Epilogue

The wraith king stepped through the city gates and into the ghost town of Gnostgate. In the most literal sense of the term, Gnostgate truly was a ghost town, for only the dead dwelt here. The buildings in the center of town stood only by virtue of chance. The once beautiful town square was abandoned, trashed, and silent. Structures were crumbling into the streets beneath them. The brick path that guided the way through town was only partially visible beneath the overgrowth.

The night was heavy. A moon, nearly full, was trying to pry itself from behind a black cloud which loomed heavily over the old city. What little it managed was the only light to don the city streets. But that wasn’t a problem for Rogha. His dead eyes could see things the living could not. How fragile it was to be alive. He had been liberated in death. Yet here he was, walking among the living, robbing the grave of its toll.

How ironic, he thought. If anyone deserved the price of death, it was he. He knew what he had done, and he knew he deserved death. But this was a gift, not a price. He knew death would have its payment, but he could deal with that later. For now, at least, he was unstoppable. And for now, he had confirmed what he feared was true. That’s why he was here. That’s why he had come to Gnostgate. He must know.

Rogha stood before one of the old buildings. Just as the others beside it, the old building stood, barely, crumbling to the ground below. Rogha looked up at the old building. The wind blew and caught his black cape. His golden epaulettes glinted in the moonlight. The pale light served only to accentuate the death that etched Rogha’s face. His eyes were as gray as cold steel. And though his body had been restored to him by King Seevus, his cheeks were still sunken. There was no mistaking him for someone who still breathed the air of the living.

Rogha stepped slowly forward. His steel-clad greaves clinked and rattled against the brick walkway. With every step he took, an echo pinged off the buildings around him. His was the only sound in all the city. He reached for the old door and pulled. For an ordinary man, the door would have proven to be a challenge. Not so for Rogha. He freed the door from the jam it had created, and the old hinges screamed in the silence of the night. Rogha permitted the dust a brief second to settle itself, and then he stepped into the old building, his boots issuing a loud thump for each of his deliberate footfalls.

Rogha scanned the room intently, and then he noticed the symbol. He made for the corner where the symbol was etched into the floor. He snorted in disgust. The necraphymian symbol for hope was scratched into the floor. It was so naïve. The old man thought he was the only one who could activate the door.

Rogha placed a knee on the floor and touched the symbol with the tip of his forefinger. He felt a surge of heat, and then the doorway appeared. Rogha peered down into the dark tunnel that appeared before him. He waved his hand out in front of the staircase, and a string of sconces on either side of the stairs obediently ignited, lighting the path below him.

Dreading what he knew he would discover he began to descend. The image of the new Allddelan king was burned distinctly into his mind. He did not know the man. But he was positive the weapon he wielded was the Cane of Alldel. He had debated whether he should even come to check on the cane, knowing he was right. He was never wrong. He knew what he had seen that day on the battlefield. The old man had somehow slipped past his defenses and had been allowed to take it. He had counted on Seevus to deal with the old man. It appeared that he would have to see to that job, himself. The old king did not seem able. So weak… He thought to himself of Seevus.

With an echo, and the chink of metal, his feet reached the surface below. It took him only a split second to confirm his suspicion. The Staff of Alldel was indeed missing. He swore under his breath, though why he did, he did not know. He knew it would not be there. Perhaps the realization of a mere idea was more frustrating than the idea itself.

He moved slowly across the stone floor, his boots rattling each step of the way. It was quiet down here. He could hear the swishing of his cape, the rattling of his epaulettes, and the chink of his armor with every step he took. Rogha approached the plinth where the staff once stood. He remembered trying to steal the staff himself. He was unable to lift it. The old man had been successful in keeping it safe. Rogha had been foolish to trust the guardians of this hall to stop an attempt to steal it. His orders had been explicitly clear. Allow them to get their hands on it, and then kill them.

How had they escaped? That much he needed to know. He needed to understand how two mortals had managed to escape the necraphym. He stood on top of the plinth and scrutinized the room. There was one way in. That meant there must only be one way out. The necraphym would have been bound to that rule as well. That meant the old man would have had to go through the necraphym to escape. But how had he done that? It seemed impossible.

He turned and walked to the far wall opposite the staircase where he had entered. About halfway across the room, he stopped. A rustling sound caught his ear, and then he heard a deep rumble of a growl. He turned back to face the staircase. Before him stood the three beasts, towering no less than seven feet high, their wings folded neatly around their bodies. The necraphym had come to greet him. Seeing this as an opportunity, he decided to question them about the escape of the intruders. If he did not like their answers, he would have to kill the necraphym himself. They could not stand against his power.

“Hello Rogha.” The being in the center was first to speak. His voice boomed deep and rich throughout the chamber. Rogha said nothing, but walked toward them, not a single concern on his face. “I suppose you’re looking for it.” The necraphym continued. Still Rogha did not speak. He continued to approach them. A scowl marking his face.

“Perhaps you already know where it is.” Another one of them said. His voice was higher pitched, but just as impressive. Rogha’s gaze met the second beast.

“Perhaps I do. Barohque seems to be more informed than you do, Badhul. And here I was thinking you were the brains of this little gathering of yours.” The beast called Badhul scowled at Rogha.

