Joel Weichs Levy and Daniel Olarnick
Prologue
The Omniscient Voice: “Many tales are whispered of the warlock known as “The Dark Conjurer” when campfires grow dim and men's tongues are loosened by spirits poured out of witches' bottles, the tales spring forth as a vision.
“Some claim that he came from the Isle of Thule off the coast of Brocalinde, exiled by the queen of that land, but none of the tales surrounding him are true-or are they?
“Others claim that he began life as half elf, despised and rejected by both his parents.
“Some say he turned to the black arts for revenge against a world that rejected him. They say his study of dark magic had warped him body and soul.
“His victims ranged from a simple shepherd girl who had refused his advances and reported them to a magistrate of her land, to a to the noble duke who had ordered his arrest and the trial that led to his conviction and sentence to death by burning.
“Yes, of course, he escaped. After all, he was not called a shadow walker for naught. No prison could hold him prisoner. He escaped in a mysterious way, leaving the prison warden dead from self-strangulation.
“His revenge was merciless and warped. The shepherd girl was carried off at night by a creature from a hellish dimension, raped and savaged, yet she lived long enough to give birth to a far more terrifying creature than the one that sired him.
“The duke found a wooden replica of himself constructed of the backbone and hair of a hanged man in his bed. The duke slowly sickened and died in great pain; his royal physicians and chanting priests helpless against the Dark conjurer's deadly magic.
“Now, for reasons unknown to the teller of this tale, which seems impossible, yet true, the Black Conjurer targeted four assassins known as “Riders of the Night”. His motives would remain known only to him and the thoughts of his evil mind, but possibly nothing more than the pleasurable feeling of danger that he finds in life and death struggles.
“The Dark Conjurer instigated a raid upon the Night Rider's hidden cache of ill-gotten treasure, aided by a band of rival assassin minotaurs. These bovine bandits have now returned to their lair in the hidden valley of Skull Mountain. Little do they know the fate that awaits them.
*
Chapter I
“Coming through” shouted the guard in the lookout tower, as he spied a black funeral coach, its driver whipping its team of four matched red horses, as it turned from the Kings Road, in toward the Black Dragon Inn.
Stable boys ran to hold the horses and aid the passengers to climb out.
“You there, scribe”, beckoned the slim young man who emerged from the coach, followed by his tall, turbaned manservant. “Could you lend my driver a hand carrying my luggage and these sacred funeral urns into the inn? I am loath to let them out of my sight.
“Certainly but I am not –“
“Thank you. That's a good fellow.” He pressed a silver dwavern coin into the scribe's hand.
The young man carried no weapons, but his turbaned bodyguard was fully armed with crossed scimitars.
A rough looking man riding next to the driver carried a heavy crossbow.
Two sorts of men travel unarmed, the scribe mused, those who prefer to let others do the fighting and a few who are so dangerous that they have no need of ordinary weapons.
*
“Welcome to the Black Dragon Inn, young noble,” said Karl Strange, as he pushed forth the registry for the young man to sign.
“I am not a nobleman but an alchemist traveling to visit a number of customers and patrons in need of my special potions and elixirs. The alchemist signed the register as ‘Jonathan Traveler.'
“I may have many buyers calling upon me here, two in particular, an Amazon mercenary and her husband. I would appreciate your informing me if they arrive.”
“I will have you informed of their arrival,” said Karl with a sigh of resignation.
A golden double dragon was pressed into the palm of Karl Strange. “Your discretion will be greatly appreciated, Master Strange.
“As to lodgings, I shall require your finest room for myself and an attached room for my servants. We shall take our meals in the common room with the other guests.
“Hot water for a bath would be most welcome; along with the services of a laundress and a seamstress, which will be required. As you can see, my rather expensive black and orange cloak and hose have become dusty and frayed on my journey. Satin was a poor choice for travel garb, but I wanted to keep up appearances. Perhaps your seamstress could make for me some clothing of wool or leather,” Jonathan Traveler droned on.
“All can be arranged for your pleasure at the Black Dragon Inn,” said Karl, knowing that trouble was soon to follow this alchemist.
Chapter II
The Dark Conjurer had procured the services of a roving band of minotaurs to raid the treasure trove of the Night Rider's hidden cache of their ill-gotten gains.
“He who steals from a thief fears no one,” he wrote on their wall, as he watched the minotaurs despoil the assassins' lair.
They had escaped back to Skull Mountain, where the Dark Conjurer handed them their reward: A potion to drug females with, to make them more receptive to breeding, and then he parted from their presence.
“Little do they know that they are getting more than they wished for,” the Dark Conjurer thought to himself, a smile crossed his face.
*
The four assassins gazed in disbelief at their despoiled home and smashed treasure chests.
The most valuable of their treasure was gone; their lair had been wantonly broken into. A frenzy of destruction had taken place.
