1
In the Beginning…
A light evening breeze rustles through the trees of a dense forest on the island of Soroth on a cool fall night. Throughout the woodland canopy the light of Kalda’s two moons shine through and illuminate a dirt pathway.
A man on horseback quickly travels along the path, just over middle-aged years. His short gray hair and matching goatee shrouds his olive complexion. Sapphire blue eyes squint against the wind rushing past his face.
He is dressed in a dark garb of black tunic and breeches with matching leather boots and gloves. A short dagger bounces at his waist, a weapon that was almost never used.
“Insolence,” he curses angrily to himself as his horse gallops through the woodland. “They’ll pay for their defiance.”
A moment later, a large circular clearing opens up before him; it houses an old but lavish estate and a tall gray tower behind the dwelling. An expanse of grassy lawn surrounds the front and sides of the estate which extends several hundred feet to the curving tree line. Directly behind the dwelling is a stone wall made of materials identical to the tower. The wall sprawls out in a straight line to the edge of the forest, separating the tower and the estate home.
The rider kicks the sides of his horse at the sight of the buildings and the steed charges down the path; it turns from dirt to stone at the edge of the clearing and ends to the left of the estate at a metal gate housed within a wall.
As the horse and his rider approach the estate, the rider pulls back tightly on the reigns and the horse rears on its hind legs, letting out a loud whinny.
Once the horse comes to a stop, the rider dismounts and tosses the reigns; he stands and proudly shows his tall and slender build. His piercing sapphire eyes scan the lawn on either side of the path he just traveled and he begins to grow cautious. With a wary gaze, the rider raises his right hand to shoulder height then slowly opens his palm.
Satisfied with the emptiness of the lawn, the rider looks to the left of the estate, towards the stables opposite the path. Within the stables is a brown horse tied to a post.
“Good…” the word oozes from the rider’s mouth.
“Master Iltar!”
The man turns abruptly at the call of his name while lowering his right hand.
“Welcome home,” the estate’s groomsman exclaims as he exits the estate and moves toward Iltar and his horse.
“How long has he been here?” Iltar asks as his sapphire eyes continues to scan the expanse in front of the home with suspicion.
The groomsman hesitates before timidly answering, “Most of the evening.”
Without a word, Iltar turns from the lawn and looks toward the tower, peering over the gateway within the stone wall. He notices a light shining from a window on the third story of the tower.
While staring at the window Iltar walks farther along the stone path leading directly to the gate; it and the gray granite-like wall are set back from the home a short distance. From the gate, the rest of the property behind the wall can be seen: A neatly manicured lawn surrounded by similar walls which arc and mimic the curving of the tree line; the walls completely hem in the rear part of the estate’s grounds. A straight stone path leads directly from the gate to the tower in the center of the secluded grounds.
The tower’s entrance is tucked within an alcove, creating a small portico deep enough to stand inside of it. Two narrowing steps lead up to the recessed entrance.
As Iltar enters the walled part of his forest estate, two guards stationed at the tower’s entrance come to attention. They diligently wait to open its doors for their employer.
“Master Iltar, you have a guest,” the guard on the left states as Iltar approaches the steps. “Co–”
“I can see that,” Iltar snarls as he steps into the covered portico. “I’ve been expecting him.”
“Of course,” the guardsman hurriedly replies, bowing his head and holding the door open.
Iltar enters the first floor of the tower and descends two steps into an open room that encompasses all of the tower’s first floor. A single circular stairwell marks the center of the space.
“Those fools have been nothing but an annoyance,” Iltar whispers as he ascends the stairs to the second floor with determination. “The children of Soroth have grown petty and lack discipline.”
Iltar shakes his head as he arrives on the second story to a vacant room which covers almost three fourths of the floor.
He sighs while walking from the stairs to a set of double doors to the right along the center of the wall. The doors are already partially opened and Iltar swings them completely open, revealing a messy study. Within is a large table with many books and rolled scrolls scattered upon its surface, some of which are spilling onto the floor. There are also several wooden and fabric high-back chairs scattered about, and a row of half empty bookshelves sit along the wall opposite the doors.
