Chapter 27: With a Caring Hand

Chapter 27: With a Caring Hand

Power.

Valdemar had long wondered what made a Dark Lord who they were. Their immortality? Their ability to command vast armies? Their unrivaled magical knowledge? Their awe-inspiring spells?

Now he knew.

As he opened his eyes, the aura that came from Lord Bethor dwarfed even Lord Ochs at his most intimidating. The lichs defenses had taken the shape of a mist, mysterious, stealthy, and difficult to fight. Much like his body was a puppet controlled from his phylactery, Lord Ochs magic was difficult to grasp and counter. When he had briefly experienced a glimpse of the lichs unrestrained might, Valdemar thought he had seen the pinnacle of Blood magic.

He had been mistaken.

As Valar Bethor opened his eyes and the tower shook from his awakening, Valdemar realized that he had never understood what true power was. Lord Bethors defenses werent a mist but a volcanic eruption; his will was an earthquake. One could disperse mist in theory, at least for a time. But natural disasters could only be survived and suffered through.

If Valdemar were to be honest, he had only ever felt the same way in the Silent Kings presence.

This sorcerer had reached such a level of power that he rivaled the Strangers themselves.

The sclera in Lord Bethors eyes was as black as night, the irises a bloody red and as they manifested, the very fabric of space rippled around the Dark Lord. Tiny cracks appeared in the air, opening and closing almost too fast for the human eye to notice. Crimson bolts of lightning flared up from the boiling pool beneath this absolute incarnation of strength, and Valdemar sensed his own blood echoing the phenomenon. His own bodily fluids wriggled beneath his skin, preparing to erupt out of his veins; whether to flee or fight, the summoner couldnt say.

Lord Bethor stood up as he emerged from his meditation. As his feet hit the boiling pool beneath him, the blood surged to cover him and crystalized. Crimson plate armor more intimidating than any Knights covered him entirely, with a crown of spikes atop the helmet. Only his eyes peered through the visor.

Hes stronger than his old master, Valdemar realized, utterly intimidated. The lich was wiser and more knowledgeable, but his former apprentice had eclipsed him in sheer magical firepower. Much like a volcano, Lord Bethor needed to sleep and meditate to keep his own power suppressed lest it destroy everything around him.

And he was huge too, short of two meters and a half with his armor on. When the Dark Lord walked to the steel platform the others stood on, Valdemar and Marianne had long knelt in submission.

Only Lord Och remained on his feet. The lich and Lord Bethor faced one another, the latter two heads taller than his master.

Lord Och, the giant said with a deep voice, and the respect of an old student greeting a favored teacher. You visit me earlier than I expected.

Time is a luxury for us, my old friend, but one that shouldnt be squandered. Considering the forces moving against us, I thought it wise not to waste any second of your time or mine. Im sure you will find these two new students quite promising.

Though Valdemar didnt dare raise his head, he sensed Lord Bethors eyes looking down on him. Do you need them alive? the younger Dark Lord asked his elder.

I would prefer alive, the lich said with a light-hearted chuckle, but I can settle for undead.

Valdemar grit his teeth in frustration even though he had expected such an answer. He noticed Marianne clenching her fists at his side at Lord Ochs jape.

Good, Lord Bethor replied, his tone lacking any amusement whatsoever. I shall return them to you, one way or the other.

I would appreciate it. If they cannot survive you, they wont last against Blutgang but I know you shall know what to make of these two. Lord Och said. After you are done with this trifling matter, you should visit my abode. I have new breakthroughs that will certainly interest you.

I shall consider it.

Then I leave you to teach these two the ways of our dark brotherhood. Lord Och happily patted a silent Valdemar on the back. Do not worry, apprentice. Lord Bethor teaches with a gentle, caring hand.

Valdemar doubted that.

The lich left without a word through the elevator, leaving his apprentice and Marianne alone with Lord Bethor in a room without exit.

For a long, agonizing moment, no one uttered a word. The only noise in the room came from the crimson bolts surging from the blood pool and the spatial cracks caused by Lord Bethors mere presence. Valdemar glanced at Marianne, neither of them daring to stand up.

Look at me, Lord Bethor ordered. Both of you.

