The Dragons' Legacy by Dan Zangari & Robert Zangari
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After an hour of meticulously reconstructing the scroll, Iltar stands up and takes a deep breath. He studies the scroll for a moment and shakes his head.
The elvish writing is faint in many places and parts of the scroll are completely missing; however, there are some letters of words and parts of sentences that are legible. He begins his translation with the most visible parts of the elvish writing.
“ ‘Herein l… most … map of K...’ Kalda I assume. ‘Upon this … locations of the … and … signified … marks, dotted … by … Merdan and … Isola.’
“ ‘First Draco Isola, a site … battle…e tide of the Thousand … where the A…a’k was fir… used. However, in … times th… dragons of Kalda come … end of their days to rest … to join … the Creator of All.’ ”
“So it is a burial ground,” Iltar exclaims triumphantly and continues verbally translating the scroll.
“ ‘There is a large cave near the center of the island and a tunnel leads through the mountains to the...’ hmm, perhaps interior? ‘There are cliffs and crags surrounding the perimeter of the island. The only way … island is at beach above the ma… args along the shore.’ ”
“Interesting…” Iltar smiles and raises his brow. “A treasure map of sorts, how intriguing.”
“ ‘Within the sacred…lies the secrets to obtaining…the Au’mi... However the…kept by a guardian. … here is hidden, so that … needed, the amu… dragon… can be reforged.’ ”
Perhaps within a secret vault or store room, Iltar wonders. It would make sense to hide such a powerful weapon and have some sort of sentinel to watch over it. The amulet must be on that island.
Iltar returns to the text and is met with a faded portion of the scroll. He skips beyond the lighter writing and continues to read another section.
“ ‘At Merda the secrets are hidden.’ Hmm what is this? Oh I see the red dot on the other map. ‘It is the location of…’ of what?” Iltar shouts, shaking his head in frustration and muttering, “Why does this section have to be so decayed?”
“ ‘…other information as…’ What other information?”
Iltar slams his hand on the armrest of his chair. After taking a deep breath, he continues reading. The rest of the scroll concerning Merda is worn or has parchment missing, rendering the latter part of the section devoid of useful information.
The rest of the scroll is completely faded, and Iltar returns to the middle section of the scroll to search for clues by use of the magnifying lens.
After several moments of reading and re-reading Iltar can make out a few words.
“ ‘The s….’ stone perhaps? ‘…is essential to completing the amulet, without it the metal jewelry is useless. With a shi…, one can transverse the…to the realms of exile. However this knowledge was also hidden away after the last of the chromatic brutes were banished…deep in a place where only the platinum dragons would know. Fearing that a remnant of loyal…the Lords of Metal separated…of understanding away. This was done to create a reserve of knowledge and resources if the main reliquary were to be…knowledge lost among the keepers of dragonkind.’ ”
Iltar puts down the magnifying lens and sighs in frustration over the deteriorating knowledge of the dragons and their magical powers.
“This middle passage is too vague!” he mutters irritably. “What is it talking about? The ruby or that tethering stone?”
At that moment, fatigue overcomes Iltar. He takes a deep breath, stands and places his hands on either side of the table. The tired necromancer closes his eyes and rests them for a moment.
A thought pierces through his exhaustion, I can’t take these anywhere, they’re too fragile.
Iltar straightens up and brings his palms to his face. He rests his eyes within the balls of his hands as he thinks, It’s best to copy them to fresh parchment so I do not damage them any further. Especially since I will need to take them with me on this journey.
A fiendish smile smirks across Iltar’s face and he turns to the bookcase behind him, grabbing several blank scrolls.
With red-rimmed eyes and a shaky hand Iltar returns to the table and painstakingly copying the scrolls onto the blank parchments.
Once Iltar finishes his work he relaxes in his chair with a sigh. A glimmer of light catches his attention from out of the corner of his eye. He turns to the window of his study and sees the dawn breaking over the horizon.
“It took me all night?” Iltar chuckles and rests his head against the soft fabric of his high-back chair; his strength leaves him and Iltar suddenly falls asleep.
2
An Uprising
Several hours later, Iltar is awakened by the sound of repeated pounding on his study door. Jarred from his sleep, the necromancer wearily rises and crosses to the door. Iltar smacks his lips and tiredly leans his shoulder against the hard surface, then asks with groggy caution, “Who is it?”
“Cornar! There’s trouble in the city. It’s the acolytes. They’ve started a rebellion!”
“What? What are you talking about?” Iltar pauses and sighs; he swings the door open and growls, “Get in here!”
Standing just beyond the doorway is his guest from the night before, but without his beard. Cornar is dressed in a light gray garb with two weapons sheathed at his waist.
Iltar takes a deep breath then turns from the door, his head hanging from fatigue. The necromancer returns to his seat and slumps while resting his head against the high-back padding.
