Chapter 2 Part 2

Aspberg was a city very different from most. Unlike its western neighbor, Seron, a mere two weeks journey away, Aspberg did not have a vast forest on a lake to support its economy. No forestry or wildlife trades were prevalent. And even with a large river nearby, the water was too rapid for a successful fishing industry. Any unlearned traveller might wonder just what it was that kept the city alive.
The answer could be found in the roads. For Aspberg was one of the most important crossroads in the world. Its eastern neighbor, distant Kesron, was a major seaport. In addition to two major highways, Kesron was a coastal city and the most preeminant shipping port on the eastern shores. Aspberg, on the other hand, was not a coastal city, but it did have four major merchant trails. With one exception in the deep south, every highway leading from east to west passed through or within the jurisdiction of the city.
The city was a merchant's dream and also his nightmare, for it was often said that if anything could be bought it would be in Aspberg. Unfortunately, everything was taxed too. Some visiting merchants would return home and tell their customers tales of taxes on life, breath, shadows and other ridiculous things. As it was, the taxes were the life blood of the city. Even with a healthy agricultural industry in the surrounding prairie lands, the city depended on the revenues it extracted from the merchants. Over the centuries, as with all ultra capitalistic societies, Aspberg's governing core had slowly been corrupted by the very thing which had made it successful--greed.
Deep within the walls of the great city stood The Black Citadel, home of the city's ruling noble family, House Blackheart. The Blackheart dynasty had lasted for over two centuries and was a devoted ally of the Serpent-divinity cult, a religion taking its philosophy of Stealth, Strike, and Secrecy from nature's embodiment of those qualities, the snake. It was a powerful and successful philosophy and had earned the dynasty a great deal of respect over the last couple of hundred years.
The Citadel itself was a large pyramid constructed of a dull blackened stonework which made it practically invisible at night, even under the light of two full moons. It was a bona fide defensive masterpiece. Its walls could withstand continuous blows from siege engines without a hint of weakness, while its underground stores were rumored to be able to survive for months without rationing. But, perhaps one of the biggest military advantages was that the very sight of the place moved some deep feelings of terror and hopelessness within the hearts of its attackers.
The origin of such an enchantment, if there was one, was unknown, but its effect was profound. Still, those who lived nearby and did not try to attack or oppose The Citadel and its occupants were largely unaffected by the spell, with the exception of an occasional nightmare.
Within the walls of this magnificent tribute to paranoia, the servants of the state lived in comfort and fear because the life of a state servant was the life of luxury, excess, cunning and tyranny. One always walked with an eye watching one's own back. Firm believers in the concept of survival of the fittest, promotion by assassination was an accepted and encouraged way of life by the ruler. In such a society, only the strong and sly could rise to the top.
It was late one rainy afternoon when the court’s head accountant boldly walked into the outer foyer of the throne room of Lord Blackheart. The foyer was much like the rest of The Citadel. Long flowing tapestries decorated the walls, and sculptures of strange beasts and beings could be seen everywhere. But at the far end of the foyer, there were two massive wooden doors. A solid gold seal of the House of Blackheart, the head of a cobra with a sphere in its open mouth, was affixed to the archway above the doors. Two abnormally larger than lifelike men stood guard in front of the doors. They eyed the accountant as he approached.
The accountant bowed briefly to the guards and reported, "I am Donatallo, the chief accountant. I am expected."
One of the guards standing next to a door consulted a book and then, without a word, he opened the door. Walking through the door, Donatallo entered the huge room and stood rigidly still until he heard the door close behind him. Quite often, servants of the state who had no longer been found useful were relieved of their heads as they passed through those doors. For Donatallo, the sound of them shutting behind him was a tremendous relief.
The throne room was richly decorated with multi-colored carpet and pale marble walls. Tapestries of different places and a statue of the snake god, Set, the patron god of the House of Blackheart, stood in each corner of the room. At the head of the room there was a raised platform around which six priests and four high officials knelt in worship at the foot of the throne and he who sat upon it.