Taking no thought of the mess, Iltar strides directly to the bookcases. They are divided into four sections, slightly wider than shoulder width, and sectioned off by thick pieces of ornately cut wooden molding.
Iltar heads to the section furthest to his right and pulls at several books. One by one, the books hang partway off the shelves, suspended by mechanical means. As Iltar pulls on the last book a clicking sound resonates from the shelf.
Iltar presses at a lip along the molding and the bookcase moves forward, then slides away, revealing a small chamber with a curving wall. It leads to a landing that houses the base of a stairwell leading to the third floor.
With a determined stride, Iltar steps through the secret door and ascends the second stairwell to a small anteroom with two doorways, one in front of the landing and the other to the stair’s right.
Iltar clears his throat as he reaches for the door on the right. He opens the door and enters a brightly-lit study; it is very similar to the one below but with bookcases lining the walls on either side of the doorway. Two large glowing orbs sit atop tall pedestals on opposite sides of the study. In stark contrast to its twin below, the study is in pristine order; bookshelves are neatly organized, some of which hold jars of various sizes and rows of scroll cases.
“Welcome my friend,” calls Iltar’s guest from a beautifully crafted high-back armchair at a table in the center of the room.
The guest’s round face is tanned from days in the sun. Thick brown hair and a short beard of the same coloring accent his complexion. His deep-set green eyes flash as he smiles with anticipation at Iltar, their color exaggerated by the dark green tunic and pants.
“You sure took your time getting here,” the guest chuckles, rising to his feet. He stands eye-level with Iltar but is of a more muscular build.
“I had to deal with some business in the city, Cor,” Iltar snaps as he walks into the study.
“Oh?” Cornar asks then continues with intrigue and excited anticipation, “I thought you would be eager to see what I had sent you word about?”
Iltar growls and shakes his head as he retells his frustrations, “Stupid acolytes! They think just because they can control a little power that gives them the right to dictate to the council. I had to teach them a lesson, one they won’t soon forget!”
“I hope you didn’t kill any of them…” Cornar puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head. “New necromancers are becoming hard to find.”
“No Cornar,” Iltar sternly stares at his guest. “I killed no one, however they may wish I had. Those insolent fools have a long way to go before becoming true necromancers, and they had better learn to respect their wiser elders… or else.”
Cornar chuckles and grins widely, “When you were a young necromancer you were just like them.”
“One difference,” Iltar barks and raises a finger to his guest, “I was powerful and smart enough not to get into a public altercation with the council.”
“Yes,” Cornar quells his laughter, “That’s true. You did things behind closed doors, very effective
ly I might add.”
“With your help,” Iltar grunts and finally releases a small chuckle, then walks toward the left side of the table in the center of the room. He comes to a high-back armchair identical to the one Cornar had been sitting in and pulls it away from the table.
As Iltar sits he notices two books and some red scroll cases to his left near the end of the table. The necromancer raises his brow in curiosity as he nestles himself into the lush fabric covering the soft cushioning of the chair.
“So, what is so secret that warrants us meeting in private and at this late in the evening?” Iltar asks as he moves his eyes back to Cornar.
With a smile upon his face, Cornar moves to his chair and sits. “As you know we have been sailing around the Forbidden Sea for the last several months, trying to find the island of legend; the Isle of the Ancient Ones.”
“Yes, I know of the expedition,” Iltar’s tone grows heavy with agitation. “Did you find an island? Is that your important information?
“If so, and that’s all you have then you will suffer the same fate as those acolytes–”
“Just calm down and listen,” Cornar slams his hand on the table, he leans forward with a stern expression yet his eyes still show his excitement. “Yes, we found the island, but that’s not what’s important.”
Iltar folds his arms with disgust, but continues listening to Cornar.
