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Chapter 12: The Bard's Tomb

 

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.