The Pilgrim Stone

by J D Bowens

  Consus watched Malin shriek and plead with Zamari to stop. The hum grew so loud that he could no longer hear him. Blood trickled down from the little claws of the statuettes as they dug into Malin’s wriggling flesh.

  "You have been a most disloyal servant, Malin," Zamari said. Her voice bellowed over the hum and shook Consus’ soul. "You have thwarted me at every turn and nearly cost us our goal greatly. And you have gravely angered our Father by doing so."

  "No, Zamari, please," he begged as he wept. "I will be more obedient I swear. Give me one last chance."

  "This is your last chance," she said. "By sacrificing yourself, you are redeemed in our Father’s eyes.” The hum came to a sudden halt, and Malin’s terrified panting was audible to all. “The dragon shall devour you and the dragon shall forgive you."

  The eyes of the dragon above Malin’s shoulder became as bright and red as Zamari’s. It turned to look at Malin’s terrified gaze, the bright light reflected in them.

  “Please -,” Malin began. The dragon wrapped itself around Malin’s chest, pressing him into the seat. The statuettes crawled over Malin and nibbled at his flesh. They pecked at his body through his robes, eating him piece by piece. Malin shrieked at every bite. He struggled to shake the tiny dragons loose but the more he shook, the more they dug into his flesh. “Forgive me, Mistress!”

  “I would forgive you, Malin. But Nemoth is not so kind.” One of the statues dug into his belly and ate him from the inside out.

  Consus had never heard anyone scream in such pain before. He almost pitied Malin. He tore his eyes away for a moment but redirected them once he saw Zamari glare at him. Malin’s movement and struggle weakened and his body, though covered in blood, was pale. His cries became pitiful whimpers. The large dragon head backed away from Malin and once again looked him in the eyes. At least it’s over.

  It plunged its beak into Malin’s chest, the audible crunch of muscle and bone echoed throughout. Malin's scream was a gurgled gasp as he spat up blood. Some of the disciples shrieked in horror at the gory scene. Consus himself gasped as the dragon tore at something in Malin’s chest. After a moment, the dragon head pulled away from his gaping chest with something in its mouth.

  Consus gagged. It’s his heart.

  The dragon lifted its head and gulped down the heart, streams of blood flowing from its mouth. Blood ran down its neck and over the rest of the throne until the obsidian chair had been consumed and blotted out by the crimson shade. The head of the dragon returned to its place, motionless beside Malin's corpse. The statuettes also returned to their original position on the throne leaving droplets of blood in their wake.

  "How marvelous," Lorna whispered. Consus’ stomach turned as she spoke.

  Zamari turned to face them, her eyes no longer red and her countenance a display of tranquility and utter contentment.

  “His heart has served a great purpose,” Zamari said, “but let this be a lesson to us all: we must follow the Father’s will and not disappoint. Malin was fortunate to be given redemption in his death. Praise Nemoth for his mercy.”

  "Praise Nemoth," they all said at once.

  "We have much to prepare for the Red Moon," she said, “but I have one more display of Nemoth’s infinite power for you this night.” She walked over to the throne and tossed Malin’s husk of a corpse aside. It plopped onto the ground just beside the throne. Zamari sat on the satin cushion bathed in blood. “Dromedus, come kneel before me.”

  Consus saw the soldier hesitate before he stepped forward. He fell before Zamari and bowed his head. Zamari extended her hand and held an open palm just before Dromedus’ head. “In the name of Nemoth, the Father of Blood and Shadows, King of Dragons and Lord of the Forbidden,” she began, “I bless you, Dromedus Glemorian, for you have been a most faithful warrior.”

  The Pilgrim Stone began to turn clockwise, slow and then fast. A brilliant red aura enveloped the stone and then spread through the throne. The large dragon’s head turned and breathed on Zamari. The aura diminished in size but not in brilliance so that it surrounded only Zamari.

  “Receive this blessing,” Zamari said, “and fight for our Lord and Father forever, even unto darkness and into fire.” Like the wind, the aura blew past Dromedus and dissipated. Zamari appeared breathless and tired. “Rise, my paladin.”

