Cathexis: Necromancer's Dagger (10 page)

The necromancer brought the hot iron near
the terrified man's face until his victim could feel the heat on
the very surface of his eyes. CAracusS used the tip of the heated
metal to follow the contours of his victim's bound body. The slow
movement of the hot poker allowed his victim to feel the heat, yet
not know where and when it would touch him to burn. When he reached
the man's chest he suddenly brought the poker down. The material of
the man’s shirt burnt through almost instantly. Then the red hot
tip reached the tender skin and the unprotected flesh sizzled
against the hot metal.

The poor man screamed in agony and writhed
with intense pain as he strained against his bonds. The gag muffled
the sounds of his screams. A pitiful mewing sound began after the
hot iron was lifted from his chest and began the inexorable trip
back toward his horrified face and his wide, terror filled, left
eye
.

When the burning metal reached its next
target the muffled sound of excruciating pain again filled the room
and his bound body arched with insufferable anguish.

“Is it the pain that attracts the Darknulls
to the bridge?” Von Dracek asked in a controlled voice, he didn’t
enjoy the man’s pain, but he’d seen men tortured for information
before.

The necromancer replied in a conversational
tone as he applied the hot poker to another part of the poor man’s
body, “No, it’s the suffering of the spirit, the anguish of the
person’s soul that comes with the understanding of his total
helplessness without hope of succor. The Darknulls feed upon the
aura spirit of the living and the agony of a soul is like the aroma
of a succulent roast. The greater the spirit
writhes
the farther the aroma travels within the
Dark Plane.

“I have found that torture brings about the
greatest anguish of the spirit and that attracts the most powerful
of the Darknulls. I have seldom opened the bridge after the
successful mutilation of a conscious subject without finding at
least a Baron or an Earl waiting to bargain for the tortured soul
of my damaged bait.” To punctuate his speech the necromancer
dispassionately applied the hot metal to the inside of the victim’s
right ear.

Lord Jatar stood at the head of a long table
in the palace strategy room with his top military and guard
officers seated on either side. After discussing the Datorian
situation for nearly a full bell Jatar concluded the meeting. “Then
it is decided, Captain Fintok will command an honor guard to escort
Tysol’s party to our borders. Your men must be well briefed on
their necessary conduct; under no circumstances are they to begin a
skirmish with Lord Tysol’s guards. They’re to ignore any
provocation or insult, their main purpose being to act as a buffer
between the Lindankar populace and Tysol’s people."

Jatar's
longtime
Knight Protector answered, "It will be as you
command, milord."

The ruler of Lindankar placed his hand on
his knight's shoulder as a symbol of his support, “I trust you to
take care of this, Fintok. If Lindankar ends up in a war with
Datoria, I don’t want anyone saying that we caused it with the poor
treatment of their worthless ruler. This way any declaration of war
may be somewhat unpopular, and his troops would not be as
motivated. We will have to make sure that the correct story of his
treachery and oath breaking is spread within Datoria; honorable men
will not wish to follow an oath breaking coward."

The officers all nodded or made comments of
agreement.

“Those of you who have an assigned job know
what to do. So unless there are any other questions this meeting is
concluded. Now I must attempt to rejoin my wife and son in the
city. Thank you, Gentlemen.”

The smell of burnt hair and cooked flesh
permeated the room. It all originated from the bloody mass of flesh
on the table next to CAracusS, the necromancer. Suddenly the man
stiffened and then relaxed as his heart finally gave out from the
pain. Major Von Dracek was watching and spoke up immediately, “He
died, is that supposed to happen?"

CAracusS scowled, “No, I need his soul in
his body to attract the Darknull. I've experienced this problem
while torturing men
previously
if
I hurry I can often restart their hearts.”

The necromancer placed his hand, palm down,
a foot above the singed chest of his now still victim and reached
for his powers
from
the darkness.
A small jolt of power arced down and struck the man's chest. His
muscles convulsed in a sudden spasm and he took in a ragged gasp of
air. "There, you see? I've had much practice at restarting a heart;
it takes just the right amount of power," the necromancer
explained.