He was Serpentine Viperous Blackheart, a huge being of unquestionable strength and power. It was well know that he was a quasi deity and the half mortal son of the Godking, the most powerful being of all. Blackheart had an overwhelming presence, and he consciously used it to his advantage. Even on his throne, he wore a suit of shining black armor. In his right hand, he held the terrible Ebony Staff, a magical device that the legends claimed was of great power and destruction but of unknown purpose. Above the throne hung the great sword of Blackheart, an unholy weapon of death whose true name was unspoken by all mortals and even Serpent himself simply referred to it as the Reaper.
Donatallo quietly, but rapidly, walked forward towards the throne. His reports were accurate, timely and favorable. He knew that he would be safe today unless he did something insulting. Even though the dread lord was totally evil and a tyrant, he was also a being of cold purpose and reason. He was not one to kill a servant for bringing him bad news. But for the servant who brought inaccurate news, a quick death would be considered mercy.
As Donatallo approached the throne, one of the attendants, without even looking up, spoke. "The chief accountant approaches the throne of the divine one."
The priests' ability to know these things always unnerved Donatallo, and he, like many others, did not like these Throne Priests. They were said to have given up their sight and souls for the privilege to see all in the presence of Serpent Blackheart. Nervously and more out of fear than respect, Donatallo fell prostrate to the floor before the throne. There he stayed quietly awaiting his lord's attention.
Serpent Blackheart watched his servant genuflect before him. This man, he knew, was a treacherous and bloodthirsty human who had slain his own father, the previous chief accountant. He also drowned his own son when the lad had shown interest in serving the state as an accountant also. The manipulative politics within the citadel was one of the tyrant's favorite means of entertainment.
The dark lord of Aspberg let the accountant grovel for a few minutes before he finally became disgusted and graced the man with his attention. "Rise, our faithful servant."
"My lord," Donatallo said as he stood and held forth the papers, which he had slaved over for three days. "The reports from last quarter's revenues," he said reverently. "I am pleased to report that you have reaped a great margin in profits from the highway and sales taxes."
"We are pleased to hear this," Serpent said as one of the state officials took the reports and left the room through a side door. "You have served us well this day, Donatallo. It is our wish that you continue your duties diligently and stand forth as an example of one of our model subjects."
"The master is pleased with thee, O' fortunate one," one of the priests chanted in a tranced sing-song cadence.
"I am humbled by your generosity, my lord. My very life blood is for your service." This seemed to please the man-god, and Donatallo knew he had secured himself an extended life for another cycle of the great moon.
"Go in peace, Donatallo. Our blessings go with you."
Donatallo bowed and retreated. "I thank you, holy one."
Serpent Blackheart watched as the little man left the room, then he stood and cleared his throat. Everyone in the room trembled at the sight of the towering demigod. Each knowing that any one of their deaths could come with his next words.
"We grow weary of this day's events and wish to spend the rest of the day in our chambers alone to conduct private business."
Serpent turned to one of the three remaining officials. "Postpone all further state appointments until tomorrow," he said. Then turning to another official, "Seek out his Eminence, Miguel Blackheart, our heir, and bring him to us in our chambers." Then with a nod he stepped down from the platform. "You are dismissed," he said with a tone that sent priest and official alike scrambling for the door.
Serpent Blackheart watched as the men disappeared through the side doors. When the room was clear, he reached above the throne and took down Reaper. The cold leather wrapped handle molded itself to his hand in anticipation of a hoped for slaughter. On that day, however, there was no blood for the sword to drink. It was the tradition of his line that court was only in session whilst the sword was bared and on the throne. When it was sheathed, no petitioner or courtier would be heard. It was a subtle reminder to those who came to the throne that dissatisfaction brought swift wrath.
Returning the enchanted blade to its scabbard, he walked around behind the platform to a hidden alcove. With one hand he touched an unremarkable spot on the wooden paneled wall. Immediately, a sliding door opened to reveal a narrow, well-lighted passage. As he entered the passage, he turned a small lever on the wall and watched as the door closed behind him.
The passage was not long and soon came to an end at another door. On the other side of the door was a room filled with plush furnishings, including an elaborate altar. Many books and scrolls filled a set of shelves lining one wall. It also contained another man, seated at a desk, who appeared very similar to but slightly smaller than Serpent himself.
