Treachery in the Kingdom Page 11

  “I doubt that,” Duke Gareth states in a proud tone, “I have committed much of our records to memory. I am sure I know this prisoner.”

  Without a word, Dorith darts his gaze toward the duke but continues down the stairs.

  After a brief moment of silence, both grandmaster and duke reach a landing which contains two metallic double doors with two guards stationed in front of them. In response to seeing Dorith and the duke, the guards open the doors.

  “I have already prepared the documentation for the prisoner,” Duke Gareth says to Dorith, “Let me fetch some guards then we can proceed to the Mage-Block.”

  Duke Gareth is the first to step through the doorway, which leads to a large room, the foyer of the prison section of the castle.

  The prison foyer is rectangular in shape with eight plain circular columns lining the space, four on either side. Along the sides of the columns are sconces three-fourths of the way up the pillars, each containing a single light stone. Several hallways branch off from the foyer, two on each side.

  Dorith follows Duke Gareth into the foyer and moves toward the center of the space, with the crystalline encasement right behind him.

  “Wait here,” Duke Gareth says in a commanding tone then turns to his left and walks down the furthest branching corridor.

  Not even a minute passes when a struggling commotion reaches Dorith’s ears. The grandmaster turns around and notices three guards escorting Nath down the stairs and into the foyer.

  At this same time, Duke Gareth emerges from the corridor with four guardsmen. As they come to Dorith’s side they turn their attention toward Nath.

  “This is not fair!” Nath shouts as the guards carry him into the prison foyer. “I did not even have a trial! I am a citizen of the Kingdom and this is not legal!”

  Two of the guards carrying Nath break into laughter and they move toward the left side of the foyer.

  “I highly doubt that, criminal!” the third guard chuckles.

  Nath continues his outburst as the guards carry him toward the nearest corridor and disappear down it, all the while the thief continues his shouting, his last words can be faintly heard, “You know you didn’t try me Dorith! You are a liar!”

  “It amazes me what these prisoners will say,” Duke Gareth shakes his head in a humored manner. “Grandmaster,” Gareth motions to the man on his immediate left, “This is my Captain of the Guard, Captain Alatan.

  “And three of my lieutenants, Redom, Bregad and Sindur.”

  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Dorith nods his head then turns slightly toward the imprisoned Iltar, “When we reach the entrance to the Mage-Block I will relinquish the magic holding Iltar. I can assure you he will attempt to escape. He will be slightly disoriented as the magic fades; when he was sealed within this magic it was during an intense battle, and as he emerges he will undoubtedly be in that same mindset. You must get him through the doorway of the Mage-Block immediately.”

  “He surely can’t utter an incantation that quickly,” Captain Alatan states.

  “Iltar can muster magic without incantation,” Dorith sternly retorts. “A power so devastation it dissolves all it touches.”

  The lieutenants look to each other without a word while both Captain Alatan and Duke Gareth let out worried sighs.

  Amid their dismay, Dorith briefly looks at each of the men, then moves further down the prison foyer, to another pair of metallic double doors at the far end of the space. He reaches for the handles and swings the heavy doors open upon their hinges.

  The grandmaster then looks over his shoulder to Duke Gareth and his subordinates who are cautiously moving across the foyer. Once they reach Dorith’s side, the six of them proceed through the doorway and further into the deepest portions of the prison with the crystalline imprisonment in tow.

  * * * * *

  A quarter of an hour later, Duke Gareth leads his subordinates and Dorith down a wide curving stairwell, enclosed by curving walls on both sides; its ceiling is level with the top of the stairs, giving it a vaulted feel as the stairs descend.

  As they reach the base of the stairs, nearly two stories below its highest step, it opens up into a landing nearly twenty phineals deep and at its far end a metallic double doorway. Two magically lit sconces are positioned a phineal from either side of the doors and are the only source of light in the space.

  Two guards stationed at the doors standing at attention look to Duke Gareth and await his orders.