The final insult that only a minotaur could think of: Defecation – a stench that would last for a lifetime.
There was also a doggerel verse signed by The Dark Conjurer.
“Welcome home! Bathe yourselves in Minotaur droppings.
“I am off to Talos Valley. Follow me, if you dare. Do not delay or dally, because I will be awaiting you. Your treasures are safely in my possession.”
*
Lamas, the band's leader, took up the note, passed it around. “We have to kill him now. More important even than the theft of our treasure, is he has made us a laughing stock among our own kind.”
The stench of the minotaur droppings made his eyes tear.
“If he has fled to Talos Valley, with our treasure –“
“He flees to Talos because that is where his magic is strongest. He'll hide himself there and sell our treasures and his services to the highest bidder.”
“He'll conceal himself.”
“But he cannot conceal the urns.”
Dworic, the tracker, took up the note. “The Dark One's sense of humor has betrayed him. I have his scent from this note. He cannot hide from me anywhere on Volante.
“I shall leave at moon rise to find him. We'll follow him to the ends of Talos and beyond,” he swore on his assassin's knife.
*
The Tower watchman of the Black Dragon Inn had seen more than his share of female warriors, but the woman who rode through the gates was simply awesome. She was a pure full-bloodied Amazon warrior, six foot five inches, armed with a halberd that was nearly as tall as she stood when she rode through the gates.
As she rode down to the stable area, she removed her light battle helm allowing her dark red hair to cascaded down her frame serving to accent her Amazonian face.
Her mated husband, a handsome dark-haired male, had registered them in as “Lamas and Elvira Mercenaries-for-Hire, on their way to a new assignment, attended by their broker Muddon. The scribe carefully noted their arrival and inscribed a virgin gemstone with an ancient inscription.
The evening's meal of mutton-rib stew and duck dumplings was a long-time favorite of Dora's and Raven's Blood Wine usually followed by an evening of music, knife throwing contests of strength for drinks, and much flirting for the inn's female servants and guests picked out the males and females that were found to be most attractive. Dora was pleased. The inn would show a profit this quarter to help fill the levy imposed Captain Strange by the King's taxman.
Of course, no death fights were allowed nor outright drunkenness would be allowed to mar the evening, not with Captain Strange and his loyal riders of the Stallion Patrol.
*
Muddon circulated among the other servants privileged to share the common room with their employers and local nobles. It was a well-known policy of the Black Dragon Inn that all were equal under the roof of Karl Strange...
Buying the occasional drink and losing some small coins in betting upon the knife throwing made him a popular companion.
He soon found out that a rich, young alchemist had arrived at the inn with three servants.
No one had seen the grizzled older man who had ridden as lookout upon the coach since its arrival.
After losing a small silver amulet to the alchemist's driver, Muddon learned that the guard was a recent hiring who traded his services for a ride to Talos Valley rather than coin for his services. “He was a strange one, he was, with the darkest eyes you will ever see, as he peered out from his riding mask. Never took that damn thing off. Damn near talked my ear off, too
“He said he knew of a widow who would take him in, lived somewhere in the underground city around here.
“Pleasant enough at the stopover points, though. He amused us the whole way, talking about his conquests in love and war. Judging by the way he looks, that widow woman best worship the One-Eyed Demon of War cause he going to love her plenty,” the driver downed ale and concluded with a slurp of his lips and a wink from his eye, “If you gets what I mean.”
To the chagrin of the male mercenaries, Ginger Sadowa, the former assassin, who now hunted the warped beast men who plagued the valley, won the knife-throwing contest. Her companion, a priestess of Sif, made a tidy sum betting on her.
Muddon slipped out of the Black Dragon Inn to meet with Dworic, the Lycan assassin, who had lost the scent of the Black Conjurer.
Dworic knew their adversary had ridden to Talos Valley atop the funeral coach.
“The driver's seat reeks with his scent, but I can not follow the scent any further. There is something about the inn and its grounds that are fouling the scent. I feel light headed and a bit sickened. My Lycan abilities seem not to work here. Perhaps, there is some spell upon the inn protecting it from my kind.”
The scribe approached his room, placing the virgin gemstone upon the tripod which sat by his window, facing the rising moon. A stylus appeared from beneath his sleeve. He smiled as he etched and he wrote …
*
Chapter III
In caverns deep beneath Talos Valley, a dragon stirs in its sleep, sensing the workings of dark magic spells near at hand.
*
The alchemist's turbaned servant Meatus, did a brisk business in the common room that afternoon selling potions to road weary travelers. The real show would begin tonight while his master rested in his luxurious room awaiting the arrival of some truly wealthy patrons. The inn's seamstress was hard at work preparing a new suit of clothing befitting his Masters appearance.
“You there, Meatus, perhaps we can strike a deal with you. We require a poison to eliminate a man or a half elf that has developed immunity to all the usual poisons both metallic and plant based. The man also possesses many spells of healing. So its effect must be almost instantaneous”.