"Greetings, my brother," the other man said standing. "I do hope my visit finds you in good spirits."
"Very good spirits," Serpent said as he laid his sword and staff upon the altar. He bowed briefly to the engraved likeness of the serpent god, Set, then began removing his cloak of office. "What brings you to my domain, Morteous?"
"I have news concerning our project," Morteous said indifferently. "But, that is not all. I also bring you word from our father."
"What does Godking say?"
Morteous glanced over at the altar. "Are you sure that no one can hear our words?"
"Yes," Serpent reassured him, "this room is a sanctified temple of our lord. No other god would dare intrude here. Even gods have laws."
Morteous nodded. "Our father sends word that our alliance with the snake-god, Set, is secure. All is in place and poised for our actions. As soon as you are ready for ascension, you will become the new god of war."
"And what of the present god of war?"
"He is not in alliance with Set; therefore, he will be taken care of at the appropriate time."
"My, but aren't we a devious lot," said a voice from the doorway. A young man wearing a white breastplate partially covered by a heavy black robe strode into the room and closed the door behind him. "Hello, Father, Uncle Morteous, did either of you send for me?"
"If my dear half-brother hadn't, I would have," Morteous said as he stood and put a hand on the newcomer’s shoulder. "It has been a long time since I saw you last, Miguel. How do your studies go?"
"Very well, Uncle. I am now a fully ordained priest of our lord Set." Miguel walked over and stood next to the altar. After making a few motions and kneeling, he stood and returned to stand beside his father.
"How is your mother?" Serpent asked Morteous.
"She is well," he replied. "Elves live a long time, and she may find a mortal man to care for her. Father has never been very faithful to mortal women. I am surprised that we are his only offspring." Then Morteous put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I am sorry. I heard that your mother died last year. I hope it was not too difficult."
"No, it was not difficult. Just painful." Serpent laughed, "No one expects we immortals to have feelings, but we do." Then, with a shrug, he composed himself and sat behind the desk. "You said you had some news on our project."
"Indeed I do," Morteous sat across from Serpent. "In accordance with the Tome of Creation, which we recovered fifteen years ago, my agent in Seron secretly summoned the ten most powerful beings from a nearby universe, siphoning off their powers as they crossed the barrier. My agent whom I supplied with an altered copy of the Tome of Creation was successful in fooling them into thinking they had to return as quickly as possible and that their arrival and power loss was accidental. We managed to siphon off about sixty percent of their total power, and it has been stored within specially prepared gemstones. We must, however, prevent them from leaving this realm. If they return to their own universe, their powers will return with them. The best thing to do is to kill them here."
"How much power did you get from them?" Serpent asked.
"Quite a bit from what I was told by my agent. According to him, we have enough power stored in those stones to make even the lowliest street scum a god."
"It would seem to me, uncle, that this agent of yours knows an awful lot of our plans."
"Not really, Miguel. He is neutral in all this and only is concerned with the money I paid him. He only knows what I want him to know, which is very little. I supplied him with an edited copy of the Tome of Creation, and he believes every word I tell him." Morteous chuckled. "He has absolutely no idea what is really going on here."
"Then, how does he know about the power in the stones?" Serpent asked curiously.
"Oh, he thinks we were secretly constructing a magical device for transversing planes within this universe. I told him the device required the exposure to extradimensional forces in the final construction. Then, I gave him the false Tome and instructed him to use it to scare the victims into a hopeless quest to return home."
"Take care, dear uncle. I know that you are one of the most powerful warlocks in existence, but if these beings are as powerful as you say, then we must be careful not to underestimate them."
Morteous bowed slightly. "Thank you for that reminder, Miguel. Your wisdom is a credit to you."
Serpent stood and walked over to the altar. "Where did your agent send them?" he asked.
"The Tome of Creation does outline a procedure for them to return to their world," Morteous answered, "but that involves them finding the Well of Time."
"That means they will have to travel to the Oracle of the Twilight Dragon," said Miguel. "It has been over a century since anyone has ever returned from there."
"That Oracle is in the Ice Kingdom isn't it?" asked Serpent as he picked up his sword and examined it passively.