  “Open the doors,” Duke Gareth commands, “Both sets.”

  Without a word, both guards turn to the metallic doorway. They simultaneously insert keys into each of the metallic slabs then push them open, revealing an anteroom beyond the opening.

  The anteroom is squared in shape, spanning twelve phineals along each side. Two flame lit torches are positioned on the walls adjacent to the doorway. Directly opposite of the doorway is another set of metallic doors.

  Both guardsmen move to the second doorway and unlock the doors in similar fashion to the first then pull them open.

  With the doors open, Duke Gareth moves inside the anteroom while Captain Alatan, the lieutenants and Dorith remain in the landing.

  The grandmaster motions for the crystalline encasement to move to the center of the landing, turning Iltar to face the stairs. As it turns, the four officers gather around it.

  “I’ll get his right arm,” Captain Alatan states as he looks at Iltar’s aforementioned arm which is stretched out.

  Bregad positions himself to grab Iltar’s other arm while the two other lieutenants prepare to grab his legs.

  “Are you ready?” Dorith asks then looks at the captain and the lieutenants.

  “Yes.”

  Dorith then moves close to the crystalline encasement and kneels down on one knee. He looks to a charcoal colored object of hexagonal shape on the edge of the crystalline surface. With his left hand Dorith grips the ornate coin-sized binding device then utters the strange words, “Si’pa ta’k uka.”

  The binding device becomes loose as the crystalline substance encasing Iltar turns from solid mass to flowing magic.

  “Incredible,” one of the lieutenants gasps.

  “You may reach inside the magic and grab him,” Dorith states while still on his knee. “It will not affect you.”

  The grandmaster of the Estate watches as the guards reach inside the flowing magic then Dorith cups his right hand and whispers the words to an incantation; beautifully sharp sounds strung together in tantalizing pattern.

  In reaction to the spell, the magic surrounding Iltar wisps toward Dorith’s open palm and within several seconds the magic has completely gathered in the grandmaster’s hand then fades out slowly.

  The four officers quickly move forward and through the opened doorway but as they do, particles of black magic gather in Iltar’s right hand. However, the magic gracefully wisps away as they passes through the threshold of the anteroom, all the while the dark necromancer resumes his shouting from the moment of his imprisonment.

  “– what you are, drag– Huh?!” Iltar shouts as the officers carry him face-up through the anteroom. Suddenly aware of his surroundings, the necromancer struggles to free each of his limbs while shouting, “Where am I?!”

  “Your final resting place,” Duke Gareth chuckles as he watches his officers carry Iltar through the second doorway.

  Iltar darts a glance to his right hand and splays his fingers, attempting to muster forth the black magic from within his pores but nothing happens.

  “No!” the dark necromancer warily shouts as the four guards carry him through the second doorway.

  “Dorith!” Iltar screams and continues his struggle, all the while lifting his head to face the direction which the guards had carried him. “What have you done to me?!

  “This prison will not hold me! The Au’misha’k is mine to command and I will destroy all you love! Then I will come for you, Dorith!”

  Just as Iltar finishes his br
ief outburst, the guards stationed at the entrance of the Mage-Block close the second set of doors. As they lock the doors, the necromancer’s enraged screams faintly reach in the anteroom and landing, but his threats aren’t discernible.

  Duke Gareth clears his throat as the two guards take up sentinel position at the second doorway. The ruler of the prison castle slowly paces back toward the first threshold and out into the landing.

  “Strange magic you wield,” Duke Gareth observes as he walks up to Dorith who is now standing on both feet and placing the mystical device within an inner pocket of his tunic. “Why would you release him from such an imprisonment? He obviously couldn’t do anything. We could have left him like that in his cell.”

  “That magic has the ability to indefinitely sustain whatever it is sealed to,” Dorith answers then turns around to ascend the stairs.

  “You mean he could live forever in there?” Duke Gareth wonders aloud as he comes to the grandmaster’s side upon the curving stairwell.

