Chapter 2: The Dark Lord

Chapter 2: The Dark Lord

The ebony carriage rode through the tunnels, pulled by a giant cave beetle.

The coachman hadnt spoken a word since they left the prison, and Lady Marianne had proven to be no chattier. She had spent hours looking through the window, and at the ghostly lanterns illuminating the road.

At least she gave me food and clothing, if not a conversation, Valdemar thought, his teeth sinking into a piece of fungus bread. The carriage was large enough to house a small table, allowing the prisoner to feast on a plate of mole cheese, badger steak, and spicy mushrooms. A simple linen tunic covered the scars left by the knights blood-draining wheel, though they had already started to heal.

He had noticed that Lady Marianne paid a lot of interest to his bruises when she wasnt looking through the window. She shifted on her leather seat, and eventually couldnt suppress her curiosity. Are you a biomancer? she asked Valdemar.

No, I am not, the prisoner replied. Valdemar had made forays into the field of biomancy, but decided to focus on necromancy and summoning. Not yet.

A mutant then?

Maybe. I do not know. Whenever he had asked the same question to his family, his poor mother answered with tears and his grandfather with silence. Ive always healed fast, and its possible that my father experimented on me while in the womb. I heard the Verney did that to their children, to make them healthier.

Did you know him? Marianne asked. Valdemar couldnt tell if she was being sincerely curious, or just interrogating him. Your father?

No. The Verney purge happened while he was a child learning to walk. All Valdemar had was a name, Isaac Verney, and whatever tidbits of information that he had managed to piece together. Why these questions?

I am curious, she admitted. A normal human would have died from all the blood loss and the treatment you suffered, but one meal and you fully recovered within hours.

Shouldnt that concern you? I am almost back at full strength. The Blood was tied to willpower and health, as it was the very essence of life and death. Valdemar had sensed his power return as he recovered from the blood loss and drugs.

Lady Marianne responded with a soft, amused smile.

You think you can take me on alone, if needed, Valdemar said. He had wondered why the carriage traveled without an escort, and why she didnt put shackles on him.

I do not think that I can, Lady Marianne corrected him. I know that I will.

Truthfully, Valdemar believed her. She directly answered to a Dark Lord, and thus probably wielded great power of her own.

Will you try to escape? Lady Marianne asked with a raised eyebrow.

Spellbanes warden took samples of my blood during my capture, and the knights can track me down anywhere with it, Valdemar replied with a shrug, as he finished his plate. Besides, at least you arent strapping me to a torture device.

She scowled in genuine disgust. That kind of treatment is unbecoming of true knights, the noblewoman said. We become no better than the Derros by sinking to this level of inhumanity.

Valdemar observed her, and to his surprise, she seemed to earnestly believe in her own words. She struck the sorcerer as strangely candid. You are a noblewoman of the Oldblood, no? he asked.

I am, Lady Marianne confirmed, before looking away. I was.

Disgraced? Valdemar asked, highly curious. He had heard Oldblood rivalries and feuds could get quite lethal.

Yes. She responded with an embarrassed smile. Its a long story. Perhaps I will tell you one day.

Valdemar took the hint, and didnt press the matter further.

The carriage approached one of the Earthmouths portals linking the Dark Lords domains together. The construction appeared at the end of the tunnel, a foreboding archway of pulsating flesh and hungry jaws whose gullet led inside a crimson fog. This device had been a human being once, a martyr who willingly sacrificed his life for the sake of knitting the empires lands together.

A group of Knights of the Gate protected the pathway, their armor black as night with the white eye of the empress painted on their chest and shoulders. They checked the coachmans documentation, and let them pass through the crimson mist. The world turned red for a moment as the coach crossed the portal, Valdemars body shuddering as it traveled from one point in space to another.

What should have taken months of harrowing tribulations through caves and tunnels lasted only an instant. The carriage emerged through another Earthmouth Gate, one that led into the quiet streets of Pleroma, Paraplexs only city.

Valdemar had already visited it in the past, back when he still held on to the dream he could pursue a career in sorcery. He had likened it to a maze of stone, its labyrinthine alleys threatening to devour the unwary or hiding the unsavory from sight.

Pleroma had been built on a plateau overseeing the toxic marshes making up most of the cavern, and the lack of space had forced architects to raise ever-larger buildings to accommodate the growing population. Lanterns illuminated narrow streets trapped between looming rows of brick houses as tall as watchtowers, penned in by colossal bladed walls.

Some buildings were in the process of being demolished to raise taller structures in their place, while others had their facade repaired by tireless undead workers. Only a third of the houses showed a light at this hour, making the streets appear empty and gloomy. If not for the veins of shining, purple crystal growing on the caverns sky-high ceiling and the pyres of the Church of the Lights cathedrals, Pleroma would have been cast in darkness.

