Chapter 22: In the Court of the Silent King

Chapter 22: In the Court of the Silent King

Songs reigned in the Silent Kings realm.

Valdemar was no music expert. His experience was limited to his mothers music box and street performers playing tunes in taverns for a coin; he had never listened to an opera or an orchestra.

But as he listened to the melodies echoing across the sand dunes, Valdemar doubted that any mortal instrument could play them. Some sounds he recognized as belonging to trumpets, violins, ocarinas, and pipe organs, but others Others were more like animal screeches, the sound of shattering ice and burning flames. This was a symphony of chaos and madness, played by an inhuman orchestra.

Valdemar couldnt help but hum the melodys tune to himself. Something in the song felt familiar, like a childhood lullaby his conscious mind had never forgotten entirely.

This is Hermann removed his hood as he looked at the heavens above them, his reptilian eyes wet with tears. Beautiful.

A black sun shone in the dark red skies above the two mortal visitors, surrounded by a crimson halo. The sinister star reminded Valdemar of an eye gazing down on him, a deity observing the world below from a celestial throne. The summoner had expected the crimson light to burn his eyes, to blind him with its terrible beauty; and yet the black suns sight inspired neither pain nor horror, but awe.

It was not the fabled sun and blue sky of Earth, but Valdemar had never seen anything more beautiful in his life anyway. The colors were real, not painted pigments or figments of his imagination. Natural light traveling down from the greater cosmos with no stone ceiling to block it.

And the wind the flowing current that brushed against Valdemars cheek felt as warm as his mothers hand. The grains of sand were dryer than Underlands dust, but the air was fresher, pure. No dust or mushroom spores filled the summoners lungs as he breathed.

It felt good.

Valdemar had tasted freedom. The pleasure of an open sky without walls or ceiling to keep him imprisoned. He had taken a look outside the stone womb of Underland and gazed at the infinity beyond.

Everyone else needed to see it too.

Valdemar looked behind him, half expecting the Painted Door to have collapsed after they crossed it. To his surprise, an enormous canvas stood out of the sands, representing the Hall of Rituals. Neither Lord Och nor Loctis appeared on the picture, but it looked so vivid, so real, that Valdemar immediately recognized it as a doorway between worlds. He touched the surface with his fingers, sensing the softness of the paint and a lack of resistance. He could push through if he wanted, crossing the boundaries between universes to return to his own.

My hand, Valdemar thought. It was as normal as it had always been, with no screaming mouth growing out of his palm. Had it been a dream? An illusion created by the ritual? Or a brief glimpse at a revelation that escaped even his True Sight?

Valdemar was not stupid. He knew of his abnormal biology and he doubted Lord Och took him under his wing only for his talent. There was more at work than he knew. Eyes, he thought, as he observed his arm. It had eyes like the walls.

I think we can leave if we cross this painting, Valdemar informed Hermann. But neither of our masters crossed it, and I cant hear anything through the Painted Door.

They werent invited. Only the two of us were. Hermanns eyes couldnt stray from the black sun above them. Its

Hermann?

Im sorry Hermann shook his head, wiping off a tear with his claw. Its I hope your Earth looks as beautiful as this sky I dearly wish so. This place is better than anything I imagined.

Valdemar smiled and gave his friend a pat on the back. One day, I will show you Earth. Just like you brought me here.

We did it together.

But its your research, your work, that made this Painted Door possible. I only assisted you in your endeavor.

I I thank you for it. Hermann looked down from the skies and at the endless dunes surrounding them. Structures rose out of them like blind fish jumping above the Lightless Oceans water, whether they were black pyramids standing beyond the horizon, inhuman statues reaching out towards the skies, or the ruins of forgotten cities. But this place its dead. All dust and ruins...

Theres music though, Valdemar pointed out. You cant have a song without a musician.

Maybe maybe the Silent Kings focus isnt painting but art itself? Hermann scratched the scales below his mouth, his gaze thoughtful as he observed the ancient ruins from afar. The structures for architecture the subtle symphony for music.

Then you think the Silent King contacted other artists?