  “That is correct,” Dorith answers then adds, “Iltar is a very dangerous man; why would we keep him alive to be revived at some future period, in a time which all of us would be long forgotten? It is not right to burden our posterity with the possible calamites which would befall them if Iltar were to be kept in such a state and released.”

  “Hmmph,” Duke Gareth grunts then says, “I highly doubt that would have happened, we could have taken the adequate precautions. Besides, no prisoner has ever escaped .”

  “This place has been infiltrated once before,” Dorith sternly states.

  Strongly taken aback by the statement, Duke Gareth visibly flinches and grumbles harshly, “What do you know of it…”

  “It was not your grandfather’s fault,” Dorith says without looking at the duke, “And even if it was, you should not take offense to it.”

  “My grandfather was shunned by his family,” Duke Gareth blurts and grabs Dorith by the shoulder, stopping him partway up the curving stairs. “And many others of our Kingdom’s aristocracy because of what occurred; not to mention the loss of his station here.

  “My father grew up in a hovel as a result of it. I lived in poverty and it wasn’t until after I suffered through the wars with Mindolarn that I was able to obtain the rank and station denied and stripped from my father and grandfather. I have worked hard to regain the honor once held by the house of Shem.

  “How can I not take offense to it?”

  Dorith calmly looks into Duke Gareth’s sea grey eyes and blinks once before answering, “My apologies, Your Grace. I did not believe the Witch of Negdan’s death would cause such a stir of emotions within you. However, to add a thought of consolation I doubt anyone would have detected her assassin.

  “Now, why don’t we ascend to your palace abode and partake of the feast you had mentioned,” Dorith changes the subject and continues up the stairs. “I am quite hungry.”

  With a disturbed expression upon his face Duke Gareth sighs heavily and after a brief moment follows Dorith up the circular stairwell.

  * * * * *

  Meanwhile, Captain Alatan and the three lieutenants turn a corner within the Mage-Block, with Iltar still in their grasps. They move into a long corridor with eight metal doors lining the hallway, four on each side. The doors have large curving handles and two small sliding plates of metal; one of the very bottom and the other at the height of an average man’s eye-level. Flame lit torches are placed between each of the doors and are the only source of light in the dank corridor.

  “I will find a way to break this spell!” Iltar shouts and looks at Captain Alatan.

  “That will be the day I am crowned king,” the captain laughs.

  “You are definitely the mouthiest mage I’ve escorted,” Lieutenant Bregad chuckles. “You have quite the tongue.”

  “Just wait,” Iltar snarls and stares at the lieutenant, “Once I break this spell you will regret spewing those words!”

  “Redom,” Alatan says and looks over his shoulder to the lieutenant, “Open his door.”

  The aforementioned lieutenant lets go of Iltar’s leg and moves around the other officers and opens the door on the far end of the corridor, on the left side.

  “We have the ideal accommodations for you mage,” Captain Alatan looks down to Iltar, who is struggling to stand on one foot but the officers pull him up and shake him around. “It has a lovely view of nothing, a third of a phineal thick door and the most uncomfortable cot in the entire prison. Not to mention, it has the most history behind it.”

  “When I get out,” Iltar snarls at Alatan, “I’ll find you first, enthrall you and use your magically enhanced body to slaughter your men–”

  “Quit your threats,” Bregad grumbles and strikes Iltar in the face with his armor glad elbow, all the while still holding onto the necromancer’s left arm. “And let the captain tell you about your new home.”

  Dazed from the hit, the necromancer’s reels his head back and forth slowly.

  “You’re certainly living up to your reputation,” Sindur snickers. “A notorious cell for a notorious criminal.”

  Captain Alatan chuckles then continues his sarcastic overview of Iltar’s prison chambers, “Legend says that a powerful witch died in the same cell where you’ll be staying,” the captain of the guard smiles at the necromancer, “Some of my guards have said, they can hear the cries of the witch when they’ve patrolled these halls, but when they open the door she stops.”