The carriage passed by less than twenty people as it started ascending on a steep, lonely road towards the Dark Lords seat of power. Valdemar had never visited this part of the city, largely because he could never get past the numerous patrols of undead warriors and gatekeepers.

On one side of the road, he could see the purple bogs and marshes surrounding the city, and on the other, a gargantuan fortress of black oily stone. Monstrous gargoyles oversaw its walls, while its watchtowers looked like the fangs of some wicked beast. Dark knights patrolled the skies on the back of mighty dragobats, those black-scaled giant bats which biomancers created from the blood of subterranean dragons.

A black pillar stood at the fortresss center, covered in arcane symbols and connecting to the caverns ceiling. This was the abode of the Dark Lord Och, the supreme master of the entire cavern.

Valdemar remained silent as the carriage crossed the only bridge linking Pleroma to the fortress, a narrow passage more than three hundred meters long. Anyone falling over would make a deadly fall into a rift so deep that nobody could see the bottom. The warlock could only marvel at this wonder of engineering.

Why didnt you try to join the Pleroma Institute? Lady Marianne asked upon noticing Valdemars awed silence. Lord Och is not as rigid as the other Dark Lords.

I did try to join, twice. Once under my own name, and another under a false one. It had been the first time he forged official documents, but not the last. I sent hundreds of letters to Lord Och to plead my cause, and I never received an answer.

Lady Marianne nodded. I suppose that makes sense. Lord Ochs staff is very mindful about security. Your letters probably never reached him. If they had, he would have granted you a fair hearing.

What is he like? Valdemar asked, trying to suppress his anxiety. Lord Och was the most elusive of the Dark Lords, and extremely mindful of his privacy. Valdemar knew only a few things for certain about this man; that he had trained two other Dark Lords, the fearsome Valar Bethor and Phaleg the Binder, the latter of which became his bitter rival; that he only left his fortress to attend the yearly Sabbath with his co-rulers; and that he was an undead necromancer of tremendous power.

Wise, and patient, Lady Marianne replied. He is older than the empire, and as such his approach to time differs from ours. He cares more about memories than life. The latter always ends, but the former can last forever.

That does not reassure me. Valdemar would rather avoid ending up as a brain in a jar, or bound to a Soulstone, compelled to answer a necromancers questions for all eternity.

I believe you will find common ground. Lord Och was very interested in your notes.

The carriage reached the end of the bridge and passed beneath a gatehouse. Valdemar immediately shuddered as he sensed an invisible force weighing down on his soul.

There are spells woven in these old stones, the sorcerer thought, as the carriage stopped.

We are here, milady, said the coachman, his voice coarse and dry. The man moved to open the carriages door, his pale, predatory grey eyes gazing at Valdemar with suspicion. The prisoner sensed a psychic force probing him, ready to strike at the first sign of hostility.

Hes a sorcerer too, Valdemar thought, as he examined the coachman. He looked unassuming with his short black hair and leather coat, but the way he stood reminded the prisoner of a cave lion. Theyre all sorcerers within these walls.

Thank you, Bertrand, Lady Marianne said, as the coachman helped her step out of the carriage. Valdemar didnt receive any such courtesy, and had to make his way outside on his own. Mr. Verney, welcome to the Pleroma Institute of Sorcery.

Valdemar took a deep breath, and watched.

You built a wooden house on strong foundations, young man, Lord Och said, before offering his hand to Valdemar. One that can resist the wind, but which will fall to flames and fold before a battering ram.

Valdemar glanced at the hand with fear. The fingers looked so weak, and yet they hid savage claws.

I can snuff your life out with a thought, the Dark Lord said, why would I need a hand?

Valdemar clenched his teeth, and accepted the help. Lord Ochs fingers felt warm to the touch, the glamour so perfect that it fooled all of the weaker warlocks senses.

And yet, this creature had shed his humanity long ago. The Dark Lord could kill Valdemar in a heartbeat, and he wouldnt feel anything about it.

You never practiced with another sorcerer, Lord Och observed, Not for long anyway. Or else you would have better defenses.

No, Your Dark Majesty. Valdemar could never find an official mentor, and illegal sorcerers frequenting black markets demanded high payments for training especially on combat-related matters.

Majesty? I do not call myself an emperor, unlike a certain arrogant colleague of mine. Lord Och will do for now, young Valdemar. The old man searched for something beneath his robes, and brought out a black, blank book. This is yours, I believe.

The books pages were yellowed by age and dust, its cover made of simple leather. It looked like any diary, and yet Valdemar could recognize it anywhere. Suppressing his urge to immediately grab it, the young warlock glanced at a smiling Och, and then carefully took his heirloom out of the undeads hands.