  Dromedus rose and examined himself. Consus did not think he appeared any different from before. Zamari waved at his hand, and Dromedus gave it to her. She pulled a small blade from the folds of her robe and sliced across his palm.

  Dromedus cursed and sucked his teeth and pulled away from her. Consus could see the deep wound as he turned around. His blood spattered onto the floor, but only for a moment. The torn flesh began to heal, and the blood ceased to flow.

  “Amazing,” Dromedus said. “What does this mean, mistress?”

  “I have given you the gift of eternity,” Zamari said. “No blade can kill you, no fire, no mortal man can take your life. Nemoth protects you with his own power. And when the Red Moon arrives, and the Pilgrim Stone is placed, we will give this gift to an army.”

  Consus felt a knot in the pit of his stomach. An entire army, invincible and undefeatable.

  “Come now,” Zamari said as she rose. “There is much to do before the Red Moon arrives.” Dromedus reached out and helped her to stand and walked her to the exit of the cavern. Consus began to follow her as well, overwhelmed with this new fear.

  "What about the body?" Synara asked. Consus turned to look at Malin's pitiful corpse on the floor, his empty eyes staring at the ceiling.

  Zamari looked up to the large hole in the ceiling and the moonlight that trickled through it. "Leave him for my children," Zamari said. She continued to walk out, and her disciples pushed past Consus in gleeful conversation. From the shadows, Consus could hear the skittering of clawed feet and scales against the stones. The sound of wings only terrified him further, and he hurried to follow his mistress.

  Chapter 44

  Mages and healers tended to Dean Elderman’s wounds, their garments soaked in his blood. Gaping punctures were stitched and covered with linens. From his cot, Altin recognized the helpless and weary faces on the healers.

  “He’s lucky to be alive,” one healer said. Her voice was coated in weary surprise.

  “With these wounds in his back,” said another, “he’ll never walk again. His body will need to heal itself now. By Arcana, we’ve done what we can.”

  Altin rolled his sleeve down his arm, a small trail of blood dripped down it. Elderman had lost a lot of blood, and his body had turned a pale blue when the Keeper found them. By Arcana’s fortune, Altin and Elderman shared the blood of the same nature. He allowed the healers and gifted mages to pull blood from his body and transfer it to the dean.

  He could not bear to look at the unconscious Elderman any longer. A weight of guilt sat on his shoulders like a block of iron. Why had he been left alive? Why had he been spared?

  He shook off the sorrow. Focus on what must be done. The Council of Anidrack will be meeting soon. New deans and in interim archmage will be selected. Seeker’s and guards would have been sent by now to Dandrea's house. They would scour every floorboard, dusty corner, and crack in the wall for clues. They won’t find anything. She was so careful. What could he do to help?

  Thinking of Dandrea’s treachery made his gut ill, and his blood boil. He walked right into her trap and led others to their death. I should have listened to Margaret. I need to find and stop her.

  He wobbled to his feet and stumbled out of the infirmary, making his way to Manaan Hall. The pebble he had tossed into the portal had a Huntsman Spell on it. With the proper tools, he could scry out his own blood on the pebble and locate Dandrea.

  The hour was late, and much of the hall was empty. He came to the main chamber in the School of Truth known as the Seeing Chamber. Ancient arcana symbols were carved into the black oak ceiling and floor and painted over in purple. The symbols shimmered as he lit torches. There wer
e no windows and no other entrance to the sparse room.

  In the center stood a large round table. A black marble slab lay atop it, carved in the likeness of Amarant. The Seeker's Map was an enchanted table that extended the user's ability to scry beyond the normal limits. The greater the distance to scry something, the longer it took the map to find them. Hopefully, Dandrea has not gone far.

  Altin laid his wounded hand on the table. He pressed it until a drop of blood was released and was accepted by the map. “Lead me, arcana,” he said to the map. “Take me to the blood of my blood.”