Probably but the signs were less visible. How can you see a song? Hermann glanced at the painted portal behind them. I wish Master Loctis could be here. He would know

They cant cross the Painted Door on their own, Valdemar guessed. Knowing the lich, Lord Och would have magically forced his way into this other world if he could. The fact he hadnt meant that the Silent Kings spell only worked on a limited number of people, or that the entity had enough control over the portal to prevent intruders from crossing into his realm. Do we cross the Painted Door again and report to our teachers?

Hermann shook his head. It may close forever behind us if we try. Better to explore this realm first. Meet the ruler of this place ask for answers.

True. They had seen the Silent King during the ritual, but the Stranger was nowhere to be found. Valdemar and Hermann were guests in this realm; they would have to travel to their host and pay homage, not the other way around.

The music seemed to come from the ruined city rising out of the sand, so the two pictomancers walked in that direction. Valdemar had barely taken two steps before he had sand all over his boots, in and out. I dont think its a Painted Place, the summoner whispered as he examined the grains. They didnt feel like pigments to the touch. Its a natural world.

Hermann searched under his robes and brought out a compass. The needle pointed towards the black sun above them rather than the distant north. Laws here are different. Electromagnetism does not behave like in our world.

Valdemar smiled at his friends foresight. Did you bring that tool expecting we would be transported to another world?

I hoped we would. The troglodyte put the device back in a pocket. I thought I could bring my people to this place. Help them settle in a new world with the Silent Kings permission.

Valdemar wasnt sure this desert could sustain life at all. The presence of breathable air implied the presence of oxygen-recycling plants or elementals or at least it would if they were exploring a cavern. He had no idea how air worked in this alien realm.

Come to think of it, how did the wind not disperse into space without a ceiling to keep it trapped? Valdemar had never asked himself the question, but now it sounded odd to him. There were so many things he didnt know, so much to learn.

You thought, as in the past? Valdemar asked his troglodyte friend. Youve changed your mind?

Only a select few are let inside, Hermann replied. I dont think the Silent King will let my entire people settle in his realm.

You can always ask, it will cost you nothing. Though I can understand if you would prefer a greener place.

I will take what I can get. Hermanns expression turned grim and sorrowful. We troglodytes are a a shattered people, Valdemar. Our tribes were long at war even before mankind conquered our caverns and scattered us across the tunnels. Our population decreases each year killed by wandering monsters or derros. If nothing is done we will disappear. Not now or in a century but one day.

Hasnt anybody tried to unite the tribes? Valdemar knew of a few troglodyte warlords who threatened the states that preceded the Empire of Azlant in the distant past. Not as a marauding horde, but as a peaceful state we could trade with?

We do not have Earthmouths our settlements are scattered. Easily crushed by larger armies. And why would others trade when they can steal? Hermann shook his head. Our respective people will never become one, Valdemar.

Were getting along just fine, Valdemar pointed out. I understand your desire for a place to call your own, Hermann, but I dont think the situation is so hopeless as far as our species are concerned.

Individuals can become friends. But nations? I dont think so.

Many of the imperial Domains once belonged to troglodyte tribes. Hermann had given up on recovering his peoples old homeland from the Dark Lords and now sought another; to the point he had agreed to serve under one of his kinds tormentors.

Though he was a human whose kind benefited from the troglodytes decline, Valdemar couldnt help but feel compassion for his friends plight. If Hermann found a hospitable new world, would Lord Och let him keep it for his people? Somehow Valdemar doubted it. History would repeat itself and the Dark Lords would have their due.

The duos long march through the desert ended at the broken fortifications of a dusty city as large as Pleroma. The architecture differed from the visions Valdemar had seen while creating the Painted Door though. The houses were joined together like tunnels in anthill, their walls covered in geometric symbols. The roofs were ovoid in shapes, while the tallest structures included elaborate domes and rounded towers.

Valdemar examined the streets with his True Sight, but to his surprise he didnt detect any hint of Blood-related magic. The walls symbols had no supernatural properties, nor did they have eyes to glare at the visitors.

So this many-eyed entitys reach is confined to Underland? Valdemar guessed. Good. Hopefully, Earth would be free from the eyes presence too.

