NOVEL NEXT Chapter 126: Grand Canopy
Saah sat grimly in his chambers as the Bone Collector worked in quiet diligence on the old skin across his face. Fashioned from recently deceased warriors, he had quite the collection of skins, amongst which Saah had chosen the most appropriate visage for the purpose.
Average had never been a trend in the Underworld. Exquisite and fancy workmanship, on the other hand, gathered attention in these reaches. That was why you would scarcely see a Lich who preferred mediocrity over quality. To fit in that circle of command, Saah had to make compromises.
Mind heavy with the details he garnered from the Midnight Assembly, he let the bony servant carry out his work while inwardly he considered the implications. As a true Lich of the Seventh Legion, he was among the ones who got invited to the gathering of the nine legions, a most momentous event in the history of the Underworld.
The common practice had always been to keep a certain distance between the legions. Duty for duty's sake, and that involved tending one's own garden rather than eyeing the neighbour's measly backyard. That sort of thing would birth insidious thoughts, of which rebellion was the most paramount and sinister one.
A world of dead men with mindless slaves. Why would anyone want that?
Broken Lands could serve as a good example if the legions of the Underworld could get a hold on Haven's Reach. Endless stretches of warmth and green would rot away under their filthy presence, slowly giving way to a world that isn't dead, but not alive either. Stuck in between like an ungodly mix of things that have gone bad.
No. What Saah sought was true freedom from this cage. If he could remove himself from this grave circle and gain a new chance at a life that wasn't contained to the stench of the dead and the wickedness of the demons, it would be enough.
Unfortunately, that made him the most ambitious Lich in the Underworld, even though his desire was of little importance. Nobody would miss him when he's gone. Granted, finding and raising Liches was hard, but time wasn't a limiting factor here in the world of the dead.
Surgemasters are masters of soul and spirit.
Which meant the Arcanist held in his palm the ability to govern the souls of the dead. Back in the day, it was said that the Surgemasters could save thousands of people from the brink of death with a swing of their hands. Then they could, by all means, find a new home for a soul saddled with a heart that was more stone than a true organ.
Patience.
He pulled himself to his feet, peering around his old chamber and the various skulls lining the shelves. Old chiefs and liches of his horde who got demolished in the never-ending battle against the demons. Saah didn't want his skull to adorn one of the vacant spots.
I doubt any of us could prove useful to the Arcanist himself in the long run. An Ancient entity seeks not the help of ants. But that Healer is a different topic. He is the champion of the Surgemasters, likely carrying their legacy. Most importantly, he's a human. When the Legion sends men after him, I can use my connections to prove myself in the eyes of the Arcanist.
It was like helping a God's child, literally, and Saah would gladly do it even if that meant crossing every line hammered into his skull.
First, I need to find him. I'll start with this City of Magisters.
………
The door of the giant room swung wide open as Vireth bounded outside, her crimson robe sweeping around her, its tails flapping with movement. Dozens of disciples across the hallway froze right away. They kept their chins low and eyes nailed to their feet as Vireth passed through their ranks.
Nowadays the court of the Venerable Mother had its hands full with the recent disturbance. New orders arrived from the Land of the Fated, and all the Nine Witches have been tasked with different areas of the world. Above them, the Six Crimson Daughters and the Three Hailed of the Court would be making appearances as well.
The waking of the Venerable Mother had been short, unexpected, and came with a great variety of troubles. She wasn't supposed to be waking soon, a fact that confirmed itself when, after the sudden summoning, the Venerable Mother got back to her slumber.
That she had been forced from her sleep by the hands of a stranger, however, was something her Court couldn't tolerate.
Already, they caught whiff of that slippery Jack fellow who masqueraded himself as the Venerable Mother's son. Whether that was true or not wasn't relevant. A cruel son who had such little regard for his mother demanded punishment, best delivered swiftly.
The Three Hailed Sisters will take care of him.
They were beings who had managed to complete their Sixth Trial and passed well into the boundaries of demigods. Scarcely bothered by the passing of time, they only acted in matters threatening the very presence of the Mother's Court. Meanwhile, Vireth would be scouting for more information in the Broken Lands, which suited her just fine.
I'm closing in on my Fourth Trial. I have to be careful to keep my level in check when I'm out searching for the City of Magisters. I wouldn't want to trigger anything drastic now.
The Fourth Trial of the Fate's Path was complicated. It demanded the blood of a hundred people sacrificed willingly, and a ritual that would have their souls tied into the Veilwarden's Fate.
Sealer of Souls. I wonder how it feels when you manage to glimpse upon the grandness of a demigod?
Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
Vireth sighed. She had a lot of packing to do before she got to work, and that involved speaking with a bunch of people. She couldn't afford to linger on certain thoughts right now.
Then she froze. Smacked herself in the forehead, making all the disciples sneak odd glances at her. Her skin prickled all over her arms, and it was with a shivering gasp that she felt her knees buckle.
I'm stupid! So stupid! I forgot to tell the Arcanist that the Venerable Mother's court is sending a Crimson Daughter after that odd Healer!
Slowly, she took deep breaths to calm her racing heart. Surely it wouldn't be a huge deal for that Healer. He had managed to deal with the child of an Ancient. Saved thousands from her grasp and ripped her soul like it was nothing.
Against that, what a measly Fourth Trial Crimson Daughter could do to him, right?
It will be fine. I'm sure of it. Yes. It will be fine…
She had been doing that a lot lately, talking to herself when surrounded by others.
……..
