Dragon Stone: Garden Of Death

“It is rumoured there exists a long forgotten cemetery overwatched by a succubus whose name has been erased from history. A powerful sorceress rumoured to match the skills of the Necromage. All that remains is a name given to that place out of fear, The Garden of Death.” Jeremiah Delalande, Lost Obituaries.

“They say it’s better to bury your sadness in a graveyard or garden that waits for the spring to wake from its sleep and burst into green.”

Conor Oberst

One after one, by the star-dogged Moon,
Too quick for groan or sigh,
Each turned his face with a ghastly pang, And cursed me with his eye.”

Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

This is another short story for this month’s prompt as I explore the world of the Necromage.

BLOGBATTLE prompt word perfect

Dragon Stone: Garden of Death

The Necromage waited until the builder sensed his touch. There was relief tempered by fear. Nothing dead liked the tendrils of necromancy binding their sleep. The relief was because the liquid mercury had finally drained from the lake. Aeons of imprisonment set by the husk had ended. The price was a contract with one who bound them to death.

All within the lakebed knew at some point, the husk would return. None were keen on slavery, where even dying gave no release. The lesser of two great evils had at least unlocked their tomb. If combined, they could defeat the husk. There was a slim chance this Necromancer could leave them be. That was a future as yet unwritten.

Builder, the hatchery. You are charged with restoring the engines.

It struck him that he had not uncovered an entry portal. Neither Matriarch nor The Black could pass through the small passage leading from the desert. Would she trust the husk’s minions to carry her eggs? He thought not. That meant there were other Gates.

Understood, Mage.

And what do you know of secondary Gates?

The reply was not swift in returning and did not come until the Necromage had entered the atrium of The Chapel of the Dead.

We are not well-versed in such. Others hold answers.

The Necromage sent a ripple through the Underdark. They spoke true.

Fool, you are in a library. The Matriarch sounded scathing. He was growing suspicious again. If The Black were her mate, then other alliances would form. Ones he could bind by controlling the hatchery.

Betray me, Necromage, and you will lie in this mountain. We shall smite it down and leave you to rot.

A skeletal hand gripped the serpent staff. A card in the new deck was played. Why so defensive? A probing question designed to test the Dragon.

You cast the dead to guard the hatchery, fool.

To protect the eggs, Dragon. The builder has revealed that more Gates exist. They need sealing.

He continued walking through the debris of aeons. Mould and dust stirred as he trod upon millennia of ruin. Care was necessary lest more rune slabs failed. Long-deceased architect’s traps were designed to catch unwary travellers who trod upon ancient trigger mechanisms.

Then throw distrust aside, Necromage. Our enemies feast upon it. Long has been our alliance. Find these Gates and turn them to rock. All except mine. Then, collapse the old entry passage. You have the Dragon Heart Stone. Use it well on the last portal.

Suspicion sat well with the Necromage. Lack of it had sent many to an early grave. It was too easy to violate those too eager to believe anything, including hearsay. Such fools lay collected in the library of the necropolis.

I learn distrust from you, Dragon. Thus far, it has served us both well.

He heard The Matriarch snort in disgust. Do you sense it?

The Necromage stopped at the entrance to the gallery beyond the Chapel of the Dead and let his mind feel. Those in neighbouring cubicula crawled to the furthest recesses in their loculi. It offered mild amusement until he touched something that shrank away. An essence from long ago.

Not it, Dragon, but her.

This time, The Matriarch vented her Dragon’s breath into the skies. Is she not shackled in the Garden of Death?

Prophecies are circular. If she has touched us, then mistrust will fester. It is her way.

And it means she is attempting to escape.

The Necromage considered this. Leaving her conjurer’s bubble required an outside force. Who might be capable of such? His train of thought was interrupted.

Mage, the engines are living. Centuries of stale air is now venting. There was a pause as if expecting a rebuke. Aurelia Wrenn has been here before.

This time, the Necromage found his anger. When builder?

Long ago. She sought the hypogeum.

Why have you withheld the presence of an oracle chamber builder?

Priorities, Necromage. This place is vast, and much remains unsullied. Beneath the sands of time lies the city to which this Necropolis served.

More and more did this twin Tor Angra. The Keep was secondary to the vast chambers stacked upon each other, and his research there had suggested the presence of cities older than the Elder Magi. To learn one lay hidden near here was a revelation.

We shall speak more when I reach the hatchery. Gates need sealing, and the entrance tunnel requires collapsing. The enemy draws near. I wish to learn what my sister sought here.

Silence greeted that statement, not through ignorance of the builder but through deliberate termination of the connection. The Necromage needed to be alone with his thoughts. A Necropolis always supported a citadel. The living needed a dead place. That he should have remembered; it was the scale that turned his thoughts away. Like the Keep, this relic was ancient. Both were vast. Both libraries, for want of a better term. One held books, and one the remains of what once lived. This library was far more valuable for knowledge. No faded scrolls or unreadable parchments. Real lore came straight from those who wrote it.

As for Aurelia Wrenn. It was by his hand that she embraced the Garden Of Death. She was dangerous and unpredictable. Some said she was insane, yet she was a powerful sorceress and used her charms to achieve her ambitions. Two matters troubled him, one that she had been here before and the other learning she was moving. That meant she had found a foil to escape her prison. That, in turn, meant an Elder Mage. Anger returned. Tied loose ends that were fraying. New ones were becoming albatrosses. The husk needed watching, The Black was chaos personified.

