Cyrus stood and walked around the
room slowly a few times and, when he felt he was as well as he was going to
get, sat down on the edge of his bed to put on his chain mail shirt. He
strapped his great black axe to his back; the runes on the scabbard seemed to
glow brightly. The others were preparing for the journey as well. Thordex wore
his knee-high boots and black breeches and tunic. He tied his leather armor
into place, swaying his arms back and forth to check his maneuverability.
Avengard donned his gleaming new set of plate mail and helmet, placing his
great sword to rest in its oversized scabbard over his shoulder. Balifore wore
only his loose fitting indigo robes, his black staff leaning against the wall
near the head of the bed. With a twitch of his fingers, the staff appeared in his
hand. The Talisman ran his fingers over the runes he had etched into its
surface those many years ago. McGowan donned his new blue shirt and a pair of
brown breeches, his mace tucked securely into his belt.
“We should reach Dragon's Keep
in two days, if we hurry.” Thordex told them, placing his daggers into their
hidden sheaths. “I believe I remember the layout of the place, so we should be
able to find the entrance to Slag's lair with minimum difficulty.”
Cyrus strapped down his plate
mail leggings. “I thought I'd never see the day when we would be going back to
that stinking lair. The memories of that place still weigh heavily on my mind.”
Balifore was stroking the
medallion he wore around his neck, chanting softly. The medallion was of the
order he belonged to, the Order of the Talisman. The magic he wielded was a
form so powerful, the entire realm had outlawed it with promises of swift death
should anyone be caught practicing it. His order was a mystery to his
companions and he wanted it to stay that way, feeling he may be shunned if any
of them ever found out the specifics of his beliefs. Balifore’s magical staff
was dubbed Skullcrusher the day he
created it. He knew every split and seam in his prized creation. Only he could
use the staff, its magic allowing the staff to become a warhammer that could
crush nearly anything with one well-placed blow. Balifore rarely used the
hammer form of Skullcrusher, preferring to use his rune magic to help himself
out of tight situations. He knew little about physical combat, but all of those
training sessions with Cyrus and Darius had made him fairly capable to wield
the weapon should his magic fail him.
“You should not dwell so
heavily on the past, my brother.” He told Cyrus. “The dragon is dead. You may
never get your eye back, but you should think more on the task at hand. Finding
the Eye of Immortality is what's important now, if we are to thwart Malkar's
plans.”
Cyrus looked at his friend
sternly. “I do not easily forget our task, Balifore. Malkar killed my brother
as well as Avengard's entire family. For that he will pay with his life.”
Avengard, standing at the
window, glanced back to his friend grimly. He had vowed to kill Malkar himself.
His only hope was to reach the mage before Cyrus could. Although he honored his
friend's debt of vengeance for the death of his brother, he would not pass up
the opportunity to kill the black-hearted sorcerer himself.
Malkar the Dark rode his horse
quickly through the grasses just south of Barlow. His most trusted servants flanked
him on both sides, each wearing the red smock over his armor that displayed the
crest of the Brotherhood of Darkness. He looked in grim anticipation at the
rocky ledge that stood before him. He had walked into the inn the bard had
entered all those years ago and, after some ‘persuasion’, had wrung the
location of a hidden tunnel that went under the wall to exit the city from the
frightened owner. The tunnel had caved in long ago, but it took no time for
Malkar to find out where the tunnel ended. As he topped the ledge of the small
rocky hill, he looked down below the other side at his men, standing by a
boulder wedged between two rock shelves. The tunnel leading back to the city
was partially hidden by thick bushes about forty yards from where he stood. He
dismounted and, muttering his memorized spell, stepped off the ledge to float
slowly towards the huge rock. His men, bowing deeply, backed away, Zolaar being
the only one to hold his position.
“Is this it?” Malkar asked
pointedly.
Zolaar looked into the eyes of
the man he hated so much. “We believe so, my lord. A cave lies beneath the
stone. We have tried everything to move it, but it seems to be sealed up
tight.”
Malkar peered over Zolaar’s
shoulder to the exit of the caved-in escape tunnel. He could visualize the four
knights and the frightened bard, desperately trying to find a way out of the
city and finding their exit from the tunnel blocked. Malkar turned to face the
rock. He concentrated on the spell he was now chanting. The rock suddenly seemed
to dissolve before their eyes as it turned into mud, seeping harmlessly through
the shelf into the cave below. The stale air of an airtight catacomb burst
through the mud, slinging it in every direction like a boiling pot of thick
gruel. The draft reeked of old death and decay. A few of the men retched loudly
as they dashed away from the others, who were trying their best to keep from
gagging. Malkar sneered at his men, repulsed by their weak stomachs. His mouth
went dry with anticipation as he looked into the inky blackness of the
underground cave. The mage walked to the mouth of the cave, muttering the words
of magic, and floated to the bottom. Pulling a rod from his robe, he spoke the
command to activate it, the rod floating just above his head, slowly lighting
the small cave with its eerie luminescence. Malkar peered around curiously as
his eyes adjusted to the rod's brightness. The cave contained a small
underground stream that ran southward to end at the far wall, appearing to have
been here for thousands of years. Stalactites and stalagmites speckled the
ceiling and floor of the cavern. It was quite small lengthwise, stretching only
thirty feet to either end. Ropes were lowered to let others enter, but Malkar
was not waiting for them. He peered around anxiously as he walked around the
subterranean passage, hoping to see anything out of the ordinary through the
gloom. He now could see the entrance and exit of the tiny spring carving its
way through small cracks on either side of the humid room. The stink of death
exhilarated Malkar as fresh air would any normal man, the mage inhaling the
stench deeply. He caught a glimmer of metal out of the corner of his eye.
