him. “What great wonder did these records hold that
would make you search for one as unworthy as myself?”
Stel chuckled – a raspy, grating sound. “During the
last days of Istar, the Kingpriest persecuted and murdered
many such as myself. The clerics of good stole many
objects of evil from the bodies of clerics of Takhisis,
Sargonnas, Morgion, Chemosh. The fools who followed
the Kingpriest either could not destroy these powerful
artifacts … or found them too tempting to destroy, just in
case they could find uses for them.”
Vandor Grizt almost laughed aloud. It was too absurd.
He knew how easily such rumors got started. He’d created
a few himself in order to sell his wares. The Knights of
Solamnia were rumored to have once stored such evil
clerical items, but no one had ever actually SEEN one. A
REAL one, that is. Still, the cleric did not seem a man who
would be chasing after . . . ghosts.
A thought occurred to Vandor Grizt. “I am certain,
Master Stel, that you must have been pleased to find
records of your stolen property. But if that property is at
the bottom of the sea …”
The cleric looked knowingly at Vandor. “Of course, I
knew that the treasures I sought – the talismans of my
predecessors – were out of my reach. Even a necromancer
such as myself could not summon the ancients of Istar.
Their tomb lies buried deep beneath the sea; they do not
dwell in my lord’s domain. But, if I use the blood of kin –
however many generations distant – I might be able to
summon these dead.”
Vandor Grizt was skeptical. “If I am related to the . . .
um . . . Kingpriests, how did you find me?”
“I told you I will permit NOTHING to remain beyond
my grasp. I followed the pull of the skull talisman,
traveling through land after land until it led me to you in
Takar. You are as great a charlatan – in your own way – as
your ancestors. It was simple to trap you.”
The sivak draconian laughed.
“Now,” Stel continued, “we are almost at the end of my
quest. There is one item in particular – relic of Chemosh –
that I have sought ever since I discovered its existence. A
pendant on a chain, it may be the most powerful talisman
ever created, an artifact that can raise a legion of the
undying to serve the wearer!”
The image of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of undead
warriors marching over the countryside was enough to
sink even Vandor’s jaded heart.
Stel grimaced. “Do not think that I will neglect the
other treasures, though. I will be able to pick and choose!
I will wield power like no other!”
The familiar stomping that marked Captain Kruug’s
coming sent a shiver through Vandor.
“We’re as steady as we can be, Prefect Stel! If you’re
going to do anything, do it now!”
Stel looked up into the eerie night sky. “Yes, the time
is close enough, I think.” To the draconians, he barked,
“Stretch the fool’s arm over the altar!”
SHINARE! Vandor tried praying again, but he kept
forgetting the proper words and losing his place in the
ritual.
“Blood calls blood, Vandor Grizt,” murmured Stel.
“Surely, my blood is so tainted by lesser lines that it
would hardly be worth anything to you!” Vandor
squirmed desperately.
The draconians seemed to find this statement
amusing. Stel shook his masked head, touched the
glowing skull.
“Your blood has already proven itself. For you, that
means a reward. When the time comes, I will kill you in as
swift and painless a fashion as I can.”
Vandor did not thank him for his kindness.
Stel raised his dagger high and intoned, “Great Sea
Queen, you who guide us now, without whom this deed
could not be done, I humbly ask in the name of my lord
Chemosh for this boon . . .”
Vandor Grizt heard nothing else. His eyes could not
leave the dagger.
The blade came down.
Vandor flinched and cried out in pain, but in what
seemed a reenactment of the first ritual, the cleric of