There was a thumping on his mental shield. The builder sounded agitated.

What is it?

Aurelia Wrenn sought the Moonstone. The Elder Magi hid it deep in this Necropolis below the hypogeum. It was found.

The Necromage gripped his staff. She bore a Dragon Stone and kept it hidden from him. Rage turned, and a saying by some Priest burned his mind.

“The Phoenix got it right. Live long, die in flames and from the ashes be reborn. Rather elegant, don’t you think, given our disposition to become old and decrepit.”

Father Jacob, from “A Study on Humanity,” The Necromage remembered that well, back in the early days when he studied at the Keep. A ruse to learn how the Vault functioned. It struck me that this Priest had a flawed chronology. It fluxed and created a tear in time. Through this, he saw him fall to death by a sanguisuge.

Does the chamber still hold an Oracle?

A mute question, he could extract that information from any one of the Elder Magi collected by the husk and stored in loculi.

We believe so, Necromage.

The shroud fluxed as his mood changed. It was feeling like he would overspend time in this place. Outside, storms were gathering, none of them perfect. Still, he had now reached the primary antechamber. The air was fresh, meaning the builders had corrected the engines. It also meant that heat was being restored to the hatchery in preparation for Dragon’s Breath.

Builder, is the way to the hypogeum free?

It lies behind the rune wall at the rear of the hatchery.

Find me the Dragon Gates, then secure the entrance.

As you wish.

The Necromage moved through the hatchery, noting ten eggs were now pulsing. Four were dead. Ahead was the rune wall. Old markings that belonged deeper in time. Did that mean it had been tunnelled up from a lower chamber? Or perhaps a door.

What lies below the hypogeum?

Much Necromage. There is an Assassin’s tunnel labyrinth. So, secret that only one here knows their full extent.

Then, I need an introduction builder.

It is a sorceress named Ember Jinx. One that lived in the citadel and was lain to rest deep in this Necropolis.

Earlier than the Elder Magi. The Necromage noted lain to rest and not part of the collection generated by the husk. She would know olde magic and much about Dragon Lore. It seemed his destiny was now intertwined with this place of the dead. But first, he must find where the Moonstone lay hidden and see if this Oracle knew more. If his sister did hold a Dragon Stone, then she must be turned or destroyed.

Matriarch, the hatchery functions and awaits your breath. My sister seeks to escape and holds the Eye of the Moonstone.

The Black is tasked with finding The Moonstone. She is one of his kin. Another chaos, Dragon. Both must be destroyed once the eggs find life.

Not allied to The Black, merely using it to guard the eggs. Such was the loyalty of wyverns. A shame as The Black would make a valuable asset if drawn to their cause. An impossible act, maybe, but a challenge, nonetheless.

Find out who assists Aurelia Wrenn.

Open your mind, fool. Prison to prison. The one you seek comes from Tor Angra.

Runes bled across his eyes. Many were aged and worn, giving suspicion that those were the ones used most. But which order? Traps he had already witnessed in the Chapel chambers. Now, it seemed he had another mind to seek out. Tor Angra meant the Keep, and that led to Key Masters of the Vault. But which one? That could wait until he had visited the hypogeum. If the Oracle still thrived, then answers might lie there, and if not, Ember Jinx could provide other solutions. One way or another.

He reached out and found a cowering Elder Mage. Do you know the combination Mage?

No, Necromage.

Always, they began with denial, forgetting that taboo arts could wean truth before any words were spoken. He reached out, locking the Mage in the grip of ethereal chains. These he caused to shrink and wither. The Mage screamed in agony, a noise only the dead could hear. It served as a reminder. Try again, Mage.

The answer was swifter this time. Deceit ripped from the Elder Mage. The Necromancer let the chains fall free and heard the dead bones quaking in their dead bed. Better.

He cleared his mind and opened the rune lock. Deadlocks groaned as millennia of dust were ground to nothing. Such was the skill of the builders that rock slid against rock with no gaps. Once aged inertia was overcome, the engines ran smoothly. Behind lay more steps. Unlike the main chambers, these showed no signs of decay. Weathered only in the riser centres from centuries of footfall. It was as if time here had paused, waiting for the next visitor. Except long ago, another had been here. But from where had Aurelia Wrenn discovered that the Moonstone lay hidden in the Necropolis? Did she know about all the missing Dragon Stones? Secreted away and unseen by any. The name alone caused anger to fester.

The stairway ended in a corridor that self-illuminated as he passed through. More lost skills dripped away as old turned to new. This passage, in turn, opened into the hypogeum. If the Chapel chambers were large, then this place surpassed them. It was vast, and shadows fled into the distance. Even close by, he could see micro-tunnels branching left and right. These he assumed belonged to the Assassins Network.

In front, there was a vast circular dais. This he approached with care, aware that something was watching. A deep voice echoed around the chamber as a violet glow emerged from the centre of the rostrum.

“I have waited for you, Necromage, brother to Aurelia Wrenn.”

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Dragon Stone: Aurelia Wrenn