“I wouldn’t be so…”

“But perhaps Brodhon is the wisest of you all. He stands there, silent, and observant.” Rogha looked at the third beast, who was, as Rogha said, standing in silence. He was, no doubt, much larger than his two brothers. He said nothing.

“Your human armor can’t withstand us.” Brodhon said. Rogha glanced down at his armor, as though checking to see that it was still there. He snorted in mock distaste.

“If you think I’m wearing this armor because it will somehow protect me, you’re mistaken. I don’t need armor to withstand the likes of you.”

“Enough.” Badhul raised his voice over the others. “Why are you here, Rogha?” Rogha glared at him as though sizing him up to his query.

“First – and let me be quite plain – I don’t owe you anything, beast. I owe you no riches, no favors, no allegiance, and I certainly don’t owe you any answers.”

“Be careful who you taunt.” Barohque interrupted him. Rogha continued as though he had not.

“But even if I did, I’m certainly not going to waste my time giving answers to questions, the likes of which you already have an answer. I charged you with one task. I asked you to kill two humans. I asked you to kill two…” he punctuated each word with an intended step toward the beasts, “Pathetic…” he stepped again, “Humans! They neither posses your strength, nor your speed! They had no intelligence of your presence. You not only out-classed them on every physical front, but you also had the element of surprise on your side!”

“ENOUGH!” Barohque shouted. Rogha stopped. Barohque’s voice boomed so forcefully, the walls of the cavern trembled, and dust shook loose from the stone around them.

“Do you have something to say?” Rogha asked him after a moment’s silence.

“We have suffered you with great patience. We are not yours to command, yet we play along with your every whim because we want the same thing. But I warn you, Rogha, if you can’t remember your place in this arrangement, we can certainly reconsider our alliance.”

“You wouldn’t dare oppose me. You know my power. You know what I can do. You knew me before we were brought to this world, and I am no different for being here.”

“Nor are we!” Brodhon growled. Rogha ignored him.

“What is it you’re after?” Barohque asked him.

“We have discussed this before. I have no intention of sharing that with you.” Rogha answered him.

“Maybe it’s time you reconsidered your position on that.”

“And why is that I wonder?”

“The situation has greatly changed.” Barohque said.

“In what way?” Rogha asked.

“Like you don’t know,” Barohque said. Rogha’s voice rumbled in an irritated growl. Barohque indulged him.

“The Staff of Rhodhinia. It has changed hands, yet you still seek more.” Rogha stood in silence, sizing them up. He made up his mind. If he were honest with himself, he knew he would require more from the necraphym in order to accomplish his goal. This he knew, and it seemed they did too.

“What do you know about the workings of these stones?” Rogha asked him, yielding to their persuasion. Barohque allowed a satisfied smile to etch its way across his demonic face.

“More than anyone,” he said, Rogha scoffed.

“Of course, more than anyone! Who do you think I am? That doesn’t help me one bit and you know it. Why else would I be asking you if I didn’t already know that you were the highest authority on the gems?”

“Are you finished?” Barohque asked him. Rogha, who was usually collected and calm, attempted to settle his nerves, but said nothing.

“If it can be done with the gems, then we know of it.” Barohque answered him. Silence, again, filled the cavern. And then, he couldn’t help it, a smile began to spread.

“Good,” he said, simply. “Good, I need your help.”

“With what, precisely?”

“I want the Staff of Rhodhinia destroyed,” Rogha said.

“What?” Barohque asked in shock. The other two necraphym assumed postures of both surprise and curiosity. “Why?”

“Because it is inefficient and weak. I want it dismantled, and I want its power harnessed through a much more effective medium.” Barohque looked at Rogha, as though unsure if they should continue this path of conversation.

“What did you have in mind?” He asked.

“That’s where your expertise comes in. I am no expert on these mechanics. But if there’s a way for it to be done, I know you can find it.” Both Barohque and Rogha stared at one another in silence. Two beasts of power and unknown ability analyzing one another, wondering who would be the first to yield his position on the matter. Both wondering the same thing – if it came to it, which of the two was stronger than the other – Rogha, or the necraphym?

Should you accept your place on the throne as King of Alldel, or leave it to the steward? To some, that probably seems obvious. To others – not so much. In a world where magic is mysterious, unmentioned, and sometimes even disbelieved, and where kings, queens, and stewards rule the world, an ages-old kingdom remains without its king. Heir after heir comes and goes, and no one is able to explain why each one chooses to abdicate to the steward. Some say the line of kings is dead, while others whisper of magic. Some, though few they are, will tell you other kingdoms have interfered, keeping the line of kings from rising in the nation of Alldel. But why?

Adric, son of Cassian, heir to the throne of Alldel has come of age and must answer that very question. Raised as a blacksmith by a family friend, Adric struggles with the decision to take up his place as King of Alldel, and to make matters worse, a neighboring kingdom has confirmed the rumors of the commonfolk, and has arrived just in time to meddle in the afairs of the succession of kings. An impossibly old king brings a centuries-old message that changes Adric’s life in ways he could never have imagined. Adric must decide the future, and perhaps even the fate of the great kingdom of Alldel. Enlisting the help of allied kingdoms and even the mystical nymphs of the Tulusbian forest, some say his actions could start a war among all kingdoms on the continent of Thendor, others say he is resurrecting a long forgotten war from centuries ago.