"According to the Book of Bakkas, it is," Miguel replied.
"Morteous," Serpent said as he returned the sword to the altar, "the Ice Kingdom is still an ally of ours."
"Not officially," Morteous answered, "They support us but they cannot publicly ally themselves to us or they risk war with the Kesron, but we do have a very strong following there. Their queen is sympathetic to our cause. Why?"
"Of course, you are right,” Serpent recalled. "Is their support strong enough to insure the deaths of the persons in question?"
Morteous thought for a moment, as he watched Serpent pace back and forth. "Possibly," he finally said aloud.
"Can you get word to our people there concerning what we want done?" He paused, "Soon?"
"Yes."
"I think this is a good course of action. It will cover the remote possibility that these persons make it to the island of the Ice Kingdom, much less that they actually find and survive the oracle." Serpent stopped pacing and returned to the altar. He picked up the Ebony Staff and ran his fingers over its length. The raw power within the black, rune carved item made his senses tingle. "Miguel."
"Yes father?"
"How long before the ascension can take place?"
"Well father, our research has revealed that the power transfer must be completed and made irreversible before our lord, Set, can help us create the vacancy in the pantheon of gods that you will fill. Only then can you approach the Godking and receive his favor and blessings before all of the gods." Miguel considered his uncle and then addressed his father. "So once again everything hinges upon the elimination of the newcomers."
"Thank you, my son." Serpent walked back over to the desk and sat down opposite the others. "Where are they now?"
"Somewhere between Seron and the northern coast. In the Deep," said Morteous.
"Do we have any means of tracking them?" Miguel asked.
"Not really," Morteous replied, "unless they use alien magic, which can be felt by any warlock in the world from any distance." He smiled. "If they do, we will know about it."
"How, Uncle?"
"You see, warlocks can sense or feel the use of any magical power, regardless of who the user is. The more powerful the spell then the more intense the feeling is. It is not unlike hearing a loud noise, though there is no real sound. Priests, wizards, illusionists and sorcerers--no matter what their profession, I can sense them cast spells. I can also tell what kind of person is casting the spell. For example, a priest casts his spells differently than a wizard, and a wizard casts his spells differently than a witch or sorcerer. Well, believe me, these newcomers' magic is very different from ours. When they cast a spell, it is going to sound different from anything I have ever heard before. When they attempt to use magic again, I will know."
“’Again’?” Miguel asked questioningly. “You have sensed it before?”
“Once,” Morteous admitted. “At first I thought it was the bumbling attempt of some apprentice somewhere, because the spell was not very powerful, but it did have an odd sort of revertebration. Later, as I learned more of what my agent in Seron told me, I realized that it had been the newcomer. But by then it was far too late to go and investigate. They would be long gone from that place.”
"Fine," said Serpent, "be wary of their progress, and when you have a fix on their location, let us know where they are. We can work from there." Serpent stood. "Miguel," he said, "see if you can find a way around killing the newcomers, if you can. If we can avoid the problem, this will go much more smoothly." Serpent returned to the altar. "If you gentlemen will excuse me now, I am in need of some meditation."
Miguel and Morteous both quietly left the room to conduct their business elsewhere.
Alone in the room, Serpent knelt before the altar in prayer. "Great Lord of Serpents hear the voice of the Godking's chosen son. Guide my brother and son on their missions for our cause. In the name of the Godking, he who has no worshippers, he who defied the Creator, guide us to our great destinies. My godhood, my son's ascension to the throne of the world, and my brother's mastery and control of all magic are before us in your name. Help us to bring forth the elimination of those who stand in our way. Let my sword gleam with the blood of our enemies as it has so many times before. Let my final mortal victory be the slaying of those whose powers I will claim as my own."
As if in answer, a cold wind swept through the windowless room extinguishing the candles and torches. Only the oil lamp on the altar remained burning, and the color of its flame turned deep red. From the darkness and silence a wispy sound could be heard. A sound not unlike the sound of scales rubbing against each other. Slowly the sound coalesced into recognizable speech. "Beware of thy ambitions and thy ego, mine favored one."