  The Seeker’s map bubbled and shifted. The image of Amarant disappeared, and the familiar Eastern Mountain Range took its place. A river flowed along its eastern border, signified by inky black undulating waves. A craggy landscape loomed over the opposite side of the river. From it a building took shape; towers and turrets rose from a terrifying structure by the cliff’s edge.

  The Maerstone Keep. It was home to the noble Grimhold family. What would the House of Jewels and Silver have to do with Dandrea or a relic like the Throne?

  “Lead me, arcana,” he said again. “Take me to the blood of my blood.” The table changed again and reformed itself taking on the form of a cavern. Stalagmites rose from the ground but left an open space in the center of the table. In that space was the Crimson Throne, the obsidian now a cruel red.

  Why would Dandrea take it there? Why would House Grimhold want an ancient relic? Altin noticed a familiar figure as he scanned the room: a tall, dark young man, tired and beaten.

  “Consus,” he said. His heart fluttered in panic. “What are you doing there? Get out.” The image of his brother ignored him and walked into a stairwell and closed the door behind him. He feared what Dandrea might do to him. Had he been captured? Where were Kyran and Ewan? “Consus, come back!”

  “Master Edderick, are you alright?” a woman asked.

  The voice broke Altin’s concentration, and the image on the table returned to its original form. Altin recognized the young golden-haired woman standing in the doorway, Jaltha, one of the few elves that lived in Anidrack and a student of the School of Truth.

  “I have been searching for you,” she said. “The Counsel of Anidrack has selected their deans and the interim archmage. They wish to hear your testimony."

  Chapter 45

  "They selected the deans so quickly," Altin said walking beside Jaltha. "I had not thought a council of mages and teachers capable of making a quick decision."

  She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. "They have been gathered for several hours now. You let the map carry you away too long."

  Altin cursed and followed Jaltha, across the courtyard to the Council Hall, a small and plain structure.

  The loud arguments inside the hall stunned Altin. A clamor of staves banged the floor for attention. Men and women of the senior faculty shouted at one another and waved rude hand gestures. Many wept over the tragedy of the fallen deans. Altin bit his lip and fought back tears. Time was of the essence, and it could not be wasted on sorrow.

  Four men and a woman stood on the dais at the Assembly Hall’s center: Reitman, Goulan, Marun, Sethis, and Gendra, who held the Archmage's staff.

  “Are those the new deans and archmage?” Altin asked Jaltha. She nodded. He knew them all, much of their work in the school was well known. He waded through the crowd of teachers around the dais.

  His eyes met with Gendra's. She raised her hand and pointed the staff to him. The room hushed as all eyes turned to him. Bystanders stepped to the side, clearing a path to the dais. "Master Edderick, we have been waiting for you,” she said.

  "My apologies for keeping you," Altin said.

  “I understand you were present during the assault in the Deep Vault,” she said. “Please share what happened with us.”

  In detail, Altin recounted his summons from Margaret and her suspicious death. He pulled her journal from a pocket in his robes and showed them her notes, the tracer spell in the wards, and how he traced the spell to Dandrea. Finally, he told them about her attack in the Deep Vault.

  Recalling the gruesome scene brought tears to his eyes. He wiped them away as they rolled down his cheeks. Jaltha’s reassuring hand upon his shoulder gave him some strength. He was not alone.

  "And before I arrived here I was using the Seeker’s Map. I sent a Huntsman Spell to find Dandrea." The room exploded with questions. The deans and the Archmage Gendra hammered their staves on the dais as gavels. Once silence had returned the archmage bade Altin speak again.

  "She traveled to a cavern beneath the Maerstone Keep, belonging to the House Grimhold,” he said. “I can only assume that is where the Children of Nemoth she is working with dwell."

  The hall descended into chaos. Mages and deans argued amongst themselves. Several argued the existence of the ancient gods or if it was a hoax. Altin paid it no mind; he was focused on the discussion on the dais.

  "We must close the school," Sethis said. "If dark priests are at work we must fortify the city and prepare for the worst."

  Shocked, Altin slammed his staff into the floor. "You coward. We must pursue these malevolent forces. No good will come if we leave them unpunished."

  "You forget your place, Seeker," Sethis said.

