Dragon Stone: Nafud Dahyl

“It is rumoured that lands to the south hold an ancient citadel. One that housed a mighty empire that ruled in blood with fiery beasts that threw down their enemies. Three crows sat upon thrones casting rune stones that even now remain buried in myth.” Jeremiah Delalande, Lecture on myth and lore.

“Beware the dark pool at the bottom of our hearts. In its icy, black depths dwell strange and twisted creatures it is best not to disturb.”

Sue Grafton, “I is for Innocent.”

“The preacher says to all his men
I hear godly laughter
Can it be the end?
Well I’m on fire when he’s so cold
I hear godly laughter
Let it be the end
Let it be the end”

Fields Of The Nephilim, “Chord of Souls.”

“And as to the death of the giants, wheresoever their spirits depart from their bodies, let their flesh, that which is perishable, be without judgment. Thus shall they perish, until the day of the great consummation of the great world. A destruction shall take place of the Watchers and the impious.”

The Book of Enoch.

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

BLOGBATTLE prompt word Silhouette

Dragon Stone: Nafud Dahyl

The Necromage turned away from the Oracle chamber and again stood just beyond the rune wall, taking in the stone stairs. Eyes were watching him. This he knew from his art. Tendrils of necromancy bled into corridors and chambers. Unlike the other gallery housing the chapels, this one resisted. Around the crypt of the Morrígna, all was a repulsion field extending two levels up and, he suspected, the same in all directions.

This idea was folly. Ghosts and apparitions that even the djinn did not know the origins of. The other wing was secure. Yet even there, the Assassins network might exist. Aurelia Wrenn had awoken the beasts within. Without her interference, the rune wall to the Oracle chamber would remain hidden. Nothing would have risen from the dead sleep. Even the Mórrígan, Ember Jinx, would not have stirred. But where had his sister learnt of the Moonstone?

He needed to leave this place swiftly and visit the Garden of the Dead before she could escape. No easy task because somehow she had vexed all attempts to enter. Now, he had a loose agreement with a djinn and was about to engage the crows in an effort to create an alliance. All instincts said leave. Yet loose ends always returned. He needed to know who was trustworthy and who was foe.

Again, he began the descent. This time, it seemed better illuminated. Almost as if millennia of inertia had been overcome, and old engines had creaked into motion.

Builder, can you reach these levels?

No Mage. These were forbidden and unknown in the time of the Husk.

Frustration built up. Dragon, what do you actually know of this part of the Necropolis?

Only that it is ancient, old myths speak of Nafud Dahyl. A city even older than Ang Nafud. Legend says the crows once ruled a dynasty that swarmed north to found this place. With them came War Dragons breathing death. These created the desert and ruin that was once called Xion ‘Er Shan. You traversed this on your journey here.

Again, The Matriarch hid more than she revealed. Old names that were nothing more than tales passed down through the ages. Now, it seemed they held an ignored truth. Overwritten by Scribes and religions spawned through fear, a desire for power and a reason to control the masses. To think those of the Light assumed their way was better. Folly.

Even the Runes must have a keystone. Something that would translate the cuneiform etchings and old hieroglyphs. Logic suggested this might lie deeper in this arm of the Necropolis, maybe even a map room holding the world on parchment. Perhaps where the dead realm ended and the transition to Ang Nafud began. If so, it meant this corridor would have been guarded well in the deep past. It might still be if what the Oracle said was true. Except most would be ghosts and shadows that his art of necromancy could touch.

He paused just before entering the chamber at the bottom of the stairwell. The keystone would be better protected elsewhere. It was obvious now. Such a decrypter would lie near the old city of Nafud Dahyl. Carved on a great tablet or hidden in some vast rock face that held the history of a race now extinct with halls filled with ghosts and bones. He could challenge these and learn even more in addition to the repository of the Library of the Dead. It was locked behind the Morrígna, meaning visiting their crypt was unavoidable. With the dead God’s will, he could kill two birds with one stone. A curious turn of phrase, given they were all crows here.

Dragon, if all goes well we need to visit the old city.

You play a hand where the odds are not in your favour, Mage. It would be better to seal the Oracle chamber and leave while you can.

Yet you know what lies there, yes?

Secrets best left untouched. It is the land of the Originators. Sky Gods and ancient races that cared little for our world. Some say they were giants that towered over a race of men. Others that they also had an army of the dead spawned from the Underworld.

Would you rather leave this place alone? The Morrígna have woken. What stops them from reaching the hatchery?

Nothing, thanks to the succubus Aurelia Wrenn. For a fool, you clutch at a tactical advantage well. Go then to the crypt after we hunt your sister.

And that cycled back to the accord with the djinn. Return the Moonstone in exchange for naming the sisters of Ember Jinx. The Necromage pushed on. Movement in the walls told him that creatures lurked in what must be the Assassin’s network. That he would unearth on the way back if that were what Fate declared. It would also mean powerful allies would be with him.

As he moved deeper, the difference between the Chapel tiers and here was obvious. One had decayed along with those interred in the loculi. Eroded by time and water. Here, it was pristine, with polished granite and steady light issuing from above. Almost as if something maintained the structure. The Necromage changed tack. Turning from necromancy to sorcery. His assumption was correct. There were layers of perception fields stacked on top of each other. Beneath all was the one preventing him from searching the crypt.

He stood at the opening of another stairwell. If these were illusion fields then what lay underneath might be treacherous. It reeked of ozone as if layers of crystals were compressed, sending pulses to ignite the air. It reminded him of Elder portals and conjurer’s traps. If the descent led to a Gate, then the way back might be compromised.

