The Shadow of the Necromancer: Prologue

The Shadow of the Necromancer: Prologue

Note: This is a rough draft, so details may be changed before publication as well as additional edits will likely be made.

Elethain eyed the pair of elite guards outside of King Nelthalius’ chamber. He had traversed this same hall a thousand times past, but never with such anxiousness. Without even a blink, the Du’Taille warriors opened the large hidden doors with their arcane magic and waited silently for the necromancer to pass. Feeling the bile rise in his throat, Elethain passed the threshold and nearly vomited as the wall behind him closed, locking him within the king’s chamber.

Swallowing hard, the elf took a step forward, reminding himself that he was one of Nelthalius’ most loyal followers. Even still, Elethain couldn’t deny the unfamiliar sense of discomfort as he approached the king.

Sitting across the room in an ancient throne of twisted vines, the elven king seemed both relaxed yet intensely intimidating. As the necromancer closed the distance, Nelthalius didn’t bother to sit up in his seat.

“Y-you summoned me, Your Grace?” Elethain’s fear showed easily with his words and grew as the king did nothing but maintain a potent glare. After many tense moments, Elethain took a hesitant step forward. But when his foot lifted off the ground, he was cast a merciless scowl, halting him in his tracks.

Holding the scowl, the king’s eyes narrowed even more. “You should know why you’re here.”

Elethain’s heart skipped a beat as he nodded. “I do, my king.”

“And?”

“And . . . I cannot apologize for the actions I took.”

Nelthalius’ visage grew even more menacing. “Oh? And you are the ruler of these lands now?”

The necromancer’s head dipped. “No, You—”

“NO! You are not! And it was not your son that was assaulted, was it?!”

“But my lord, he was assaulting a civilian!” By the time he realized the reactionary words had slipped from his lips, Elethain clapped a hand over his mouth. His eyes filled with fear and dread, knowing he had overstepped.

“You dare offer words on the matter?!” The elven king rose from his throne and stomped toward his subordinate. “If my son deems the life of a peasant to be meaningless, then so it is! Who are you to claim otherwise?”

Heart pounding faster with each of the king’s steps, Elethain eyed the ground in shame, too afraid to respond.

Nelthalius stared down at him intensely. “What makes this peasant worth risking your position?” The king saw Elethain glance up in concern for the briefest of moments. “Ah, you love him? The peasant?”

The immense fear welled within Elethain doubled over with the king’s perceptive question. “N-no, my king! He is just a lifelong friend!” Even Elethain knew that his words held no merit, and the king’s sneer proved his lie had fallen flat.

“Do not lie to me, Elethain. Your status here is on a thread,” Nelthalius threatened. With a flick of his wrist, the king shot an invisible orb of force down into the ground, sending a resounding boom around the chamber. As if in response, the large doors from which Elethain had entered re-opened and four Du’Taille strode in—dragging Chakal by chain-like vines across the marbled floor. “We shall put your words to the test.”

Elethain’s face filled with horror and he turned to Nelthalius. “Please! He did nothing wrong!”

Nelthalius frowned. “I expected more from you. But perhaps you’re no better than the peasant you saved.” Returning to his throne, the king waved his hand passively as he addressed the guards. “Kill the peasant.”

“Please, no!” Elethain shouted.

The king raised an eyebrow. “No? Fine. You will decide his fate. Forfeit your position and his life shall be spared. Or allow him to be executed and all will be forgiven. The choice is yours.”

Eyes wide with terror, Elethain looked to Chakal, bloodied and bruised within his bindings like a snared beast. Though the warrior’s mouth was gagged, his eyes begged Elethain to spare his life.

“I-I . . .,” the necromancer stumbled. In that moment, he couldn’t deny that he loved Chakal. But to what degree? The last five centuries had been spent securing his position, climbing the ranks through any means necessary. Was a life with his beloved companion truly worth such a sacrifice?

Fingers tapping impatiently, the king let out an impatient sigh. “Choose.”

All eyes were upon Elethain as he stood casting glances between Chakal and the king, sweat beading down his face. “I-I . . . I don’t know . . ..”

The king rose to his feet once more in a rage. “Choose!”

“Fine, kill him!” Once again Elethain clapped a hand over his mouth, hardly able to believe his own words. His panicked eyes were lined with tears as he watched Chakal’s gaze drop to the floor.

King Nelthalius placed a hand on Elethain’s shoulder and offered a smile. “Well done, Elethain. You have much to offer, and I’ll see to it you are rewarded for your commitment in time. Now,” the king tilted his head up toward the Du’Taille.

As the guards began to move toward Chakal, Elethain fought every urge to scream and beg for absolution. His shoulders were visibly shaking as he held back, though he couldn’t stop the flow of tears down his face.

Chakal sat on his knees, shoulders slumped in defeat as his world came crashing down around him. To him, the killing blow had already landed, for his spirit was crushed with Elethain’s choice. Only his body remained.

Nelthalius’ laughter caught everyone off-guard. Even his elite warriors halted their advance in curiosity. Waving his hand again, the king commanded, “Let him go. His punishment has already been exacted.” Without a word, the arcanists removed the growths from around Chakal’s wrists and returned to their formation.

Beaming with joy, Elethain stared at the king with irrepressible gratitude. “Oh, thank you, my king!”

Letting out another chuckle, Nelthalius flashed a malicious smile in return. “Don’t thank me yet, Elethain. My decision is final—as is yours.”

Elethain blinked in confusion. But when his gaze shifted to Chakal, who wore a grimace so full of hatred that Elethain felt certain his companion would lunge at him then and there, his bewilderment faded. The necromancer’s expression returned to horror as he realized that it was his decision that stood out in Chakal’s mind.

Before Elethain could offer empty words of regret, Chakal stormed out of the king’s chambers with only the sound of Nelthalius’ ensuing laughter at his back. As the elf exited the room, he turned around to face Elethain—a promise of death still pasted on his face—before the wall closed between them.