The once sound human body was again alive,
but the wrecked human flesh would not cling to
life
much longer.

CAracusS lifted his bloody fingers and
closed his eyes to concentrate as he again drew on his connection
to the corrupt powers of the Dark Plane. A rift in the fabric of
reality tore open between the Dark Plane and the palace in
Lindankar. The necromancer only opened a small rift so that nothing
could squeeze through, but communication was now possible across
the void.

Something dark of color, indeterminate of
shape and alien to this world waited on the other side. To Von
Dracek,
it felt as though a
sickness welled up within his body. He felt weak and
ill
as if he had been on his
deathbed
for weeks.

The necromancer spoke to the foulness within
the rift in a commanding voice: “Who comes to bargain at my
offering?”

The voice that replied was not audible in
the way humans hear, it reached within the minds of those in the
room. If Von Dracek had been asked to describe the voice he would
have said it sounded like the bubbling gurgle of a wounded man
choking on his blood, but it really made no sound. The Darknull
communicated within the listener’s mind, and a human’s mind lacked
the means to properly understand the alien information. The words
were clear, but the form of the perceived sound was foul. In an
attempt to make sense of the alien intrusion the imagination
associated the information with the most horrible and disgusting
experiences it could conjure up. No two humans ever heard a
Darknull exactly the same way, but it always sounded horrific.

“I am Baron Qyrmswav; who wishes to bargain
for the souls of humans?” Von Dracek heard the disgusting words
formed from the sounds of wet crunching bugs under bare feet.

The necromancer spoke in a hurried voice to
Von Dracek.

“We’re in luck, a Baron has responded!” Then
louder, to the Darknull, he croaked, “I, CAracusS the necromancer,
possessor of powers from the Dark Plane, called you to this place
to make a bargain for the soul of this human.” He pointed a deathly
pale finger at the tortured wreck on the table and then added, “And
for the soul of Lord Jatar Ardellen, ruler of this land.”

“What do you ask for in return?” the horrid
voice asked.

Von Dracek shook his head as he tried to
clear the disgusting sounds from within his mind.

“That you destroy no one else; unless I give
you leave and that you depart when your task is done or when I
command. Finally, that you come once more to my call if I wish to
try and bargain with you in the future,” CAracusS demanded.

“Then I accept your bargain, human; open
your bridge,” the Darknull commanded.

CAracusS was so pleased with the bargain and
so accustomed to the touch of the Dark Plane that he ignored the
sound of the Baron’s voice in his brain even though it sounded of
ripping skin being torn from living flesh.

“Our bargain is sealed by the power of our
souls, Baron,” intoned the necromancer, and then he concentrated
his power into the rift and tore it open wider.

The grotesque amorphous shape of the
Darknull oozed into the room. Instantly the feeling of sickness
spread to gigantic proportions. Looking at the Darknull caused Von
Dracek’s mind to do the same to his vision as it had done to his
hearing. Trying to make sense of the foul creature caused his brain
to form countless shifting visions of horror as it tried to
compensate for the alien presence. Squashed human heads dripping
brains, floating eyeballs that rapidly swelled into explosions of
dripping gore, huge black teeth that were broken and pointed with
bits of bloody flesh caught between, open sores with oozing yellow
pus running down to drip on the floor. Just as it seemed to take
one disgusting shape, the Tchulian merc’s confused mind shifted it
into a new grotesque vision.

Major Von Dracek had calmly held a
conversation with the necromancer while an innocent victim had been
brutally tortured, yet upon the entrance of the
Darknull,
he backed up against the wall and then
vomited on the floor. Unnoticed bile dripped down his chin and onto
the lapel of his uniform.

The foulness of the Darknull has no
compare.

The necromancer spoke harshly to Von Dracek,
“Get a hold of yourself before you excite the Baron with your fear.
Besides, it’s time for you to find Lord Jatar and send him here to
meet the Baron.”

