“Traitorous rat!”
The inkwell smashed against the wall of the cabin as Elanor vented her rage upon the contents of her desk. Letting out a wordless cry of rage she slammed a fist onto the tabletop, the wood splintering slightly beneath the blow. Though her heart no longer beat she could feel the quickening in her blood as the anger took hold, and deep within her, some bestial instinct rose to greet it.
Catching herself, she rested her balled fists on the desk and went through the motions of deep breaths. Rage still burned hot within her, but she was able to regain some measure of composure.
“What?” she snapped at Captain Taldire and Helmsman Morlin, the two wights standing unmoving on the opposite side of the cabin, their only motion, the gentle swaying of the ship, the Pride of Tiran, beneath their feet, and the flickering of the overturned lantern. No expression was visible upon their bare skulls and their apparent calm only served to enrage Elanor further.
“I await your course my lady,” Morlin said in a dry rasp, slightly inclining his head with respect as he spoke. In life, he had gone down with his ship, and in death, he wore his uniform with the same pride, the silver buttons always shining despite the rust and decay that encroached upon everything else.
“What else is there, we leave, back to Khardihr,” she replied, a note of resignation in her voice as she slumped down into her chair.
“We are to flee from the traitor?” asked Taldire. Like Morlin, he spoke with a deathly rasp, but there was strength and presence behind his words, one that death could not rob from him.
“You make it sound like I’m a coward,” Elanor replied, narrowing her eyes at the captain, her voice cold.
Taldire met her gaze without flinching.
“I would like nothing more than to rip out the throat of that woman and feed her to the rats. But she has fortified her position, brought in allies, and decimated those who we might count upon to aid us. What would you have me…”
Elanor trailed off as her eyes alighted upon the scrolls and parchment laid out on her desk. Much of it had been scattered to the floor, but the profane script and diagrams were still visible. An ancient ritual of great power, one she had hoped to use to help the people of Civilia. That time had passed, the moment snatched away while she was still working on safeguards and adjustments. Changes, she supposed, were no longer needed.
“Helmsman Morlin, set a course for the old keep, though there is a stop to be made on the way,”
“Yes, my lady,” said Morlin bowing, as beside him, it seemed a grin passed across Taldire’s skeletal features.
***
“Please, I’m not a cultist, I’m just a merc!”
Elanor ignored the woman’s pleas as she crouched down beside her and, in a single smooth motion, ran her knife across the mercenary’s throat. Terror filled her eyes before the life left them as blood gushed from the open wound, filling the baroque chalice that Elanor held delicately beneath. The blood joined the crimson liquid of the women’s companions already swirling within, seemingly drawn to it like a river to the sea.
With a slight touch, Elanor pushed the hunched body backwards, sending it toppling over the edge of the platform to splash into the waters below. The weight of the armour slowly dragged it down beneath the surface, the wide, lifeless eyes still staring up at Elanor before being lost to the depths. Gracefully, Elanor rose and turned away.
The keep around which the force of the Tiran Khard Expedition had assembled was ancient, one of the first defences that the city had erected, the people turning to it in those early times of peril. Likely it had fallen into disuse long before the waters rose and ravaged it and collapsed several of the remaining walls as well as submerging the lower levels. The great circular edifice at its centre remained though, the roof rising above the water to provide the platform upon which Elanor had made her preparations. Far to the north, beyond the spars of broken ruins that pierced the water, the great magical dome of the traitor rose.
Taldire along with a cohort of the elite Verdigris Guard stood on the platform with her. The rest of the force was positioned in the surrounding ruin, both above and below the water, while Morlin kept the Pride of Tiran with the Mariner’s Defiance at anchor in the clear water beyond. She approached the captain, stepping over carefully drawn ritual lines of bonemeal, blood, and ash that joined the unholy ritual materials arranged in concentric circles around the platform.
“I am almost ready to begin. The forces of the city will be seeking their own revenge and rescue against the traitor and should keep her forces distracted. But there are still other threats abroad in these ruins. You must keep me safe until the ritual is complete.”
Taldire did not speak, merely knocking the haft of his halberd on the ground in acknowledgement. Leaving him to make ready their defences, Elanor returned to the centre of the platform, and the ritual.
The necromantic arts had not come naturally to her at first, the means and practice eliciting no small amount of revulsion on her part. But they were integral to keeping her people whole, and under the tutelage of the Lighthouse Keeper, she had developed some degree of mastery. The ritual she was about to attempt though was of another ilk entirely, both in scale, and in its targeting of those never tied to Tira Gnok.
The keep upon which she stood was ancient and though fallen into disuse, the echoes of all those who had died defending and besieging it still lingered, saturating the area with necrotic energy. Now those old deaths were joined by the fresh spirits of the mercenary band abducted and sacrificed by Elanor and Taldire. Old and new, such latent power would be necessary for the scale of what she was about to attempt.
Setting down the chalice at the centre of the ritual circles, Elanor extended one hand over it, and in the other, held open the Book of the Depths, profane tome of old Tira Gnok.
With one last look towards the traitor’s fortress on the horizon, Elanor began to read.
