?”
“Machine-magic,” Balden speculates. “That obelisk outside seems to be producing it. We’ve been rebuilding Merda under Shem’rinal’s direction, and the pylons lining the city are capable of emitting barsion magic indefinitely.”
“That makes me feel obsolete,” Callun sighs.
“Balden’s correct,” Dorith states. “When each of us were brought onto this council, a device within the Estate recorded everything unique about you: your face, voice, the lines upon your fingers, your personality, and other things completely unique to you. Essentially, the city can sense your presence.
“The gates can be opened by touching small glowing indentations near them, but they only function when we touch them.
“However, if Iltar doesn’t spring our trap and the citizens have evacuated, then we hunt him. There’s a device in the Inner Depths that shows every living being’s location within the city.”
Balden nods his head, recalling a similar device Tilthan had discovered within the Merdan fortress.
“Are you sure this will work?” Nemmerin asks. “What if Iltar is gone? Then what do we do?”
“We will worry about that after we have searched every square phineal of the city,” Dorith replies boldly. “Are there any objections?”
The council members each shake their heads, agreeing with the grandmaster’s plan.
“Good,” Dorith says. “I’ll guard the northern gate.”
“I’ll join you,” Almar says, his tone showing his somber demeanor.
“As will I,” Fren speaks up.
“Griffith, Regas,” Dorith looks to the two agents. “Tell the Estate’s guards to send word to the Kingdom Guard’s stations, then rally the Protectors of the Order and gather them outside the Main Hall.”
Both Agents of the Order nod and jog toward the council chamber’s doors.
Dorith looks to Mathal and commands, “Divide our forces accordingly and inform them of the situation. The rest of you split up however you see fit.
“And, Balden,” Dorith sternly gazes at the half-elf, “Come with us to the north gate. There’s more I wish to discuss with you.”
“As do I,” Almar remarks. “I have questions about this entire ordeal, and my brother’s betrayal.”
* * * * *
A quarter of an hour later, a large assembly of mages gathers on the roadway lining the Main Hall. They are an assortment of men and women, mostly middle-aged, yet some are older. Mathal paces in front of the mages, informing them of the precarious dilemma.
While Mathal instructs the army of mages, Dorith, Almar, Fren, and Balden exit the Main Hall.
“I still can’t believe we were fooled by Iltar,” Fren sighs disappointedly and shakes his head.
“He’s a great liar,” Balden remarks. “I often couldn’t tell when he twisted the truth. Besides, you had only his word, and when Iltar crafts a story he includes every detail possible.”
“But Griffith’s findings in Klath validated Iltar’s story,” Almar sighs as they walk along the pathway between the southern gardens surrounding the Main Hall. “I don’t know how Iltar did it… somehow he found confidential details about that vessel from Soroth.”
“I can guarantee that the thieves were involved,” Balden answers Almar’s quandary. “After all, we snuck into Merda’s fortress and accessed its innermost reaches.”
Dorith glances to Almar and says, “I have something to attend to before I head to the north gate.”
“Don’t you need to go to the armory?” Fren asks skeptically.
Looking over his shoulder, Dorith glances to Fren with a grin and answers, “I won’t need weapons nor armor where I’m headed.”
With that said, Dorith jogs around the army of mages and toward the Masters’ Aisle while Almar and the others wait behind Mathal.
While listening to the council’s strategist, Almar hears Griffith calling his name from the right.
“Almar, may we join you at the north gate?”
“Of course,” Almar nods, motioning for both agents to come near. “We’re heading to the west armory.”
“Alright,” Griffith says then asks, “Where’s Dorith?”
“He had a matter of business to attend to, but he will meet us at the north gate,” Fren states. “He left without armor or a channeling staff… I just hope he doesn’t run into Iltar along the way.”
Intrigued by Fren’s answer, Griffith raises his brow and wonders aloud, “He must know where the Mage-King is hiding.”
“Uh, Griffith,” Regas sighs with hesitancy. “Dorith told Balden and I to not bring up the Mage-King, to just forget about it. I think you should do the same.”
“He’s probably keeping the Mage-King’s identity a secret,” Griffith speculates then adds in a determined tone, “Iltar will be stopped this day.”
Almar grunts and declares with determined fury, “Dorin or not, I’ll stop Iltar, even if I must sacrifice myself.”
