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“I have never been here,” Lhorok says after a moment. “While I cannot deny the state of this city, I am unable to confirm whether it is Nolderan.”
“Shouldn’t the fact that this city has been destroyed and has no corpses be evidence enough of the necromancers I speak of? Shouldn’t this be enough for you to tell your king that the threat Gerazad faces is very much real?”
“Perhaps,” Lhorok replies, “though there is the possibility that this city belongs to an ancient, lost civilization.”
I let out a sigh. We have so little time. If Lhorok refuses to believe me, despite seeing Nolderan with his own eyes, how else will I convince him of the impending threat?
“An ancient city would not be this well preserved,” I counter. “Time would have left its mark on the stone.”
“There are spells which would preserve the city,” he replies.
“And can you detect any such spells?”
The orc pauses, turning his head either side. “No, I cannot.”
“And if we are not in Nolderan, where else would we be?”
Lhorok shrugs. “Maybe you have teleported me to the far reaches of this world.”
I run a hand down my face. Are all orcs this stubborn? How can I prove this city is Nolderan to someone who’s never been here?
I press my lips together, thinking for a long moment. Then an idea strikes me.
“The Arcanium,” I say.
Lhorok casts me a confused look. I don’t bother wasting my breath to explain how the Arcanium is Nolderan’s academy for magi.
“Can you read the alphabet for the common language?”
“I can,” he answers. “Why?”
“Because I know how to prove this is Nolderan.”
With that, I hurry down the street, ushering Lhorok to follow.
The Arcanium is only a few corners away from the Upper City’s square and we are soon greeted by the grand archway at the entrance. The statues of all famous magi stand sentry over the forlorn gardens.
I don’t waste any time examining them and head for the statue at the very end of the path.
The statue of Grandmage Delmont Blackwood is situated at the foot of the steps leading to the Arcanium’s pillared entrance. He wears majestic robes and grips the same crystalline staff as the one in my hands. His nose is so sharp I suspect it would pierce my fingers if I placed them on the stone.
I stop at the base of the statue and point to the golden plaque. “Grandmage Delmont Blackwood,” I read aloud, my voice ringing through the emptiness. “Founder of Nolderan and the Magi.”
Lhorok edges closer to the plaque, reading for himself the words etched into the metallic surface. Surely he can’t continue to dispute the fact we’re in Nolderan?
After a long moment, the orc withdraws. “Very well. I will report to King Agzol that Nolderan has indeed been destroyed.”
I frown at him. He’s strangely calm. I’ve proven Nolderan’s destruction, so isn’t he worried the rest of my claims may also be true? “What about the necromancers? Do you believe me when I say that they’re the ones responsible for the destruction of this city? That they march on your city with the same intentions?”
Lhorok trains his gaze on me. “I believe what I have witnessed first-hand: that this ruined city is Nolderan, and that its streets are void of the dead. That is what I will report to my king, and it is up to him to evaluate the implications of my observations.”
I suppose that means there will be more discussion and deliberation, wasting precious time. We need to act now, before Arluin makes his move. Otherwise, it will be too late.
“There is one thing I don’t understand,” Lhorok says, interrupting my thoughts.
“What?”
“The entire city was destroyed, and it appears everyone was killed. Why is it you alone survived?”