  “It’s ready captain,” Redom calls out and moves to the wall at the far end of the corridor.

  The three officers carry Iltar over toward the now opened cell and stop just before the doorway.

  Iltar struggles to glare at the captain of the guard and Alatan continues his brief horror story, “Now before we put you in, I’ll tell you one last thing. One of my men said he saw her ghost attempt to leave the cell, but as she reached the threshold she couldn’t move through; I’d dare say it’s because of the magic which surrounds this place, or rather the lack thereof.

  “I suppose the same will happen to you when you die.

  “Let’s throw him in.”

  The three officers swing Iltar back and forth then as he sways forward they let go and toss him head-first through the opened doorway. The dark necromancer lands on his back several phineals away from the door and as he pushes himself up from the stony floor Captain Alatan quickly pulls the door shut.

  The captain of the guard pulls back on the handle with all his might as Redom moves to the locking mechanism near the handle and locks the thick metal slab with a large key.

  Just as the door locks, a loud thud resounds against the cell accompanied by an angered yelp.

  The officers lightly laugh and the captain relaxes his grip on the handle.

  Alatan opens the sliding plate at the top of the door and says in a humored tone, “Don’t hurt yourself mage, and I forgot to mention it gets fairly dark at all hours of the day. There is a candle on the table as well as some igniters. Just don’t try to burn your bed or table; unless you want to sleep on cold stone the rest of your life.”

  Another thud resounds against the metal door and Captain Alatan closes the sliding plate.

  “I believe we’ve had enough fun,” the captain of the guard says and walks away from Iltar’s cell door. “It’s time to get back to work.”

  One by one the officers follow the captain and the last slams his armor clad fist against the dark necromancer’s cell door.

  As the last of the officer’s footsteps can be heard down the corridor, Iltar leans against the metal door and struggles to stare around his dark cell.

  “Why can’t I use my magic,” Iltar grumbles and lets out a long sigh.

  A few moments pass when the necromancer’s eyes adjust to the darkness and Iltar can see the faint outline of a table and chair directly in front of him.

  Squinting his eyes, Iltar rises to his feet and slowly edges toward the faint outline and gently searches
the table for the candle mentioned by the captain. After several seconds of searching Iltar’s fingers graze against a waxy surface and the necromancer fumbles around and grabs the candle which barely fits in his grasp. He gropes along the sides of the candle, searching for its wick.

  “There,” Iltar sighs and straightens the wick out with his thumb and forefinger, “Now where are those igniters.”

  With the candle in one hand, Iltar continues to search the table and comes across several small sticks, taking one in hand.

  Letting out a sigh of relief, Iltar quickly moves toward the left side of the room and with the stick in hand strikes it against the surface, igniting a small flame which he in turn uses to light the candle.

  With the candle lit, Iltar turns about and examines the cell. It is nearly ten phineals square. The table which once held the candle is fairly small and is plainly carved out of wood with a matching chair. It rests near the center of the wall on the left side of the space.

  Opposite of the table is a make-shift bed pushed up against the right side of the room; it is a canvas covered mattress resting on a wooden frame a phineal and a half off the ground.

  Iltar snarls as he looks about the space and his eye catches a squared outcropping of stone at the far end of the cell. With a raised brow, the necromancer moves closer to it and as the light from the candle washes over it, he can see a hole in the top.

  “That must be where I relieve myself,” Iltar disgustedly grumbles and walks back toward the table.

  With the light shining from the candle he can clearly see the rest of the objects on the table; a handful of the small igniting sticks are clumped together near the center of the wooden surface as well as a small metal plate with a circular lip centered on the plate.

  “How convenient,” Iltar snarls and places the candle on the plate within the lip.

  Once he sets the candle down he notices the flame leaning toward the left side of the room.

  Puzzled at the occurrence, Iltar quickly licks his forefinger and holds it up above his head.

  “A breeze?” Iltar ponders aloud in a surprised tone. “How?”