Valdemar and Marianne raised their heads to meet the Dark Lords gaze.

What is your name? Lord Bethor asked Valdemar. You who follow in my footsteps?

The summoner cleared his throat. Valdemar Verney, Lord

Snap.

A sharp pain erupted in Valdemars left elbow, so strongly and so quickly that his mind barely registered it. Warm blood splashed his cheek and covered the metal ground beneath his feet. His left arm started to itch like that time the derros lightning struck him. His fingers no longer answered his mental commands.

Because he had lost them.

Valdemar coughed, his breath trapped in his windpipe as he looked at his severed left arm wriggling on the ground among pieces of flesh and bones. Mariannes eyes had widened in shock, her skin turning pale.

What is wrong? Lord Bethor asked, his red eyes peering through his helmet. He hadnt even moved. This is but an arm. Reattach it.

Valdemar hadnt even sensed his attack. The Dark Lord hadnt shattered his psychic defenses and magical protections; he outright ignored them.

Realizing his life was on the line, the summoner gritted his teeth to ignore the pain and telekinetically commanded his arm to return to him but his blood refused to obey him.

A sharp pain erupted in his left knee, his flesh and bones rupturing beneath his scholarly robes. This time, Valdemars jaw failed him and he let out a snarl of pure pain as he collapsed on his chest. Only a phantom sensation remained from his left leg.

I shall cut one limb each minute, Lord Bethor warned with eerie serenity, until I either severe them all or you succeed

Mariannes rapier lunged at the gap in the Dark Lords visor.

Lord Bethor didnt even move, as Marianne crashed against the dome above the blood pool. The strength of the impact cracked the glass, while telekinetic force kept the swordswoman pinned against it. An invisible hand tightened around her neck and started choking it.

Marianne! Valdemar shouted, only for another psychic attack to sever his right leg and his words to turn into a snarl of pain.

You should have struck before I even cut the first limb, Lord Bethor scolded Marianne with scorn. If you had paid attention, you would have sensed my violent intent.

I Marianne rasped through her tightening windpipe. I wasnt sure if I could even strike a Dark Lord

But Valar Bethor wouldnt hear any excuse. A bodyguards only duty is to keep their charge safe from threats, any threat. Even if it costs them their life. Even if it means fighting a Dark Lord. That your attack would have failed anyway can be forgiven; your failure to act immediately cannot.

What you call your human form is an illusion, a prison, Lord Bethor explained. The Blood allows one to reshape their body like clay, even transcend physicality. I have two legs and two arms only because I wish to, and my former master now exists as a possessing spirit. I shall teach you to reshape your body as you will, Valdemar Verney but to be remade, you must be destroyed first.

The Dark Lord telekinetically lifted Valdemar above the blood pool. The summoner looked down at the substance as his own wounds fueled it, steam rising from this burning lake.

A long fall awaits you, Lord Bethor explained. This is the main artery of my tower, with the heart waiting at the bottom. The boiling blood will devour your skin and counter your regeneration; if you want to rise back to this room, you will have to heal with outside resources. But my tower will resist your attempts. To use its power, you must conquer it. You must understand the true nature of the Blood.

Shit, Lord Och was the kind one.

As he accepted his fate, Valdemar exchanged one glance with the horrified Marianne. I have a question, Lord Bethor, the summoner said.

The archmage snorted. Go on.

Did this happen to you? Valdemar asked sharply.

To his surprise, the summoner could have sworn he saw a flash of thoughtful sorrow pass in the Dark Lords cold eyes. Yes, Valar Bethor admitted with a grim voice, but with dragonfire.

He released his magic and Valdemar fell into the boiling blood while Marianne could only watch.

The summoner attempted to control it telekinetically, only to be met with psychic resistance. The boiling substance pulled him down, devoured his robes, and ate away at his skin. Valdemar was brought back to his hospital bed in Astaphanos, suffering the exact same agony.

The world turned crimson and he sank.

Marianne woke up blind.

Only darkness and a cold floor welcomed her when she emerged from unconsciousness. She felt sick, her throat still sore from Lord Bethors strangling spell. She tried to rise up and almost stumbled. Her gloved hand hit a wall to her left; one made of stone from the texture.

