Abased - The Exiled Warrior

Chapter 3 - Preparation

Liege Marext, Lord of Morcham, turned a red enameled coin-sized disk between the fingers of one hand as the other tapped impatiently on the map covered table.

"Weaklings, traitors and fools," he muttered to himself.

His personal room was dimly lit and free of slaves. He found it easier to concentrate that way. His eyes scrutinised the map laid out on the table before him for the hundredth time.

"I should have heard by now."

He placed the red enamel disk on his forehead, took a deep breath to prepare for the pain, and then uttered the required words of power. An intense throb punched into his head as the vision before his eyes changed. The map and table disappeared and was replaced by pitch blackness. The darkness surprised him momentarily, for the sun was up in the world outside. He knew he uttered the words of power correctly so the only remaining possibility was that Emerek, his ambitious cousin who had undertaken the quest to retrieve Clarisai and bring her to Liege Marext, was inside the mountain.

"Emerek, answer me," he commanded.

Silence.

"Emerek, do not try my patience."

Silence.

Liege Marext pushed with his mind, searching for any sight or sound.

Nothing.

He removed the red enamel disk from his forehead. His vision instantly returned to his private room.

"Weaklings, traitors and fools," he spat and then lifted a small brass bell and shook it gently.

Instantly, the door behind him was opened and his manslave entered with bowed head. He was a clever man, clever enough to still be alive after serving his Liege for two years.

"My Liege," the man bowed.

"Choose three slaves and meet me in the blood chamber," Liege Marext ordered. "Bring also two bloodknights prepared to lay down their lives for me.

"My Liege," the manslave agreed. He dipped his head in deference as Liege Marext stormed out of the room and directed himself to his favourite room.

Liege Marext breathed in deeply as he entered the bloodchamber below the palace. The smell of dried blood and damp air set his heart racing with excitement. It triggered the memory, and the promise, of blissful power flooding through him. He picked up the ancient knife that rested on the sacrifice table and waited. Soon enough the manslave arrived with the two bloodknights and three slaves, as he had ordered.

Liege Marext ignored the pleas and squirming of the first slave and concentrated on the drawing words instead. When the incantation was complete he plunged the blade down, severing the laws of nature. The slave screamed in agony but Liege Marext barely noticed as the slave's life-force flooded into him. He closed his eyes to concentrate and make sure he extracted every least wisp of life-force. By the time all three slaves had been drained his limbs were quivering with barely contained power. He beckoned to his manslave who picked up a wide bowl of crimson liquid left over from the ritual. Liege Marext dipped his hands in the still warm liquid and drizzled it over the heads of the bloodknights while chanting words of power. Once the two bloodknights were infused with power Liege Marext waved his manslave away. He breathed in deeply and shut his eyes yet again in concentration. The magic he prepared was powerful, but dangerous. Breaking the laws of nature always was, but this incantation - to fold distances - was particularly dangerous. One wrong word or gesture, would claim his life.

"Slave," he said.

"My Liege," replied the manslave behind him.

"I will not be gone long. Do not leave this chamber or allow any to enter while I am. When I return you are to take me to my chamber to recover. None can see me in the weakened state I will be in. Should any ask for me you are to say that I am deep in research and can not be disturbed."

"My Liege," bowed the manslave.

Marext pushed his hands forward with splayed fingers. He then twisted his fingers in an almost impossibly complicated pattern while he spoke words of power. In front of him the world cracked. Not merely the floor or the wall, reality itself cracked around his hands. It was as if the physical world were a mirror that he had punched, and from his fists radiated fractured lines tearing the universe apart. Air, walls, floor, table, all were fractured.

"Bloodknights, draw your swords and follow me," Liege Marext ordered.

He walked forward into the fracture. For a horrible moment he felt as though his whole body was pulled apart, atom by atom. But less than a second later he passed through the fracture and emerged into the pitch black beyond.

His shoes echoed loudly around the darkness. The odour of mustiness and stagnant air hit his nose. With a casual flick of his hand he created a glowing orb of light in front of him. He stood in a large circular chamber carved out of stone. In the centre of the chamber was a wide circular pit with a staircase leading into darkness below. Before him lay the corpses of three bloodknights and his cousin Emerek.

"Weaklings, traitors and fools," he muttered. Behind him the two bloodknights entered from the fracture.

"Check down there," he pointed to the wide pit. "We are looking for a young Evaran woman as well as the barbarians that killed these four."

Marext then carefully examined each corpse to ascertain the causes of death.

His bloodknights reported that there were no signs of the people he sought.

He concluded that Clarisai, the Evaran princess, was gone, and that the barbarians were either much more competent than he had imagined, or, more likely, had been helped by Gretch the Traitor.

As he staggered back through the fracture and into the blood chamber, he grabbed his manslave's shirt to stop himself toppling over. The stolen life-force of the slaves was gone leaving him weak and barely able to keep his eyes open.

"Bring the boy to me," he ordered.

"The boy?"

"Gretch's son. It is time to prepare him."