“Rumours exist of a sisterhood passed down through myth and legend. A triad of doomsayers that once marked those for death. A name persists though there remains no provenance, Ember Jinx.” Lecture on Myths Lost in Time, Jeremiah Delalande.
“Power acquired by violence is only a usurpation, and lasts only as long as the force of him who commands prevails over that of those who obey.”
Denis Diderot
“I had displeased the Jacobins by blaming their aristocratic usurpation of legitimate powers; the priests of all sorts by claiming religious liberty; the anarchists by repressing them; and the conspirators by rejecting their offers.”
Marquis de Lafayette
This is another short story for this month’s prompt as I explore the world of the Necromage.
Dragon Stone: Ember Jinx
The Necromage held his ground. “You and I seek the same treacherous witch. Different reasons, but the one who stole your Stone.”
Ember Jinx continued to flux in and out of reality. “My sisters care not for your excuses, Mage. That Stone belonged to another. Ours remain where none shall find them.”
Sisters, the Necromage felt unusually concerned. One Mórrígan was all that had been referenced, even in the vague texts he’d read long ago while in the Keep. Matters had just escalated. Not only had Aurelia Wrenn stolen a Dragon Stone, but as yet, he still did not know from whom. The assumption had been Ember Jinx. Now, it seemed she was just one of a sisterhood. Each of whom could hold Stones. Not could, did. His logic suggested there were few worldly places Elder Magi could conceal such. Or another epiphany: were the Elder Magi Stone constructors, or had they discovered what already existed? Little wonder scholars brooded over relics and dead scrolls. Assumptions were the downfall of research.
“Not excuses, Ember Jinx. My anger is not given to you or your sisters. I search for the true owner of the Moonstone.”
Fool, know your enemy. How many more of these phantom queens are there?
The phantom continued to flux. An apparition through which granite behind still showed clearly. “Words from your Dragon do not go unheard, Mage. Nor does your fear of The Black. Once, that one hosted an empire at bay.”
The Necromage knew this phantom queen held more power than anything he had yet encountered. That she knew of The Black suggested many things. Another of her kind might have been the Oracle. That would explain how the Mórrígan knew of his coming. Tact was needed.
“I see that in life, you were a great Queen, Ember Jinx. Perhaps the mightiest of the old civilisation that once built Ang Nafud.”
“Feints and soft talk suit you not, Necromage. Life, as you know it, fails to apply to us.” The phantom’s form was now fluxing between revenant and crow. Another thing that bemused him. Scholars assumed the Prophecy of the Crow meant him, but what if it really referred to this sisterhood?
“You speak true and swift. I am here to seek the one my sister stole a Dragon’s Eye from. That you are here was unexpected.”
“Better Mage. Aurelia Wrenn must pay for what she has taken. That debt is not for us to claim. The Triad wishes you to enter the crypt. There will you be interrogated as to your true purpose here.”
“Has not the Oracle told you this already?”
“Insinuations. That one talks in riddles collects knowledge and pretends to know all.”
The Necromage knew all about enigmatic discourse. That was the domain of Dragons. If so, could the Stone have belonged to the Oracle? It would be a logical assumption, given what the phantom queen had just revealed. But to enter the crypt of one Mórrígan was, at best, foolhardy. Knowing Ember Jinx existed as a Morrígna was akin to entering your tomb. Three crows, all rumoured to foretell doom and stir warriors to berserk while casting fear upon the enemy. Not related to the Prophecy of the Crow, it seemed. The daemon lay in the singular detail. But why had all history erased their reference?
Older than known history, fool. This is a trap.
It seemed The Matriarch had read his thoughts. He stared at the Quartz Stone lodged in his staff. It glowed along with the serpentine eyes that now began to redden.
“To enter your crypt would be a grave mistake, Ember Jinx.”
“Not as foolish as the Quartz Dragon thinks then, Mage of the Dead.”
The phantom continued swirling. It reminded him of the vortex that spun inside his cloak. The cosmos was locked in a weave of enchantment and fuelled by souls that were collected in anger. His mind was now torn about how to proceed. Deeper in this Necropolis lay secrets none had seen since Ang Nafud was rock and desert. This God, for want of a better word, was there when the first block of granite was laid upon dirt. Watched over the building of a civilisation that fled history. Constructed the Necropolis before even the Husk or Elder Magi came to power. Knew of Dragon Stones and, the thought hit like a raging fire, would know of the origins of Tor Angra.
“What can you offer as an assurance of trust?”
“Much Necromage. Is it not your ambition to revest? Slay Aurelie Wren and safeguard the Hatchery for the Quartz?”
“If that cause is common ground, then our ambitions run the same.”
The phantom twisted, throwing spectral light around the chamber. When it settled, three crows lay inside the vortex. Each faced the Necromage, and from the stares, he understood why armies battled to the death under their spell.
“Yet you talk to the dead.” This was Ember Jinx. “Does that make you worthy of our trust?”
