'These bad boys can launch a ninety-kilogram projectile over a distance of three hundred meters!' Rorik the Dwarf proudly overlooked the giant trebuchet. 'When I was defending a corridor in Karak Eight Peaks from the gobbos, only one of these crushed hundreds, if not thousands of pesky goblin skeletons.
'And what such a talented engineer is doing under command of a Bretonnian rouge army?' Prince Tyrion stood with arms crossed on his chest. The breeze was waving his long white hair to the side, as they stood on the wall, facing the sea. He wisely chose not to wear his ancestral armor this day, Rahmad noted. These arrogant Elves…
'My wonder of engineering did not receive its credit, and as I stood up for proliferation of the Ninety-and-Three-Hundred Initiative, the council grew impatient and made me chose either career or trebuchets, I crushed the mug against the table and left the hold. Ha!' he enthusiastically rounded his chest and crossed the arms on his chest. These stubborn Dawi…
'We have five of those as of right now,' Repanse began, 'and twelve under construction.'
'Fantastic job, Lady Repanse,' Prince Teclis noted.
'Indeed, brother,' Prince Tyrion hissed, 'now we will have one trebuchet to drown one Black Ark.' The Elf arrogantly looked at Repanse.
He was too tired to wrestle with any of them. Having lived all of his life in Araby, he still did not feel comfortable under the heat of the Sun. It paralyzed his mind and made him feel boiled and weak. Perhaps, the Sun will make short work of the Druchii? He swept the sweat from the forehead.
'Let us not indulge in useless arguments, Prince Tyrion,' Belannaer spoke to Rahmad's surprise. 'I doubt that the Drachau and Admirals argue over the battle pans now.'
'Did you just compare me to the Druchii?' Prince Tyrion raged.
'Yes, sire,' the Archmage's face was calm and concentrated. 'I expected more than that when King Finnubar told me I will be guarded by the great warrior and skilled commander.'
'Guarded?' he exclaimed, disgusted. 'I am Tyrion, heir of Aenerion, and not some puppet he could send to the end of the world to die, fighting Malekith.'
'Careful, Prince Tyrion. Have you not learned what turned a brilliant young warrior from Nagarythe into a monster?' Belannaer's heavy sight judgingly pierced the Prince.
Frustrated, Prince Tyrion turned his back and left Rahmad with Lady Repanse, Loremaster Talarian, Prince Teclis, and Belannaer the Wise.
'Does it have to do with Aenerion?' Rahmad asked.
'Exactly.' Teclis nodded. 'The lineage of the first Phoenix King is cursed. Malekith, Tyrion, me. We are of his blood. Malekith is a cruel dreaded overlord, who wants to usurp the Throne and bestow his merciless standards upon us. I am a cripple who has a hard time walking faster than a three-legged dog and could barely stand in the suit of light armor. And Tyrion… he is destined to do the good and awful deeds of Aenerion and, one day, draw the Sword of Khaine.'
'Let us restrain from the tales of old – we've got history to write,' Belannaer interfered.
'Wise words…' Repanse began only to smile at what she just said. For the first time, she and the Archmage smiled at each other. Rahmad was at a delight to note this.
'Very well, my Lords, and Lady,' he smiled, 'let us meet the city guard captain.'
…
The night fell quickly. He was tired, dirty, and wanted to forget about everything for that short night. His chambers were in his possession once again, and he stood on the balcony, looking at the stars. Must be almost eleven, he judged by the Constellation of a Scorpio. The mint tea with three large cubes of sugar was almost over, as he finished the last shot glass. He always felt that it played a pivotal role in keeping him warm during chill nights of Araby.
He finished off the tea and put the glass to the teapot, standing on the table. The fresh pillows welcomed him, but he knew he must check his diary to see whether his aging mind missed anything of great importance. He opened the book and followed the points with his finger. Stay sober, don't let them know before tomorrow, he sighed, meet the Elves, issue preparations. He picked up a feather and squeezed Hag Sorceress, the Dungeon between the last two lines.
The unsettling imagery of silently screaming skeletons came back to his mind. The void above. They never let him sleep well, ever since he discovered them… well, he could not remember. It was like he saw them as a young boy or already after his prime ages. The chamber always reminded about itself whenever he was left alone or rested. But now, a wizard of great arcane prowess resided in his city. Perhaps, he could give some more answers than just vague guesses they exchanged in the chamber. After all, Belannaer the Wise wouldn't tell anything to a human, however welcoming and strategically valuable he might be.
Now that he got the idea, he wouldn't even dare to touch the bed with any part of his body. For far too long has the chamber plagued his mind, and he will insist that the Archmage of Saphery shares his knowledge. The Elf can't be sleeping, he must be studying some scroll or consulting with the Princes or even Lady Repanse. No, of course not, he was informed of every bit of politics inside his walls. My useless stupid memory, he cursed. With no shadow of a doubt, he put on his boots and followed to the corridors and stairs to Belannaer's chamber.
…
He knocked on the door three times. And again. And again. 'Master Elf?'