The streets were desolate and empty, but strangely preserved as well. The dunes hadnt buried these ruins, nor did a layer of dust cover the paved roads. The desert had stopped at the walls as if afraid to enter the city.

I recognize the architecture, Hermann said as he examined a houses rounded roof. Ive seen a similar shape at the dokkar embassy. But sharper. This city... It looks cruder. Older.

Could it be an elf settlement from before the Descent? Valdemar asked. Did they somehow travel to the past? No, that was absurd. He had never heard tales about a black sun shining in the skies before the Whitemoons arrival.

He glanced into a houses open windows and looked at a stone room lacking any furniture whatsoever. Mosaics of hunting scenes or carvings of ancient rituals often decorated the various buildings, but Valdemar didnt find any table, chair, or even cooking instrument. The homes were beautiful, but lifeless.

Its like this city was never inhabited in the first place, Valdemar noted. No corpses either. If a cataclysm destroyed this settlement, the dry air should have preserved some remains.

The summoner grabbed his notebook, recording the walls symbols next to his list of English irregular words. Maybe Frigga could translate them when they returned home? At his side, Hermann grabbed dust and dirt samples inside a small flask for study.

Will we stay here? Hermann asked anxiously.

NO. YOU LEAVE. FOREVER.

They would return to Underland, but never find their way here again. The Silent King would not summon them again from the other side.

Perhaps all his visitations across imperial history had been nothing but art commissions, an attempt to get mortals to paint a new masterpiece for his collection. Or perhaps this portal would serve the Silent Kings aims in the far-future, whatever they were. In either case, he no longer needed the pictomancers anymore. He would thank them for their service with gratitude, but no regret nor explanation.

Valdemar glanced at Hermann. The troglodyte looked disappointed, but not surprised. As he had expected, the deity wasnt willing to let anyone settle in his private gallery.

What do you mean by truth? Valdemar probed, trying to sound as polite and respectful as he could. He didnt want to anger this ancient entity by asking too much, but this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Will you answer all our questions until we are satisfied?

Unfortunately, the Silent King was not that generous.

ONE TRUTH.

One question? Hermanns voice died in his throat. One for the both of us?

ONE EACH.

Better than nothing, but less than Valdemar hoped. The summoner exchanged another glance with Hermann. You go first, Valdemar told his friend. It was your project. The honor is yours.

Hermann nodded slowly, before looking back at the Silent King. Your Majesty... my people are scattered and broken. The troglodyte hesitated, before mustering the courage to ask his question. Tell me how how I may give my people... a new world of their own,

The Silent King did not answer.

Hermann glanced at Valdemar, with the summoner thoughtfully considering his next words. He had so many questions to ask.

What are you? Valdemar thought. What is this place? Why did you bring us here? Why is this door important to you? Why is there another you inside it? What power do you possess? How may I bring back my grandfather and mother from the dead? Do you know how to turn back time and change the past? What knowledge do you have? What can you teach me? Can you teach me? Is my father truly my father? Will I die before realizing my dream? Who am I? What is the meaning of life?

All these questions had value, but only one mattered to Valdemar.

Tell me, he said, how I can bring my people to this beautiful world called Earth.

The Silent King turned around to face his guests.

The visage beneath the hood belonged not to a man, but to the sky Valdemar had seen in his dreams; islands of light shining in an ocean of darkness. But instead of the Whitemoon dominating this cosmic landscape, a black sun ruled absolute.

Valdemar lost himself in the darkness beneath the hood, his mind absorbed by the blackness. The black sun grew to encompass the universe itself, the shadow of eyes, mouths and tentacles wriggling beneath its surface. The stars vanished in the pitch darkness of the cosmos, the cold void of space inside which not even the stars could survive.

Valdemar no longer felt his body. He no longer breathed, no longer lived. His thoughts had escaped his flesh, becoming an immaterial spirit. The Silent Kings words resonated in the void, giving shape to nothingness.

BLOOD OF TWO WORLDS.

