Cathexis: Necromancer's Dagger (2 page)

Elizabeth was warmed by Jatar’s belief in
her aura skills, but she knew it was imperative that he understood
the full danger of the necromancers. “I will do my best, but
remember, I am only one sorceress, and though their numbers are
few, there are enough necromancers to overcome me if they make a
concerted effort. Until now they have not thought it worth the risk
of public exposure, but your moves toward creating a united Council
of Lords must have them worried. If they thought a sorcerer of
extreme power was going to rule from Lindankar's throne, furthering
your direction toward unification, they might think the risk of
exposure worth the assassination of Michael while he is still
untrained.” As she spoke, Elizabeth hugged her newborn son
protectively to her soft breast.

Jatar strode across the room with clenched
fists to gaze out the window at his
capital
city. “They wouldn’t dare.”

Elizabeth shook her head in negation and
said softly, “For something as important as an extremely powerful
Kirnath ruler, they might risk coming out of their dark holes. I’ve
often warned you about the necromancer’s lack of fanfare, you may
not see them, but trust me when I tell you that they are the true
enemies to your aims of peace.” Her deep brown eyes held Jatar’s
gaze for a moment and then she added, “Humor me about hiding the
true strength of Michael’s aura.”

Jatar bowed formally from the waist and
said, “It will be done as you ask.” He was becoming concerned about
his wife; he didn’t want to stress her further with worry about
these necromancers, he figured that she had been through enough on
this day of giving birth.

Elizabeth sighed and eased herself against
her bed cushions. She adjusted Michael’s wrap and then again spoke
to her husband, “It’s time you go out and placate the nobles. Even
as we speak, the mill that produces rumors is probably in full
production of that tiresome product called gossip.”

In an attempt to lighten the mood and ease
her worries Jatar turned and struck an exaggerated, regal pose,
raising one hand as if ready to speak in oratory fashion. “I go to
make meaningless pleasantries with spying conspirators and cryptic
nonsense with tiresome court cretins… or was that the other way
around?” he asked, stopping his proclamation as if puzzled and
going back over his own words.

Elizabeth shook her head in amusement.

Far away from
Tarnelin
, the
capital
city of Lindankar, where Jatar just left his wife and newborn son,
an old keep sprouted from a granite ridge like a broken rotted
tooth pointing at the sky. Deep in the corrupted
roots,
three conspirators gathered to plot
murder. In a dim
chamber,
a single
torch cast twisting shapes of shadowy creatures on the
rough-hewn
stone wall, but the true monsters
faced each other across the top of the coarse wooden table.

You would be hard pressed to find three more
different men, yet some dark force had brought them to an uneasy
alliance.

The first conspirator looked like an ancient
wrinkled corpse. His thin emaciated body was concealed by a dark
hooded cloak. Only the tip of his gnarled nose projected from
within the shadows of the cloak's cowl. His crinkle-skinned hand
never strayed far from the hilt of a dagger that was tucked through
a black cord belt at his waist. His name was CAracusS, and he
wielded the dead powers of necromancy.

He addressed the other two men in a monotone
whisper as rough as a death rattle. “I traveled by projection on
the Dark Road and have just returned from Tarnelin; the sorceress
bore her cursed husband an heir to the Lindankar throne. The child
must die one year from today.”

The second conspirator wore rich garments of
the nobility, which were made from silk and soft leather with white
fur accents. He was on the young side of middle age, and he sat
back in his chair as if surveying the world for his own amusement.
There was the hint of a smirk in the corner of his mouth and an
amused sparkle deep in his dark eyes.

He spoke and his jovial tone was in stark
contrast to the necromancer’s graveyard whisper, “Then we are
agreed on this plan: I will supply both of you with inside
information and use my position to manipulate the necessary people
to get Major Von Dracek into Lord Jatar’s palace at the appropriate
time, one year from now.”