How good it felt for his fingers to brush against the old leather. Valdemar checked the pages, gazing at walls of texts handwritten in a foreign tongue no one in Underland could speak, at the drawings of a pointy tower of steel and of flying balloons crossing an endless sea.

I did not recognize the main language used when I read this book, which drew my curiosity, Lord Och admitted. I thought it was a code at first, but I know enough about linguistics to recognize a foreign tongue. Thankfully, you added translated notes in the common tongue.

My grandfather called it French, Valdemar said, clearing his throat. His homelands language. He taught it to me.

Lord Och raised an eyebrow. I thought his homeland was called Earth?

He had clearly done his research. Earth was his homeworld, Valdemar explained, France his country.

Here, at Plemora, we research interdimensional travel too. Partly out of intellectual curiosity, partially because of the potential applications of this magic... and mostly for the purpose of future colonization. It may have been centuries since we retreated here underground, but our people will never stop dreaming of seeing the sun again.

How far are you into these research efforts? Valdemar couldnt help but ask. If they already had portals...

We are early pioneers, Im afraid, and our efforts are fraught with failures and dangers. But perhaps your help will prove a decisive push in the right direction.

Valdemars fingers clenched around the journal, as hope filled his heart. You believe me?

I do not believe, I think, Lord Och replied. The paper used for this journal is unlike anything I have seen in Underland, and this does add credibility to your tale. However, if your grandsire taught you his native tongue, why would you need his postmortem guidance?

Some parts of the journal were written in a second tongue that I couldnt identify, Valdemar admitted. His grandfather had clearly feared that some people would read his innermost secrets, and encrypted them. Ive tried for years to decode it, and failed.

And you found it easier to create an artificial ghost than to translate a few chapters? Then again, Ive met very few youngsters capable of binding a Gnawer at your age.

Valdemars chest swelled with pride. I can summon more than a Gnawer, Lord Och.

Oh? We shall put that boast to the test soon. The lich swept some dust off his robes. There are thousands of tales like your grandfathers, though most are simply the result of feverish imagination or madness. Hence, while I heard rumors about your family, I disregarded them. It may have been a mistake on my part, but there is time to correct it.

Valdemar cleared his throat, unsure what to make of this ancient archmages words. What do you want with me, Lord Och?

I want the same thing as you, young Valdemar. I want to confirm whether or not this Earth plane exists, and if it does, how to reach it.

Earth exists, Valdemar insisted, his faith unshakable.

Maybe your grandfather was mad, or maybe he came from another world. We will check, and see which option is true.

We? Valdemar closed the journal and held it close to his chest. And what will you do with me, my Lord?

You are a criminal, and as such forbidden to leave Pleroma without my express authorization, Lord Och replied. If you try, I will eat your soul, spit it out, and throw your hollowed body into the abyss outside my walls. We have taken samples of your blood during your imprisonment, so tracking you down will be childs play. Consider your stay here a chance at rehabilitation.

He said that with the same passion as someone discussing the daily humidity.

This did not sit well with Valdemar. He just needs me to translate the journal, the warlock thought. He will kill me right afterward.

I could easily extract that knowledge from your mind, mortal, the lich said. But why would I? People are like plants. For them to become beautiful, you must water them down and let them grow. I would rather add a flower to my garden, than eat a seed.

Could he read Valdemars mind? So I traded one cell for another?

A cell? The Dark Lord let out a deep, cavernous laugh. Would you consider a workshop and a furnished lab a cell? You wanted to join our Institute once, and you shall. You will only have limited resources until I have ascertained the true depths of your magical talent, but I shall reward loyalty and hard work. You will also run errands for me on occasions.

Lord Ochs smile turned predatory.

On any occasion I choose, he said, his voice as sharp and delicate as an assassins knife.

Valdemar squinted, trying to think this through carefully. I may keep the journal, and work in peace? he asked.

Yes, the Dark Lord answered.

And I dont have the option to refuse, I suppose?

I can send you back to Spellbane, if you prefer, Lord Och said with false kindness. From what I heard, the warden kept your cell intact. He misses you greatly, and believes you will come back soon.

Alright, alright, Valdemar sighed. He had no desire to get strapped on a wheel again, and although doing research under a Dark Lords thumb made him uneasy, it still beat the alternative.

Do not make that face, young Valdemar, Lord Och replied with a chuckle. We will complete your magical education, and maybe one day I will grant you an official pardon. Do you have a hobby? I personally like to go fishing, but if you have another passion, I can accommodate it.

I paint, Valdemar admitted. And draw.

Oh, you will get along with young Hermann then. I will be sure to introduce the two of you, but for now

The lich put a hand on Valdemars shoulder, his fingers turning into claws of black bone.

Let us see what you can do, Lord Och said with a wicked grin.