With visible
effort,
the Tchulian merc gathered the reins of his
emotions and straightened up. He wiped the bile from his slim beard
with the back of his hand. “Yes, I will go do my part, and I’ll
post your guards to make sure he does not get out of these rooms
once he enters.”

With the squashing sound of steaming guts
bursting from a slit stomach the Baron broke into Von Dracek’s
thoughts, “Do not fear that he will escape me once he comes within
my grasp.”

Von Dracek did not answer, he didn't trust
his voice. He nearly gagged again, so he left the room as quickly
as his dignity allowed.

The interior of G’lan’s Temple was
constructed of white marble. Three large pillars stood along each
wall to the left and right of the entrance. Pews lined the hall
divided by an aisle that ran straight to an altar at the front. The
pungent fragrance of incense filled the air.

The young heir to the throne of Lindankar,
Michael Ardellen, lay on top of the white altar surrounded by
colorful flowers.

Ordained Followers of G’lan, in their white
robes and red sash, hovered around like a flock of hummers with
only one flower to service. The High Follower was reciting a
benediction, and sprinkling fragrant red rose petals on the child.
Lady Elizabeth Ardellen stood to the side watching the proceedings
with the careful eye of a mother. The church overflowed with the
city’s populace who tried to get a glimpse of the young heir. They
knew he represented the future of their proud country.

The follower continued his benediction, “May
holy G’lan bless this child, anointing his brow with wisdom, his
hand with mercy and his heart with compassion. In the name of the
Good Son, we bless Michael Ardellen, on this, his first celebration
of birth.”

Elizabeth's mind wandered to her husband as
she listened to the ritual words of the Follower. Jatar was so
proud of his son; she wished he were here to see the way his people
loved their young
shaard
. The
sorceress sent her aura searching toward the palace for signs of
her husband's familiar patterns. Suddenly, as though the wind blew
the smell of rotting corpses into the church, Elizabeth sensed
foulness; she knew that somewhere nearby a Darknull beast had just
entered the world. At another time, with her
mind
this occupied, even her finely trained
Kirnath abilities might have missed it, but her mind was
tuned
toward the palace and that
was the direction of the foul feeling she sensed.

Fearing for her husband’s life and soul
Elizabeth spoke to the Knight Protector seated next to her,
“Becaris, bring the coach around to the side of the building,
immediately.”

He left to do her bidding without
question.

Lady Ardellen quickly went to the altar.

“Follower, I must return to the palace
immediately,” she said.

He could see the urgency in her eyes and
hear it in her voice, “What is the matter, milady?” he asked, his
brow furrowed in concern.

“I can’t explain it, but I must return now.
Tell the people that I am not feeling well and must take my rest.”
Elizabeth then gathered up Michael’s wraps and picked up her son.
She hurried to the side door exit and the other three Knight
Protectors followed her out, their eyes scanning for threats.

A loud murmur started up as the ceremony was
abruptly interrupted.

Seated in the front row of the congregation
the third conspirator’s eyes narrowed in surprise, something was
wrong, but
unfortunately,
for
him,
he was in no position to
interfere. He just had to hope the Sorceress would arrive too late
to make a difference. He stood and worked his way toward the exit.
Things had changed and he needed to get in contact with his hired
assassins so that they could be redeployed.

In the alley outside the
church,
Gustin opened the door of the newly
arrived coach and Lady Ardellen quickly entered. She spoke
hurriedly to the knights: “To the palace as quickly as you can, a
Darknull has entered our world and I sense its foulness coming from
the Palace.”

The knights got the carriage underway as
quickly as possible. Elizabeth appeared calm as she gently rocked
Michael. He began to cry, either from the jouncing of the carriage
as it hurled down the road or because he had sensed his mother’s
troubled feelings. She crooned softly to her son, but her worried
thoughts were with her husband,
Oh Jatar, why am I away from
you? With both duty and
love,
I am sworn to protect you from the Foul Realm.
Jatar, my love, hold on, I’m coming. I can’t live without you!
Please,
G'lan
let me be wrong!