He turned his smiling eyes on the third
member of the conspiracy and said, “Major, you will spend the year
preparing Lord
Tysol
to be our
tool. He must be fashioned into a diversion worthy of Lady
Ardellen's attention. The sorceress must be too concerned about her
husband’s safety to notice the presence of a necromancer in her
very palace. With her attention diverted, CAracusS can summon his
evil creature and let it loose on Lord Jatar.”

The third conspirator was obviously a
military man; he was in a simple but
well-groomed
uniform of the
Tchulian
mercenary corps. His face was clean shaven, his
jaw hard, like wrought iron. His light brown hair was cut so short
that he nearly seemed bald. His eyes were deep set and dark brown.
The hovering brows and long thin nose gave him the look of a bird
of prey. The Major nodded curtly to the noble and said, “And once
your beast has consumed Jatar’s soul, what of his wife, the
Sorceress? I want that Kirnath bitch and all her kind… dead.”

The necromancer rasped out his reply. “She
dies, but that is his job,” CAracusS said and turned his yellowed
eyes on the nobleman.

“I suppose I can do away with one
unsuspecting woman,” the nobleman noted with his habitual smirk,
picking at some dirt under one of his fingernails.

The
Tchulian
mercenary officer frowned and leaned forward to
stare at the man's smirking face; he pounded the flat of his hand
onto the table top to get the smirking noble to look his way, and
then pointed a finger at him as he said, “Never underestimate the
powers of the Kirnath sorcerers.”

The nobleman chuckled as he held the
mercenary’s eyes boldly for a moment, but he did not answer.

The necromancer pointed at the nobleman with
a shriveled finger that was little more than skin-covered bone and
spoke in a
death-bed
whisper, “On
the day we are ready to move on Jatar, you will go to the church
with Lady
Ardellen
and her young
spawn. There you will arrange for them both to die, swiftly and
without a
mistake
! At nearly the
same moment I will use my necromancy to open the bridge between the
worlds and bring forth a Darknull. I will bargain with the beast
and arrange for it to consume Lord Jatar’s soul. With his body
empty I will use this cathexis dagger to switch my consciousness
into Lord Jatar’s body and take his body and place as ruler of
Lindankar!” CAracusS paused briefly as he withdrew a highly
polished blade from his belt and then drove the sharp point into
the wood of the table.

The Tchulian mercenary looked at the dagger
curiously. Everyone had heard of cathexis metal, but few had ever
seen one of the nineteen objects made from the rare substance. He
contemplated the perfect mirror surface of the silvery blade
curiously and wondered if all the stories were true, was this
simple dagger made from cathexis truly more valuable than a
kingdom? Suddenly his gaze returned to the nobleman and he asked,
“And how are you so sure you can kill a Kirnath sorceress?”

The nobleman sniffed and adjusted the fur at
his collar, but instead of answering directly he turned his amused
gaze on the cadaverous necromancer. “While you are availing
yourself of the late Jatar’s body and throne, I will have the
sorceress and her son killed by assassins." He quickly held up a
hand to forestall the mercenary's outburst. "My men are well
trained for this task and they will be armed with a poison that
disrupts the powers of a sorceress. With her mind clouded the
Kirnath
witch
can't focus and use
her aura powers.”

At that
revelation,
the Major sat back into his chair, and then
said, “And when we are successful, then what happens?”

The nobleman shrugged, “After CAracusS is in
control of the ruler’s body everyone will take his orders as if he
were Jatar. Then you, my good Major, will assist with the purge of
Jatar’s loyal officers and take command of the military.”

There was a brief silence as the major
smoothed his slim mustache and goatee with thumb and forefinger. He
leaned forward placing his callused right hand on the table and the
ruby eyes of his Death’s Head officer’s ring glinted in the
torchlight. “How do I know you two will keep our bargain after the
Ardellen family is dead?”

“Unless you have changed your mind since the
last time we spoke, all you desire is the destruction of the
Kirnath,” the hooded necromancer whispered, “Of that you have the
best assurance of all, it is in MY best interests. The Kirnath have
repeatedly attempted to eradicate the necromantic arts; they don’t
‘approve’ of our methods.
This
time,
we will purge the sorcerers and all their kind from
the earth. We will take their precious school and burn it to the
ground.”