There, huddled in a corner of the cave, were five decaying, but still well
preserved bodies. The glint of steel he had seen was the rusting plate armor of
one of four corpses that wore it. The fifth appeared to be clothed in rotting
rags, a large glass cylinder pressed to its chest by decayed fingers.
Zolaar was the first down the
rope, hurrying to Malkar's side to gaze at the three dead bodies. Malkar waved
to the others, telling them, without words, to stay where they were.
“I wonder why they didn’t try
to find another way out if they noticed the exit was blocked?” the cleric asked
the mage.
Malkar eyed him. “They were
more than likely the reason the tunnel back to the city collapsed in the first
place. Perhaps to discourage any pursuit?”
“I guess I never thought of
that.”
Not surprising, the mage
thought. He reached down and forced the scroll casing from the bard’s fingers,
breaking a few in the process. The case was sealed with wax, making it
airtight, and Malkar hoped the scrolls to be in good shape. Breaking the wax
seal, he carefully pulled out the parchments inside and unrolled them slowly.
The scrolls told the tale of
the last escape to Tiermane and the subsequent fate of the guardians, buried
alive in a cave. They gave up their lives hiding a secret that could have
changed the scope of the realms. The pages rambled on about how the tunnel had been
blocked by a well-placed hammer blow and their discovery that they had
inadvertently sealed their own tomb when they discovered the exit was blocked
as well. Finally, the mage reached the section that revealed the location of
the dragon's lair they sought. Angrily, the evil mage read what he knew was a
riddle; the conclusion of the tale of a dying bard:
The Eye of the Dragon a tale untold
Eternal life where shadows lurk
Forged by demons, hammer and hand
A curse of solitude hides their work.
Stolen by the beast in armor of scale
On wings of death he soars
To the fortress which floats on ivory wealth
Hidden behind the sorcerer’s doors
Entombed by fire and never to leave
The sight of the ageless one.
Though kingdom’s search and soon will find
The curse of solitude will be undone.
Zolaar, standing just to the
left of Malkar, looked up from the scroll, his face contorted in puzzlement.
“It's only gibberish. This
tells us nothing.” He screamed.
Malkar rolled the scroll and
replaced it in its cylinder, smiling amorally. “You are wrong. It tells us
exactly where the Eye is.”
“I don't see what you mean.
This is clearly the raving of a mad man.” He told the mage bluntly.
Malkar threw his head back and
laughed, the hollow outcry echoing off the cavern walls. “You cretin. The man
was no more a fool than I am. Did you actually think he would have just told
anyone who found this cave where the dragon's lair was?” He pointed to a line
on the scroll. “He says the beast soared on wings of death to the fortress which
floats on ivory wealth.”
Zolaar looked at the mage in
rage, but glanced at the text nonetheless.
“It means the fortress that is
floating on water, more specifically, the Lake of Pearls. The Lake of Pearls
only holds one fortress, Dragon’s Keep, left in ruin some one thousand years
ago. It was a massive masterpiece in its day. As the story goes, everyone that
lived there died out in less than a week, right after the Clan Wars, of some
strange plague. Both lines are hints as to the location of the Eye, just told
in the crude manner that those accursed bards are known for.”
“What is meant by the
sorcerer’s doors then?”
Malkar shrugged. “More than
likely, it means the eye is hidden in an area meant for mages, or maybe is
guarded by magic wards. Either way, Dragon’s Keep is where we must go.”
“Then that is our destination.
Shall I inform the troops to prepare to depart?” Zolaar asked him.
The wizard nodded. “No, I want
you to travel by shadow steed ahead of us. You're to wait at the old road that
leads to Dragon's Keep and the abandoned city nearby, Caergoth. If the Talisman
and his band find the location as well, I want you to ambush them.”
Zolaar shuddered visibly at the
plan. He disliked traveling by shadow steed. It was a spell that allowed riders
to journey on fast and tireless horses composed entirely of shadows. It was the
quickest way to reach his destination, but it unnerved Zolaar nonetheless.
“What if they never come?” He
asked, his blood boiling. How dare this fool maneuver me away from this prize, Zolaar
raged. I’ve got to find some way to get the Eye before he reaches the Keep. His
hand began to burn again. He calmed himself as the searing pain subsided,
keeping him from venting his rage.
“Then we will come back to get
you when we leave the keep. Is that simple enough?” Malkar told him
sarcastically.
“If there is nothing else, I shall prepare my men.”
Zolaar stated. He noticed no one else had dropped into the cavernous tomb. He
could kill the fool now if he wanted to. Now that he had the location of the
stone, it didn’t matter any more. It was the fools waiting on the surface that
concerned him. Malkar’s men would tear him to pieces should he murder the mage
now.
Zolaar climbed the rope back to
his troops, his hand burning with excruciating pain as he climbed. Brushing the
filth from his garments, he walked over to the group of cultists, choosing his
ten best men for the ambush. He planned to tell them as they reached their
destination that he was to leave them for the keep. He would explain how he was
to draw the attention of Cyrus and his friends away from the ambush party. He
would actually go into the castle himself though. There he would take the stone
as his own, once this dragon was dead, and kill Malkar with his soon to be
immortal power.