Builder, are you aware of any differences between this are and the one that held you captive?

Only that the one you stand before is dwarven in origin. They laid the foundation stones of Nafud Dahyl, Ang Nafud and the Necropolis before witchcraft took them. Some say they awoke even older creatures that became known as the Originators.

The Necromage stood peering into the gloom that penetration of the perception field had revealed. Now, it resembled the other arm of the Necropolis, displaying age and the passing of time. Dryness he put down to a steady flow of air from old ducts and shafts. The thought of a Gate had settled in his mind. Trust in instinct had served him well in the past. Here, it was declaring a trap that was reinforced by the words of The Matriarch.

He searched his senses. Whatever lurked inside the walls was still watching. Whether they reported to the Morrígna or not was unclear. Somewhere below sat more Stones and, with them, the prospect of more Dragons. Meditation tempered his instincts. There was much to gain by continuing despite the reservations. Know your enemy. An old mantra imbibed into the tuition of neophytes within the Assassin’s Guild of the Keep.

There was another pause. Tor Angra should have fallen by now. The confusion field his infiltrators had set broke as he entered the Necropolis. He felt it shudder and crack. Then chaos and new screams bled into his mind as the living became the dead. Through them, he witnessed the horde break through a vast chasm where the great gate once stood. Little did he see beyond the Vault, meaning it was still an unused repository of knowledge. Only one fell to darkness. The dwarf Hoth sacrificed as two fled through the tube wall. One was mortally wounded. The Elder Mage, Cresswell, was chosen and knew not his heritage.

Outside, charred ruins and smoke filled the air. Bodies strewn across the courtyard. He frowned. Something was missing. The Tower of the Amanuensis was gone. It was not broken, simply just not there. It could mean only one thing. A conjurer’s trap. He slammed his staff onto the floor in frustration. If the Librarian lived, then that would be who his sister sought out.

But why cast a Key Master out of time? And who was powerful enough to do it? Elder Mage sorcery was beyond their skill base unless the Arch Mage had discovered the truth behind the Vault.

A voice flooded the chamber. “You need us, Necromage. Our visions have seen futures flexing. Chaos now teeters on threads.”

That was new. Not Ember Jinx. One of the others. It was either Elsbeth Crow or Elenwen Vex. Battle Crow or King Maker. Where was the other? The repulsion field had intensified, blocking all efforts to find the dead. The trap was being sprung. Thoughts of the ice field decay in Tor Angra left him, along with the charred skeletal trees now locked in winter, silhouetted by either sunrise, dusk or moonlight. How to engage the Morrígna was more pressing.

The Necromage felt the temperature falling. Not something that overly concerned him. That he could sense very little was more disconcerting. A sensation he was unused to. Even his sends to The Matriarch or builders were being blocked. This was ancient sorcery from long before the Vault was constructed after fools perfected chronomancy.

Another chamber disappeared into the darkness behind him. In front lay the final steps to the tomb of the Morrígna. Its door lay open as if waiting for him. Shadows danced just beyond it. Cast by the ignis fatuus lights from within. If it were a portal trap the time to turn back was gone. Ozone flooded from the crypt. Behind, he heard the grating of stone as it ground across the floor. This, he knew, meant the path he had just entered from was now sealed.

As he approached the granite doorway, he noticed a vast lintel stretched across the gap. On it were more archaic runes and hieroglyphs. It steeled him that not far away in the old city might be the Keystone that would decipher the cuneiforms. The value of that alone was worth risking everything. To untangle the relics of the Originators themselves. He drew himself up, curled his bone had around the staff and entered.

This time, there were no phantasmal vortices. Instead, Ember Jinx stood behind one of three marble crypts. Each was festooned with runes and pictograms, several of which were corvid and other birds. She was the central figure. Spectral and dressed in a cloak that billowed in an unseen breeze. To each side stood her sisterhood. All eyes fell upon the Necromage as he entered.

“I know you all, Ember Jinx. One is Elsbeth Crow, and the other is Elenwen Vex. Battle Crow and King Maker.” He watched as their eyes flared. Pure white surrounded by jet-black irises. The signature of old crows. Here were the sister’s three fluxing in ethereal light.

“Again, you prove no fool, Necromage. The Oracle will require the debt honoured.” Ember Jinx moved through the sarcophagus as if it were not there, flowing towards him. “If you ever return, that is.”

He stood his ground. After aeons of noise, his mind fell silent. Not even the laments of the dead penetrated the shield. Nothing. Even in the conjurer’s bubble, he heard voices. This was new. “If I do not, then a fool I am proven to be.”

The Battle Crow joined her sister, “You want to defile all worlds, Necromage. Yet you walk into our citadel hoping for our help.”

Deception here would fail. “You speak true, Elsbeth Crow. There are loose ends which alone I cannot tie. I thought the Necropolis was empty. Aside from the dead and ghosts of long ago.”

“This we know. Your sister looted that which was not hers. All arms of this gantry to Hang Nafud awoke in response. Aurelia Wrenn supposed we would crush you once you entered. Traps within traps. The common enemy who wields the Heart of the Dragon.”

“Aye, but does The Moonstone live?”

Ember Jinx flowed around him. “She slumbers within the old metropolis along with three others.”

“I wish to unite the old and new.”

“What can you offer us, Necromage?”

“Restoration of Nafud Dahyl in return for an alliance. Everything south of the Targa Oona remains your domain. In exchange, I seek knowledge of the old ways.”

“We think not, Necromancer. You seek all worlds and tyranny. We hold the advantage. Enough power and death, sufficient to sweep across your world and turn it into dust.”

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Dragon Stone: Ember Jinx