“Start from the beginning,” the words trail off as Iltar narrows his eyes at Cornar, who walks across the room. “I’m still waking up…”
Cornar stops next to the chair he occupied the night before and says, “As you know, my home in the city is near the hall of the Necrotic Order. This morning I was up early, getting ready for a horseback ride with my wife. We left our home and rode toward the northern gate, passing the guild hall. As we rode closer to the compound I heard the sounds of battle. I told Karenna to go back to the house, then I got off my horse and crept near the gate, where I could see the front of the hall. The guards were being killed in the courtyard by the acolytes and hired mercenaries.
“I wasn’t about to interfere but I continued to creep over to see what was happening. Another set of apprentices and mercenaries were pressing their way through the main doors.
“After the apprentices killed the guards I got on my horse and came straight here.”
“I should have killed them!” Iltar’s anger shows through his groggy state. “How dare they? It’s stupid of them to attack the guild and defy the council. They must know they’ll be punished!”
“We ought to get over there and figure out what is happening. There’s no telling what damage they could do,” Cornar urges, obviously worried, then impatiently snaps, “Are you just going to sit here and rest?”
Looking up at Cornar with tired red eyes, Iltar responds, “I was up all night reading these scrolls. I’m in no mood to deal with those children,” he grunts while waving his hand dismissively.
Cornar sighs and patiently replies, “Well, they’ve killed all the guards while storming the building, they must have a sizable force.
“If we have to I’ll organize my men, but it will take time and by then it could be too late. I say we’ll be more effective at quelling them if just the two of us go in there, like old times.”
The thought of battles from their youth brings a sense of excitement to Iltar and he finally sits up in attention. “Well you’ve convinced me; that does, at least, sound entertaining. And the council would be suspicious of me not appearing this morning when there was an attack... But first we’ll need to secure the treasure you delivered. It will take a while, especially with this scroll,” Iltar points to the parchment lying in pieces on the center of the table.
Cornar hesitates while furrowing his brow; he had wanted to leave immediately but Iltar’s logic was sound. These scrolls
Iltar rises from his chair, painstakingly examining the elven literature in front of him, attempting to find the best way to re-roll the damaged scroll.
Meanwhile, Cornar turns his attention to the world map, examining it.
“Interesting,” Cornar remarks. “I’ve never seen this island before.”
“Which?” Iltar asks without looking up from the aged material on the table.
“The one in the northern hemisphere with the red dot…” Cornar says in a trailing voice while carefully rolling it into its case.
“Ah, Draco Isola. Yes, it was new to me as well,” Iltar says as he carefully rolls the edge of the scroll nearest to him.
The two men continue to store the scrolls within their individual cases and, after an hour of meticulous labor, the relics are carefully tucked away.
Once finished, Cornar briskly walks to the window of Iltar’s study and shouts down to the guards at the tower’s entrance, “Delrin, Jalim! Make ready Iltar’s horse! And be quick about it!”
Amid the shouting, Iltar busily places the old cases into the chest under the table. Upon opening the chest, its contents reveal the most sacred belongings of the necromancer.
Turning from the window, Cornar glances at the various items within the knee-high lockbox. Several of the objects catch his attention, and he reminisces when they were discovered by himself and his friend. Iltar was less hardened then; though tragedy had stung him from youth that time of his life was more jovial than the present.
As Cornar moves to exit the room, thoughts of his old friend still lingering in his mind.
After depositing the scrolls and books, Iltar gently puts the lid on and spins a dome-shaped dial, locking the container. He takes one final step of precaution and casts a quick spell that seals the chest from any outside probing.
As Cornar reaches the door of the study, Iltar rises to his feet and follows him. With haste, the two men descend into the lower floors of Iltar’s barren tower, and out into the brisk late summer morning.
“You know, this could be beneficial,” Iltar slyly muses as the two men pass through the gateway separating the tower’s grounds from the rest of the estate.
“I don’t see how,” Cornar says doubtfully. Shaking his head, he continues to speculate on Iltar’s words. “If you wanted to become head of the council perhaps,” Cornar says as he climbs on his horse, which had been tied to the gate of Iltar’s tower.
The same groomsman from the night before stands quietly near the gate, holding the reins of the necromancer’s black horse.
Casually, Iltar accepts the reigns and climbs atop his steed.
“I should probably enhance our horses?” Iltar raises his brow while adjusting in his saddle.
“That’s obvious,” Cornar retorts and turns his steed around to face the stone path leading to the forest.
Positioned squarely in his saddle, Iltar stretches both his hands toward his and Cornar’s horses and then utters words of the magical tongue among the men of Kalda; beautiful words strung together in an incantation. As Iltar speaks, white magic gathers in his hands; the particles of light that dance beyond his palms wisps toward the horses, wrapping around their legs in a tight fashion before seeping beneath their skin. Both horses
Once the magic penetrates his steed, Cornar blazes past the necromancer, riding with sheer determination down the stone way leading into the forest.
Chuckling at Cornar’s enthusiastic jolt, Iltar kicks the sides of his steed, causing the horse to bolt past the groomsman.
The groomsman stumbles back in surprise and falls to the ground, agitatedly staring at Iltar as he and Cornar disappear into the woodland.