“What is important is what we found on the island. Rather, something I found. I didn’t show them to anyone, but smuggled them away. I knew you would know how important this discovery was, the council would just argue and debate over it, or perhaps worse.”
Iltar raises a brow at Cornar then looks at the seven foreign objects on the table and back to his guest. “What about Krindal? Are you sure he doesn’t suspect you found something?”
“No,” Cornar shakes his head and grins again. “I used my men to distract him while I snuck these aboard the ship.” Cornar motions with his hands at the books and scroll cases on the table. “My men didn’t completely see what I had either. Nor would they say anything if they did.”
“I’m intrigued,” Iltar admits as he relaxes and rests his hands on the chair’s arms. “Go on with this discovery of yours.”
“I found several scrolls and two books. The books tell the history of the war between the mythical platinum dragons and the other dragon breeds. Apparently these other breeds were evil chromatic dragons, along with metallic–”
“I know about this legend Cor! I was taught it in my youth. Get on wit–”
“Patience, Iltar,” Cornar snaps back and shakes his head at the necromancer in front of him, “Did those youthful tales ever talk about how the war ended? How the platinum dragons were able to defeat the other dragons, once and for all?”
“Not really. There was something about a magical artifact that the platinum dragons created that defeated their foes. Other stories attribute the victory to the aide that men and elves gave the platinum dragons. I think the latter is just stuff made up by humans and elves to appease themselves, though.
“Why? Did you find the reason the platinum beasts won?”
“Yes, I did,” Cornar’s grin turns to a wide smile. “In the books it tells a story much like the first one you mentioned. It appeared to be a generalized history of the events surrounding the war, including maps of the ancient world. The books read as if they were part of a public record. The most intriguing point of the literature was the mention that the platinum dragons developed magical devices that helped them win.
“There’s not much more said in the books, but the two scrolls I could read give more detail. The first scroll stated that the platinum dragons created a means to open a portal between worlds. They wanted to exile the warring dragons from Kalda–”
“That’s incredible!” Iltar bursts with excitement while leaning forward. “Does it say how they did it?”
“Well… not exactly how. It said they used magic on rogulin crystals to transform them into a unique stone, called the Tethering Stone. It vaguely describes the ritual and the materials for it.”
“So they sent the evil dragons to other worlds…?” Iltar grazes his hand over his gray facial hair. “That’s incredible!”
“Yea,” Cornar nods and adjusts himself in his chair. “But there was an even more remarkable find in the second scroll.
“It explained that the most aggressive dragons were the red dragons. In fact the scroll stated these were the only dragons the platinum dragons truly feared. After all, they were the dragons that started the war in the first place, enticing the others to ally with them and attack the platinum dragons. From what I read, these red dragons were deceptive and diabolical; I’m sure you would have enjoyed their company.”
“I know I would have,” Iltar sneers. “Is there more?”
“Yes. The scroll also talks about a second magical device; an amulet crafted by the platinum dragons called the Amulet of Draconic Control. Its key component was a red ruby, called the Ruby of Lish. When the ruby was inserted into the amulet the wearer could completely control red dragons.”
“If they could control the red dragons why did they need to exile them?”
“The scrolls are not specific,” Cornar shrugs and shakes his head. “Although I gather that the control was difficult and it took a great deal of concentration to command a large group of dragons. I guess the influence would work just long enough for the platinum dragons to open the portal to the other world and send the dragons through it.”
“Do the scrolls state where this amulet is located?”
“Not in what I can read. There are three other scrolls with writing I cannot decipher. That is another reason I brought these to you. It looks like elven text. I know you can read many forms of elvish and I thought you might be able to read the writing. It may shed more light on this amulet and where to find it. Perhaps an adventure is in store,” Cornar smiles as he speaks those last words.
“You were wise to bring them to me. Leave them here and I will study them. Thank you my friend. I apologize for my harsh words earlier. I was still in a foul mood,” Iltar gives his guest a twisted smile.
