The Warlord

Chapter 25: Calthius

I am at my wit's end, my room morphing into a pretty, gilded cage instead of a home. I have not left since mother warned me of who I could trust, but that afternoon has now faded into an evening. I let out a groan of frustration and sink my face into my hands, impatience writhing underneath my skin. I know mother cannot take on the Top Order by herself, even though she has assumed the role of monarch and taken most of father's rights for herself. That's right... father... Varlock the Warrior, is what they call him. A man of blood and strife, but also of undying honor and loyalty. Someone who can keep the Top Order on a tight leash. He is the elder brother of Kassiel and Zarul, and the oldest cousin to Malelai, Soranel, and Averith.

According to the latest report I saw on the war, which is dated to just last week, father should be arriving here around today. But mother told you not to trust anyone... Father is a different matter. He will always be loyal to his family; after all, I am the key to carrying on his bloodline.

I slink out of my room, a cloak draped around me. A special amulet lies clutched between my fingers, its cold, harsh surface reminding me of just how big of a risk I am taking. However I steel my nerves and make my way through the empty corridors of the palace. The servants are all in the kitchen, preparing for dinner, so my only company is the frigid air between me and the ornately carved walls.

Down.

Down.

Down.

Past the middle floor, which houses the servants.

Deeper.

Deeper.

Deeper.

Past the lowest floor, which is the entrance and the meeting room.

More.

More.

More.

Into a shaded alcove carved on a dusty wall leading to the catacombs. An ancient-looking fresco, in all its glory, portrays a silver star against a detailed, cloudy blue sky. I take out the amulet, its shade of silver bearing a resemblance to that of the star's. Pressing the gem into the center of the mural, I envision my father, with his calculating eyes and strong stature. He gave me this charm as a gift when I was a boy, showing me the alcove and explaining how to use it. A rush of wind, an upheaval of the ground beneath me, and the amulet shatters in my hand, bursting into a thousand pieces. They vanish as they fall, and I find myself standing on a hill. Below, thousands of outposts stand scattered, and the front lines are only a few miles away. So he isn't returning home. I am disappointed, but it is to be expected. My father is a formidable weapon against the magic-wielders.

Taking off my hood, the gold mark on my head validates me as the rightful heir. I march down the hillside, the wind ruffling my hair. I can smell thick smoke, thicker blood, and the flesh of corpses. My ears catch the occasional cries of the warriors, the clang and spark of metal, and the suffering in the distance. I have never liked to visit the battlefield, but if this war is not over by the time I become king, I will need to know its song.

I reach the base of the grandest looking outpost, with its flags and banners flying the highest and being the most extravagant. An officer salutes me, shock coming over his face as he sees my mark.

"Where is the king?" I ask.

"Come with me, young prince!"

He leads me into the outpost, disappearing between the thick folds of the tent. I follow him, and enter an atmosphere of strife and battle. Somber, muscled figures sit hunched over on boxes of supplies, taking a break and resting. The major generals and commanders of our forces. A few stand in a corner, talking over a huge map, while others eat and replenish their strength. Their minds are in a different place, wrapped and shrouded by the battlefield, and no one besides my guide of an officer takes any notice of my presence.

I walk up a short but winding flight of stairs to the small top floor, where the natural, sky-tinted light floods in from an opening in the cloth thrown over the outpost. I instantly see my father, his stiff posture and intimidating aura making him the most noticeable. He stands over a map, much like the one downstairs, but larger and more detailed. Two high-ranking warriors flank his sides, each tracing routes and discussing strategies.

The reedy officer that led me here stammers, "Uh, your highness! You have a visitor!" He gives a shaky salute before gesturing towards me. I save him the trouble of asking to be excused and wave a hand at him to leave. He scampers back downstairs, and I face my father.

"We will discuss this later," he orders in a gruff voice. The two warriors leave as well, only giving me a bow before striding away. Now I face my father alone.

"Why have you come, my son? Has something happened in Heaven?"

"I should be asking you why you haven't come. The report that we received a week ago told us you would be journeying back home, that a competent warrior would be taking over," I reply.

"You will come to learn that circumstances arise, and that decisions change," he says with a faint smile, but I can see the annoyance in his eyes. He does not think this as a genuine reason to interrupt him. But I have not told him everything.

"Circumstances have changed in Heaven as well." I step towards him, closing the distance. My voice falls to a whisper as I say, "Father, the Top Order is plotting something. They were spying on mother, and they were planning to draw something from the Void."

Instead of acting shocked, or at least a bit surprised, my father lets out a low chuckle. "You need not worry, my son. Come, I will show you something." He holds out both of his hands, his creased, wrinkled palms facing the ceiling. At first nothing happens, but then an insignia the color of blood forms on his skin. I barely have time to decipher the complex symbols and runes before my father grips my hand and mutters an incantation.

We blink out of existence for a moment, falling into the Abyss, the gap between the middle realm and Hell. Then blistering heat surrounds me, and my skin prickles as we arrive in the throne room of a red and black palace. There is little light, and the heat is still overwhelming, but I feel a magic shield around me, protecting me. It must be my father's power.

"Do not be afraid, my son. What you are seeing is the future of this universe, the culmination of my efforts to restore the natural order."

I turn towards my father, who is still gripping my hand. A crown is now on his head, but it is different than the gold and silver one that he dons on Heaven. This one is black and gnarled and twisted, glittering like the beady eyes of a thief. I get an uneasy feeling looking at it, and the aura coming off from it, makes me a bit sick. 

I turn away and focus my attention on the ominous throne room. "Father, where are we?" There is something about this place that stirs old memories up from the dredges of my mind. The untamable heat, the fire-tinted light, the way I wanted to scream at the pain of being here before my father encased me in a shield.

"Hell, my son. The lower realm. And this is my palace."