* * *
“I grow tired of asking, why do you continue to come here?”
Cor turned to see the skeletal figure still sitting in its stone chair, just as he had seen it over a month ago. He stood clad in the armor he had purchased in Worh, Soulmourn and Ebonwing secure at his sides. At this point, Cor wasn’t sure how to answer this question; it was the second time it had been asked, and he truly didn’t know the answer or even where here was.
“I don’t know,” Cor answered.
“Yes you do,” replied the figure, its black lips curling back from its teeth in a disturbing grimace.
Cor turned to his right and saw the black armor that he knew would be sitting on its shelf, in the same place it was every time he dreamed of this place.
“You have come for my armor. You cannot have it,” said the figure.
“It calls to me,” Cor whispered. “It begs me to wear it, and use it in combat.” Cor lifted the helm in both hands, feeling the familiar tingle in his blood.
“You cannot have it!” screamed the figure in a voice that rose terribly in pitch, and Cor half dropped the helm back into its resting place. He turned to face the ghoulish figure, which stood from his chair of stone, causing inches of dust to fly through the air, and parts of his robe began to fall apart from rot.
“How long have you been here?” Cor asked in a whisper. The rage faded from the ghoul’s face as it realized a question had been asked.
“I do not know,” he said, returning to his seat. “But I will remain here always. Tell Tannes to stop seeking me.”
“Tannes?” asked Cor in confusion. “Lord Dahken Tannes has been dead for two thousand years. You’ve been here that long? What is your name?”
“Two thousand… my name,” the figure whispered. He began to stare at Cor, but Cor had the distinct feeling that he was being stared through not at. “Yes, I had a name once, and I was revered among many. I built a great citadel on the eastern side of this continent, and it became a beacon for generations of Dahken. They came here to learn of their own power from me, the greatest of the Lord Dahken.
“Then fire came from the sky, and our great citadel crashed down upon us. My great Dahken screamed in the destruction, their bodies rent asunder from the fire and rain of stone. Few of my warriors survived the carnage, and those who did died shortly after. Their hair grew gray and fell out; their skin darkened with strange burns. They refused to eat, vomiting if they did, and they wasted away to die, their bodies wracked with pain. Only I was strong enough to survive the aftermath, and I have never left here. This place will be my tomb until death finally takes me.”
“That happened nearly three thousand years ago. Your name is Noth, isn’t it?” Cor asked. The skeletal man’s eyes focused on Cor, pulled back into the present.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, Noth was my name. I know not what my name is now, for surely I am no longer Lord Dahken Noth. Why do you covet my armor?”
“I believe your armor covets me Noth, not the other way around,” Cor answered. “I feel its call every day through my blood. How long has it been since you wore your armor?”
“I have not worn it since after the citadel fell and the last of my warriors died in agony,” Noth answered. “I wish you to be gone, but I know you will return. This is no dream, but neither do you truly stand in front of me. I do not understand these visitations, but I do know that one day you will truly come, as others have. Come prepared for death, for I will not release my property so easily to you.”
Noth made a flippant backhanded wave with his left hand, and Cor bolted upright in his bed in the inn. Wide eyed, he looked around the room, which was exactly as he left it when he lay down in bed. He threw himself heavily onto his back and tightly pulled the down pillow over his face. Cor never really went back to sleep; he tossed and turned in bed for an eternity.
He dozed off on occasion, only to be awakened by his own thoughts. This latest dream, or visitation as Noth had called it, lit his mind aflame with questions and ideas. Lord Dahken Noth was the ghoulish figure he had now seen twice, and the armor belonged to him. It was inconceivable that Noth still lived in the ruins of his citadel; he would be nearly three thousand years old. Many of the Dahken survived two or even three hundred years, and Tannes, the first true Dahken, lived to the oldest age of any recorded. Noth described the Loszian meteor and the ensuing cataclysm with an oddly detached expression, as if he remembered it from a dream. If Noth truly lived in the catacombs where his citadel had been, then he truly had no understanding of the amount of time that had elapsed. It also meant he knew nothing of The Cleansing or the current affairs of the West.
Noth had mentioned Tannes, and that others had come to him before Cor; Cor remembered from his readings that Tannes did send Dahken in search of Noth, or any survivors, over the years. In fact, Cor could see Noth’s face, the black lips of his mouth saying, “Tell Tannes to stop seeking me.” Noth also implied that others had come, not sent by Tannes, but also seeking his armor. Cor thought of Soulmourn and Ebonwing; it seemed that these artifacts sought out new masters when their current ones died, assuming Noth was indeed dead.
Cor had decisions to make, but he needed more information. Sanctum was a smoldering ruin, its wealth, treasure as well as history and knowledge, destroyed by the Loszian necromancer. The Loszian said the location of Sanctum was no secret to him, which meant it was likely he knew the location of Noth’s citadel as well. The Loszian may have far more knowledge at his disposal, and perhaps it was time to take him up on his offer. Cor opened the chest and removed one of the small scrolls he had taken from Sanctum. He considered it briefly before penning a letter to Queen Erella of Aquis.
24.