So far, the names of her sisterhood remained unknown. No doubt, like the Mórrígan, each would have an ancient name of myth passed out of time and another that made them acceptable to the fodder they controlled. It was a fascinating question. Was he trustworthy? To some, yes; to others, no. It was a commodity that was not freely given. Being wary of all gossip and motives had kept him free on ties and persisting. He doubted the dwarf or elf would say he was credible. Both were lured into his release from the conjurer’s bubble and fell by deceit. Trust between him and The Matriarch was thin at best, yet accepted as part of their nature. Aurelia Wrenn was a deceptive succubus. Was necromancy any better? Perhaps not if you were dead. Once, a Witch Queen fell by the wayside as she was lured away by a man wrapped in a paradox.
“If agreements are made, then they are bound in blood; if that is how you interpret trust, then yes. If you fear necromancy, then mistrust is unavoidable. If you embrace it, then with your talents, we become formidable.”
“Then come to the crypt, and we shall begin to understand each other better.”
The vortex became a maelstrom before ceasing to exist, leaving the Necromage alone in the darkness.
You play a dangerous game, fool.
###
After the phantasmal light from the Morrígna had subsided, the Necromage found the cold darkness of the antechamber soothing. If he was correct, then his sister had stolen the Moonstone belonging to the Oracle, yet had not Ember Jinx said each of the sisterhood held their own Stones somewhere below. Was that the source of their power over others? Three unknown dragons that, if all went well, could be harnessed. With their help in battle, the horde would remain undefeated, and all worlds would fall.
Now that the Morrígna were gone, he decided a return to the Oracle might be more prudent first. One to discover if the Moonstone did belong to that djinn and, if so, offer retribution. The other reason was that if any beast here knew the names of all the phantom queens, that one would be it.
Careful, fool. This is their domain. Nothing on this side of the rune wall will go unnoticed.
Noted Dragon. Yet they knew you by another name. Have you encountered these crows before?
Not directly.
Another indirect answer. Always Dragons evaded answering. Little wonder their kind had little use of governance. However, they would fit the walls of human politics entirely.
I shall tread carefully, Dragon. There is an opportunity here, and much remains hidden.
He turned to retrace his steps toward the Oracle chamber. Aware that the eyes of the crows were tracking him. Names held power, and Ember Jinx had refused to disclose them, suggesting trust was as hard to come by as his own. This might drive a deeper wedge. Yet names could prove invaluable.
Again, he found the construction quality impressive. Everything since that time paled by comparison. Not in the world of men, at least. Dwarves he knew could craft vast underground cities and work metal, which, once combined with arcane smithing, created weapons of great power. Dragon blades, he knew, were relics of that time. Yet their whereabouts were even less known than the Dragon Stones. Another mystery to solve and, if he were not mistaken, the old city of Ang Nafud would have an armoury. What enchanted weapons rested there was worth the time spent trying to forge an alliance with the Morrígna.
He reached the rune wall and found it had remained open. Curious for he was certain it had sealed behind him. Either the Oracle was expecting him, or, a more sinister consideration, something was tracking him. He reached out, Builder. Have any others followed into this place?
Not from the entry passage, Mage. That is now sealed, as you instructed.
Then, from within.
Perhaps. The Necropolis holds many secrets in the depths. Our time here was of the Husk. You will need to interrogate older bones to discover if any other shades exist.
That he could do once the crypt had been visited. Now, he needed to know if there was another revenant on the loose.
His cogitating was interrupter as the djinn rose from the central well once more. “Back so soon, Necromage.”
“Aye. I seek names, Oracle.”
“In exchange, what can you offer as a trade?”
“The witch that stole your Stone.” A test of his assumption after the slip by Ember Jinx.
“Very good, Mage. As I said before, you are not the fool The Matriarch takes you for. Names I will offer, but not for Aurelia Wrenn. She is yours to put down. Return what is mine. That is the bargain.”
“Very well.” It was no easy task, but Stones were safer in the Necropolis and away from those who were unworthy to use them. It might be possible to despatch this Oracle later.
“We shall know if you betray this deal, Necromage. There are creatures here that none have seen since the beginning of time. Of the names, one is Elsbeth Crow. Named to match her title as Battle Crow. The other is Elenwen Vex. Her dominion lies with fertility and livestock. She is the King Maker.”
“So be it, Oracle. The pact is drawn. But one more question.”
“There always is.”
“What followed me through the rune wall?”
“Spies, Necromage. Ghosts and shadows that use the Assassin’s labyrinth. Even I do not know who or what these creatures serve.”
“More secrets, Oracle.”
“You have yet to grasp the age of Ang Nafud and Tor Angra. Their foundations were laid on sites of power already rich in myth and runes that nothing has yet deciphered. Since that time, civilisations have ebbed and flowed, leaving no traces in the dust of their accomplishments. Do not walk this place without caution. It is death.”
The Necromage nodded at the entity in front of him. Much to ponder and new areas to explore. As he watched, the djinn faded once more, and the chamber went dark. In the distance, he could hear the dripping of water.
Builder, what of the Dragon Gates?
One has been found, but it has been destroyed from within. Two more exist, but we have yet to locate them.
Then continue your search and locate the entity that dared destroy a Gate.
He turned, casting his art before him. If there were revenants or ghosts at large, then necromancy would seek them out. He was beginning to tire of unknowns. What had started to seek out the sanguisuge and the resting place of the stolen Moonstone had turned into quest upon a quest. The first of which was to enter the crypt of the Morrígna.
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