“No offense taken. I knew you would be glad to hear about what I brought back,” Cornar slowly rises to his feet. “I will take my leave of you now. Karenna and I will be staying at our home in the city for the next few days if you have further need of me.
“Good evening, Iltar,” Cornar bows and walks to the door.
“Good night, Cornar. Remember do not speak of this to anyone,” the necromancer speaks flatly, but his eyes are fierce. “If I am satisfied, you will be well rewarded.”
Amused by the necromancer’s remark, Cornar nods his head and leaves the room through the same door Iltar entered.
Cornar’s footsteps trail down the stairwell and once they fade completely Iltar whispers with a faint chuckle, “The power to control dragons…”
After a moment, Iltar takes a deep breath and arrogantly straightens himself up in his chair. He turns around to the bookcase behind him and grabs a handful of polished black stones; then after placing them on the table he grabs the nearest scroll case and holds it in his hands. His fingers graze across the porous texture.
“Let’s see which one you are,” Iltar muses and opens the case. He pulls out a rolled parchment that is perfectly preserved. The necromancer gently sets the scroll on the table and carefully unravels it.
After a moment, writing in the common language of Kalda comes into view.
“That’s not it,” Iltar sighs and re-rolls the scroll, placing it back in its case.
He grabs the next nearest scroll case and discovers a smaller roll than the first he had handled. The necromancer cautiously unrolls the old parchment onto the table.
Within a moment, portions of a map come into view. It is an atlas of Kalda, the topography of old cities and various landforms are familiar to the necromancer, although
marked in an elvish script.
What are those? Iltar’s attention is caught by two red dots: one in the southern hemisphere toward the middle of the map by a familiar island called Merdan and the second in the Western Sea by an island.
“Locations of the amulet perhaps?” he wonders.
Iltar focuses on the island on the western part of the map and slowly speaks the words as he translates them, “Draco Isola… the dragon’s island.”
Well that makes sense, Iltar furrows his brow as he thinks, But why Merdan?
Did Balden ever talk about dragons? Iltar wonders about one of his former apprentices, a native of the island and raised in the city of Keth. He always spoke about that forsaken elven city, Merda. But its long been haunted by undead… or so the stories say. And Balden often daydreamed of liberating it, Iltar chuckles and shakes his head.
Iltar had often thought Balden naïve and foolhardy, yet heroic; traits that reminded him of himself during his youth.
“But what significance does a deathly place like Merda have to be singled out.” he asks aloud, exasperated. And when did the stories start about the undead? The chilling question gave him pause.
I must look up more information about that with the Order of Histories later.
Iltar takes another look at the map and notices faint writing under the dragon’s isle. He quickly turns around to grab a magnifying lens from the bookshelf and focuses it on the island.
Dralin… death” Iltar wonders and scrunches his nose as he translates the elven words. Or burial ground? Could this mean that this island is a graveyard for the dragons? Or a battle site? Intriguing…
While musing on the thought, Iltar sets the magnifying lens down beside the map and picks up a third scroll case.
It is dented in several places and has a small hole on one of its sides. The necromancer opens the lid and gently slides the scroll out. A small flake of parchment falls from the scroll and Iltar immediately stops his pull. He slowly sets the case down next to the map and resumes gently tugging on the old parchment.
Pieces of the scroll fall to the table’s surface as Iltar painstakingly removes the rolled parchment and sets its main body on the tabletop. Much of the scroll is broken up, and its pieces are partially faded.
Iltar lets out a low growl, but takes a deep breath to control his frustration. As he lets out his breath he mutters, “Cornar must have damaged this when he first inspected it.”
With a steady hand, Iltar rolls out the damaged parchment and secures it with four of the small polished weights. He then examines the pieces of the scroll that had broken off during his removal of the old parchment from its case.
A labored sigh leaves Iltar’s lips, and he turns around, grabbing a pair of small metal tweezers from the shelf behind him. As he turns back around Iltar shakes his head and mutters, “This is going to take some time.”