A vision of Valdemars grandfather appeared floating in the darkness, scribbling words in a diary. He looked as if he had lost ten years, and so oblivious to the invisible strings making him dance. Another mans shadow observed him from inside the cover of darkness, a vile rat standing on his noble shoulder. But when Valdemar tried to look at the strangers face, he only saw blood, worms, and a wicked smile.

YOU WERE BORN FOR A PURPOSE.

The vision changed. His grandfather had grown old, singing words while reading scriptures from his journal. A copy of Valdemar stood before him, naked as the day he was born; symbols were etched into his skin, while his gaze was lost in a drugged haze. Alien fumes erupted from his nose and mouth, gathering in the shape of a living nightmare, a monster with many eyes.

FULFILL IT.

The false Valdemar opened his mouth, and it grew. It grew larger, and wider, devouring his torso and his limbs. His blood melted into the earth, his flesh and bones turning into an archway.

The Earthmouth that was once Valdemar opened, and his grandfather took a step through.

His tears dropped on green grass, growing under a bright blue sky.

No.

SACRIFICE.

No, no

THE GATE AND THE KEY.

No! Valdemars mind screamed, denying the vision, denying his grandfather, denying the gods words.

TRUTH DOES NOT LIE.

Valdemars mental scream echoed into the void, dissipating the illusion only for another to swiftly rise in its place.

A derro sat on a throne of steel and steaming pipes. The grey dwarfs hair was black as night, his face smooth like a polished mirror. A crown of dark steel pulsated with lightning around his forehead, illuminating his cold, heartless blue eyes. An archway of steel crackled with lightning behind him, twisting the fabric of space itself.

ANOTHER WAY.

The derro king collapsed into a puddle of blood, his fluids pouring down a deep dark well. The steel throne and portals collapsed into dust, while another Valdemar stepped out of the darkness. Thick black blood poured out of his veins, while eyes and mouths tore out his skin to reveal the inhuman face underneath.

The Silent Kings final word drowned Valdemars screams as an eye opened at the wells bottom, hungry for blood.

ABOMINATION.

A tide of Blood swallowed Valdemars soul, bringing him back to his body.

The Hall of Rituals floor was unwelcoming, the air dusty and cold. The ghoulish visage of Lord Och looked down on Valdemar, with none of his grandfathers feigned affection. My my, he said, his words distant like an echo. You look unwell, my apprentice.

Valdemar didnt answer. He couldnt. His head hurt, his body shivered from the cold within. He didnt even rise up. His heart was dead in his chest, beating so slowly he could barely hear it.

Lord Ochs amusement turned to concern? Caution? Something Valdemar had never seen on his skeleton face. The lich gave no word of comfort or condemnation. He didn't say anything.

Instead, the Dark Lord offered Valdemar his skeletal hand.

His apprentice looked at the appendage as if it were a foreign object. He almost expected a trap or a mockery, but Lord Och waited with the patience of the dead.

After a moment of hesitation, Valdemar grabbed his mentors hand. The lich felt cold to the touch, but not as much as the floor. Lord Och helped his apprentice rise back to his feet, his expression unreadable.

Hermann was there too, and in a better shape than his fellow pictomancer. The troglodyte held his head while his master Loctis observed him with a look of concern, his reptilian face morphing into a bright smile.

I saw I saw it. The Painted World I saw it. Hermann glanced at Valdemar with a look of pure happiness. Valdemar, its wonderful I hope your Earth looks as beautiful...

Valdemar didnt answer. The vision of his body twisting into an Earthmouth flared into his mind like a dream twisting into a nightmare. His eyes wandered away from Hermann, to observe the Hall of Rituals gallery.

The Painted Doors panel remained, but it had become a blank slate. Valdemar and Hermanns sublime magnum opus had vanished, taken away to join an endless collection in a dead world orbiting a pitch black star.

As for the other portraits...

Valdemar turned to his grandfathers painting, and the ghost within it. The echo of Pierre Dumont smiled at his grandson, oblivious to his clenched hands, gritted teeth, and furious glare.

Valdemar, are you alright? his grandfather asked with concern that almost looked sincere. You shouldnt talk to strangers.