The Tchulian Merc raised one hand with the
index finger extended to make his point, “Just remember, I am to be
there when the Kirnath Adepts and their school are finished.” For
once his emotionless face showed a squint of intense hatred.

“As you wish,” rasped the necromancer and
waved his
liver-spotted
hand in
dismissal of the petty detail.

The Tchulian major’s face returned to an
iron mask and he leaned back in his chair. “The day cannot come too
soon.”

“You hate them, hey?” the nobleman said in a
soft voice and a knowing smile spread across his handsome face.

“I have my reasons, and that is all you
need to
know,” spat the Tchulian
major, his back straight with military formality.

The nobleman raised one lace-cuffed hand and
tapped his index finger repeatedly against his lips while staring
at the major. Finally, with a chilling smile, he pushing his chair
back and stood. “Then it is agreed, one year from today, on the
first birth celebration of the Lindankar heir, Lord Jatar
Ardellen’s
soul will be destroyed,
his body and kingdom
stolen
and
his wife and child killed. Then we will be in control of the most
powerful kingdom in the north.”

Though other scholars might begin their
chronicle of the Final Battle in ancient times, or much later when
the boy killed his friend and came of age, or perhaps at the time
of the Sundering... I contend that the turning point in history was
that fateful day during the first week of spring in the year 3012
AG. It was on that day that Michael Ardellen turned one year old
and the world shuddered with foreshadowing of the epic events to
come. On that day of
summer,
the Ardellen family took the first step off a
cliff and plummeted into the maelstrom of history. It was on this
exact day that the three conspirators: a nobleman, a mercenary
major and a necromancer culminated their plan to steal the throne
of Lindankar.

- Headmaster Lucent Margraves

It was a hot sultry day without the
slightest breeze; even the wind seemed to hold its breath waiting
for the events of the day to unfold. The brightness of the day was
in stark contrast with the darkness of the deeds to come. The land
of Lindankar was poised to
celebrate
but destined to mourn. Merchants, with their
long mule trains of fabulous
goods,
flocked like birds to seed, enticed by the scent
of profit that floated in the very air of the celebrating capital
city. Fancy coaches trundled in through the city gates followed by
their full entourage as all the nobility came to attend the
festivities. Ruling Lords and important Ambassadors from
surrounding kingdoms arrived with great pomp and self-importance
while the common folk poured into every inn and tavern to talk
about
the big event. It was the
eve of Michael Ardellen’s first birth celebration and his official
recognition as heir to the throne.

Lady Elizabeth Ardellen stood
directing
events in the elegant banquet hall.
She was near the long dining table that was set to seat thirty-two
honored guests during the evening’s celebration dinner. At this
very
moment,
Elizabeth was
thinking that not all of these `honored’ guests were necessarily
honorable, but this dinner for the visiting rulers, ambassadors and
other sundry notables was traditional and therefore, nearly
unavoidable.

Tapestries draped the walls and depicted
single and family portraits of past Ardellen generations. Servants
flittered around like flutters making a nest, cleaning, placing
dishes and adjusting tablecloths.

Elizabeth watched over the proceedings from
the center, giving a helpful hand here and a good suggestion there,
wherever her guidance was needed. She noticed a spot on a crystal
glass and began polishing it when a household servant approached;
it was Gavin, a stiff and formal long time servant of the Ardellen
family.

Gavin's immaculately clean white and gold
uniform hung from his thin frame as if his bones were a set of
connecting hangers. The old servant spoke stiffly to Elizabeth,
“Milady, Lord Jatar requests your presence in his private
chambers.”

Lady Elizabeth straightened up and turned to
face Gavin. She liked the old man and decided to tease him a
little. With a twinkle in her
eye,
she said, “Does he?
Well,
Gavin,
I’m too busy right now so you can tell him to come down here,” she
replied. She hoped to get a reaction from the somber
servant
and wasn't disappointed.