Having no patience to wait for response any longer, he opened the door. The chill wind seemed to have quenched the fire of the candles, as the smoke spread towards Rahmad. He came in, closing the door behind. 'Belannaer?' Rahmad wandered across the room until he spotted the Archmage in the corner of the room. Belannaer was shaking like a leaf, his eyes buried under the brows, which appeared to have aged a couple of hundred years. 'My friend,' Rahmad approached and put his hands on Elf's shoulders. 'What can possibly scare the Archmage of Saphery so much?' He tried looking under his brows and was greeted with a Belannaer's wild and scared sight. 'The book,' wizard finally answered.
'The book?'
A note of confusion appeared in Belannaer's wide-opened eyes.
'The one from the dungeon. Don't try reading through it,' he almost whispered.
Now Rahmad's eyebrows arched.
'Do you humans really have such troubles with memory when we are so far from our prime age?'
Rahmad overlooked the room and noticed clusters of tall candles on the table. He came closer to look. Nothing. One more time he examined the room with his eyes that by now should have been accustomed to the darkness. 'What book?'
'Don't play your pesky mortal games with me, Master Rahmad,' Archmage warned to Rahmad's confusion. 'Eyes down,' he hissed.
At the center of the table lied a thick rugged tome. He could have sworn he didn't see it at the table. In fact, he did not remember seeing it in the dungeon.
'Don't you remember anything, Master Rahmad?' the anger in Archmage's voice was replaced with curiosity.
Something put Rahmad's face at unease. He almost felt a headache seeing it. Was his memory that bad?
He slid his finger against the sheet. He couldn't understand the text.
He heard the Archmage stand up and come closer. 'This, my dear ally,' he avoided looking at the tome, 'is a Book of Nagash.'
'Of whom?'
'So your scribes have forgotten… or avoided mentioning him in fear,' Belannaer began, 'I can see why.' Archmage slowly walked towards the window and looked at the stars. 'The great betrayer of Nehekara and the Lord of Undeath.' Rahmad realized how obvious the terror in his eyes must have been. 'There are nine Books of Nagash scattered across the world. The only such text the forces of order know of resides in Altdorf, and that's a copy,' he pointed the index finger at the tome, '…of this. Liber Mortis. The first and the most prominent of the necromancy books.'
Not able to understand why the great mage was so afraid of the knowledge, he asked 'Why don't you seize the opportunity and learn the secrets of the book?'
'The book,' Archmage slightly tilted his head towards Rahmad, 'whispers to its reader. It seeks someone. It wants to corrupt and bend to its will.'
'Why would an object wish that, Belannaer?'
'Because it wants its Master back. And if the book seeks hosts, Nagash will return. Perhaps sooner rather than later. I am afraid, Master Rahmad, it had awoken from the sleep in your dungeons.' Now Archmage was looking at the artifact, he was almost hypnotized by it. 'It not only strives to make new followers but calls to its Master's most loyal servant. Arkhan the Black will be upon us. He will not relent, as now he knows the first step towards bringing Nagash back. Perhaps, the Witch King will battle Arkhan on ruins of your city.'
Archmage must have sensed the despair id sudden realization in Rahmad's eyes.
'Do you really think we could stand a chance against the bane of Malekith?' Archmage's lips shook in a sad smile.
'I vividly recall you saying Lothern Skycutters will arrive tomorrow. And half of the remaining fleet in a week.'
'There won't be anything for them to see here, Master Rahmad. Take a look.' He stood up and welcomed Rahmad to a window with a right-hand gesture. Scared and curious, the old man approached.
'Do you see the neck of the Stallion?'
Two bright stars were nowhere to be seen. 'They are here, my friend.' Rahmad heard Archmage walk away as he was counting the stars in the sky, hoping the Elf was wrong. 'In two days, the harbor will be surrounded by a minimum of seven or eight Black Arks, according to my humble estimations.' Now Archmage's voice was almost calm. 'That is, of course, not including the ones in the rows hidden behind what I could see.'
'You are a knowledgeable wizard, Belannaer. Not that I have met many wizards in my life, but you…' Rahmad pointed his index finger as his eyes burned with hope '…are the Archmage of Saphery. Your arcane prowess is unmatched, and your heart, though an arrogant Elven one, is pure.' He leaned over the table and grabbed Liber Mortis. 'The Witch King must also fear the powers of the book. And if he won't,' Master of Al-Haikk loudly closed the tome, 'we will use it against him. Take it, Master Belannaer-'
Archmage pierced him with the fearful eyes and yelled in agony, 'do not tempt me with its arcane powers, Rahmad the Desperate.' Loremaster quickly realized how emotional he has become and continued with the more tired and milder tone, 'I am not capable of wielding such power, nor am I a pure host for excellency in necromantic arts.'
'Don't make me study the book, wizard!' Rahmad stood his ground. He opened the heavy tome at a random page and looked down and up for a second. Seeing Archmage's shock, he continued. 'We either die here and leave Arkhan or Malekith summon our corpses into the battle, or fight them back with Liber Mortis.'
'Foolish human,' Belannaer fired, 'I would not allow Nagash to return even if I had to sacrifice myself and your entire race!'
The room went silent as Rahmad realized he would never find a solution with an 'ally' who deems him a mere pawn at the hands of the Elves. 'This is why, Master Elf,' he sighed, 'you will not be the one to allow anything.' He turned his back and left the room. He made sure to continue so that Belannaer the Wise could hear his voice, fading in the corridor, 'the Liber Mortis stays in Al-Haikk.'