“Yes, of course, my master can contrive this,” said Meatus in a whisper to the Amazon and her man-thing husband, as he accompanied them to the suite. “Wait here, please.”
He closed the door behind him, whispered the requested potion to his master. The alchemist nodded, held up three fingers, and Meatus began a mental count before opening the door to the Amazon and her companion.
The entered the darkened room, candles flickered and they could see the alchemist as he searched a table covered with scrolls and finally chose one. He read aloud for several minutes, in a language that neither the Amazon nor her companion could recognize. Meatus appeared and brought forth a carafe of red wine, poured three glasses. The alchemist approached them, obviously in no hurry to speak; he bid them to sit down.
“This is extract of tarantula venom that may suit your requirements. The victim will die within a few moments from heart failure, but even before death, the venom will paralyze his vocals. Thus, he will be unable to utter a spell or drink a potion.
“To maximize its effectiveness, the venom should be injected directly into the heart or the center of nerves at the base of the neck. I believe a blowgun and tainted dart will suit those purposes, but that would be your problem though, not mine. I only supply the means to an end.
“The price for this solution to your problems is very high. The party of half elves who sold me the tarantula was forced to descend below the surface of Volante for several days before reaching the lairs of the prehistoric giant scorpions – err tarantulas. Three of the party died capturing the creatures. I paid them ten black pearls for the creatures.
“Then of course my servants had to milk the venom for several weeks to collect a sufficient quantity.
“Finally, I, myself,” he paused for the effect, “mixed the venom with certain other substances to preserve its potency and allow it to be smeared upon blade, knife or instrument.
“The cost to you will be unmarked gemstones to the value of five thousand double dragon gold pieces.”
“Done,” said the Amazon Elvira, letting her hand bang the table to seal the bargain
“However, we are temporarily without sufficient gemstones,” Elvira related. “We suffered an insulting robbery that has cost us most of our treasury temporarily. We will pay later, on our honor.”
Lamas interrupted, “This young alchemist needs his fees paid up front. We have always insisted upon the same for our services. We shall send to the Bank of Calleva for a gem debt payable against our account there. You will have your fee within five days.”
“Then, within five days you will have your potion.
Shall I prepare an antidote?
“That will not be necessary,” Lamas said as they left the alchemist's room.
*
“We do not have funds in the Bank of Calleva,” Elvira said. “What are you planning?”
“The alchemist obviously keeps the potion in the funeral urns. There were breathing holes cut into the top. All that talk about preparation was simply to inflate the price to us.
“Muddon and I shall steal the urn, remove the tarantulas to be milked and replace the urn while the young fool is at dinner with his servants. Then with the venom coating our weapons, we shall resume our search for the Black Sorcerer.
“If it makes you feel better, after we recover our treasure we can send the alchemist his fee in full.”
“That,” said Elvira “would be honorable, but foolish.”
The night and the next day passed uneventfully.
That evening, whilst most of the guests and servants were busy eating or serving dinner, two men stole a ladder from the stables and propped it up against the wall of the Inn.
The young alchemist had left his window unbolted. Muddon climbed in while Lamas steadied the ladder and kept watch.
On a desk near the door, he saw the funeral urn with the breathing holes in the top.
The thought occurred to Muddon that this theft was going far too easily but what could he do, not take the urn because it was not hidden and guarded properly.
He took the urn and dropped back down to the ground. They replaced the ladder and went back to their room.
*
The urn appeared to be a single heavy piece of bronze with no separate top that could be lifted off or unscrewed.
Obviously, the way to open the container was obscured by some magical spell, but Muddon had never found anything locked, either by craft or magic that he could not open.
Using a special candle, whose light showed the presence of magic, he discovered a hidden catch and hidden grooves.
Releasing the catch and spinning the top of the urn, he soon had it ready to be opened.
Now, opening an urn presumably containing one or more poisonous tarantulas is not to be done without the proper precautions. Lamas' donned gauntlets of leather reinforced with chain; Muddon held a heavy towel to wrap around the creatures. The top was removed. Inside was not a tarantula, but a human-like child, white as a maggot, with black wings protruding out beneath its shoulder blades.
As the two men sat paralyzed by surprise, the creature mouthed a single word “daddy” and flew upward to fasten its teeth in Lamas' throat.
It clung to Lamas' throat alternately sucking and spitting back foul poison from its mouth as its stomach became engorged. Muddon dared not pull it off, for Lamas' throat would have been ripped open. Finally, the vampire-like creature released its bite, of its own accord, and flew back into the urn. “Daddy be like me soon” it spoke and went to sleep.
Lamas would have screamed but his vocal cords had been paralyzed by the venom.
However, Muddon screamed enough for both of them.
Guests and servants rushed up the stairs from the dining hall and began banging on their door.
*
(To be continued by the next writer in the series.)
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