There were other ways to reach the famed Caligian Lands. Giant trains and endless railways. Zeppelins. On horseback, grinding away at the paved roads between the big cities. Of those things, taking a train was the faster route. A five-day voyage through the multiple kingdoms from Melton to set foot in the Caligi Kingdom where it was said the sun never set.
Crossing the Sahagaran Desert, though, was a part of the pilgrimage. A sacred route for the men of faith, a great challenge that tested the will of the believers. Dying on the sandy dunes of the desert was one of the most fulfilling deaths a man could die, and enduring the elements and surviving just enough to tell the tale was a legendary feat on its own.
For Baht, the hardships of the desert scarcely presented a challenge. It was the metaphorical part of it that he was interested in. His men would see him return, and this would renew their faith in him.
He had found he had a knack for making entrances. That was about half of what being a leader truly was. Keeping an air, sticking to a tight routine, and always giving the impression that you know more than you actually show.
I still have too much to learn from the Arcanist.
Now, the Arcanist had a way to keep himself shrouded in mysteries. It was hard to gauge the lengths at which his eyes could peer through. Being in his presence was like shedding everything around one's body. Presented in naked, full clarity, as though a child ready to be scrutinized.
To make an ally of such a figure was beyond Baht's wildest dreams. He'd always been at odds with Divine Orders since he proved a nuisance to their traditions. Being a Healer was just a part of it. Being himself was the main problem, and that was something he couldn't let go.
The Arcanist, though, hadn't expected much from them. There were no rules. There were no traditions. Nothing, so far, suggested that they had to change in ways that didn't fit their beings. To Baht, that was how a god was supposed to act. It didn't have to demand obedience through laws and orders. Its sole presence should bring out a deeper desire in one's heart to be a part of its court.
Wasn't that how Baht gathered his men back in the day? He had never promised them a grand future, nor did he ever mention a divine reward in the end. Simplicity had been his code when dealing with his underlings. He had promised them the truth. Whether they liked it or not depended on them.
Many deserted his ranks in the early days. What they saw was too grim, bordering on hopelessness. The Broken Lands were full of half-twisted human-monsters? Divine Orders had never sought to cleanse the evil, but just keep a tiny part of the world to themselves? They had to fight, and kill, and battle against pre-conceived notions to save people who were too ignorant to see their own dilemmas?
These were hard pills to swallow, and Baht didn't blame those men for giving up.
He himself had come close on multiple occasions. That time when he rallied people in Belgrave, hoping to bring a true change to Melton, was one of those times. They had spent the better part of a day fighting with Cornelius, that old stubborn goat who refused to hear him, calling him a bad-blooded heretic whose corpse should be buried alive.
And now, Belgrave was no more. What Baht and his men tried to warn the populace of was happening right now, and people still had the gall to act surprised.
What were they expecting, anyway? For the dwellers to keep away from Haven's Reach? Would a sickness stop spreading just because there were walls in front? Or would it find ways to worm through the boundaries and continue feeding off the living?
The Shadow and its dwellers were that—a sickness. And so long as they were left unattended, this plague would keep spreading endlessly. Someone had to do something to stop it. Baht thought he could do it.
He had failed.
But we have that someone now.
He nodded as he faced another sandstorm creeping from the horizon. Just below, beyond the hazy sand dunes, he caught sight of a few tents flapping wildly with the winds. People scuttled around them in haste, picking up their belongings to prepare for the incoming storm.
A smile blossomed on Baht's lips. He knew those people.
…….
Alfred tapped the bell by the armrest of the chair, calling to the servants underneath the mansion for a replenishment of his evening tea. He didn't blame them for not attending to him sooner since it was uncharacteristic of him to enjoy a third cup when he was alone.
His butler, Malfrey, came bounding in with dutiful attendance, poured him his third cup from the chamomiles recently picked from the garden, tapped a heel to indicate he was ready to hear his orders should there be any more, and left in silence when Alfred gave him a simple nod.
The door of the hall closed with a gentle click, leaving Alfred alone with his paintings. A dozen of them dotted the walls, lined with intricate framework and draped in golden glory. Watching them sparkle during the night by the warmth of the fireplace was one simple joy that Alfred couldn't get enough of.
Still, there was a certain tightness to his neck on this particular night. The calendar suggested today there would be a full moon, and Alfred was ill-prepared to embrace it since the Midnight Assembly gave him a variety of topics to ponder.
He scratched at his sideburns and sipped from his tea, one hand drumming on the armrest with a faint rhythm. A part of him wanted to reach out to his people and tell them of the second coming of Surgemasters. Not everyone would be delighted to hear that news, however, scattered across the Broken Lands as they were, and this would mean a gathering. Another part, though, wished to savor this exclusivity a little longer.
The City of Magisters, eh?
When he closed his eyes, he could almost see the past grandeur of that famed city with giant statues of the many Surgemasters lining the main square. Beyond, the Palace of the Magisters and its balcony looking over the gathered crowds of people wanting to witness a part of history.
For every budding Surgemaster, the City of Magisters meant adulthood. There they would complete their disciplehood and ascend into the ranks of the Masters. A rare occasion that happened every once in a century, of which Alfred was fortunate enough to witness one.
It's been a thousand years, already. I never thought I would see it once again after the Old Masters abandoned humanity.
Now here they were, witnessing the rise of another Surgemaster. He even had a Master watching over him from his grand throne, with whom Alfred wanted to secure a tight relationship.
The reason was simple. As a part of an old folk, his instincts had been forged through many tribulations. Thus, he could sense when trouble was brewing, and he knew how to respond accordingly.
When the world falls, it's better to be standing under a grand canopy.
…….