Orkash and the Great Discovery

Orkash looked up at the approaching footsteps. He prepared to bellow a reprimand at being disturbed when his chief bodyguard reached the top of the stairway outside of his library, covered in grime and sweat.
“Lurat?"
“My apologies, Excellence. I know you value your private study. But I think this warrants your attention.” Lurat maintained a decade-long spotless record as Orkash’s right-hand-man. The warlock trusted the guardsman implicitly.
“What is it? What have you been doing?”
“Apologies again, Excellence. This is something I fear you need to see for yourself.” Orkash stood and followed him down the stairs to the tower’s main hall. There he found Lurat had assembled a guard detail. Their uniforms were nearly spotless, save for some dust from the streets. Whatever Lurat had been involved in, these men had not been involved with him.
“This will require a trip into the city, Excellence.”
“Lead on.”
The group moved through the grand doors into the wide plaza. Long a ruin, Kandor now buzzed with activity. The Great Khan’s decision to rebuild it resulted in a cacophony of creaking wagons, carpenter’s hammers and foreman’s shouts. The streets were filled with the dust swirled by the moving of so much broken stone and every third building stood wrapped in scaffolding. No coach awaited Orkash as he stepped onto the cobbles and he raised an eyebrow at Lurat.
“It is not that far, Excellence, just over here actually.” The guardsman pointed at a ruined temple just down the block where the ancient Krai-jan had worshipped their petty gods. Orkash moved in the direction Lurat had pointed and the troop of guards formed up around him. They marched quickly down the street and the workers and merchants and craftsmen going about their business made way for the Khan’s foremost magician. As he reached the temple entrance, laborers stood to one side and Lurat led the group through the archway, which had recently been reinforced against collapse. No doubt the temple had once been a magnificent edifice. Orkash could see in the ruined stone the residue of carefully crafted idols and effigies. The windows had likely been filled with splendid stained glass. All long since gone, lost to the countless wars and lootings the city of Daskarta suffered before being renamed after his people by the Great Khan himself. Lurat led them into a hallway off the transept and half way down it they came to a door guarded by two of Lurat’s men.
“I thought it best to secure the area, Excellence.” Orkash gestured for them to continue and Lurat led the way down a long staircase with many levels and landings. As they progressed past several doors and side halls, Orkash could not help but wonder, what is down here? At the last landing, Lurat ordered his men to stay. Orkash followed the guardsman down the last flight.
The staircase bottomed in a musty, torchlit room that had recently been cleared of debris. It had the look and feel of a dead-end storeroom and Orkash could only guess at what the Krai priests had seen fit to deposit so far below the city’s streets. Orkash could see that a hole had been punched through one wall. Or rather, an entire section of the wall had apparently caved in and the stone scattered across the floor. Along with no small amount of blood. And a crumpled form in the corner.
“Workers clearing the room discovered a door concealed from normal use, Excellence. The mechanism had fallen into disrepair so the door only opened a small way. The foreman had the men break the door down. When they did, this…thing…” he touched the crumpled form with his boot. “…leapt out and slew the workers and two of my men. It did not pursue the others up the stairs and my sergeant sent for me. None of the men would follow me down so I came down here myself. I slew it. Well…whatever it is you do to such things. But not without a fight.” He flipped the body over to reveal a skeleton-filled suit of tattered Krai armor. Orkash knelt by it. Necromancy. Orkash knew of necromancy. His study of the art was another reason for his liege-lord’s favor. His own art was shadow magic, but the two forms shared some fundamental aspects. They shared enough that he had sorted out some very basic abilities from his years of study and collecting every shred written upon the subject he could locate. He did not know what spell could endure so long, but he knew it was at least theoretically possible.
“You fought this…creature?”
“Yes, Excellence.”
“You took a serious risk, my old friend.” Orkash continued to inspect the thing on the floor, though without touching it.
Lurat paused before answering. “I…well…who else, Excellence?” The soldier had an excellent point. He was probably the finest warrior in the city at the moment, with the Khan elsewhere.
“Indeed. Well done.”
“It is safe inside.” Lurat indicated the hidden room. Orkash looked at the hole in the wall for a moment, nodded, stood and stepped through.
The room was small and contained only a few items. One chair at a small table that held a book, two candles in elaborate holders and some clay jars long since empty. Someone had lit the candles, presumably Lurat. The book lay closed, covered in a layer of dust formed over countless years. Orkash sat at the table and perused the book in the candle light. The pages were of some robust material the origin of which he could only guess, but he treated them delicately nonetheless. Intricate Chalish writing adorned each sheet in the ancient Krai-jan dialect that he read as well as any scholar in Faelon, as much reason for the Khan’s need of him as his abilities with magic. In the past weeks he had translated dozens upon scores of archaic texts and inscriptions at the Khan’s behest as they tried to make sense of the city’s layout, architecture and history. As he read and gingerly turned each page, his heart began to race. He could hear its beat in his ears. He drew shorter breaths as his excitement grew.
Power.
Power beyond reason. The power to not only raise the dead, but to keep the dead enthralled indefinitely. This tome contained not simply the core of the necromantic art but also its ultimate expressions. Secrets he had never heard so much as contemplated or suggested. No wonder that it had been hidden. The world would consider the very reading of this to be an abomination. Well, not all of the world. Not my world. This book provided the answer to everything in his Khan’s great vision. A permanent tireless labor force. No…wait…not just that. An army…
Orkash shook himself. Not yet. Not quite yet. He prided himself on his exactitude, the deliberateness of all the actions he undertook. All that had gone before had prepared him for this moment. He stood and gently closed the book. He took the ceremonial shawl he wore and wrapped the book in it and tucked it under one arm. Then he blew out the candles and called Lurat to the entrance to the room.
“Who else has seen this room or the…creature?”
“Only the foreman, Excellence. He fled immediately at the sight of it.”
“Where is he now?”
“With my men, upstairs.”
“Kill him and seal this level. Permanently.”
“As you command.”