* * * * *
While jogging onto the Master’s Aisle, Dorith glances to the east, noticing the statue two places from the north is missing; its squared pedestal is all that remains, baring the engraving, “Zatryn Phar, Grandmaster of the Estate, 6407 C.D.—6429 C.D. a grand mage.”
Pleased intrigue smears across Dorith’s face and he gladly exclaims within his heart, Good! You’re here!
He utters an incantation, and white magic surrounds his body, seeping into his clothes. Once the magic penetrates him, Dorith quickens his dash.
Not long after, Dorith nears the southern gate and darts to the stables; he runs past the building and toward the earthen mound.
Once at the large dirt pile, Dorith utters another incantation and a white speck appears from his palm. He flings the speck toward the mound and commands, “Eradas, come forth!”
The speck abruptly penetrates the dirt, causing a tremor. Clumps roll from the pile’s top as it continuously shakes.
Dorith folds his arms, watching as the dirt takes the shape of a large majestic creature.
A long tail whips one end of the earthen mound while two thick legs form toward the pile’s center. Two thin-yet-muscular arms stretch at the end opposite the tail. The forming creature stands on its hind legs, and the loose dirt around it magically races upward along its torso and arms, forming large wings that spire into the air; they flap, shaking off loose dirt.
A long neck forms, followed by an elegant head with a long serpentine snout. Two horns protrude from the rear of its head while a scaled pattern etches into its entire transmogrified body.
As the transmuted drake completes its transformation, it turns its head toward Dorith; its eyes glow a vibrant white and a grin forms upon its snout, recognizing its master.
“It’s good to see you again, Eradas. Come here.”
Eradas immediately obeys, stepping from the large pile; it walks on all fours toward Dorith, then bows its head to the ground a phineal in front of the grandmaster.
Dorith swiftly scales the creature’s neck and once atop Eradas, Dorith utters another incantation. White-gray magic penetrates the base of Eradas’s neck and a saddle and reins transmutively form.
Without hesitation, Dorith mounts the saddle, grabs the reins and commands, “Fly!”
Eradas flaps its wings and hovers above the ground, taking to flight and soaring above the Estate’s southern gate.
Once in the air, Dorith leans to his right while tugging on the reins, and Eradas flies toward the various homesteads to the southwest.
The grandmaster guides his transmogrified drake above the various houses, his hazel eyes fixed on a beautiful off-white home with a dark rooftop; it rises three stories with two turrets along its left side. On the fi
rst floor, a covered porch wraps around part of its front and most of its right side.
“Descend, Eradas,” Dorith commands while leaning forward.
The mystical drake swoops toward a road in front of the home, landing gently.
“Wait here,” Dorith commands, and Eradas rests its head against the stone pavement.
The grandmaster swiftly dismounts, climbing off Eradas’s neck. He strides toward the home, crossing a neatly manicured lawn.
As Dorith approaches the home, one of the entry doors opens; a middle-aged woman stands in the doorway, rocking a small baby wrapped in swaddling. Her light brown hair is pulled back, revealing her long slender face. Hazel eyes study Dorith and she says, “You have a visitor.”
“Who, Alnese?” Dorith asks with intrigue.
“Zanille Narshon,” a deep voice answers from the foyer’s far corner.
A smile forms upon Dorith’s face as he enters the home and sees the young man who narrowly escaped his pursuers.
Zanille leans against the room’s corner with his arms folded, his weapons propped against the wall. His brown eyes stare at Dorith with mixed emotions of sorrow and anger.
“What’s happening?” Alnese asks and closes the door. “Why are the city’s defenses active?”
“Iltar took the Ka’nakar,” Dorith answers.
Alnese gasps, taken aback at the answer, while Zanille sighs and bemoans, “I should have come here first… But, I assume by your raising of the barsion that Iltar is still in Alath?”
“We assume so. I sealed the city as soon as I verified Iltar was the necromancer we were warned about.”
“You knew?” Zanille quizzically raises his brow.
“Iltar came to us under a clever guise, warning us of a powerful necromancer in Soroth. Even I was fooled at first. He spoke about the vik’sha and a battle that occurred between them on the burial grounds, as well as accurately describing the map Ilnari hid on Dalgilur.
“It wasn’t until Almar mentioned Iltar’s reaction to the statue of Zatryn Phar. Then, I became suspicious. But, I didn’t have proof. So, I found it prudent not to act, lest I draw any unwanted attention to myself.”