  "We cannot invade a noble house," Marun said. "It is against College policy to meddle in external affairs. It’d be considered an act of war upon the Northern Kingdom."

  “The Southern Empire would come to our aid,” Altin said.

  “Do not be a fool, boy,” Sethis said. “War between the kingdoms would tear this continent apart.”

  Gendra hammered her staff on the dais. "Enough,” she said. “This discussion is best left for the deans and me. All others should leave the Council Hall." The mages shuffled out, grumbling and protesting all the way.

  Altin spoke to Gendra. "That throne she has, it has the power to summon Nemoth’s spawn and the power of Nemoth himself. If she is able to do so, we will be powerless to protect ourselves. We must stop her and retake the throne before it is too late."

  "Believe me, Altin, I understand," Gendra said. “But you must leave now.”

  Disappointed, Altin waited outside with the crowd of mages. Each passing hour felt like a year. If Consus was at the Maerstone Keep, he was in grave danger. Altin paced back and forth. What could he do to save his brother? His audience with the Council was a disappointment. It was quite possible they would elect to do nothing.

  Regardless of their decision, I will go to the Keep myself. I will stop Dandrea and bring Consus home.

  Chapter 46

  Gendra stood on the dais, her face grim and very tired. The deans sat beside her as they had earlier. "We have come to a decision. We shall fortify the school and the city against any potential attacks from the Children of Nemoth. We will send word to the King in Denipoor and all other court mages in the Northern Kingdom of our findings and of this attack. Messengers will be dispatched this afternoon throughout the realms to warn of the coming darkness."

  To warn of the coming darkness. What good will a warning do? Altin cursed aloud. The council would do nothing to stop Dandrea.

  The hall burst into debate, but Altin ignored them all. Gendra answered as many questions hurled at her as she could. An hour later, she and the deans were escorted by the guards to the door.

  Altin fought his way through the crowd to reach Gendra once they were outside the hall. “Why?” he asked. “Why would the council let this go unpunished? Have you no courage?”

  Gendra stopped the guards, turned, and glared at Altin. Her eyes bore into him like hot pokers. She waved away her guards and the other deans so that she was alone with him. “I must obey the vote of the council,” she said. “Even when I disagree with it greatly.”

  “I am sorry,” Altin said. “I did not mean to accuse--”

  “Do you know how to fight divina magic?” she asked. “Do you know how to stop an entire sect of Nemoth’s children?”

  Altin had no
answer. He had only seen the magic twice with his eyes.

  “I thought not,” she said. “In ancient times, the Children of the Gods were more powerful than we, the mages of arcana. To go challenge an unknown foe is foolish but against one who is both unknown and powerful? It is more so.”

  “I understand,” he said. “But we cannot sit on our backsides and do nothing.”

  The archmage relaxed and raised an eyebrow. “I never said you couldn’t do anything. I merely said that the college would do nothing. If you and several others were to act upon your own volition, well, there’s nothing that I can do about that.”

  Altin blinked. “I see, er - thank you, Archmage Gendra.”

  “Interim Archmage,” she said. “I doubt I will keep this post long. There is something you need to know, Altin. The Crimson Throne will have limited power on its own. But if used under the Red Moon with the Pilgrim Stone it is a most powerful altar.”

  “If they have the Crimson Throne I assume they have the stone, as well,” Altin said.

  Gendra nodded. “Whatever you do it must be done before the Red Moon. Either the Stone or the throne must be destroyed.”

  He started to leave, but Gendra wasn’t finished. “Altin, you know you were one of our more gifted students. With the position for Dean of Truth open, I would-- Margaret would -- it’s only natural that you take her place.”

  Altin blinked at the offer. He was so far from considering a role as a dean. “I hadn’t thought of it. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t be too concerned. There are other things you must be about now. But I would hope for an answer before someone else tries to fill the position.”

  Altin would have run to Manaan Hall but was still weak and tired. There must be a way to get to Grimhold before the Red Moon. A teleportation spell could carry him there for sure. But that would take at least two days of preparation and several skilled mages. Who can I enlist?