Her hands instinctively reached for her sheathed rapier, only to find it gone alongside her firearm. Even the smaller blades hidden in her boots had vanished.

She had only been left with the clothes on her back.

Even less than that, Marianne thought grimly as she touched her face. She sensed her eyes, open and yet useless. The noblewoman didnt know if she should be relieved that Lord Bethor only took her sight.

Valdemar? Marianne called. She didnt remember how long she had been out; her memories were a blur. Valdemar, are you here?

Her words echoed around her, but she received no answer. Marianne was in some sort of metal tunnel from the sound. Somebody?

She attempted to use her psychic sight even without functioning eyes, but the darkness around her remained impenetrable. She sensed the warmth of artificial light on her skin coming from above, even if her magical senses were as crippled as her physical ones.

Had she been drugged with a potion crippling her abilities? For what purpose?

Your sight will be returned to you, Lord Bethors voice startled Marianne. Once you prove worthy of eyes.

Marianne tried to look at the Dark Lords direction, only to realize his words came from everywhere at once. Maybe they only existed inside her mind, the mental whispers of an insane warlord invading her neurons.

This was worse than anything I expected, Marianne thought as she massaged her throat. Is Valdemar alright?

You can check for yourself once you get out of this maze.

Marianne gritted her teeth. She had to find Valdemar and get the hell out of here, Lord Ochs orders be damned. The lichs former apprentice had clearly gone insane. Bertrand she whispered, her throat hurting. My retainer thought that I should go to you to improve.

You will, the Dark Lords voice said without malice. This may surprise you, Marianne Reynard, but I deeply respect people like you. You let go of love and wealth for the sake of your martial pride; this is admirable. Your only fault is that you cannot come to terms with the sacrifices you made along the way.

Is this a lesson, or a punishment?

I do not punish, I teach.

The noblewoman let out a sigh. Marianne had expected a harsh training regimen, but the Dark Lord had exceeded even her worst fears. She had heard rumors about his iron discipline, but this was a treatment she would have expected from the dokkars or the derros.

I only give this training to warriors I expect great things from, the Dark Lord said.

Still, Marianne found it a little excessive.

Your comfortable existence is exactly why you have stopped improving, Lord Bethor scolded her with scorn. You have used your retainer, Lord Ochs patronage, and your weapons as crutches. You let your thoughts fester like an open wound, obsessing over the past and constantly second-guessing yourself. You have shackled your beautiful spirit, and we will free you from these doubts as we strengthen your magic.

How will blinding me teach me anything? Marianne protested.

Your sight, your hearing, your touch all of your senses can be refined through the Blood and be used offensively. Touch will let you sense weak points in your foes body. Your understanding of hearing will allow you to disturb others ears. Smell and taste will tell you more than sight. I will teach you how to refine your senses to perfection one at a time. Then we will move on to more complex combat spells.

Fine. Marianne could see the logic, though she questioned the violence of the methods.

Mankind is threatened on all sides, Lord Bethor replied. Some of the foes you shall face in the future surpass you in power and cunning. A few may even match my strength. If you cannot survive these tests, you will not stand a chance against them and death at my hands will be kinder fate than what awaits you should the forces behind the wererat prevail.

Marianne winced as she remembered Bertrands mutation into a monster.

Time is a luxury you cannot afford, the Dark Lord said before adding another difficulty. I shall release a creature in this maze soon. It could be in ten minutes or an hour. It will hunt you down like a dog, and if it catches you you will not die, but there will be pain.

Charming. Unlike Hagith, Lord Bethor was clearly fonder of the stick than the carrot.

What must I do then? Marianne asked as she walked into the tunnel, using a hand to stand against the wall. Maybe if she focused on her hearing, she could find her way. That was how bats locate objects in dark caverns, from what she understood. Escape before it catches me?

You must find the exit using the spell I shall teach you. The creature only adds an additional motivation to learn more quickly. Lord Bethor marked a short pause. If you listen well and prove as talented as my old master believes, you will escape unharmed. However, I must warn you that even my best soldiers get caught at least three times.

Marianne forced herself to smile defiantly.

I will break this record, she said. I am ready.